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daydreamingleclerc · 2 years

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pretty little short skirt - mick schumacher

summary: in which, on a river walk you bump into someone you’ve never seen taking the route before, and after an exchange of numbers things get dramatically interesting.

warnings: protected sex, oral (m&f), dirty talk, choking, spitting, pet names, praise kink. trigger warning for a mention of death of an animal at the beginning.

requested: no.

notes: this is based on a dream i had about mick & thanks to my beloved @libraryofloveletters for bringing it to life in true dirty smut format (anj i love you)

“angie, no, you can’t have the ladies peanut butter!”

you caught the tail end of the sentence as you pulled an airpod from your ear, and looked down to be greeted by arguably one of the prettiest dogs you’d ever seen, a huge, fluffy australian shepherd, clearly called angie.

you smiled, and slipped the lid on the open tub of peanut butter just before the dog could stick her tongue inside of it, and you tickled the sides of her neck.

“i’m so sorry,” the man stuttered, crouching down to pet his dog, “she turns into an olympic sprinter when she smells peanut butter.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. his cheeks were flushed a light shade of red, and he had a baseball cap on his head. when he smiled you subconsciously tucked your legs further underneath themselves, making sure your skirt was covering anything revealing.

“don’t worry about it,” you smiled, really getting into tickling the dog’s neck, “she’s gorgeous, angie, right? i heard you calling her.”

“yeah, angie,” he smiled, tapping her side. as he did, he looked around. the riverside was reasonably quiet, with the odd people running along the opposite side of the bank. “have you got any dogs?”

you laughed and an embarrassed flush came to your cheeks, “i did,” you admitted, “i’ve got two cats and a rabbit too, but my dog blue passed away six months ago and i used to bring him here to play in the river.”

the man’s face folded into a frown and he rested his elbows on his knees while still squatting beside you, “he was just really old, and peanut butter on apples was one of his favourites,” you pulled an apple slice from the cooler beside you and held it out to the man, “any chance angie likes peanut butter on apples?”

“i think she does,” he smiled, “i never got your name?”

“Y/N,” you blushed, “and you?”

“i’m mick,” he noticed the blush on your cheeks but knew better than to say anything, “and i’m sorry for ruining your peace.”

you shrugged him off, explaining that the company was well needed and you were happy to let them stay put for a while. mick sat himself down on your blanket properly, while angie sniffed around your bag for more peanut butter apple slices.

as you prepared more slices for her, mick admired you. he couldn’t believe he’d never seen you on this route before, it was the one he always did when he was around this area, but he’d been busy working on the car with his team and had just got back from a holiday, so even if he did see you before, he could forgive himself for letting the memory slip away.

you looked pretty in a pleated checkered mini-skirt and a white vest with a knitted cardigan, almost ethereal for want of a better word.

“i like your skirt.”

the words came out unexpectedly, even mick was shocked when they did, for it seemed his subconscious had a mind of its own. as you turned your head to face him, he stuttered over the right words to say; but ultimately decided to just say nothing.

“thanks,” you smiled in return, “i made it myself, but i’m not sure if i like it.”

he seemed shocked at your revelation, and soon you rambled to one another about everything and anything. you realised you knew his face from somewhere, and then the pair of you began talking about his work; you had plenty of questions on the subject but it was obvious mick was humble and didn’t like to talk about it too much, and so the conversation quickly shifted onto you. he asked you questions about your life and your job, and the pair of you joked that it almost felt like some sort of weird first date.

“oh shit, i’m going to my mum’s house for dinner this evening, i was supposed to be there half an hour ago,” you said, snagging your phone from the top of your bag and only realising the time when your mothers name flashed up, “i’m so sorry, i need to go.”

mick smiled, but he was upset that his time with you was coming to a close. “that’s okay,” he said, standing up and helping you to your feet. you could see him questioning whether or not to give you his number, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “what?”

“nothing,” you giggled again, grasping the pen that was wedged into the side of your notebook in your bag, “here’s my number, give me a call sometime.”

you scribbled the numbers on the palm of mick’s hand and couldn’t help yourself when you gave him a kiss on the cheek, which ended up leaving some pink lipgloss on his now bright red and rosy cheeks. as he watched you walk away, he couldn’t help but admire you once again, only this time, once he saw how short the skirt rose on your legs, his admiration was a little less innocent.

by the time you got home from dinner with your parents, it was reasonably late, but thankfully your flatmate was working until the early hours of the morning. as soon as you got through the door, your phone buzzed and when you opened it to an unknown number your eyebrows creased for a minute.

hey y/n, the message read, it’s mick. i hope dinner with your mom was good :) i’d really like to see you again if that’s okay with you. plus, you left your airpods on the bench. i’ve got them for you x

immediately, you smiled. hey mick, thanks for texting! dinner was great thank you :) you shot that one over and within seconds mick had read the message. thank you for collecting them! i would love to see you again soon, when’s good for you? x

well, the message started, i hope i’m not coming off too strong but your skirt collection was very... interesting. any chance i can see some more?

you couldn’t help the smirk that painted your face, and in a bold move, you replied swiftly. sure, i’m free now if you want me to make myself look pretty and show you my collection ;) your fingers wagged over the send button until eventually it was hit, and within minutes he responded.

perfect :) he said. what’s your address? x

“you look very pretty,” mick said as he stood at your door, a bag full of things tucked away in a small carrier bag, “is that a different skirt?”

“like i said,” you smiled, “i promised i’d make myself look pretty and show you my collection.”

“and you certainly didn’t disappoint,” mick said, his hand gravitating towards your hips, where he lifted the material briefly, and your stomach lit up in butterflies.

the change in his breath was obvious, and he let out a long, heaving breath. “do you want to come in?” you asked innocently, “i’ll take your jacket for you.”

he smirked, and followed you into the flat. you purposely wore your skirt high up on your hips, so that the curve of your bum was almost peeking out. you took him into your kitchen-livingroom, and hung his jacket up onto the rack at the back of the door.

mick noticed the washing pile beside the drier, where clean garments of lacy, skimpy underwear lay on the top of the rest of the clean clothes. he picked a pair up, hooking it around one of his fingers, and the thin red lace dangled in the warm air.

“are these yours, or do you have a roommate?”

“i have a roommate,” you said, eyeing him watchfully as you picked up the half drunk glass of wine you’d been drinking before he arrived, “but they’re mine, if you’re that curious.”

mick smirked, placing them back on the pile. he watched you eagerly as you shot back the remains of what was in the wine glass. “do i make you that nervous?”

“you wish,” you replied, hints of a smirk curling up at your mouth. he took a step closer, and your hands subconsciously rested on his hipbones and it brought him closer. his breath was hot on your skin, fanning your face delicately. “i just wanted to make sure i tasted as pretty as i look.”

“oh, i’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about in that department, angel.”

within seconds, mick leaned in and hungrily kissed your lips. one of his hands was pressed against your hips while the other moved up your body to rest at your neck, thumb just knicking your chin as he did.

his thumb dragged at the skin under your lip, which gave him the upper hand when they parted, and left him able to nibble down on the bottom one. he tugged it between his teeth and slipped his tongue along it to soften the pain. you moaned at the action, and sucked on his tongue to give him a taste of what he would end up getting.

“is your roommate here?” he asked, pulling away from your lips and dipping his head under your jawline so he could leave a mark.

“no, why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you tugged on his hair breathlessly, “were you hoping she’d join in on the fun?”

“no,” he shrugged. he pulled at the fabric of the bodysuit, and when the poppers gave their signature pop! he knew he could pull at it with ease now, “was just making sure that nobody would be around to hear all the noises you’re gonna make, that’s all.”

“bold statement,” you hummed, pulling away from him and wiping the lipstick from the corners of your mouth, “do you want a glass of wine?”

mick smiled. he liked the hard to get attitude you provided him. it was new and exciting, and he loved being kept on his toes. “sure, sweetheart,” he said, and watched as you spun around in front of him to get the glass. “can you reach?”

you said nothing, but you nodded as you hopped up onto the counter. mick’s eyes trailed down your figure, and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander at the sight of you in front of him, kneeling on the counter with your skirt so short he could see your bum, and he shifted in his position.

“do you trust me?” mick’s hands skimmed your hips, and you shivered at the contact.

“i’ve only just met you.” you recalled over your shoulder, and you caught his eyes, bright blue with an eager, menace-like twinge to them.

“i know,” he said, kissing at your jawline, “but do you trust me?”

you nodded, and gave him a little yes to confirm that you did. he hummed, and with that he licked his lips. you moved once again, and mick got to his knees and awkwardly found an angle that would suit his idea best. you heard the scraping of one of your kitchen chairs behind you but you just assumed mick was pulling it out to sit at the dining table.

“mick, why don’t you — oh,” the feeling of his tongue licking a stripe up your slit made your brain go foggy, “fuck.”

“no underwear?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow, but you were too engrossed replaying the feeling of his tongue on your clit over and over again in your head, you didn’t answer. “not as innocent as you look.”

mick’s tongue flicked at your clit and you gently rocked at the feeling. every few seconds you would pull away in fear of mick’s suffocation — you weren’t sure the media would be best pleased at that news. “shall we move to the bedroom?” you asked him, but he shook his head, no; and the friction made you shiver.

“nope,” he said, and waved his finger in the direction of the sofa, “i don’t wanna sound dramatic but i need to taste you now.”

you couldn’t help but laugh as you pulled yourself away, and mick helped you down and guided you to the sofa with his hands on your hips softly, “is it a matter of life or death?” you raised an eyebrow to him as he laid down flat on your cushions.

“oh yeah,” he smirked, and pulled you back on top of him, “quite literally.”

mick’s hands rested on your bum cheeks, while you rested one hand on the back of the sofa and one at the side of his head. you moaned at the feeling of him switching between flicking his tongue on your clit and dipping it inside of you, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this many times before. he was a pro. you pulled off of him every so often once again, fearing for his own safety.

“sit, Y/N,” he said sternly, pulling off of your clit with a pop before separating your lips with his fingers, giving his tongue deeper access. the feeling made you jolt and you lifted your hips subconsciously.

“but i don’t wanna-”

“-i said sit, Y/N, not fucking hover.”

a swarm of butterflies swept through your stomach at his words, and the tone of voice he used was dominant enough to leave you wanting more but nice enough to know that it was just fuelled by arousal. his hands moved from your bum cheeks - but before they did he left a harsh slap on each one which made you moan - to hook underneath your thighs, where he held you in place.

you were unable to move from his grip now, and your hands clawed at his hair while he hummed against your clit. he pulled away from it and flattened his tongue against your lips, and when his nose bumped your clit at the same time his tongue dipped inside of you, you cried out in a loud, desperate moan.

“that’s it, good girl.” mick muttered, albeit muffled.

“you’re so good at this,” you told him breathlessly, beginning to rock your hips back and forth against his face.

“i know, sweetheart,” he replied, and you could feel him smirking against you cockily. “and you taste so delicious.”

it didn’t take you long before you were on the brink of an orgasm, rocking back and forth against mick’s flat tongue. everytime you looked down, his eyes were on you, clouded over thickly with lust as he admired you.

“please…”

“please what, Y/N?” mick’s eyebrows furrowed while a smirk crept up his face, he knew you were close because of the soft pants and the open pleading.

before you could speak any further, your orgasm hit. mick’s hands subconsciously gripped at your legs harder so you were unable to move, and as he did that, he shook his head side to side. his nose was now rubbing intensely against your clit and you stilled as you cried out his name in pleasure, unable to hold back.

mick’s arms released from around your legs and you climbed off of him and to his side with wobbly legs. immediately he wrapped an arm around your hips and you knelt beside him with your hands messing up his hair as he kissed you. “was that good?” he asked, his forehead pressing into yours softly as he caught breath, and when you nodded he smiled, slipping his tongue past your lips so you could taste yourself.

“so good i can barely think,” you admitted, embarrassed at how much you were stroking his ego, “anymore where that came from?”

“why don’t you guide me to the bedroom and i can show you plenty, pretty girl.”

you obliged, practically jumping off the sofa and snagging mick’s hand so you could drag him to your bedroom down the hall. he admired the innocence within it — the fairy lights pinned up around the edges of floating shelves, the photo frame of you and what looked to be your family and blue on the bedside table, a TV mounted to the corner of the bedroom between two walls, endless fluffy blankets on the bed and the open closet door which showed the tiniest hint of mess you’d tried to hide before he arrived.

he kissed you, backing you up against the wall closest, and as he did you reached your hand down to his crotch. his dick was already hard in his jeans, and he was fighting all urges to push you down to your knees already. you wasted no time, dipping your hand into the waistband of his sweats and feeling the skin to skin contact of his dick in your hand, a feeling which made him gasp sharply. he pulled off his shirt, and when you saw the flex of his abdomen your knees almost buckled, but you kept composure. his hands then came to the straps of your bodysuit, and as he’d already undone the poppers earlier on, it made for an easy pull. he reached around and unclasped your bra, and for a minute he stood there admiring your boobs in his hands with a smirk on his face. you squeezed at his dick and moved your lips to suck a hickey on the underside of his chin as he fondled your chest.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, but before he could say his next part of the sentence, you were already dropping to your knees. you helped him shimmy out of his sweats, pulling his calvins down along with them and when you came face to face with his dick you sucked in a breath.

mick watched you with his lips parted slightly as you wrapped your mouth around his dick, carefully bobbing your head and working your fingers around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

you knew if there was one thing you were good at in the bedroom — it was giving a blowjob. mick’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as you took him to the back of your throat and held him there for a few moments before your throat contracted around him and you gagged.

