#so my marked for later is a mile long right
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Just a Deal
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — P in V, breeding kink/talk, mating press, cream pies, Leon being old and aching, talks of eating out/cunnilingus, talks of Advil (reader using the deal of Advil jokingly for sex). Leon wondering if he's mid.
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 1.5k
𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆❜𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 — Well, this is my somewhat proud attempt to come back to writing smut. I want to write more, so... Yeah, there's that! I'd call this a valiant attempt, y'know? Breeding kink is yummy.
Don't murder me if there's a mistake, I haven't written actual smut in so long. :')
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
“Just an idea.” You said, glancing over at the male with a small smirk. Talk of sex over dinner? Maybe you shouldn't have waited till he got home from a mission. Hearing the pop of his back and the pained groans miles away from the apartment. Yet, you have to make a deal sweeter; Advil. The baby he loved, would sing it to sleep if he could. Pop a few and it worked wonders on him.
“That idea is…” What does he respond with? Makes his dick hard? The idea of folding his lover? Tapping his fork against the ceramic—reminds you to scold him later for that. Fine china was getting harder to get, and you’d rather it not have scratches on it when it’s for sale. “I wouldn't mind doing it if you'd want me to. Sounds interesting, doll. Didn’t know you’d like me to ‘ruin your pussy like it’s your last day alive. To fuck your babies into you’.”
“Never say that out loud ever again, my soul left my body for a few seconds.” You sighed, hand already coming to rub your face. Cheeks were flush from the embarrassment of him being blunt. Someone above, please shut this man up.
“I’ll let you finish up here, ‘kay? Don’t keep me waiting too long, supercop.”
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Two hours later, dinner finished, and clothes are torn and flung away.
Forced into a mating press against your shared bed. Your legs loosely around his hips, moving with each thrust. Balls slapping against your ass as Leon pressed you deeper into the bed. Soft moans came from your lips at his pace. Curling up to hit your core in just the right places. Leaking more than you should’ve, silly little idea.
His hands came to hold your upper back, making your body flush against his. “What, thought you wanted this, doll? Wanted to be full of babies, right?” He taunted, wanting to rub it in your face. Rub it in your face that you weren't ready for him—weren’t ready for subpar dick. You’d thought he’d be slow, boring, but no, someone liked this idea. The idea of breeding had gotten to him. So much so that he manhandled you and did it himself.
“Mmmm, look at you, already willing to become a mama. Can’t wait to cream this pussy...” Leon leaned in, his lips brushing against your ears. “We aren’t wasting any drop either, doll. You know the rule. Call me a baker for making a cute little cream puff; gotta make sure she’s extra full.”
His chest rumbled as he felt you tighten around him. Attempting to milk him of his worth. He was doing something right. Wringing out moans from your lips left and right. Was doing something right with the way this was going.
“You like that, don't you?” He purred, letting his forehead fall to your shoulder. Sweating at the extortion of his aging body. Nipping at the skin, he quickened his pace. Little red marks litter your upper torso, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Didn’t know I had a whore in my apartment. Should’ve thought of this sooner.”
You moaned in response, the lewdity had you rolling. ‘Call me a baker for making a cute little cream puff; gotta make sure she’s extra full.' It was bad that your baby fever had already made you so… Aroused. Choose a mating press over anything else for merely that—breeding kink on an all-time high from that. Over the kitchen counter, on his motorcycle, in the car, anywhere. The thoughts running through your head made you clench, erupting a groan from Leon's lips.
“Seems my question is already answered—you are a whore. A cute one at that.”
Leon purred in delight, satisfied by your response. Hands moving from behind your back to beside your head. Engaging your head as he maneuvered himself comfortably so that he could get rougher. Force himself deeper, make him feel like he could do something.
Yet, when someone musters up all their strength; means they crash and fall harder—especially on their lover.
With each harsh thrust, Leon could feel himself being drained. His old age was catching up to him, as was the ache in his back. Beginning to bubble up from his lower back to the beginning of his spine. Arched over his love like a cat hissing in old-timey movies. Your fingers grasping at his back and legs tightening around him. Exposing your neck to the open-mouthed kissing he brought on you. Stubble brushing against your delicate skin, vulnerable to a quick hickey.
More moans came from your mouth as he buried himself inside you. Sent you spiraling with each slam of his hips. A cloudy ring started to form and leak down onto the bed. Needed this more often, needed to be manhandled.
“Almost there…” He panted after each word he spoke. You could feel pity in your chest as you watched him struggle. Stamina wasn’t his strong suit anymore, sadly. Reminds you of when he was better in his younger days. Twenty-seven and lasting two to four rounds.
Might buy an extra bottle of Advil, just for him.
In the back of his mind, he was cursing himself out for not being you to a climax. He knew worth wasn't purely based on orgasms or how experienced he was. Gosh darn it, though, made him feel horrible. Useless, or some other word Rebecca used that he couldn't remember.
Being brought out of his thoughts by the feeling of nails piercing his skin would leave a mark he’d have to explain at work. Your back arching into his chest surprised him—he had done it. Blue eyes widened as you seized in his grasp, mouth agape as you gushed around him. If he had only recorded this, he'd love every second of it. Imagining you sucking him in every way he could think possible. Oddly, brought a smile to his face, alongside the ego boost.
“That's it, let it out. I gotcha, pretty girl.” Leon whispered, rubbing your cheek as your eyes fluttered. One second they were squeezed shut, and now it felt like he was looking down at the prettiest girl in the world. That pleased look in your eyes made his balls tighten. His eyes fluttered, as his hips stuttered. Oh, fuck him.
“Go ahead and let that pussy cry more for me… So fuckin' gorgeous. Deserves this so badly.”
He'd already reached his peak, cumming inside your walls, panting heavily. Wish he lasted longer than this. Arms encircling your head as he pressed himself fully into you. The sweat from earlier now oozing from the bedsheets. Squeezing his eyes shut as he slowly emptied himself into you. Counting his blessings as you'd nag him to help change the bedsheets later.
The drive slowly faded into stillness. Finally resting inside you as he seemed to come down from the quick high. In some ways, it felt anticlimactic. An anticlimactic filling that leaked down onto the bedsheets. Cloudy ring, now a creamy white. Fresh new stain to add to the collection.
“I'm getting old, aren't I?” Leon asked himself out loud, trying to break the silence. It felt awkward, impregnated—something he didn't like. Too serious for his brain to handle.
“Maybe.” Was all you said, letting out a heavy sigh. “It's certainly getting old that you're laying on me now.”
“Forgot about that, sorry.”
You could feel the bed dripping beside you as he moved off. Letting himself curl up beside you, not wanting to waste a drop in you. Leon felt fragile for some reason, like a shivering old man in your head. Curled up beside his wife—crying, ‘cause he ain't got no one better. Maybe calling him an old man suited Leon now.
“I mean, that wasn't amazing.”
You paused; maybe you should've chosen your words more carefully. Leon was sensitive. Sex didn't feel amazing like it did in books or movies. Could women get post-nut clarity? Was that even a thing? Were you having that, or were you just not womaning? Maybe you should save yourself thinking for another time.
“But you do better than a lot of guys, at least. For a super awkward man, who crashes almost every vehicle he drives, and can't tie a tie, you did well. Mating press might be your forte in sex positions.”
A smile came to your lips, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose. Pleasantries aside, he'd take it over you using a vibrator or dildo. Enjoyed watching it, but hated not being the one to do it. Ok, well, he's just picky in that regard. A bit of a bummer, wouldn't you think?
Well, there was something he wouldn't be bummed out about...
Leaning over, your noses barely touching as you asked the one important question on the tip of your tongue, “If I get you an extra bottle of Advil… Will you eat me out?”
The response couldn't get any better, as he smirked.
“If you get me ice cream, I will.”
“You've got cream right here, dumbass.”
The chuckle that left your lips felt sinister. Followed by a smirk as you straddled him. Hands pressed against the sheets as you rested mere inches above his face. Dripping down onto his dumbfounded face.
“Well? Get to it, lover boy.”
Oh, he loved this game again.
𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 — @rigorwhoring
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#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy smut#resident evil smut
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GymRat!Miguel Part 4
content warning: mentions of sexual coercion (may be triggering to some so I marked the area where I talk about this subject with 🎧, the story will still make sense if you have to skip it), the word assault is used once in regards to Miguel’s situation at the party, fluff to make up for the last part, Miguel’s biological father is Tyler Stone here but he IS NOT comic book Miguel physically by ANY MEANS 😭, the progression might be a little fast?? I hope not though I want them to kith 👩🏾❤️💋👨🏽, a little suggestive at one part but nothing serious
word count: 2.4k (at this point y'all...you must know that I like telling stories because wtf), kinda proofread
Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist
GymRat!Miguel who set his alarm for 8 am the next morning. It rings long enough for his roommate to get up and shove him in his side.
“Shit. Sorry,” Miguel groans. His head is splitting and he feels like he’s been run over.
“Coming in at ass o’clock in the morning and letting your alarm ring past 12 rings? What happened to my roomie?” Peter muses, scratching is stomach. His own eyes are tired as he blinks at Miguel’s body slumped against the bed.
“A party that I should’ve never gone to,” Miguel says, bringing the ends of his palms to his eyes and breathing deep. “Nothing went how I wanted it to.”
“It looks to me that you got everything you wanted,” Peter yawned, going to grab a water from the mini fridge. He handed it to Miguel who thanked him and emptied the whole thing in one go.
“I left a girl that I really liked alone there,” Miguel replies, voice broken. “Was stuck in a room with a bunch of girls I didn’t even know. I was gone way too long and she left.”
“Shit, O’Hara,” Peter said, eyebrows raised. “Did they do anything to you?”
“No. After they realized I wasn’t trying to do anything, they just tried to bring the party upstairs. I didn’t get back downstairs until two hours later.”
“Did you reach out to your girl, at least?”
Miguel reached for his phone, “She texted me when she left and I texted back later.”
He looked at his phone, going to your messages. “And still no reply.”
“Can you blame her?” Peter asked, getting back in his own bed. “If I left my girlfriend anywhere while we’re out, she would literally have my head on a wall.”
Miguel wanted to cry. How could he fuck up something so badly?
He sighed as he brought his knees up, resting his arms on his knees. He put his head on his arms, trying to think.
“What should I do? I really like her,” he asks, voice watery.
“Not to be that guy, but there’s no time like the present,” Peter says. “Tell her the truth. Explain things to her. If you’re feeling that awful, do something for her.”
Miguel sniffles and groans out, deciding to get up.
“You’re right,” he says. “No time like the present.”
GymRat!Miguel who grabs a light breakfast and gets straight to work. He thanks the universe that his mom packed a bunch of aimless art supplies in one of his bins. He gets to crafting, putting his heart into everything. He’s freshening up, spraying on cologne, bringing out the slacks that make his ass look great, tightening his belt, fixing his hair. He tightens up so well that even Peter whistles when he walks out of the bathroom. He grabs his craft and goes off campus to a store, buying a few snacks, a circus animal cookie plush, and a gatorade in case you happened to be a little hungover too. He even goes the extra mile and finds a cute apology card. If anything, he hope you could get a laugh out if it.
GymRat!Miguel who makes his way to your dorm building, some guy letting him in after he saw him lingering around the door like a kicked puppy. He thanks him profusely and runs up the stairs to your door. He stands outside in the hallway for a minute and catches his breath, trying to still his beating heart. He gives a light knock, hoping you were there.
The door opens, revealing another girl who looks Miguel up and down with a scowl. Her hand is on her hip and her bonnet moves with her head as she stares Miguel down.
Miguel stutters, asking if you were there.
“Maybe, depending on what you’re about to say next,” she says.
“Look, can you tell her that I’m deeply sorry. I should have never left her alone last night. She didn’t deserve that. I apologize for even accepting the invitation to go. I should have known better. Nothing was worth me staying upstairs that long. Can I just- please, let me just talk to her,” Miguel pleads, desperate.
Your roommate just goes “hmph” under her breath and closes the door in his face.
Miguel’s arms drop and he gapes at the door like a fish. He’s willing to stand here until you have to come out, but isn’t sure what to do.
Just when he considers knocking again, the door swings open again and you’re standing there in a giant t-shirt and pajama pants with pokeman balls printed on them. A giant blanket is wrapped around your body.
You look at him, eyes cautious, “Jess said you were groveling. I’ll give you 5 minutes of my precious time. Something you clearly know how to waste.”
You sounded hurt and Miguel felt like dying.
He takes a deep breath calls out your name.
“I am so sorry for leaving you the other night. It was extremely fucked up, especially when I made sure that you could come. Anything could have happened to you and it was careless of me to not see that. I promise you my mom raised me better,” he says, looking down at your face.
You just crossed your arms and scrunched your mouth up. Even now, Miguel was still infatuated with you.
“I’m glad that you understand how fucked up that was. I was worried about you. I waited. For hours. I didn’t know anyone there and it was nerve wracking,” you say, words coming out like ice.
“I know and I apologize. Truly. Please just,” Miguel hands you his gifts. A gift bag full of the goodies he bought and an origami flower bouquet with a few lilies of the valley sprinkled throughout. A flower for renewal. A flower that he hopes speaks to you. “Please accept this and my honest apology.”
You look down at the flowers, taken aback. “Did you make these?” you ask, a little awed.
Miguel rubs one of his wrists, completely nervous, “Yes, I did. The lilies are real, though.”
“Well, obviously, Miguel,” you laugh softly at him. You start to go through the bag, heart warming at his initial gift.
