#like man I need it to stop snowing by the end of May or I will go insane
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Big Sky Country - ch. 1
Cowboy!Frankie x OFC
Hi!
I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.
No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)
And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!
Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.
Series Master List
Main Master list
Prologue
The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed.
So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks.
Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in.
He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears.
He dropped his hand.
Waited.
Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home.
He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again.
But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here.
Chapter One
A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap.
“You growing roots, old man?”
The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger.
The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar.
“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes.
“You coming or going, cowboy?”
“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist.
“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.”
“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face.
“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him.
“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.”
He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb.
“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him.
“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.”
“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses.
Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat.
“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.”
“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip.
She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble.
This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends.
As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most.
“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass.
“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek.
“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down.
“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head.
“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return.
“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.”
“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.”
“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.”
“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.”
She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.”
“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.”
“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information.
“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her.
“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again.
“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head.
“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.” She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down.
Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke, the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.
She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him.
“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it.
“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?”
“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans.
She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile.
“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?”
Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter.
“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?”
“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.”
“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed.
“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”
“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet.
“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.”
Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged.
“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.”
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.”
“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head.
“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.”
Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.
“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him.
“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.”
“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.”
“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.”
He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private.
Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic.
When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon.
The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here.
Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy.
But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more.
Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it.
He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city.
Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet.
Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence.
After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else.
And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected.
“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.”
The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child.
Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child.
“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.”
Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it.
“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.”
She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped.
Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer.
Chapter 2
A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!
❤
Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi
#frankie morales#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#frankie morales fanfic#triple frontier
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Bellatrix Star
A TaliaxDanny idea that came to me.
Damian, Bruce, and the rest of the bats discover the Talia al Ghul they had been fighting against, the one that cloned her own son, had the clone kill him, plant a control device in him when he broke his spine, etc etc was actually not the real Talia al Ghul.
Turned out Ra's had cloned her and killed the original when she discovered his little plans to take over Damain's body and she confronted him about it. Ra's had to make a clone when after tossing a dead Talia into the pits but never returned (he meant to kill her as a warning, as a "you may be my blood but will not hesitate to end you Talia.") It explains so much to Damian when remembers how out of nowhere his mother changed, her training him changed from harsh to deadly, the soft motherly love she would give him when behind closed doors suddenly stopped, the tales she would spin for him about his father no longer whispered to him for bed.
How this was find out?
Well it's hard to ignore the facts that when your foolish grandfather in his quest for immortality summons an eldritch being known as the Ghost King into the Mortal Realm and uses Damian as a sacrifice while his (not) mother watches emotionless.
When the being appeared, plunging the room from green glowing flames and the glow of the Lazarus Pits into darkness before a cosmos exploded to life, its glowing green eyes snapped open in the stars and stared at them all. Making every single one of them feel small, so very small.
It took a single glance around the room before stopping on the al Ghul's. It's eyes widen before a steel and firm look entered them. Just as quick as the cosmos sprang to life, it suddenly swirled away into a ball, putting them all back into the Lazarus room,and reformed in front of them to a more humanish height and body.
When the body, around the height and build of Batman, was done forming it took a step forward and suddenly as one blinked a man stood in front of them. Or rather floated. Snow white hair that flickered and wisped towards a crown made of fire and ice, glowing green eyes that held none of the madness but all of the power the Lazarus Pits could give. His clothing were tailored made that were tastefully a mixture of black and white with some silvers and greens, clothes fit for a King one would say. The cosmos that once engulfed the room had shifted into a cloak that hanged around his body, on one side more than the other (think like how CW wears his only the hood is down).
This, this was no doubt the Ghost King, he stood tall and regal and made everyone in the room feel the need to look down, to bow ones head for even just a moment. Even Ra's had trouble disobeying the urge to do so.
"Well..." the being said, his voice deep but not as gravely as Batman's was "What an interesting way to meet my In-Laws and Step-Son..."
He has said that as he looked towards the al Ghul's. Damian flinched back with a frown of confusion and disbelief while Ra's looked panicked for a second when the words registered into his mind, meanwhile Talia... looked emotionless and barely even twitched.
"What the fu-?" Someone began only to stop when the King lifted his hand and with a snap of his fingers a green portal appeared, it looked almost like the Lazarus Pits but it felt... cleaner? Less angry?
"My Bellatrix, my warrior star. I believe I've been summoned to your home dimension. And judging by the looks of it your father created a barely functioning Mirror of you and planned on using your son as a sacrifice to me." He spoke out towards the portal before holding his hand out.
A hand appeared from the portal, a slender hand and with green and black painted nails manicure to perfection before someone walked through it as they took hold of the Ghost King's offering hand.
Standing in front of them was another Talia, only this one looked a tad older than the one in the room. She wore clothing that matched the King to a T but even then, as always, Talia looked deadly in it. Beautiful but very deadly. From the heels she wore to the crown upon her head, a crown made of not ice and fire but of stars and black jewels. Her eyes were sharp as she stared at everyone in the room, frown on her painted lips, but her eyes lit with a small soft joy when she saw Damian only for them to turn poisonous when they landed on Ra's and the other Talia nearby.
"I should had know you would had created a Mirror of me instead of admitting to my son you killed me Father." Queen Talia spat out. "The least you could had done was not make my Mirror so cheaply, it doesn't even have a proper soul attached to it."
#danny phantom#danny fenton#blue rambles#crossover#writing ideas#random idea#danny phantom dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#i forgot Danny and Talia's ship name#Talia was killed when she confronted her father when she found out his plans to take over her son's body#she was tossed in the pits and was meant to return to life but a portal opened up as she was brought back#she landed in Danny's garden and in a Pit Rage attacked any ghost in sight#Danny was called in noticed the Rage and knocked her out before taking her to Frostbite#they find out she is very liminal#like near halfa levels like she just needs something to kill and bring her back at the same time levels.#Talia raged and wept when she woke up#she was told she was in the Infinite Realms and what the Lazarus Pits actually were and that they were going to try to find her a way home#but because the Infinite Realms were well Infinite it was like looking for a needle in haystack#it takes a while and some talks with Jazz but Talia eventuality begins to try to make the most of her life within the Infinite Realms#and the only world is was always connected to#she does eventually fall for Danny though. things happened and Talia can sense her love for Bruce fizzle out and begin to grow for Danny#who never once asked her to change her deadly and swift ways#Danny was the Ghost King now. he understands that sometimes a quick and hard hand needs to be used.he is a fair and just King not a doormat#Danny accidentally called Talia Bellatrix one day. after the female warrior star in the sky. she is deadly and beautiful to him#Talia liked it a lot and well showed him how much she liked it#eventually they date and get married. Talia is in charge of the spy network for the Kingdom encase of anyone gets any bright ideas#Talia loves her new life. the one without her father or Bruce trying to control or changer her. She wishes for Damian though still.#Danny's been on the look out for her world when she told him everything. He wants to meet and learn about his step-son#he hopes he'll like the 'I'm sorry I married your mother without your permission but I would love your blessing.' gifts he had commissioned
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one-shot 𖹭 3k w
pairing 𖹭 kim hongjoong (ateez) x fem reader
tags 𖹭 fluff, smut, established relationship, idol!hongjoong, family trip, you know he'll be having you in that hot tub at some point
✏️ okay so this wasn't planned but Bumjoong's vlog got me spiraling into some ⊹ ࣪ ˖ thoughts ⊹ ࣪ ˖ and I couldn't stop thinking about joining Hongjoong on that family trip -- and may I add, that hotspring? You know I had to.
pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭
© hongthoven
When Hongjoong had asked you to join him and his family on a trip to Sapporo, your first instinct was to panic— This would be your first time meeting his parents and only your second encounter with Bumjoong ever since your boyfriend’s last tour. Back then, even the idea of having lunch with Hongjoong and his older brother was already nerve-wrecking enough. Lucky for you, Bumjoong was the most welcoming human and had worked extra hard to make you feel comfortable by sharing some precious childhood memories including his younger brother pulling a tantrum over an ice-cream and how he would always crash his football games with his friends when he wasn’t much bigger than the ball itself.
Now this was different. Meeting his parents, spending days with his whole circle and living under the same roof seemed like a commitment your anxiety couldn’t seem to handle peacefully. Of course you were more than happy and flattered he would even consider bringing you along with him— any signs of this man committing to you more than enough to have you kicking your feet and screaming into a void. Hongjoong was a busy man and dating Ateez’s captain wasn’t always easy when it came to matching your schedules so you could spend quality time together. When he wasn’t spending the night at his studio, your man was either busy promoting his music, writing for other artists, working on his next photography exhibition or flying to Paris’ Fashion Week.
Still— every single one of his accomplishments felt like yours and Hongjoong always made sure to include you in every single step towards another successful experience. So when your lovely boyfriend had kindly suggested for you to take a couple days off from work so you could fly to Japan with his family, there wasn’t much left for you but to agree as Hongjoong did his best to reassure you when you immediately told him about your worries: his parents not liking you, embarrassing yourself, crashing their family time when you weren't even part of it— to which Hongjoong was quick to reply with the most unexpected piece of informations, sending you spiraling into thoughts of a future you were too afraid to dream about.
“Y/N— you’re part of my family already…” That was the validation you needed from him. The thought of him talking about you with his parents, letting them know about meaningful details of your relationship, made your heart grow twice its size. And while you were still nervous to meet them, you knew nothing could possibly go wrong when Hongjoong was by your side.
By the end of your first day, you already felt like part of the family. After hours spent walking in the snow, taking pictures, gazing at the gorgeous landscape and tasting some local delicacies, you were practically tight by the hip with Hongjoong’s mother as you walked back to the beautiful accommodation your boyfriend had rented for the entire family.
“My mom is kind of obsessed with you” Hongjoong growled as you finally caught some time to yourselves, spread out over the bed with your boyfriend resting on top of you, the coldness of his palms sending shivers all over your stomach as he slipped his hands under your sweater with a content sigh. “I’m a bit jealous actually— she’s keeping you all to herself” he almost whined, his lips reaching for your neck, forcing a soft giggle out of your lips “can’t even hold my girl’s hand or anything— such a thief” he added, biting your skin while the tip of his tongue collected your scent, reaching for your earlobe.
“Joongie— your family’s right next door” you huffed, trying to wiggle out of his embrace as he looked up to lock his beautiful yet sleepy eyes with yours. It had been a long day, following a long week of a packed schedule and you could definitely tell he was a minute from passing out from intense fatigue— but he still looked breathtaking with his blonde streaks covering half of his face and his pink lips, tempting as candy, desperately reaching for yours, only to melt into the softest kiss as he eventually complied. Closing his eyes for a minute, Hongjoong made himself comfortable with his face buried into your neck and his hands still resting under your sweater, framing you with his entire body.
It wasn’t long until you heard his breathing slowing down, its delicate sound mixing with some slight snoring from being completely burned out. Happy to see him resting at last, your hands found their way into his hair and at the back of his neck, kneading his skin tenderly as you watched the beautiful winter scenery getting darker by the end of the afternoon.
A knock on the door made you flinch into your slumber and your first instinct was to look down and make sure Hongjoong was still fast asleep— when he failed to react, your eyes found Bumjoong standing in the doorway, trying to make himself as discreet as possible, his palm covering his eyes.
“Are you guys decent?” he asked with a nervous chuckle as you immediately cleared the scene with a soft tone, the sight of his passed out brother making the older one smile endearingly.
“I think we’ll pass on dinner, can you excuse us to your parents? I think he needs this…” You whispered with one hand still locked into your boyfriend’s hair, scratching his scalp softly. Without a word, Bumjoong gave you an understanding nod as an answer and closed the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but the peaceful quietness of the bedroom as company.
After a while, you figured Hongjoong was gone for the night and decided not to rot in bed any longer— your body was getting pins and needles from staying in the same position for hours, keeping your boyfriend locked into your embrace as he snored peacefully against your chest. Though you were slightly reluctant to let go of him, the warmth of his skin as a reminder of how long it had been since you two were in the same bed, you eventually managed to roll Hongjoong over to his side, stealing a muffled complaint out of him as he called out your name in his sleep, to which you replied with a tender kiss at the crook of his neck before rolling out of bed and escaping the bedroom as quietly as possible.
The hotspring was practically calling your name as you walked into the private patio on the second floor, ready to dive into your book and enjoy some snacks while bathing in hot water— now this looked like a holiday. Everything around was quiet, peaceful if not for a couple of birds still chirping into the night. You were thankful for Hongjoong asking you to take a bathing suit although you were left a little puzzled at his odd request for a snowy weekend away— but you also couldn’t miss the little evil smirk on your boyfriend’s face when giving you a house tour, his hand palming the small of your back as he made sure to let you know just how much he expected to have you there, in this bath, as soon as his family would be gone. He would find an excuse, book a table at some fancy restaurant, pretend to have some work emergency and keep you around for support, only to bend you over the tiles and make you scream his name over and over again.
Unable to focus on your book as you kept reading the same page until it made some sort of sense, you tried to remember the last time you and Hongjoong were able to share that type of intimacy, your thighs instantly clenching at the sudden memory of his last concert in Saitama. You typically tried not to ever miss a concert whenever you could travel along but this tour you wouldn’t miss for anything— for months, you had seen Hongjoong practice his guitar skills, lessons after lessons, massaging his calloused fingers every time he took it too far — almost every day, so when it was time to witness your boyfriend in all his glory as he stood on stage ready to wreck an entire Dome, you were actually thankful to be seating alone, your entire body radiating with lust and the absolute urge to kneel in front of him to swallow his junk entirely.
Which you did, precisely 2 hours later, as soon as you were left alone with him backstage. Hongjoong had practically kicked the other members out without any effort to hide his intentions. You could actually hear Wooyoung snickering behind the door and making some crude comment to Mingi about how their captain was about to ‘get some’, which you both decided to ignore. Without any sort of ceremony, Hongjoong was quick to spit into your open mouth and guide himself between your lips, both his hands pushing at the back of your head until you could feel the familiar taste of precum spilling off his slit and into the back of your throat. You could never get enough of the way he seemed to melt against your tongue as you traced every single vein along his cock with just the tip like he was your favorite flavor.
When it came to being vocal, Hongjoong knew how to drive you past the edge of insanity with little whimpers and the nastiest words wrapped into the delicacy of his voice, like the melted chocolate heart of your favorite cake. You would never get rid of the way he often crossed the line, way past his usual cute pet names, only to call you his ‘little slut’ as he rutted himself into your mouth, stealing air out of your lungs as his hands started to tremble into your untamed hair.
The water was getting too hot, suddenly— the simple thought of Hongjoong slowly pushing your lips open with his tip making you foam at the mouth. Without realizing, your thighs had started to press against one another, rolling up and down slightly, just to give you enough friction for a quick relief. You could tell your entire body was now getting worked up over your fantasies, your back arching naturally as you eventually pushed your book to the side, suddenly uninterested in any sort of Literature. Wrapped into a cloud of steam, your body was craving a touch— yours, but mostly Hongjoong’s, and as you slowly slid your hand along your chest, brushing your erected nipple on your way down, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous at the thought of being caught. What would your in-laws think? What would Hongjoong say if he heard about his parents walking on his girlfriend touching herself in the hot tub?
All these thoughts were quickly gone as soon as your hand found its nest between your thighs, three of your fingers pressed against your core as a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing into the empty patio. Or so you thought.
“Baby?” Though you immediately recognized Hongjoong’s voice, you were quick to stiffen back into the corner of the tub, red at the cheeks as you turned around to face your boyfriend’s mixed expression. He was definitely confused— but also quite obviously aroused. Not to mention half naked now that his sweater was gone, leaving him in a pair of sweatpants, his hair now a chaotic blond mess from sleeping for too long and his bare chest already coated with steam from the temperature of the room. He looked like an absolute snack you couldn’t wait to devour.
“You should have woken me up if you needed it so bad?” Hongjoong smirked, peeling himself off his sweatpants only to leave you gasping at the sight of his exposed, already semi-erected cock for a second before he dived into the bath.
“You looked like you needed some good sleep” you half-pouted as soon as he pulled you against him, forcing you to sit on his lap with one leg on each side of his frame.
“I need you more” without any sort of warning, Hongjoong reached for your throat, wrapping all five of his fingers around it as his lips found yours, tongue teasing until you caved and deepened the kiss, soft moans dying into his mouth as you started to grind over his lap while his stiffening member threatened to push your bikini bottom to the side with each thrust from your aching hips.
“Fuck— I’ve missed you so much baby— fucking insane—” his words were coming out a little sharpier, halfway between a confession and a command while his lips traveled down to your neck, sucking a soft, pink bite out of your skin with one hand already pulling at your bikini top. You couldn’t help but feel extremely exposed as one of your tit disappeared into Hongjoong’s palm, the other already settled between his lips as he sucked desperately at your flesh like a starving newborn.
“You gonna let me fuck you here?” he asked, his tone the opposite of innocent as you clenched over nothing, pushing your core against his groin until you couldn’t take it anymore. Nothing else mattered now. The glass windows surrounded you, making you both vulnerable and exposed— the idea of his family coming home any minute, only to find you there with their youngest son balls deep into your cunt. All you could think about was to be filled and to reach climax as soon as possible. It had been weeks since you had last felt Hongjoong’s body so close to yours and a treat was overdue.
“Please” you almost weeped, using your fingers as a hook to push your bikini to the side until you felt his tip pushing against your entrance, thicker than ever.
“Oh you’re gonna beg, love?” you couldn’t say a thing— not a word— as you nodded almost hysterically, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth like a misbehaving child ready to be grounded. Though his words were tempting and his gaze wrapped into that cocky frown you knew too well, Hongjoong’s hands were nothing but tender over your skin, his love pouring out of him in the shape of his palms stroking your arms, shoulders and the back of your neck like you were nothing but glass, about to shatter against his chest.
“You’re so fucking pretty— can’t believe you’re mine” his words took you by surprise, his thumb brushing your bottom lip while you felt him aligning himself perfectly against your aching core. His eyes were locked on the way your mouth instantly wrapped around his digit, sucking at the tip like the ghost of that part of him you were now craving.
“Go ahead and beg” he added, more demanding this time, your body going limp against him as you struggled to even breathe from the absolute urge to be consumed entirely by the love of your life.
“Hongjoong— please?” you finally begged, lips turned into a pout while your hand reached for his cock, ready to wrap around it. You had never felt emptier.
“What do you think you’re doing, love?” Hongjoong smirked, his own hand wrapping around yours but never truly stopping you.
“Need you” you were a blurbing mess by now, lids heavy and hips almost jolting against him as you felt him stretching you out a little with his tip only, both your hands still tightly wrapped around his shaft. You could feel every inch of him— into your palm, pushing against your walls, everywhere, always amazed at the way his cock seemed to be exclusively crafted for your cunt.
Once he was settled, balls deep into you, Hongjoong reached for the small of your back, pulling you closer to his chest as you instinctively rolled your hips against him, collecting the sweetest sound out of his throat as your boyfriend tilted his head back, hitting the tile with his wet hair while thrusting painfully slow into you. The room was filled with soft, muffled moans and the sound of water splashing over the rim, soaking the floor with each, deeper thrust. Everything felt and sounded like absolute bliss— the roughness of his chest against your palms, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass cheeks everytime he pulled you harder, bottoming out only to rocket his hips back into you— nothing could beat this feeling, this fullness, the sincere love you could see in his eyes as his lips turned into an ‘o’ every time your eyes met.
Reaching for your neck, Hongjoong pulled you closer to melt his lips into yours, his kiss more eager this time as his tongue battled with yours while his hand kept you still with a soft grip around your throat. Lost into his embrace, it took you a minute to realize he was now completely still inside of you.
“Could stay like this forever” he smiled, his palm cupping water on the surface only to pour it over your chest, his eyes following every drop as it raced over your breast like the most beautiful piece of Art. While still tightly clenched between your folds, the way he gazed at you, his fingers tracing some invisible forms over your chest, was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced with anyone. Something in his eyes made you feel safe and vulnerable at the same time, like you were precisely where you belonged.
It only took a few more thrusts for you to bite a moan into his shoulder, your entire body stiffening with bliss as Hongjoong chased you to the top, his entire face buried into your chest as he lifted himself just enough to rocket back into you harder until his cries echoed into the quietness of the night while your walls locked around his load, turning him into absolute shambles as Hongjoong started to shake slightly into your arms from a hint of overstimulation.
Red at the cheeks, blonde streaks pushed back, Hongjoong tried to compose himself, his breathing gone to absolute chaos as he kept his arms locked around your figure, unwilling to let go just yet.
“Think I’m gonna marry you” he blurted out, his forehead pressed to yours— leaving you once again, completely speechless.
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Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader
Summary: You’re birthed into a lively family in dire need of financial stability. As the eldest, you’re paraded around to be married and much to the dismay of your mother, you deny every hand offered. Yet unbeknownst to you, a man of great power and influence, Mr. Snow, is lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to have you. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3
Notes: I hope u girlies eat this up, getting scrapped otherwise </3 — as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated!
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one
You’d much rather be at any other breathing, standing tower of gold trimmings and cracked pillars in existence.
At any building filled to the brim, simply overflowing with tiered skirts and lively grins… offered hands and gentlemen donned in fine suits, pockets suffocated by their own riches.
Yet you cannot be; for mama has ordered your presence to be most dire and mandatory. Although you did consider fleeing for the highest hilltop or feigning ill, you knew well that mama would find you or see straight through your falsehoods.
“My my, you look as though you’ve got something unsweet taped to your vicious tongue.”
You scowl at the blonde goddess most confusingly known to be your sister, and she only flips a ringlet of gold behind her poised shoulder.
“I think it to be quite clear how dreadful I find this. No need to observe aloud, sister.”
Her mischievous sapphire orbs glow with enjoyment, face pink and flushed — skin glistening under the gold lanterns flickering above.
You’ve watched happily from your seat, she’s sure to have danced with at least twenty men now.
No wonder mama has no fears or worries about Jane. She is just guaranteed to run off and be married within the upcoming season, it only makes for less of a distraction for mama— she’ll be glued to you like quill to paper.
It is not as though men do not want you. Oh, they do. Most ardently.
The trouble is only that you do not want them.
How horrible it is to be confined to four lonesome, frayed walls with nothing more than your books and your wit to keep you company. Married to a man who will most certainly be your senior, who busies himself with trivial matters and leaves you to be cold at home.
You would much rather drown yourself in the river stix than face a fate so melancholic.
You wish to be an odd thing, to run away into a cottage and spend your days parted from the people who surround you. You will read books of men made from dreams and you will find comfort in knowing that you will not be wed to a man who will only discontent you.
Of course, that would bring great shame upon your family, ruin them. So it seems you will end up a spinster or a governess. Both fates, although not as you may hope in your dreams, still offer more joy.
“Forgive me for having fun. It is not why I displease you however, perhaps if you picked your pretty head up from that book and stopped waving the hands that greet you away— you would know this. Mama has sent me. The duke, his sister and a dear friend of his have arrived here. Here! At our party, can you believe it?”
You huff out a sigh laced with annoyance, flipping to the next chapter of the dilapidated thing in your hands.
“No, I truly cannot.” You mutter, yet you cannot spare the fresh page even a glance before it is snatched from your clutched fingers.
A first edition, it shreds from its spine and erupts a gasp from both you and Jane. Mama’s cyan gaze is cold and anxious, feigning a tight smile.
That one was your favorite.
You do not lift your head, you do not notice the three towering men who look down upon your reserved oak wood bench in interest. Mama clutches the duke’s palm in an embrace of suffocation, yet you do not pay it even a little mind as you drop to your knees in your pretty dress to find the strayed page.
“My god, where are your manners — girl! Please do not pay her rudeness any attention, she gets sickly over these things. Sweetheart, up now— we can buy you another.”
Her voice is cold, devoid of any admiration. It is a lie, too. Your family cannot afford even a singular chapter of a new novel, let alone a first edition. You should be the one plagued by frustration, yet you feel as though it is you who is doing something wrong.
Even so, your eyes search the floor with great fervor, landing on a polished leather shoe which suffocates chapter twelve.
You wince, preparing all the words you can to kindly request the stranger lifts his big foot off of your paper. Yet they dissipate in the back of your throat.
The man, he bends at his knee as he frees the old thing from his sole. Your eyes lift to greet him, then.
He is a mess of blonde locks, unruly compared to that of the others with hair long enough. Theirs are tamed with ribbons, his only sits atop his head. His eyes are a cold color, one you cannot explain. They are commanding, fueled with great intensity.
Beyond all of this?
He looks most certainly miserable.
He does not wish to attend tonight, one glance proves this.
He spares you no words as he passes you the paper, eyes locked upon the contents of it. He offers you a hand of assistance, too.
You ignore it, wincing at the disgust your mother expresses.
You need no aid as you lift to your feet and dust the old thing off, he follows you — becoming a tower taller once he stands.
Jane, you are grateful now that she is still here. She laughs most uncomfortably, placing a polite hand upon your shoulder as she snatches the page away. Far more gently.
“My dear sister, may I introduce you to your grace — sir Sejanus Plinth of Newbury. Alongside him, his sister — Grace Plinth and their dearest friend, Coriolanus Snow, also of Newbury.”
You know well that you’ve just about boiled a vicious pot of scorching water, one you’ll have to face the many consequences of. A quick glance stolen toward mama proves it.
With a soft sigh, you curtsy to the men before you. A show of respect which you most certainly do not have for them. They are just as unimportant as the others, grand status or not. Including the miserable looking blonde with cold eyes.
“Lovely to meet you. This is truly a grand gathering you’ve all put together…” Sejanus offers with a smile of pearl. You peer up at him, his eyes stealing quick glances at goddess Jane.
Mama goes off on a tangent about how much she adores hosting gatherings as much as attending them — and it’s all a mere buzz in your ears.
Your eyes shift toward the sister, Grace. She’s scowling at you… how peculiar.
“Jane, forgive me if this is far too forward but — I would be most honored to be the last dance you partake in this evening.” Sejanus swallows back his nerves, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Sweet Jane doesn’t bother torturing him, she only nods a shy head.
“Oh, come Grace! I must show you how my youngest daughter performs on the grand piano!”
You feel poorly for the scowling girl who is whisked away by mama. Jane and Sejanus follow alongside them, but part as soon as the music begins.
Both of your palms come to a clasp— shifting weight on your heels as you watch Jane twirl and giggle a golden sound, so beautiful you are certain it could bring each and every single gentleman in attendance to their knees.
Well, except the miserable Mr. Snow.
Your eyes drift to him then — and you catch his gaze already locked upon your stature. He averts it hastily, staring at what looks to be the far wall after he is caught.
Does he plan to lurk here like a shadow’s phantom for the entirety of the evening?
“Do you dance, Mr. Snow?”
His jaw is a sharp — tense thing. It clenches in surprise at your voice. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he answers.
“Not if I can help it.” Is but all he offers before returning to a miserable state of silence again.
By god, to garner more than a mere word is equivalent to the act of tugging teeth loose. You purse your lips, turning your head away to find another question you could offer.
You do not bother, however.
For the first time in all your life, in all the seasons you’ve suffered — you wish to dance. Not because you find it to be fun or any more stimulating than a novel but; rather because you would be far more joyous away from him.
Beyond this, it would make mama less angered when the gathering reaches its end.
You do not offer him a word of parting before you plunge into the lively crowd. A man with blonde locks, not quite as icy as Mr. Snow’s own tousles, offers his hand.
You lose yourself in the rhythm, pretending to be that of a girl in one of your novels. Whisked away by a mysterious, dancing stranger who offers more than just a meaningless hand.
You pretend the blonde is to be a grand lover, one who will care for you beyond material needs. Beyond what is expected and a bore.
You pretend, and when the song ends — so does each and every one of your mindless fantasies.
To normality once again…
#young snow#young snow x reader#young snow smut#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus smut#corio snow#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus imagine#coriolanus x y/n#sejanus plinth#coriolanus x sejanus#sejanus imagine#coriolanus snow smut#au!coriolanus snow#au!snow#pride and prejudice#pride and prejudice fanfiction#tom blyth#tom blythe
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MY PERSON ★ CL16
pairing: charles leclerc x no-socials!reader
summary: Charles posts an update on your relationship with a beautiful message.
note: a little something that might cease the possible heartbreak of the race or might be a celebration for all tifosi.
kind of part two here
charlesleclerc
Liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 1,718,569 others
charlesleclerc Today I made the most important and easiest decision of my life. That beautiful woman in the pictures is Y/n Y/l/n, soon to be Y/n Y/l/n-Leclerc, you may not know about her a lot since she prefers to keep a lower profile, but i’m so glad I have the privilege to know her. And now to love her for the rest of our lives.
Y/n you’re the love of my life. I don't know how many times I'll have to tell you how in love with you and how much you mean to me for it to be enough. It’ll never be enough, at least for me. You are my happiness, you are sunshine and midnight rain.
Mon amour, you and I know love is about finding the person who completes what you are missing, loves what you share, stays during hard times, and celebrates the good ones. Y/n, ten months ago, when I started planing my proposal, I realized that you were that person for me because of a question Pierre asked me: Does she make you a better version of yourself, one you ever dreamed you could be? And I could only say yes. Just looking into your eyes, I understand how you feel, looking into your eyes I see you, i’m in love with you. You are my soulmate, my person.
Mon coeur est bien,
Charles.
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arthur_leclerc I have a new favorite family member
charlesleclerc i love you too or whatever
pierregasly my biggest flex: I played a crucial role into this, charles is too stupid
pierregasly imagine if the ring fell onto the snow
andferrari007 it did
charlesleclerc please don’t remind me that
danielricciardo If you mess up i will unalive you, and then y/n and i will marry as the best friends we are 🫡
charlesleclerc HAHA no
danielricciardo you will see
maxverstappen1 charles run
landonorris CHARLES YOU DID IT AAAAHHHHHH
charlesleclerc I DID IT
carlossainz55 Felicidades!! ❤️
charlesleclerc Gracias, Carlos❤️
lewishamilton You’ll be the happiest, I know it 💙
charlesleclerc ❤️❤️
sebastianvettel Congrats, Charles and Y/n! Hoping you have a wonderful marriage and life together.❤️
charlesleclerc Thank you, Seb! Love you.
joris__trouche Photos by me y’all, I was there to watch Charles almost piss himself!!!!
charlesleclerc SHUT UP I WAS FULLY CONFIDENT
joris__trouche sure mate, at least hope one kid is named after me 😔
charlesleclerc I don’t enjoy Joris Leclerc
arthur_leclerc what about Arthur Leclerc
charlesleclerc not calling them after you 😐
maxverstappen1 I have a better one ✨Max Leclerc✨
charlesleclerc please never say that again
pierregasly pierre leclerc
charlesleclerc STOP
Your head rests on Charles’ shoulders, he scrolls through the comments of your family, friends, loved ones, and Charles’ colleagues. He laughs at the discussion about his future child’s name, his dimples showing perfectly.
“Have you imagined that?” The brown-haired man spoke out of nowhere, turning down to look you in the eyes.
“Imagine what, Charlie?” You reply, needing slight confirmation of what he is referring to.
"Children, a family... you know, the whole future after this happens" the green-eyed continued, pointing at the ring on your finger at the end, making you blush quickly.
“Of course, I have, mon chéri, you?”
"More than once, ange, I want everything with you" He answers sweetly. Charles was so in love with you since he asked you to be his girlfriend, he hadn’t imagined a future without you. He imagined you and him, traveling the world, a beautiful, healthy family, and him and you fulfilling your dreams together. You were all reasons he had to smile on the darkest days.