“fuck, do that again,” he said, already lining his dick up with the back of your throat. “fucking hell.”

“what happened to please and thank you’s?” you asked, muffled, as you pulled off of his dick for the second time. mick smirked, and pulled you up from your elbows, pecking a kiss to your lips multiple times.

“okay,” he breathed, “please let me fuck you senseless.”

your cheeks burned hot, not expecting mick to ask a question like that, and all you could do was nod.

“thank you,” he smiled cheekily, knowing he’d caught you off guard in the situation.

immediately, he guided you to the bed and you sunk down between the sheets, and the atmosphere around you both grew to an exceptionally hot temperature. mick fumbled with the zipper on your skirt and rid it of your body before spreading your legs with his knees as he leaned over you, his toned body looking exceptional in the low light of your bedroom.

you leaned your hand down and grabbed at his cock, and mick groaned at the feeling. "do you have anything?"

"mhm," you shifted, pointing in the direction of the bedside table, "there's half a pack in my drawer."

mick kissed your lips again before leaning around to find the box. you ran your free hand down his abdomen, admiring the toned muscle above you. he pulled one from the box, and delicately ripped it open and you rolled the condom on for him.

mick noticed a change in your breath, and he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "we don't have to do this," he kissed your nose and gently pinched your cheek with his thumb and forefinger, "we can watch a movie or something."

"i wanna do it," you smiled, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips, "i just find it hard to believe that we only met like what? twelve hours ago and now you're about to fuck me."

mick laughed. he felt the same way too, this was so out of character for him but something about you drew him in like a magnet, "i'll make it a fuck to remember, don't worry, sweetheart."

he lined himself up with you, and you held the base of his dick to guide him inside of you. with every inch, you sucked in a breath that got deeper and deeper, he was filling you up so perfectly.

"oh, fuck, mick." you cried, wrapping a hand around his neck.

"i know, angel," he groaned lowly, followed by a soft moan, "god, you're so tight."

he began to pick up speed, snapping his hips against yours in fast fashion. you couldn't help but moan, and you got louder when he dipped his head to your chest and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth.

with every thrust, you could feel the pit in your stomach but you wanted to hold off for as long as possible. mick's left hand hooked under your right knee, and he used his strength to push it up until it was as high as it could get without any discomfort for you.

the angle of which he was fucking you was different now, and you threw your head back and began to mumble incoherent profanities. he pulled off of your nipples with a pop, and figured he'd use your neck to his advantage.

"god, you're so fucking hot underneath me like this," he said, his words lining up with each thrust. mick's hand wrapped around your neck, and almost immediately you moaned at the contact. he restricted your airflow for a few seconds before releasing his thumb and pinky from either side, and then smirked. "so responsive, even when my hands around your fuckin' throat."

he somehow managed to rest your calf on his shoulder, and used it for leverage, squeezing at the flesh as he used it as a balance to fuck you faster and deeper.

you let out garbled and strangled noises, and through all the chaos he somehow understood that you were asking him for more. "open that pretty little mouth for me then, darling," he said, his thrusts slowly starting to fall out of rhythm. immediately you did as you were told and he patted your cheek, "good girl."

you made a whimpering noise at that, and mick stuffed the memory away into his metaphorical back pocket for the next time you two would meet in this situation.

at first, the way mick leaned down you expected him to kiss you, but then you felt a trickle of spit land on your tongue and slide down into your throat. a loud, almost pornographic moan left your lips, and mick repeated the action.

his hand released from your throat, and this time he pushed your left leg out as far as it could go and held it there; meaning you'd undoubtedly have bruises on both legs from his fingers tomorrow.

"'m gonna cum, mick," you cried, your throat so dry it came out more like a croak, "i can feel it."

"hold it," he demanded, "you cum when i tell you to."

mick's hips really began to fall out of rhythm as you clenched around him, and he was unable to hold back his orgasm. "cum for me, princess," was all he had to say before the both of you came in sync.

he dropped your leg down carefully from his shoulder, and after a minute he pulled out of you and flopped down beside you, almost heaving for breath. you admired him as he pulled off the condom and tied it off, dropping it into the bin beside him.

"that was fun," he smiled, brushing the hair from your face as he turned to face you, "and you still look beautiful."

"thanks, so do you," you stifled a yawn, "we should do this again soon."

your eyes felt heavy by this point, and you were so exhausted that you forgot to thank mick as he pulled the covers from underneath you and slid you in. it wasn't until you threw it off of you that he realised you wanted him to get under as well.

"we will do it again, Y/N, but i think you should go to sleep now."

"mhm," you agreed sleepily. for a minute, you thought mick was going to leave you, so you wrapped an arm around his chest and placed your head beside his shoulder to stop him. "but stay with me tonight, please?"

he kissed your forehead and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "i'm not going anywhere, gorgeous girl."

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher blurbs #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 blurb #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot

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k9iriz · 6 months

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𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

“you know, i always find myself back to you.”

[ 𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘕𝘐𝘕𝘎 ; 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 & 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. ]

“you’re so sweet.” i gushed at the female across the table, she was tall, muscular and pretty sexy if you ask me.

“thank you, so…when am i gonna finally be able to take you out?” she asked subtly, grabbing my hand, caressing it.

“you already are. this was very nice of you even though you didn’t have to take off work.” she smiled brightly.

suddenly i felt the energy shift, like i had a gut feeling something was gonna go bad.

“hello? y/n?” the girl grabbed my attention, fluttering my eyes shut.

“oh im sorry…i-i was just thinking about something.” i half lied.

“well, where do you wanna go? i could do way better than this restaurant. like…out the country. on a trip somewhere.” the woman gushed, staring my in the eyes.

she was so sweet to even suggest that…

but my heart was in the right place. i am in love with her, but…i can’t let go of rhea at all.

i laughed lightly as i glances three tables over, and there she was, in a suit, so nicely done & rings covered her hand along with her tattoos, but with a female…

oh…she moved on?

the thought of her with another female within a span of the month killed me inside.

soonly she caught me staring, slyly smirking at me before biting on her tongue teasingly, soonly catching onto what she was doing…

did she fucking follow me here?-

“excuse me, im going to clean myself up.” my boss excused herself, before rhea followed shortly behind her, causing the slut she brung to rub up on her before she got up.

her trying to stalk me by bringing somebody to make me jealous was below the belt…but if she wanted to play? oh we can.

in the bathroom, rhea slowly lit a cigarette, before leaning against the sink wall, as my boss exited the stall, smiling.

“hello there.” she greeted a annoyed rhea. rhea chuckled to herself.

“sup. im rhea ripley.” rhea rolled her eyes at herself trying to fake small talk with the woman who wanted to steal the love of her life.

“nice name, you got a date here?” my boss began washing her hands.

“yu-p.”

“me too-” she was soonly stopped. “i already know who she is.” rhea shook her head.

“she was the love of my life. she made me happy. y/n? the one you have on a date with you? the one with the red see-through dress, exposing her curves? yeah her.” rhea slickly explained.

“oh…sorry, i guess?” my boss rolled her eyes, she already knew about what rhea did to me, so she didn’t wanna play nice.

both of them weren’t.

“well, i guess she found where she was truly appreciated huh?” my boss laughed, throwing tremendous shade at her, catching rhea off guard.

“you might be with her, but, i owned her. marked it, stamped her & fucked her in all the right places that couldn’t even get her to reach.” rhea smirked slyly.

“tsk…sorry to tell you. you’re a replacement. hell, she could’ve did better instead of with you. you’re really a joke.”

“i mean, i made time for her, even took off for her. i don’t get pissed or jealous when she’s in someone else’s face, unlike you. im not insecure. because i know she mines. so let that delusion go. she’s done with you. ripley.” my boss laughed straight in her face, before trying to get closer.

rhea did nothing but pause. she knew she was right and she couldn’t argue with that.

“watch your fuckin’ hands and get out of my face.” rhea growled in a low manner, making my boss chuckle, storming away.

rhea knew the game you were trying to play, but she could play it even better.

rhea walked back out the bathroom before fixing her black long sleeve button up, rolling up her sleeves before sitting down at her reserved table.”

“so, how long is this date gonna take?” the fake “girlfriend ” retorted, twirling her hair.

rhea shot her a side glare, with the meanest mug on her face.

“just sit there.” she responded before directing her eyes back to the table that my boss and i were sitting in.

y/n felt some eyes burn holes inside of her, soonly taking notice, my boss grabbed my hand, kissing it, making rhea scowl under pressure.

“what a fucking whore.” rhea muttered, batting her eyes towards the blonde across from her.

“you wanna make her jealous? kiss me.”

rhea took her advice, before motioning her finger to the blonde to “come here.”

the blonde took notice and also smirked, kissing rhea in the crossfire.

y/n took notice of it, getting distracted at her boss talking pure nonsense.

“she’s not fucking serious…” y/n thought, feeling herself get jealous.

she couldn’t help it. but whatever rhea was up to, she was playing it nicely, and was exciting it nicely.

she wanted y/n to get field up and jealous.

“excuse me for a second.” y/n asked nicely as she nodded, excusing herself before walking to the bathroom, slamming it shut.

she had to get herself together because she was completely losing it. why was she doing this? and why was it getting her upset if she was done with rhea?

why?

y/n did nothing but pat herself up, fixing her dress before gathering her thoughts, trying to stop herself from crying.

because if she did…all hell would break lose.

y/n grabbed her purse before walking back out, patting her bosses’ shoulder.

“can we go now? im gonna call it a night.” y/n smiled lightly.

“why? is everything fine?” the boss asked worriedly, making herself stand up.

“yes, i-i just wanna go home. yeah?” y/n whined, not wanting to answer questions at the moment.

“oh, that’s fine. we can, cmon.” my boss accepted it nonetheless, walking us out to her car.

rhea watched from afar as she smiled, but soonly dropping as she watched her leave.

“im ready to go rhea.” her hare announced as rhea smirked to herself, knowing she’d be meeting up with y/n soon.

everything was working out in her favor.

“yeah…let’s go.” rhea lastly spoke before they departed.

fate once again worked out in her favor. but how was it so wrong when it felt so right when it came to y/n?

[ excuse the mistakes, non proof read. ]

#demi bennett #rhea ripley #rhea ripley imagine #demi bennett imagine #rhea ripley smut #demi bennett x reader #rhea ripley angst #rhea ripley fluff #rhea ripley x reader #liv x rhea

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aconflagrationofmyown · 10 months

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Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

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byersbootyshorts · 1 year

Text

Missed Reservation (L.S.)

You and Lance get a little distracted before your Valentine’s Day dinner reservation, meaning you end up having to order takeout.

Word Count: 2,126

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: sub!Lance, fem!dom!reader, smut, unprotected sex, eating (pizza, not the other thing you're thinking about you filthy whores), language

yes, I wrote this instead of finding myself a real Valentine's date

Lance knocked on your door as you were just finishing doing your hair. You swore under your breath as you looked at the time and saw that you were running slightly behind. It was your first Valentine’s Day as a couple and Lance was way too enthusiastic about it. He’d booked a reservation in a restaurant that you deemed way too expensive for either of you to afford. But, you thought it was cute that he’s made such an effort and you didn’t want to ruin it for him by being late. Wrapped in a black satin robe, you walked hastily to the door.

“Hey, sorry I’m running behind,” you sighed, inviting him in.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll still make it on time,” Lance replied optimistically.

“I just have to pull on my dress and we can go.” You gave him a quick kiss before rushing back to your bedroom. You already had your make up on and your hair was done. Pulling on a dress would only take a minute.

Absentmindedly, Lance followed you into the room. He took a seat on the edge of your bed and fiddled with his tie.

“You gonna watch me change, pervert?” you joked. You didn’t care if he saw you in your underwear for a minute. He’d seen you in a lot less before.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said, shifting his position so that he was facing away from you.

You chuckled, walking over to him so he could see you once again. “I’m kidding, sweetheart,” you smiled down at him and began to untie the robe. You slowly pulled it off your shoulders, revealing a brand new bra you’d bought for the occasion. Lance ogled up at you, shamelessly eyeing the red laced garment. You let the robe drop to the floor and that’s when Lance noticed your panties, the same shade of red and pattern of lace as the bra.

“You know I was saving this for later,” you said, noticing his eyes flick between the two pieces of the matching set. “I guess we can call this a sneak peek.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, involuntarily reaching for your waist.

“And you’re getting ahead of yourself,” you replied, intercepting his hand. You pulled it up to your mouth and kissed it. “But thank you,” you mumbled.

You turned away from Lance to face your wardrobe. You already knew which dress you were going to wear so it was only a matter of pulling it off the hanger, undoing the zip and pulling it onto your body. It was tight, but not in a bad way. It hugged your curves flatteringly, the scarlet colour bringing out your complexion.

The last thing you had to do was zip the dress back up. But it was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. You didn’t struggle with it for long before you realised you had someone who could assist you.