“If you’ll accept my apology, I really would like to try taking you out. Again,” he says, shifting his weight to another leg.
“Wasn’t aware that last night was a date but slow down, tiger. I didn’t say I would forgive you yet.”
“Right!”
You took out the cookie plushie, cursing in your head about how cute it was. He really did know you. You kept going, heart melting the further in the bag you got. You finally got to the card, taking it out of the envelope.
You laugh at the cute seal, “You were an ‘ice hole.’”
Miguel heart sings at your laugh, happy that you were finding joy in this somehow.
You start to read the card, eyes wandering the page. His heart is hammering. Not only did he write his heart out, he dropped his confession of love like for you at the end. Whether or not you accepted it would make or break the rest of Miguel’s week.
Your eyes slowly drifted and you started to blink faster.
“Our time together has been short, but I think of you day and night. I dream about you. Your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your touch. It sounds sudden and cheesy but none of these parts of you escape my mind. I’m not sure what it felt like for you, but as soon as I was lucky enough to be graced with you in my lab group, I was stuck. To me, you lit up the room. I want to continue to explore that light, if you are willing to have me. May you please forgive me and consider going out with me?”
“If this feels like too much, I completely understand and I’ll-”
“Shut up,” you say, eyes teary. “Do you really mean this, Miguel?”
He stares at you, itching to reach out and hug you, “Every word.”
You wipe at your cheeks, a little overwhelmed. “Come here, you big goof.”
Miguel practically teleports the short distance, wrapping his arms around you. You sniffle in his chest, warmed up in his arms.
“I forgive you,” you say, words muffled into his shirt. “Just don’t ever do that shit again.”
He brings his hand to his head in a salute, “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”
“Of course you were a Boy Scout,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. He smelled really good and looked delectable. If you were weaker, you would have answered the door instead of Jess and filled the hallway with obscenities.
🎧
“Tell me though,” you say, trying to ground yourself. “What does one do when he leaves me for two hours?”
Miguel felt a groan in his chest, “Those girls were trying to do some weird harem thing. I was stuck in a room telling them no, trying to drink my way out of there. They kept trying to add more people to the mix, thinking I would go along with it. I didn’t want a case on my hands so it took me a while to get out of there without force.”
You went rigid in his arms, “Oh my god, Miguel!That’s assault.”
“Nothing crazy happened. I made sure that none of them got handsy.”
You bring your hand to his face, “That’s great, but there was still alcohol involved, which makes that coercion. Did you tell anyone about this?”
“Just my roommate, Peter. He sounded a little worried, but we were more focused on getting me to this point with you.”
You remove yourself from his arms and step back into your dorm.
“Stay right here. The council needs to discuss and Jess is on the Student Association,” you say, leaving a crack in the door.
GymRat!Miguel who is sat on the floor of your dorm room and explained the implications of what he went through. Jess ensures him that she’ll get somebody on the case despite Miguel saying that he was ok. You both ensure him that nothing will happen on his end and that this should stop those girls from doing this to anyone else in the future. Miguel is on board with that and you give him one more tight hug.
“Although you didn’t have to, I wish you would have told me. I would have came barging through those doors,” you say, a frown on your face.
“Really, it’s fine. I feel a little silly going along with the whole ordeal anyway.”
“None of that is your fault though, Miguel. You didn’t know what they were going to do or what they were trying to do,” you say, voice firm.
Miguel was enamored by your passion, “Thank you for saying that. If it helps, my father is Tyler Stone.”
Jess turns her body completely to you both on the floor, mouth dropping in shock, “Oh yeah, that entire organization is getting shut down.”
🎧
GymRat!Miguel who walks you out of your dorm, hand in hand with you. You two agreed on a nice coffee date. Something light after so much turmoil. You looked adorable, running around the room frantic and getting all dolled up just for him. He’s happy that he was able to work things out.
GymRat!Miguel who sits across from you, rubbing your hand with his thumb as you both sip your drinks. He begs for bites of your chocolate cake and you roll your eyes and feed it to him, a little shy at the PDA.
GymRat!Miguel who explains his family tree to you. You're still shocked at the Tyler Stone name drop. You're empathetic to his situation, agreeing with how tough it was to find out someone you knew for so long wasn't your actual father. He assures you that he's settled with the feelings for now, just happy to still have a connection with both of his dads and his mom. Plus, the money Tyler sends him was not anything to be sad over.
GymRat!Miguel who learns of your dating history. You've had a boyfriend and few meaningless dates. As you describe how he treated you, it makes sense that you were ready to completely block Miguel out of your life. Who stands up their prom date that they did a promposal for?
GymRat!Miguel who takes you shopping at the bookstore. Letting you get just about anything. Some romance books? Grab it. A plushie? Of course. A Beyoncé vinyl? No need to even ask. He was happy following you around the store as you squealed over certain things. Your eyes twinkled as you explained a series about a deaf girl falling in love and her boyfriend learning sign language to communicate with her. Miguel responds accordingly, humming at whatever you say.
GymRat!Miguel who feels crazy watching you eat a strawberry ring pop that he got from candy machine. You placed it on your left ring finger and he watched as your lips kept puckering around the crown of the candy diamond, taking it to the hilt and pushing it back out. Your tongue would come out occasionally as you slid the candy down it.
"Is it good?" he asks, mind in the gutter.
"Mm hm," you say, a smile on your face, ring pop popping from your mouth.
Lord help Miguel.
GymRat!Miguel who opens his car door for you. He also reaches across and buckles your seatbelt for you, body close to yours.
GymRat!Miguel who walks you to your dorm room, hand still in yours. You both linger there for a moment, taking in each other's space. You peer up at Miguel with those Bambi eyes again.
"I had a really great time with you Miguel," you say, holding your new bag to your chest. "I'm glad you came here this morning."
"I'm glad too," Miguel says looking at you, hearts in his eyes.
You bite your lip, rocking on your feet before you decide to do something.
You reach up on your tip toes and kiss Miguel on his cheek.
He stares at you, shocked. He stares at you a little longer, then begins to lean down. You get excited, hoping that he'll do what you were scared to do.
Jess swings the door open, "Aht aht! Come on inside, girl."
Miguel stands straight, face in flames.
"Good night, Miguel," you say, cheeks feeling hot.
"Good night," Miguel watches as Jess smirks at him before she closes the door.
GymRat!Miguel who floats all the way back to his dorm. Peter grins and tussles with him in excitement after taking in Miguel's appearance. He texts Gabriel while he gets ready for bed:
"When have I ever lost?"
"I kicked your ass in Mario Party last week but go off Ig"
"🖕🏽"
"🫰🏽"
Miguel went to sleep once more, having thoughts of you.
dividers by: @yeribbon 🩵
a/n: I’m almost certain that this is the LAST time something this serious happens in this series. It will be pretty fluffy for a while...I think 🫣
As always, thank you for reading! Leave a like and a reblog. Please comment! I love to hear what you guys have to say 🥺 🩵
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— VAMP LOVE
— paring: e42!miles x fem!reader
— genre: fluff
— summary: halloween was just across the block, so why not start early and practice makeup on your boyfriend?
— a/n: YO WE SO CLOSE TO 1K AHH?? ilyasm ty !! also can we just imagine miles 42 w vamp makeup n blond braids/barrel braids for a sec.. 🤭🤭 this is kinda short bc im so sleepy but mostly this drabble is a bday gift to my pookie bestie aizie, so as long as she enjoys it idc + i hope you enjoy this when ya read it ! mwah, enjoyyy (*≧▽≦)
“MILES, QUIT MOVIN’, YOU’LL MESS UP THE FACE PAINT.”
it was the first day of october, and halloween wasn’t too far away, by your standards. And of course, a carti lover like yourself, decided to have a vamp theme. It just so happened that Miles suited that theme perfectly.
And that’s why you were on your boyfriend’s lap, makeup supplies on your counter, carefully applying black eyeliner around his eyes, Long Time Intro by Playboi Carti playing through the speakers placed in the corner of your room.
“I gotta blink, amor. Plus I cant really keep a straight face if you got your eyes on me like that.” he protested, trying his best to keep a straight face. “How do I look so far?”
“Trust the process, Miles! You look good, just lemme finish this oneee part then I’m done.” there wasn’t one part left. For you, you wanted to make sure everything looked right. Your lover, Miles, on the other hand, was eager to see the outcome. He just didn’t realise how tedious it was.
“Maa, ¿lo hiciste? He estado sentado en esta silla durante años, lo juro.” (Maa, you done? I’ve been sitting on this chair for ages, I swear.) Miles asked, practically almost falling asleep because of how slow you were doing his makeup.
You chuckled. “Miles, you’re so impatient, beauty takes timeee. I’m almost done, for real.”
After 5 minutes, you were actually done. You got off his lap, giddily grabbing a mirror to show him the result of your hard work. “It’s done! Do you like it?”
Miles looked into the mirror, turning to his side to see how it looked from different angles. A small smile grew on his face, “Wow, princesa, this looks fire. I love it, that long ass wait was worth it.”
You grinned at his compliment, pulling out your phone to take a picture of him so you could look at it later. Miles was not a fan of pictures, but for this occasion, he didn’t mind all too much. He walked closer to and gave you a kiss a the forehead, the stain leaving a mark.
“Do i gotta take this off? Because I kind of wanna keep this on.”
“Keep it on! I need to remember this moment for as long as possible.”
“You just think I look fine, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
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it's safe here | simon “ghost” riley
words: 2.6k
plot: simon says “I love you” for the first time.
tags: a little bit of smut, mostly fluff and love, reads well with my previous fics, death mention, fem!reader
Ghost didn’t know if love was something he was allowed to have.
It didn’t seem like it.
There were three people who had received proclamations of love from him, and all three of those people ended up killed. It seemed Ghost’s love had as deadly of a touch as his hands. His love was tainted and dirty; he could run his hands under a faucet and watch the blood swirl down the drain, but all the death he’d caused wouldn’t follow it.
He’d told himself it was just sex with you. In the beginning, that’s all it had been, right? Sex and scarce kisses and long drives around the city where he’d just listen to you talk.
You’d ran into him one night on your bicycle (almost quite literally), and then somehow two years later, he was waking up to your soft toes poking his thigh and your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom.
It wasn’t just sex, of course—
—not when Ghost found himself dreaming about you and asking you to stay over every night.
The thing was, he’d never felt lonely before you. Ghost quickly realizes that loneliness requires the knowledge of what good company feels like; ever since he met you, solitude became painful. It’d stick its teeth in him and gnaw and chew until he gave in, calling you sometimes in the middle of the night.
Can’t sleep without you, pet.
It started with those late night calls, which turned into you practically moving in after six months, and then officially, after over a year, Ghost asked you to be his girlfriend.
Well, he didn’t ask, really.
Ghost never had a girlfriend before so he didn’t know better.
“My girlfriend doesn’t like pickles,” he had said one day when you went out to grab lunch. You’d told him it was okay, you’d eat it anyway, but he shook his head and called the waiter over. “Can you fix this, please?”
“Simon, you just called me your girlfriend,” you’d said once your food came back, utterly stunned.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Since when did you ask me?”
“Ask you?” he furrowed his brows. “Do I need to ask ya?”
“Well… usually that’s what people do.”
He cleared his throat and tried again, grumbling, “Be my girlfriend.”
It was more of an order than a question, but you said yes, anyway.
That was months ago and Ghost still hadn’t mentioned anything about love. You hadn’t even seen your boyfriend without his mask fully off, or seen his unclothed body in proper lighting.
Until his birthday. A day that Ghost normally doesn’t celebrate because he’d had such traumatic experiences on it as a kid.
Somehow— with that strange ability you seem to possess— you manage to turn something dark and twisted into something pure and new.
_____
You plan a surprise for him.
Last year, you’d missed his birthday because Simon didn’t tell you about it. But now you know when it is, you’ve marked all your calendars, and you secretly figured out what flavor cake he preferred (had to bring home different slices from the store and leave them on the counter to see which he ate the most of).
When Simon comes home from the gym, he’s showered with what can only be described as love.
He sees the balloons on the floor, all ten of them that you blew up yourself, and then the cake on the table that’s got some frosted words in your handwriting.
And then there’s you.
It feels like his life has been many miles worth of nighttime and now, it’s breakfast. The sun is up, and he sees it in your eyes as you beam at him.
“Surprise, Simon,” you smile, cheeks rosy and matching the dress you’ve got on. “Happy birthday.”
“You did this fo’ me?” Simon asks slowly. He sets his gym bag on the floor.
You’re worried you’ve overwhelmed him. Romantic gestures are not something he’s used to giving or receiving, but he’s been slowly warming up to them over the course of your relationship.
You tuck your hair behind your ears and nibble your cheek. “Well, it’s your birthday, and we didn’t do anything for it last year. I just thought that you might-“
“Y/N,” he stops you. “It’s… nice.” Simon is terrible at this. He swears under his breath, “Fuck, it’s lovely.”
“There’s something else,” you say carefully. “The cake is for later. I’ve got a little supper packed for us.”
“Packed for what?”
You don’t explain. Instead, you grab the sack you’ve packed and a folded blanket and guide him outside. Simon’s house— the one you’ve moved into with him— sits on a quiet, gravel road with few neighbors. The town’s edge is still and the skies grow grey as you walk together. He is confused when you stop at a seemingly random spot, just near a rose bush, and you lay down the blanket you’ve brought.
“This is the spot where we first met.”
He hears the words leave your mouth but he’s so focused on your lips that he doesn’t quite process them.