You, on her side, looked at your fiancé, curious and somewhat captivated by him. Charles’ look made you feel, so in love, you might burst. You felt confident with your decisions, and with your life.
About ten months ago, when Charles and you were at the Italian GP, Charles said he loved you, he said those two words, and you echoed him. You were completely sure you loved him. But when it came to "I'm in love with you" it was a long process, you didn’t play with those words.
I love you meant a promise only you could give, only you could get for him. It meant: I want you to be happy. But I'm in love with you meant that promise would be kept even if it wasn’t with you, it was giving your heart forever. It meant: I want you to be happy, even without me.
It may seem like a ridiculous concept to some people, they are words, but words are the source of expression the majority of humans possess.
They say that actions are worth a thousand words, however, it’s never suggested words are not valuable, or everlasting.
For you, they were everlasting, once you said them there was no going back. Two years later after the ‘i love you’ Charles said to be in love with you. But it was not your time, and Charles didn’t mind waiting for you to be ready.
And when you were ready, it was perfect.
You were at home in Monaco that day. During sunrise, you and Charles made love as if the world was ending; by morning you went hiking, and while being on top of the world, you realized. You realized you didn't care if you ended up heartbroken, you were ready to put the past and future aside and just live in the present.
“Charles,” You said that day, he looked at you so deeply, waiting. “I'm in love with you.”
He kissed you after that, just like he was kissing you now after you said the same thing, the difference being the place, and the fact that you had an engagement ring on your finger.
“Thanks for choosing me.” The Monegasque whisper. He kept kissing you, bringing you closer to him, showing you with actions how much he appreciated your existence.
# “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings !#this is cute#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc f1#charles leclerc ferrari#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#cl16 x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc blurb#formula 1#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 social media au#formula one#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 drabble#f1 blurb#f1 fandom#f1 fluff
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the river (6) // finnick odair x f. reader
summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back
previous chapter
masterlist
7.1k words
warnings: hurt/comfort, smut, angst, fluff, arguments, a wedding, pnv, unprotected sex, f receiving fingering, he doesn't pull out, cursing, allusions to trafficking, paranoia, violence, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, self-hate, dount, mentions of pregnancy but she's not pregnant, distrust, brainwashing, mentions of Snow, unedited, no use of y/n
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You looked so beautiful, so angelic, so unspeakably alluring standing in front of him in your borrowed dress. Never had he felt more excited than when he'd realized this was in fact the day you would become not just his wife in spirit, but legally, Mrs. Odair. The way you'd so delicately smiled up at him made him feel like his grin was more like that of a mad man, and maybe he was. Madly in love, madly obsessed, madly in need to spend the rest of his life with you. He needed the revolution to be over so he could have a billion kids that looked just like you, that laughed like you did, and smiled like you did. How soft your fingers felt when they brushed his lips with salt water was addicting just as it was when his fingers did the same to your lips. He felt blindly dazed by your smile as you recited the vows, Finnick barely remembered that there were cameras around.
Your genuine happiness was something he had come to miss, yet here it was once again. The feeling that made all the rough times worth weathering the storm, how unequivocally enamored of you he was with each smile and sweet word. Your sugary repetition of what the officiant said eventually waned, Coin had insisted on less flowery vows to keep the event concise, but that was okay because he'd spilled his heart before. It also helped that now he wasn't sure he'd be able to form any coherent proclamations of love when looking at you put him into a stupor.
“I, Finnick Odair, take you as my wife from this day forward. Together or apart, we will always be united. One life, one purpose, one destiny.” He'd never get sick of the way you were looking at him right now, like that same girl from the market that he'd approached all those years ago who was joyously stunned that Finnick Odair would even talk to her.
“You may kiss the bride." The officiant announced and Finnick had never been more pleased for his lips to touch yours. The salty and peachy taste that lingered on your lips that he adored, compounded with the sound of the children's choir beginning to sing, a confirmation that his official voyage with you had really begun. Ever so slowly he pulled away to gaze at you further.
“Hi." You whispered softly through your perfect smile.
“We're married." He whispered back, the giddy smile almost hurt, but he couldn't make himself stop. “Like actually married."
You nodded with a light laugh, "Yeah, we are!” The words left you so breathily before you'd kissed him once again and he wanted to drown in your lips. His mind seemed to echo the same words over and over again, a never ending stream. She's actually my wife. She's so happy and pretty and my wife. My wife. The way you danced and laughed was exhilarating, this was the you that the Capitol had chipped away at making a glorious appearance. You could have another breakdown tomorrow, but right now you shone brighter than the sun and it was all that mattered. It wasn't home, there was no sea breeze in the air, there had been no net to cover you both, or sending the couple off in a boat at the end for farewells. It wasn't even the spring time wedding you'd once whispered about on late nights, but it seemingly was exactly what you both needed.
Your feet had only stopped moving once the cake was rolled out, glorious in its waves of blue frosting. It truly left him amazed in the attention to detail of each sea creature so delicately placed. “Oh, it's perfect." You muttered, squeezing his hand.
Finnick nodded in agreement, “It's amazing." It was the closest to home as either of you could get, he ached to be able to know he'd be carrying you over the threshold of a tiny cottage by the sea, but he couldn't until this was all over. Until they'd won. So the cake would have to be sufficient enough and in the joy, it was. Especially when you so carefully fed him a bite of it, blue staining his teeth as he took the bite. Before the blue and green had just as equally begun to stain your lips when he did the same, and it made him feel so young again. A kid who'd eaten too many colored sweets.
Eventually the propo had to come to an end and with it, the fun and dancing. But his happiness didn't subside, even if it was no traditional reception of dancing all night, at least he could carry you through the door of the compartment and be with you for eternity.
“Hello, Mrs. Odair." He'd whispered after carefully placing you on the floor of the shared room.
“Hello, Mr. Odair." You responded absentmindedly, eyes so loving as your fingers played with his hair.
“We're actually married, officially married, forever and ever and ever."
“Yeah." You glowed, all of you was so bright. “Don't get cold feet on me now."
"Never.” He affirmed, kissing you again.
"Good because I'm rather attached.” He smirked and quickly pulled you back into his lips. Slowly, but surely your lips attacked him more feverishly, with more passion. It had been so long, but it was a feeling he missed so much, until your fingers had slidden down to the buttons of his jacket, where some sort of panic permeated his happiness. He longed for you more than he'd even let himself ponder, but he couldn't risk it when you were still at risk of a meltdown at any turn. So reluctantly he pulled away.
“Angel, what are you doing?"
He missed the cooling feeling of your skin the moment you pulled contact away and hated how embarrassed you suddenly looked. “I'm sorry, I should have asked, Finnick. If you don't want to, I won't.”
His hands reached out to assure you otherwise and caress the side of your head. “No, no, sweet girl, that's not it. You're all good."
For a moment you seemed relieved before the confusion seemed to settle back in. “Then what's wrong?” Finnick sighed, how could he tell you he was terrified that you'd have a mid-thrust mental breakdown that threw you into some kind of terrified hysteria? He sat down on the bed, preparing himself for the hole he was digging himself into. At the very least, talking to you about it now was leagues better than going along until you cracked.
“Honey, I just don't think it's a good idea."
“Oh, okay." Shit. He always ruined everything. You'd been so open and happy all day only for your voice to slightly break with a speck of insecurity. You were so sweet with the way you'd move on to pretend it didn't upset you somewhat and find something else to do.
“Not because I don't want you, trust me I do." The words tumbled out of his mouth as fast as he could form them to try and reassure you.
“If you want to, then what's stopping us? I do too."
"Honey, come here.” He patted down on the bed and you sat, carefully he grabbed your hands, hoping his warmth would provide some sort of comfort. “I just think maybe we should wait until you're feeling like there's less of a chance that you'll get scared when we're in the middle of something.
"I'm not gonna get scared, Finn, I want this.”
"You're not right now, but say you get hit with those thoughts that say I want you dead, which I don't, and I'm on top of you. That'd be scary for you.”
"I haven't had an episode for a couple weeks.” Your head turned to stare at the wall in front of you.
"You haven't had a major one and I'm so proud of you for that, but you've had some small ones. I don't want one getting bigger because of the circumstances.” Your hands pulled away from his, covering your face where stray tears must have begun to fall. “Hey, no, don't cry. I'm just trying to look out for you."
“I make everything so difficult, I'm sorry."
“No you don't, it's all okay."
Quiet sniffles filled the room before you laid your hands back down on your lap to look at him. “Finnick, I get you're worried about me and I love that about you. But I could freak out waking up in the middle of the night or when we're just cuddling. I want this, I want you, and if the worst happens then it happens and we cross that bridge, but I'm really sick of letting it control me.” He wanted you too, he'd felt guilty for any fantasies he'd had of you, but he had missed every part of you beyond belief.
“I just don't want to do anything you might not be able to handle, I'd need you to constantly communicate with me, so I know you're okay."
“I will, I promise."
You were so ethereal, he hated that it made parts of him throb when his brain had already found another dilemma. “I don't think they've got birth control here, or at least we don't have any."
“That's okay, I don't care." No, he couldn't do that to you. How could you handle being pregnant in the midst of everything else?
“It's not a good idea, angel."
“Why? We'll win the war soon and be back home." He wished it was that simple, but poor you having an episode would only complicate things.
“Honey, I just don't think you're ready right now."
“You're?" Fuck. Why the fuck would he say that.
“I meant to say we. We're not ready." Why was he so stupid? How could he manage to be trying to protect you so hard that he caused an episode instead? He'd have to brace himself for the mess he was causing.
“You’re lying to me. Why am I not ready?”
What he'd give for this blip to be over, to be at the point where there could just be children without all the worry about your health. "It's our wedding night, let's not argue. Let's go to bed, I'll read to you.”
But your walls were slightly raised and he could feel it as you stood up. "I wasn't trying to argue, I was trying to consummate the marriage. And instead of just saying you weren't feeling it right now and letting us move on, you said you thought I'd be a bad mom.”
"That's not what I said, don't put words in my mouth.” He said it too sharply and instantly regretted it.
“Then what are you saying, Finnick?” He despised the fact that he was only confusing you more when he was supposed to be letting you know what was real and what wasn't. The stress in your voice was evident as your arms protectively crossed around your body, foot tapping.
“That I don't think this is a good time for a baby, we should jump over a few more hurdles first." Finnick stood up, desperate to touch you, to soothe you. Trying to hide how mortified he was that regardless of all the talk he could still feel himself straining against his pants. “I just didn't say it right, I'm sorry, sweet girl."
"If you don't want to have sex that's fine, but stop trying to come up with excuses.”
"Angel, I do, I'm just…I've gotten so focused on trying not to set anything off that I've started planting the thoughts instead." He should be stronger, more able to read you so that he wasn't the one instigating the thoughts. Instead he was becoming overly paranoid himself, he hated the idea that he could need care when he was finally trying to care for his girl. “What I meant was, I think we should wait until the war is over for certain, so I'll just pull out." Slowly he approached you, hands softly urging your arms to uncross.
He could feel the way you began melting into his touch and it made him feel whole again. "Do you actually want to? I don't want you to feel like you have too because I'm in a mood.” Your eyes glistened with a sincerity that warmed his heart as your arms succumbed to his movements.
"Wanna make my sweet girl feel better, want to make it up to her.” He could basically hear your heart pounding and he loved that you still got somewhat flustered.
“You're absolutely sure though, right? This isn't just you-" His lips on yours cut off the further listings of any anxieties. Free hands searching for the zipper on the back of the dress as he quickly slid it down. He only pulled away long enough to make sure the dress had successfully become a pool at your ankles before his lips were on your chest. “Finnick?" Your voice snapped his head from his assault to look at you, who looked so sheepish to say anything at all. “Can that wait? I'm just… you know.”
With a smirk he raised his head, makitsure to stand fully back up as he looked at you. "You're just what, angel?”
"Finn, you know.” Your fingers messed with his jacket sleeves as you avoided his gaze.
Softly he pecked you on the lips,"Communication.” Another quick peck, "Need you to say it for me.”
"Finny, please don't be mean.” Fuck. Pulling out that nickname ever so sugary sweetly made him want to cave, to get straight onto taking care of you for life. “Already spent all that time arguing."
"Not being mean, angel, we just have to practice using our words.” You lifted his hand to your face, touching the heat of it to your face, which was oddly hot already considering how cold your hand was, per usual.
Your breath fanned across his hand as you quietly gave the confession, “Been aching for you all day, Finn."
“All day?" His hands moved to slowly unhook your bra, “Waited so well for me." The way you needed to just be coddled and taken care of was evident, he wanted nothing more than to love on you any way that he could. He let the bra fall to the wayside so his fingers could focus on how soaked your panties had become. “Can tell you've been waiting." It had been so long it was no wonder you were shy under his gaze. “Gonna make it better, show you how sorry I am." He could fall into the endless depths of your eyes that drew him in and fall forever with a smile on his face.
“I love you." The way you said it so tenderly made his heart skip a beat, he couldn't help but smile and place a small kiss on the tip of your nose.
“I love you, sweet girl.” Your fingers slipped up to continue the unbuttoning of his jacket which fell into a pile on the floor.
“Are you sure-"
“Yes, I'm sure." Finnick tried to back up this assurance through his eyes, hoping you could read through the depths of his soul. He slid his shirt off and you nodded, a signal that you had accepted what he said as truthful. Your fingers had settled on the button of his pants which you'd slowly undone as he stood there in utter awe of just you, all of you. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, leaving you on a nearly even playing ground. His fingers made their way to your hips, to the hem of your underwear to start pulling them down and the way your skin was so cold was startling. You'd always been freezing to the touch, but it made him feel guilty that you'd been stripped of any warmth besides his fingertips. “You're basically shivering, angel."
“You're burning up, so I'll be okay." It was true, the way your body temperatures aides the others had felt like another way you were made for each other. So slowly he'd pulled the panties off your body until they hit the floor as everything else had. Without another word your lips had crashed onto his which he used as an opportunity to slowly guide you towards the bed while you were lost in the feeling of his lips. He laid you down as your hand on the back of his neck dragged him down with you.
He took the opportunity to slide his fingers into your core and reveled in the feeling of you moaning into his mouth. A sound he hadn't heard in so long that it rang in his ears like music, a symphony that he could listen to for days. “You're so perfect." He muttered through the seconds you pulled away for air. You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head, “Yes you are." Finnick reiterated, thumb finding your clit causing another moan into his mouth the moment your lips had reattached to his. “Melodic to my ears angel, so perfect." Your hands tugged at his hair and he couldn't suppress the groan that came out.
"Love you so much, Finn.” The way you talked through the whimpers every time he added more pressure to your bundle of nerves made him an obsessive man. Your lips had become swollen from your prevalent addiction to his mouth, but you didn't seem to care, whining when he pulled his head just out of reach, trying to tug him back down.
He began thrusting his fingers in faster, mesmerized, as he always was and would be, by the way your face contorted with pleasure. “Love you too, angel, love my wife so much." In his daze of fascination you were able to pull his face back towards your own, fingers knotting in his hair.
Your voice was airy as you smiled softly through small whines,"Your wife.” He felt the clear heat your face exuded when he pressed his forehead to yours, it felt like your souls were one.
"My beautiful, perfect, gorgeous wife.” Your lips raised just enough to steal another peck from him as he kept rubbing harsh circles onto your clit. For a while he became enraptured just by your sounds, he didn't know how long had passed as he took in every small whimper to the loudest moans that you tried to cover.
“Oh my god, Finn!" You writhed slightly, a tell-tale sign of how near you were to release.
"You close, sweet girl? You gonna come for me?” He does his fingers up, as well as the intensity of his circles. Lips meeting yours once again as you nodded, eyes scrunching closed.
“So, so close." He began kissing at your neck, beguiled by the somehow lingering smell of the ocean on your skin.
"Come on, you can let go for me, sweet girl.” His kisses trailed down to your chest once again, utterly addicted to leaving the lingering feeling of his lips wherever he could. Upon your release the climactic end of the symphony blessed his ears and he was certain that if it was somehow possible, it had certainly made him harder. "So good for me." He slid his fingers out of you, the need to taste you winning when he brought them to his mouth.
“Need you inside, Finny, please." Your hands lead his face back close enough to kiss as you tried to catch your breath.
“You sure you're ready, angel?” You nodded eagerly, legs lifting to cross around his torso, pulling him closer.
“Yeah. Are you?" Your voice was so sugary sweet and addictive, every part of you was, if he died he was sure every part of you would consume his senses first.
“Yeah." His hand moved to softly caress your face, moving small strands of hair that had begun sticking to it away. Carefully he lined himself up with your entrance, stroking your cheek before he slowly pushed himself in. The sounds of both of your moans mixed in the air, intertwined as your bodies were. “Feel so good, angel. Fits so perfectly, you were made for me, we were made for each other." It was true, he wouldn't be complete without you. He'd gone his whole life needing nothing more than you, in every sense of the way, you fit one another flawlessly. He felt so sensitive that he was scared he might already be on his way to the climax, which he only dreaded because of how close he felt to you when he was in the warmth of your walls. That you were as close as you possibly could be, yet he still longed to be nearer.
“Faster, please?" It was nearly incoherent as you babbled through your whines, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, as if you were still somehow trying to pull him in further. He happily obeyed your plea and sped up his ministrations, thrusting through his own climbing pleasure as he moaned. “Missed you so much, Finn. Can't live without you, you're-" Your own moans interrupted your train of thought and you took a moment to regain some type of verbal composure. “Only ever wanted you, only needed you. Meant to be." He was able to decipher your proclamations through the whines and over the sound of his own noises, it brought him ten times closer to feel so basked by your love.
“Not gonna let anyone hurt you ever again, I'm gonna take such good care of my wife. Promise." The security you both needed, that you both ached for and could only be guaranteed once the reign of Snow had toppled entirely. You looked ethereal, your face scrunched up with each noise you made, hair splayed out around you, eyes glazed over with adoration and pleasure. He was so hypnotized by the way love seemed to have filled every crevice of the room and whisped around that he barely even registered that he was at the very top of his climax. He'd let go at what felt so suddenly that he'd simply thrusted further inside of you as you moaned at your own release. It wasn't until the thrill had mostly passed that he remembered his own fears. “Shit, shit, shit.” He muttered as he pulled out of you completely.
You sat up almost instantaneously and he could feel the panic radiating off of you. "What, are you okay?”
You were so sweet. "Yeah, I'm fine, sweet girl. I just…" He trailed off, staring at you, wide-eyed, anxious to help at any indication something was wrong. For years, nearly a decade he had loved you, something that somehow seemed to be constantly, rapidly increasing. Besides all the troubles you'd both endured he knew there was nothing he would trade any of it for if he knew he could have you and now that life you both yearned for was just in grasp. Finnick had and would dedicate every second he could to sustaining that dream and keeping you afloat, and if he could do that, he could do the same if you did get pregnant. He sighed and leaned closer to you, “Nevermind, angel, just didn't pull out, but it's okay. We're so close to freedom I can taste it and I want a family with you so bad. Finally going to be able to have our perfect little family and perfect little life." He crawled into the bed near you, kissing your face.
“You really want a family with me?" Your eyes were wide with an adorable hope, like you hadn't really accepted that he really wanted to be with you. He scoffed like the doubt was ridiculous.
“Of course I want a family with you, my sweet girl, I married you." He pulled you as close as he could get you, foreheads pressed together once again, making his heart buzz with contentment.
You smiled before looking for reassurance once again, which he was happy to deal out. “And you're gonna stay with me, right? Never gonna be a part or split up again?"
With all the sincerity possible he caresses your face again, “Never gonna leave you again, I promise, angel." You were blissfully pleased with his answer and kissed him once again.
But maybe Snow was right, even if it was unintentional, Finnick Odair was a liar and he in some ways resented himself for it. Yet it felt like there was nothing else for him to do when weeks later he found out about the squad Coin was putting together and he was absolutely certain that regardless of the shared training, the promises, he had to be on that squad, and you absolutely could not be.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Finnick couldn't remember the last time he'd be physically ill, but since you entered the arena, he'd spent every day fighting the nausea. The Capitol's medicine certainly helped, but when he got feverish he barely wanted to take the concoctions. No if you died, he'd let himself die of fever to be with you. This was all his fault for ever even breathing in your direction, for caring, and now he'd have to suffer for it. What kept him going was how he had to be presentable and therefore healthy enough to get you sponsors, to rally for you. So he downed the medicine and copious amounts of caffeine to try and stay awake, he couldn't risk missing anything regardless of the alliances supposed to keep watch when you slept, he knew how fickle those could be. He rallied harder than he ever had to keep the public opinion on your side, you were sweet, delicate, a hopeless romantic, trying to stay alive for love, so pure, naive, a princess being forced to slay the dragon. Per usual people gobbled up any word that fell from his mouth and the sponsors came when called.
Then the rain started and he prayed that the arena would flood, you could swim, you'd survive that way, but it didn't flood. Raindrops just pattered down as the temperature dropped and then in what seemed like a matter of minutes, a few days into the rain, you were sick. Never had he been so grateful to have withheld the money for gifts beforehand because now he could get you what you needed to stay alive. Your lips were turning blue and he felt like he was tripping over himself in anxiety to send it to you. The sound of the rain echoed in his ears as he desperately waited for the blanket to arrive. For you to be warm, to stay alive. That night was the first one he had let himself cry, where death felt so imminent that he was plotting ways to go with you.
You persisted, you were like that. He felt his spirits rise as you continued on, so smart, so resourceful. His stomach wasn't in complete knots until suddenly your facade was slipping. What the fuck were you doing? What the fuck were you saying?
“Seems there's a lot about you I don't know then.” Conway stood and stared at you, Finnick could feel the illusion cracking through the screen. It was never going to continue forever, but this was too soon.
You tried to be quick on your feet, to throw together words to save yourself. “I’m not saying that I want to, just that sometimes you have to do what it takes to survive. Even if it's difficult -”
Conway interrupted your attempted safe and in that moment Finnick's stomach dropped. “Untrue?" Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck himself and Conway and fuck your slip of tounge. The stress had clearly gotten to you and was messing with how articulate you usually could be with your words.
“Yeah, I guess."
Finnick couldn't help but start muttering out loud, “No, no, no, no, don't say that. Angel, please.” He felt like he was going to cry again, you were on the edge of a cliff and the rocks were cracking.
“I'm sorry if that upsets you, I'm just doing what it takes to get home." Of course you were, you were doing what you had to, like every victor had, but you shouldn't have said it. It definitely didn't help that the frustration was evident in your voice. There must have been a brick of lead in the bottom of his stomach. Now he could never be home with you. Conway knew, there was no way he didn't.
“It’s okay, I understand.” No he didn't. “It's just hard to come to terms with, when you remember that this is all designed to bring that out in us. To see the other side, not through rose colored glasses.” Then he kissed you and Finnick knew the tides had turned. You needed to catch on, you could not be the prey, not now. Say you have to pee and run. Dart to wherever you can and hide.
Yet you didn't, you stuck by his side, and didn't follow when he and the male tribute from 7 went off alone for a second as you all ate. Finnick felt numb as the two discussed how they would get rid of you and the girl from 7, eyes red and stinging as he stared at the screen. He was helpless, he could only hope you could get his telepathic message that you were in danger. You didn't and your death warrant had been signed.
He saw how disenchanted Conway was by you when you killed the girl from 2. How dare he be disgusted when you were doing exactly what you had too in order to survive. Finnick was screaming at you through the television when Conway led you away. Stay. Stay by the girl from 7, let her take out the threat of Conway. Don't go with him. It was so hard to watch, but he persisted because he had to make sure you were alive. Finnick despised the way Conway was luring you in, he didn't care if it was hypocritical, you needed to survive, to come back home to him. When Conway's lips crashed into yours as he pulled the knives, your only protection, out of your hands Finnick felt like he'd lost all grip on reality. He threw a glass at the screen which shattered with a resounding crash, bubbly liquid cascading across the room, but he didn't care. Not when you were being led straight to your death, a ticket to a train that kept you forever away from him on this Earth.
You appeared so innocent and trusting, but with a glance Finnick could tell how scared you were, that you knew something was no longer quite right. Then the foot tapping started and if Finnick's stomach could get heavier then it did, too obvious. Any chances of you being able to play the role of the naive ingenue were long gone because Conway knew what it meant too. Then you did as Finnick had begged you to do long before, you ran. Predator and prey. You ran, he chased. Conway's long legs gave him an advantage as he sprinted after you, calling your name out in the tense air. You tried to hurtle yourself upon the closest tree and Conway had pulled you down in seconds.
This was it, the end. Finnick could feel his eyes welling with tears as his yells intertwined with your screams of begging Conway to let you go. He didn't know when he did it, but the coffee table had been toppled over on the floor, objects scattered across the carpet. Conway spewed on and on about how he knew you didn't love him, your heart was clearly owned by another, and how he was getting back at you now. You fought like hell, trying to squirm your way out of his arms until a knife was firmly plunged in your side. The scream you let out was so gut wrenching that let himself crumple onto the floor. Knees pulled up to his chest, face wet with a steady stream of tears, he was so helpless, so broken to not be able to save you.
You, however, made the tides change when your hands, now covered in defensive wounds, sharply forced themselves into Conway's eye. He screamed, trying to cover it, and you'd instantly darted up. Suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel again, you were so smart, you'd halted him long enough to grab the spear. Finnick held his breath until the cannon went off, you'd overcome it, and he hated that he'd doubted you would.
Regardless of the fact that there were two tributes left, part of the weight on his chest lifted. He knew the feeling of how adrenaline pushed through the body to get you through every kill to the victory when one was in the arena and he could see it in you. His eyes stayed glued to the screen and he felt like he was stuck to the floor. Fingers knotting into the carpet as he anxiously watched. Time passed agonizingly slow, it hadn't been long, but each second you were still in there was hell. A hell that burned his chest just as yours must have been was the girl from 7 was holding you under the water. Just hold your breath, don't panic, just keep holding it as long as you can. You were an excellent swimmer, you could do this. Your body flailed about, trying to break free, but the other girl was firm in her hold. He'd sink into the bathtub himself, go overfill it and drag his head under, force the instincts to hold his breath wouldn't kick in.
Oh how the Capitol would mourn but love the tragedy of every single lover dead. The story they would tell of how heart wrenching it was. A story that wouldn't be told because you'd found the spear and quickly thrusted it upwards. A cannon echoed. You'd won. You'd come back to him. He'd be yours. You'd be his. You'd be each other's. Tears of relief, of happiness racked through his body. Fate had granted you both more time, he would forever be indebted for it. He shot up from the floor, staring at you, “I'm gonna be with you so soon, angel, right with you. Never gonna leave." He'd do whatever he could to be with you as soon as possible, to hold you once again, it was exhilarating to know the work had not been in vain. He'd have to comfort you, console you, but it would all be worth it just to be with you once again. He couldn't even dream of ever leaving your side when he had you so securely back, the one person he loved more than life itself.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Finnick thought he'd had plenty of preparation for how you might respond when you found out that he'd convinced Coin you weren't mentally stable enough yet to be on the squad. He'd done it to protect you, to make sure you were safe, but he needed to be involved. It felt like a no-brainer that he had to help really take the Capitol down, take Snow down. Your emotions made his skin bristle with cold, you were stormy, hurt, betrayed. Which he hadn't done, he responded, he'd done it to save you.
“How could you do that to me?" Your voice shook as you wiped away the tears creeping up in your waterline.
“Angel, I can't let you go out there and die. I'm just keeping you safe." He tried to get closer, if he could just touch you that could reassure you of his pure, loving intentions.
“You think I'm gonna be safe when you die out there and I'm stuck completely alone?"
“I won't die." His eyes were pleading and yours were full of a white hot rage he'd never had directed at him on full blast before.
“I went through all the same training as you, I am my own person, you don't get to make decisions for me.”
“I don't want to control you, I want to keep you safe." How could you not understand? He sighed and took a step closer, which you countered. "Honey, I don't doubt that you're getting better, but this is war and if something happens that makes you go off…” Like him dying, like you being out there with him when his soul left the binds of the planet. “You could be a danger to yourself."
“I’ll be a danger to myself here too."
“There are doctors here who can take care of you, sweet girl. Please, I love you and need you here." Finnick tried to ignore the pressure of tears building up.
“All they'll do is sedate me and I'll never recover. I have to go with you, Finnick, you can't let me rot away alone." You got closer, hands finding his face. He adored the feeling but he couldn't savor it when your eyes were digging into his, bargaining with the depths of his soul. Which would not bend, it couldn't fold to you, no matter how much he wanted to be attached to you for every waking and sleeping moment. You must have sensed this incoming rejection when your face became stony and your grip began to slip away.
He tried to pull your hands back towards him, to keep contact, “It's just a couple of weeks, then we'll be free. We can go home together, live our lives, and have our perfect family. Just one more thing I've got to do."
You fully pulled away and he grieved the loss of contact. "You're punishing me, for leaving you in the arena, you're trying to get back at me for it.”
He shook his head as quickly as he could, "No, I'm not. You were just trying to follow the plan, I don't have any grudge over that, sweet girl. You did what you had too.”
"Like how you're doing what you have too, now?” The air felt stagnant in the silence of the beat as you stared at each other. You stepped closer again, hands grabbing his arms, pleading. “I know I was terrible, that I'm terrible, but please don't punish me for it. Please, Finn, don't do this to me." His head ached, his heart ached, everything ached.
“You're not a terrible person, I love you, and you can't go."
“You promised me-" You choked for a second on the tears in your throat, “You promised you wouldn't leave me." He thought about how you'd done the same and hated himself for thinking it. That was the thinking you already assumed he had and that's what he had to fight against.
“I know and I'm sorry, honey. It won't be long." Once again you pulled your body away from his, you looked so betrayed that it felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. “I promise."
He felt like he watched something frightening click in your brain, “You promised last time too." Your voice was low before your hands started moving rapidly around while you spoke. “This is you trying to get into my head, they were right, but you're in my head instead. You're trying to psychologically get to me, oh my god, I get it now."
“No, no, no, no, no, no, honey, no. That's not real." Another step forward and you stumbled slightly as you quickly went backwards.
“Yes, you've been toying with me this whole time. That's why you keep pulling shit like this, you're trying to break me.” He was always digging himself into much deeper holes.
"Angel, I'm not. I'm trying to keep you safe. I swear, the stuff you're thinking, that's not true.” Your arms crossed around your chest. “This is why you can't go, this is dangerous."
“I'm not crazy!" You looked at the ground, shaking your head as the tears began falling.
He stepped closer, “Nobody's saying that, you're not crazy. I know that. You just need some more time."
“If I needed more time, why wouldn't you stay?" You pointed at him, “You are a fucking liar and I wish you'd just have killed me instead of playing mind games on me."
You moved around so frantically that he had no choice but to grab you and he wanted to die himself when you flinched and shrunk into yourself. “I don't want you dead. I'm keeping you safe, I know I lied, I didn't mean to and I am so, so sorry.” His own dam protecting him from tears had broken and he began to cry. "I will come back so we can be together forever because I love you, that's what's real. When I'm gone and you're confused, know for a fact that I love you.”
“You can't go. If you go, I have this horrible feeling something bad will happen. Please, Finn, just stay with me.” The way his chest squeezed with guilt was nearly unbearable.
"I have to go.” He whispered and the way you completely broke down made him wish he'd never gotten close enough to be the one who hurt you like this. He caught you before you hit the ground and held you close. "We have time, I've got you, sweet girl. It's okay.” He soothed, rubbing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth to try and call you down.