“Lance, could you zip me up?” you asked, pulling your hair to the side and bringing your back into his view.

“Of course,” he said, practically jumping off your bed and moving towards you.

His warm hand skimmed your back as he reached for the delicate zipper. But, instead of hearing the sound of the zipper closing up the fabric, you heard Lance’s breath behind your ear. He exhaled, causing a shiver to shoot down your spine.

Then, his lips gently brushed the back of your neck, his hands abandoning their place on the zipper and landing on your hips. He moved to the right side of your neck and began kissing a trail up to your jaw. You craned your neck to accommodate him, shutting your eyes for a moment before coming to your senses.

“Lance, we don’t have time for this,” you said. But, despite your insistent tone, you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t pull away. And neither could he.

“We can be quick,” he mumbled into your neck, sending a second sensation of shivers through you.

“Dr Brennan pulled a lot of strings to get us a table at that restaurant.” You were trying to convince yourself as much as him to pull away.

“Like I said, we’ll be quick.”

You let out an exasperated sigh before turning around to face Lance. You smiled at his tie, It was pink with little red hearts on it. “That’s a stupid tie,” you smirked, grabbing it and pulling him closer to you. “I think you should take it off.”

“My underwear have little hearts on them as well. You want me to take them off too?” Lance said, looking down at your lips. You chuckled, shaking your head before you pulled his tie even closer towards you. Your lips connected hungrily. Lance wasted no time in pushing his tongue against your lips. You obliged, parting your lips and deepening the kiss. At the same time, you began to undo his tie, pulling it off and discarding it on the floor.

You didn’t break away as you began undressing each other. You started to unbutton Lance’s shirt while he slipped your (still unzipped) dress off your shoulders. You dropped your arms for a moment, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, leaving you standing in your underwear once again. When you brought your hands back up to continue with the buttons you found that Lance had finished them for you.

You slowly moved your lips from Lance’s lips to his jaw, sucking on it as you undid his belt. He moved his hands from your waist to his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down frantically, kicking off his shoes and socks at the same time.

Finally, you lifted you lips from his jaw and took a step back. His lips, some of his cheek, and his jaw were stained with your red lipstick. You liked that. It made him look like he was yours. Then, your eyes flicked down to his boxers.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” you laughed, noticing the little red hearts on his black underpants.

“Nope,” he said proudly. “Hey, look, we match.” Lance pointed at your underwear and then his. Sure enough, the red hearts on his boxer perfectly matched the shade of red of your laced lingerie.

“You know, it’s usually the woman that wears the fancy underwear on Valentine’s Day,” you explained.

“Yeah, well, I’ve decided not to conform to societies’ stereotypical social norms,” Lance replied, raising his brow.

“Oh yeah?” you grinned, slowly edging him towards the bed and pushing him down onto it. “Are there any more of societies’ stereotypical social norms that you’d like to eschew tonight, Dr Sweets?” you asked, towering over him.

“Hmm, I can think of a few,” he replied, grabbing your hips and pulling you down on top of himself.

Your lips connected again, both of you breathing heavily into each other’s mouth. Lance moaned as you began to move slowly back and forth on his crotch, rubbing the fabric of your underwear together. His hands moved from your back to his waistband, desperate to free his cock from the material. When you realised what he was trying to do you pulled away from him and straightened yourself up so you were sitting on his thighs.

“Want some help with that?” you asked, looking down at the bulge in his heart speckled boxers.

“Please,” he breathed.

You slowly looped your finger into the waistband. Your touch tickled his stomach and you felt it tense. Lance let out a long sigh when you pulled down his underwear, his dick springing up in the absence of the fabric. He then reached for your own underwear, pulling longingly on the delicate lace.

“Hey, I paid a lot money for these. And I bought them for your benefit,” you said, taking his hands from your panties and placing them on your thighs. “They stay on.”

Lance nodded in understanding. You felt his grip on your thighs tighten. He was getting impatient. You thought about whether you should leave him squirming for a while or give him relief. Then you remembered that you still had a dinner reservation to attend. So, you lifted yourself up, pulled the red panties to one side, and sat on Lance’s dick.

You both moaned from the initial friction. You gripped Lance’s shoulders, running your fingers along his scars. After a few seconds you began to fall into a rhythm, grinding slowly up and down. You noticed Lance shamelessly staring at your tits, enclosed in the dark red lace.

“You’re so hot,” he groaned, slowly sliding his hands up towards your chest.

“You could at least tell me that to my face,” you said, lifting his chin with your finger so his eyes locked onto yours. But you could still feel his fingers practically itching to touch your chest.

“You want to touch my tits,” you asked, still bouncing on his dick.

“Yes please,” he whined.

“Yes please, what?” you said sternly.

“Yes p-please, ma’am,” Lance stuttered.

You tried your best to keep your composure. You were a sucker for him calling you that. It made you feel like you were in charge. Which, of course, you were.

“Ok, then,” you said, grabbing his hands and placing them on your chest. “But remember, this stays on,” you indicated to the bra. Lance’s face fell slightly but a smile reformed on his lips when your threw your head back as he squeezed your tits.

You grinded harder onto his dick, a moan erupting from him with every thrust.

“We are going to be so late for dinner,” you said casually, moving your hands from Lance’s shoulders to his hands, grabbing them of your breasts and pinning them down on either side of his head.

“I don’t care,” Lance mumbled breathily.

“I thought you had everything all planned out,” you whispered in an attempt to supress your moans.

“I don’t care,” Lance repeated. “I just want you.”

You carried on riding him. The only sounds were your moans, blending together in the cramped room, and the occasional creak of your bed as it swayed back and forth.

“Shit,” Lance whimpered. His hands gripped yours tightly as he began to shake. You knew what that meant.

“It’s ok, baby,” you told him, feeling your stomach begin to tense as Lance’s dick twitched inside you. “Do it.”

Lance’s mouth fell open and he let out a loud moan as he came. You bit your lip, feeling him spill out inside you as you came as well.

“I love you,” Lance breathed, repeating it over and over again as you rode him until you were satisfied.

When you stopped grinding on him you leaned down slowly and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you too,” you smiled.

You rolled off him and both of you lay in silence for a moment. When you finally caught your breath you said, “I think we definitely missed our reservation.”

“Well, I think I had more fun here than I would’ve had at some fancy restaurant I can hardly afford,” Lance smirked.

You shook your head and chuckled. “We still have to eat,” you reminded him.

“How about we just order pizza and eat it here,” he suggested.

“Yeah, ok,” you agreed. “But if you get any pizza sauce on my white sheets I will literally kill you.”

“Hmm, death threats. What a wonderful Valentine’s Day gift,” Lance joked, sitting up and grabbing his phone to order food.

When the food arrived you looked for a movie to watch while Lance went to the door. He returned with the box of pizza and sat down on the bed. You spread your legs and he stationed himself between your thighs, his head using your stomach as a pillow.

You decided upon a shitty romcom and ended up talking through most of it. You finished the pizza and applauded Lance for not staining your bed sheets.

“Did you really think I would,” he asked.

“Need I remind you of the time you spilled wine on my new couch?” you retorted.

Lance laughed shortly. “No you need not.”

You sat in silence for a while as the movie ended. When the credits began to roll you felt Lance’s arm begin to caress your leg. He kissed your inner thigh gently and you started to run your hands through his hair.

“You know, we didn’t order any dessert,” Lance said coyly, his tongue lightly brushing the skin of your thigh.

“What are you insinuating, Lance?” you smirked, pulling on his hair slightly.

“Can I?” he asked, turning around so his face was level with your red panties.

You nodded down at him, pulling aside the fabric as he desperately tucked into his dessert.

#lance sweets #dr sweets #sub!lance sweets #dom!reader #lance sweets smut #lance sweets x reader #lance sweets one shot #bones #bones tv show #smut #smut oneshot #smut fic #valentines day

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virgo-dream · 11 months

Text

One of Their Own 🏳️‍🌈✨

dreamling / queer joy / fluff / first kiss / 3,6k words

summary: Hob Gadling invites Dream to a meeting of the uni's queer clubs at the New Inn. Dream learns more about his own gender identity, and that he's very much in love with his best friend.

author’s note: this fic, this pairing and this fandom all mean the world to me, so I thought it was fitting to bring it back for pride month!

I’m incredibly thankful for finding Sandman when I did. Since joining this fandom, I’ve made wonderful friends and became part of a community of bright, kind, loving and loyal queer people that I would not trade for anything. I’ve learned more about my community and about myself, and I wave my ace/agender flag proudly now. This fic was written in a moment in my life where I felt hopeless and alone. Now, things couldn’t be more different. Happy pride sandfam! 🏳️‍🌈✨

read here or on ao3

Dream doesn’t get it at first. He never really did get it, but only attributed it to the need humanity had for labels, for packing things into boxes and saying this goes here and that goes there. Sometimes, it leads to this goes to heaven and you go to hell. It seemed to be a very common one, too. He was beyond that; his name said it all, Dream was endless. Not he nor she, not man nor creature, he was all there was to be and the nothingness beyond it. Gender and sexuality need not apply.

Still, it meant so much to Hob, that he’d have dreams about it. Nightmares too, for nights on end, and even if Dream begged Hob to allow him to take them away, Hob always declined, always braving through them. “If you take them, I’ll forget how much it all means. I’ll forget why I’m still fighting.”

They sat at the New Inn one afternoon, while Hob graded papers and Dream had a cup of chamomile tea, but his eyes couldn’t help but focus on a shiny pin on Hob’s jumper shaped like a flag, the shades of pink, purple and blue a spot of proud colour in Hob’s otherwise earthy colour palette.

“It’s the bisexual pride flag.”

“Hm?” Dream’s eyes darted up to meet Hob’s, tilting his head slightly. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for being caught, because he wasn’t sure what he was looking at in the first place.

“The pin. I wear it for my students, but also for myself. The kids feel safer I guess, knowing they have at least one of their own in the faculty. Can’t say it doesn’t make me feel good too.”

Hob has a particular tone to his voice that makes Dream’s heart sing in tune to its melody. It’s a fuller sense of self, maybe more than Dream ever had in regards to his own identity. “…one of their own?”

“Oh, I– Sorry, those are pretty recent.” Hob straightened himself up (ha) on the chair, his lecturing posture taking over. Dream liked when he did that. He liked to hear Hob speak of things he had deep knowledge of and passion for. “This one was created in 1988 by a queer activist called Michael Page. Had the pleasure of being there when it was first unveiled, but clearly it took a long time until I was able to wear something like this out in public and not be decked by some bloody homophobe.”

It was starting to sink in.

“…I’m afraid I was not present for these developments.” Dream saw the look on Hob’s face, like he was ready to apologise. He raised a hand to stop him, waving his concern away. “As far as I can remember, queer was not a form of self identification, but only a way to shun out those outside the established norm.”

“Ah, yes. We reclaimed it, though. Or are reclaiming it. The 80s were crazy. All of them were, for me.” Hob smiled at Dream, at their shared secret and at their years of now reestablished friendship.

“I think you’re lonely.”

Could it have been….? Could he have meant…?

“What does it mean for you, then?” Dream asks in a way he hopes sounds inconspicuous, pointing at the pin. He was hesitant to ask, afraid to be getting it all wrong.

“For me? It means I love whoever I love. Man, woman, either or neither.”

The pride coming from Hob’s words filled Dream with hope, something he had not felt in a long, long time. The look in his face then shifted onto something else, something he didn’t quite understand. “…what about you? That is, if you’re okay with talking about that. I don’t want to overstep. Last thing I want is for you to walk out–”

“I won’t, Hob.” Dream knew Hob had reason for feeling that way. “I don’t believe the terminology you have could define my experience. I have laid with mortals and gods alike, and have worn many faces and names. It is beyond human comprehension.”

Hob seems to take a moment to think about what he’d just heard. Dream feels like he might have thrown too much at his human friend. “…I think I get it. But, and tell me to bugger off I’m wrong, do you prefer to be a particular way? To be with a particular sort of being?”

Dream. Didn’t have an answer.

He never thought of what he preferred. He’d never felt in need of any sort of outside validation, but. That was a lie. He needed it. He just never cared to look for it.

Hob’s smile was what broke him out of the spell of his own self doubt. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. It takes people a long time to get it, it took me nearly 600 years! Ah! You know what? I’ve got an idea–” He reached inside his brown messenger bag, pulling out a colourful piece of paper, handing it over to Dream. A pamphlet for a meeting. “We’re having a meeting for the uni’s LGBT clubs here at the Inn. I want this to be a safe space for the kids, and to get them to connect with other folks in the community, share their experiences. It’s tomorrow, and I’d love it if you could make it. I’m sure they would too.”

Dream took the pamphlet in hands, looking at the bright colours and bold fonts, taking in every bit of information Hob was giving him and trying to fill in the gaps of the questions he wouldn’t dare ask. After a moment, he looked up at Hob, allowing himself a small smile. “I shall be in attendance, then.”

—————

Dream stood outside the New Inn, hands tucked safely inside the pockets of his coat jacket. He watched as groups of young adults arrived, greeting each other cheerfully. The hair colours and outfits reminded him of his sister, Delirium, but they all seemed to be more in line with her previous self; delighted to be there, happy to meet their friends. A flag danced in the light summer breeze on a pole next to the window, the stripes of colours brightening up the already lively scene. A rainbow, Hob had told him the day before, was the most recognizable symbol of the queer community. It now was accompanied by stripes of light pink and blue, white, black and brown. Dream enjoyed good symbolism, and he could feel the meaning of those colours to all who were present from their daydreams alone.