“The…” Simon looks around and the memory comes into view. “Christ- right here, was it? With your bike?”
Simon is overwhelmed, but not in a bad way. The two of you sit there, having a picnic in the middle of this quiet backstreet where you nearly ran into him, and he listens to you talk because, as usual, he’s at a loss for words. You tell him about the process of making the cake, and how you had to try three times before it came out right. All the while, his heartbeat is thick in his chest and he’s wondering how did this happen?
It feels like yesterday he was pushing you away, playing a sick game of trying to guess when you’d finally give up on him. Simon knew he made things hard; he could be angry, demanding, and painfully reserved. But you were so patient with him, held him close during his nightmares and never pried about the mask he felt dependent on.
Now today, in this moment, you are his girlfriend, and you have planned the first real birthday he’d had in years. He doesn’t plan on pushing you away—
—as you keep talking, Simon’s brain runs through all the ways he can think of to keep you close.
Then, it starts to rain.
“I was worried this would happen,” you sigh when the first few drops hit you. “Come on, we can finish at home—“
You’re getting up when a hand reaches for your arm and tugs you back down.
“Wait. Hold on.”
The gentle request is uncharacteristic of him. That tone of voice only makes an appearance when he’s with you, because you’ve had Simon doing things he never imagined doing since the beginning of your entanglement.
For one, he never kissed people before you. Once or twice when he was a teenager, but he never really cared for it- now, Simon thinks he’s obsessed with how your mouth fits against his, soft and delicate.
He pushes up the edge of his mask, just below his nose, and covers your lips with his before you can question it.
The rain is unforgiving, growing heavier, but both of you are too focused on each other.
Simon cups your damp cheeks and holds your face firmly while kissing you, slow and deep. Thoughtful swipes of his tongue that pry your lips apart so he can explore and take in every detail, every taste.
There are words exchanged in this kiss that he struggles to say. Doesn’t know what language to translate his feelings into.
Thank you? No. You’re all I have? No. I can’t believe you did this all for me?
But you know what language to use. You’ve known for some time now, and as you pull away from the kiss and lean your damp forehead against his now-soaking mask, you let yourself finally whisper:
“I love you.”
_____
Simon doesn’t say it back.
You were kind of expecting as much, but still, it stings. You’d played all the scenarios in your head of how this first time telling him you love him could’ve gone; the two of you walking back in an uncomfortable silence, clothes soaked, wasn’t one of them.
You also don’t expect him to be visibly frustrated. Simon‘s got the wet blanket in his arms, his eyes are dark and unreadable, and his body is tense.
When you get to the house, you’re quick to run to the bathroom, eager for a hot shower that will hopefully wash off the burn of his silence and mask the tears you’d been holding. You don’t even feel embarrassed about telling him; just defeated. He kissed you like he loved you, held you like he loved you—
—why couldn’t he just say it?
In the house, Simon follows after you, knocking his knuckles to the bathroom door just after you’ve peeled off your clothes.
“Let me in?” he requests hoarsely.
Holding your breasts in your arms, you use the excuse, “I’m naked.”
“So?”
Reluctantly, you unlock the door and dig your teeth in your lip as he steps in. Your body is cold from being wet and he’s still got his soaked clothes on, not caring that he’s leaving a little trail of water behind.
Simon’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling as he looks over your naked body and then gets the shower running. You stand there confused, but he grabs your hands and guides them to the hem of his wet shirt, the notch in his throat visibly tight.
He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand; you start helping him undress, carefully and hesitantly, because he has never let you do this before.
You peel the shirt up his torso and his chest is revealed under the bright bathroom lights, allowing you a view of every scar etched around a every tattoo, the burns on his side that you’d never gotten a good look at before, and the trail of coarse hair down his navel. The bare skin is cold and blissful under your fingertips.
You swallow, “Your belt.”
Hands reaching for it, Simon helps you with the contraption before you’re able to tug down his jeans. His legs are exposed to you and you quickly realize they are equally marked. A burn scar consuming his left thigh. A deep scar just above his knee. He’s got tattoos on his calves that you’ve never seen before until now.
Simon is completely naked before your eyes.
You can tell it makes him nervous. This brooding man who’d kill more people than you wanted to know, shifts uncomfortably and flickers his eyes to the light switch, probably itching to turn it off and hide himself. But he wills himself not to— for you.
“Simon,” you lay your hands on his chest, feel how strong his heart is. “I… love you. All of you.”
You’re the one who leads your hands to the hem of his mask. It’s soaked and probably uncomfortable, and your fingertips dance underneath it as if to ask for permission. When Simon doesn’t push your hands away, you swallow and pull the fabric up.
Up all the way this time. Up past his stubbled chin, his lips, his nose, and then his eyes.
He let’s you do it. Let’s you peel the mask over his hair and then fold it on the towel rack for it to dry. After two years, Simon trusts you fully— completely.
And you; you are in love with him. So much so that it didn’t really matter what face was under that mask, as long as it was his face.
Once in the shower, Simon bends down to bury his face in your neck and wraps his arms around your waist. Hot water enveloping you.
“You’re handsome,” you tell him.
“I know, pet.”
There’s a smirk that you feel against your neck. Your fingers dig into the skin of his back, the muscles still tense, but you’re glad to see his frustration is gone.
Mumbling into your skin, he says quietly, “I want to fuckin’ say it.”
Your heart flutters. “Say it then. It’s… it’s okay to say it.”
But Simon isn’t convinced. Has anyone ever survived hearing him say it? Is he allowed to have these feelings?
“If I say it,” he grumbles, “Then… bad things could happen to ya.”
“No,” you shake your head, “Bad things won’t happen. It’s safe here.” You promise to him softly, running your hands through his wet hair and drawing circles at the nape of his neck. You understand what holds him back now, what has been holding him back for the longest time, and it makes your chest ache.
“It’s safe here,” you repeat when he doesn’t respond. “You can say it, Simon. It’s just me.”
He runs his rough hands up and down your back, keeping you impossibly close to him in the small space of the shower (which he takes up most of). Then, he gently pushes you against the wall and presses one hand above your head, pulling his face away from your neck so you can see him.
You feel Simon against your thigh. Hot and heavy, it’s not a surprise that’s he’s hard.
But he’s focused on your lips. Thumb pressing gently to them, he studies your face and swallows his hesitation and breathes deeply through his nose to muster up his confidence.
Then, with a flicker of fear in his eyes, he whispers, “I… I love you, too.”
He says it so quietly that you think he’s scared of someone else hearing him. All of the dark thoughts cut through his eyes and he looks around wildly. But it’s only you there; there has only ever been you. You think you could cry from the relief of it all. The weight has been lifted now that he has opened himself to you and you have stripped yourself open for him, heart hanging out.
Then, his eyes make it back to yours and he sighs in relief.
Soon, you’re kissing up against the wall, eager and starved with hands that fumble around to touch every inch of each other. He takes you against the wall like this, fingers uncharacteristically fumbling as he guides himself to your folds, so you grab his length and help him. The press of him is so deep inside you that it’s consuming, and all you can think of is how he reaches a part of you that no one else ever had or will.
Your hands are in his wet hair, clawing and whimpering. “Simon.”
“I know.” He moves his lips to your neck and kisses up along it. Hands cupping your thighs, he hooks your legs around his waist so all of your limbs now cling to him. You don’t mind. If you could, you’d invent a way to be even closer to him. “I’ve got ya.”
You both say the words again somewhere in the midst of it all.
And then, Simon finishes in you with a muffled groan, softly biting your collarbone when he feels you tighten around his cock. But he doesn’t pull out. You stay like this for awhile, legs wrapped around him and his cock still nestled inside you. There’s mumbled words and quiet touches as you both linger in this moment, one that you’ve waited patiently for for two years. A moment that was once Simon’s biggest, most secret fear.
____
Simon doesn’t wear the mask for the rest of his birthday.
He says it’s because it’s still wet, but you hope it’s because he feels safe without it.
You both change into your pajamas after the shower, but it takes awhile to fully get them on because he ends up taking you on the bed, too. Can’t seem to keep his hands off you, with constant, gentle kisses and gropes to your waist. He touches you like he thinks you might disappear if he doesn’t.
Simon loves you. You carry around this fact with a glow to your cheeks. Even though he would leave you soon, for months, you’d have these words to hold on to and keep you warm.
“You really made this?” Simon asks when you cut him a piece of cake.
You snuggle up on the couch and share it together.
You hum and nod. “Pretty good, right?”
“Pretty good,” he mumbles in agreement, tugging you to his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder. Then, he adds softly, “Might have to keep you around long enough for my next birthday.”
#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x reader#call of duty#cod#john soap mactavish#fanfiction#simon ghost riley#fluff#ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#smut
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hiii 🌷 could you please do gf!abby!!!! gf!ellie was so good i need more
hi honey!!! so sorry this took me so long to write...usual bad grammar and such.. overall headcanons and thoughts. me trying not to use the word yall. um mention of the word boobies. again on and off non apocalypse au. that's it i think Enjoy!!! ◠ ̫◠
while i know she's a strong woman. mentally and physically. i think she just wants to be babied. especially after a long day of patrol?!?! she comes home n jus lays with u while u take her hair out of the braid and rake your fingers through it. SHE LOVES IT!!!!!
ok i know i said this exact same thing about ellie. but she's a sleepy girl too!!! like if it was a competition abby would win by a mile. she comes home gets borderline naked, left in boxers with her boobies out, she hits the bed and within seconds she's out like a damn light
n also. i think she snores, not loud but you can definitely hear it n Its So Cute!!!! :333
and, hear me when i say this if you aren't in the bed with her she won't sleep. Refuses actually she could be so tired but if u aren't there Forget It!!!! she used to not sleep at all unless u were sleeping too but as i said, this girl has gotten progressively sleepier over the years
i think before you two started dating, you were the type of friends where everyone thought you were dating. which caused a few problems...but you two kinda led it on? without realizing? holding hands, always with each other, sharing beds. n you would wonder why people thought that?? "so you two aren't dating?" you and abby hand in hand shoulder to shoulder "no why would you think that?"
speaking Of!!! she was the first to realize she actually liked you, of course like i said your friendship had always been lovey dovey, so it was hard for her to take time out to realize her feelings for you were more than just really good friends who sometimes shared a kiss on occasion. it came naturally to her to confess, but nothing really changed. just more kisses for abby!!!!!
very clingy and forgive me for this but she would hold your hand while you peed if she could. she loves holding ur hand. idk if she's too big on pda tho.
either way she loves to follow you everywhere. like i said. if you got up to go to another room, she was right there behind u. sometimes she scares u cuz she's So quiet. "What are you doing?" u turn around and she's blocking the doorway
she loves to listen to u talk. blabbing about nothing and she'd still listen like it's the most important thing.
she has a Ton of cds you name it she probably has it. peter frampton, fleetwood mac!!! (two of my personal favs). she likes to sing them to u. n i think she likes dad rock as well, she picked it up obviously from her dad LOL.
for the girls that wear makeup (me :ppp) i think she loves when you leave kiss marks on her!!!! it's so sweet to her she'd never wash it off if you let her
i may dabble more with the friends before dating business in something bigger at a later date. hope u enjoyed. ･᷄-･᷅
#lesbian#wlw#the last of us#abby anderson x reader#abby tlou#abby anderson#abby the last of us#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson hcs#tlou#tlou2#the last of us 2#abby anderson x female reader
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Thanks to a conversation I had with @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe and @stevesbipanic about this post by @piratefishmama about Scott Clarke helping middle schoolers with sexuality crises I wrote a lil something :)
Scott Clarke has been worrying about Eddie Munson ever since the boy first set foot into his classroom. He was tiny for his age and thin on the verge of being scrawny, with big, scared eyes in a pale face. With his long, dark curls he was the kind of boy who would unavoidably be called names for being too much like a girl, and Scott wasn't surprised that it only took one week before the boy came in with his hair all buzzed off, pulling even more attention to his expressive eyes instead.
Scott was known for worrying about the nerdy kids, and even though it wouldn't be obvious to everyone right away, he immediately noticed that Eddie was one of those. He wasn't the kind of nerdy kid who would sit in the front of the classroom, hanging onto Scott's every word while avidly scribbling down the secrets of the universe that Scott liked to share. No, Eddie was the other kind of nerdy kid: the kind who would often be called dreamy, or imaginative, or quiet, or lazy. The kind who would retreat to the back of the class and get low scores on their tests because they were spending their time sneakily reading comic books underneath the table or staring out of the window with their mind completely elsewhere for hours on end.
Middle school wasn't an easy place for kids like Eddie, as Scott knew all too well. The only thing he could do, as a teacher, was try to make it a little bit more bearable for him. He was glad when the boy took him up on his offer to spend his lunch breaks in the science classroom instead of the cafeteria or the playground. Soon, it became a habit that Eddie would be on the other side of Scott's desk reading his way through some big book while Scott was grading papers or preparing his next lesson.
Scott knew that with patience and kindness, all kids like Eddie would eventually come out of their shell and start trusting him. So he asked about the books Eddie brought first, proceeded to topics like music and games he liked to play later, and eventually could ask him about his home life.
Whenever he'd talk about his books or his music, Eddie's eyes lit up and his smile widened. Scott soon found out that, when Eddie was at ease, he could talk a mile a minute and bounce around the classroom, caught up in his stories with all kinds of excited hand gestures. At those moments, he was nothing like the quiet boy with the haunted look in his eyes who Scott met two months ago.