When it was finally time for him to, the doctors did have to sedate you. It left him with echoes in his ears of how pleaded with him and how you cried. The thought of how much he would really be betraying you if he died kept him going. Every step of the journey was thoughts of you, echoes of you. Wondering if you were still sedated and how he'd make it up to you when you could finally be together again. Free from the reign of the Capitol and together. At least you were safe in District 13, you'd be upset, but protected until the world was ready to stop reigning terror on the two of you. That was until Coin sent in the replacement members for the squad and Finnick was sure he would absolutely lose it when you and Peeta walked off the craft, straight into another set of trials and tribulations determined to tear apart his happiness.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
thank you all so much for reading and all the fun discussions we've been having about all the details, I love you all so much. as always likes, reblogs, comments, feedback is all very very appreciated. love you all so so much 💋
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A Pretty Boy Is Still A Boy II
pairing: young coriolanus snow x fem. reader
summery - it was time for coriolanus to admit to himself that he wanted you for himself, because he too was a slave to his own needs.
word count: 2k+
contains: slight misogyny/slutshaming, mention of masturbation, suggestive themes, simp/sassy coriolanus who is down bad, enemies to lovers vibes, jealousy, toxic masculinity
inspo for this
part I
Coriolanus never thought of himself as someone pathetic. Of course, he had enough situations he found himself in that made him seem like he was, such as his slightly insane grandma, the rats that were lurking inside their apartment, or the times when his stomach growled too loudly at the wrong moments and his own body decided to betray him.
It was things that were out of his control that made him miserable and he was fully aware of that, which is why he did everything in his power to get the control he lost with the death of his parents back into his own hands, where it belonged. It was his right as a member of the Snow family.
However, his body betrayed him in more than one way, and this time, it took more than just a dainty dish to satisfy his hunger. He hasn't been able to admit it to himself yet, but he's getting to the point where he can no longer deny it. Whose fault was it this time that made him seem so pathetic for being horny almost every day? That he couldn't stop thinking about dirty things while doing dirty things - so much so that he was even more sensitive than usual because he couldn't stop jerking off for god's sake.
This is so embarrassing, I want to die. He thought to himself every time after he finished, leaning back on his bed with his free arm covering his vision. Maybe this was his karma for all the times he judged random guys for being stupid horny teenage boys, because as it turned out, he wasn't one bit better than them. Eating cabbage every day didn't kill me, but this certainly will. I can live with a rotten stomach but not without my pride, that's for sure.
Maybe Coriolanus can still fall back on not being pathetic if he would simply make you his scapegoat. Of course, it was your fault. You were the one who started this all in the first place. You with your funny sparkling eyes, your stupid seductive grin, and...
He rolled over onto his stomach and screamed into his pillow in frustration. This can't be happening to me, I can't just be like those fucking pigs! Why are you doing this to me!
He didn't know whether he meant you or himself by the latter. He only knew one thing, and that was that he couldn't take this anymore. It had to stop. He straightened up and took a deep breath to collect himself before looking down at his pants. He was still hard, and he didn't have the privilege of simply taking a cold shower in situations like this if he didn't want to pay the water bill at the end of the month.
"Just one last time..." He whispered to himself and reached into his pants, since he always seemed to forget how long he would hate himself afterward when he thought of the pleasure waiting for him, as short-lived as it may be in comparison.
"I mean, I just can't believe he said that. To be honest, I just want him to leave me alone, you know what I mean?" Sejanus said, having barely touched his food since he was too busy telling his best friend about his worries.
Coriolanus just hummed as he ate his food in silence, listening with only half an ear. He would have preferred to not listen at all, but he didn't want Sejanus to start telling the story all over again by misinterpreting his lack of interest as him not understanding what he was talking about. You're living the life, man. I really don't understand what you're complaining about. And what if your father wished you were a little less whiny? It would do you more good than harm, to be honest. "He should be more considerate of your feelings." said Coriolanus monotonously, taking another bite out of his potatoes, only for it to stick in his throat when he saw your figure approach their table as he happened to look around the area.
You sat down across from the two of them and placed your tray on the table while your signature grin adorned your face. "Hello, boys. I hope you don't mind if I join you today."
Actually, I do. I do mind. but you didn't really seem to be asking for an answer since you'd already made yourself comfortable anyway. Why do you even ask if you're going to do what you want anyway. Coriolanus just kept looking at his food as he listened to the conversation between you and Sejanus. At least I get something out of it.
"Of course not. You're always welcome here." Sejanus assured you with a nice smile. "Still, I hope you're not here because you fell out with the other girls or something?"
You shook your head. "No, everything is the same as always. Besides, I spend so little time with you guys. I thought I'd change that." You said and picked up your cutlery. "And well, Claudia's getting on my nerves a bit. Did you know that she has a crush on Mr. Augustus? He's such an ugly old man, I really don't know how it could have come to this." You said a little disturbed and didn't mention that she had severe father problems.
Both boys grimaced at what you said, one more than the other. Augustus was known for smelling like bacon, and he also had more than one gray hair on his head. On top of that, he always wore funny shoes that made his feet look weirdly long. "I really don't want to judge anyone, but that's really kind of weird. like Mrs. Nerva is right there. Why are you looking at old Augustus?" He asked, mentioning the pretty physics teacher.
You nodded vigorously. "That's exactly what I said too, but yeah, I don't want to elaborate on that." You tried to change the subject. "You've let your hair grow out quite a bit, haven't you, Sejanus? I didn't know you had such cute curls. They totally suit you. I love it." You gave him the compliment.
Coriolanus looked up for the first time, to the right, where he saw Sejanus smiling a little shyly from ear to ear. He couldn't help but bite the inside of his cheek in annoyance. I have curls, too. He thought somewhat bitterly but was too self-confident in his appearance to think that you preferred Sejanus over him. And they suit me way better than him.
"No, they make you look cute. Don't worry about it." You assured the Sejanus after he said that he was worried that his slightly longer hair might make him look a little unkempt. "More than usual, actually."
He couldn't believe it. Were you just flirting with that stupid district boy while he was sitting right in front of you? You've got to be joking. And what was even worse than that was that Sejanus was eating your words out of your hand like a tranated dog. Calm down. She's just calling you cute. Girls pay the same compliment to a handbag. If anything, she doesn't see you as a man. I mean, cute? Come on.
You never called him any endearing names other than that stupid Snowy and it wasn't like he minded or anything - he didn't care - but you always seemed to do it to everyone else and never him, which is just unfair. Doesn't matter. Didn't want some whore flirting with me anyway.
"Is something wrong, Snowy? You're so quiet." He finally heard your voice say and only now realized that Sejanus had left. You noticed his slight confusion. "Oh, he had to leave already. He said he didn't want to be late for his literature class. You don't have any classes now, do you?"
He couldn't look you in the eye. "No, I don't."
You smiled. "Me too. If you don't mind, maybe we could - "
" - do you not find me attractive?" Coriolanus interrupted you, finding his own statement very uncharacteristic of him. He shouldn't care, but he just had to know. He wanted an answer so he would stop thinking about a reason - thinking about you.
His sudden statement had thrown you off a bit. It took you a second, but the look in his eyes told you that he was completely serious. That's a bit unexpected, but I'm not complaining. "Well, of course I find you attractive. Isn't that obvious? Kids are annoying, Festus is into Aurora and has no chance, trust me I know and Coriolanus is..." You searched for the right words. "...a pretty boy."
He raised an eyebrow. He didn't have the information he wanted yet. "So?" He asked, trying not to think about how you said his name. Now, he felt like it was rather counterproductive to even bring this whole thing up in the first place.
Your eyes looked a little confused around the area. "So what?" You asked him and saw in his face an answer like, don't make me say it out loud, which led you to only be able to speculate about it. He seems a little insecure, and it seems like it has something to do with me, so.... "Why am I not trying to get into your pants?" You tried to read his mind.
He abruptly leaned in front of you. That wouldn't exactly have been his choice of words. "Don't say it so loudly." He whispered somewhat aggressively. There weren't that many people in the canteen anymore, but better safe than sorry. "...but I mean, yeah."
You just laughed, very amused. "Well, I'm not going to confirm or deny that I usually do this sort of thing, even if you think you've totally figured me out." You started and grinned. "And what? Do you want me to do it?"
Well, now he felt kinda very exposed, and you even teased him a little further when he didn't answer you directly. "I mean, to get into your - "
He interrupted you before you could repeat it again. "I know what you meant! And no of course I don't!" He exclaimed in a loud whisper, aware of how emotional he sounded. "What I'm saying is, no. I was just curious since you seem to be flirting with everything that breathes." He accused you. Just not with me.
Your mouth formed an O when you finally understood what he was getting at. He felt excluded. "So that's what this is about. Well, I don't know, I suppose you're just too pretty for me to just hit on you like everyone else." You said very obviously flirting with him right now. "Aren't you too good for that? The way I would flirt with you would be to take you out to dinner and then run my fingers through your pretty hair. Something more special."
So, she does like my curls. Knew it. The way you put it sounded just right, but he couldn't help but feel that it sounded a bit like... "I'm not a petite girl." He said offended. Somehow, your answer confused him even more than before, as he assumed it was just lust that attracted him to you. Stop thinking about going on a date with her. Are you out of your mind?
"So you wouldn't like it? That's too bad." You said, a little disappointed. You were really glad that Claudia was getting on your nerves today. Otherwise, you would never have found out how much fun it is to talk to Snowy. You had a little inkling that he wasn't quite as stoic as he always presented himself, but you didn't suspect that your behavior would be his downfall. You shouldn't have neglected him like that, but you were happy that you did.
Coriolanus wanted to deny it. He didn't want to admit it under any circumstances, but that would mean that he had to carry on as before. You seem to be attracted to him, too, and the fact that he knew that made it clear that he would not stop imagining what could be. Unless he confessed, of course. "I never said that." He replied.
"I'm happy to hear that." You said grinning brightly. "I take it you're free this weekend?" You asked him, aware that he would cancel everything else for you. You could see it in his eyes - he was yearning.
"I am." He replied, ready to plunge into new waters. Maybe that could satisfy his longing and everything could go back to normal like it was before. Where no single person had this much influence over him as you did now.
He tried telling himself that he wasn't like other men who wanted the whole cake, after one bite. Though, deep inside he knew that he was indeed just that. You already proved that to him.
#x reader#x female reader#x you#the hunger games#hunger games#coryo x reader#coryolanus snow#coryo snow#spicy content#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x you#coriolanus x reader#sejanus deserved better#sejanus plinth#tbosas#hunger games x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#young coriolanus snow x reader#tom blyth
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Sweet Fruit ~ Jace x Snow!Reader
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
summary: You and Prince Jacaerys cannot stay away from each other, no matter how much you need to.
rating: 18+ (detailed warnings below the cut)
note: specifically for my love @osferthsbussy😘
warnings: p in v, spanking, choking, size k*nk lowkey, slight humiliation, punishment, fem receiving oral, breeding kink
Since the encounter in your chambers, you waited with bated breath for Prince Jacaerys to arrive at your door later that night. You’d taken a hot bath to prepare, lathering yourself in sweet oils and wrapping yourself in your favorite shift.
You seated yourself in front of the fire, wrapped in furs, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The night grew longer and your candles burned until the wicks were spent, a hole gnawed in your gut at your empty bed.
You try not to appear too disappointed, though you do not see the Prince for several days after this incident. He has gone with Cregan to hunt, and does not return for nearly a week’s time. Even then, he avoids you, until Cregan announced a feast at the week’s end.
There was no avoiding you then. You’d dressed in your best gown for the occasion, a deep maroon, with an exceptionally tight bodice. Your brother, with the dragon prince by his side, greeted you as you entered the hall.
“Surely you’ve heard the news sister,” Cregan says while embracing you.
Your eyes flicker to Jacaerys before you shake your head.
“We shall ride south, in the name of the true Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Cregan tells you, lifting his goblet high.
You smile incredulously, eyes flickering toward the prince, who shall not meet your eyes.
“Congratulations, my prince,” you tell him bitterly, “The North is truly yours.”
Jace mumbles a thank you, nodding his head politely. He is nothing if not a gentleman.
“I suppose you must be thrilled to head back to your betrothed,” Cregan says, clasping a hand on his back, “I understand Lady Baela was not pleased with your plans to wed her after the war, rather than before.”
“No, she was not,” Jace agreed, brown eyes finally meeting yours.
“She may rest easy knowing you shall be wed soon,” Cregan says, smashing his goblet against Jace’s, “For when the wolves ride south, we shall take your mother’s throne back within the fortnight!”
The hall cheers at Cregan’s words but your eyes are locked on Jace’s. What about me, your eyes ask. What about me?
“Congratulations again, my prince,” you tell him, smiling tightly and curtseying.
You turn away from him, moving into the crowd, but you feel his presence close on your heels.
“Y/N-”
“I’m sure Lady Baela is wonderful,” you tell him, “She shall make a lovely bride.”
Jace reaches out, grabbing your arm. You stop, looking back at him, eyes flickering from his hand that clings to you to his face.
“Careful, my prince,” you tell him, tugging yourself free, “Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong impression.”
You continue moving away from him, deciding to spend the rest of the night dancing, frolicking about, and kissing any man and woman you can get your hands on. Greedy, bastard girl, that’s what you are after all isn’t it? Nothing more, nothing less, least of all to the son of the heir to the Iron Throne.
Hours later a knock comes at your door. You pout, having been ready to drink yourself to a state of dreamless sleep, before opening the door. Jace pushes his way instead, closing the door swiftly behind him. You move away from his grabbing hands, unable to keep the disappointment from your face.
“Careful,” you tell him, “Someone could see. Wouldn’t want any word getting back to your lady wife, now would we?”
Jace stands by the door, hands curled into fists by his side, lower lip held firmly between his teeth. You watch him through watery eyes. His hair has grown longer since his time at Winterfell, the curls falling onto his shoulders. Your hands twitch at your sides; you’d like nothing more than to run your fingers through them.
“What are you doing?” he asks, softly.
“I’ve no idea what you-”
“No,” Jace interrupts, his voice calm, “What are you doing?”
You don’t speak. You just watch him, heart beating erratically in your chest.
“You’re leaving Winterfell,” you tell him.
“Yes,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours.
“Leaving me,” you clarify and he doesn’t answer this time.
You scoff, moving to fill a goblet with wine.
“You’ve acted inappropriately,” Jace tells you, “Tarnishing your reputation, your name-”
“Snow?” you ask, “Tis already tarnished. A bastard is born stained. I shall be this way all my life.”
His nose twitches.
“As shall you,” you hiss.
“The words you speak are treasonous,” he tells you.
“Kill me then,” you demand, “You rather enjoyed my treacherous mouth the other night.”
“Y/N-” he begins, but his voice trails off.
“Lie to yourself all you want,” you tell him, stepping closer, “Go to Dragonstone, marry Baela, father a dozen silver babes, and die.”
Your lip trembles, the word die coming out in almost a whine. Jace looks at you, eyes flickering about your face. He brings his hand to your cheek, stroking away a tear that falls. You close your eyes, trying to turn your face away but he holds your cheek firmly.
“Die,” you repeat, and he brings his hand to cup your other cheek, “Die.”
His lips are on yours and he greedily swallows your heated threat, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You kiss him back, grabbing the front of his shirt, and pulling him against you. It’s hungry and needy and aggressive but you don’t care. In here he is yours; within the walls of Winterfell, he belongs to you.
You tumble backward onto the furs of your bed, letting his weight fall on top of you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You move to remove his clothes, nails scratching at him desperately, one hand winding in his curls. Your center aches without him, you need him inside you desperately.
You’re not a maiden, haven’t been for some time. You’d gifted your maidenhead to a sellsword from White Harbor years ago.
Jace grabs your wrists, pinning them over your head, breathing heavily as his eyes meet yours. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, night shift bunched at your middle.
“You’ve not been kind this evening,” he murmurs in a rough voice, “You’ve tormented me yet again.”
“Tis because you are mine to torment,” you hiss, and he brings a hand to rest at your throat.
“When shall you learn?” he asks, applying the slightest pressure, “What must I do to make you behave?”
“Your cock is a good start,” you tease, feeling the mood begin to lighten, the heat beginning to pool between your thighs.
“You’re a mad woman,” he says, connecting your mouths once more in a passionate kiss.
As soon as he kisses you, he moves from on top of you, dragging you across his lap.
“You do require a lesson,” he tells you, moving your small clothes from your bottom half.
Your breath hitches as your small clothes pool around your ankles. Jace brings his hand down, harshly spanking you, the sound echoing like the cracking logs of your fire. He continues spanking you, one brutal slap after the other, his large hands squeezing and rubbing your aching cheeks between each blow.
You can feel yourself dripping on his thigh, the delicious sting only fueling the ache between your thighs. Your whimpers and sharp cries only spur Jace on as he continues to deliver your punishment.
“Tis not even a punishment,” Jace says, clicking his tongue and running a finger along your soaked folds, “Look how wet you are.”
He releases you then and you crawl off him, slumping to the floor. Humiliation tingles through you as you glance up at him. Jace runs his fingers against his leather-clad thigh, gathering the wetness that pooled there.
His eyes flicker to your face.
“Clean me up,” he orders.
You pause for a moment, before reaching for a handkerchief.
“With your mouth,” he instructs.
You blush scarlet, surprised by his lewd command. But you do as you’re told, positioning yourself between his thighs, bringing your mouth to his leather pants. You lick and suckle, tasting your arousal, whimpering as Jace moves some hair from your face. He’s soon satisfied, pulling your face away and kissing you, dragging you back to straddle him.
“Fuck I love the taste of you,” he says, sucking on your lower lip, “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink knowing this is what awaited me.”
He flips you onto your back, kneeling between your legs.
“How does one go back to the food of this realm when they’re tasted ambrosia?” he murmurs, moaning as his mouth covers your dripping slit.
A strangled cry rips through your lungs as his tongue curls against your inner walls. He laps his tongue against you desperately, as though he’s been wandering around the sandy dunes of Dorne, with nothing to quench his thirst. Though he enjoys the sounds you make with his tongue buried as deep as it can go inside of you, he prefers the small moans and pants that are elicited when he circles the tip of his tongue around your needy pearl.
He settles there, at the top of your mound, suckling in your pearl in his mouth until you’re crying out, scraping your nails against his scalp hard enough to draw blood.
Jace moves to lay on top of you, his nose brushing against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him against you.
“Please,” you murmur, “Please, please.”
His brown eyes meet yours, lips brushing against your own as you keep whispering into his mouth.
“Your maidenhead-”
“I’m hardly a maiden,” you admit, cheeks rosy with the confession.
Jace looks at you, eyes wide, not with judgement, but with something else.
“I…” he begins, “I have never…” he trails off, blush blooming on his cheeks.
You smile softly, smoothing his curls away from his face.
“You mean to tell me you are a maiden, my prince?” you softly tease, nails trailing down the side of his throat.
“I just have never…” he struggles to find the words, “Yes, I suppose I am.”
A giggle leaves your lips and Jace finds himself chuckling as well before capturing your lips in a heated kiss once more. You bring your hands to his breaches, feeling the hardness of his manhood eagerly pressing against the constraints of his pants. You free his cock with ease, letting it slap against your hand before wrapping your fingers around him.
A shiver rolls through you at his the thickness of him, the arousal pooling between your legs even more so at the thought of him inside of you.
“Will it…” Jace asks, face scrunching in pleasure as you stroke him, “Gods…will it fit?”
“Mhmm,” you assure him, though you are unsure, “The gods made us for each other.”
Jace kisses you as you guide him towards your throbbing center, running the fat tip of his cock along your soaked slit. Jace’s hips buck as the contact, and he begins to ease himself inside of you.
“Seven above,” he gasps, jaw slacked with pleasure, “Oh Seven save me.”
“Fuck,” you hiss at the burning stretch of him.
It is deliciously painful as he bottoms out, breaking you open, nearly splitting you in half.
“Are you…?”
“A moment,” you tell him, through clenched teeth, “Just a moment.”
“Take all the time,” he assures you, placing soft kisses across your face.
You wait, letting him rest within you before you begin to return his kisses, nodding for him to move. Slowly, carefully he lifts his hips, dragging his cock along your tender walls, before rolling them against you. The sounds you begin to make have Jace trembling above you, continuing his thrusts.
“Seven hells,” he grunts, the sound of skin slapping filling the room, “So tight, so warm, fuck.”
You claw desperately at his shoulders, his back, anywhere that brings him closer to you. His cock feels so perfect inside of you, the pain nearly completing gone and replaced by white hot pleasure.
Jace glances down between you, where you both are connected, watching his soaked cock slide in and out of you. He moves a hand to your lower stomach, pressing down. All the pleasure seems to zero in where he presses, as though he can feel with his hand the bulge of his cock through your lower stomach.
“Jace,” you whine, feeling your limbs tingle with the promise of your imminent release.
“Squeezing me so tight,” he moans, “Fuck, I can feel it.”
Your legs tremble around him as your second climax washes over you, constricitng his cock in a vicelike grip.
“You’ve peaked?” Jace asks, noting the way your face scrunches, the way your cunt constricts him, “Seven hells you’re fucking perfect around me.”
He moves your left leg then, hooking it over his shoulder as he continues to plow into you. Each thrust in your quivering cunt sends heat pooling in your belly.
“Taking me so well,” Jace says, eyes trained on his cock dissappearing inside you, “Seven hells, I’m close, what…”
“Stay,” you beg him, “Stay inside me please.”
Jace’s answering kiss is ferocious, his hips desperately slapping against you, his pace increasing.
“I’ll stay,” he tells you, mouth pressed against yours, “I’ll stay with you.”
Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him hungrily. Jace moves his lips across your face, down the crook of your neck.
“Seven hells, I’m going to fill you with my seed,” he moans, “Watch you swell with my children.”
“Please,” you tell him, “I’ll give you many sons.”
“How many?” he questions.
“However many you desire,” you whimper, “Keep me full always with your seed, swollen with your child.”
Jace’s answering moan and stuttering of his hips tells you that’s exactly what he intends, as you feel the warmth of his seed fill your throbbing cunny. As he unsheathes himself from you, you can feel your mingled releases dripping from your center.
The unpleasant empty feeling is short lived as Jace plunges two thick fingers inside of you, curling them against your sweet spot. You gasp as he fingers you towards your third peak, utilziing his thumb to tap at your sensitive pearl.
“You must keep it inside you,” he murmurs, “Your cunny responds so well to me.”
“Fuck, fuck!” you squeak, legs thrashing as your peak washes over you.
Jace keeps his fingers sheathed in your cunt, but moves to lay on top of you. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, uncosciously.
“Does my lady need more?” Jace asks, gently curling his fingers, stroking your most sensitive spot.
A sharp whine leaves your lips and you burrow your face against his chest. He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest.
“No please,” you tell him, “Too much.”
“I shall stop,” he tells you, uncurling his fingers.
“Stay,” you tell him, placing kisses across his chest, “Stay with me.”
Jace doesn’t answer with words, he doesn’t need to. He stays with you the remainder of the night, and the following evening you are bound together beneath the Weirwood tree in the godswood, before the eyes of the Old Gods and the New.
note: hope you liked it! just realized I don't have a Jace taglist so will be reblogging with general HOTD tags!
#hotd jacaerys#jace smut#jace velaryon x reader#jace velaryon x you#jace velaryon#jace x reader#jace velaryon smut#jacaerys valaryon x reader#jacaerys fic#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x reader#jace x you#jace x y/n#jacaerys x y/n#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon smut#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys velaryon imagine#hotd smut#jacaerys smut
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Snow and Rose
An idea by @violettelune
Reformed!Johnny Slaughter x fem!reader
Welcomed readers: @sup-im-blue
Tw: mention of blood and death, him being a dad, mainly his pov, just something fluffy, not prof-read
He woke up to another nightmare. Johnny dreamt that he found you dead in the sunflower field, your blood stained on his hands, lifeless eyes looking up. Then he heard his daughter crying in the distance. No matter how fast he ran towards her cries, he was never close enough. He was never there in time. It always ended with Nancy standing over the crib and a wicked smile on her face.
“Freed ya, Johnny. Now you can come home,” she would say. “Now you come back home. Come home.”
At his feet, barbed wire and chains wrapped around his legs and arms, pulling him to the ground. He felt roots sewing him to the wooden floor into front of his mother as he looked upon her and her smile. He felt chainsaw blades strangling him as he tried to scream your name, but sunflowers and daisies poured from his lips. His world filled with his victims, his deaths, and they all look at him with empty, lost eyes. He knew their names; how could he forget them? Then his eyes focus to the center and sees you and his child in a broken marble block, red tears falling from your eyes as you look on your child. He tastes your blood, your flesh between gasps and teeth. He hates this. He loves you. Stop. Stop it!
Wake up.
He would wake up in sweat, sometimes shutting, sometimes falling out of bed and pushing away from the bed and from you.
Tonight, however, he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, his dark eyes looking around like a scared wild animal. He looked down at your sleeping form then up at the cracked door leading into the hallway. He needed to check. Johnny just needed time check.
He got out of bed, put the blanket over your shoulder, and crept out of the room but something in his chest didn’t sit. He came back and kisses your head. “Be back, y/n,” he promised. “Keep my side warm.”
He may not be a hunter, but he still kept his talents. He can walk without noise, he can move without sound, and he can be hidden without being seen. Johnny uses that talent whenever his daughter is asleep when he comes home from a long day from the butchers. That’s why he got the job in Wisconsin; the butcher need another slaughter, and he’s good at it. Why waste a talent? He’s used to the blood, to the kill, but these are animals, not man. But he got the job to leave Texas. He swore to the stars he’ll never go back.
Johnny made that promise in a burned down church two years ago, and he stuck to it still.
He snuck out the room and down the hall to the open white door to the cotton candy pink room. He lets out a deep sigh as he came over the little white crib he built and looked down. Ophelia Rosemary Sawyer, his 5 week-year-old daughter, slept like a rock in a pink onesie with a bear in the center. Whatever fear he had, the nightmares, the shadows and ghosts— it all faded when he saw her sleeping in peace. Shes his rock, his world, his reason.
Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand and touched her head, and his heart fluttered when she moved into his hand. She’s not scared of him. As if she’s glass, he picks her up slowly and cradles her. He sneaks to the wooden rocking chair in the corner and rocks back and forth. The moonlight lit the room as the snow fell gently over the evergreens.
“Hey there, little sunshine,” he whispers. “Don’ worry. Daddy’s just needed ya.” He looks down at his world and rests his forehead against hers, kisses it, and holds her close. “I swear you’ll never be alone, ever. I love you… I’ll never not love ya.” Then he looks outside, stands up, and takes her to the window. “Look at ‘at, Ophelia,” he whispers in her small spot of brown hair, “it’s your first snow. So pretty an’ bright.” He looks out at the fields and forests, the farmlands and homes, and he thinks about the fireflies and waving weeds he left behind. “Daddy ain’t goin’ away, sunshine. I promise.”
He closes his eyes breathed out slowly. “Texas can keep the fireflies,” he looked down at his child, his blood and flesh, and his heart swelled, “I got my snow and rose.”
“Johnny?” Your voice was enough to make him jolt but he relaxed. “Why are you up? Is Ophelia okay?” You joined his side and looked down at your child. “I didn’t hear her.”
“Naw,” he answers, rocking on his heel, his eyes not leaving his child. “Sleepin’ like a lamb.”
You rested your head on his arm as he looked outside. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he said as he laid his head on top of yours.
“Is this your first snow?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is it everything you’d imagined?”
He thought for a moment as he took in the land before him. He could imagine Ophelia and her friends running wild outside with sleds, building snowmen, having a snowball fight out back. He could see himself with you during a star filled night while the children sleep, slow dancing with you in the snow, kissing you sweetly while whispering praises. He thought about Texas and the heat, but he thought about you smiling while it snowed, his kids playing, and him giving you a cup of cocoa.
“Everything and more, moonbeam,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. He leans down and kisses you tenderly. “I love you, y/n.”
“And I love you, Johnny,” you said back. You looked back at the snow, and you both watched it fall over the moon lit snow.
#tcm johnny#johnny slaughter x reader#johnny slaughter x you#johnny sawyer x reader#johnny tcm#johnny sawyer#johnny slaughter#tcm fanfic#slasher fanfiction#slasher x y/n#slasher x you#slasher fanfic#slasher x reader#Johnny sawyer x you
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the ghost of you. (welt yang x reader)
summary: welt finds another version of 'you' among the stars.
tags: welt yang x gn!reader, reader is implied to have been a valkyrie, light spoiler's for hi3rds second eruption, implied march 7th/stelle, sorry for hurting the old man </3
It takes Welt months to rebuild his body.
He had known how the war ended; known that the Void Queen was neutralized and that the Abyss Flower had done much to mitigate the causalities of the war. Welt tells himself that he did all he could, and hopes one day that he can believe it.
Though, he can tell something is amiss. His body and mind may still be getting used to having shape again, but Tesla and Einstein are quieter around him, gentle, even. Even if he could hardly walk they would never treat him like he was fragile; they had been proponents of tough love since he was a child.
Maybe he should contact you and see what was going on... Einstein and Tesla were always more open with you, anyways.
Still relearning his steps, Welt limps out of his room and into the main atrium. Einstein speaks on her comm to Amber, while Tesla types behind her hologram's screen.
"You--?! What are you doing out of the infirmary?" Tesla huffs, quickly wiping her eyes on her sleeves. Einstein turns to face Welt, then hangs up her comm quickly.
"Relax, I'm fine." Despite his words, he finds himself gripping the side of a desk to keep himself upright. "Just wanted to check in with a special someone. It's been too long since I've heard from them, I want to make sure all is well where they are."
Einstein and Tesla share grave looks, Einstein immediately getting up and leaving the room afterwards. Tesla bites her lip, slamming her fist down on the table before grabbing a manila envelope, crossing the room over to Welt with an angry stride.
She hands him the report with watery eyes, apologizes with a gentle touch to his shoulder, then exits the room.
Welt immediately knows something was very wrong. Tesla rarely was emotional without getting angry; if it was something that he did wrong, he'd be sitting in a lecture right now. Besides, she had already scolded him for playing hero. This was something much worse.
His mind works in autopilot, he falls into the empty seat at the desk. Welt pulls the report into his lap, and his heart sinks when he sees it's your Valkyrie profile. His eyes move to the bottom of the page, fighting the panic welling up in his chest.
19xx - Killed in battle against the Herrscher of the Void alongside Cheng Lixue. Body retrieved by Schicksal.
Welt reads the words over and over, as if the repetition would somehow change their meaning. His eyes dart up to see the picture of you in the corner of your file. In the picture you were shining, alive.
You were just 18, then, recently graduated from St. Freya's. He hadn't met you yet, but you had told him many stories about your time there. You even expressed interest in teaching there one day, once you weren't needed on Squad Snow Wolf.
Welt sets the folder on his desk in a neat pile, and buries his face in his hands. He should have been there; should have known you would've done something reckless. He could save billions of people as a Herrscher, but he couldn't save the one person who he loved more than the world.
Welt hopes that in your last moments, you knew how loved you were.
When Tesla comes to check on him later, he's asleep, but she can see that he had been grieving. His face is red, eyes puffy; curled up like he intended to suffer alone. Just like he did as a boy.