He, however, still felt like an outsider. Like he wasn't really meant to be there, save for Hob's generous invite. Dream was not defined by the same standards humanity aligned itself with; in fact, he wasn't defined by anything at all. He was not an individual, but the safe arms in which those dreamers rested every night, the common thread in their hopes, in their restful slumber. It would be silly to think that he'd need to identify as one thing or another, really. He was there for Hob . Because Hob invited him. Because he wanted to know more about the everyday life of his dearest friend. Because he wanted to hear him talk, see him inspire others with his tales, wanted to hear the sound of his voice, the gentle way in which he made people feel welcome, cared for, loved, he wanted–

Dream thought it best to wait it out, at least until most people had already arrived, until he had an idea of just how many young, hopeful minds would be in the vicinity. After escaping the Burgess Manor, Dream was faced with a considerable raise in the amount of dreamers under his care. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but at times, it became too much even for him to bear. The idea of willingly walking into a space with so many people was daunting, to say the least. So he waited, watched as the New Inn became packed with dreamers, feeling his palms dampen inside the pockets of his coat.

Taking the first step towards the door was difficult. Pushing it open was even harder. Dream stepped in, careful not to bump into anyone or to even get too close. The sound of the little bell that was supposed to announce his arrival had no effect, as it was overtaken by the sound of chatter inside the Inn. It was better that way, Dream thought. Not having Hob rush to greet him. That way he could take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, maybe even blend in, become invisible. In hindsight, his usual choice of attire did anything but blend in there. He was a dark little cloud in a sky full of bright colours, like a multi-coloured sunset on a tropical beach. And of course, every sunset had its monarch, shining brightly, commanding the attention. That, of course, was Hob.

"Hello there, kids! Glad to see most of you could make it!" The cheerful, gentle register of Hob's voice filled the room, filtered by the small but potent speaker he'd rented just for the occasion. Dream could hear his voice clearly, and it helped him tune out everything else that wasn't his beloved friend. "This is the first of hopefully many meetings of our beloved Queer Clubs here at my beloved New Inn. I want you all to know this is a safe space for you all no matter what part of the gender and sexuality spectrums you fall on. The only things I won't accept here are discrimination of any kind, and anyone that thinks Lawrence Cheney shouldn't have won season 2 of Drag Race UK. Are we clear on that one?"

Laughter filled the room, and Dream couldn't help but allow his lips a small smile. Hob truly was a marvel. How anyone could shine so brightly was beyond even the dream lord's knowledge, but he was glad to be able to bask in that glow from time to time. He wished he could do it more often.

Hob was saying other things, Dream thought. Instructions on seating arrangements, subjects to be discussed, discounts on food and drinks. All Dream could do was watch as Hob did more than just make everyone feel welcome, but inspired them with hope and joy, a gentle breeze of acceptance, the embrace of a parent, the empathy of an equal. There was much to work with here, much to inspire new dreams. Dreams of comfort and love, of community and pride.

"Dream? You in there, love?"

Hob's voice broke the spell he himself had cast over Dream, who could now see his friend's palm waving in front of his eyes. He'd become lost in thought, it seemed. Dream's nose scrunched up at the interruption, looking at Hob with his usual look of curiosity. There was still much he needed to catch up on when it came to non verbal communication. "Aye. I'm here. Have I not fully manifested my presence?"

Hob chuckled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Oh, yes. Physically, at least." Dream's brows furrowed in worry, and he was glad Hob was quick enough to notice when something had gone over his head. "Just a joke– hey, I'm glad you could make it. The kids will love meeting you."

"Meeting me? There are far too many people here for you to make introductions. Besides, I know them all, and they all know me. They just do not remember it during waking hours."

This felt like a plausible enough explanation to keep Hob from actually introducing him to everyone in attendance. But Hob was far too optimistic to be dissuaded so easily. "I'm not talking about introducing them to Morpheus. I'd like them to meet my friend, Dream."

"I do not see the difference." He shouldn't say why he couldn't bear the idea of being introduced to so many people. Shouldn't burden Hob with his problems, that wouldn't exist had he just not been captured in the first place. Dream had been good at hiding his discomfort so far, and he'd continue to do so.

…well, maybe he was not so good at it. Not when Hob's eyes so clearly conveyed the worry that had just settled in his heart. It was difficult to deny Hob the truth when his warm, calloused hands took Dream's into his own so carefully, squeezing gently, as if saying you can trust me. I've got you. "It's okay if you'd rather not. I know it can be overwhelming sometimes."

"...thank you." Dream replied with a murmur. Hob gifted him with a smile. It seemed a lot could be said with just the eyes.

————

Even if Dream didn't intend on actually joining in on the conversations being held, he was glad to follow Hob along and listen to the discussions. It was amazing seeing just how bright the kids really were: they spoke of justice and equality, of inclusivity, of respect and love, of family and religion and sex and responsibility. It was a wider range of topics than he'd expected, an awareness of self he didn't think humans would ever possess, and now, he was glad to be proven wrong. He listened to their shared experiences, to the kindness in their eyes as they lifted each other up, the melody of their laughter and the bravery in their voices as they spoke of injustices they'd lived. It was fascinating, really.

What Dream was truly surprised to find was that people had, after all, an understanding of self that went beyond just physical. Hob brought him closer to a group of kids who were in a long discussion on gender identity. Some of them felt comfortable with the gender they'd been "assigned with at birth", others did not feel any affinity for it. Some of them had changed their bodies to fit with how they felt on the inside, and Dream couldn't help but feel enormous empathy for them, for the way they had to fight to exist in a body that didn't feel like a trap. It was something Dream always took for granted, until he himself felt the horror of having no agency over himself. The pain they went through to guarantee they'd have the right to live authentically. Dream's body had never been limited to an exclusive physical manifestation; he was as he felt like. Fluid , as one of the bright colour haired people had pointed out while explaining their own experience. They reminded Dream of his own sibling, Desire. Someone else brought up how they didn't particularly feel like they had a gender, and that the language surrounding it didn't particularly bother them. Agender, the girl said proudly. Dream wondered if there was any right or wrong way to declare oneself fluid or agender. Then he realised the tightness in his chest when the thought occurred to him.

"Are you alright?" Once again, Hob's voice brought him back to the Waking. Dream could now feel Hob's hand on his own again, but he wasn't sure what exactly had warranted it.

"Your hands were shaking."

Once again, Dream's physical form betrayed him. It was also clear how the conversation surrounding them had gone quiet, and more eyes than he would have liked had landed on their linked hands. He didn't like being watched. Like that.

"Oh, Mr. G, is this your boyfriend?" one of them asked, teasingly. "Would have never guessed you had a thing for goths!"

"Marissa, stop!" someone else said, poking the girl on the shoulder apprehensively. The next thing they said was soft as a whisper. "They are clearly not feeling well."

They.

Dream had never considered himself as they. But this person, whoever they were, preferred "not to assume" his gender. And the empathy displayed for his discomfort was something he wasn't expecting either. Hob seemed to be about to say something, but Dream was quicker.

"There is no need to worry for my well-being, but I thank you for your kindness." Dream allowed himself to smile once again. These children were going places, he knew it. "You may address me as he , if necessary. I would not oppose her or them either." It felt liberating to say it, and Dream didn't really know why. He did know, however, that he suddenly felt brave. "I am not Professor Gadlen's boyfriend , but I am honoured to call him my dearest, most cherished friend."

Dream looked at Hob, who seemed to be awestruck by his words. It was amusing to see him like that, and it lit something else inside him. This meeting was making Dream experience a range of feelings he'd forgotten about. He showed Hob a smile, and Hob smiled back at him, warm and gentle as ever. Their hands were still linked together. Dream had no intention of letting go. "Ah, yes. This little prick here is indeed my dearest, oldest friend. I did want them to meet you guys. I'm glad I was right about it."

When Hob said it, it made Dream's heart sing.

"...so you're fuckbuddies?"

" Marissa! "

————

After a few hours and many, many rounds of different conversations, Hob gathered the group once again, thanking them for coming and congratulating everyone on the success of their first meeting. Dream couldn't help but notice how Hob seemed unable to stop smiling. He could feel the pride and relief radiating off of his tanned skin and kind eyes. Dream wished he could have it all directed at himself, that gentleness.

Hob's boyfriend. Now that would be something.

Dream sat on the booth table behind the bar where he and Hob usually held their meetings and waited for everyone to leave. He wanted some time alone with Hob, even if just to hear what his beloved friend had to say about what he thought of the meeting, just to hear Hob's voice, the only music suited for Dream's ears.

He also had so many new feelings inside himself to explore. Those he could tend to later.

"Hey there, handsome stranger." Hob said as he sat across from Dream on the table, taking Dream's hand in his as if it was just the way they always did things. Maybe it could be. It wouldn't hurt (too much) to hope, would it? "Come here often?"

"Only when I'm in search of an epiphany." Dream couldn't bother to hide the fondness in his own voice, nor the relief he felt to have Hob's hand cradling his own again. "I am impressed, Professor Gadlen. You have gathered a group of exceptionally bright minds. It gives me hope for a better future for humanity."

"Wow Dream, that is… that is really high praise, especially coming from you." Hob seemed flushed, and Dream wondered what else he could do to cause that reaction, to see Hob shy and pretty like that again and again. "I learned a long time ago that I have to build the future I want to live in. But in all honesty… I'm more interested in the present right now."

"Oh, is that so?" Hob's optimism was infectious, it seemed. Dream too could only focus on the present moment. "I am glad to be able to share it with you."

There was a short silence shared between them after that. It was as if neither of them were ready to say whatever it was they clearly needed. Dream tried to take comfort in the feeling of Hob's hand in his, rubbing the back of Hob's hand with his thumb.

His mistake was looking up to meet Hob's eyes.

"There is much I have learned today." Dream decided he'd be the one to break the silence. He'd be the one to take the leap, because he knew Hob had made sure he'd make a safe landing. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter how much he could get hurt, he was safe. He could trust Hob with his heart, even if there was a chance that he would break it. "I often make the mistake of thinking there is nothing more to my existence than what I have already discovered. I contain all conscious minds throughout the universe, their lives, hopes and dreams. Yet, I forget that the tales of others cannot substitute one's own experience, only enlighten it."

Hob listened to Dream's words attentively. He looked anxious, but would not interrupt. Dream knew he wouldn't. He knew how much Hob cherished the moments where Dream felt ready to share something new. "Today, you have once more shown me there is much I have to learn. For that, I am grateful, Hob Gadling.”

How could Dream not fall in love with someone that treated him like he was the moon? How could the moon not love the sun?

"I'm grateful for you too, you know. The kids loved you. I'm sure I'll be getting asked about you for the rest of the semester. Maybe even longer." Hob's eyes were so fond it made Dream want to cry.

"And how would you like to answer their inquiries?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you like to tell them of your dearest, oldest friend…" Dream leaned in, bringing Hob's hand to his own cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to Hob's palm, and watched as Hob's eyes followed his every move. There was no turning back from this. "...or would you prefer to tell them about your lover, Hob?"

For a moment, time stopped. Their eyes met, and before Dream could get anxious or regret his words, Hob was already standing and leaning over the table, locking their lips together.

Dream thought he'd heard the sound of people cheering outside one of the windows of the New Inn. Hob would certainly be getting many questions from his students come next monday.

#virgo dream writes #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dream x Hob #Morpheus x Hob #pride fic #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #remember when I used to write?

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111gloomtime · 5 months

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the cape house

⭐️ : chris x reader, sfw, fluff

cw : kissing

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cool air hits your face as you ride home on your bike. matt and nick are up front while you and chris fall behind a bit. the air smells fresh and nostalgic, and the sky is various shades of orange, yellow, pink, and blue. ever since you were 12 years old you’d been coming to cape cod with the sturniolos, you had been their best friend forever. it was like your home away from home. you watch as matt and nick turn the corner to get back to the house.

“y/n, i know a really cool spot we can go to and watch the sunset. i was gonna go alone but if you wanna come with me, you’re welcome to.” chris says to me, matching my pace to his on his bike. you had always had feelings for chris, no matter how hard you tried to suppress them or how wrong you knew it was. you couldn’t help it.

“sure i’ll go. shouldn’t we tell matt and nick though?” you say.

“nah, we’ll be back soon anyway. follow me!” he says with a soft smile on his face, which gives you butterflies. you do as he says and follow him.

> 💫2 minutes later

you arrive at a wooded area right next to the lake. he was right, it does have a great view of the sunset. you take your towel from earlier and put it down on the ground to sit, chris does the same.

“i used to come here when i needed to get away from matt and nick, and the whole world frankly.” he says while looking out at the water. the golden light from the sunset glows on his face, and he looks perfect. his soft blue eyes and faint freckles, the way his hair shined and slightly fell over his face. you couldn’t look away. he looks over at you, but you don’t look away.

“what?” he says with a giggle.

“why did you bring me here, chris?” you say, still admiring his face. suddenly he looks down at his knees, and he starts slightly blushing.