But Eddie never disclosed much about his personal life. He didn't mention his mother even once and he didn't tell Scott much more than that he was living with his uncle in Forest Hills because his dad was “unavailable” to take care of him.
Scott doubted whether Eddie was much better off living with his uncle than with his father. Judging from the meager lunches he brought with him, the shabby and ill-fitting clothes he wore, and the fact that the man never once came to drop Eddie off or pick him up at school, Scott was skeptical, to say the least.
He started worrying even more when one day, Eddie lingered in the classroom after the last lesson of the day, saying he wanted to ask him a “science question” with a certain dread in his eyes that Scott had never seen there before.
“There's nothing I love more than a good science question,” Scott quickly reassured him. “Tell me, what is it?”
“The other kids,” said Eddie, “Brendon and Mark and, you know... They call me names.” His voice was soft and his eyes were aimed towards the ground as he spoke. “Queer. And fag. And...” He shrugged. “Y'know.” He raised his head up again, big scared eyes meeting Scott's.
“I – I think they're right,” he said, almost in a whisper. “How can you stop being gay?”
And oh, this was a conversation Scott had experience with. He had been a teacher at Hawkins Middle School for almost two decades and there had always been kids he worried about, who would open up to him about this exact topic.
So he sat Eddie down at his desk and patiently talked him through everything the boy needed to know; God knows his trailer park uncle most certainly wouldn't. He told him all about science and nature and feelings and, most importantly, being perfect the way you are, no matter who you love.
More than two hours later, Eddie finally left the classroom with relief in his eyes instead of dread. But Scott kept worrying: Eddie's uncle hadn't so much as called the school to inform where Eddie was. Who was looking out for him after the last school bell rang and the kid rode his bike out of Scott's sight?
Not long after that conversation, Scott finally got to meet Mr. Munson for the first time. He was one of Scott's last appointments of the yearly parent-teacher evening, and Scott half expected him not to show up. But he was right on time, even though he looked almost comically out of place when he walked into the science classroom.
He was exactly what Scott would've imagined of a man living in Forest Hills: washed-up jeans and a worn-down flannel, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and a gruff frown hidden underneath a faded gray trucker's hat. He walked up to where Scott was seated behind his desk in a few big strides, and Scott couldn't help but think that there was something almost intimidating in merely the way he carried himself. Not exactly the kind of man who radiated safety for a boy like Eddie.
They shook hands and Scott felt rough callouses press against his own chalk-stained fingers.
While Scott talked Mr. Munson through Eddie's grade list – a list that at this point was barely enough to get him into the next grade – Mr. Munson didn't say anything. Only when Scott asked him if he had any questions, he opened his mouth.
“How're the other kids treatin' him?” the man asked him in a thick southern accent.
“It's not easy for him,” Scott answered in all honesty. He wondered how much Eddie told his uncle about what his days at school usually looked like.
Mr. Munson bowed his head. “I know,” he mumbled.
“Eddie is a sensitive kid, he –”
“I know what kinda kid he is,” Mr. Munson interrupted him immediately. It sounded sharp and Scott wondered if he should be worried about Mr. Munson having a temper.
“Of course,” he cautiously retreated. “I just assumed, since I've never seen you at the school before, sir, that you might not be aware of what exactly he has to deal with in here.”
“Maybe you should do less assuming, then,” Mr. Munson answered bluntly. “You think I should be at the school more? Drop Eddie here in the mornin', come pick him up in the afternoon, all that?”
Scott wondered if Mr. Munson was mocking him.
“Well, I think it might be good for Eddie if –”
“You know why I ain't never at the school? 'Cause I'm tryin' my damned best to keep that boy's stomach filled. When should I be at the school, exactly, between my day shift at the quarry and my night shift at the plant?”
“I – I'm sorry,” Scott backpedaled. Suddenly, the frown lines in the tired face of the man in front of him had gotten a different meaning. “I didn't know. You're right, I shouldn't have made assumptions.”
“Look, I dunno how much he shared with you, Mr. Clarke, but I know he looks up to you. So I think you should know that he's the kinda kid who got in trouble at home for bein' “too sensitive.”” He shot Scott a meaningful glance. “Boy was cryin' to me on the phone, 'cause of what his daddy did to him, so I picked him up and drove him here and I made it my mission, as his uncle, to protect him, to shield him, and to take care of him as best as I possibly can.”
Scott had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. He wondered if he had ever been more wrong about somebody before in his life.
“I know he thinks highly of you, Sir,” Mr. Munson continued. “And I'm very grateful that you're keepin' an eye on him when I can't. But at some point, he may trust you with some very personal information about himself, and you better have his back when he does.”
He knows, Scott realized with a shock. He tried to give Mr. Munson a reassuring smile, but his heart was beating in his throat with what he was about to tell him.
“I was a sensitive kid, myself, Sir. I promise you Eddie is in good hands with me.”
Scott wondered whether Mr. Munson caught the message in those words while a long silence stretched out. Their gazes were locked: Mr. Munson's eyes were bright blue, completely different from Eddie's but just as expressive. His gaze softened while the seconds passed and underneath his graying beard, his mouth twitched.
“I was a sensitive kid, too,” he eventually said.
And Scott's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. This man, with his big calloused hands and his trucker's hat and his undeniably manly demeanor?
His feelings of astonishment must have been visible on his face, because Mr. Munson chortled softly.
“Didn't see that one coming, did ya?”
Scott laughed, too, making the last bit of residual tension between them disappear. “I'm sorry, Mr. Munson. I had no idea.”
“'S okay,” Mr. Munson said. “'s good to know that Eddie has someone lookin' out for him here. Um –” He scraped his throat. “I um...” He abruptly averted his gaze back to his lap again, where his fingers were nervously fumbling with the cap he was holding between his hands.
“I always make Eddie dinner,” he finally said. “'S one of the few things I can do for him, y'know. It'd probably be better for me if I took a quick nap 'tween my jobs, but it's the only time of the day we got together. I'm not much of a cook, but I try to get him to eat somethin' healthy and warm, and we talk about stuff, whatever it is he wants to talk about. So um... If you ever wanna join us – that is, if you don't mind comin' to the trailer park... We don't have much, but I'm sure we can fit another chair 'round the table. I think it could be good for Eddie.”
Scott could barely believe what was happening. To think that only a few minutes ago, he had been worried about this man having a temper or being neglectful towards his nephew...
Wayne Munson was shy and soft-spoken and he loved Eddie with a passion that sparked a fierce protectiveness. And after having Scott judge him based on the way he looked and a bunch of false assumptions, he showed him nothing but genuine goodness.
He felt his lips bend into a smile more authentic than he'd been able to give in a while.
“I'd love to join you sometime,” he told Mr. Munson. “For Eddie – but I also wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” he added in a sudden spur or braveness.
And he could swear that something suspiciously like a smile matching his own was hiding beneath Mr. Munson's beard.
#thank you noelle for providing the worms#and thank you b for telling me that clarkson should always be brought up <3#it's past 1am so idk if this is any good but here ya go#yeah i stole that speech from the joel stoffer interview about wayne#i love him#don't mind me rambling about stranger things#scott clarke#wayne munson#stranger things#scott clarke x wayne munson#clarkson my beloved#fruity ficlet#bluffing my way through that southern accent again 🙃
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She can hardly wait
Characters/Ships: Yae Miko x fem!reader & Dehya x fem!reader
Synopsis:
Warnings: Smut written by a minor, a/b/o dynamics (both) possessive tendencies (Miko), biting (Miko), fangs (Miko), mentions of blood (Miko), Praise (Dehya), Riding (Deyha)
In actuality, you had nothing against not wanting Miko to help you through your heat. But you couldn’t help but be somewhat wary of the person she would become when the cycle gets to her.
So when your heat came around the corner and you avoided her as best as you could, this sly fox decides to make no interference whatsoever. If you really think you can handle it alone, so be it. She won’t stop you. Miko knows you’ll need her eventually. It’s only a matter of time until you come crawling to her with tears in your eyes.
In fact, she’ll do things to purposely tease the shit out of you. Showing off her legs more, whispering in your ear with a breathy voice, lingering touches too close for comfort. “I’m sure you must have a good reason to keep this from me. But dear, wouldn’t your rather let me take it from here, hmm?”
She wants you to beg for it. Her favorite part about this whole process is how weak and willing you would undoubtedly become. Miko can smell your desire from a mile away so it’s only a matter of time. She finds this whole idea laughable. What am I going to do, break you? She’s debating it.
It’s all fun and games to her. That is until, your scent starts to attract the attention of others. Left and right, men & women approach you more often, offering their their “assistance” to help satisfy their your needs.
And it ticked Miko off. Tch, like they can do any better. Perhaps she spent too much watching you tremble and not enough time doing anything about it. It’s about time she gives you what you’ve been aching for.
“My, you are desperate little thing” her index finger slides slowly down your stomach. “Tell me. Would you have said yes to them? Those faceless scoundrels who don’t know you like I do.”
“Never, Miko—“
“That’s right, because you’re mine. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good” She taps her finger firmly at your entrance in a familiar pattern. Three, two, one…one, two, three.
“Alright, I believe I’ve teased you long enough. It’s about time to let the world know who you belong to, don’t you think?”
Her pointed teeth pierce the skin right above your collarbone. At the same time, Miko slides the end of her cock past your folds. With that, every sensation becomes heightened. Even though it’s only the tip, you arch yourself close to her.
“Well aren’t you needy” She swipes a bit of blood off her pointed fangs as she smirks down at you. “It’s only just the tip. I’ve barley touched you yet.” Miko leans down to lick your wound clean.
“There. If anyone should dare to defy this mark, they shall answer to me. Now let’s finish this, shall we?”
Dehya on the otherhand is the polar opposite of Miko. She would drop everything to be with you if you called for her. She’s on you in seconds the minute she smells you flare up. Deyha’s managed to keep track of the time of your cycles so she can prepare accordingly. She’s been with you long enough to know the signs: flushed cheeks paired with a stronger scent and a little bit of extra clinginess. It makes her wonder why you’re hiding this time around.
Deyha brings a bag of overnight clothes to your place where you’ve been isolating yourself. She finds you huddled in a pile of blankets, sweating profusely. Only this time it wasn’t because of Sumeru’s intense weather.
“Missed me?”
You mumble out a response to which she shakes her head at. Before tending to your sexual needs, she forces you to drink a cup of water and removes a few blankets from your bed so they won’t get in the way later. You explain afterwards how Dehya’s involvement with Sumeru’s chaos lead to you decide to go through this one on your own since she seemed preoccupied with other matters. She lightly scolds you for not mentioning this sooner. Dehya doesn’t stay mad for too long though. Now that she’s here, she’s going to make you spend your day and night working through your heat.
“That’s it..that’s my girl. Think you can take it all the way?” Dehya opens your legs wider around her waist and pulls you close to her chest. It never fails to shock you how she can go from pampering you to pounding you at a moment’s notice.
She groans into your neck when she bottoms out. “You’re taking my cock so well baby”. Her hand caresses your cheek, “I’ll make you feel so good. I’m gonna start thrusting now, okay?”
Her stokes are languid as you get used to the position. But your intoxicating scent triggers a rut of her own. Her breath hitches. A new feeling suddenly being awoken. She brazenly pulls you you closer by the hips to meet her thrusts. The closer you are, the further she fucks her shaft into you.
“Nnh, please just hold still for me, like a good girl would” Dehya changes the angle to hit deeper than before. The way her cock drags against your walls feels heavenly. Despite this being your heat, she’s a whimpering mess trying to please the both of you.
“Baby, you feel so good,” she whispers close to your ear, “Such a good girl. I need to—“
Her the throbbing head repeatedly knocks against your cervix. She swells, pulls out, and shoots her load on your stomach. Your slick still continues to drip from between your legs; your satisfaction not entirely met. You still need Dehya’s help. And that means you’re going to let her take you however she wants, right?
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin smut#yae miko x reader#yae miko imagines#yae miko smut#yae miko x y/n#yae smut#dehya x reader#dehya x y/n#dehya x you#dehya smut#💋
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Summary: Getting caught speeding has its consequences. When you realize it's all fun and games for the both of you, you're willing to play along for the reward. A secret and spontaneous getaway in the woods -- it's the perfect place to work out your differences, don't you think?
Words: 2.2k
CW: Gator being kind of a dick, police encounter (pulled over for speeding), unprotected p/v sex, fem!reader, misogynistic overtones if you squint, minor oral fixation, technically public encounter.
A/N: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post! I really struggled through this one, but I've gotten it to a place where I'm okay with it. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for reading my thing!!!
NSFW below the cut, 18+, MDNI as usual ✨
The air is thick with fog, and you let out a long sigh while you wait for the deputy to approach your driver’s side window. The red and blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, and you start to feel heavy with resentment for last night’s power outage that reset your alarm clock, causing you to wake up half an hour later than usual. You know you were speeding; you can’t deny that. You’re late for work, and this pitstop is the last thing you need right now.
You sigh with disappointment when you realize Gator Tillman is trudging through the roadside gravel to your window. Why did it have to be him?
“Mornin’, sunshine.” Gator grins smugly, a toothpick hanging half out of the side of his mouth. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I’m late for work,” you grumble, avoiding making eye contact with him.
You two have a history, if you can even call it that. Half-memories flash through your mind of the one night stand you had after a heart to heart and one too many at the saloon downtown. If you’re being totally honest with yourself, Jack Daniels and summer evenings still make you think of him, but you’d never say it out loud.