-`♡´-
It was meant to be a quick stop at a smaller planet. Somewhere near the Xianzhou Luofu where they could rest after they dealt with the Stellaron crisis. Himeko asserted that all of them deserved a little break.
Himeko ended up choosing a rich planet that traded often with the Luofu; they even had a huge shopping district that March 7th just had to see. March 7th had dragged Stelle and himself along for the trip, and somewhere along the line he had gotten separated from the pair of lovebirds.
Oh well, better to give them some time alone, he thinks.
Welt sighs as he sits down on a bench. The suns shine brightly in the sky as he takes in the sights. Outside the shopping district it was mostly quiet, save for the people training across the courtyard. If he squints hard enough, he can just barely see what they're doing.
He becomes so engrossed watching them spar that he hears it before he sees it. A loud whizzing noise that has him casting his body towards the end of the bench, away from whatever was coming straight at him.
"Apologies." The person calls, jogging on over to the bench. Another inch and the spear would've lodged into his arm. He can feel the cold radiate off of it. He scoots over as far as he can, adjusting his glasses. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think my sparring partner would dodge."
Welt finally looks up at the person who had almost killed him, and the words catch in his throat.
It was you, maybe a little taller, a little older than he remembers, but still you. There is no world, no lifetime in which he wouldn't recognize you.
Welt had thought the ghosts of those he left behind could be ignored. Himeko, Bronya, even the one who looked like Otto... he was fine worrying over them from a distance. He knew that they weren't the same people he knew; their faces might be the same, but their personalities, their destinies were not.
But you... he never expected to see you. On lonely nights he found himself pondering the what-ifs, but he dismissed the possibilities as foolish whims. Even if he did find your counterpart, it still wouldn't be the same person he knew as a best friend, as his only love.
"Joachim?" You say, and he flusters. It had been so long since he heard your voice say his name; his heart races at the mere word.
"How did you...?" He starts, clearing his throat. "How did you know my name?"
Your eyes widen in shock, hand covering your mouth. "Sorry, I didn't... You just look like someone I know. Knew."
Welt wants to press you more, he wants to surge forward and pull you close and live in your embrace for an eternity. But instead he grips his cane tighter. He needed to control himself, like he did around every other counterpart of his own world.
"I was going to say the same thing about you." Gentle. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, not daring to breathe, lest it shatter the illusion. You're the first to look away, eyes growing glassy as you force back the tide of emotion building in your chest.
"I need to get back to training." You say simply, tapping your lance against the earth.
And before he can get your name, to see if it's the same as the you he knew, you run off back to your sparring partner.
When you're out of sight, Welt feels it hard to breathe. He shouldn't leave you behind; he should reach out his hand and talk to you. Just for a little while, just to satiate that nagging feeling taking root in his chest.
And yet he can't bring himself to follow. The world around him feels hazy, his whole body aching with longing. He walks around the grounds aimlessly until the suns set in the sky, telling himself over and over that this wasn't really you. That his incessant curiosity would only get you both hurt.
But when he closes his eyes that night, he can't help but hope that he would see you again.
-`♡´-
Your name is the same.
Though, that should be the last thing on his mind as you pull your lance out of a dead Voidranger; its body disintegrating into the ether.
"Are you guys alright?" You ask, looking only at March 7th and Stelle. Your chest heaves with effort as you sheath your lance into the ground, leaning on it for support. "I didn't think that the Antimatter Legion had a presence here... This is very troubling."
"Yes, I'm fine!" March 7th speaks first, eyes glittering with excitement. "More than fine, actually! The way you and your friend swooped in like that was so cool! Can you teach me how to do that?!"
"You want her to teach you how to... swoop?" Stelle answers, scratching her cheek in confusion.
"Ugh, you know what I mean! Like make that dramatic and dashing entrance!" March clasps her hands together, lost in some fantasy. "You have a lance, Stelle, I'm sure you could be that charming if you tried."
Stelle mumbles something, and Welt steps in before the two can start their playful bickering. Your partner, a girl that looks about Stelle's age, calls your name. Whatever words the two of you exchange next are lost on him; he rolls your name around in his mind until you turn back to March.
"If you're interested in training with us, you could always join in one of our sparring sessions." You fiddle with the sleeve of your uniform. "I'm not sure how long you guys are staying, but if you have time I'd enjoy seeing an outlander's fighting style."
"You'll do it, won't you, Stelle?" March tugs at Stelle's sleeve, and Stelle shrugs at you. "And you too, Mr. Yang!"
Welt finally meets your eyes, and you smile sheepishly, obviously not expecting March to volunteer him for the training too. After you tell her the date and time, March skips off, her hand in Stelle's.
Without the crutch of March 7th, Welt feels himself not knowing what to say to you. You refused to even look at him, and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.
He would be okay with the rejection. In some ways, it would be better than you accepting him. It had been twenty years since your death, but Welt was just starting to rid himself of the guilt that came from not being able to protect you.
Time could heal some wounds, others would just bleed and bleed and bleed. Your death was one he knew he would never fully recover from. Seeing another version of you older and alive only made those old wounds ache. Like this is the you he could've been chasing the stars with.
"I'm sorry for them, they're a handful." He says, voice shaky. "Thank you for stepping in, though. I didn't want the girls to have to fight on our vacation."
"It's my job." You say. "It can get pretty rowdy over here, with how close we are to the Luofu. Most people here are merchants though... If we weren't here, they couldn't protect themselves."
"That's very admirable of you." Welt remembers you saying something similar as to why you became a Valkyrie. He adjusts his glasses, hoping you don't see the flush on his cheeks. "Most people wouldn't be brave enough to take up such a calling."
You shrug. "I actually joined on a whim. My family are traders, but I just felt like the universe was telling me to join. Like protecting people was my purpose." When Welt goes silent, you add: "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're not..."
"It's okay, I enjoy listening to your voice." Welt steps closer to you, but you step back. "I..." He starts, but can't bring himself to voice his feelings. To tell the you in front of him about the you from his world. "Never mind. I should go. It'll be dark soon. I... hope to see you again."
When you don't answer, he turns to leave.
"Wait." You say, clutching his sleeve. He can feel your nails dig into his arm through the fabric; Welt has to stop himself from shivering. "You're... okay, right? You didn't get hurt?"
Welt swallows, the urgency in your eyes making him feel hot. "Yes, I'm fine. You got here before it could really do much."
You hold eye contact with him, your jaw clenching tight. "I saw you step in front of them when that enemy first appeared. Are you sure it didn't hurt you?"
"...It did hit me, but I'm fine. Just some light bruising."
Your grip on him tightens. "Are you sure? I... don't want you to lie for my sake. There's a clinic nearby, I don't mind taking you there."
Welt's gaze softens. He almost wants to take up the offer to spend more time with you. "Yes, I promise you."
You release his sleeve, walking back over to retrieve your lance. He feels himself missing the contact.
"Okay, good. I just know... my Joachim would lie about that kind of thing to put my mind at ease." You shake your head, expression heavy with grief. "But you're not him. When I look at you, I forget myself. I apologize."
-`♡´-
Himeko crosses her legs, picking up her teacup on the round table in front of her. Welt squirms under her inquisitive gaze.
"You've been acting strange lately." Himeko taps a manicured nail against the glass, inhaling the scent of her 'coffee'. Welt wonders how she can stand it. "I know we both have our secrets, but something is obviously bothering you. I wish you would tell me what it is."
Welt pretends to take a sip of the coffee Himeko made him, making an exaggerated noise to show his approval. Welt had always been a tea person, anyways, and the black sludge Himeko made did not change his mind whatsoever.
"I... am not sure what you mean." He replies, eyes flicking to the floor.
"See? You can't even look at me when you say that." She rolls her eyes. "Darling, if something happened on this planet, I need to know."
Welt sighs, deeply. "Something did happen, but it's nothing you need to worry about."
"Nothing I need to know about, or nothing you want to tell me." Himeko sets her teacup down, focusing all her attention onto Welt. "I want to know if something's bothering you."
"I just... saw someone who looked like someone from my world." He swirls the coffee in his cup absentmindedly.
"Oh? Was it like what happened with Luocha?" She leans forward, red hair falling onto her shoulders. Welt can't help but think her curiosity was just like the Himeko he had once knew. He can't help but smile to himself.
"No, nothing like him." His voice is firm. "It was... someone important to me."
Her eyebrows raise, eyes bright with interest. "Oh? An old friend? ...An old flame?"
Welt takes a sip of the 'coffee'. Maybe if he died here he would be able to dodge her questions. "...Something like the latter."
"What?!" She sits back, cheshire grin on her face. "Mr. Yang, you never told me you had a lover back home!"
Welt's expression falls, and Himeko notices immediately. She quickly apologizes.
"Oh. Did... did something happen to them?" Himeko frowns sympathetically, patting his hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's fine. It was... a very long time ago." He admits. "But even so, seeing them again, even if it isn't them... I want to talk to them more. I miss their voice, I miss seeing them... Talking to them eases some of that ache."
"Then why not talk to them? To them, you're a stranger, right? It couldn't hurt anything."
"But they knew a version of me." Welt sets his coffee down, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "They knew my name instantly."
Himeko is quiet for a minute, turning his words over in her mind.
"You don't have to listen to me, but if I was in your situation... I would want to get to know them." Himeko smiles gently. "Welt, not many people get a second chance with a loved one. You don't have to feel the same way for them that you felt for the version of them that you knew, but the way I see it... It's easy to see that you feel guilty for losing them, maybe talking to them would help lessen that guilt. And if they lost their version of you, I'm sure it would be the same for them. Call it closure for the both of you."
Welt's eyes feel glassy; emotion threatening to choke him. Himeko was right. Denying himself would only leave him with one more ghost. He had enough of those for one lifetime.
"Thank you, I think I will."
-`♡´-
Welt decides to take up March 7th when she asks him to come and spar with you. Stelle decides she would go too, if only to show off for March 7th.
Stelle announces that she'll go first, and it's hard to take his eyes off the two of you. March 7th bounces excitedly on her heels beside him, cheering on Stelle as Stelle readies her lance to fight you.
You roll your shoulder, readying your own lance. Welt sees a determination in your eyes that he hadn't seen in a long while.
You and Stelle trade blows, but it was obvious that you were a much more experienced fighter. Stelle liked to overwhelm her opponents with a show of force, but you were more lithe on your feet. You move quickly, not letting any of Stelle's blows land. The you of his world was an A-rank Valkyrie, but even so you were still green to the title before your passing. Here, you seemed more confident, your moves fluid and graceful, but still powerful.
After a few rounds, Stelle concedes, running a hand through her sweaty hair. She uses her lance to propel herself off of the ground, going over to rest on the sidelines with March. You look relatively unfazed as you catch your breath.
"Mr. Yang, it's your turn!" March yells, pushing him forward. His glasses nearly fall off from the force. Maybe she should be the one fighting you...
"Well?" You say, cocking an eyebrow. You lean against your lance. "You wanna spar?"
"I don't... I mean..." Welt starts. "I didn't think I'd be fighting you."
"Aw, c'mon, Mr. Yang! Don't be scared!" March 7th winks at him. "We'll be cheering you on, right, Stelle?"
Stelle gives a lazy thumbs up, still laying in the grass. Welt sighs, knowing he can't get out of this; not when his two girls were cheering him on. And especially not when you were there, too.
"Well, alright. I suppose I can go a round or two." Welt picks up his cane; his ever reliable Star of Eden. "If you don't mind, that is."
"I'm down. Just don't go easy on me, okay?" You look serious, readying your lance. Welt nods, announcing that he's ready; it's you that makes the first move.
As you rush toward him, he realizes how much faster you were than he was. Were you holding back against Stelle? He just barely manages to dodge, losing his footing as he does so.
You take advantage of that and slam the side of your lance into his ribs, hard. Welt winces, stumbling back, managing to slow you down with the Star's gravitational powers. Stuck and slowed, you launch your lance at him, ice crystals forming underneath its path. He ducks just in time, but you've already managed to close the distance between you two. You were relentless.
You both trade blows for almost an hour after that, but it was obvious that you were wearing Welt out. Exhausted from just watching, March announces your victory, and drags you and Welt along to get victory dinner together.
Welt doesn't miss your smile as March slips her hand into yours.
-`♡´-
The cool night air doesn't bother him when he sits at your side. The indentation where your lance lodged was still in the bench; he can't help but smile.
Dinner was nice, March 7th seemed to pick up on Welt's fondness for you and made sure to have you both sit across from each other. You were a little more open when it wasn't just you and him; you laughed and told stories about your home planet. He enjoyed listening to your voice.
It was him who asked you to join him on a walk. You had seemed hesitant to accept, but did so anyways. He was glad.
"You're a very talented fighter." He says, sincere. "It's been a while since I've been bested like that."
"You were holding back." You shake your head. "I would almost be mad, but it's so like you. Or, the you I knew, I guess."
"I didn't want to hurt you." Welt grabs his ribs subconsciously; he can feel that they're already starting to bruise. "But it seems like I didn't need to hold back."
"...I just wanted to see how strong you were." You lean back, the golden hour glow making you look breathtakingly beautiful. Welt finds himself unable to look away. He wanted to commit this moment to memory before it slipped out of his grasp. "You're definitely stronger than he was. That's good."
Welt feels himself dancing on an invisible line, but he can't live with the regrets. He has to know. "What happened? To your version of me?"
You laugh, bitterly, feet kicking into the dirt. "He was always playing the hero. Rushing into danger so that no one else would have to... It was one of the things I admired about him before I started dating him. And after... it was one of the things we argued about the most."
Welt had heard this song before; you and Tesla would always scold him for acting recklessly. But he had a Herrscher core that he could rely upon, he's guessing your version of him did not.
When he's silent, you continue on. "It was just supposed to be a routine thing, you know. We were investigating a case about some stolen goods... but it turned out to be a trap. The guys expected us to come and... I was just too slow. They shot him before I even had a chance to react."
Welt puts his hand on your shoulder, but you pull away, sniffling. "It wasn't your fault."
"I know, I know. I've been told that a hundred times but... when you watch someone you love bleed out in front of you and you can't do anything... It just feels like it was. Like I should've been more careful or something." You shake your head. "Joachim was... he was supposed to be a teacher, anyways. He joined us because he needed the money. He shouldn't have been there."
Welt adjusts his glasses, thinking of how similar he was to your Joachim. Maybe if he hadn't met Welt Joyce, maybe if he didn't take up the mantle of Herrscher from him, this too would've been his fate.
"He seemed like a good man. I'm so, so sorry." Welt's voice is gentle. He wants to say more, but knows that words can do little to alleviate the pain of loss. All he can do is sit and listen.
You wipe your eyes with a sleeve, trying to even your breathing. Welt's hand lingers in the air, as if wanting to wipe away the tears spilling down your cheeks. "He was. He was the best." You sniffle, shaking your head. "I miss him every day."
"I know how you feel... I lost my version of you, too." He smiles, sympathetically. "It was over twenty years ago but I think about them every single day."
You look up at him, eyes glassy with tears. "What happened to them?"
He hadn't talked about your death since the day he found out. He didn't like to remember you that way; not when you were so vibrant in his memory, so full of life. When he talked about you, he told others his fondest memories of you. So that your memory would transcend time.
You deserved to be remembered.
"There was a... world-ending level threat on my home planet. I had fought as long as I could, but eventually I was too injured to go on. That's when... them and their squad member challenged the enemy to a fight. It was really a distraction so their friend could get away safely... They... were impaled by a lance." Welt leans forward in his lap, rubbing his face with his hands. "I always feel like I could have done more."
You touch his arm, so feather-light he's sure he imagined it. "Hey. If the other version of me volunteered to do that then... I'm sure they knew the possible outcomes." You give him a watery smile. "I don't think they would want you to feel guilty about it. I wouldn't."
Welt has to blink back tears. It was beyond cathartic, hearing that in your voice. "The other version of me wouldn't want you to feel any guilt either. It wasn't your fault, what happened. You deserve to be at peace."
You nod, slowly. He can still sense some hesitancy from you; it seemed your wound was much fresher than his own. Maybe if he kept reminding you then you would one day believe it.
The night grows dark as the two of you sit there, in a peaceful silence. You both think on happier days, and soon your head falls onto his shoulder.
"Maybe... maybe a change of scenery will help." Welt says, the stars above as your only witness. "What would you say about coming on a trip on the Astral Express with me?"
#welt yang x reader#welt yang#honkai star rail#hsr x reader#hsr#honkai impact 3rd#hi3rd x reader#imagine#angst#hurt/comfort#x reader#fic#:^)
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What have I done
Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader
Genre: angst
Words: 1200
Note: I'm back with some Ravenna angst, hope you'll enjoy it as much as I liked writing it.
For as long as you could remember you always lived at the castle of the king, your mother being one of his and his wife’s most trusted maids. You were still pretty young when the queen died, leaving the old man and his daughter Snow White in distress. You grew up in the happy kingdom of thrill and joy that started to slowly decay with every year you all mourned your late queen. But then, just as you turned into a lovely grown woman and got your own job at the castle, the king found a new wife, queen Ravenna. They all seemed so happy it felt unreal. Not long after however the old king joined his late wife in the gardens of Eden and all that was left was her majesty and the clueless princess, who ran away within the next year.
You could hardly understand it all and the land was unstable in times of such rapid changes. When you became the queen’s own maid, being young and freshly employed, Snow White was already wanted all over the country. To you, however, it wasn’t much concern. Your job was to make sure the queen’s comfortable in her clothes and shoes, massaging her feet and warming up her bed for the night. In the difficult times of doubt and uncertainty you slowly became her confidant. She could tell you anything, knowing you wouldn’t tell, and even if you did, no one would believe such unimportant being as her maid. From a confidant you became her friend and from a friend you build your way un to being her lover. You would never take any inappropriate step but when she invited you to her, how could you say no the most beautiful graceful being you have ever sat your eyes on?
You were still her servant willing to do anything and everything she ever asked for and giving her all you were, all you had and all you could ever get. You were completely and utterly taken by her glory, confidence and pride. It even made you a little proud yourself that the queen chose you over all the other men and women who fell at her feet every minute of the day. You took her joy and anger, anything she needed to release, all her good days and all the bad ones ended up with you being used in her bed. You could hardly ever stay, having to leave her warm cozy chambers to return to your cold and unwelcoming bed with a hard mattress and rat-gnawed pillow the moment she was satisfied with you.
With how fast and wholeheartedly you fell for the woman there was no stopping, no pleasure and no amount of kisses would be ever enough for you. You yearned for her presence and body as hard as the desert yearns for water. You needed her, longed for her at every second of the day. You could merge in the tightest hug on earth, eat each other in the most desperate of kisses and it still wouldn’t be enough. Yet lately it seemed her hunger exceeded yours, she needed release, assurances and the plain feeling of power. You became her most glorious possession, using you and savoring you at any moment she wanted to. With looking for more power and rule over the kingdom she became insatiable.
As you visited her in her throne room, she frantically walked around unable to sit still, her hair flying behind her with every turn like a veil of gold. To you she was still ethereal, the most beautiful of women on this earth. No matter how many worried wrinkles her forehead sported or the stressed pout on her lips. She was like a fairy with a flame that pulled in every moth around. It was obvious to you she was at her wits end, even if she’d never admit to it, being concerned with things you had no idea about.
“My queen.” You address her carefully. “May I help you?”
“Ugh, no. Leave me alone.” She hardly even spared you a glance.
“Maybe I can help you relieve some stress.” You tried again. “At least with a melissa tea?”
“I said get lost!” Ravenna angrily shouts at you and harshly slaps your face. “Now get out of my sight!”
“I’m sorry…” You whine holding your cheek with tears evident in your eyes.
“Oh don’t play that innocent little girl with me you spawn!” your emotional reaction infuriates her even more. “Your father never loved you and your mother rather died so that she didn’t have to be with you anymore. I don’t want to see you here again, you hear me!?”
You could hardly listen to her words anymore, running out of the room to not give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. She liked hurting you, she liked having the dominant power over anyone. Yet never has she been so cruel and evil to you. At that moment, you believed her. You believed she wanted to get rid of you, to never see you again. So that’s what you did. You packed the few little things you owned and you left, your heart breaking into million little pieces as you left the only home you ever knew and the woman you loved so hard you could die for her. Yet you’d do anything to make her happy and if she desired you gone you’ll leave.
Ravenna on the other hand got her temper under control once again in a few days, establishing somewhat steady rule over her kingdom. All she wanted now was to enjoy a little piece of quiet, preferably with the tea you always made for her with the littlest bit of mint and honey and with your massage and presence. But after she ringed her bell to call you to her, a different girl came in your place, taking care of her with her gaze fixed on the ground.
“Where’s Y/n?” she barked at the girl, her mood immediately worsening.
“I don’t know madam, she left.” The maid answered fearfully.
“What do you mean she left?” no one had the audacity to leave her service on their own.
“She said you expelled her, so she left.” The girl shrugs looking at her queen this time.
“That is ridiculous! Bring me my guard.” She orders the girl who bows to her and leaves.
Not long after comes the commander of her guards, coming up with a plan for your search with her. The army turned every corner of the castle upside down to find you, and they rummage the whole city, but you’re nowhere to be found. Ravenna sends out unit after unit to travel to all the corners of her kingdom to find you, fearing what might happen to you in the wild and dangerous world. She wasn’t sure you were even still in her kingdom or alive, and that worried her infinitely. She didn’t realize how attached she grew to your presence and joyfulness, enjoying your mannerisms and easily pleased outgoing nature.
“What have I done.” She whispers into the darkness of her chambers feeling cold and unwelcoming without you in them.
#fanfiction#fanfic#queen ravenna#queen ravenna x reader#queen ravenna x you#queen ravenna angst#charlize theron x reader#charlize theron x you#charlize theron#snow white and the huntsman#snow white#ravenna#ravenna x reader#ravenna x you
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Burnin’ a Hole Where I Lay (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader) (Omegaverse)
Gif by @troubleinapinksuit
Summary: In which you long ago decided that the standard Alpha and Omega Relationship wasn’t for you, but your best friend Elvis had other plans.
A/N: This is a backup post I made because I absolutely refuse to let this be a case of this one not ending up in the tags again. Based on this request. Semi-Relevant, as i’ve been writing, in my head I’ve been ranking each reader as to how likely they are to bite, and undoubtedly this is my most feral creation, too bad she exists in a world where it may as well be a whole ass love language. So as a quick note as to the dynamics of this Omegaverse, relationshipss are primarily judged on their ability to Breed so A/O are the preferred/seen as the standard, wtih B/O and B/B being seen as acceptable, as a result an A/B relationship is seen as unacceptable. Also Alpha Presentation is marked when they gain their unusually elongated canines, and later go into a rut, Omegas go into their first heat, and Betas essentially present by not presenting whatsoever. Knotting is a bit of a secret in this world, as it only occurs under pretty rare circumstances. Probably some other rules I’m spacing on right now, so feel free to ask if any questions arise. Also I fully acknowledge that there is no way they would be watching The Twilight Zone, but for the purposes of this story let’s pretend.
Warnings: First and foremost this is a Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of delusional and manipulative behavior. VERY dubious consent, (in which reader is a slave to their own desires of consciously not wanting, but their body uncosciously does want it). Set in an Omegaverse so expect the usual. Implied birth control tampering. Bit of a breeding kink implied. Sexual harassment masked as being especially touchy. Smut depicted, that includes penetrative sex (m/f), knotting, cockwarming, cumplay, marking, and a bit of blood play. Also depictions of Parental abandonment and neglect towards reader. Reader is not in a good place y’all and as a result has humor as an unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-depreciative attitude. Instances of reader being yelled at both by Elvis and another character. Best friends to lovers (albeit reluctantly) Please do not interact if you are under 18 years old.
Word Count: 21k (I need to be stopped)
My Masterlist
Denim jeans were a mistake, you think to yourself trying your best not to fan yourself in a very indecent place as you and your group walked back to the rest of the motorcade sitting idle on some backwoods route somewhere in the Florida panhandle. It was a nice cool 102 degrees this morning when the lot of you had taken off so by noon it was hotter than hades, which had been the perfect time for Hank Snow’s car to all but combust, forcing the entire convoy to a screeching halt. The Louisiana Hayride apparently operated the same as the Military: No man left behind.
You and your naturally-run-hot-thighs were having a wonderful time, walking down this stretch of road, along with the other non-talent people who were roped into making a snack and refreshments run at the nearest service station about a half-mile back. You dab yourself, praying you haven’t sweat the last of your face off, as that is the last thing you need right now. The last leg of the hayride tour was proving to be the most arduous as now home felt so close yet still so far off. And this hiccup further proved your theory that hell is to be found on tour.
Though upon seeing them not too far away from you now, your group does admittedly make this far more bearable. You’re not about to let them know that though. So before your thoughts get too chummy about them you set the brown bag from the service station down onto the grass and grab a hold of one of the bottles before you silently stalk forward. Some of them see you and are all too willing to comply when you hold a finger up to your lips in order to better sneak up on your mark. Your prey none the wiser to your dastardly scheme, gleefully tells the tale of seeing Big Boy Crudup as a boy, before it’s interrupted by a yelp and then a subsequent long string of curses as he’s taken by surprise by the cool kiss of the bottle to the back of his neck.
He whips around ready to unleash his fury on the poor soul who dared interrupt him, until you watch in real time as the fire in his eyes dissipate and turn softer upon seeing you giggling up a storm. “Goddamn Y/N, what was that for?” Elvis says exasperated, but doing a piss poor job of hiding his amusement as he wipes the now cool sweat off the back of his neck.
“Felt like it,” you shrug, handing him the bottle before you turn around to retrieve your bag where you had left it, and return bearing gifts.
“Say lil’ lady, you got anythin’ in that bag for some talented musicians?” Scotty asks.
Quick as a whip, you reply, “Sure do. Ya know any?” as you set the bag down on the hood of the car.
Elvis gives a full belly laugh at you, and a beat later, do the others follow suit.
“Did they only have orange soda?” Red remarks as he’s digging through the brown bag.
“No, but one of you mooks, and you know who you are,” you say, pointing to the lot of them. “Have not eaten a single goddamn fruit or vegetable since Texas, and this was the only way I figured I could get y’all to not die from scurvy.”
“Don’t be stupid Y/N,” Billy asserted, nervously trying to hide that he was the one you were talking about. “You only get that when you're out on the sea.”
“I thought you get it when you eat too much salt,” Scotty questions, unsure as to your words.
“No you get it from bad fish,” Red asserts, all the confidence of a man who has never been out to sea.
“You’re all wrong,” you say as you look through your bag trying to find a bottle opener. “You get it when you don’t listen to the Pharmacist’s daughter and eat a goddamn orange every once in a while. Now drink.”
You can see it clear as day as, simultaneously, all of their hackles raise at the thought of being ordered around by a Beta, so they do what they usually do when you do this: they look to Elvis.
Elvis, who has been able to open his own drink with his keys, stops drinking for a moment only to state, “You heard her.” And without a second thought they all sigh in defeat as they each grab a bottle for themselves.
“That’s what I thought,” you state, triumphantly, as you fail to locate anything close to a bottle opener. “You mind,” you say to Elvis, holding your bottle up to him. He gives a little smirk as he brings the still capped bottle up to his mouth.
As he uses his teeth as a makeshift bottle opener, you catch a glimpse at his pronounced canines, and you can’t help but absentmindedly swipe your tongue on that errant tooth in your own mouth. The one that tricked you into believing that you would present as an Alpha only to disappoint nearly everyone in your life.
You’d like to believe you’re past your admittedly childish envy of his status as an Alpha, still that does little to quell that funny feeling you get in the pit of your belly when you see him pop the cap off the bottle with ease.
“I meant use the keys dummy,” you say exasperatedly, swiping the orange drink out of his grasp. “You’re gonna crack a tooth like that one a these days.”
“Aww you do care,” he half-sings to you, and you can only roll your eyes and tell him to shush. He nonetheless listens and uses the keys for his second bottle.
While you languidly sip on the orange drink, that word circles your brain for a bit. Caring is not something you’re exactly used to being called. Years ago you were called protective or watchful, when the entire world was sure as to how you would present. Nowadays in spite of the fact that you doubt you’ve changed too much over the years, you’re called nurturing or motherly.
It’s actually part of the reason you even went on tour with them. You had initially refused Elvis’ invitation to join him on tour, figuring that now was as good as any to move out of the Lauderdale courts. He begged you to go with him and be his makeup assistant on tour as you had been for every show he’d performed up until then. You were reluctant to go due to not wanting to leave the good thing you had going with your job at the Cathouse salon but then Gladys had convinced you to go in order to prevent the boys from getting too buckwild on the road. After all her years of hospitality and refusing your rent payment, you figured this was the least you could do to compensate for your extended stay in her home.
The irony of which was not lost on you as there were many nights after the two of you had your nightly phone calls with her where you would have to kick Elvis out of your motel room to go “talk” to some little chicky that would be skulking around his room (More like you slapped him on the ass and told him ‘go get em tiger’... because you absolutely did do that a few times). You did this mostly to get him out of your hair for the night, but also because in those days you had no idea how long any of this would last and you wanted him to make the most of it. You knew better than most that all things are temporary, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.
Your musings are interrupted by The Colonel’s speaker car announcing the issue had been fixed and everybody better be ready to leave in less than a minute because “Time is money.” Your group quickly packs up, making a beeline back into your respective vehicles.
You quickly check your makeup in the mirror (wouldn’t do for THE Elvis Presley’s makeup girl to look anything less than immaculate, even in this abominable heat, though he’s not exactly a THE yet) as Elvis gets behind the wheel making sure Scotty and Billy got into their car, while Red scurries into the backseat (he lost all privileges to shotgun after a legendary loss to you at a bowling alley back in Baton Rouge). And just like that you’re off to hightail it to the next venue, though not before you catch a particularly nasty side-eye from Hank as he passes your car. With all his huffing and puffing every time Elvis performed, you figured it would only be inevitable the Alpha would eventually burst and blow the lot of you all the way back to Memphis. Especially as his Beta boy kept glancing your way.
So imagine your surprise when by the end of the night Hank ended up leaving and Elvis had news that that Colonel fellow wanted to go into a partnership with him. You’re gone for all of five minutes to get funnel cake and suddenly Elvis is officially on the up and up, with a new manager and everything.
Elvis trusted everybody and you trusted nobody: it made you two the perfect team. It was your natural suspicion of others that had you look over The Colonel’s initial contract and when some of the wording wasn’t sitting right with you, you called in a favor with your former boss, Kitty, who was in turn owed a favor by a Lawyer friend of hers. Even with the favor in place, he ended up taking a good chunk of your savings, which in your book was fine, as it was mostly made up of the rent that the Presley’s refused to accept from you for the past few years. Your intervention would actually prevent Elvis from going 50/50 with The Colonel, and unknowingly save him from so many headaches later down the line.
The Beta Man didn’t quite make your skin crawl, but just about, and he made it no secret how little he cared for you or how much Elvis valued your opinion. Were it not for Elvis’ insistence that you’re the only make-up artist in the world that could achieve the right look for him, you think The Colonel would have elbowed you out early into his career.
And much to his chagrin you go everywhere with him; shows, movie sets, tv appearances, you name it. Those weeks when you had back to back shows with him and just as many public appearances to keep the momentum of his career going, those were the days where you found yourself longing for the far simpler days.
You honest to god miss 8th grade year. When the world made about as much sense as it could to a twelve year old. The days when you were called the Boldest Little Girl this side of Memphis you were called after you brazenly told your music teacher to shut up when she told the stuttering new kid that he had no future in music in front of the entire class.