“i dunno. i trust you a lot, and i wanted to show you a place that i feel comfortable in. where i feel most like myself. sometimes when im with matt and nick i put on a front, and don’t show who i really am. but here, there’s nobody watching me. i can be myself.” he says. this is all so sudden, chris never shows his emotions like this with me. one part of me wants to grab his face and kiss him until i can’t breathe, and another part of me wants to hug and comfort him. you scoot a bit closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder. you feel his skin get warmer and your heart is racing. you had never shown this type of affection towards him. it’s silent for a moment, leaving the sounds of waves and faint noises of cars driving by. you look up at him to see his gaze pointed to you. before you can react, he cups your cheek and kisses you. his kiss feels nervous, but needy. when you finally separate, his face goes red.

“i-i’m so sorry. i don’t know what got into me. i should’ve never brought you here, im such a fucking idiot i-“ he says, but you cut him off by kissing him once again. this time it lasts longer, you can feel how long you’d both wanted this. he moves down to your neck and kisses it softly.

“chris.. i know this may come as a surprise, but i’ve liked you for a really long time.” you jokingly say softly. he giggles, his breath on your neck giving you goosebumps.

“this may also come as a surprise, but i’ve liked you for a really long time, too.” he replies with a grin. you both laugh. you love the way you both can be so unserious at these types of moments. you rest your head on chris’s shoulder once again and he wraps his arm around you, kissing your head.

i wish i could stay here forever.

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guys i thought of this fic while listening to this song

i hope u enjoy :D

#chris sturniolo #chris x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #fluff #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #summer love trope

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joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 2 months

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Evermore: Part. 3

I just wanted to thank everyone for lovely comments! It truly makes me happy!

I also wanted to thank @hollybee8917 for making this beautiful mood board!

and to @princessofdarkwinter for editing this! love you!

The viewing room was quiet, and you sat alone with a small box in your hands. Andy, Sam, and Rachel along with the rest of the army stood in the back. You watched on as the funeral director prepared Ari’s casket. The casket opened, and you finally saw your husband. He was dressed in his uniform, rank stripes, and gloves. You then stood up and strolled over to the casket. The director moved to the side, and you stood over him.

You opened the box as your eyes began to tear up. Slowly it fell onto the items in the box as you remembered each item that you held dear to your heart.

You sat uncomfortably in the living room, resting your feet on the coffee table. The TV was on, and you sighed. You are now into the 9th month of your pregnancy and had the phone resting on top of your stomach while you were on a video chat. It’s 2 in the morning, and you were supposed to be asleep, but you couldn’t. Baby girl is on the move, and you couldn’t get comfortable. And not to mention, it's summer in Boston, and you are sweating.

You: I’m surprised that you aren’t sweating balls, Ari.

Your husband laughed, and he laid back into his bed.

Ari: Yeah, well, we do have an AC.

You: We too do have an AC, babe, BUT you're not carrying a baby, Ari.

You noticed the reflection on his face change, and you felt terrible.

You: Oh, Ari Bear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.

Ari: It’s okay; I just wished I could be there. If I only knew-

You: Honey, no. Don’t do that. I know it’s hard on you wanting to be here for our girl. But you are doing what you love, and I support you in that. Do I want you here? Absolutely, I do. I know it hurts for both of us. But it’s going to be okay.

Ari: I know, honey, but this is our first. I wanted to be there for the both of you. I know family and friends are there to help you, but I’m your husband. And it’s my job to help and care for you.

You: I know but don’t forget you will be home soon.

Ari: God, I miss you. The food here isn't the same as what you make.

You laughed.

You: I miss you too, Mr. Levinson. You know, when you come home, what do you want me to make you?

Ari: I've had the sweet and sour chicken here. It's not the same when you make it. You make your extra sour.

You laughed again; seeing that smile from your husband made you giggly inside.

You: You know, there's something else that I do miss…Ari Levinson.

You watched your husband turn a specific shade of red, knowing only you can turn him into that.

Ari: Mrs. Levinson!

You: What! I'm pregnant, and I can't help myself if my hormones are out of whack…

You watched your husband burst into laughter. Just that smile brings you joy. Then you felt your daughter move again and brought you into an uncomfortable position.

You hissed in pain, and Ari stopped laughing.

Ari: Babe, what's wrong? Is it your back again?

You knew what he was talking about—an accident from playing soccer in college. The ball was behind you and you turned too late, as your opponent kicked you on your lower back. You dropped to the ground and screamed in pain. You couldn't get up and everyone rushed to your aid.

Ari was in combat training in the summer in South Carolina and wasn't able to leave to come see you during the game. Andy was in town on official business so he attended with your parents and was by your side when you were taken to the hospital.

You: I'm okay; the baby girl is moving again, and it's in an uncomfortable position. I'll be fine.

Ari: Are you sure?

You: I'm sure, Ari. It's happened before.

You both continue talking till you finally close your eyes.

The following day, you woke up around 10 am and sat up from bed. The door downstairs opened, and you knew it was your parents and your college best friend, Holly.

“Honey, we're downstairs. We have lunch.” You heard your mom say. You slowly got up and let out a sigh.

“Thanks, ma! I'll be down in a moment.” You yelled and went to the bathroom. Once you were done with your business, you headed down the stairs and headed to the kitchen.

Once you entered, your mom had your favorite, eggplant parmesan and salad.

“How are you feeling?” Your mom asked as you took a seat at the kitchen island.

“Uncomfortable, and the baby girl wouldn't stop moving last night.” You said, rubbing your belly.

“Trust me, sweetheart, it will be worth it in the end.” Your mother said, giving you a side hug and kissing your cheek.

You sat down at the dining table and let out a breath.

“Why do I feel like I'm always out of breath?” You said, breathing in and out like you got the air sucked out of you.

“That's because you're carrying a baby, love,” Holley said, giggling, and you smiled for the first time that morning.

Later that afternoon, you experienced pain in your lower back. The same ones you felt last night, except they were getting worse. You walked with Holly to ease the pain, which worked for a little bit. But when evening rolled in, the pain was growing, and it forced you to lean forward, and you laid your head down. Holley came into the kitchen to see you moaning in pain.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Holley asked as she stood next to you and rubbed your back.

“The pain isn’t going away and it's getting worse. I need to call Dr. Widow and meet her at the hospital” You said as you stood back up looking for your phone the pain eased a bit but you felt water trickling down your leg.

“Holly, I think my water just broke”

“Your parents will be home soon. Do you want me to call them and tell them to meet us at the hospital?” Holly asked as you nodded your head yes.

You called your doctor and told her about the pain you were experiencing and that your water broke as she told you to meet her at Mass Gen Labor and Delivery. You made your way to the car as you got into the passenger side while Holly was on the phone with your parents telling them she was driving you to the hospital and to meet up there.

The ride into Boston was smooth, but the fact that pain was much closer together compared to before. Your doctor explained that you were experiencing contractions and may be in labor. The baby isn't due until another week but the stress of not having Ari around may have caused you to go to labor early. By the time the nurses had you dressed and lying down, another contraction came. Your best friend came to your side and rubbed back as you breathed slowly, in and out. You wanted to scream, but couldn't.

And that's when you burst into tears.

“Y/N-”

“I miss Ari. I wished he was here.” You said wiping your eyes. Holly sighed and hugged you.

“I know it's hard, but you will get to see him in 4 months. I know it's long, but it will get here fast.” Holly told you.

Dr. Widow came in to check on you to see how much you dilated but as of right now you barely dilated 3 cm it will be a long way to go.

2 am

Early morning came, and you still haven't pushed yet since you barely dilated 5 cm. Holly stayed by your side since your parents called to tell you they won't be able to make it till morning since your father cannot drive in the dark and they got caught up with old friends that took longer than expected.

You slept for a few hours as the pain calmed down. Andy came to relieve Holly so she could go home and get some rest as she stayed with you since the afternoon. When you saw Andy, you let out a sigh of relief knowing to have your good friends around.

“Andy, it's late; how did you get in here at this hour?” You asked slowly, scooting up and leaning back against your bed as Andy helped you fix your pillow.

“Well, I told them that my goddaughter decided to come early and her father is deployed overseas and is unable to be here so they let me in,” Andy said as you smile

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked as you nodded your head

“A bit they gave me some epidural so they helped a bit”

“Just get some more rest cause when you are ready it will be a lot of work getting that goddaughter of mine out”

“Are you going to be okay sitting there?”

“Don’t worry I have some files I can work on,” Andy said and patted your hand.

As you slowly close your eyes, the most significant painful contraction of your life comes out of nowhere as you scream in pain. Andy got off the chair as you grabbed his hand squeezing it tightly as he coached you through your breathing rubbing your back.

“Ari bear!” You screamed wanting your husband with you. Andy sighed and took his phone out and to his luck, it was a text message from his friend, and that he was outside with her parents.

“Alright, Mrs. Levinson, let's see if we will have a baby today!” Your doctor said as she placed a glove on her hand and went to check. You watched your doctor as she made a concerned look. She pulled her hand out and threw the glove into the trash bin. You watched as your doctor turned to the nurse and ordered her to get the ultrasound.

“I know you have back pain, and your daughter isn’t coming down as fast as we would like it to be. It is a high risk of waiting for the baby to move in its position so, the other option would be a C-section. I ordered an ultrasound because I needed to see where the baby was positioned and the baby has yet to rotate.” Dr. Widow said.

You always wanted to have the baby the natural way but because of the risks you had no choice but to agree to do the c-section.

A sigh of relief came from you. But your thoughts of Ari came to you, and you quickly felt the emptiness. You heard Andy’s phone beep, and he went to pick it up. He looked at it and smiled.

“I need to step out for a bit, Y/N. I need to take this call.” You nodded, and Andy left the room. Before you could say anything, the door opened to your room and Andy walked back in. You gave him a look, and then your eyes widened. There he was, in his Army combat uniform, with roses in his hands. That familiar smile, and you burst into tears. Your hands covered your face, as you were unable to hold your tears. Andy patted Ari on his back, and he went out the door.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were coming in a few months?” You asked as you reached for him. Ari placed your flowers down. He bent down, and you wrapped your arms around him.

He still smelt the same as he always does.

“I got an early leave,” Ari told you as he pulled away slightly and kissed your lips.

You felt your cheeks burn with red and gave him another peck.

“Um, sorry to break it, but we must get this baby out.” Your doctor said, You laughed and wiped your tears, and Ari stood beside you, holding your hand.

The doctor explained to Ari your situation and his daughter and he agreed as they helped him put on a gown as you were wheeled out of your room, with Ari holding your hand. Andy said he will stay behind and keep updating your parents and Holly with news as Ari gave his best friend a hug before following you into the operating room.

Once at the double doors, Ari paused and you turned to face him. Ari bent down and you went to kiss him.

“Love you Ari Bear.” You said, kissing him.

“Love you too my queen.” He said, also kissing you.

You looked up, to see your husband take a seat above you. You smiled and he bent down and kissed your forehead. You felt some pressure from the anesthesia and you made a hissing sound. Ari rubbed your shoulders and within a minute the anesthesia kicked in.

“We're going to have a baby Ari.” You said looking up at him. The love showed in his eyes and he bent down and kissed your forehead, “I know, a long time making.”

You and Ari have been married for almost 10 years, but trying for a baby was nearly impossible. You had a few miscarriages and had many false alarms. But one day, you had a doctor's appointment for your yearly checkup. You had some questions for your doctor and one of them was you had symptoms of morning sickness and you took a pregnancy test. Since you had many false alarms, you wanted to discuss it with your doctor to ensure it was true.

And low and behold from the ultrasound, was your baby showing on the monitor.

Never had you thought you would ever be a mother and a miracle happened.

30 minutes later, you and Ari heard the beautiful sounds of your baby girl crying and echoing in the room. Your tears came down your face and one of the nurses signaled for Ari to come and to cut the umbilicord. Tears were coming and you were also getting giddy with excitement. Your husband came a few minutes later, and he had tears in his eyes.

“Is she perfect?” You asked. Ari wiped his tears and smiled, “Yes, she is more than perfect.”

One of the nurses came, with a little bundle of joy. A thick set of hair, ten little fingers, and ten little stubby toes. She gently placed her next to your cheek and you were able to place a kiss on her little chubby cheek.

The nurses then picked her up to get cleaned up and told you she will be back in your arms once everything is checked out. You were then wheeled back to your room after Dr. Widow had stitched you back up. A few hours later as you were resting, the nurse came in with your baby girl. You were still feeling tired from the anesthesia but you held your hand out, and she placed the baby into your arms. You cradled her into your arms and you were in tears again. Ari took a seat next to you on the bed and placed his arm around your shoulder.

“And before I leave, I’m going to need a name for your baby for her birth certificate” The nurse said.

You and Ari looked at each other and towards the nurse.

“Chloe Rose Levinson.” You said as Ari placed a kiss on your temple.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl” the nurse said with a smile leaving the room.

A hand was placed on your shoulder and you turned to see Andy standing next to you. You smiled and placed your hand on top of his. You both were quiet and then you let out a sigh.

“I know it’s time.” You said and sat up. You fixed your skirt and turned to Andy. The doors opened to the room and all of Ari’s friends and his troops were all ready to say their final goodbyes.

#andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x you #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson angst #ari levinson

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beelsnack · 1 year

Text

Nine to Five - Obey Me! Boys and a Burnt-out MC

*crawls out of a trench* I LIVE BITCHES

Sorry I haven't been active, turns out working 40 hours a week is exhausting. Which is what inspired this piece because there are all scenarios I've imagined in order to get myself through a particularly rough shift.

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Lucifer: It smelled like coffee.

The scent was strong enough to give the human pause. Did they make coffee this morning before leaving for work? They honestly couldn’t remember, but even then, there was no way that the smell would still be lingering throughout the house nine hours later.

They probably would have been a bit more curious if the exhaustion of working all day wasn’t pressing down on them. All they could bring themself to think about was falling face-first into bed. Maybe a nice hot shower to relax their sore muscles if they could stay awake long enough. Even just standing in the doorway taking their shoes off was draining what last precious bits of energy they had.

“Oh, good, you’re back.”

They yelped, almost slamming their head against the wall as they jumped at the sudden noise.

Standing in the doorway, taking a sip of coffee out of one of their old, slightly chipped mugs, was Lucifer.

“I - huh - you - Lucifer?” they stammered, reeling from the absurdity of the situation. The Avatar of Pride looked completely out of place in their dingy one-bedroom apartment.

“Are you surprised?” he smirked, placing the mug on the coffee table on his way across the room. “You’ve been so busy with work these days, I figured I would come visit you.”

“But aren’t you busy too?” the human asked, finally managing to kick their shoes back into place and meeting Lucifer by the table. “Making sure your brothers don’t set the Devildom on fire?”

“My dear, I would set the Devildom on fire myself if it meant spending an evening with you after so long,” Lucifer engulfed them in a hug, and for a moment they allowed themself to melt into the familiar warmth before they pulled away to look at him.

“So you left Barbatos in charge, right?”

“Of course.”

Mammon: They hated taking the bus.

Standing around in freezing weather waiting for it was awful, it was always crowded and it was late a solid sixty percent of the time, if it even showed up at all. But it was cheaper than buying gas, and parking where they lived was a nightmare, so they had to pick the lesser of two evils.

At least there was room in the shelter this time. The plexiglass didn’t do much to protect them from the wind and the freezing rain, but it was better than nothing.

Shivering, they stared out at the cars driving past with slight envy. Some heat sounded lovely right about now. Even though they were wearing gloves and had their hands shoved in their pockets, they could still feel the tips of their fingers beginning to go numb.

One of the cars pulled up to the stop. A sleek, silver sports car with tinted windows, definitely the kind that had heated seats. It wasn’t that unusual from someone to get dropped off at the bus stop, so the human didn’t really pay thay much attention until the window rolled down.

“Hey, need a ride?”

THe human’s head snapped up at the sound of the voice. “Mammon?”

“The one and only,” Mammon grinned at them from behind his shades. “Damn, you do this every day? How haven’t you gotten frostbite yet?”

“Humans aren’t that fragile,” the human huffed, stepping up to the car. “But there have been a few close calls.”

“Well, come on, then, get in,” Mammon motioned to them with his head. “Lucifer will string me up if he hears I let your fragile human fingers fall off, and there’s a line of cars behind me about to get real mad.”

They could see the other people at the bus shelter staring at them in the reflection of the car, so they quickly opened the door and hopped in. Almost immediately, feeling began to return to their extremities, and they sighed as Mammon started driving. “Thanks, Mammon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mammon replied, reaching over to hit a button on the dashboard. Yup, called it, heated seats. “Can’t have my human freezing to death.”

Leviathan: “You’re late.”

It would never fail to surprise them how well the internet connection worked between dimensions. There was no way Levi should be able to voice chat with them from the Devildom but here they were.

“Sorry,” they mumbled, adjusting their headset. “Just got home, boss asked me to stay another hour since someone called off.”

“Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Sounds annoying.”

“Kinda,” they shrugged. “But money’s money, y’know?”

“You sound like Mammon,” Levi snorted. “Don’t go doing shady things to pay off debts.”

“I’m not doing anything shady,” they laughed. “Aside from indulging in capitalism but I don’t have much of a choice in that.”

“Rip.”

They were about to reply when they got a glimpse of themself in the camera. Oof, they looked rough. Their hair was messy, they were practically sliding down their desk chair, and they looked like they were about to fall asleep.

Apparently Levi noticed as well, because his expression twisted into something like concern. “You alright?”

“It was very people-y out today,” the human replied, shrugging. Now that the work flow state had been interrupted, the tiredness was started to seep in and they realized how exhausted they were. But Levi and them gamed the same time every week, and it was the only thing giving them incentive to not just crawl into bed and hide from the world.

“We don’t have to play tonight,” Levi said. “If you’re too tired.”

“No, I want to!” they sat up straighter in their chair. “Really, I do.”

“The raid will still be going on tomorrow,” Levi said, clicking around at something on his screen. “...Yup, 13 hours remaining. You’re not going to be much help if you pass out mid-dungeon, so let’s just save it for later.”

“Levi, are you prioritizing me over video games?” the human play-gasped, pressing a hand to their chest in sarcastic shock. “Be still my heart!”

“Sh-Shut up!” he stammered, blush visible even in the blue light coming from his computer screen. “I’m just not missing out on good loot because you can’t stay awake! It’s not because I care about your wellbeing or anything!”

“Oh my God, you tsundere,” they laughed. “Fine, I’ll go take a nap.”

Satan: “...and then, there was this other guy…”

The human was well aware that they had been ranting and raving for far longer than was probably socially appropriate. But they were tired, both physically and emotionally, and Satan was a great person to bitch to.

The brothers were all under strict orders not to bother them while they were at work, but Satan had heard that and went “challenge accepted.” He showed up after their shift was over to get coffee at least three times a week, and when Lucifer had called him out on it, Satan had smirked and said, “I’m not bothering them while they’re at work, I’m coming to see them after their shift.” And as much as Lucifer had wanted to reprimand him, Satan had gotten him on a technicality.

Satan had long drained his coffee, sitting there and idly drumming his fingers against the empty cup as the human regaled him with horror stories of their job. He looked way more invested than he should have been, honestly.

“Satan, just tell me to shut up already.”

“I would never.”

The human huffed out a laugh, taking a sip of their rapidly-cooling drink. “First of all, you would, and have. Second of all, there is no way you are this into me bitching about people at work.”

“I’m the Avatar of Wrath,” Satan replied. “Bitching is quite literally in my blood. And out of all my brothers, I’m the one who understands how vital it is to let off steam the most.”

“...so then, this absolute Karen comes up…”

Asmodeus: Why did their keys always end up in the bottom of their bag?

All they wanted to do was get inside their apartment and flop down on the nearest comfortable surface, but of course they couldn’t find their keys in the hot mess that was their work bag. They had to be in there, they had definitely locked the door this morning -

“Ugh, honestly, what is taking so long?”

The human froze as their door opened to reveal Asmodeus, clad in a silk pink bathrobe that they could only assume was the only thing making him decent. He was pouting, hands on his hips.

“Asmo, what the actual fu-”

“I wanted to see your surprised face when you walked in and saw me all spread out on your bed, but you were taking too long!” he huffed.

“How did you get in my house?” they asked.

“That’s not important!” Asmo grabbed their sleeve and tugged them inside. “The important part is that I have a surprise for you! Well, more than just me being here, which is a delightful surprise all on its own!”

He guided them into their bedroom, gesturing to their bed with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

In the center of the bed was a very large basket filled with various types of spa supplies. Different scented body washes, bath salts, scrubs, face masks, all arranged neatly in the basket with a pink bow tied around the handle.

“Whoa, you got all of this for me?” they asked, stepping up to inspect the products. Quite a few of them were stuff they had complimented Asmo on in the past, but there were a few things that seemed like the demon had tailored them specifically to things that they liked.

“Of course!” Asmo grinned. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately, darling, I can tell. No human of mine is going to have eye bags unless they’re Prada.”

Instinctively, they touched the skin beneath their eyes. Did they really look that bad?

“Oh, don’t look so worried,” Asmo took their face in his hands, thumbs training over their cheekbones. “I’m going to take good care of you tonight.”

Beelzebub: “I really forgot my lunch.”

They could kick themself, they really could. They had been in such a rush to get out the door this morning that they left their lunch on the counter. By the time they realized it, they were already clocking in for their shift. Now they were left staring longingly at the empty spot in the fridge where their lunch would be and trying not to think about how hungry they were.

“Hey,” one of their coworkers called their name. “Some guy out there is looking for you.”

“Huh?” they asked. “Who?”

“Didn’t say his name,” their coworker responded. “Really tall, ginger, built like a brick shit house -”

“Beel?” they stood from their seat. “What would he be doing here?”

Their coworker shrugged, going over to the cupboard to get a plate. “Dunno, but he’s out there.”

Frowning in confusion, they left the break area and poked their head around the corner. Sure enough, there stood Beelzebub in all of his excessively jacked glory. Even in his human form he made most humans look like toys.

“Beel, what are you doing here?” they made their way over to him. When he noticed them, his face broke out into a wide grin and he reached down to envelope them in a hug. Even in their confusion, they couldn’t resist hugging him back.

“I brought you lunch,” he said, voice rumbling through his torso as he spoke. It took a minute for the human to register what he was saying.

“What?”

“You said you forgot your lunch, so I brought you some,” he held out the bag of fast-food. “You should probably take it before I eat it.”

They had texted Beel earlier bemoaning their forgotten lunch bag, since he would be the most sympathetic towards their plight, but they didn’t think he would actually bring them lunch. They were almost crying with gratitude as they took the bag out of his hands. “Thanks so much, Beel, you’re a lifesaver!”

Beel grinned. “Of course. I would never let you go hungry.”

Belphegor: “You should take a sick day.”

The human shot Belphie a glare, sniffling. “It’s just a cold, Belphie.”

The Avatar of Sloth had invited himself into their apartment, even though he knew they had work in a few hours. At first, they had been impressed that he had managed to get himself up that earlier, but then they realized that it was probably more likely that he had slept all day the day before and was just nocturnal.

“So?” he asked, stretching himself across their bed. At least he had had the decency to take his shoes off before crashing. “You humans get sick so easily, if you don’t rest up and get better you might die.”

“Not dying from a cold, Belphie,” they replied, rolling their eyes at him in their reflection as they continued getting ready. They talked a big game, but they felt like garbage. It felt like all of the mucus in their body had traveled to their head and someone had run them over with a truck.

“I thought I was stubborn,” Belphie sighed. He sat up suddenly, leaning forward to wrap his arms around their waist and pull them backwards into the bed. They yelped, thrashing a bit before Belphie maneuvered them into a more comfortable position. “You’re sick, so call off. Your shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

“But-”

“It’s just going to get worse if you don’t rest,” Belphie put a hand to their forehead. “Are you running a fever? I can never tell with humans, are you supposed to be hotter or colder than demons?”

“How would I know that?” they grumbled, making a valiant but ultimately futile effort to not sink down into the pillows. Belphie was good at making them sleepy on a good day, but when they were sick? Game over. And maybe they did feel a little warm…

“Ugh, fine, maybe I should call off.” they huffed, reaching for their phone. “How dare you be right?”

“Sorry I make better decisions than you do.”

“Don’t make fun of my choices, you were one of them.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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kosije · 11 months

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Can I request a Hirugami Sachiro fluff wherein the reader accidentally/unintentionally confesses her feelings >^<

I rlly love your writing!! I dont see much hirugami posts so id rlly appreciate it if you wrote this!

a/n: so so so sorry for my absence ^^; thank you for your support and im happy you enjoy my writing! Lightly edited, feel free to lmk any mistakes :)

Spring just might be your favorite season. The cool wind, flower blossoms, and calm days at the park with your best friend, Sachirou, and his pup make it hard for other seasons to compete.

“I’m gonna take her for another lap around, wanna come?” he asks, beckoning the playful Maltese puppy, who’s the same shade as his hair with two taps on his thighs. The only word you can think of to describe him is perfect. The bright blue cloudless sky and green flower-dotted grass seem like they’re only as radiant as the man standing in them in front of you. His smile is dazzling and his white tee tight and khakis show off his physique.

You say you're still short of breath, hoping he couldn’t tell that you were gawking at him.

he nods, turning his focus to the Maltese and grabbing her leash.

Only once he’s out of sight do you smoothen out your floral dress and take a swig of the ice-cold lemonade he had packed in the basket holding the rest of your snacks. It’s one thing to find your best friend attractive. It was a fact that he was gorgeous. Whether it was you two walking through the halls, attending his volleyball games, or going to the park for a picnic, Sachirou always seemed to draw the attention of everyone around him. And just a light brush to his curly hair would have any girl falling for him. But in love?

You can tell you’re pushing it. Even if your diary has his name written on every page with hearts around it, you know he’s not yours. You’re his friend, and friends are only meant to be friendly.

So how come when you see the two run back a few minutes later, your heart skips a beat and you let yourself pretend the two- or three of you are on a date? After hours pass of talking, running, drawing, singing, dancing, and eating, you both decide to wine down at his apartment.

“I just feel that she’d be much better with the side character. I mean, they have way more chemistry.” You say in between snacking on a random bag of chips you grabbed from the basket.