“Goin’ 69 in a 60, huh?” Gator holds back a giggle as he waits for your response.
“Really, Tillman?” Your eyes narrow at his juvenile comment, and his smile falls flat. His mood shifts in an instant, and you see him push a small button on his body worn camera followed by a series of small beeps as it powers on.
“Just so you’re aware, you’re being audio and video recorded. The reason I stopped you is you were going approximately 69 miles per hour in a 60 mile per hour zone, clearly marked. License and registration,” he demands coldly, holding out his hand expectantly. You search through your glovebox for the documents and hand them over, steeping in the icy silence surrounding you, thinking that maybe if you had just laughed at his joke, he would have let you go on your way.
Gator takes your documents, shuffling them as he looks each one over before speaking to you once more. “You sit tight. I’ll be right back.” You prop your elbow up against your door and rest your head in your hand, letting your mind wander as you try your best to be patient.
After just a few minutes, you see Gator sauntering your way again through your sideview mirror. The way he walks makes your stomach flutter as more flashes of your night together run through your train of thought – his teeth sinking into your plush thighs one by one, the hungry growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he tasted you, and the pathetic whimper he couldn’t hold back as he pushed his desperate, twitching cock into you for the first time –
“Here you go, Miss.” Your daydream is cut short by his drawl as he hands your papers back to you. “I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle now.” Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief at his request. Why the hell is he doing this?
“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulous.
“Am I speakin’ Chinese?” Gator was serious. He wasn’t budging. You’re kicking yourself on the inside at this point, knowing he was only doing this to get back at you for bruising his ego over his stupid joke. A pang of regret hits low in your chest as you realize telling him you were late for work was a mistake.
“Gator, please –”
“Don’t make this harder on yourself, sweetheart. Step on out now.” He looks far off into the fog as he waits for you to comply, but you don’t move. Taking the toothpick out from between his teeth, he points it at you, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t want me to ask again.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“What do I want from you?” Gator chuckles, bending down to rest his forearms on your car, his head dipping into your window to meet your eyes. He hits the small button on his body cam once more, and you hear the device power down. “You know what I want,” he whispers softly, being careful not to let the rest of the world hear him. He leans in further until your faces are only inches apart. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears as you take in the scent of his musk mixed with remnants of fruity smoke, and you’re suddenly feeling lightheaded.
And just like that, you’re drowning in flashbacks again – the candy sweet taste of watermelon flavor on his tongue, his hair falling into his eyes as he fucked into you hard and slow, and the way he begged you to say his name as you came for him – and now you’re aching to play his games. You know exactly how to get him going. Softening your expression, you concede to the heat building in between your thighs, and despite the bone-cracking urge to mouth off to him, you try something new instead.
You decide to comply and let yourself out of your car, closing the door behind you, and you see a hint of shock flash over his features as he fights to keep his composure. He clears his throat.
“Place your hands on the hood of the vehicle,” Gator orders, and you follow his instruction dutifully. You palm the hood of your car, a seductive curve in your spine, and you can tell his resolve is starting to crumble with the way he’s eyeing you up and down, biting his bottom lip.
“Do you like me like this? Helpless?” Your eyes grow round and wide with innocence – the look of prey – and you notice Gator’s eyebrows raise just a fraction, but he ultimately maintains his poker face.
“Maybe,” he admits, his voice low and gravelly, dark chocolate eyes boring into yours. “Maybe I like having that kind of authority. Maybe I like knowing I could do whatever I wanted to you right now, and there isn’t anything you could do about it.” He approaches you slowly, each step making your anticipation burn brighter.
“Just maybe?”
“Okay,” he admits with a scoff. “You got me. I do like it.” He leans in closer to you so you can feel his breath on your lips. “I like you helpless because I like knowing that if you were to beg and pray, I would have the power to tell you no.” He lets the tips of his fingers brush up against your arm gently. “I like knowing that there would be nothing you could say or do to stop me from…” he trails off, a smirk playing on his lips as he licks his teeth.
“From what?”
Gator’s hands glide up to hold your wrists, removing your touch from the hood of your car. He pulls one of your hands to meet his jaw, grazing your soft skin over his stubble before pressing an almost chaste kiss to the tips of your fingers.
“From doing anything and everything I could dream of doing to a woman,” he murmurs, grinning against your skin. He grips both of your wrists firmly in front of him once more and pulls you against himself roughly as he makes his demand. “Now, ask me again, politely, what it is I want.”
“I think I already know,” you whisper against his lips playfully before he crashes them into yours, his strong arms circling your waist. He grips your asscheeks from underneath and pushes you up onto the hood of your car as he licks along your bottom lip, and you deepen the kiss. His tongue rolls over and over yours, lips locking perfectly together, and you can taste his familiar sweetness as he pushes his hips into you, grinding his already hard cock against your sweet spot over your jeans.
You moan into his mouth as his thrusts become even more needy, and your nails dig into his shoulder blades through his shirt. You’re not even thinking about the fact that anyone could drive by at any moment and see what’s happening – you’re too tangled up in each other to care. In a swift motion, Gator swipes at the bill of his hat and throws it to rest on the hood of the car beside you. His body weight presses into you before he finally breaks away, taking a deep breath and looking at you with wild eyes.
You suppress a smile as you take in the way he surveys you, soaking up his energy, loving every sick second of stroking his ego, giving him glimpses of the control he craves and getting your own physical satisfaction in return. You have him right where you want him, and he has no idea.
“Should we go somewhere?” Gator’s crooked smile makes your knees feel weak as his gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and lips, and you can tell he’s doing his best to behave at least long enough to pose the question.
“Where?”
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The ground underneath the picnic blanket is hard and uneven, but you don’t even feel it anymore. The sun speckles everything around you through the trees, and you vaguely notice the rustling of leaves and twigs as the birds change branches above you every so often. Gator had taken the two of you in his cruiser just far enough up the nearest hill to escape the fog, and the nip in the air didn’t bother you at all as soon as he was on top of you, in between your legs, tactical gear still in place while he ran his hands over your body, his hungry eyes feasting on every curve.
He started slow and gentle, purring soft requests in between light touches everywhere you wanted them. It didn’t take you long to realize he was playing you the same way you were playing him, and now you’re here, rolling your hips languidly as you ride him, using the straps and pockets on the front of his vest for more leverage.
He’s a moaning mess underneath you, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of your thighs as he grips them to stay grounded in reality. You let yourself wonder for a split second if anyone has ever pleased him like this before – if he has ever been so loud, so free, so incessantly desperate for more of someone like he is right here, right now, with you.
You pick up your pace and lean back just enough to put yourself on full display for him, his length reaching the perfect angle inside of you, eliciting a filthy whine you couldn’t stifle if you tried. Your eyes brim with tears as the pleasure builds at your core like an explosion threatening to detonate at any moment. You reach down and pry one of Gator’s hands from your thigh, bringing his fingertips up to your kiss-swollen lips.
He grins through his own bliss as he realizes what you’re about to do. Almost unable to form words, he breathes, “I swear, you’re tryin’ to kill me, woman.” With a sinful smile, you graze two of his fingers past your lips and teeth along your tongue until they reach the back of your throat. Creating the perfect amount of suction, you move his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with your hips, your pussy flexing around his cock with the idea of being just a little bit more full of him.
A strangled half sob slips past Gator’s lips through his gritted teeth as his brows knit together, and his free hand pulls you down onto him harder and faster, the lewd sounds of flesh on flesh filling the space around you.
“Gonna cum. Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he demands, a string of expletives following just as the wave of your own climax crashes over you. Sordid sounds pour from your mouth as you release his fingers from its grasp, gushing and writhing on his cock in a way you know you’ll be ashamed to relive after this.
You feel a bruising grip on your thighs as he holds you down, burying himself up to the hilt in your soaked pussy while his hips buck and spasm against his will.
“Gonna fill you up so good,” he growls just before you feel a hot rush inside of you, his thick release coating your walls in bursts as his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back, his fingertips clawing into your skin, holding on for dear life.
Coming down from your high, you use your hands on his chest to steady yourself, resting your weight on your knees as you both catch your breath. The sounds of the woods in the background become louder again as you take in your surroundings.
“Damn,” Gator breathes, letting out a sigh and a small chuckle.
“Been a while,” you muse, a smirk playing on your lips as your eyes meet his once again.
“Sure has,” he agrees. “Can’t keep me waitin’ like that again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promise with a cheeky wink.
tagging: @mrprettywhenhecries @b1tchywheeler @stevesxyellowxsweater @atinyliliflower @darleenjade @floredaqueen - ily guys, thank u for your encouragement and love, it means the world to meeeee!!! 💕
#gator tillman#gator tillman x reader#gator tillman smut#fargo s5 fanfic#gator tillman fanfic#gator tillman x fem!reader#gator tillman x you#I really hope this is suitable#yes he keeps his gear on because....why the hell not#fanfic writing#fargo fanfic#gator tillman fanfiction#it's a shoddy banner but you know what? it's fine
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‘everyone wants him that was my crime’ with lando/charles? so excited for ur ask day! ❤️
absolutely, positively sobbing 🥺
jordans snow day ☃️
you knew what you were signing up for that very first date at the cafe in monaco, knew what you were getting yourself into when he showed up with flowers asking you to be his.
it’s not like he kept that part of himself hidden, you knew his profession and how many people longed to be you when photos leaked of the two of you going out to get dinner. even months later, it still shocks you the kind of things people comment on your posts on your social media.
you had made the mistake of scrolling through the comments of a tiktok about you and your boyfriend. the rude comments about the two of you drowning out the ones that supported you. you knew you shouldn’t have looked to begin with, but now you sat with blurry vision as you scrolled.
you normally wouldn’t have let the comments bother you, reminding yourself that at the end of the day, he was coming home to you. but for whatever reason, right now, it felt like you had committed the biggest crime. like you had robbed them of him, even though he didn’t belong to them.
you didn’t hear the door to your bedroom open, jolting at the sound of your boyfriends sweet, soft voice, “baby?”
he had entered the room and immediately froze, spotting the tears rolling down your cheeks. his mind went a mile a minute thinking of the worst possible things that could’ve happened to make you upset. rude comments being the last thing on his mind.
he sat down next to you, taking your face into his hands and gently wiping away the tears, “what’s up, sweetheart?”
you shook your head, “it’s nothing,”
“it’s not nothing if you’re crying,” he said, “you can tell me, it’s alright.”
you sniffled and turned your phone to him, letting him take it from your grip as he read through the comments. the comments talking about you, your looks, your body, your relationship. you bit down on your lower lip as his eyes scanned over the screen.
he locked the phone, tossing it to the side as he pulled you into his warmth, “c’mere,”
you slid into his arms gently, resting your face against his chest as he got comfortable on the bed next to you. he ran through your hair with his fingers, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, “you know i love you, right?”
you nodded, “i know.”
“and that i don’t agree with anything those comments said, you’re beautiful, on the inside and out. you’re my favorite human. you know that, too, right?”
you nodded against his chest again, repeating yourself, “i know.”
“don’t listen to a thing those people say,” he said, “you’re it for me, okay?”
he tilted your chin to look back at him, his eyes meeting yours, “okay?”
you nodded, giving him a soft smile, “okay,”
he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, breaking apart as he pushed hair from your face, “you want me to say something to them?”
you shook your head, “they’re just gonna keep saying these things,” your fingers traced over his beauty marks, “i normally don’t let it get to me, but i don’t know why it hit me this hard today.”
“it’s okay,” he shook his head, “nothing to apologize for. i just want you to know that you’re the one i wanna wake up next to, even if you drool.”
“i don’t drool!” you giggled, calling back to the teasing that took place earlier on in the morning when you woke up. you swatted at him playfully, a grin on his face as your laugh echoed through the bedroom. his second favorite sound you make.
you know the first.
#i tried to make it cute#i might’ve failed but#yolo???#mail time#new moon#jordans snow day ☃️#lando norris x reader#lando norris#lando norris x reader fluff#lando norris fluff#lando norris x reader fluff imagine#lando norris imagine#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fluff#ln4 fic#ln4 x you#ln4 x y/n#ln4 fluff imagine
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Yandere! Alien (ONE-SHOT)
I’m sick as hell rn and I just want to write. Sorry it’s been awhile TT
Never wrote something like this before so be nice but criticism is always welcome!!
Also been awhile since I wrote smut, so i apologize if it’s not good either
Content: AFAB Reader (no gendered terms used), aphrodisiac effect (alien’s saliva), sexual themes, alien dick (ikyk) oviposition (egg-laying/having eggs inside you), breeding, brief mention of blood. P -> V. Cunnilingus. This is a lighter yandere.
—
You headed up to your grandparents' mountain cabin, craving some alone time to clear your head and unplug. It was meant to be a chill getaway, a routine check. The cozy rustic vibes inside welcomed you, but what caught you off guard was the sight of an alien, looking totally puzzled by a simple piece of fruit. It was almost cute, but definitely not part of the plan.
It was not even a full 24-hours before you heard a loud crash outside. Your first thought was a tree possibly falling. To your surprise, there was this odd pod thing sitting there.
You immediately wanted to call someone, but then you remembered. No service, no humans around for miles – classic mountain problems. However, your curiosity got the best of you, so you grabbed a stick and poked the mysterious pod. It hissed open, releasing a fog that revealed a towering alien.
This dude was something else. Humanoid, but not quite right. Terrifying yet strangely captivating. Pale, almost ghostly skin, cat-like features with pointy ears and weird dark marks all over. Antennas sticking out of his head and long silky smooth white hair flowing down.