After a long lecture on respect and Mrs. Whatsherface made sure your knuckles had a meeting with her ruler, you left her classroom only to be met with that same kid you defended turned around and talking to himself in an empty hallway. He still somehow managed to stutter even when no one was there.
"Th-th-thank y-you," he would say before taking a long steadying breath, before squaring his narrow shoulders and looking as though he were preparing for war.
"Who ya talkin' to?" you would say over his shoulder, and instead of words he would let out a very undignified shriek. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Y/N."
"El-Elvis," he would say, looking down at his shoes. He’s all sandy hair and knobby knees, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a boy with such long eyelashes before. He was just a bit shorter than you, and with the growth spurt you had recently your mama was hopeful that you would present soon.
"So Elvis… you new to Memphis?" you would say, after a painfully long pause, waiting for him to say something else.
"Ye-ye-yes," he said, still trying to find the secrets to the universe in his shoes. You can’t exactly pinpoint why but in that moment, he reminded you of a wet puppy. One that's just pathetic enough that you want to pick it up and take it home to dry it off and give it a snack.
So that's exactly what you do and you throw an arm around his shoulder, “C’mon, Elvis,” you say as the sandy-haired boy blushes up a storm. “I’m gonna show you around these parts.”
You end up taking him to some of your favorite places around your neck of the woods, and finish this little impromptu trip with a stop off at the neighborhood drugstore, where you ask him what his favorite soda is, and he nearly has a heart attack when you grab one from the cooler and walk out without even attempting to pay for it. Annoyed but willing to humor the boy, you walk up to the counter and tell your daddy you were taking them for you and your friend. You could see the bit of pride in his eyes as you took rather than asking for what you wanted. Elvis meanwhile seemed to be in awe of you. Though he quickly goes beet red when you show him how to open a bottle with your teeth and hand it to him.
“Y’know you don’t stutter when you sing,” you say as the two of you were making your way to his place in the lauderdale courts. “Why’s that?”
“I-I-I don’t know,” he said solemnly, sipping on the Pepsi you gave him. “I gu-guess, it’s cuz I-I-I’m good at it… or I th-thought I wa-was.” he says sadly.
“You do sound good,” you say matter-of-factly, and it makes you feel warm as he lights up at the compliment. “Not everyone’s gonna think so, but you do.”
“But some of ‘em are gonna hate it?” he blanches at the thought.
“Yeah, but that’s just the way a things ain’t it?”
“I-I guess…”
“Elvis trust me on this,” you state, more sure of yourself than any twelve year old has a right to be. “If people don’t like how you sound, it’s on them to not listen, because there are plenty more people who will love it.” Simple piece of advice really, and not applicable to all situations you recognize now, but with the way you watched him hunching in on himself to look smaller only for him to walk straighter into his home, it looked like it’s what he needed to hear.
Elvis would return to music class the next day with his own guitar in hand and sing his little heart out in front of the entire class. Mrs. Whatsherface still didn’t approve, stating how she “didn’t like how he sounded.” But he in turn looked her right in the eye and told her what you had told him, and you had never been more proud of another person in your entire life.
“Well Mrs. Wilson, you don’t gotta listen.” he asserts, more confidence in him than you’ve seen in all the time you’ve known him.
Your friendship however was really solidified after that jerk that sat behind you in class, Leon, cut Elvis guitar strings as a “joke” he claimed. Seeing Elvis' heartbroken expression and knowing his family’s financial status, awoke some latent protective streak within you that had you dip into your meager savings for a record player to buy two things that night: guitar strings and gum.
The next day you would give Elvis the replacement strings before school would start as well as an ominous suggestion to watch you during study hall. And he would watch as you proceeded to stick a wad of gum in your own hair and proceed to flip over the table behind you and try to knock Leon’s lights out. Nobody ever really made that connection that it had anything to do with what he did to Elvis’ guitar. No, all anybody ever knew was just that Leon sat behind you and someone had put gum in your hair, and you swung first and asked questions later.
Elvis would watch in utter awe of you as the teacher escorted you and Leon out of the class by your ears, and you would wink at him as you passed by, but you think the sentiment of it was lost considering the eye you used was the one already swelling shut. Unbeknownst to you at the time, Elvis would return home that night and let his Mama know he found the girl he was gonna marry.
You saved Elvis the embarrassment of having to be defended by a girl, and the focus was solely on how Leon had gotten beaten up by one. You would even cleverly and cruelly dub him “The Cowardly Leon,” for the rest of the year, and only let it die out after you needed to start flying under the radar once you had presented.
You cared a lot about justice back then because that’s what your father instilled in you. In fact the first thing he said to you when he came to pick you up, was asking whether or not you won. God he was so proud of you for standing up for yourself, and he ended up taking you out for ice cream. In retrospect not the best thing to teach a kid, to handle conflict with physical violence. Back then it was seen as blooming Alpha behavior of play-acting at being territorial and rough-housing. But once you presented as a “Beta” that same behavior that was seen as charming, became deviant or atypical of how a proper beta should act.
That year was the last one of simplicity you would ever experience, as you were comfortable in what your future would look like. Your daddy's side of the family came from a long, unbroken line of Alphas, both male and female. And it only felt inevitable that you would present as one, and one day you would inherit your family drug store, you would settle down with a nice omega partner, have a couple kids, who would also be Alphas, pass it on to them, so on and so forth. With his ever present, yet endearing stutter and his unabashed love for his mama, you had thought Elvis would be such a partner. And the way you sometimes caught him looking at you at times, you didn't think he would be entirely opposed to it either.
You were an only child and your daddy did his best to teach you long before you were even close to presenting how an Alpha acts. Lessons to always be bold and aggressive. To take what you want and how to fight for what is yours. The benefits of remaining stoic, and relying only on yourself. How to essentially be the perfect Alpha.
Lessons that would ultimately be wasted on you, you would learn that summer after 8th grade. It was just supposed to be a nice ordinary trip to visit Nana up in Nashville. First day, you would be slightly uncomfortable and very tired, nothing cool refreshments and a nap couldn’t help. Day two you felt a lot warmer that wasn’t the least bit helped by Nana’s brand new Air Conditioner. Day three you would spend covering the windows with blankets in order to better curl up into a corner on your bed with pieces of clothing you had taken from your parents. Day four there was no more denying what was happening as you cried into mama’s lap, feeling oddly betrayed by your own body as you waited for all of it to pass.
Your daddy put you on suppressants the second you were all finished and were back in Memphis. He was the only one whose disappointment in your presentation matched your own. Mama tried her best to convince you it wasn’t so bad to be an Omega, but the words feel hollow as you overhear her insistence to daddy that she wasn’t too old to try and get it “right” this time with another baby.
Nothing felt real those summer days, and by the time newly presented Alpha, Elvis Presley, strolled into the store, you officially accepted that you were in some sort of upside down world. You didn’t even really see him at first, you were so used to seeing him at less than eye-level to you, that it didn’t register to you to look up, and find the previously waifish Elvis Presely having been replaced by a taller, broader -and dare you say it, handsome- young man before you.
Of all the people you knew, you thought Elvis would be the one that you would be able to tell, but as the light softly glints off his newly descended canines you knew that could never be.
There’s a part of you that wants to tell him. To admit to someone, who will undoubtedly accept you as you are, but you catch sight of your parents staying on opposite sides of the store. A painful reminder that nothing is ever a sure thing.
“My what big teeth you have,” you instead remark as you lean against the counter.
“Heya sweetheart,” he says, propping an elbow on to the counter, though not without some awkwardness as he catches your magazine and slides forward a little before catching himself.
“Sweetheart? What is that about?” You ask, acting dumb and hoping you’re wrong.
He grins even wider at that
“Oh yeah,” you say, trying to be as non-chalant as you possibly could be. You hook your pinky into the corner of your mouth to show him the normal canine you have. He perks up ever so slightly as he sees it, only to deflate once he hears your muffled “Beta.”
“O-oh… oh, ummm…” he stutters, unsure of what to say to you.
“Disappointed? So’s my daddy,” you say flippantly.
“N-no it ain’t that,” he stutters. “It’s just I-I… well I…”
“Was expecting something else?” you finish for him. “You and me both buddy,”
“...Y-yeah umm….” he says glancing down between you and the floor as though waiting for the sike.
“C’mon, don’t be upset for my sake, you’re an Alpha now, cream of the crop and all that,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too jealous. You hand him a Pepsi on the house and call for the next customer knowing you’re gonna have to be on inventory later so you’re daddy won’t notice it missing.
In short order by the start of your freshman year you would learn three awful things. First, that while the state of Tennessee’s single bond and marriage laws were still in place, they do make an exception for Alpha business owners who wish to pass down their legacy to an Alpha Child. Secondly, that your daddy was aware of this exception because he had done it once before, as you and your mama were his second attempt at an alpha child, after his first born son presented as an omega. Third, the reason you had a babysitter until you were fourteen, was because your daddy apparently needed a backup for his backup.
That is how you found yourself moving all of your belongings into the Lauderdale Courts, where you would find a familiar face. He was surprised to see you there, especially with the load of boxes behind you, but he wasn’t about to let your surly demeanor get in the way of him rolling out the welcome wagon for you and your Mama.
Elvis is not one to be ignored, and you find it amusing that he was now the one that more or less bullied you into doing things. And as loath as you are to admit it he more or less did become somewhat of a protector to you when Leon tried to get his licks back. It is a strange reversal, but not a wholly unwelcome one. You do at least try to find the comedy that is the tragedy of your life now.
Your mama was with you, but you could hardly say she was present anymore. The days she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor, were the days she was cursing your father’s name and long-winded rants about how he stole the best years of her life. For all the passion and fury in her words, they were hollow, as instead of getting on suppressants to combat her heats, she instead went back to him every single time to take care of her. There would be times you would come home from school only to find your place empty, cash in an envelope on the table, nary a note in sight, and you would spend the week with a neighbor.
You try to justify it in your head with the fact that Mated Omegas could die if they go into heat without their Alpha, but that was exactly what suppressants were made for. They weren’t true mates so there should be no problem for her alone to break the bond, and yet like clockwork every three months she would be gone for the entire week, and wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for about the next two weeks following that.
You hated those days when you would come back to the apartment only to find her missing, that ominous pink dot on the calendar, and some money left in an envelope for you to take care of yourself for the week. Gladys Presley didn’t even hesitate in offering you a place to stay so you wouldn’t be alone, but as welcoming and kind as the Presley’s were to you during those weeks you felt humiliated not only for having to rely on their hospitality, but also the reason why.
You knew where exactly she went. Everyone in the Lauderdale Courts- hell, everyone in Memphis- knew where she went, as those were the same weeks that your father and his new wife would disappear off the face of the Earth. All those pitiful looks and derisive snorts when you walked by felt the same, they said “oh look, there’s the little unwanted girl.” Your mother went from wife to glorified mistress in a matter of months, and people shaped their own opinions on you solely around that.
You got by though, especially after you were able to get a part time job in Sophmore year. Kitty LeBlanc is perhaps the most feared Alphas this side of Memphis. She and her wife, Jeanie, have been running the Cathouse Beauty Salon, for the last twenty or so years, the place to go when you’re looking to get done up for a date night or a divorce. It’s well known in these parts that any Omegas having trouble with their Alphas need only come to Kitty to get them to start doing right by them. So suffice to say, she was furious at what your daddy did to you, and the only thing stopping her from launching a full scale whisper campaign against your daddy’s store, is that you and your mama were still financially dependent on him and so didn’t want to leave him completely destitute.
But you also had the underlying reason that you needed him to stay open so you could still get the suppressants you needed. They were created way back when during war times, to prevent mated omegas from dying due to their Alphas being gone so long, and nowadays they are only prescribed to mated Omegas under the most extreme of circumstances. Legally you’re not supposed to be on them whatsoever, but while normally your father being a pharmacist had few perks, this was absolutely one of them.
It’s bad enough he’s known for having more or less abandoned an Omega Partner, but it would have absolutely devastated him, socially and legally, if it had gotten out that he had abandoned not one but two Omega children of his. So rather than having that be his reputation he made everyone believe that you in fact were a Beta. And you’re fine with this, because you already push it by acting like an Alpha when you’re known as a Beta, you doubt you’ll be tolerated anymore if it comes out that you’re an Omega.
Kitty would respect your choice and instead offered you a job, mostly sweeping the floors and taking out the trash after school, for a little extra cash on the side. That’s where your interest in makeup first began, seeing how someone could be having the worst day of their lives, but their appearance exhibiting none of that.
“Think of it like a mask,” Kitty would explain to you as you attempted eyeliner for the first time. “You’re only showing the world what you want them to see.”
High school was a bit of a blur, and before you know it you’re in your Senior year. Prom was something you had been looking forward to. You had saved up all your money from the Cathouse to buy a beautiful red dress, had been asked out by a nice Beta boy from your art class, and Kitty promised you the full salon treatment for such a special occasion. Really everything was looking up with the only hitch being how weird Elvis had gotten when you told him about your plans for the evening.
After the talent show (where you almost resorted to pushing him onto the stage), Elvis certainly wasn’t without options, but he still insisted on going Stag with you and the rest of your friends for Prom. Those plans didn’t change with your news but he clearly seemed to have become grumpier as of late.
But you didn’t pay it any mind, as afterall the shit you’d been through up until that point, was one night really too much to ask for. Evidently it was, because as you were getting into David’s car, you realized you had forgotten the evening gloves your mama was letting you borrow, and you ran back into the building only to be met with your mother with a suitcase in hand as she set down an envelope on the small dining table.
You vividly remember how she would look up at you with only the slightest hint of guilt in her eyes, before her expression steels itself with a calm demeanor, as she gives you a cool smile, places the envelope in your hand with a friendly pat, and then she walked out the door without even a glance back.
You would never see her again.
To My Darling Daughter,
I’m sorry for what I have to do, but you must understand that while this is a choice, it’s not an easy one.
If you can take comfort in anything, know that it is your strength and resiliency and seeing you as bold as you are for what you are has inspired me to take control of my own life. I’ve met a Beta man who has promised me a better life away from this place. My only regret is that I can’t bring you with me.
But I know for a fact that you, unlike me, can and will survive on your own.
I Love You So Much,
Mama
You had to read her letter several times, not fully believing the words before you. You recognize that there was a part of you that had wanted this for years. For her to run far and fast from your father, but you had just always assumed she would’ve taken you as well.
You hardly have time to process that as you hear David’s horn honking out at the front. No, instead of sitting with your feelings about the matter, you fix your makeup, grab the gloves, and walk out to the powder blue chevy. After David offers whatever was in the flask he swiped from his daddy, the entire dance turns into a haze, with the only evidence that you were even there being the commemorative photo and the blisters you feel forming on your feet.
“Say Y/N, my folks are outta town this weekend.” David says idly as you’re walking out of the school gymnasium.
“That’s nice,” you slur, not really having heard a word he said, trying hard not to fall on your face as you stumble in your kitten heels.
“So why don’t we head back to my place?” He asks practically buzzing with anticipation.
“Sure fine,” you sigh apathetically, understanding what he’s implying, and going mostly because the prospect of going back to an empty apartment is far more terrifying to you.
You can see the excitement on the Beta boy's face grow until he looks past you and you watch as the blood-drains from his face. “There you are Y/N,” you hear from a strained yet distinct voice behind you. You turn around only to see Elvis’ icy blue eyes somehow burning holes into your date, as he says through gritted teeth. “Your mama made me promise to get you home early.”
You can hardly be faulted for your almost knee-jerk reaction at Elvis’ blatant- well to you-lie: you burst into a near hysterical fit of laughter, to the point tears are streaming down your face. You laugh a little too hard and a little too long at a joke neither boy seems to understand, that David, by the time you’re mostly done, is long gone. It doesn’t matter though, because in your drunken state your thoughts turn to how embarrassed Elvis is going to be when he takes you home and realizes he got caught in a lie, because you don’t have a Mama anymore.
As you’re stumbling to Elvis’ car, he stops you in your tracks, “Y/N, you alright there?” he breathes and you see his nose flares for a moment, no doubt smelling whatever the hell was in that flask. “What did he do?” He hisses, with murder in his eyes.
“Oh dontcha worry about ole’ Davey over there,” you dismiss, as you grip onto one of his forearms to keep yourself standing (when did they get so big?). “How ‘boutchu take me back home because… I. Gotta. Surprise. For. You.” You say, punctuating your last few words, tapping his nose each time. You can see his eyes widen and his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously, before he quietly agrees.
He gets you back into his daddy’s car seemingly content to have gotten you away from your date, until you’re on the road, and in a fit of… grief… madness… something, you open the window and let one of the evening gloves your mother had let you borrow fly out into the night.
“Ain’t those your mama’s?” He asks, slightly perturbed at your seeming indifference, when you’re usually so careful with your clothes.
“Mmm-hmm,” you hum as you let its twin also fly out. The rest of the ride back to the Lauderdale Courts was filled with a thick silence, as you were upset, and Elvis could tell you were upset, yet neither one of you knew how to address it, so you both remained quiet.
Elvis gets you into the building and in repayment for his act of chivalry, you didn’t vomit all over his rented suit. No, instead you bolt into your apartment, that you had left unlocked for your mama without another word. After brushing the taste of bile and fruit punch out of your mouth, you would find him sitting on your couch with that damn letter in his hands.
It is at that moment where you enter and you see the heartbreak and pity in his eyes for you, did you finally recognize that this wasn’t as funny as you thought it would be. No, in fact it leaves you with a hollow feeling inside of you, seeing him that way, but instead of dealing with that you choose to laugh at the situation.
You laugh because otherwise you’ll cry.
“Tell me Presley,” you joke with him. “You make it a habit of reading through other people’s mail?”
“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he would say, tears welling in his eyes for you.
“Well we got that in common,” you say, wishing to be numb to the whole world by this point.
“I-I just don’t understand wh-why she would do somethin’ like this,” he states, genuinely unbelieving that a mother could do something like this. You’re confused for a different reason, as you can’t quite find the logic in leaving you behind when she was so close to being able to do so legally after you had graduated.
Guess she just wanted out that bad.
“Oh I know why,” you stated as you threw off your shoes and tossed your legs over his lap. “I’m unlovable,” you say flippantly, while shrugging your shoulders. You weren’t seeking his pity nor his comfort. In your mind you were simply stating a fact. The same way you would state that the sky is blue or that water is wet, Y/N is unlovable. How could you not be, as both people that were all but hard-wired to do so, want nothing to do with you?
You see so many emotions pass through his face at your statement. Until he throws his arms around you and brings you as close as possible to him. “You’re not unlovable,” he declares.
“No I am,” you say, resolved to your fate. “I just need to accept that.”
“You’re not unlovable, Y/N,” he blubbers a bit, tears in his eyes, holding your face in his hands. “Because I lo-”
You quickly slap your hand over his mouth, shushing him, truly not wanting to hear the next words to come out. You’re not an idiot, you remember the way he would look at you before either of you presented, it’s the same way he looks at you now, when he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you know, as did he you suspect, that if either one of you were to ever verbally acknowledge it, everything would be ruined.
It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. Nothing would be wrong considering you are actually an Omega, and anybody would tell you being close friends with an Alpha would eventually lead to this. But one thing throws a wrench into this idea: the fact that the thought of being bonded to an Alpha, even Elvis, terrifies you to your core.
You’ve seen how wrong those relationships could go, what happens to the omega and how the Alpha could get out scott free. You know yourself well enough to recognize that you are far too willful and bold to make for a good wife for an Alpha when most would prefer a more demure, submissive mate. Add in how apparently easy you are to leave behind, you doubt your odds of having the ideal life for an Omega look too good.
In your quieter moments you would wonder who you were supposed to be. If you hadn’t been raised with the expectation that you were going to be an Alpha would you have actually exhibited the traits that go with being an Omega. Or would you have still ended up the same way? Neither scenario fills you with comfort.
You try not to dwell on these thoughts too long, as afterall, as far as Elvis knows, being with you like that is impossible. Besides you and Elvis have a good thing going on right now and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.
You’ll later blame the alcohol for what had happened next, as you sat next to him, doing your best to stop crying, in spite of your feelings of being unwanted and unloved. But you’re somewhat comforted by Elvis being so close to you, and you liken your next actions as some latent part of your omega brain trying to compensate for your crippling loneliness that night by trying to start something with the nearest Alpha, who just so happened to be your best friend.
Your face buried in his neck, you could feel yourself steady the longer you breathed in his heady scent of leather and rose water, disparate yet no less intoxicating, all tied to something uniquely him. Something you had never really noticed before, given that the suppressants did a good job of dampening your smell capabilities, but being so close to him now, you begin to understand why the other omegas would get giddy moments before he walked into a room.
You remember just every breath filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth, and simply wanting to be as close to its source as possible. His scent reminded you of burrowing yourself in warm blankets on a cold morning or taking the first sip of hot cocoa on a frigid night, that feeling of being so comfortable in your discomfort that you don’t even recognize what it was until you felt the slightest bit of relief from it.
Wanting to further immerse yourself in that scent, you find yourself quickly going from leaning on him, to full-on straddling him, all so that you could better nuzzle your face into his neck. Though from the rumbling in his chest he didn’t seem to mind your invasion of his space too much. In fact he had followed suit by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose into your neck.
Though his discontented snarls tell you he’s apparently having a hard time. As a “Beta” you hardly even register as an option for him, the suppressants apparently making your scent so subtle, you’re about as appealing as a houseplant to him. You on the other hand were practically getting drunk on what little scent was making its way through to you.
So drunk were you in fact that you didn’t realize what you were doing with your hips until he let out a strained groan that reverberated back onto your neck. You don’t exactly know where your head was at, you just remember that he smelled so good and felt even better against your burning core, which is why you felt little shame as you continued to grind into him, the salacious act being hidden from your view by your skirt.
Your eyes meet his and you’re not exactly sure who leans in first, just that somebody did. But almost like magic, that tentative and nervous brushing of your lips against his, broke you from your spell, and made you realize what exactly you were doing.
You tear yourself away from him, nearly cracking your head on the low table as you land on your rear in front of the couch. Horrifyingly you’re now put at eye-level with his legs where you see something tenting the front of his pants. You take advantage of his utterly bell-rung state as you would pathetically crawl away from him and into your own tiny bedroom, to get away from this confusing and frankly terrifying situation.
There’s no lock to speak of so you block the door with your own body, crying into your hands, praying that he sees himself out, though like usual your wishes go unheard.
“Y/N?” You hear from the last person you want to deal with, knock at your door. His voice quivering as though he’s close to tears.
You sob harder.
“Y/N, I’m beggin’ ya here. Please talk to me,” he says, sounding genuinely distraught.
“Go away, Elvis!” You beg through your blubbering. This back and forth continues for a while until your stubborn nature prevails, and you’re left alone.
And all is right in the world.
You would wake up with a god-awful crick in your neck, and feeling unpleasantly feverish beyond belief. You quickly take your suppressants as you have done religiously since you had started on them, and you would spend the day barricaded in your room waiting for your fever to cool down.
Come Monday, Elvis wouldn’t be in school, and in spite of the fact he was the last person you wanted to see, you were given the task of passing along his school work to him. You were no stranger within the Presley household, oftentimes spending the weeks your mother was in heat with them, as Gladys couldn’t stand the thought of you all alone in that apartment. So it was surprising to say the least when she was the one to bar you from entering the door.
“Sweetheart,” she sighs, looking tiredly between you and the apartment behind her. “Elvis is umm… a bit… sick, and he won’t be fit for seein’ for… a few more days.” The blush on her face and the embarrassment in her voice tell you exactly what exactly is happening to him. You quickly dismiss yourself back to your empty apartment.
Well that at least explained why he let you do… that. He was a young Alpha going into his first Rut, he probably would have done the same with a box of cracker jacks if it promised him a good time. It meant nothing, so you were going to treat it like that.
It made more sense than the alternative of your “mini-heat” sending him into a rut. Afterall everybody knows that only true mates are capable of doing that. Most mated couples take a few cycles in order to sync up properly, while in contrast true mates can almost immediately trigger the other's time just by being in the same vicinity while going through theirs. You’ve also heard rumors of something else happening with those couples, but you’ve never bothered to dive too deep into that, and all you know is that it had something to do with how they almost always get pregnant during their first cycle.
True Mates are just rare enough to be special, but happen frequently enough that everybody at least knows one pair. It felt like every single Omega you met dreamed of finding their true mate regardless of how unlikely it is to happen. It also had all the hallmarks of being devastatingly romantic, with the idea that these are the only bonds that are truly unbreakable and that both parties could potentially die without the other, rather than just the Omega.
In theory it should sate your worries about being left by an Alpha, but it does little to help, as the idea scares the shit out of you. The idea that regardless of your own wishes to never be mated to an alpha, some force has apparently fated you to be with someone. Add to the fact that they have yet to make suppressants sufficiently strong enough to quell an omega with a true mate because apparently the bond is that strong, and all you see is a disaster waiting to happen.
You spend the next week trying to figure out the logistics of living on your own. You know Graduation is roughly a month away and without your mother to renew the lease or your father not willing to pay past his legal obligation, you’re going to be homeless. You can chance it with the foster system you suppose if you declare yourself an unaccompanied Omega, but more than likely they’ll send you back with your father, and he’ll more than likely hock you off to the first Alpha that gives you a second glance.
By the end of the week you’ve accepted that your best option for the time being is hoping that Kitty is kind enough to allow you to stay in the storage closet while you get your full salon training. If you sell everything in the apartment and by the time you're making full salary you may just be able to afford a room in a girl’s boarding house. That is until Gladys Presley, after three days of you dancing around the question of “Where’s your Mama, sweetheart?” finally sat you down and refused to hear any more excuses, and you had to quietly admit how you didn’t know.
Gladys is surely a force to be reckoned with as within an hour of your solemn confession she has you at her table with a warm meal, her couch already set up, and the landlord agreeing to forward you the last two months of payment your father is supposed to pay for rent. But what she can’t fix is the fact that you are suspiciously not making eye contact with Elvis.
You had insisted on making yourself useful and helped Gladys clean up afterwards, but once she and Vernon called it a night, you knew there was no getting around it anymore. At around midnight do you hear Elvis shuffle into the living room, clearly hesitant to have this conversation as well.
“You up?”
“No.”
That gets a short huff out of him before he plants himself on the opposite side of the couch as you, essentially sitting on your feet. The room is too dark to really see him, but the slight shaking in his leg and constant shifting tell you he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.
“Elvis about Prom ni-”
“Are you really a Beta?” he cuts you off.
In spite of the darkness within the room, you still try to school your expression to one of confusion rather than shock. “What kind of question is that?” you say, managing to sound tiredly exasperated with him, while your heart is going a mile a minute. “Of course I’m a Beta, why’d ya think I wasn’t?”
“It’s just…” he pauses. “That night-”
“The night nothing happened.”
“Y/N,” he says severely, a tone he has never in his life used with you. “I need an honest answer here.”
You think about your next words carefully. As far as you know Alpha’s can’t literally sniff out lies, nor do you have any reason to believe he can hear some sort of minute difference between a lie and a truth.
For a brief moment you contemplate being totally honest with him, but you quickly dismiss that notion when you shift slightly and feel the hard edge of the couch armrest. Your situation is far too precarious to risk it on a gamble that he may want you, when if anything this past month has proven how unwanted you are.
“Elvis… you’re my best friend,” you state, as this much is true. “Do you really think I would lie to you about something like this?” you say, too cowardly to lie through your teeth and say no, instead you put it on him as to whether he believes you would do such a thing to your best friend.
He sighs in defeat, believing you wouldn’t invoke your relationship on a lie this big. “No… No, you’re right,” though you can hear the slightest quiver in his voice. “It-it’s just bad luck, that all that happened in the same night.”
“Exactly,” you say relieved that he came to the same conclusion that you did about that night. “E, I-I didn’t get a chance to say this yet but… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For taking me in,” you sigh, not a fan of the coy act.
“It was nothin’ Darlin’,” he says though you can hear him relax a bit at that. “Mama wasn’t ‘bouta let that stand.”
“Well then thanks for nothing Presley,” you say with a grin.
He laughs at that, and says “C’mere you,” as he brings you in close for a hug. You do notice as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and pointedly takes an extra long whiff of your neck. He’s undoubtedly trying one last ditch effort to prove his theory right only to find nothing.
“But I hope you can accept that I’m your mama’s favorite now,” you say as seriously as you could to break the tension, in an effort to ignore what he just did.
He pauses at that before pushing your face back into the pillow and saying around a smile, “alright, go back to sleep, you.”
Those months following your graduation, there was something so simple about those days, almost idyllic, in an odd way. You would be the first up in the household, so it was on you to push Elvis out of bed, take care of breakfast and lunch for the both of you. He would drive you to work in his company truck listening to the early morning radio and you would muse that it would only be a matter of time before the two of you would be hearing him. He would always get red in the ears at that and drop you off at the salon. He would occasionally drop in for lunch and afterwards the two of you would hit up Beale street for a while before heading home. Have dinner with his folks, go to bed, repeat all of that the next day.
You would often practice your makeup skills on him when Gladys was unavailable, giving you a better understanding as to how to not only put makeup on someone else, but how to also highlight a person’s best features. And working so close on him, did you realize that Elvis had many. In return for your “experimentation,” you would go to every single performance of his as support which evolved into doing makeup for him. Oftentimes you’re the last person he talks to before he gets on stage, as you would often help him clean himself up when he got too in his head about the whole thing, but also the first one to greet him once he got off the stage.
Though as the years went on and performing became more routine, and you find yourself in the midst of show business alongside him. Traveling the country and working on movie sets are never things you ever expected to happen, even in the days when you had your life set out before you.
Those days seem so far away now, as though they were a dream of a different life. But now you were in a new era, the “New Elvis” era, which would be one of the worst you ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It was like watching a Peacock be plucked and be told to still be just as eye-catching, and you let the Colonel know as much. You thought it was bad enough having to see him dressed in tails, but you knew the disaster that was headed your way the moment you saw that damn dog being rolled on stage with him.
When they moved into Graceland, the Presley’s took you along with them, and even tried to offer you a room on the top floor, the one specifically designated for family. It was one of the few times you and the Colonel were on the same page about… anything really, as you were vehemently against the initial room he offered you and instead took a moderately sized room on the first floor. You did this as you know that keeping some distance between you and them will make it hurt a lot less when they inevitably drop you.
Elvis Presley being in your bed is not an unusual experience, something you had gotten used to way back when your bed was the Presley’s couch, and he made it a habit of letting himself in as he pleased in your room at Graceland. So you hardly blink when you wake up to him laying next to you in the middle of the night. Or rather you do several times in order to get all the sleep out of your eyes and try to get a grip of your bearings as you suddenly awaken to a bed full of rockstar.
You had watched him storm out earlier, all passion and fury at the world that wants different and contradictory things from him all at once. Now all that fire has seemingly been extinguished as he lies next to you hands on his stomach, voice quiet and unsure of himself as he asks “You awake Y/N?” imperceptible through the non-existent lighting in the room.
“No.”
He huffs at you, and you can almost hear the smile on his lips, before the room turns solemn once more. And you give a big tear-welling yawn, but you’re still willing to help him through his identity crisis.
“Sweetheart, be honest with me,” he says into the inky darkness. “This ‘New Elvis” thing… ya’ think it’s a mistake?”
“Yes” you answer without missing a beat. You were never one to mince words for him and you’re not about to start now. “Now answer me this: is your name Frank?”
“No,” he answers confused.