“You’re better than me. If she ends up with the bad boy as a cliche, I might shit myself,” He says, laughing when you scrunch your nose to him and let out an airy laugh. You think you see his cheeks go pink, but before you can ask about it, his dog jumps between you two.

“Hey! Down girl!” He says leaning back to avoid being hit by her tail while you hide your chip bag and move to cuddle her, giggling over how Sachirou shouldn’t be so mean to her.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d believe she’ll to steal you away from me. Am I not cute enough?” He coos with a fake pout. Even if he is teasing, you can still feel your heartbeat spike.

“How could anything be cuter than you, Sachi?” You say subconsciously, still playing with his dog. It’s only after a couple beats of silence that you realize that was definitely not said in your head, and you feel a wave of embarrassment.

“I don’t know why I said that...” You mumble, not daring to look up and see his reaction. No matter how many excuses you tried to think of, none of them negated how obviously unfriendly you meant that.

“Listen I’m so-“

“Do you mean that?” His voice is soft, and against all of your reservations, your head turns up to face him. His lips are slightly parted, and his cheeks are flush.

You can’t find it in yourself to lie to him when he looks at you like that. So against the butterflies threatening to escape along with the chips, you breathlessly say yes.

His dog jumps from your lap, running off to somewhere you can’t bring yourself to focus on because his body is getting impossibly too yours. To the point where your fingertips are ghosting each other.

“How do you feel about me, really?” He asks his face now close enough that you can feel the shakey breath he lets out after the question. His eyes are steady on yours, but only for a beat does it flicker to your lips and you try your best to swallow the lump down your throat.

“I......What I feel for you is stronger than friendship. It has been stronger than that for a while now,” you confess, leaning into him with a rush of courage. “Is that... okay?”

“Is that okay?!” He squeaks, his voice cracking before tackling you down on his couch in a hug that almost knocks the wind out of you.

“Can’t... breathe,” you gasp, making him spring up and apologize profusely.

“A simple ‘yes’ would’ve been good,” you say, not being able to hide the elated grin pulling at your lips.

“It’s more than ‘okay’, stupid. Oh my gosh, do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Being in love with your best friend is a bigger cliche than that movie we were watching.”

If the hug didn’t make your heart skip a beat, his confessing he’s felt the same way as you make your heart feel like it’ll stop right here.

“Tell me about it.” You say, watching his breath hitch before moving his hand to your cheek, pulling you closer to him by his feather-light touch moving to your chin.

Wordlessly, his lips catch yours, and you feel your head spin. His kiss is soft and intoxicating, but so passionate you’re left gripping on his shirt. You both pull back for hair, and his eyes glint like he’s looking at the stars.

“I love you.” The words are easy and flow effortlessly from your lips like they’ve been said countless times before.

“I love you too.” He says, with that same smile that’s always lit everything around him up.

Softly, he pulls you into his chest, reviling in the realization that all of his feelings have led up to (what was) his wildest dreams coming true.

And when you hear his heart hammering against his chest as he presses his lips softly on your forehead, only then is it obvious that there is no better season than spring.

#( ☆ ) haikyuu #( ☆ ) fluff #( ☆ ) sfw #haikyuu headcanons #hirugami sachirou #hirugami x reader #Sachirou x reader #hirugami sachiro fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

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wren-kitchens · 9 months

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its been a while since i posted any writing on here! (we're gonna pretend i didnt forget that was. a thing i could do shh)

grian can’t stop staring at it; it’s so gorgeous. he swears he’s never seen blue like that in his life—deep, rich, endless blue, a million shades and tones that he knows he couldn’t name if he tried. red is his favourite colour, always has been, but.. well, he’s starting to doubt that now. to his surprise, grian finds his throat tightening, and tears beginning to prickle in his eyes. void, he loves that water. he almost wishes he’d never gone in, never felt just how- how pure, how true that joy was, because now he can never go back. it’s all he wants, all he thinks about anymore, what life could be like under the water. but- but mumbo. he can’t just leave him behind, they’ve been best friends for as long as he can remember. grian couldn’t live with himself if he just abandoned him. “hey.” grian practically jumps out of his skin. he was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn’t even notice a woman had sat next to him. she grins at his response. “sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” “oh- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” grian says. “you’re grian, right?” she asks. “the one and only.” “I thought so.” she says. “i’m a friend of scar’s. my name’s lizzie.” “nice to meet you.” grian says, suddenly worried. “oh, he’s alright.” lizzie says quickly, apparently noticing. “he’s just-“ she pauses. “he says he thinks you’re going through some stuff and that i’d be the best person to help.” grian blinks. “he’s.. observant like that. why you?” “what, you haven’t noticed?” lizzie grins, and her hair flutters. no, wait- not her hair. a pair of feathered gills, almost identical in every way to grian’s own (aside from the colour). “oh- you’re an axolotl?” grian says. “that I am.” lizzie says. “you know, my family is kind of weird. my brother is a cod, i’m an axolotl, my husband is a human.”

grian looks at her. he’s starting to think scar’s facade of obliviousness is covering a lot more than he’d realised. “it was kind of difficult at first, I have to say. y’know, I met joel—my husband—and all I wanted was to be with him but.. I mean, jimmy—brother—is one of my best friends.” lizzie says. “it was like.. I couldn’t have one without losing the other.” “how’d you do it?” grian says, quieter than he’d intended. lizzie gives him a half smile. “it took a while, but I figured it out. I was thinking of my family as two halves- thinking of myself as two halves. that’s not the right way to think about it.” “what is?” “knowing that.. i’m just me. one person. one family. one home.” lizzie says simply. “I just travel. I have friends and family who ask me to bring them souvenirs. you don’t have to be in one place forever, y’know, you can go back and forth.” grian stares at the ocean again. suddenly, it seems a lot easier to. “what do you mean by ‘one home’?” he murmurs. lizzie hums. “my home is where the people I love are.”

#do we have atag for this #i think we do but i forgot it #half sea town au #THATS IT #thank you ange for reminding me dhgs #grian #gtw scar #lizzie ldshadowlady #wren writes #i cant remember if i have any more tags for this

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myfandomprompts · 1 year

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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓

Summary: As you adjust to the reputation you have earned in the Red Keep since you left, Aemond makes sure you won't be treated as you fear you would be.

A/N : Sorry it’s been a while, I have been trying to come up with a story that is canon close to the lore without spoiling myself. Sorry for book readers!

Masterlist (Part 14 - Part 16)

It has been a restless night.

You were sure that when you finally had found sleep, the sun was about to rise. In any case, you now felt more exhausted somehow, as you got up to realise that it was almost noon.

Aemond's promise has been enforced, none had bothered you, even the maids had not come to wake you up. Instead, you had rung the bell in order to call for a platter of food, having not eaten since you had arrived in King's Landing. You were surprised to see cinnamon cake brought to you, smiling at the gesture you knew was from the man who had denied you last night. What was he playing at?

Because you had left most of your possessions at Sandstone, the maids had provided you with the essentials, and it included several dresses who were now displayed on the bed. You approached in order to admire them, seeing different shades of green, purple, and blue. You noticed one of the blue ones, feeling attracted to it more than the others. You tried it on, and admired your reflection on the mirror: it suited you. Blue sapphire.

As the maids fulfilled their task around the Prince’s chamber, you were unable to miss the glances they gave you, averting their eyes as soon as you looked back at them, ashamed to have stared too long. You realised how odd the situation you were in was.

Your discomfort grew more when you decided to go outside for the first time, the guard that seemed to have been ordered to watch your door since Aemond’s departure now following you around, not leaving you space for a second as you wandered the castle corridors. You had planned to send a letter, even two to your family seat, unnoticed, your worry for your family was taking all of your thoughts, and you were determined in fixing this. But you were sure that the tall guard in white armour walking behind you would not let you set a foot inside the ravenry, even less send a letter to your family, now considered as the enemy.

You wondered what exactly Aemond’s orders were about you. You were a traitor's daughter after all, the fact that you were even breathing was a miracle to you, and yet you were allowed to leave the solace of your room and wander around, although under surveillance. Did he command that you were to be watched and that your every move should be reported to him? Were you now a little bird in a cage, doomed to be controlled at will as long as the Greens were alive?

But surveillance was not the worst. You soon noticed that you would have to endure other people’s stares and whispers. As you could not hope to make contact with the exterior due to your close watch, you settled to walk through the corridors of the castle, hoping that the favourite spots you grew to love inside its walls would bring you comfort, remembering the good times you have spent here. But doing so, you had crossed paths with many people, mostly nobles who recognised you right away, and their face indicated that they were stunned at your presence. “So it’s true” you heard them say. You tried to ignore them, but you couldn’t.

You had to hold your head high whilst you heard them whisper upon your passage, staring at you with judgmental eyes, some didn't even bother keeping their voice low and you could clearly hear how scandalous they found the fact that you were not punished yet because of your father's deeds. You even heard the word Baratheon as you tried to find a quiet space to stay in, to hide. Surely they thought you were the cause of the delay of Cassandra's marriage. And the hard truth, the bitter-sweet truth, was that they were right. You felt sick as you desperately tried to escape their gossip, the ladies’ stares being the worst.

With only the imposing presence of your guard feet away from you, you found peace in a secluded balcony, admiring the city below you. You then tried to hide your furious tears from the world.

Aemond sat at the centre of the table, placed between his grandfather and Helaena, presiding.

He watched the sun through the window, wondering if you had awoken, having ordered food to be brought to you as soon as you would make yourself known. He still felt exhausted, the morning has been tiresome, to say the least, being consulted for many affairs and involving himself greatly, twice as much as any others about matters that he wanted to take care of. He took his new responsibilities very seriously.

He had requested to eat with his close family, he thought that they finally deserved to hear what he had to say, Aemond having avoided them since his return and not providing any explanation to any of them, to the court even. He hoped to soothe their worries and at the same time, affirm his position as Prince Regent.

His mother said a prayer before the meal, and when the first course was served, silence lasted for a time, tension flowing in the air. Only the twins next to Helaena could be heard as their giggles filled the room. But the glances his mother and grandfather exchanged was indication enough that the twins would not remain silent for very long. And his mother did not waste any time.

"Aemond, what is the meaning of this? Why is Lady Y/N here of all places?" she said with desperation in her voice. "You refused to speak of it yesterday and today also, but you cannot keep pretending that it is of no concern to us, to our clan.”

Aemond cleared his throat, ready to say his piece at last.

"I understand your confusion, so please allow me to… make some things clear. First, I apologise for my poor behaviour upon the return from the Bay," he paused, raising his gaze momentarily from his fingers to the assembly, before lowering it again, resuming his fidgeting on the table. He wanted to appear as composed as always, showing that everything he did was pondered.

"Second, I do not expect you to understand my reasons for bringing Lady Y/N back here, but I expect all of you to treat her like you always did, as a member of this court.”

Exasperated sighs were heard from the Hightowers at his words, while Helaena seemed to take a keen interest in her plate.

"Her father is a traitor, Aemond,” Otto Hightower spoke in his ever calm voice. “He may not have clearly demonstrated it per say but his allegiance was never in our favour. And I believe you know this, otherwise you would not have sent House Vance to besiege him. Her daughter might be no different.”

Of course he had known where your father’s loyalty lied, for a long time now. But for now, he had to protect you from the consequences of your father’s action. It was all that mattered.

“Lady Y/N is not responsible for her father’s deeds. She had done nothing but to obey him and to that extent-”

“What about the fact that she was to be married and that you decided to do as you pleased? This is a whole other matter,” Otto interrupted. “Because of this, we are now risking the wrath of a Dornish House, and thus it may lead them to take a stand against us, even rallying the Black Qu-"

"You may speak when I am finished talking, Lord Hand."

Aemond's voice was placid, so firm that it made Helaena shiver. Otto closed his mouth in defeat and just stared at his grandson, awaiting for him to continue.

"I am Prince Regent, until my dear brother's health improves. Thus I will take my responsibilities and take care of every threat that may come our way. At all costs."

Alicent’s face was showing distraught, but she was the first to speak.

"We do not doubt your ability Aemond, only that you seem to take some matters too lightly, specifically regarding the arrangements made for us to be stronger. We had secured a perfect match, a marriage that would grant us the support needed to hold against Rhaenyra, the Baratheons-"

"This marriage will not happen." Aemond said brusquely, staring at his mother for the first time.

Otto Hightower's hand gripped the wooden table in disbelief, his head shaking in disapproval.

"Oh for the love of the Seven Aemond! Did she put you up to this? Were you so easily convinced to abandon your duties for the sake of one girl?”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger.

"She has nothing to do with this," he said, trying to contain his wrath.

"Then explain to me why you have forsaken your awaiting bride on the altar to go fetch this traitor's daughter!"

Aemond slammed the table so hard that it made everybody jump and in a second he was on his feet, towering the people around the table. One of the children began to cry and the other soon followed. The rest was silent, suddenly a little frightened.

"If you have not noticed, I am the one who decided to take Vhagar and bring her back, not the other way around. And the reasons are my own. Do not think of me as some boy that can be effortlessly manipulated." Aemond's tone was composed, but it felt like he was struggling to take hold of his anger.