Now, a few days later, he couldn't take his eyes off an apple, completely captivated like a kid in a candy store. His long finger reached out, gently tapping it.
"Want a bite?" I interrupted his apple stare-down. He turned to me, his language sounding weird, definitely not from around here, but the guy picked up English crazy fast.
"Can eat this?" he questioned, his voice all deep and otherworldly, like trying to put words to an alien sound. I nod, “Yeah go ahead. It’s pretty tasty.”
He snatched the apple, giving it a good sniff and admiring its vibrant red hue. Hesitating for a moment, he finally decided to take a cautious bite. His eyes widened, almost sparkling with surprise. Without wasting any time, he went for another bite, a grin spreading across his face.
A little chuckle escaped me."So, what do you think? Is the apple a hit?” I asked him between giggles. His mouth was full of the apple, the juice pouring down her cheek. “Apple... good," he responded with a few mysterious words, likely compliments, before switching back to English. "Tastes like Earth. Want more."
"More apples?" I questioned, making sure. His face lit up with happiness as he nodded. I got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. I grabbed more apples, including some oranges and pears for good measure. Dumping the fruity treasure on the end table, I declared, "Voila!"
He gobbled up the whole apple, even the core, and then flopped into a chair by the table. Snatching an orange, he sniffed it just like he did with the apple. A big bite, some chewing, and he declared, "Different, but good,” he mumbled with a nod. "Earth food, good."
I shook my head, chuckling. "No, you can't eat the skin like that. Let me peel it for you," I said, quickly peeling it for him. "Here, give it another shot. It'll be way tastier this way." I held out the peeled orange, urging him to try it again.
He narrowed his eyes at it, unsure, then decided to take another bite. The look on his face mirrored the one he had when munching on the apple. "This is real good," he exclaimed, before launching into a stream of excited chatter in his own language. "You," he stopped to find the right word. "Smart! Lots of cool things. I wanna know more."
I flashed him a smile, saying, "Awh, thanks! I'm curious to know more about you too." We took a little pause, just locking eyes. His big, dark, almost black orbs were fixed right on me, kind of hypnotic.
I turned my head and blurted out, "So, um, what else do you wanna find out?" His intense look left me a bit flustered.
I still felt his intense gaze burning into the side of my head. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and yanked me back onto the couch, plopping down beside me.
I was a bit confused, but I took this as him wanting to know what this was. “Oh, this thing? It's a couch. Like a big chair, so more people fit on it," I explained.
He gave a little nod, inching closer. Those eyes were still locked onto mine, like he had something important to say but was stuck on the words.
Next thing I knew, his hands were on my cheeks, squishing them, and his forehead rested against mine. Our noses touched. If you told me a few days ago that a massive alien would nuzzle noses with me and I'd just roll with it, I'd have called you nuts.
However I just let it happen. Despite us knowing each other only a few days I felt a strange trust and connection to him.
I raised an eyebrow, still kinda confused but not backing off. His fingers, long and gentle, traced my cheek, giving me a ticklish feeling. His breath brushed against my face, and he stayed quiet.
“So… is this some alien custom or what?" I questioned, getting even more confused by all the physical contact. He nodded, making a small clicking noise. Then he began to say a bunch of words in his native language. I think he could notice I wasn't understanding in the slightest because he let out a huff before he kissed me quickly.
I gasped at the sudden feeling. It wasn't like any regular kiss; it was way more enjoyable, sending a tingling and numbing feeling through me. His lips still held the sweetness from the fruit we had earlier.
His hand moved to the back of my head, pulling me in closer, while the other one continued to gently stroke my cheek. A warmth began to wrap around me, it was a strange feeling, but one I wasn’t pulling away from.
I shut my eyes and leaned in, returning his kiss. A surge of warmth enveloped us, almost like a sweet paralysis. It was too irresistible to pull away.
The hold he had on the back of my neck got a bit tighter. It didn’t hurt but it was obvious he didn’t want me to pull away, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. His soft lips were intoxicating, both of our lips moving in rhythm.
His tongue teased my bottom lip, coaxing them to open. It felt like an aphrodisiac, a warm and comforting sensation. Slowly, I surrendered as he pressed me down onto the couch, rendering me completely immobile.
Breaking away, he panted slightly, and we gazed at each other breathlessly. It felt like we were just staring at each other for hours, even though it was only a couple seconds. The warm feeling growing in my chest and stomach was growing, it was pure need.
Gasping for breath, he uttered "Xylorvex," a word in his native tongue. Pausing for a moment, thinking, he repeated, "Mate. You're mine, all mine." With that, he pressed his head against my neck, as he began to kiss and suck the skin.
The words hit me, making my face burn as he nibbled and kissed my neck. His teeth were sharp, but he tried to be gentle, though sometimes he bit too hard, making me bleed.
Yet, he was quick to lick and clean the wounds, sending a rush of arousal through me. My body went numb, and all I could feel was the strange alien's touch. His kisses left me craving more. "P-please," I stammered, desperate.
The strange creature stared at me, clearly confused. I let out a groan and pleaded, "I need more," hoping it would catch my drift. It took a while but then he nodded, finally understanding as his long fingers slowly pulled down my pants and now slicked covered underwear.
The cold air on my bare pussy made me flitch and shiver slightly. He brought one his face down and looked at it which only made me more embarrassed but aroused. After a while he brought his hand towards it, going up and down the folds, gathering more of the wetness.
I let out a shaky moan and quivered slightly. I was so turned on it was almost painful. The creature watched as my pussy convulse around nothing. He slowly brought his face towards it as he began to carefully lap the folds.
I cover my mouth as I let out a loud mouth. My breathing has gone heavy yet shallow as he continued licking and sucking. It was tingling in a way that caused more sensations than ever. I grabbed a handful of his hair, not knowing whether I was pulling him closer or pushing him away.
“Sweet. Like fruit,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving my cut as it dripped leaving a small pool onto the couch. He quickly went back towards it, slurping up all the arousal that poured out of me.
He was mostly silent throughout this, a few clicks that I took as happiness as his half-lidded eyes switched from my pussy to my face. Luckily enough I was making enough noises for the both.
It was only a matter of minutes before I felt my orgasm building full force. He began to swirl his long tongue around my clit sucking on it before going back towards my hole pushing his tongue in.
“Nghh~ ah fuck~” I moaned out loudly as I came all over his face. The slick trailing down his chin as he made sure to give my pussy a few more kisses before sitting back up and looking at me. “Good?”
I nodded as my chest went up and down heavily. I have never experienced anything like that before and it took a lot of the energy out of me.
He smiled slightly as he then took off his pants showing his now fully erect dick, it was nothing like you have ever seen before. It was long and girthy, with the same black markings that were across his skin.
It was veiny, and twitching. Despite being quiet it was obvious he was just as excited as you were.
He slowly rubbed the entrance, gathering my slick onto his dick. I rarely had time to think before he pushed it in slowly, filling me up instantly.
We both let out a moan as he bottomed out. The clicking noise became louder as he began to mumble something. He kissed my lips before he started to thrust his and wiggle inside me.
It was otherworldly, it was like his cock was perfectly morphing itself to my folds causing a sensation I couldn’t explain. The moans I let out came off as more of screams as I gripped the couch. However they were not as loud as they could be because of his sweet kisses, almost praising and encouraging me to take it.
You quickly learned that his species had a strong stamina. He was doing all sorts of positions with you, forcing orgasm after orgasm before all you could do was cry and take the pleasure.
Hours later and after your nth orgasm did he finally cum. He gave his final thrusts as he shot his load inside you. The warmth filling you as you whined. You could feel him depositing large eggs within you. Causing your belly to bulge as he cooed and petted your head.
After he laid all his eggs within you he finally put out, a clear sticky substance pooled out of your entrance as you trembled. The alien held you close as he brought you to the bed, grabbing something he thought was a towel and wiped you up.
You quickly fell passed out as he cuddled up next to you, spooning you and continuing his pats to your head. He just knew that you’ll be such a kind and loving mate for the children slowly growing inside you.
#yandere#yandere boyfriend#male yandere#tw yandere#yandere male#yandere writing#yandere male x reader#afab reader#spicy#alien#alien oc#alien boyfriend#yandere alien#yandere teratophillia#yandere exophilia
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My Baby
Inspired by @emzerdoo artwork of recom! Paz Socorro
(I Hope i posted this right and it doesn't look funky)
(ENJOY!)
(part 2)
They say a mother can feel it in her when her child is near, it's something instinctive, something that she creates, that they developed together throughout those long grueling but wonderful nine months, that it grows and strengthens throughout the years, binds them together for all their life.
They say a mother can feel it in her when her child is near, it's something instinctive, something that she creates, that they developed together throughout those long grueling but wonderful nine months, that it grows and strengthens throughout the years, binds them together for all their life.
And Paz..
Paz wasn't a mother for very long, in fact she can count on one hand the amount of times she held her son, but she can be sure that each time, it felt like the first, that every time she looked into his eyes, she fell in love once more.
She loved holding him in her arms, being together in her room after a long day, just enjoying each other’s company. She never thought she would have a child so imagine her surprise when she found out she couldn't contain herself, something that many women on earth wanted but never could have achieved was made possible for her, it all just felt like some blessing, like a miracle, but of course there were downsides to the baby growing inside her belly.
The first being that she slept with the Colonel— which in itself was highly inappropriate— but Miles was charming and sooner than later they were wrapped around each other together tighter than a rope.
The other being that they were literally on another planet.
But she never dared regret to cross her mind, that child will be born no matter what, and it was, she gave birth to a beautiful boy, with the brightest golden hair, the pinkest mouth and chubby cheeks that made her heart melt.
She named him Miles.
When Quaritch found out he had laughed at her, told her that she really wasn't planning to keep it a secret, but then for how long were they planning to keep it a secret?
The baby was here and there was no way she would ever make him feel that it was a burden, that she was ashamed of him, he was her greatest joy, her greatest love, her greatest miracle.
She loved him so much, so much that she would do anything for him, that's why she left that day, she left to fight for humanity, she wanted a home here… On pandora, where her child would grow and play and be as strong as his father, but as smart as his mother.
That’s why she left. She left for him, to fight for him and in the end come back to him, with victory in her hands.
She expected to win, they all expected to win, but what they didn't know, what they couldn't possibly think of was that Pandora… She was a mother too.
She was a mother and we were hurting her children, murdering them and ruining them,
And a mother…
A mother always protects.
She protects her children and eliminates the threat, so that's what she did.
Pandora saw us as the threat, we were hurting her children so she defended them, she protected them, she eliminated us.
And so, I died,
I died with his name on my heart.
She fell into a deep sleep, a sleep so deep and for so long that she forgot who she was, what she was and where she was.
But suddenly, a light shined through, a light so bright that blinded her, a light so bright that had her shooting up from where she was laying and gasping for breath with a stranger's name on her lips.
She looked around and noticed how everything seemed so much smaller but bigger at the same time, that everything became much more, every feeling, scent, sight and sound heightened.
Her thoughts became muddled and her movements sluggish.
She looked across the room and saw a giant blue person staring back at her. She immediately tensed up. It looked like a woman version of the Navi, She took note of the blue markings and white dots on her face, when she noticed that wherever she looked teh women followed. She frowned and was confused as to why the woman copied it.
“Hey! What’s—”
She stopped short.
That woman was her, the blue woman was her.
She was confused, how did she become this?
She could smell something familiar, something strong, something of love.
There were tiny people around her in strange white clothing, asking her millions of questions at a time. She could barely keep up. Suddenly, some metal doors slid open and a Navi man came in and instead of wearing the usual loincloth and different colored beads and feathers, he wore military style clothing. His hair instead of long all around was cut short, a long strand trailing after him.
He looked familiar.
He smelled familiar.
The man was standing in front of her, a detached look on his face,
His face….
His face….
The more she looked at it, the more her heart quickened, the more the memories flashed through, the more her eyes watered, the more intense a sob escaped past her lips.
She threw herself at him, arms coming around his shoulders, his around her waist. SHe pressed her face to his neck, smelling that comforting scent.
She blubbered.
“Miles”
“Miles”
“Miles”
“Miles”
He pressed a large warm hand to the back of her head pressing her further into his neck. There was something missing, she could feel it, she was missing something. The more she smelled him the more her heart ached.
Miles
Miles
Baby
That's what it was. Baby. She has a baby, but where was it?
Where was her baby?
She pulled away from him and he looked down at her, “Baby?” she whispered to him.
His face did an ugly thing there, it twisted up into itself, a grimace taking over his face, his eyes becoming glossy, he shook his head once, and then one more time until he was just stuck shaking his head at her.
Her lips trembled. “Baby?”
He opened his mouth, tongue wetting his lips, His voice was gruff when he spoke, “No Paz, No baby.”
She felt her heart shatter.
A sudden coldness creeping into it, freezing it up and then shattering into a thousand little pieces, she felt numb. Her thoughts slowed down as Miles continued to rub at her back and apologize to her.
Her baby…
Her baby was gone…
There was no more baby.
No more of his darling brown eyes, of that golden head of hair, that shined like a beacon under the lights. No more sweet gummy smiles or the shrieking giggles.
“No.”
She pushed herself up and away from Miles, “No. No. No.”
“Paz, Im sorry”
She grasped at the foreign strands of hair, gripping onto them tight, “No. No, No. No. No!”
She heaved a great sob. “Not My baby.”