“Is your name Bill?”
“No.”
“Is your name Buddy?”
“Y/N, what the hell are ya gettin’ at?”
“What I’m getting at is if they wanted a old crooner in a boring suit, they woulda gotten Frank Sinatra. They wanted clean sanitized rock n’ roll, they woulda gotten Bill Haley. If they had wanted someone popular but not so controversial, they woulda gotten Buddy Holly.” You say, impassioned as you are sleepy, hoping you’re making even a lick of sense to him. “They didn’t get any of them. But you know who they asked to be there?”
“Me?”
“Who?”
He chuckles before saying, “Elvis Presley.”
“That’s right,” you say, poking his chest. “They want you E, controversy and all, because you know what, ain’t nobody better at getting asses in seats and panties on the floor.”
“Y/N!” he exclaims, scandalized and, you can just imagine, red in the face.
“It’s true though,” you continue. “Being controversial these days hardly makes a difference anymore.”
“How’d ya figure that?”
“Elvis…” you say solemnly. “To my face people shake their heads and click their tongues as to what my daddy did to me and my mama. That doesn’t stop them from patronizing his store and giving him their money to better support his new family.” You feel him give a comforting rub on your shoulder. “Look what I’m trying to say is that, when what you give is good enough, people will overlook just about everything else. And trust me what you sell… sells.” You pause when you feel something hard beside your feet. “Are you wearing your shoes in my bed?”
“...maybe?”
“Get outta here weirdo,” you huff annoyed at his antics, and use all of your might to push him out.
“Alright, alright,” he says, acquiescing and getting out of your bed. “Guess I’ll head to that diner you love all by myself.” You can almost hear the smirk when his statement gets the pause he was looking for.
“You’re a cruel, cruel man Elvis Presley,” you declare. “Give me 20 minutes.”
The next day at Russwood Park, you’re putting the final touches on him before he gets on stage. You can still see the tiniest bit of conflict still on his face so you tickle his nose with your makeup brush to get his attention. “Remember. They don’t like how it sounds…” you trail off.
“They don’t gotta listen.” he finishes, apparently remembering your bit of 12 year old wisdom. Once he got on stage, he would take your advice, but the next time he would crawl back into your bed would be the night he got his draft notice.
None of you were exactly surprised, as everybody had known to expect it sooner rather than later, especially given that Elvis had slowly and steadily become one of the most controversial singers in the country. However the days immediately following it were some of the bleakest you’ve ever experienced.
With The Colonel’s whole rebranding spiel, and how much trouble he got in after Russwood Park, the fresh start idea isn’t terrible at this point, but you wish you could have gotten out easier. As cold as it sounds to say, you now saw the writing on the wall. You’re fully aware of the fact that, of his crew, his make-up girl is on the lowest of priorities. Regardless of how fond he is of you, he is undoubtedly about to be put under a microscope and whether he realizes it or not, he’s about to embark on a new chapter of his life, a chapter that more than likely doesn’t include you.
You want to do your best to put on a brave face for him, the last thing you want to do is add to his stress. And besides it isn’t like you ever truly believed that this was in any way permanent. As life had taught you that nothing is permanent, so why would living with the Presley’s be any different?
It’s just a hard fact of your life that people inevitably get tired of you, and you get left behind for something better. As fun as it’s been with Elvis and his family, never once did you trick yourself into believing that this is how it would be forever. Maybe in those simpler days of practicing makeup on him in the bathroom and lunches in the bed of his company pick up truck… maybe. But as Elvis’ star burned brighter, you were snapped back to reality at how temporary and tenuous your situation was. The same way Elvis outgrew Lauderdale courts, he would outgrow you.
What would he even need his make-up girl for while he’s deployed? The Colonel made it clear he’s not to perform while he’s enlisted, and you doubt wearing makeup will do him any favors in the barracks. And besides, Omegas are unable to even get a passport in Tennessee without explicit permission from their designated Alpha, who in your case, would still be your father.
The father whom you interact with very little these days, the last time being almost a year ago and that was simply to stock up on a year's worth of suppressants. Your father whose business is not seeing as many customers these days because as far as Kitty knows, you don’t need anything from him any more.
Bright side of this is that at the very least you’re not without options this time around. Kitty had made it loud and clear that you’ll always have a place at the Cathouse, and hell you have enough savings to see you through the next few years in Memphis if you simply wanted to wait out his time in the army. But neither seemed appealing to you, as either way your future would still rely on others' good will.
When Elvis had started making movies, of course he dragged you along for the ride up there. You were still the only one he trusted to do his makeup and as a result the studio ended up giving you a crash course as to how to do movie makeup, which you learned was a completely different beast to stage makeup, as you now had to toe the fine line of subtlety. Regardless of all that you did end up making a pretty important discovery, in regard to potential future prospects for yourself. You learned that in the movie making business, Betas are like gold in Hollywood especially for the more practical and technical parts of movie making. This is all due in part to the fact of their overall lack of appeal to Alpha actors, as well as not being as distracting for Omega ones either, not to mention they are far more reliable as they don’t have to worry about pesky heats or ruts.
You also learned that up in Hollywood, you could get access to suppressants about as easily as you could get your hands on a packet of M&M’s, as unlike in Tennessee you didn’t need to be mated in order to gain access to them. As a result, you discovered there were more than a few behind the scenes hands who were also Omegas that masqueraded as Betas in order to get work on the sets, doing wonders to make you feel less out of place there.
Janet, the head of the make-up department Paramount, was initially reluctant to have you aboard but was nonetheless impressed with your ability to pick up the craft as quickly as you did. You had kept her phone number from way back when and decided that now would be a good time to take her up on that job offer. She was ecstatic to bring you onboard but the hiring process being what it is you still technically need to be recommended by former employers.
“You sure I can’t sway you to come back here,” Kitty says as she’s signing the bottom of the letter. The sentimental part of yourself that you had believed you had smothered long ago is screaming yes in your head, not wanting to leave everything you ever knew in Memphis, but the pragmatic part of you knew that your days here are numbered.
You want to be able to bury yourself in her chest and tell her how she’s been like a parent to you all these years. To thank her for all the years she’s cared for you in whatever way she could, taught you your trade that has proven invaluable, steered you in the right direction. But all of that feels too final for your liking, and instead you remark “Unless you got a rich Beta man in the back, then no dice,” all the while giving a casual shrug.
“Well at least you ain’t followin’ that good for nothin’ boy across the world,” she sighs in relief. Kitty was not a fan of Elvis, she made no secret about it, less so when you turned in your resignation to be his makeup assistant for the Louisiana Hayride. Your best guess as to the animosity is how eerily similar they are when you really pay attention. The same way Kitty could give a single look to any fellow Alpha she had ever met, and make them act right, Elvis could do the same, except make them act however he liked. They’re the type of people that just magnetically attract those around them.
But you also think that it is also on the principle that she dislikes any and all partners her children bring around… Which is ridiculous because everybody knows it’s impossible.
You decide not to waste the trip into town and start heading toward your least favorite place in Memphis. You only make this trip once a year anymore, and you’re hoping to make this as quick and painless as possible. But as the little shop below your old home comes into view, do you recognize what a tall order that is.
“What in the hell is this?” your father seethes as you approach the counter, throwing down a newspaper before you. You see yourself wide-eyed looking into a camera with Elvis leading you by the hand into the car after Russwood Park. The draft notice had left the paper's tongues wagging and apparently of all the photos of him that have been printed, it was just your luck that this one was apparently the one most worthy of being reprinted.
Rather than react with the same guilt or shame that any normal Omega would have when confronted by their father as to why they were seen with perhaps the most controversial Alpha in America, you idly pick up and open a candy bar that was sitting at the front.
“A newspaper,” you say with a mouthful of Baby Ruth. “Can I have what I came here for now?” He throws the pages at you, but if you learned anything from him, it is that flinching earns you nothing but letting the other person know you’re scared of them.
“Don’t be cute with me girl,” he spits that last part as though you were a stranger and not his daughter. “Why the hell do I find out like this you’re living with that boy?”
“You didn’t care a single goddamn bit where I was livin’ before, why’s it matter now?”
“It matters because what you’ve been doin’ makes me look like a bad father lettin’ my own daughter run around with that… that…” he says snapping his fingers, searching for the right word.
“Degenerate?” you finish for him, as it is the most common insult you’ve lobbed Elvis’ way.
“Don’t interrupt me,” he seethes, a rumble emanating from his chest, but after being surrounded by the likes of Elvis and Kitty, this does absolutely nothing for you, and you wonder how anybody has ever been intimidated by this man.
“Well good news, the only reason you look like a bad father, is because you are a bad father,” you tell him with a smile on your face. “No one thinks of you enough to bother telling lies about you.”
“Outta the kindness of my heart, I been footin’ the bill for these,” he holds up the bag for emphasis. “Only to find out you've been holdin’ out on me.”
“Mmm-hmm, of course that’s what this is about,” a smirk on your face, figuring ou what has got him so worked up. “Why you so worried about money? Saving up for your next attempt at an Alpha kid that’s not gonna happen?”
“Don’t think I don’t know about you and that vicious bitch of a woman, you been costin’ me more money than what these pills are worth for years,” he spits.
“Pills you put me on,” you accuse. The argument ceases almost immediately when you hear the tell-tale ring of the bell at the front of the shop.
“You gonna pay me what I’m owed, or no?”
You want to refuse on principle alone, but you’re so close to being free from all of it, so you don't want to risk it so soon. But you know the kind of trouble something like that could dredge up for you specifically. So it’s with a heavy heart that you agree to pay for them once you get paid for the next movie.
But if your father is good at one thing, it’s believing in his own myth of being the big tough, and in charge Alpha. That you as an Omega will have no choice but to obey his will, even as he hands over the very tool that negates his influence over you.
You have no intention of ever paying him a single goddamn cent of any of it. You’re only on them because of him, and if he wants to scream and holler about how you owe him money, but he won’t be able to do a damn thing, lest he out himself as well.
Besides, you'll be long gone by the time he wises up to the fact that you won’t be paying.
Now there’s only one more letter you need, and it’s not as easy as you would have hoped for. After getting your medicine, you take a few days to really pluck up the courage to do so. He’s been a lot testier these last few days, as was to be expected considering the circumstances.
If all goes well you’ll be able to work on this final movie together with him, before you part ways, and leave with the crew back to California. If not… well you’ll probably just start making your trip far earlier than expected.
You find him in the upstairs office, looking through mail, a stony expression on his face, but it lightens considerably when he sees you with the food Gladys has sent you up with. Well, more like you insisted on taking it up as you’ve been hoping to catch him in a good mood, as there are few things on this Earth that put him in a better one than his mama’s cooking.
“Sorry to bother you E,”
“Ain’t no bother,” he insists, moving some papers out of view to make way for the dish. “I’m tryin’ to get a head count for how big a house I need on base in Texas.”
“How many you at now?”
“Including you? 7,” he says casually, taking a bite out of his food.
“Why would you include me?” You say genuinely confused.
He pauses at that, positively shocked by your response, until a grins splits his face and he gives a short huff of a laugh. “You almost had me there, Y/N,” he chuckles at your apparent antics, settling back into his affable disposition.
You swallow nervously at that, “That’s actually kinda what I came to talk to you about. I-I got offered a job from Paramount out west to work for them, but they’re saying I nee-”
“Jokes over,” he declares, his smile dropping a little, bypassing what you were trying to say. “You got me, alright?”
“... Not alright, Elvis,” you state trying to get your point across. “I’m trying to tell you I’m getting another jo-”
“Y/N,” he says, cutting off your plea, the look in his eyes familiar, but you’ve never had the misfortune of it being directed at you. “Quit the jokin’ now,” he says, his tone severe which you do not care for one bit, but you have to tread lightly if you want to get his sign off.
“I’m serious Elvis… this… this probably isn’t the best time,” you sigh, for once in your life trying to be careful with your words. “Th-the studio needs letters from former bosses to know that I can do the job, an-and I was hoping you could write one for me.”
The tension hangs thick between the two of you once you are finally able to make your point. You swallow nervously but you don’t sway and inch as he stands from his desk.
“If this is a ploy to get a raise,” he said coldly. “You win Y/N, I’ll pay ye’ whatcha want?”
“No Elvis…” you sigh, trying to keep a cap on your frustration. “You’re not listening. I’ve got a new job lined up in Hollywood, I just need you to write a letter for them telling you I can..” you trail off seeing the expression of fury in his face.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now Y/N!?!?”
“I think we’ve established that I’m not joking right now,” you say bitingly, your hatred of being yelled at overriding all other things.
“So what… you’re gonna leave me high and dry when I need ya’ the most!?” He says, something akin to heartbreak painting his features.
“Why do you gotta say it like that? Like I’m breaking up with you?” you argue, not liking how he’s making this a bigger deal than it is. “It ain’t like you’re gonna need a make-up girl while you’re doing drills.”
“But I’m gonna need you!” He asserts, placing his hands on your shoulders.
“Oh don’t be like that,” you tell him, literally shrugging him off. “It’s not like I’m gonna be able to live on base with you.
“Then we don’t gotta live on base.” he waves away, as though it were that simple.
“Elvis… I don’t wanna go with you,” you say simply leaving it at that leaving no room for him to argue the logistics of it. It hurts but you know you gotta get out now while the getting is good, because if you wait any longer, he’ll be the one that leaves first and that will be all the worse. For the first time in your life, you want to be the one that walks away on your own terms. “E, I-I gotta go where the work is,” you try to justify.
“So that’s it ain’t it,” he says, his pursed lips turning into a frown. “this was all just a job to you and you’re leaving cuz there ain’t one no more?” he shakes his head at you, disappointment evident on his face.
That… that cuts deep. That he can reduce not only his role in your life like that without guilt, as though you’ve been playing the longest con in history, when you first decided to defend a scrawny 12 year old from his nay-saying music teacher.
“Yes Elvis, if that’s what you want to hear,” you say without a hint of hesitation, willing your tears not to fall now of all times. “This has all just one big job for me, has been since the very beginning. Now there ain’t no job to have and I gotta fucking move on with my life because I don’t fucking need you anymore!” It doesn’t feel great as it leaves your mouth, and the angry tears streaming down your face prove it.
Nor does it get any better when you watch him stagger a bit at that, as though he had just been shot, even taking a hold of the corner of his desk for full effect. A million emotions pass through his face in seconds until he eventually lands on pure unadulterated fury. “Get out! I don’t wanna fuckin’ look at you right now!” he shouts dismissing you, his hands shaking as though itching to wring your neck.
“You got it Boss,” you say bitingly while giving a sarcastic curtsey, to which you turn around and walk out of the room, paying no mind to the destructive sounds coming from behind you. In spite of the biting cold outside your rage is keeping you warm as you pace back and forth along the back patio, trying to figure out your next move.
You’ve had your fights with Elvis before, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen so upset past the point of not wanting to talk with you. Even the biggest blow out between the two of you was exactly that, when he had walked in on you with that Beta who served cotton candy.
“Well now you know what I’d do for cotton candy,” you tried to joke after they had left, but Elvis proceeded to scream in your face, asking how dare you do something like this to him. You’d seen his territorial side before, as you’re not stupid enough to actually believe there isn’t anything behind all the times he’d casually pick you up and take you away when you happened to be talking to some Beta. But you did not care for being screamed at whatsoever, so you packed your things and proceeded to walk to the nearest bus station. You proved yourself to be far more stubborn than him, as you walked down the road, ignoring his demands that you get into the car as it crawled at a near snail’s pace to keep up with you, and talk you out of going back to Memphis.
As the cars lined up and started honking, you refused him still, even his threats to throw you into the trunk if need be, you didn’t falter. It wouldn’t be any sweat for him to do so, what with that crazy alpha strength of his, but you both knew that would hardly be the end of it if he resorted to that. Finally as the bus terminal got within view did he finally crack and promised to never yell at you like that again.
“You drive me up the goddamn wall, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
“You love it,” you declared, glad to finally be able to rest your feet, having picked the worst shoes to walk in.
“Yeah… I do,” he sighs and looks over at you from the driver's side. There is a bit of an awkward pause as you find your faces much closer than you remembered and he glances down at your lips.
“God, I’m starving. I don’t know about you,” you quickly say, turning your torso fully around to look out your window, trying to break the tension. “But I could go for a bite and I think I saw a diner up ahead.”
You hear him clear his throat, as he hoarsely replies with a simple “Yeah.” By the time the two of you returned to the motel, you’re the best of friends once more, and neither of you ever mentioned that awkward bit again.
You had hoped after all this time he would’ve let go of that weird possessiveness he has over you. With all the girls that he could have, why do you matter to him so much? You know you’re good with makeup, but you know so are many other girls. And he is capable of opening up to them as he does with you if only he ever got his head out of his ass.
Christmas Eve, Gladys spends the day cooking up a storm, roping in you and Dodger, determined to make this the best Christmas yet. Elvis is still not talking to you but you do find him when you’re looking for your purse, and you watch briefly as he stares deeply into the fireplace, something he’s been doing a lot since your fight.
But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks that you have anything to apologize for. You’ll be leaving with or without his permission… which you absolutely do not need either way. And if he chooses to end your friendship like this, then so be it.
Hell if need be you’ll go over his head and ask the Colonel for a letter. You have no doubt that if it means getting you away from Elvis, the Colonel will write nothing short of a glowing review and personally hand deliver it to Paramount.
Christmas day comes and everyone and their mother is over to celebrate. Everybody is living it up and trying their best to not acknowledge the big ole’ elephant in the room. Elvis seemed to be in higher spirits though as he proceeded to act like nothing was amiss, trying to make this a good Christmas for all. It’s almost as though the weather itself knew his plans for a perfect Christmas with the fresh blanket of snow that covered the outside.
Everyone tries to follow suit with keeping up the festive denial, though it doesn’t take long of the both of you obviously avoiding each other for seemingly everyone to notice something is wrong. Some point blank ask what happened between the two of you.
Some of the guys, weirdly enough, ask if you’re feeling sick, which is an odd experience considering that their eyes tend to slide right over you most days. You find yourself compulsively checking yourself in any available surface over and over again, trying to figure out what had them questioning your state. Nothing is out of place, your makeup is flawless and your outfit is perfectly coordinated and festive.
You look beautiful and nothing is wrong. You’re hoping if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe that.
You eventually call it a night after a few hours though not before presents are exchanged and you get the pleasure of seeing Elvis' eyes go a bit glassy once he puts on the new coat you got for him only to find the pockets filled with Gum and Guitar strings, because as upset as you are with him you’re not about to break tradition.
By the time you make it back to your room you all but pass out fully dressed on top of your sheets, and you feel the slightest twinge of guilt when you wake up wrapped in Elvis' old Crown Electric Jacket. You don’t really get a chance to dwell on that too much though as after taking your suppressant, do you notice the noise- or better yet the lack thereof.
Graceland is many things but it is definitely never quiet, you learned that early on into moving in. There was always something happening, someone visiting, and something new to do, with the occasional errant chicken running around the house, so it takes not even an hour that first day for you to notice the silence.
It’s almost like a ghost town on the floor below, with the only soul to be found, being the head of this household idling away at the piano. You’re about to head back to your room, wanting absolutely none of this until you hear a “Y/N?” from the piano room. You silently curse his uncanny knack for sniffing you out when others couldn’t, while simultaneously breathing an internal sigh of relief that he no longer sounds angry at you.
“Yeah it’s me E,” you state as you walk into the room, resolved to whatever fate you had signed yourself up for.
He turns around to see you see his face flushed and his eyes puffy, no doubt he’s been having trouble sleeping again.
“Y/N… we’re close right,” he asks genuinely, and you know that that boss comment hurt him deeply.
“We’ve both seen each other without makeup, absolutely nothing is closer than that.” you answer.
That gets a chuckle out of him at least, and it’s almost a relief to hear it after going without it for so long. “How many years we been knowin’ each other?” he asks solemnly, as you sit next to him on the piano bench.
It’s as you're saying 8 do you actually realize how long it’s been. “Time is one sneaky sonuvabitch,” you say, your eyes still wide at the revelation.
He laughs a bit at your reaction, “It sure is,” he says. The next look you can’t quite read as he says, “That's 8 years of believing in my dream longer than even I did at some points.” His eyes wide and his face soft.
You’re very uncomfortable at the amount of vulnerability being shown right now and you quickly course correct by lightly moving his chin with your fist and saying, “Hey now don't chu go gettin’ soft on me Presley,” you say, laughing to mask your nervousness.
He takes your hand in his as he says “What I’m tryin’ ta say Y/N, is th-that it’s been 8 years of you supportin’ me in whatever way I needed.” He gives a sad smile at this, before he continues, “I figure it’s ‘bout time I pay that back. I’ll write whatcha need darlin’.”
You’re stunned at this, truly having believed you would be the first to crack. But here he is, subverting expectations as usual. You’re not the most physically affectionate person, you’ll admit, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge to hug him. Not the obligatory side hugs you give on occasion, nor the awkwardly stiff stance when someone hugs you. This is a full on arms-behind his neck bury your face in his neck kind of hug, as you squeal you thank yous over and over to him.
You remember yourself, you pull away slightly once you feel his hands on your lower back tenderly holding you to him, and with your hands on his chest you look at him directly in the face. His eyes gazing up at you, a soft smile on his plush lips, his breathing steady and strong, as opposed to yours which hitches in your throat.
You clear your throat, “Say where is everybody?” you ask casually releasing yourself from his grip and turning your attention toward the window, which showcased the freshly fallen untouched snow of December.
He approaches you from behind and idly places a warm hand on your shoulder, before saying“I let everyone know I need some alone time and I didn’t really wanna see anyone, till we hear back ‘bout the deferment.”
“Shit sorry,” you say, quickly trying to get up. “I’lll get outta your hair,” you say, only for his grip on your shoulder to slip down to your waist.
“You’re not just anyone to me Y/N,” he drawls, his face far closer than necessary.
"Okay weirdo," you say, turning away hoping your face isn’t radiating how warm you’re feeling. You focus your attention on the snow covered lawn before you declare, "But if this ends up like the Donner's, I'm eating you first."
That gives him pause and you see as he purses his lips, clearly trying to hide a smile before he leans in real close to your ear. You don’t fully understand why your heart seemingly skips a beat as he says in a husky drawl, "Not if I don't eat you first."
There was the briefest of moments when you feel your face heat up at his tone until you roll your eyes at him and move him and his stupid little lip bite away from you. You turn around and try to leave the room, content that your little orphan angry ass isn’t going to be thrown out into the snow just yet. But before you can do so, you feel him grab a hold of your wrist, “ain’tcha cold like that darlin’?”
You look down only to be reminded that you had not in fact dressed for the weather today and your short-sleeve blouse and light skirt reflect that. Though oddly you don’t feel the least bit cold, and you feel mildly perturbed as to how in fact you are feeling very comfortable like this. Though of course you hide your concern by saying “You forget, I’m cold-blooded Presley.”
“Of course you lil’ lizard you,” he says with a smile on his face, as he’s taking off his own jacket. “But mama would have my hide if she found out I let you walk around like that and get sick,” and he drapes the warm material around your shoulders, and then chucks you under your chin to look at him. In spite of your supposedly “cold-blood” you feel uncharacteristically warm as he looks at you.
You quickly make your way back to your room, to open up that secret compartment of your purse to find your suppressants. You take them religiously and know exactly how many you should have left by this point, and you’re relieved to find the correct amount left. You quickly think back to everything that you’ve eaten in the last few days, and nothing sticks out to you that would have affected them and you don’t drink whatsoever so it couldn’t be any of that.
Finally you’re left with no choice but to chalk it up as nothing but you being paranoid. You decide to read on the couch, and somehow between the warmth of his jacket and the soft notes he’s playing, you find yourself in a hypnotic trance and you give into the heavy feeling of your eyelids.
You’re later startled awake when you feel something hit you squarely in the face, confused until the snow begins to melt on you and you feel the cool burn of the cold water on your chest. Elvis is laughing his ass off seeing you like this and nimbly dodges when you throw one of your house slippers at him.
“There were easier ways of wakin’ me up,” you remark through your exasperation.
“Ain’t one of ‘em as funny though,” he says slyly, and you roll your eyes, but your sigh tells him you can’t help but agree. “‘Sides that Twilight show’s ‘bouta start, and I knew you woulda done worse if I let you miss it.”
You’re surprised at that, and as you look out to the dreary looking sky you see that it has in fact been more than a few hours since you’ve been asleep. But it hardly feels like any time has passed between now and then as you still feel like you could sleep for another few hours or even days. You quickly disregard these thoughts though as he tells you it’s only a matter of time before your favorite shows starts.
You take a seat next to him just in time to catch the beginning of Twilight Zone, placing the popcorn between the two of you. You have always loved scary stories like this, and Elvis loved scaring you when you got too wrapped up in the stories. Low and behold as you’re anxiously waiting for Inger Stevens to come across the hitchhiker once again, you feel his cool hands grasp at your side making you all but jump out of your skin.
“I hate you,” you say mulishly as he continues to laugh. Though he doesn’t remove his arm from around your waist which takes your full focus off of the screen, as you look down at his hand curled around your side. You move slightly away from him only for his grip to tighten and you’re pulled even further into him until you're all but sitting on his lap. You’re viscerally reminded of Prom and wonder briefly if he even remembers that night anymore, or if it’s become lost in the shuffle amongst all of the other girls he’s had over the years, and an ugly feeling of jealousy shoots through you in that moment.
“Oh there’s the popcorn,” you say, as you use your whole body to stand up and get off of his lap. You grab it and rather than get back on the couch, you sit yourself on the floor, clutching the bowl in front of yourself as though it were a shield, as Perry Mason was just about to start. You’re hesitant to look at him right now, until he reaches down and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl.
“Wait I know how this one ends,” Elvis says, with a cheeky grin. “Perry Mason wins.”
He’s just a naturally touchy person, you justify to yourself, don’t read too much into it. “It’s not about if, it’s how goddamnit,” you assert, with a smile on your face. As the show continues you hardly notice when Elvis makes his way to the floor or when he casually throws an arm around your shoulder, though that’s mostly due to the fact that by the half-way mark of the episode, you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Even finding yourself leaning on him more and more, and if you weren’t so tired you would wonder why, considering that you spent most of the day napping.
No, you just find yourself silently grateful for that crazy Alpha strength of his to carry you to bed, your bed feeling more comfortable than you can ever remember it as you settle in.
Waking up to find Elvis in your bed is not unusual. Waking up to him under the sheets with you holding you around your waist is rare but occasionally does happen. Waking up to find that you’re in his bed as he nuzzles his nose into your neck with a handful of your ass while… something… pokes your belly, absolutely unheard of.
You try to peel his hand off and carefully remove yourself from his grip, only for him to roll over fully on top of you and bury himself between your breasts. You stop breathing entirely for a moment, too worried that any sort of chest-heaving may wake him and make this whole situation all the more uncomfortable. Part of you wishes to go back to sleep and hope that this was simply a bad dream, but as he shifts you feel his thigh place itself firmly by your core, the action so sudden and shocking that you audibly gasp.
You feel him stir at that and your face is burning, embarrassed by this whole ordeal, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get as he plants a sleepy kiss on your neck and removes himself from you. You think you’ve reached new heights of humiliation, until you find him between your thighs and feel one of his hands start to travel up your skirt.
This has got to be a dream, you think.
“Ok, you’ve had your fun,” you say, trying not to make your skittishness so apparent. “You can quit it now,” but then his other hand travels further up and you’re almost too distracted to notice its twin hook on to your panties and begin to drag them down. And before you can make any noise of protest, it turns into a surprised squeak as you feel his hot breath waft over your now naked cunt. You’re frozen in place as to what the hell is going on, both fearful and hopeful as to what he’s about to do next.
Those seconds seem to drag on for hours, there’s nothing stopping you from closing your legs or even covering yourself with your hands, but neither of these occur to you. Instead you lay there paralyzed as he further parts your thighs and using his tongue lightly trace up the seam of your cunt.
That sends you into overdrive and removes any possibility that this is a dream, as he languidly tongues your core. Your hips almost immediately buck up but he keeps you down with a forearm across your lower belly, as he tenderly nurses at your clit.
You grab at his hair but that only seems to further invigorate him, as his groans seem to reverberate off of your walls and he goes from focusing on that bundle of nerves, to delving lower and lower to that seldom explored entrance of your cunt. You restlessly try to push his head away from you, but your thighs apparently have a mind of their own as they box him in when you feel the tip of tongue lightly trace the rim of your fluttering hole.
His tongue, you are learning, has talents well beyond singing as you feel that wicked muscle eagerly delve into what little access you have (reluctantly?) granted him. The pleased hums he’s making, demonstrating how much he’s enjoying the act don’t help either.
Eventually you find your hands running through the hair that you, probably more than anyone in the world, are most intimately familiar with, even seeing the hint of his light roots that you’ve neglected to touch up in the last few days. You’re at the very least glad that the two of you are alone in the house, because you doubt you would have been able to muffle the downright filthy sounds coming out of your mouth.
The noises you’re making seem to only spur him further, as his thumb goes from an unhurried pace to a far more goal-oriented motions as his tongue goes rigid and plunges as deep as it could go and then, almost playfully, wiggles within you.
You’re left seeing stars, your pussy clamping down around his tongue, though he removes it almost immediately in order to prolong your euphoria by sucking on that little button of yours.
Even after all of that, you still held out hope that this was some weird sleepwalking episode and somehow feeling another warm body, he was going off of instincts until he removes himself from your pussy, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with his thumb, and looks you right in the eye with a look that tells you he has an appetite that has only been mildly wetted.
“Guess I ate ya’ first darlin’,” he remarks with a very sweet kiss to your lips, as though he didn’t just make you have the best orgasm of your life. God you’re so familiar with these lips, yet it still takes you by surprise as to how soft they feel against your own. You’re only human so lord forgive if you wish to indulge in the fantasy of perhaps every teenage omega in the country. But quickly you gain your bearings, remembering that as far as he’s concerned, you’re a Beta through, and through.
It kills you a little to remove yourself, breathing raggedly as you try to come to grips with what is happening. His eyes are blown out entirely, and he licks his lips as though you’re a meal waiting to be devoured, but even then you instinctively know he’s seeing you as you are.
This trance you’re both in is broken by the shrill ring of the phone from the upstairs office. He gives a soft curse, before he rolls out of bed and casually walks out of the room. You’re left leaning against the pillows. Looking up at the ceiling, utterly shell-shocked, mindlessly fixing your skirt to cover up your bare pussy as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
But it’s as you’re doing that does an unbearable fire come upon you. A terrible fever emanating from your lower belly overwhelms you and as you helplessly inch out of his bed every instinct within you is screaming how bad of an idea that actually is. Every step away from that bed is agony, as though you’re wading through lava, away from any safe haven you may have found. Even trying to move your panties back into place feels scalding and you’re left with no choice but to remove them completely, leaving you completely accessible. You shiver at the thought, and not from the cold.
Briefly you wonder if maybe Elvis had something to do with this sickness you’re experiencing, but as you feel a throbbing emptiness from deep within you, do you realize that this is in fact a long ignored part of yourself that is simply roaring back to life. You finally recognize what exactly this is and recognize what sort of trouble you’re in.
You skittishly look out the door and, finding the office door closed with his voice behind it, you make a quick beeline to the staircase, and from there dash to your room, where you quickly barricade yourself in with your vanity table. And in the mirror are you forced to face what you are. Your eyes blown out, your clothes wrinkled and disheveled, the makeup you neglected to take off before bed smudged, sweat running from the warmth emanating from within you, and your whole body trembling under the effort to not flip over the table and run directly back to him. Not to mention the slippery feeling of your thighs as your slick runs freely, unhindered by any. You look at the very image of the idyllic debauched Omega and you finally recognize something is very wrong.