"And regarding my… late marriage, since it seems to be of such a great concern to you all, I will share with you beforehand what I was planning to announce to the Small Council only later.”

Alicent and Otto were hanging at his very words now.

"I had, since my return, confined Lady Baratheon, her mother and sister, in their chambers. They are to be watched over closely and not allowed to leave."

The Hightowers exchanged a glance in dismay before reporting their eyes to Aemond.

"You are making them prisoners?" Alicent said bewildered.

"Not prisoners. They will be allowed to wander around the castle and live their life as they see fit. But they will have no contact with anyone outside of these walls, no ravens, and only those who support us will be able to keep them company. The later Lord Borros is made aware or realises that his daughter is to stay here, the better." Aemond replied.

"Lord Baratheon will not stand for this, he will ally with the enemy if he learns his women are hostages!" Otto roared.

"Lord Borros will do no such things if he wishes to retrieve his wife and daughters unharmed," Aemond loudly said. "And his armies will continue to serve our cause. This is quite simple."

Nobody spoke, too shocked at the words of Aemond but slowly realising that, however, impractical it was, it would work. Only the causes that led to this strategy were to be blamed, as if the Prince had not been so stubborn, or if you simply didn't exist, all of this could have been avoided. Aemond sat down at last.

"Any other dashing announcements you need to share with us perhaps, my Prince?" stated Otto, exasperated.

Aemond hesitated, his next move so evident to him. He would make it official, his desire to marry you. He wanted this so badly now, having almost experienced the feeling of you being married off to someone else, and had hated it. He would not let that happen again. It was simple truly, he wanted this since he was a teenager. However, he knew it was not the time. Your House had fallen, and he had to fix things.

"No. Not yet," he simply replied, earning a suspicious look from his grandfather. But his mother knew, she knew the look on her son’s face.

He grabbed his cup, drinking its content. "Let us eat, we have a long day ahead of us”.

You were in your chambers once again. Or rather Aemond's. You had tried to visit Helaena but you have learned that she was at the Dragonpit, not expected to return soon. So you went back, settling to search for a book among Aemond's shelves, desperately trying to escape the stares that came your way each time you crossed any living soul. However your peace was quickly disturbed as a visitor was announced.

Alicent Hightower walked into the room, hands clasped together and her lips in a thin line. You bowed, at lost at what to do, you did not expect to see anyone, even less the Queen Mother.

She finally greeted you, putting a polite smile on her face and you both stay on your feet in front of each other, her words breaking the silence.

"Do you find yourself comfortable here, my Lady?" she asked. You only nodded as she continued.

“I came to apologise for any treatment you might have suffered here. I do not know exactly of my son’s action, but I wish you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone, I will make myself available.”

You were quite surprised at the statement. Alicent has always been someone you could not read properly. She evidently carried a lot on her shoulders since a tender age, and you never really knew how much affection she had toward you. Only that she liked the fact that her children were able to spend time with someone as nice as you. But it was a long time ago.

“I thank you, your Grace,” you said, bowing your head. “However, I had been treated well. I only miss my original chambers and books,” you smiled weakly.

You didn’t really like the way she had implied that Aemond could be harmful to you in any way, but you chose not to talk about it as more urgent matters filled your mind.

“Pardon me your Grace. But I have been… put in the dark, rather I have no knowledge of the exterior world. So may I ask you…” you hesitated. “May I ask what you know of my House situation at present? I am infinitely worried about them.”

She sighed, an affectionate look appearing on her face as she took your hands in yours and made you sit with her on the sofa, her motherly tone taking over.

“I am sorry my dear. Your House is currently under siege, I know you had nothing to do with it. I have known you since you were a child, but these are trying times and your father…” she stopped, biting her lips. “I am sorry that you are put in the same predicament as the Baratheons as long as you remain here. We will try to make the most of it.”

You narrowed your eyes. What did she mean? Was she talking about Lady Cassandra?

“I… do not understand. How can it be the same when you are about to link both of your Houses?” you asked.

Alicent looked at you with sad eyes. Of course you could not know of it yet.

“Lady Cassandra, her sister and mother are… to remain here as… a way for them to be protected. They cannot leave and she will not marry my son either.”

Realisation dawned on you. Of course, that is what Aemond had come up with. A compromise for him, a hell for everybody else.

And now you were the same as them, a bird in a cage, meant to be a leverage for the Greens to use on your respective Houses, one for support, the other for retaliation.

And he would not marry her. Aemond had chosen otherwise.

You felt something heavy lift your heart, as if to let you breathe properly again. But you instantly felt ashamed at this very feeling: how could you be so selfish?

Alicent watched you take on the news, before standing up to grab a piece of parchment on the desk and hand you a quill.

“This is one of the reasons of my presence, my child. I know you worry for your family, and I believe that you can do something about it,” she said, sitting down again. “Surely news of your return here had not reached them yet, and if we could lead them in the right direction… Maybe, maybe we could create an outcome without bloodshed.”

She looked at you expectantly, watching your eyes fill with tears, but it was soon replaced by determination.

She was right, it was the right course of action, you yourself had thought about it. If your father knew that you were once again under the control of the people he had sought to escape, none would guess how he would react, but chances were that he would put your safety first. Being a hostage tended to do that.

So you wrote a letter under Alicent’s watchful eye, pouring all of your love and affection where you could, when only demands and urges to surrender to the Greens peacefully filled the paper.

Once you were done and Alicent had taken the paper away, surely to submit it to her father, you felt like it was not enough. You had to see him, to talk to him, without anyone to tell you what to say. You had to make things right.

Later in the day, you received a letter, from a writing you would recognise anywhere: you were invited to dinner with the Royal Family.

-0- Part 16

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fangirlingfromdownunder · 11 months

Text

Comfort in the Truth

Summary - Part 20 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure)

Warnings - None

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, the big 2 0, can’t believe this series has lasted this long and it’s all thanks to you guys continuing to engage; it pushes me to keep writing. So thanks again for all the continued support! I know we’ve had a few hard-hitting chapters in a row, but I promise this one will be better and hold some long-awaited resolutions for our favourite couple. Until next week, enjoy!

It’s dark outside when you wake up, but you’re in Dean’s arms as promised. He notices you stirring and kisses your head. “Hello, beautiful. Sam’s gone to pick us up some dinner.”

You feel him fidgeting as his fingers trace patterns on your arms. You place one hand on top of his, stopping his movements as you tilt your head to glance back at his face. "What's going through your head right now?" you ask softly.

“I have to tell you something. I should’ve told you earlier but-”

“Just tell me now,” you say as you pull away slightly so you can make eye contact.

“A lot happened on that hunt with Bobby. A few things that could potentially alter how you feel about me.”

“We can work through-”

“I kissed someone. Sort of a celebrity crush sort of thing. Not that that excuses it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You turn around so you’re face to face, but no longer touching. “You kissed someone? You- who was it?”

“I swear I stopped it as soon as it started, we just kissed. It didn’t mean anything. I just got carried away. I-”

“Dean. Who was she?”

“Uh, you remember that thing we tried with the tacos…that night when-”

“I remember. Wait! You kissed a porn star?”

“I spent a lot of time alone before we met…There wasn’t anyone that was a constant for me. But porn’s consistent. Before you, those videos-”

“Was it as good as you imagined?”

“Not as good as you. I am really sorry, baby. I lost control and-”

“And she’s a porn star. You swear you just kissed?”

“Yeah. She kissed me and I just couldn’t help myself. But I swear that’s all that happened. And I stopped it straight away.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? What do you mean? Okay?”

“You kissed a porn star. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Yell at me, tell me we’re over? I don’t know.”

“What’s the point? You know what you did. You said you regret it and I can tell you feel guilty about it. You said it meant nothing. We’re stronger than one kiss, Dean. I have faith in us.”

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. It’ll never happen again.”

“I trust you, Dean. I know who you come home to at the end of the day. I know who got the ring. That’s not to say I’m okay with this or with it becoming a common occurrence. I just refuse to throw what we have away over one kiss.”

“I swear it'll never happen again. I want monogamy. I want you and just you for the rest of my life. Let’s just say my middle name is Vanilla.”

“Not too vanilla, I hope.” You teasingly reach across the small distance between you and run your hands up his thighs. You hear his breath hitch ever so lightly as he bites his bottom lip. He quickly takes your hands in his own and brings them to his lips. He kisses each of your knuckles while locking eye contact with you. His green eyes flash a shade darker before he composes himself.

He takes a deep breath, not letting go of your hands, and says, “Well…there’s actually something else that happened…”

“More?”

“The pornstar…she’s the leader of a chastity group now.”

“A chastity group? You kissed the leader of a chastity group?”

“Yeah, and you know how you asked if there was more to our relationship than sex? I guess we’re gonna find out. You don’t mind waiting until marriage, do you?”

“You, Dean Winchester, want to wait until marriage?”

“I got reborn…I’m a virgin and I signed a pledge. And Bobby said the people that broke their pledge were getting ganked so…”

“I guess we’re waiting until marriage then.”

“He did kill the culprit though, so we should be good.”

“How about we just see how things go? I think we got a lot to work through before we walk down the aisle. How long do you think you can last?”

“I’m barely restraining myself now.”

“Guess we’re gonna push your limits then Mr. Vanilla. I actually think this could be a good thing.”

“As hard as it’s gonna be, I kinda agree.”

“You do? You actually agree that chastity is a good thing?”

“I’m as shocked as you are. But we’ve been through a lot. It ain’t gonna be easy but-”

“This gives us time to work through things, find a way to get out of this life without losing anyone else along the way, and then, and only then, get married and think about starting a family again.”

“You really believe we can do it?”

“I don’t wanna get your hopes up and let you down again, but I do have faith in us, Dean.”

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. That wasn’t your fault. We got each other’s hopes up, together and it wasn’t your fault. And you’ve never let me down. Not once.” He kisses your hands again before pulling you into his lap. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was blinded by the porn star in front of me and the pain I’d been feeling since things have been so strained between us. But I never should’ve said those things, and I never should’ve kissed her.”

“We’re gonna get through it. I just need you to not lose hope. You’re my rock, babe, you’re the one that helps me see the light and happiness amongst all the darkness and death that is our lives. If you lose hope or faith in us…”

“I never used to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I always thought I’d go out blazing with a gun in my hand. But since I met you and fell in love with you. Since you kissed me in that bar. I’ve started to hope for more. Believe that there’s a possibility for more. With you by my side, that’s when I’m happiest and most hopeful. We’re each other’s rocks. I promise to try to be here for you more. I love you so much, Sweetheart.”

Dean leans down and pepper kisses all over your face before meeting your lips in a sweet yet passionate kiss. You’re quick to kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with his hair softly. His tongue slides against your lip to deepen the kiss further but just as you’re about to give in, the door opens and loud voices interrupt you.

“Hey, chastity pledge, keep it in your pants,” Sam calls out.

Dean huffs and pulls away and glares at the visitors. “You told him?” he grumbles towards Bobby.

“You think I could keep that to myself? It’s too good of a story.” Bobby walks over and gives you a hug, “Glad to see you’re safe and sound, kiddo.”

Sam unpacks four noodle boxes and a six-pack of beers on the table. He brings your and Dean’s shares over to you along with two beers. He and Bobby sit at the table and dig in.

As you all eat you share stories of your respective hunts and experiences over the past 48 hours. It feels good to share some of this post-hunt normality after so long. You’ve been so distracted for so long and internalising. But here with your family around you, you feel more safe and comfortable than you have in a long time. Sam was right; you just needed to get out of the Bunker to find yourself again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Once you all finish eating Sam and Bobby get ready to head out to their own room that Sam had booked earlier that day while you were napping. As they start to leave you call out, “Hey Sam, can we talk?” You quickly get up and go outside with him and Bobby, closing the door behind you. Sam hands Bobby the room key. “Night, Bobby,” you say.

“Night, kiddo. Glad you’re safe.”

“Me too.” Bobby walks away to his room, three doors down. Once he closes the door you take a seat on the hood of the Impala that’s parked right outside your and Dean’s room. You quietly say, “About yesterday. I really don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“Me either. I know I can’t take back what I said but I’m not blind. I can see how you and Dean are. I understand. I shouldn’t have said anything, I don’t even know why I did.”

“It doesn’t matter why. It’s out there now and it’s okay. I just hope you can be okay with us being friends and in-laws eventually. I love you, Sam, but as a brother. I don’t want to lose what we have, but my feelings for your brother aren’t going to change. And even if they did, I would never do that to him.”

“I know. I hope there is never a time after Dean for you. Despite everything I said, what the two of you have is special. I’m really sorry I tried to ruin that. I wish both of you every happiness. I hope we can get out and stay out. I truly can’t wait to be an uncle.”

“You’ll be a great uncle, Sam. One day. We’ve got a lot of work to do before I’ll be ready to go down that path again.”

“I get it. But when the time’s right, you and Dean are gonna be amazing parents.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, you better get back inside before my overprotective big brother comes out here thinking I’m gonna get you in trouble again.”

Sam offers you his hand to help get down off the hood. You take it and pull him in for a hug as you stand up. “Thank you for everything, Sam.”

He gives you a tight squeeze. “Night, Y/N,” he says as he pulls back.

“Night.”

He waits until you’re back inside before walking back to his own room for the night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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