“No, Not my baby”
“Miles, Please”
Tears poured down her face as she grasped at her own skin, his hands coming to her and pulling her scratching claws away from her face and arms. He pulled her into his chest as she sobbed into his shirt, wet spots forming where her face lay.
His hand coursed through her hair, his mouth releasing, quiet ‘Shushing’ sounds.
She didn't know for how long she cried against him, she just knew that by the time it was over her throat ached, her eyes hurt and tear marks stained her cheeks and his shirt. He still continued to caress her hair.
She could feel each breath he took, hear his heart beating and it seemed to be lulling her to sleep until he suddenly spoke,
“I know that… I Know that you hurtin’ right now, and trust me it kills me to see you like this, but we… we got work to do.”
“We’ve got another chance, Paz.”
He looked down and with his hands raised her face to look up at him, “I know you got that fire in your belly, itching for revenge, And don't worry, we’re going to get it, Alright?”
His thumbs rubbed at her cheeks, looking at her dead in the eye, “I need you with me, soldier. Can I count on you?”
God, she was tired, she didn't want to do anything but lay on the ground, curl up and die, but as she stared deep into his eyes, she could see a fire burning there, eating up at him and she bet that when he looked into hers he would see the same thing. She was tired, but she didn't want to waste this opportunity, she had a second chance and if she couldn’t win last time for her son, then maybe she can use this time to win for someone else’s.
She steeled herself, planted her feet and stood up straight, staring deep into his eyes, “Yes, Colonel.”
A tired smile curled up on his lips, he pressed his lips to her forehead, “Atta girl.”
3 days after she ‘woke’ up, they were on the move, Miles had explained to her what it was they were doing, how they were here.
And… shit.
She never would have signed that paper if she knew it would have come to this, she is grateful to be with miles once again, but it's not the same, it's not the same if it means that the only reason she is here was because she had to let go of one of her boys.
She didnt have time to mope but how badly did she want to, the others they couldn't understand, not even Z-dog who at some point in her life must have had a maternal bone in her body. She felt as if she had eaten led, her body ached like a limb had been torn from her, but still she walked, she performed like the soldier she was trained to be.
They were flying to the Hallelujah mountains, where their new ‘boss’ , a tight-lipped bitch called Ardmore, had wanted them in the hive’s nest, to ‘test’ how they fit in with Pandora's defensive system.
Being in a scorpion brings shudders to her arms, last time she was in one she had an arrow striking out of her chest and she was plunging fast to the ground, sometimes she could still feel the sting of it. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the breeze that flew in, she felt something tap her shoulder and she quickly turned to look.
Lyle was looking at her, a question in his eyes, she firmly nodded her head and turned to look back out, soon enough they were getting ready for the drop off, the team got clipped onto their harnesses and slowly slid down the rope.
Feet touching the ground, they were off. They sneaked past animals and wandered through the beauty that was Pandora, she couldn't find it in herself to hate her, it felt as if she now understood what had happened, that they were at fault for the destruction.
That only if they’d listened in the beginning none of this would have happened, that she would still have her… Her baby, that they could have been a happy family, if only they’d listened, which is why now that she’s here, she feels uneasy, that a cycle is just repeating and that the events might be different but the ending will be the same.
She followed behind Miles as they stumbled upon an abandoned pod and a broken Skel suit, she stayed behind as she watched him poke around it. She moved further into the abandoned pod and looked through it, moving colorful leaves around and a few branches, in the end she found nothing special.
She made to move out when a piercing scream echoed around the jungle, she saw Miles freeze before Ja gave his location on what he had found. They moved quickly and as a team, but the uneasiness in her grew, it rattled her heart and made it hard to focus, up ahead Miles had broken through the undergrowth onto a small clearing where Ja and the rest of the team were.
She caught up with them and saw how they had managed to catch what looked to be Navi children, she saw how they were each restrained by their Queque, she positioned herself at the back, feet steady, when a scent made her falter.
It is true what they say, how a mother’s intuition is never wrong, how they are able to just tell when something of theirs is near.
Paz wasn't a mother for a very long time, this body of hers didn't know what it was feeling, didn't understand why whenever she looked at this boy her heart ached, why her eyes became wet and her knees weak.
But her soul knew.
It knew.
Because how can this feeling be wrong, how can it just be grief being cruel once more.
How can this scent, this wonderful familiar scent that makes her drop her gun, —something that went against her training— be wrong, be just a figment of her imagination.
She desperately searches for it when she suddenly spots it, right there being restrained by Mansk, a boy.
A Human Boy, dressed in Navi clothing.
Her heart beating out of her chest as hands shake and tremble at her sides, this boy… This boy is a lot bigger than her baby.
But she knows, she knows those eyes.
She knows why her belly tightens and her heart aches, why her breath falls short.
And she knows that the feeling in her chest, the way her heart aches and tightens, is not a mistake, or hallucination.
It's real.
She can tell when the Boy notices her, notices her looking, notices the way her hands shake and her eyes are brimmed with tears.
They watch each other, ignoring whatever is going on around them, and they know. They just do.
She wants to get closer, she wants to see him, wants to touch him.
Her feet begin to move, as her lip wobbles and hands clenched at her side, Her voice trembles when she speaks, “Miles?”
The boy’s eyes widen just slightly, she walks over now standing in front of, “Miles?” she asks again
She can feel quaritch looking at her, She reaches over, bending slightly so she could look straight into his eyes, her palm makes contact with the soft cheek and she gasps as it tingles.
A tear slips past the boy’s eye landing on her hand, and that’s all she needs. She pulls the boy into her arms holding him tight against her. Wrecking sobs work out of her mouth as she caresses him all over, “My Miles”
“My sweet baby.”
She cries as she touches his hair and runs her hands down his arms and neck before gathering him up in an embrace once more.
She wants to hold on to him and never let him go.
She holds him against her chest as she whispers apologies into his hair, the boy finally reacts and brings his arms up around her, falling limp in her arms. She can feel the tears, slipping out of his eyes and landing on her shirt.
“I'm so sorry”
“I'm sorry.” she sobs
She pulls his head away from her chest so she can look at him, his face is just exactly the same, but god, he’s grown up so much, she’s missed so much.
“I wish I hadn't gone. I wished I had stayed there with you” she whispered into his eyebrow.
He does say anything, just keeps on holding her tight, cheek pressed to her chest and when he speaks she can feel his lips moving against it, “Mama” he whispers.
And she feels as if a thousand angels are roaring in her ears, as if the sun had chosen this moment to shine directly onto her, warming her up from the inside out. She breathes out, strands of his hair lightly shift, “Yes… Yes it's me” she sobs out.
Almost as if he needed that confirmation from her, his arms tighten around her and she feels the spot where his face is pressed against her growing damp, he lifts one hand and buries her fingers in his hair.
“My baby” she murmurs against him.
“Mama”
Paz wasn't a mother for a very long time, some may say that she didn't spend enough time with her child to be able to have this bond with him, that he wasn't supposed to even be here, that it was a mistake, but just like the first time, he proved them wrong.
He survived.
He lived.
She was given a miracle, she wasn't going to waste it.
She wasn't going to let him go, she will stay by his side no matter what.
#spider socorro#avatar the way of water#avatar recoms#recom squad#Colonel Miles Quaritch#paz soccoro#james cameron avatar#Miles Quaritch#atwow fanfiction
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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.
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@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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Make a Touchdown on My Heart
Rating: General
CW: Doesn't Apply For This One!
Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington, Super Bowl XXII, Steve Harrington is a Sports Nerd, Domestic Fluff, Comfort/No Hurt, Fluff, Dialogue Heavy
(Some facts in here may be inaccurate, I am not a sports enthusiast. All of these came from the internet, so blame it if I'm wrong.)
For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being seen and known."
💕—————💕
It’s January, 1988. Their apartment is warm and lit by amber bulbs. Four in the afternoon in Chicago, work days over, dinner slow cooking in the crockpot on the counter. Eddie’s already dressed down in pajamas, grabbing a couple beers from their fridge, waiting for Steve to arrive home. Domestic. He’s been domesticated. He’s warm with contentment.
The plan is that Steve is going to get home, change out of his Family Video get up (because, yes, the video store has followed him to Illinois), get into his sweats and a Denver Bronco’s t-shirt, rush to get his sneakers back on, and hurry over to the local sports bar to yell over the Super Bowl. It’s been discussed. Marked on the calendar. Steve’s been excited for the last several months, practically bubbling with passion at the mere thought that one of his favorite teams made it to the “big game” as he described it to Eddie.
Now, Eddie’s no sports guy. He really, really, really isn’t. But he’d grown up with Wayne watching football. Tuning the television to ABC, right at the top of six, Miller in hand, bowl of chips in the other. Eddie usually resigned himself to a night of sitting on the couch, clueless to the sports world around him, probably nose deep in campaign notes. But he’s not in Indiana. He’s not listening to Wayne’s gruff commentary as he prepares for a night in with football. He’s in Illinois with his boyfriend, Steve Harrington—sports extraordinaire, quite literally.
Steve does this wonderfully adorable thing where he pulls out his new copy of Sports Illustrated or tunes in on their little kitchen radio or flips to whatever game is on, he rattles on about statistics and new players and his predictions—what team he thinks will make it to playoffs, which players will retire that year, how many touchdowns a team will get. It’s his favorite thing to talk about. Well, it could be any sport. He knows quite a bit about literally any sport.
“Who had the most strikeouts in 1984?” Eddie had asked one evening.
Without any preamble, Steve had shot him with, “Dwight Gooden, New York Mets.”
So, yeah, Steve knows his shit. At least in Eddie’s humble opinion.
Which is why, even though Eddie will probably get super bored, he’s got the TV remote ready. Just waiting on Steve’s quick arrival.
And, not too long later, keys are jingling outside of their apartment’s front door, impatient steps marching in place on the porch. “Just come in, babe! It’s unlocked!” Eddie shouts, chuckling under his breath.
In comes Steve, a whirlwind of energy. He sheds his coat by the front door, snowflakes falling from his shoulders and the top of his beanie. The coat doesn’t even make it over a chair, is just chucked down to the hardwood. Ripping the hat off his head reveals the most glorious and awful hedgehog style Eddie’s ever seen. But that doesn’t even seem to phase Steve. He just runs a hand through his hair, knocking his glasses askew (yes, glasses, Eddie’s wet dream), quickly wetting his lips with his tongue. He’s already talking a mile a minute.
“Happy hour got moved up an hour at the bar! There’s a whole block taken up by cars.” His voice gets farther and farther away the more he retreats to their bedroom. There’s some rustling around as he looks for his sweatpants. “Bunch of Redskins fans all meeting there, feels like! Gonna be the only one with a Broncos shirt. It’s insane, Eds! They’re all talking about how Doug Williams is gonna lead the Redskins to victory. Which, I’ll give it to them, he’s awesome! He’s one of the best quarterbacks I’ve seen in a long time. Honestly, he’ll probably make history with this game.”
Steve reenters the living space, still chatting up a storm, eyes wandering for his yet to be obtained sweats. Eddie’s got a hand over his mouth, chuckling lowly into his cupped palm. He’s such a dork, he can’t help but think.
He continues on, oblivious to Eddie's adoration snickering. “I’m really excited to see how this goes. Y’know how there was a players strike this season?” He’s asking rhetorically because he usually doesn’t get a response from Eddie, but he nods anyway, because he does know. It’s all Steve’s talked about. “Season was shortened, but…Considering how the Redskins are doing? This might be a crazy game. And also—Wait.” Steve stops short in front of Eddie in the entryway of their small kitchen. He sniffs the air.
“It’s bean dip, babe,” Eddie answers already knowing. “I—uh—I made it for you, for tonight.”
“But I’m not gonna be home? I’ll be up the street?”
Eddie shrugs. “Or…you could be here? With me?” He enters Steve’s space, wiggling the TV remote in his grip. “I put the dip in this morning after you left for work. Went out to the store and picked up a case of Millers. Your sweatpants are in the dryer, I’m warming them up. Just in case the cold creeps under the door, you know how it gets.”
And that makes Steve shut up really fast. His mouth hangs open in silent awe. Hands limp at his sides. Then, all at once, his eyes light up and a smile stretches over his face. “You wanna watch the Super Bowl with me?”
Eddie nods. “Yeah, baby. You’ve been talking about it for a while and…I don’t know, you’re so excited, I knew that I couldn’t take that from you. Make you leave the house and not bear witness to your whole—“ He waves a hand over Steve’s bouncing in place body. His flapping hands, the jump to his feet as he quite literally bounces on the tips of his toes. “—Look at you right now! You’re like a dog waiting for me to throw the ball. How could I not watch it with you?” He grabs Steve by his left elbow and drags them over to the couch.
Finally, he turns the television on, flips it over to ABC, and plops the remote in Steve’s lap. He’s still jittering out of his skin.
“You want to watch the game with me,” he states, once more in awe. “Because I get excited? But—You don’t like football? You’re gonna get bored.”
Once again, Eddie shrugs. “So what if I get bored? I don’t need to watch the game, I just need to watch you. I’ll know how to react based on how you do. So far, it sounds like the Redskins are gonna be a pain in the ass for you, right?”
“You remembered the name of the team?”
Eddie scoffs. “Of course I do! I listen to you when you talk about your sports stuff. You’ve been moaning and groaning about the Redskins’ new star quarterback for a while now. You think I don’t enjoy sitting next to you on the couch when you read off the stats in your magazines? Baby, it’s the highlight of my day.”
Steve’s eyes soften, they glisten, surprisingly. “Really? You don’t mind when I talk about my sports things? Even when…Even when it isn’t that interesting to you?”