You have never in your life neglected to take your suppressant a day in your life, and quickly counting them, you find no extras, so that’s clearly not the case. It is as you are doing a double count do you realize something off about them. Looking directly at your suppressants underneath the light, they looked off. They were a slightly more yellowish white than they usually are and picking one up to inspect it, your nail catches the edge of it and it crumbles a bit. Neither of these things bode well for you. You desperately look for your extra doses of suppressants only to find them missing.
That’s when it goes from less than ideal to utter nightmare territory. You don’t know how nor do you know why, but your suppressants are no longer effective and you may very well be hurdling full force into heat, alone in a home with an unmated, virile Alpha. You immediately get to packing what you can, trying to figure out your best means of escape.
You try to assess your options as to where you can go for the next few days, but with all your options being either Alphas or out of town, you have no choice but to go back to your father. But your most pressing issue as of right now is how you’re going to get out of this room. Your windows are sealed shut, so you’re left with no choice but to venture out back into the house and pray he’s still upstairs.
You’ve done your best to ignore the steady stream of slick that has been running between your thighs, but the idea that he’s out there somewhere, causes a new rush of it to burst out, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose all restraint and give in to what your biology is demanding of you.
You made a beeline for the front door, your mind determined to make it out of Graceland but it was upon actually getting to the front door do you find your hands hesitating for a second. Some latent part of yourself really questions if it would be so bad to be his, questions why you have to fight it when he’s been nothing but good to you.
But it was your moment of hesitation that gave enough time for a familiar ringed hand to slam the door shut on you. “Baby, there you are,” despite the door now shutting out the cold, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.
“Elvis I-I-I,” you swallow, his scent so heady and powerful you can almost taste him on the back of your tongue. “I need to leave.”
“I just got the good news,” he states, completely blowing past what you just said. “They granted me the deferment for the movie.”
“Elvis, I’m begging you,” you plead, as a bruising grip on your wrist forces you to let go of your packed bag. You’ve only ever cried once in your life in front of him, but now the tears flow freely down your face.
“Don'tchu worry your pretty little head ‘bout anythin’ darlin’,” he coos, wiping the tears from your cheek. “You go where I go, ain’t nothin’ gonna change ‘bout that.”
Even after all the time that had passed, you can still vaguely taste yourself on him, not an unpleasant taste, but your thoughts quickly turn to wondering how he would taste, or better yet how the both of you would taste together. The kiss becomes heavier and deeper as you wrap your arms around him and boldly run your tongue over those sharp canines of his, some masochistic part of you demanding to press harder.
Your chest is heaving, needing more oxygen than you personally think is necessary, and yet you find yourself giving pathetic little whimpers as he leaves your lips in favor of marking a trail of kisses down your body.
He kneels down before you, burying his face in the crevice between your thighs, the only barrier between you and him, being the thin material of your skirt. It was only then did you notice the brief relief from the fever you felt, all due to his close proximity. “You smell ripe for the pickin’ sweetheart,” he breathes out in a raspy tone, looking up at you as though he were in prayer, as his hand drags the zipper of your skirt down. It slips down fully with only the slightest of tugs, and your left trembling, bare from the waist down in front of him, as your thighs shift uneasily the slick that’s gathered making it all the easier.
You try not to look down at him, as though that will stop what’s happening right now. His tongue is now collecting every trace of your wetness it could find and just barely missing where you feel you need him most, to which you’re not afraid to voice your disapproval of.
“Don’t mind if I take the first bite,” he whispers, the tip of a canine barely scraping the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s that contact that reminds you what exactly is at stake here. Without warning you do your best to push him to the ground. He’s caught off guard but manages to catch himself before he lands on his ass, but the momentary surprise gives you just enough room to slip out.
You are about to sprint all the way back to your room, hoping to lock yourself in, until you feel an iron-like grip on your ankle. You’re barely able to catch yourself with your hands, but you're quickly dragged backwards. You desperately claw at the carpets, trying to find some kind of purchase only for him to grab a hold of both your wrists in one hand.
And that’s that. You’re thoroughly wrangled, no means of escape and no one coming to save you. You recognize how thoroughly fucked you are (or ar going to be) and that really no point in fighting it anymore, but you can’t even trust yourself enough to say that it wasn’t intentional on some level.
Let it never be said you’re not stubborn until the very end.
“Now I didn’t appreciate that one bit,” he hisses at you, and you hear the tell the shifting of fabric as he moves his pants down his hips, still holding your wrists down.
“Please Elvis,” you say desperately, only managing to wiggle your hips slightly which doesn’t help your case whatsoever. His hand is now splayed along your lower belly, as he lifts your hips into a new position to you, your cheek still stuck to the carpet. “You don’t want to do this,” you sob hoping he’s not too far gone, though with the way he groans at the feeling of your warm ass on the underside of his cock, even you understand there’s nothing that’s going to stop this from happening.
“What I want is ta tan your hide, for denyin’ me this sweet little pussy a yours for all these years,” he growls hungrily next to your ear, and those words shouldn’t have you keening and writhing like you were, but they do and you are. “But we’ll save that when it won’t be so pleasant for you. ‘Sides your cunt is achey enough already, ain’t it?” he purrs, the head of him prodding at your core, barely catching the rim of your entrance.
“Yes, oohh yes Elvis,” you whine, pathetically. “Please-”
You can’t say for certain whether or not you were gonna continue to deny him, all you can say is that all thoughts or hesitations seem to melt away as you feel him push himself in. Your eyes threaten to roll back all the way into your head, it felt so good. You're practically dripping wet at this point, but even still the girth is still something to contend with, as you’ve never had to handle equipment this big before, and at the angle you’re at you can’t quite make-out how much more of this you’ll have to take.
Elvis though is about as patient as he could be under the circumstances. He’s like steel wrapped in velvet, silky yet unyielding, as he sinks into you like hot butter, until finally his hips meet your ass. His heavy member has found a home in your cunt, and with the patience of a goddamn saint, he waits until your moans and groans aren't so ambiguous, and has the sound of a woman enjoying herself.
You’re low groan when he moves out, turns into a high-pitched shriek when he slams back into you. You sympathized with him when the papers started calling him The Pelvis but now being here underneath him , you can’t think period, let alone think of a more fitting nickname considering how well he’s wielding his to go at a harsh yet tender pace behind you.
In his rutting frenzy, he’s seemingly forgotten his hold on your wrists, but you in turn have abandoned your initial fervor to get away from him. You find yourself pushing backwards, desperate to keep him inside as best you can, frantically rubbing tight little circles on your clit with a single-mindedly chasing release, while you push off your other hand and try to meet his thrusts.
But he hasn’t quite gotten over that sadistic streak of his as he stops mid thrust and holds your waist preventing you from moving any further. You want to cry, you were so close, but the part of you that wants to be good and obey him wins out over the willful side of you, and you bury your forehead into the carpet. And as still as you can manage, you wait with bated breath for his next move.
“I tried bein’ nice ‘bout it, let you come to me,” he whispers in your ear as he moves the collar of your shirt out of the way, kissing the newly exposed skin. “But you gotta be so goddamn stubborn ‘bout everything,'' He hisses and you feel his warm breath waft on the back of your neck, and you know what’s coming next. You’ve dreaded this happening for years, but it’s so much worse than you ever could have imagined, because it’s coming from the last person you expected. You feel his lips curl into a small smile against your skin, and you feel the light scrape of one of his canines against your skin. “But I ain’t about ta have you any other way.” And without wasting another moment, he sinks his teeth into your neck marking you as his until the end of your days.
The sheer amount of pleasure and pain surging through your body makes you feel everything and nothing at all. All that registers really is the euphoric feeling as to where the two of you are joined together -at long last- so you didn’t miss a single moment as you feel the base of his cock start to swell. You're so startled that you try to pathetically crawl away only for him to take a hold of your still sore hips and bring you flush against him, as he seemingly grows and grows within you, well past what you ever thought could have fit up there.
You briefly black out for a moment not so much reaching your peak, but being rocketed to heights beyond what you could have ever imagined. Longer and more intense than you’ve ever been able to achieve, with a partner or otherwise, you’re a shivering pile of flesh, no longer tied to another worldly want other than the man behind you.
His moans are pure ecstasy, his hands undoubtedly leaving bruises on your hips, and his member resting heavy inside of you. Even though, on some level, you know it’s a fool's errand, you nonetheless try to separate yourself from him only to be given a painful reminder why this thing was often described as being “locked in.” You could feel yourself already stretched past your limit, refusing to let go of him, and you hear him groan from the new sensation, as tears flow down your cheeks from the pain.
What’s worse is that when you finally give up and snap back into place do you both shudder at the sensation as he reaches some part deep inside of you. You black out for a moment from going from intense pain to immense pleasure almost immediately can do that to you only to now find yourself on your side with Elvis behind lazily rocking his hips into yours as he leaves blistering kisses where he can and scorching trails everywhere else he could reach.
You’re left with no choice but to stay put and try not to enjoy every roll of his hips against yours, though you stubbornly bite your own lip to prevent yourself from making any noises, approving or otherwise. But this plan quickly falls apart as your mulish defiance of him and his wants are nothing compared to the swift slap on your pussy that causes you to bite down hard on your own lip. Your stupid protruding canine gets your lip, and upon your instinctual cry and release of your lip do you begin to taste the coppery flavor of your own blood. You attempt to hide your face only for him to grab a hold of your jaw, only to lick up the small trail of blood to your chin. You’re way past being able to be shocked by him anymore, and simply choose to relish in this sinful act, with a man who has been trying to clean up his image for the past few months.
If you had to guess, you’re like that for roughly an hour, until finally he’s at a size where you're finally able to remove yourself from him without discomfort, other than the veritable flood that comes gushing out of you without his cock to keep all of it in. Towards the end, he had shifted you so that you were back on your knees, your head resting on your forearms, with your ass in the air and you could only watch mesmerized as a small stream of his milky white seed runs down your thigh only to stop where your knee meets the floor where it proceeds to disappear into the ivory carpet beneath you.
You hear him purr behind you, apparently just as captivated by the show your pussy is giving him. In one swift motion you find yourself on your back and as he follows the path his cum had trailed down your leg, back to its source. You gasp as you feel him dip his fingers back into you and he hooks some of the seed out of your cunt only to use your now open mouth to stick them in there.
It’s almost like a switch goes off in your head with that first real taste of him. You no longer try to fight with yourself, not even choosing to give in really, because with the way you're feeling right now it’s not even really a choice anymore.
“Anything that ain’t goin’ into your pretty pussy is goin’ in that smart mouth a yours, you understand lil’ mama?” he purrs, satisfied as your tongue splits his fingers trying to get every single drop of him you could. “We don’t wanna let any of this go to waste now do we?”
“No,” you cry desperately, truly ashamed as to what you’re becoming. But you have no time for those thoughts as he surprises you by returning back down to your pussy.
“Keep your mouth open,” he orders between your thighs, words slightly muffled as they are against your lower lips. You're confused as to what he’s doing until he gives a light press on your lower belly and his cum gushes out of your poor abused hole and into his waiting mouth. He takes what comes out before he crawls back up to you to get a hold of your jaw, a dangerous look set in his eyes.
You dutifully do as he says and open up. Once that hot, heady flavor of your combined fluids hits your tongue you’re gone, without ego and fully submitting yourself not only to him but the primitive Omega brain that wants nothing more than to be his. You even wrap your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, so that the two of you could fully share this obscene cocktail that you both have managed to create.
“Aww baby,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “We wasted so much goddamn time not doin’ this.” In your state of mind you can’t help but agree.
He takes you on just about every available surface of the house, and you truly believe that the only reason he didn’t venture outward was due to how cold it was. If you had the capacity to think beyond seeking your next release you would feel ashamed as to what everybody will undoubtedly smell when they return. But all you could really focus on at any given moment was how good he felt inside you, or tasted on your tongue.
As frantic as he was to keep as much cum inside of you as possible, he also seemed to gain a specific kind of pleasure seeing you drip with his seed and having you swallow it in penance. You can’t get enough of any part of him and he makes good on his promise as to where his cum would go (where it belongs,) and for a solid week you are sustained almost solely on that save for whatever Elvis can scrounge from the kitchen. There’s almost a soft melancholy when you swallow him, as though he’s truly saddened over the lost potential of that particular load, as though he’s not stuffing you full of it seemingly every hour.
But in your haze you were all too happy to take what he could give you, you cunt greedy for all that he can give you.
And it’s underneath him that you learn about Alpha anatomy. Knotting, as you learn it’s officially called, is something Elvis can only do two to three times a day before he has to rest. Doesn’t stop him from trying every single time, nor does it stop him from having you
It becomes easier and easier each time, until you find yourself after each peak desperately grinding on to him, hoping that his knot would make a reappearance and make you feel whole. By the third day you even find yourself falling asleep with it within you, finding the fullness comforting, as though reassuring you that he won’t disappear on you in such a vulnerable state. The few times he’s left the bed you’re left a helpless, writhing mess desperate for him, even when he’s promised you he would be gone only for a few minutes. Part of you thinks he leaves more often than strictly necessary, considering the smug look he gives seeing you so needy for him and practically begging for his cock as you fruitlessly tried to replicate that sense of fullness only he could give.
“Empty,” you mewl, at this point incapable of full sentences.
He’s decided to torture you a bit rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. The hand splayed on your soft stomach prevents you from moving too much, wanting to take his time with you. Your whimpering begging for what you want desperate
“You ain’t ever gonna feel that way again,” he whispers through his kisses along the mark he left. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, ain’t no way you won’t be carryin’ my baby. Ain’t that whatchu want sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you cry desperately, willing to agree to anything, if he would only give you what you wanted, perhaps marking one of the few times he’s won a battle of wills against you.
You’re more animal than woman that week, a slave to her desires, a creature whose sole purpose is to be fucked and have his babies, if Elvis’ whisperings during this time are to be believed. You worry as to whether or not this more primitive side is due to your lack of experience with being in heat or if this is what to expect from every heat going forward. You feel as though someone else has taken the reins to your body and you’re simply meant to enjoy the ride.
Elvis on the other hand stays aware, and he takes care of you throughout it all, making sure you eat enough and drink water, makes sure your lips don’t dry out, licks at your wounds to help speed up the healing process, etc. You’ve never felt so needy, and you’re barely coherent enough to form complete sentences, and so you show your appreciation by being both as vocal and as obedient as possible.
He usually spends recovery periods licking you clean, though not necessarily where you initially thought he would’ve. You can’t help but conclude his love affair with the taste of your blood considering how much time he spends on the small wounds he’s made all over your body. In his initial eagerness to explore your body in those first few hours, he had “accidentally” nicked you every so often, the sole exception being the twin crescent marks you can feel on your neck and on your ass, which was clearly nothing less than intentional. Though your state and his efforts have significantly sped up the healing process, you know by the end of this you will be left with a constellation of scars.
“This one” he said lightly running his fingers along the marred skin of your neck. “That one’s for the world baby,” he coos, as he gives it a light kiss, making the slap that lands perfectly on top of the mark on your bottom, all the more surprising. “That one’s just for me and you. So you best not forget who that belongs to.”
“Never,” you sigh happily.
It’s almost funny when you think about it, how the world demands a clean-cut, sexless teen heart-throb, as though a majority of them aren’t also beholden to this primitive state of theirs. Looking at him now above you, his teeth sharp and bared, his grunts and groans echoing throughout the house, the bruises and scratches you’ve been able to leave on his torso, even the stubble you’ve felt more than you’ve seen, all paint a very primal portrait of him. He’s something wild, untameable even, someone who isn’t afraid to show how he is beholden to his own desires and instincts as the rest of the world hid from them, and tried to act like they don’t exist.
If it weren’t for the knot you would be hard-pressed to find much of a difference between this Elvis and the standard one.
By the end of your heat, you’re thoroughly exhausted, you don’t even have the energy to be mad at him anymore. You’ve just resolved yourself to your fate that will forever be tied to the boy you once thought you knew. You don’t even have the luxury of knowing whether these thoughts are your own, and not some long suppressed Omega part of you that simply wants to enjoy the way his calloused guitar hands gently rub the soft part of your lower belly.
But if this week has been about satisfying long-standing desires you’re not about to hold back on your desire for knowledge. Specifically how he discovered your secret.
“I wasn’t ‘bout a let you go without a fight baby,” he whispers, comfortable in not needing to hide anything from you anymore, as you’re thoroughly ensnared. “I was cookin’ up some not so nice plans to keep you by me no matter what. Only for a goddamn Christmas miracle to drop into my lap.” he says, allowing you to make your own pace at which to ride him.
“Your daddy sent me a bill in the mail, and I think you know what he was charging you for, dontcha?” he purrs, lazily thumbing at your clit and watching as your breasts bounced in rhythm with your frantic bucking.
“Bein’ the good mate I am, I let him know that you weren’t gon’ need any of that shit no more,” he says, giving a firm slap on your ass seemingly just because he felt like it. “And I some interestin’ things about them pills. You know what stops them pills from workin’ right?” he asks, lazily rutting into you.
“What?”
“You add a lil’ heat,” he growls, and suddenly his obsession with the fireplace these last few days makes perfect sense.
He spoke to you of how he’s been dreaming of this for years, and how he’s known that you were it for him, even when he thought nothing physical could happen between the two of you.
But even as he spoke, there was an ever present air of inevitability when he spoke to you as to how he envisioned your future together as though this was always meant to happen. And it was only a matter of you catching up to him. Afterall you were the one who taught him to ignore what he didn’t want to hear. And he didn’t want to hear no from you.
Taglist
@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen @softsatnin @literally-just-elvis-fics
#elvis#iswtg#if this shows up in the tags i'm gonna scream#yandere elvis#it did show up y'all#elvis 2022#elvis x reader#elvis movie#elvis presley#elvis film#elvis smut#yandere austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis#yandere x reader#yandere!elvis x reader#yandere!elvis#yandere#austin butler#austin!elvis angst#austin butler elvis#austin butler x reader#omega!reader#omega reader#alpha!elvis#alpha elvis#omegaverse#austin!elvis x reader#sorry for spamming y'all in the tag list but trust me when i say i didn’t want a repeat#did not write 21k for this not to be in the tags
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Silver Lining 12
Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes
Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.
Part of the Silverfox AU
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You leave your things in the guestroom, feeling less than homey in the unexpectedly cozy space. You stop at the top of the stairs and listen below. You hear a door and feel cold air seep in. Bucky grunts and you hear a loud clack as he mutters.
As you descend, the noise comes clearer. You approach the wide doorway to the front room and peer inside. He kneels in front of the fireplace, setting split logs inside as he bends forward, reaching back to rub his lower back.
He takes a flyer from the pile by his knee and shreds it into strips, stuffing it under the tent of wood as kindling. He takes the long barbeque lighter and lights and end of the newsprint and leans forward to blow the flame to life.
You observe him, rapt by his diligent work. You're not very good at those things. Not much of a camper or anything like that.
Finally, the wood begins to crackle and he sits back on his heel. He stacks the leftover wood against the wall and gathers up the newspaper. He places it on top and tilts his head up to stretch his neck.
He groans as he turns, starting as he sees you standing in the door. You clear your throat and sidle through.
"Sorry, I... d-didn't w-want to get i-in the way," you murmur.
"So, how do you feel about sandwiches?" He asks without a beat, "about the only thing I got that doesn't need the stove."
"Y-yeah, that's fine," you shrug and head back to the window, finding comfort in the peaceful fall of snow.
"Ham or turkey?" He asks.
"T-turkey, sure," you say over your shoulder, "I c-can help."
You turn to peek over your shoulder. He shakes his head, "I think I can handle it." He hesitates, "you don't think I'm tryna poison ya, do you?"
You blink and give a look. You know he's joking but it's a bit dark. You try to laugh but it's more a croak.
"Kidding," he says tenuously.
"I kn-know," you reply, "sor-ry, just... still a l-little antsy."
"Ah," he nods, "I'll... be right back."
You face the window again as he strides into the kitchen. Well, this is awkward. You rub your neck as you stare out at the night, bright with the pure snow. The noise of cutlery and plates fills the silence.
You close your eyes, trying to clear your mind. At least in this weather, you know his friend won't be coming back. Mr. Rogers... the last person you ever wanted to see again. You can barely even think about him.
You'll have to tell Lisa. She'll help you figure this out. She doesn't know everything but she knows he's dangerous.
You shudder and hug yourself. You don't feel good about it, even if he is gone. He knows you know Bucky, you could run into him again. You really don't think this is going to work out. He's ruined another job for you.
"Here ya go," Bucky interrupts your spiralling dread.
You flinch and turn to him as he crosses the room. You accept the plate and look at the tall can in his other hand. He offers it along with the sandwich.
"It's craft," he explains, "I got a bunch and it's just me so... I figured after today, you could use it."
"Oh, uh, th-thanks," you take the tall can as well, "I'll t-try it."
You sit down in the armchair and place the plate on the low coffee table. You take one of the coasters and lay it down. You pop the tab of the beer and sip as Bucky disappears back into the kitchen.
When he returns, you're setting down the can. It's alright, not really your favourite. You don't really drink and when you do, you don't go for beer.
"Th-thanks," you say as he sits one the couch, a can of his own in hand as he balances his plate in his lap.
"Yeah, don't sweat it. Bit of an unexpected twist to the night but better than getting lost out there in the snow," he comments.
"I g-guess," you say before nibbling on the crust.
"So... why'd you run off so quickly?"
"I..." you shake your head and swallow. You don't know what to say. He must think you're dramatic.
"You didn't like my friend," he says, "you're shy or something?"
You keep your eyes down and take another bite. You don't want to think about it anymore. It's as if you can feel Mr. Rogers, his hand on the back of your neck, his desk under your cheek--
"Sorry, I ov-ov-over-re-re-acted," you sputter, "I w-wa-was-wasn't expect-ting h-him."
"Me either."
You focus on eating. Letting him linger in silence. You reach for the beer and slurp.
"You're worked up again."
"S-st-stop," you say quietly, "I-I-I'm f-fine."
"Don't sound fine."
"I h-h-have a st-stutter," you exclaim, "y-you don't n-need to ke-ke-keep remin-ding me."
"I wasn't meaning..." he huffs and juts his jaw out, "I'm trying to ask you if you're okay?"
"I s-said so," you snap. You close your eyes and hang your head.
"Sorry," he apologises, again. Somehow, it doesn't help. "And I'm sorry you have to put up with an asshole like me."
"I d-d-didn't say th-that," you open your eyes and put what's left of the sandwich on the plate.
"I must be if you're trying so hard to get away from me," he sniffs, "I'm used to it. I know I can be blunt but... I thought we were working well together.”
You frown and entwine your fingers in your lap. Your heart is hammering. You could tell him right then who his friend is. Why you wanted to run. You could do it but you're embarrassed and scared and after all, you never did tell him no. You let it happen.
Your eyes tinge and your nostrils flair. You gulp thickly, "I--I-- I'm wh-what you s-s-said. A dis-dis-disappointment to ev-everyone."
"That isn't..."
"D-don't ask me w-w-why," you turn your face away as your eyes gleam, "ask him."
"Him? What?"
You cover your mouth. Why did you say that? Stop talking.
"N-nothing."
"You know him?" He asks.
"N-n-no," you grab the plate and bring it into your lap, "n-no. I--I'll h-help w-with the re-re-recording, o-okay?"
"How...?"
"Stop!" You squeeze the bread until you mush out a glop of mayo. You look down at the plate and drop the sandwich. "I s-s-said I'd do i-it. O-okay?! J-just--"
--like you told him. Just like did whatever he told you to. Just like he did whatever he wanted to you.
"Fine, alright," he raises his hands defensively, "god, you know, I'm trying to be nice and you just can't accept it."
Your lip trembles. You can't do it. You're fighting so hard and he just can't stop. You said you'd do the stupid show. You just want to change the subject.
"I... what did I do?" He's quiet.
You look at him as a tear slips out, "i-it's me," you say creakily, "I'm u-u-useless."
You stand and put the plate down next to the beer. You don't wait for an answer. He calls your name as you rush away, eyes bleary as you stagger to the stairs and grip the railing as you barrel up them. You shut yourself in the guestroom and sit against the inside of the door.
You're so stupid. Get over it! It's over so why don't you just grow up like everyone keeps telling you?
#Bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#drabble#series#au#avengers#mcu#marvel#captain america#winter soldier#silver lining#silverfox au
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🫧『𝕺𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖊? 𝕬 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞』🫧
Tw: dark kink, unprotected sex, non-con, dark content, rough sex, bondage, kinky, breeding, praise, degradation.
A/n: If something is incorrect, please let me know. using Google Translate for Russian words. I simply put down what came to me and spell-checked it. I'm not sure whether it even makes sense or not but enjoy!
Note: I'm interested in seeing how good my writing is, therefore I'm giving it my all. I have high hopes, for this one. This is a long boy. Your meal has been served, it was my pleasure serving you all 🍽️🤵🏽♀️.
🎐𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟐🎐
Oh, Who is she...
-Russia, Kubinka.-
The sky was a never-ending sea of white and grey, with no sight of the sun to sprinkle a sliver of sunshine as the snow gently fell to the earth, painting everything white as far as the eyes could see. People were spotted marching up and down with their warm jackets and hats, guns in hand, flawlessly matching one stride at a time. Not one man, hair, or step out of line, just as they were trained.
An automobile stopped in front of a large structure, the driver's door opened, and a hefty man crouched down and carefully exited the vehicle. Soon after, three more doors opened, and three guys came out of the car, closely followed by a lady. Her e/c eyes surveyed her surroundings as she expelled a little puff of air and watched it develop and dissipate, demonstrating how chilly it was outdoors.
The group entered the building and proceeded to a table; the woman sat on a couch a few meters away from the table, setting her weapon down. Her colleagues each pulled out a chair and sat. You gazed at them silently as you picked up the riffle you had placed down as you walked in, taking it into your hands and starting to disassemble it. You were cleaning the scope aimlessly when you were dragged out of your thoughts by someone calling out to you.
" Rusalka." He exclaimed. Rusalka a water spirit or a water fairy. She was frequently linked to the mythological concepts of a nymph or a mermaid. The term "Deadly but Beautiful" was given to you by your superiors. You liked the name Rusalki because she was a deadly dead creature and cursed ghost that resembled a young woman. Your countless enemies would hear your name before being struck down.
timid, helpless, and frail, some would say she was. But even the most beautiful flower may be toxic when needed. Judging a book by its cover would get you killed. You were nothing but skilled, powerful, and lethal.
"Yes, Captain Azhdaya." It signified dragon. He had a bulky physique. His face is studded with minor battle scars, except for the bigger ones. One on his left cheek a few meters from his lips and concluding just shy of his ear, a scar at the bridge of his nose, and a split on his lip. "Your location will be here," he says, pointing to a map as you stand to investigate.
"You will cover the team from this distance." He ended by tugging his finger in a direction. It was an excellent location with lots of trees and tall grass; blending in with an all-white outfit in an unending field of white snow would make it simple to conceal from the adversary and get a vantage point at the same time.
A misty memory
Leshy, the forest's guardian. His honey-brown eyes examined the chart, humming a tune under his breath as he took everything in. At 5"8, he was a few inches shorter than the captain.
Vodyanoy was discussing options that they might take advantage of. The hues of the woodland were reflected in the eyes. They were two colors, yet they were as enthralling as an unending expanse of trees and flowers. He was 3 inches shorter and had less muscular mass than Azhdaya, yet he was still a terrifying opponent to face in a fight.
Chuma and Leshy were the same height. He was a man with few words. But he was always in the mood for black humor jokes, making you both laugh and smile as the captain gazed on in fear. His eyes were clear and wonderfully polished blue proportions. He was a lovely soul, like your brother, even though you threatened to slam your foot up his ass for nearly getting killed.
You made your way to the table while reassembling your riffle. As you read the orders, your pupils narrowed. Objectives Destroy the English task force and safeguard the nuclear weapons in the ware home. Your hand reached for your hat, pulling it down slightly and readjusting it.
" Put on your armor and prepare your weapons. We depart at 0800 and expect to arrive by 1000." Azhdaya spoke up, dismissing you all from the briefing to prepare for the upcoming expedition.
You all walked out of the room and into your individual rooms. There would be no time to waste. Blood would be spilled tonight, and your squad would either win or die at the hands of the enemy.
A haunting face
The trip was uneventful. You all sat in the rear of the armored truck, silently double-checking your coms, gear, and weapons. Your seat was at the rear, and you were staring out the window idly. Watching as the colors of the night and the red glimmer of the tailgate blended together in one fast move before disappearing into the darkness. Only to pick up again.
You'd lost count of time, your attention only on the glittering lights in the night. It was lovely. Azhdaya was checking in with everyone to ensure that everything was in order. The squad represented family to him. The boys were like the sons had never had, and Rusalka, like the youngest, leave her alone, and she was going to destroy the world.
His gaze was drawn to the short figure in the rear, and he made a mental note to ensure she was mentally sound. She was threatening the guys, telling them she'd stick her pistol up their asses if they died on her.
The car came to a complete halt. "Rusalka, we're here." The person next to you spoke, Chuma patted your shoulder and stated. You blink and glance up at him, then nod your head, rise up, and grip the firearm close to your chest.
The expedition had begun; for better or worse, may you all return home.
Is she a lost embrace?
You and your riffle were hiding on a hill. A light coat of snow covered your body from head to toe. If someone looked in your direction, all they'd see is a mound of snow, plants, and trees.
They might see the glimmer of scope if they looked carefully enough.
Do you copy, Rusalka?- As a voice spoke up to you, you heard the communication link come alive. That was your captain - Yes, over. -You talked quietly and quietly so as not to draw attention to yourself.
If you detect any activity, alert us - He said, staring out the window, his figure masked by the night's darkness. The others wait in their respective holdings for any others to either fire or rethink their future movements.
It was completely quiet. You had no idea how much time had passed. More snow blanketed your body like a giant chilly blanket, completely immersing you beneath it. Your hands were numb from the cold, and you had to push yourself to remain motionless as little shivers and trembles brushed your skin.
Am I in love with just a theme?
From the looks of things, tonight was going to be unremarkable. Until you heard it, that is. Your ears picked up on the faint crunching sound. It was too big for a cat, too quiet for a fox, and too tall for a dog. It was a person, but you had to make certain it wasn't a civilian.
You adjusted your riffle slightly and focused your attention on the shadows you saw slipping away in the darkness. When you saw it, they were holding firearms and wearing protective gear. -Humans- were the words that came out of your mouth as you turned on the coms connection.
You observed three towering people headed toward the structure. One taller than the other, he wore a hood, another wore what seemed to be a skull mask, and finally, a man with a Mohawk? You hesitated briefly, resisting the impulse to chuckle quietly. You had to admit it suited him. Oh well, He was still the enemy.
Static came from your coms, and it quickly came back to life to instruct you. -headcount?- he gruffly asked you. - 3, sir.- You hurriedly spoke. - Keep a lookout two missing people. He advised you that there should be 5. You dropped your sight and examined your scope.
You gazed about the area for a while before seeing it. A person towards the front of the building, next to a shrub. - 4 shrubs at the entrance - You spoke as you gazed at the man you would have missed if you hadn't seen his little movement.
Or is Ayesha just a dream?
You were told to shoot as soon as they broke through the door. The instruction was to shoot to injure and, if necessary, to kill.
Something caught your attention. You didn't know what it was, but something was awry on the opposite side of the field. Was it the stillness, the swearing misleading figures appearing in your vision?
You couldn't rely on your vision. The darkness and shadows might generate illusions that will stymie your enthusiasm and your team's life. The door to the building burst open while your attention was elsewhere. It caught you off guard. You looked up immediately to see that they were entering the building.
They entered the building, permission to shoot.- You talked softly but rapidly. As you waited, your finger slowly fell to the trigger. - Granted-, that was all you needed to shoot at the figure as it slowly made its way inside.
You kept an eye out for any opportunities. You pulled the trigger when you saw it. The bullet sliced through the air as it approach its victim. His leg was struck. His blood had stained the snow underneath him.
A mystery
From then on, all hell had broken loose. Ghost talked on the coms after Soap was shot. When he informed his crew that bullets had been fired, their senses went into overdrive. König was ahead of the group, gun lifted, trigger finger on the trigger, ready to fire on the suspicious enemy.
Ghost was on the right, Soap was on the left, and Price was just behind them. Soap was hobbling a little, but the gunshot had not killed him. Ghost unlocked the doors and searched the rooms for any indication or sight of someone. The weapons were reported to be at the far end of the facility, according to the information.
A gunshot struck the side of König's skull, missing him by an inch. As soon as the doors leading to the weapon room opened. He and his men retreated hastily behind the door and the walls, firing back at the culprits.
Both sides were heavily armed. It could be heard over the coms as the sound of gunfire broke out in the air. Making the night more silent, quiet, and foreboding. After a while, everything was silent; neither the wind nor the crickets wanted to make an appearance. Sometimes silence was never a good thing.
Oh, who is she?
You waited with bated breath - Leshy and Chuma were shot - a voice came through. Vodyanoy was there. You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You stood there watching as the man who had entered the building burst out the door.
You watched as the man with the Mohawk was assisted by a man wearing a helmet. The tallest of them all had the arm of the man in a skull mask over his shoulder. Their blood stained the snow with a brilliant scarlet tint.
That's when something occurred to you. - Vodyanoy, tell me where Azhdaya is. Unlike your normal calm and collected manner, you raised your voice. -The captain was shot in the abdomen.- As you received the news, your heart fell, throbbing and hurting. - I've already made the decision. But I require your presence.- You entered the building without hesitation, without caring if it would get you killed or if it was irresponsible.
The mission was successful, but at a high cost: everyone was severely hurt. The cost was cleared when the medical team came. Unfortunately, someone had to remain behind. You offered to remain behind because there wasn't much room in the truck, don't know how but it happened. Your team was against it, but you shot them down. You were the least harmed and would be hiding in one of the nearby hideouts.
Oh, who is she?
You arrived at one of the hideouts, an abandoned structure by a river. Your firearm was never far from your side or in your hands. Even though it was familiar ground, you could never relax your guard.
As you got closer to the building, you noticed a towering person. You'd seen him before. If you recall, he was the colonel on the other side of this combat field. You knew you could play the helpless citizen if you were simply charming to him. You could at the very least eliminate him and his squad.
You took a gamble knowing you were about to collide in this combat field unknown to him but not to you. He was tall, far taller than you would have anticipated. He towered over your commander. You choose to have some fun. You taunted him by messing with his thoughts. You become the night's shadow, the illusion that swirled in his unfocused eyes.
You observed him as he twisted and turned. Look to the right and left, up ahead and below. You chuckled a little, watching him feverishly search for you like a lost puppy. But you were disappointed since your spot had been snatched from you; you heard shouts and froze. The man in the skull mask exited the building beside the colonel. You made the decision to walk away from him. You locked eyes with him as he lifted his firearm and spoke harshly. " Get her."
A misty memory
You rushed out of there on your heels, seeking for a new hiding spot. You rushed through the deep forest, crouching low to avoid hitting a tree. You made the mistake of looking back and confronting death.
He was swiftly catching up with you. You ran and ran, and you appeared to have lost track of time, but one thing bothered you: they were both following after you, but when you looked around, you noticed the one with the skull mask.
You inhaled the frigid air, allowing it to enter your aching, anxious lungs. You proceeded to the abandoned building, taking in as much air as you could and watching for a while to be sure it was clear. You seek refuge in a dark area with access to the entrance and window.
You closed your eyes and lay back against the corner, rifle in hand, succumbing to tiredness and allowing sleep to overtake you. You were too sleepy to notice that your safe way was going to be your undoing.
A haunting face
As Ghost and König stood in front of the building König had seen you walk onto, it was late. Ghost had lost track of you, and the snow had made everything appear so familiar that he couldn't tell right from left. He waited until König returned, informing Ghost that he had discovered where you were hiding.
Now when they were standing in front of the building, Ghost crept inside quietly, not wanting you to flee. You being valuable to them since you know the ins and outs of the building. He creeps closer to the room, discovering you in a corner with a riffle in hand. Your head hung down, hiding your features. He eased you out of the corner.
He straddled your lap and took a knife from his thigh strap, pressing it to your throat. " You know, that's not nice. Everyone told you, you have a sexy waist." You voiced to him, as you looked him up and down, making eye contact, a little grin tugged at your lips.
Ghost's eyes narrow as he looks at you, moving his knife closer to your throat, a line of scarlet slipping from your slashed flesh. "I'm the one who asks the questions here." His tone was harsh and low. Sending shivers down your spine as his icy, almost lifeless eyes glared down at you.
You can feel his breath fan your face as he leans forward. You feel your cheeks get hot and flushed. Were you indeed roused by a masked guy riding your lap? Perhaps nothing is impossible in love and war.
Is she a lost embrace?
You heard a stir from behind you and tilted your head to see a tall man towering over the two of you. The moonlight behind him accentuated his silhouette. Huh? The lost puppy returned in search of his owner, you guessed. König kept staring into you quietly, observing your very move.
"as much as I would enjoy having you in my lap," you said to the masked man, carefully moving your hand, not revealing your plans for the following few seconds. "You've never said your name." You sweetly spoke, but they couldn't see it anyhow. Finally, make contact with your riffle and grip it tightly.
You heard him say, "König." His voice is deep and low, and just hearing it makes your stomach twist and spin. "Ghost," remarked the man next to you. "Rusalka," you say, raising your arm and smacking the riffle's bud into the ghost's face. Making him lose his equilibrium somewhat, providing you exactly the right amount of change.
König charged at you as Ghost was cradling his bloody nose. You couldn't feel his body as much as you wanted to. You turned and hurried out of the room you were in and into another. Will the mouse escape or will the cat devour the mouse?
I call her name
As you approached the front of the building, you could see the light at the end of the corridor. It was probably time to look for a new home, but unfortunately, like the cat that ate the canary, you were apprehended before you could safely fly away. Something heavy smacked your back, forcing the breath from your lungs in a huge gasp.
You're not sure how long you were out, but when you awoke, your wrists were bound behind your back and you were tied to a chair, your legs connected to the leg chair. "Well, aren't Kinky?" you said, glancing up at the two guys looking down at you. They look at you. Ghost approached you, his hands resting on your thighs. You could feel the marks framing the outline of his hands as he squeezed so hard.
"Since you don't want to behave, I'll teach you manners." Ghost spoke, harshly grading your chin. You felt hands on your legs before Ghost shoved it away. König knelt down and unfastened your legs. As König rose up and came to Ghost's side, you maintained eye contact with him.
Know that your thoughts were not going in circles. You noticed that it was cooler than usual. Looking down, you noticed your gear and jacket had vanished. Ghost came up behind you, untying your hands from the chair just to re-tie them. So you're not going to attempt anything.
Across an endless plain
Your face was smashed against the dirt floor in the blink of an eye, and your pants and underwear ripped off your waist as though a wild beast desired something more. Your cunt has been exposed to the stranger, Ghost. "You may scream all you want. It's just three of us here." As you felt something hard push against you, he groaned. "You want me to behave," you exhale, shifting your face to face him. "Make me," you spat in his face, you weren't going down that easy.
His cock pounding pierces your pussy lips and presses deep inside of you. Your eyes roll into your skull, erupting in a whining moan. You wept and pleaded in a high you'd never known, with each thrust driving your face further and harder into the floor, yet he never yielded. Instead, his muscular arms just held you in place until release arrived in the form of his sperm blasting forcefully into your womb. " Should've behaved." He talked as he stood, leaving your ass up on the floor, his cum flowing out of your pussy onto the floor.
In your haze, you noticed boots in front of you and looked up to see König staring down at you; you blinked up at him, blinking away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. From the fuck Ghost had given you. He lowered himself, stroking your cheek and brushing away some stray tears with his thumb. "We might let you go if you give us what we want." You forced your lips together tightly, not making a single sound. Looking him straight in the eyes.
She'll answer me
"She's a lot more stubborn than we thought, König." Ghost declared as he picked you up by your tide hands and watched your legs try to remain erect. Ghost's knife ripped your shirt, tearing it apart in front of their greedy gaze. His left hand touched your face as he raised his mask, tilting it so he could passionately kiss you. You trembled as an enormous chilly hand clutched your chest, his right hand still firmly gripping your roped-tied hands.
Squeezing and licking your nipples like a ravenous starving man. König sucked and bit, leaving a trail of vibrant markings from your chest to your stomach and then to your core. While pounding two of his enormous thick fingers into you, he spreads your lips while kissing and relentlessly sucking your clit.
Your thoughts were racing with pleasure and overstimulation. Your lips were still being taken. You fell undone under them, Ghost's ravenous lips snatched the chances to breathe. König sipped your juices, humming to himself as if it were his sole source of relief for his parched throat. As he drank his fill, you felt the vibration against your pussy, and he drew away, licking his lips and letting his hood fall back down his face. His gaze fixed on your crumbling body.
Ghost, you let go, and you fall to the floor, your legs too weak to support you." It appears that we will have to break her." You didn't know who said it since you were too fucked up to notice or care, "Bite me." Your response was more of a drunken rambling than confidently articulated.
Wherever she may be
You became crushed between Ghost and König, and König pulled his hood up and pushed your chin up for him, tenderly kissing you and caressing your hair. While ghosts' hands raced across your body, searching every inch until nothing remained untouched by his fingers.
You could feel König's cock throbbing and dripping little pearls of cum against your tummy. Your body was drawn up until you were hovering above his quivering, gushing tip. As he split you in two, your arms swiftly curled around his neck, covering your face in his chest.
König drove himself more and deeper inside you, and with each inch, you gasped for breath. "That's a good girl…" He praised you, and you let out a tiny curse in your native tongue, feeling as though his words had kindled a fire within you. Soon after, his base kissed your cunt's lips. He let you relax for a few moments before grabbing your supple hips. It began slowly and steadily until you felt something hard press against your ass.
You totally filled König and Ghost in one fast motion. They began to thrust; being full of könig was one thing. But being filled by them both over and over again had you groaning and moaning like the slut you were for them. Every vein pressed against your walls as they gently stretched you out, shaping you to the shape of their dicks with each deep push. Bouncing you up and down, hitting every deep area that had you seeing stars. Fuck, the entire cosmos.
Oh, who is she?
König was concerned that he would inflict too much harm on you. After all, you were so little compared to him and Ghost. Nevertheless, he was losing control of himself, his eyesight obscured by the need to fill you with his seed. His head and judgment, his cock longing for release. König held you to his chest. Something about the whole event you excited in a deep primal lust, a never-ending hunger.
The only thing your lust-filled thoughts wanted right now was to be taken from behind and in front by two huge beasts like them. The lack of König's cock was already causing your insides to ache for him, and you whined for him. König whispered into your ear as he gripped a fistful of your hair, his hot breath thick on your neck. "mine! your fucking mine." He hissed low and commandingly. how you loved it, squeezing them tighter.
In one seamless stroke, könig sheathed himself into you up to the hilt, one hand on your neck and the other securely gripping your hip. The loud yell that the movement elicited from you was addictive in and of itself. They couldn't get enough of you, making an obscene squelching sound as König and Ghost brutally pounded their big cock as if you'd vanish if they didn't.
They grunted deep animalistic grunts as they pushed into your swelling pussy and ass, and you swallowed them in and contracted around them like there was no tomorrow. Not wanting to give up the mind-bending bliss.
A misty memory
"дa да да да" [yes⁴] You screamed in pleasure, feeling your body tense and quiver every time König's balls made contact with your clit and his head pressed against your womb. " я кончу! чувствую себя так хорошо. заполните меня, пожалуйста." [am gonna cum! feel so good. fill me up, please.] You mumbled in your native tongue, head clouded with pure raw lust.
Their ears were filled with your moans. They totally engulfed themselves in you, with König pushing all of himself past your lips and his head pressing against your cervix. They didn't care about the lew sounds, popping in and out of you. Not with them making you feel so amazing. " I'm-A-AHHHHH!" You could feel his cock's head pushing in and out faster and harder, a couple of thrusts of their hips. With a loud cry that tore itself straight out of your lungs, you spammed and squeezed around them.
You'd never experienced anything like this in your life, and it rocked you to your core. Underneath them, you were a trembling mess. Squeezing around them, feeling you tighten and flutter, was enough to induce them to cum inside you.
His hips were forced against you, and his cock was shoved in as far as it could go. As he poured hot ropes of sperm into your womb, his veins surged and his skull flashed. They were coming inside of you in ropes and ropes, and you were breathing heavily. Their cocks beat rhythmically with your constrictions, their testicles contracting with each spurt of come blasted into your small pussy and tight ass. There was so much of it that it started to pour out of you and onto the floor.
A haunting face
You were in ecstasy. You were warm, full, secure, and safe. You'd just had the most exquisite fuck of your life by the same enemy you were supposed to kill, and they were remaining inside of you as if they'd die pulled out of you. You've never felt more at home than right now, beneath both of them. You turned your head and kissed his cheek, despite his hood covering it.
You awoke in the middle of them, it was still dark, König's hand was wrapped around your waist, while Ghost's hand was wrapped around your thigh. You gradually broke free from their grip. You discovered your gun and jacket. You hand no pants or underwear, much to your dismay. Just a jacket, some equipment, boots, a hat, and socks. You gazed at the two men, your hat partially covering your face, but it wasn't gonna work. Ghost wouldn't mind if you searched through his belongings; after some searching, you discovered what you were seeking.
You discovered his balaclava. It was just like his. Everything was painted on the skull. His eyelashes were virtually white, and it was rather sad that your enjoyment had come to an end while admiring their loveliness. Because of obvious reasons,-Rusalka, why is your line off?- The person on the other end of the telephone chastises you. - ну да xpн, Vodyanoy.- [oh fuck off].
Vodyanoy placed his palm over his heart and added, -The love, am touched. I got you what you asked for.- He chuckled, knowing you had a scowl on your face. He was the one person you could contact and ask him to deliver your clothing with no questions asked.
Is she a lost embrace?
You did take some Vodyanoy and Leshy, as well as Chuma on occasion. They accompanied you when you went shopping for new clothing and even underwear; someone had to carry your luggage, and it wasn't going to be you. Vodyanoy was the only one who knew your exact measurements; it was actually rather amusing. He looked like a lost child the first time he went to the store to assist you pick out new clothes.
You could hear tires crunching on the snow as you walked away from the building. " I finally tracked you down. Get your ass in the car before you freeze. Short bitch." He chastised you like a child caught sneaking a cookie when they weren't meant to. As you move to the rear, you give him the middle finger.
You were finally warmed up again after changing your clothing. "Sooo… What fucked you over?" said Vodyanoy as he drove in silence. He wonders if the cold has finally caused you to lose it and go around nude. "As if you'd know." If only he knew, you retorted cynically. You snicker that he could be having a heart attack.
Somewhere across the sea of time
It was approximately 0700 when you arrived at the base. You could still feel hot ropes trickling down your leg. You were sore. Your entire body felt like it was made of cement, weighing you down. You were about to walk into your room, but life doesn't work that way.
The captain wanted to visit you in order to obtain an incident report. "Rusalka, what has happened to your face?" He inquired. Remembering the vivid moment when Ghost slutted you out on his dick and banged your face into the floor."Nothing, sir," you say as you avoid eye contact, "are your injuries better?" You shifted the topic on which he indulged.
You were surprised to learn that the higher-ups were relocating the nuclear weapons and reassigning the personnel in charge of them. You were disappointed, which meant you wouldn't be seeing them again.
"Rusalka, I was wondering where you found that?" Azhdaya inquired, pointing to his face to indicate what he meant. Oh, you reasoned. Ghost's balaclava, which you stole. "In an abandoned building. I like it," you stated casually while caressing it. It was silky and smelled like tea and dark wood. You were reminded of him, but you wouldn't tell them the truth. A tiny white lie will not harm.
You were curious whether Ghost had worn it before you stole it from him. You miss his touch, and you consider yourself addicted to them.
A love immortal such as mine
Ghost and König awoke at 0800 in the morning. He gazed about, feeling the lack of warm skin underneath him. König sprung to his feet, having awoken from an abrupt shift next to his body. He two saw someone was missing, and you were no longer there.
Everything about you had vanished, even your weapon and ripped clothes. It was almost as if you were a ghost that appeared for one night of pleasure just to vanish into the darkness. They went around the building but couldn't find anything, which is when he discovered it.
There was something in his thigh pocket, where his regular skull balaclava would be. It was a white hat. The hat that you wore when they discovered you sleeping in the corner. He investigated for any other missing items and discovered that his knife had also vanished.
As König and Ghost stood there grabbing and repairing their equipment, Ghost stated, " Clever girl." His dark eyes narrowed as he glanced at the hat he clutched in his fingers. If he gets his hands on you again, he'll tie you up and imprison you in his house like an animal.
Will come to me
Soon after, König and Ghost were picked up and joined the others. Price enquired as to why they had split up, but Ghost disregarded the question by adding, "We were surveying that area when a storm caught us." He side-eyed könig who nodded in agreement.
When they landed in England, the Price informed them that their plans had been altered by higher-ups. Laswell informed them that the weapons had been relocated to an unidentified location. And that, for the time being, they would do other things until they figured out where.
König's shoulders fell, and Ghost remained cool on the outside, but he was in turmoil on the inside. It suggested that there was a little chance they'd stumble across you on the battlefield. König hoped to see you again, to feel your delicate skin, and to hear your whimper as you unraveled. He urgently needed you, your cunt, all of you.
Ghost was disappointed because he hadn't completed educating you who was in control. And that you were nothing more than his to break and train as he saw fit.
Eternally
You'd met the two men a month ago. To say you missed them would be an understatement; you were ravenous for them to break you, make you their slave for their cock, to give you pleasure. But you'd never say it to their faces. You enjoyed the sight in their eyes when they believed they could control you, and you liked being controlled by them. win-win.
You submitted to training, gaining new skills and experiences. You even earned your nursing license. You had a good time mocking Chuma for getting into problems due to Leshy and Vodyanoy. He was like the group's older brother… getting hurt for the stupid things his younger siblings did.
Azhdaya summoned you to his office. You were aware of the situation. You submitted your application for a move in two years. You adored your team, but you felt it was time to go out to new waters.
"Are you sure?" Azhdaya asks, setting the papers down and staring at you. looking for any signs of unpleasant emotion on your face. "Yes, Sir." You formed a little smile on your face and nodded. " Alright. " He sighed and continued to talk to you.
Immortal she
It had taken two years, but the day had finally come. Tomorrow was your departure day from Russia for your new home base. The crew surprised you with a farewell party. Providing you with goodies that you may not find in your new home.
Leshy and Vodyanoy were sobbing uncontrollably. Leshy shakes you back and forth, imploring you, or rather pleading with you, to stay with him. Vodyanoy clutched your leg as if he were a kid, imploring you not to leave him alone with Leshy, and explaining that Leshy was this and that. You stroked his hair. You could have been the one who lost a screw, but Leshy was missing the box and the lock that held it in place.
You ate and drank as if there was no tomorrow. They dropped you off at the airport the following day. giving you a hugs and best wishes. - The flight from Moscow, Russia, to London, England, is about to board.- The announcement was made over the speakers.
König tapped his foot nervously. Ghost stared at him as he waited in line with his other 141 task members, giving him a supportive nod. They didn't know anything about the newcomer. They were meeting them for the first time today.
A vehicle was spotted approaching the base and slowing down before completely halting. The door opens, and a figure walks out, their h/c hair gently swinging in the breeze that blows past the base. They exchanged handshakes with Price.
When könig and Ghost turned around, they could only gaze as your s/c skin sparkled in the sunshine. The way your h/c hair complemented and framed your face, making you appear ethereal. Most importantly, the sunbeams in your eyes, causing them to glitter like a Dimond on exhibit for its beauty.
Return to me
"прывітaнне, я Русалка. It's a pleasure to meet you, " [Hello, my name is Rusalka.] You spoke quietly, offering your hand, never breaking eye contact with Ghost and König as you smiled at them. They knew, and you knew it wasn’t your first encounter with them.
To be continued......Maybe, if people like it.
#könig x reader#könig cod#cod modern warfare#gaz cod#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#smut#smutty#female reader#praise and degredation#hard k1nk#non con#tw.dubcon#tw.breeding#tw.breeding kink#tw.dark content#tw.impregnation#tw.unprotected sex#overstim kink#knife tw#könig fanfiction#kate laswell#soap call of duty#cod price#p in v#k1nky#degrading k1nk#modern warfare fanfiction#konig smut#ghost smut
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DONNIES POV OF THE LATEST CHAPTER... PRETTY PLEASE? 🥺
you've caught me in an amenable mood, sure!
Here's a Donnie POV from the very end of chapter 24 <3
(it's v unedited, apologies)
---
"Wow," April said as she leaned on the counter next to Donnie, "They're really out cold."
Donnie snorted and continued his task of gathering up the empty bottles around the bar.
(He liked to repurpose glass when he could. The more time he spent re-shaping it into his desired purposes it was less time he had to keep depending on subpar tech companies.)
"Just wait until you put a movie on in front of Sweets," Donnie retorted, "I've never seen someone pass out so quickly."
April hummed, gathering up bottles in her own bag, "Should we wake them up and send them home? I bet Leo would make an extra pit stop for them.
"Uh," Donnie said, tilting his head in confusion, "They're spending the night."
"You're not making them sleep on the couch, Donnie."
"I am not making them sleep on the couch, April."
"Sunny and I are taking the spare bed."
"Yes."
"The Casey's have already claimed the cots in the med bay."
"Correct again," Donnie said stiffly, a faint blush rising on his cheeks, "We... Sweets and I usually share my bed."
"Ohhh," April said, trailing off, "Okay. I see."
"There's nothing to see," Donnie argued, "It's simply the most sensible and economical solution. It would be a waste of resources to keep a spare bed fresh and clean with the frequency of Sweet's visits."
"I'm sure."
"Good," Donnie said with a huff, his gaze falling back on you. Your chest rose and fell softly as you slept. Your hand rested against your forehead and twitched as the breeze started to pick up.
It was getting colder again. Truly unprecedented weather patterns this year. If Donnie was a betting man, he would expect snow again before May.
(The month, not Sweet's roommate.)
(Duh, Donatello.)
"I think that's the last of the bags," Raph said, popping his head out of the portal Leo was maintaining just to the side of the pool, "You guys need anything?"
"Wanna get sleepyhead inside?" April said, jerking her head in your direction, "I'm worried about them catching a cold."
"No," Donnie said quickly, practically on instinct.
April raised an eyebrow at Donnie. Her eyes glimmered with satisfaction for just a moment as she schooled her face back to a neutral expression.
Donnie didn't have the energy for her presumptions right now. Not after the last few weeks.
"Raph, do you mind finishing up the bottles for me?" Donnie asked. He already tossed his bag over to Raph before he got an answer and was quickly approaching your side.
You scrunched your face up as Donnie gently raised your head off the chair and managed to settle your torso against his. You were solidly snoozing again with your face pressed against Donnie's neck by the time he managed to slide an arm under your legs.
Donnie pointedly did not look at April and Raph as he stepped through the portal and avoided Casey's blatant staring with a swift departure down his hallway.
You muttered something incomprehensible as Donnie took an especially sharp turn.
It was like a second nature for Donnie to chirp at you and press his cheek against the top of your head as he activated the door to the lab. It was one of the things that Donnie was actively choosing not to think about.
(He had a list.)
(Hypothetically.)
(If there were things that he needed to address.)
(Which there weren't.)
Donnie was so preoccupied in his thoughts that he didn't even think about the fact that he had managed to get a hoodie onto you without considering any of the necessary steps he needed to take before that. Namely, getting your swimsuit off first.
He... Donnie didn't think he should be doing that.
"Sweets, you need to go get changed," Donnie said softly, trying to lift you to your feet from where he had set you onto the bed.
(He tried not to think about the wet mark you left behind on his blankets.)
(Where was his mind today?)
You managed to blearily open your eyes and nodded at him. You allowed him to guide you to the bathroom and obediently took the pair of sweatpants he pressed into your hands.
Donnie shut the door behind you and took a deep, steadying breath. He willed his mind to that calming blankness he reached for during meditation. There was no other option, really.
Not on the fumes Donnie was barely running off of.
Ten seconds in.
Change out of his swim trunks. Place in hamper.
Fifteen out.
Replace the comforter, deal with it in the morning.
Twenty seconds in.
Take off his battle shell. Set it on the charger.
Twenty-five --
You opened the door to the bathroom, the light pouring in behind you as you yawned widely. You half-stumbled, half-walked towards his bed.
Donnie had to catch you as you attempted to pull yourself onto his sheets, your hands failing to find traction on the satin.
You giggled sleepily, your hand landing on the collar of Donnie's hoodie while he attempted to tuck you in. You managed to find his arm and tugged at it, humming happily as you managed to pull it to your chest.
Donnie, already leaning over the bed and in grave danger of losing his balance, had to make a quick choice.
Pull away, calm his heartrate, and go sleep on the lab couch, or...
He could stay.
He couldn't--
Could he--?
You would never--
You made the decision for him, in the end, whether you were conscious of it or not. You pulled forward Donnie with the whole weight of your torso as you leaned farther into his bed.
It was all Donnie could do to keep from squishing you beneath him as he landed on the bed. He would be lying if he said he didn't delight in the fact that you were so near, that every bone in his body wasn't screaming at him to stay close to you at all times.
You snored softly next to Donnie, your ability to pass out within an instant never lagging.
He... would be staying. It didn't seem worth it to disturb you more than Donnie had to.
That was the most reasonable justification that Donnie could find, in any case.
(He really needed to get his hindbrain in order.)
"Shelldon, lights off."
#atwlp#donnie x reader#rottmnt#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt donatello#rottmnt donnie x reader#donatello x reader#rise donnie x reader#rottmnt fanfiction#fanfiction
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(Repost)
Azul Ashengrotto as Your Boyfriend💜🪸🐚🐙💜
fluffy, fem/neutral!reader
(Sorry it ended up so long I could just talk about this smexy man all day) Remember to drink water <3
Azul had heard a lot about the human world, but only ever experienced it when he enrolled at Night Raven College. That being said, he's totally enthralled with human objects. He loves collectables, novelty items, knick-knacks and anything of the sort. His love and fascination with our material goods shows when he gives you the most random things. "Look at this vintage set I found at an auction." "I saw a what's it called? Ah, snow globe. Look, there's a cat inside that looks like Grim, do you like? It's for you." It's a very endearing trait he has which is exclusive only to you. When he goes shopping you're also on his mind and just adores sharing his finds with his love.
Similarly, your own fascination with his world has led Azul to gift you things from the sea. Beautiful pearl necklaces of whatever color you like, conch shells of different sizes and types, endless seashells, rare gemstones found near the waters, magical items, and if you're into antiques, he'll go retrieve lost items from the sea buried within shipwrecks or dropped by people.
Besides the miscellaneous gifts Azul loves buying you clothes. At first it caught you by surprise, but you realized it was apart of his attraction to our things. "In the sea we don't have a need for clothing, but up here you humans can express yourselves in so many ways. So I thought this dress might look rather nice on you, hm?"
He's the same with perfumes. He just loves spoiling you in all the material things he can find that don't exist in the deep blue.
His office literally has all of the gifts you got him spread out in it on shelves and his desk. He constantly thinks of you, even at work, and treasures everything you make/get him, wanting to keep it forever where he can always see and remember you.
One of his favorite activities with you is reading messages in bottles he finds from the ocean. You're always surprised at how many there are, but you both realize it's actually a pretty big hobby among people even today. Old bottles are especially interesting, its contents mostly containing stories of love and tragedies. You help explain to Azul how people up here think and behave when something doesn't make sense to him (which is pretty often considering how contradicting people are). You collect them to avoid polluting the waters but keep them somewhere safe and respectfully.
He absolutely loves taking you into the waters with him. Whether in human or mer-form. If you love to swim then it isn't much of a surprise to have him as your boyfriend, but if you can't swim or are afraid to Azul will teach you how and be the absolute best, sweetest teacher. Bonus if you watch the sunset together while leisurely swimming or sitting on the sand, it's quite romantic, really. Expect the occasional water tag and playing around as Azul just can't help but tease you when he feels so confident in his natural environment. this may or may not end in some more intimate actions.
Ironically, Azul finds your voice mesmerizing. If he catches you singing while you think no one is around, he WILL stay hidden just to continue listening. "You sing like a siren my dear." "Are you sure you aren't the one who's put me under your spell?" He may come up behind you quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist gently in an embrace while taking in the soft smell of your hair. "Please, don't stop now, I do so enjoy listening to you."
While transformation magic from mer-person to human is more commonly done, transforming a person into the latter is more difficult, but not impossible. The first time you decide to transform into a mermaid , it catches Azul by surprise. You really want to immerse yourself into his world and live in the sea for however long. After much consideration you decide to do it. Who would have thought your tail would be so beautiful. The way your hair flows, you glide effortlessly across the waters, the iridescent scales of your tail reflecting in colorful arrays. Maybe you are a siren. Azul can't decide if he loves you more like this or as a human. You're just too beautiful no matter what.
You two swimming across Atlantica is like a dream; so deeply in love. You get to explore so many amazing things and bond with him in ways you never could have imagined. He shows you all of the different kind of fish, corals, you get to swim with dolphins and sharks, visit different mer-cities. Expect Azul to blow you bubble hearts and kisses because he really can be that cute sometimes.
extra fun if the twins tag along.
His skin, like the twins, is also perfectly soft and radiant. Your hands love to be on him. You caress his cheeks, massage him, rub your thumb over his palm while holding hands. You're almost jealous at how good his skin is! Of course Azul is more than willing to return the favors of touch. You two enjoy long cuddles and hugs.
Honestly, Azul is a 100/10 boyfriend and when he isn't destroying unsuspecting people with his contracts he's just infatuated with you beyond description and if he could he would love on you constantly all day everyday. His soft side is ONLY for you, his gentle touches and kisses, his thoughtful words, the teasing, sweet nothings. Sometimes the dichotomy of this man shocks you, but maybe that's one of the reasons you love him so much.
"The sea witch was defeated by the mermaid and human in the end. Some say it was true love which was strong enough to end her, I used to laugh at that thought, now, I'm beginning to understand its true power."
💙💜💚💜💙💚💜💙💚💜💙💚
#azul ashengrotto#night raven college#twst azul#azul x reader#octavinelle#disney twst#disney twisted#disney twist#disney twisted wonderland#twsted wonderland#twst x reader#twst#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland
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