“Loving you means loving what you love,” Eddie simply states. “Just like when you let me ramble about campaign notes and how infuriating it’s been to find a new Dungeons & Dragons group.” He wraps an arm over Steve’s shoulders, drawing him in close. His free hand cradles Steve’s right cheek, it’s wet under his palm. “Why you cryin’ sweet thing?” He murmurs.
It’s Steve’s turn to shrug. He sniffs back a gross wad of snot. “Nobody ever liked listening to me talk about it, I don’t know. Used to watch the games alone. Hated that.”
Leaning in, Eddie pecks Steve’s forehead. “Well, that changes starting tonight, alright? So, go grab your sweats from the dryer, slip into your Broncos shirt, settle in on the couch. I’ll get us some food, crack open our beers, and you can shout and slap my chest all you want about your game. How’s that sound?”
“Like you know me really well,” Steve answers.
“Good, baby,” he whispers. “Love knowing you. Love loving you.”
💕—————💕
#stranger things#steddie#fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddielovemonth#day 5#Super Bowl XXII#domestic fluff#domestic steddie#neurodivergent Steve Harrington#Comfort/No Hurt#Fluff
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Let you break my heart again .
𓇼˚₊‧꒰ა 🩰 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓇼
Miles Morales x Afro-Latina! Reader
⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰
“𝐎𝐨𝐨𝐡, 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.
𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨,
𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝.”
𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 - 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐟𝐞𝐲
Summary: Reader thinks that their love for Miles is one-sides but they are proved wrong. ||
You sat on your bed. Today was aggravating, Gwen was clinging onto Miles the whole damn day and Miles was loving it. From your pov, they should just get married already and cut the crap. You take a deep sigh to calm yourself down. I mean there is no reason to be mad at Gwen, I mean she’s in love. With the one you love. You turn your head to your line of pictures on your nightstand of you and Miles posing, You barely ate or drank anything. Maybe some coffee, but not even the fluffiest pancake could intrigue you right now. Maybe you should shove your feelings aside? And let them be together, like they where destined to be. You didn’t know. You where confused, overwhelmed. Tomorrow was the day. The day you would confess and see if the bright brown eyed boy of your dreams would return your feelings. Until then, homework and studying awaited you. You stood up with all your might and tried not to think about the subject, to block it out until tomorrow. But what if you made a fool of yourself? Ugh, you where horrified. “I’m Leaving Y/N!” you heard your ma yell from downstairs, You responded with a “Alright bye!” Faking your smile. But he was always in the background of your mind. Like a ringing in a ear that will never stop, like the ocean waves curling up and down. Like the voice of an angel telling you, ‘It’s true he loves you.’ But was it really true? Before you knew it, it was somehow 2 hours later..So you studied a bit and went to bed.
_ _ _ _
You woke up with half of your body on the floor. You sighed and quickly got up. Remembering what you would do today. You ran to your vanity and freshened up. You applies your makeup, with some zip up sweater Miles had gifted you, and some dark flares. You slipped your bonnet off and fixed up your braids a bit. You walked to the bus stop and your thoughts began to ponder once again. With ‘what ifs and maybes.’ the bus arrived and you got on you saw Miles and avoided him but he playfully forced you to sit with him, so you did. I mean how could you resist? You sat together and Miles spoke up. “What happened yesterday? You where pretty silent. Puedes hablar conmigo de cualquier cosa.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Hey, did I..do something..?” He said with pleading eyes longing for the truth. “Miles, It’s you and Gwen. She’s all over you and your all over her and..I don’t get to spend time with you anymore.” You said looking out the bus window. “Do you like her or something? Because Miles, I’ve loved you since we where younger. I mean come on, who wouldn’t. And I understand if you don’t…” You sighed and closed your eyes, letting the tears spill out of your eyes. “𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲..𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝..𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐈𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞.” You turned to look at away from him and he asked; “Can I tell you a secret?” He said. You scoffed, “Miles this isn’t the time for secrets!” You said with your voice breaking, just like your heart. He gestured for you to come close so he can whisper into your ear. So you gave in and did it. He moved your chin to face him and kissed you slowly on the lips. You felt like only you two was on the bus. That you finally had the weights off your shoulders. You and him. He whispered softly on your lips, “Te amo mucho.” His lips would forever leave a mark, of love on yours.
#across the spiderverse#miles morales x reader#earth42 miles x reader#fluff#miles morales#miles x y/n
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the voicemails
Summary: Suna is a gremlin and he makes sure to remind you despite time and distance
Genre: fluff; established relationship; poopy, baby, and babe used as pet names
Word Count: 1.3k
A/n: these are the voicemails Suna and reader talk about in ihyily2; posting again and not looking back. if the tags hate me, guess what, we’re moots (beloathed) then!
“How could you do this to me?” Then there’s a deliberate pause that is intensified by the frantic cheers of background noise, “question mark.”
You’re groaning the moment you wake up, and you wish you could say it’s because of the sunlight roasting your groggy eyes. Unfortunately, Suna would never give you the benefit of a peaceful morning. Despite an eight hour time difference and even more miles apart, you start your day the same way as any – with your wonderfully annoying boyfriend in your ear.
“How can you not answer when I just won the most important game of my life?”
Exaggeration. He’s been in the Olympics.
“You better not be sleeping,” spoiler, you were, “because if you are, you fucking bet I’m tickling your ass the moment I get home. Okay, love you. Bye.”
The sound fades for a moment. It rustles, brushing against what seems like fabric until the noise widens out again. “Call me back!”
And then Suna officially hangs up. You drop your phone from your ear and back to eye level. The voicemail is the first among many so you swipe down to listen to the onslaught of your boyfriend’s odd way of expressing his verbal affection.
“Babe, are you serious right now? Are you mad at me? You can’t be asleep right now. It’s not even midnight there yet.”
This one is about an hour later, your 11pm and his 3pm. You shouldn’t have been sleeping, he’s right, but it’s the tail end of Suna’s absence. The three weeks have been long and despite his keeping you very much in the loop, the void of his presence has taken a toll on you. You must have passed out while mindlessly watching a show last night.
“You’re such a poopy – little shit! – Hey man, what’s up?”
Another voice interrupts him, one you can’t recognize with an accent that you’re not used to. It must be someone he’s met in the UK. “Yeah, I’ll be inside in a bit. After this phone call.” Quick salutations are made, a slap here and there, and Suna’s back on the line. “Whoo! That was close! Can’t have the other team thinking I’m a fucking simp!”
You and Suna laugh both at the same time. Fuck, you miss him and his stupid humor and his stupid laugh and his stupid face.
“Anyways,” he happily transitions as if there is a live audience listening to him, “everyone already went inside, but we’re at this famous spot about to eat fish and chips. Chips as in French fries. That’s what they call that here in London apparently. Can you believe I’ve been here for over three weeks and I haven’t had the iconic meal yet? I’ll send you a pic of it later.”
He’s true to his word and just like always, the lighting and angle is impeccable. Sun cascades onto the golden brown filet accompanied by wide slats of fried potato. A napkin artistically crumpled to the side, it’s so photogenic you wouldn’t be surprised if the image would be the first thing to pop up when you google the dish.
“While we were on the way here, I saw this guy on a bike and it reminded me of you. Don’t ask me why because you’ll probably hit me.” You won’t ask because yes, you’ll more than likely hit him. “Oh! And remind me to tell you about this weird dream that I had last night. But okay, gotta go. I don’t want to make the boys wait on me too long. Love you.”
The timestamp for the next one is 5am. It seems that Suna has resigned to the reality that you are deep in slumber because this time, the call is from Komori.
“Hehe,” a voice chuckles into the line, “looks like you passed the test.”
Your reaction is so dramatic even you can feel the downward tug of your lips. It is not Komori. It is once again your gremlin of a boyfriend.
“I would have been so pissed if you answered Komori’s phone call but not mine.” He heaves a deep breath, preparing himself, “okay fine. low key – low fucking key – I’m a little disappointed you haven’t answered at all but I guess that’s my fault for dating Sleeping fucking Beauty.”
He sounds wistful here and as much as you hate to admit it, your heart stings a little bit.
“Okay. Well I hope you’re sleeping well, Poopy. Hate you but I love you. Bye.”
This last one you just barely missed, not even a full hour ago. You tap on the play button and put it on speakerphone. Having had enough of just laying in bed, you head to your bathroom and begin your morning routine.
“Hey, it’s me again. Suna Rintaro, your boyfriend. Or did you forget already?” He’s whispering now, the husk in his voice makes it obvious he’s had a long day. “What a fucking day. Komori’s already passed out.”
The sound of running water isn’t coming from your sink, but from the one in London. “My mouth feels gross. Hang on, gotta brush my teeth real quick.”
You hear the low hum of his toothbrush and decide to brush your teeth with him. It’s silent as you place a small globule of the paste onto your own and though you know that you’re doing this forty minutes too late, you’re comforted. The companionship is healing, a balm to the ache that has developed. Your toothbrushes are the ones that are timed. They’re the same exact brand, actually. He got them for you during Christmas early in your relationship because ‘it came in a two pack and I didn’t know who else to give it to so here.’ It was a very Rintaro way of making it official but it touched your heart nevertheless.
You both rinse out at the same time and when you’re done, you listen to Suna jostle his way into bed. He talks of the dream he had last night. The details get caught between his pillow and tired lips, and as wild as it is, you struggle to make sense of it. All you know is that there is an octopus involved and apparently Atsumu was a pirate. The message ends abruptly without his usual farewell, and you know you shouldn’t, you know it’s selfish, but your finger ends up dialing his number anyways.
The line barely has a chance to ring when he picks up.
“H’llo?”
“Hey, Baby.” You hear the rasp in your own voice and immediately, you cringe, knowing exactly what comes next.
“Babe, what the fuck? Are you calling me right when you woke up?” He’s cheeky but does little to hide the delight in his tone, “did you miss me or something?”
#reina.writeshaikyuu!!#suna rintaro x reader#suna x reader#suna rintaro#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fluff#suna fluff
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A tiny fic in which Alex helps Miles with his makeup (707 words)
Alex straddles Miles in his dressing room. One leg on either side, a frown of concentration on his face, and his tongue slightly poking out. Miles is trying his hardest to stay still, but keeps dissolving into giggles.
"Al, you don't have to–"
"Will you sit bloody still?"
He harrumphs, moves slightly closer and clenches his thighs around Miles, sending him a warning to STAY STILL.
"Alright alright, I'll be still.." Miles mumbles happily and cranes his neck, giving Alex better room to work.
Alex leans in close, and with utmost precision he draws a fine black line across Miles' eyelid, finishing it off with a little flick.
"My little kittycat," he whispers under his breath, and Miles blushes and wishes he could see the work of art Alex is turning him into.
"Wait, I have to do the other one too," he says, repositioning himself in Miles' lap, and Miles has to try his hardest not to let himself become affected by his man and his luscious thighs and ass spread over him.
"It's hard to find the right angle with the other hand.." Alex complains and Miles can barely keep it together any longer.
Alex is simply too cute, all focused and concentrated, a pretty little pout on his lips as he tries to match the line on the other side.
He turns his head slightly, giving him better room.
"Is this better?"
"Yes, thank you," Alex says, and he is so close and Miles can count the eyelashes framing those gorgeous eyes of his.
He gives himself a moment to simply look at him, the love of his life, as he tries to draw a matching catlike flick.
The lines around his eyes, proving just how long it's been, how long Miles has gotten to love and cherish him.
The little marks below his lip, the ones Miles adores to kiss.
The sharp line of his nose, one he wishes their future kids will inherit.
The full hair, fluffy and messy, chestnut strands falling perfectly around his face, framing it in the most beautiful fashion.
The widows peak Miles can never resist running his fingers along. Something so unique, something so Alex.
His heart clenches in his chest as Alex leans back and admires his own work.
"That's it."
He puts the cap back onto the fineliner, and a satisfied grin spreads on those pretty lips of his.
"Satisfied?"
Miles feels oddly self conscious as Alex's gaze washes over him, taking him in. He blushes under those watchful eyes,
He has never quite managed to wrap his head around the fact that his baby loves him just the same.
"You look beautiful, Mi," he says softly, his tone so warm and charming Miles nearly wishes he didn't have a crowd full of adoring fans waiting for him to go on stage in a few minutes.
He wishes he could stay right here, under the warm gaze of his lover, his Alex. Wishes he could pull him into his arms, kiss him silly and tear him apart.
Maybe they'll have time later tonight.
"Absolutely beautiful."
"Thanks baby," Miles smiles and leans in to capture his favourite set of lips in a sweet kiss.
He can't let himself get too into it now, there's no time. But later. Later they'll have all the time in the world.
"I love you so much. You know that right?" Alex says coyly, as if the mere action of getting kissed by his partner of more than fifteen years still renders him sweet and silly, as if they were teens falling in love for the first time all over again.
Maybe they are. Miles definitely feels younger and sillier each day he gets to spend with his Alex. Nothing is as sweet as waking up next to him, knowing that there's no rush, nowhere they need to be.
It's just them, him and Al.
"I know, baby. I love you too. More than anything."
He gives him another kiss.
Humming happily he really wishes he didn't have to go. But he does.
"Now go rock the show, love," Alex says before climbing off his lap, sending him off with a final kiss and a slap to his ass.
"I'll be watching!"
#milex#milex fanfiction#my writing#really this is too short to be abything really but i just had this image in my head and i just started writing and here it is#a drabble? perhaps??#tooth rotting fluff
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