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elvisabutler · 1 year

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spark ( chapter two: prayer )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 10570ish so just shy of 11k this time. warnings: talk of children. a bit of negative self talk. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. use of a washcloth in inventive ways. faint naivety regarding come and precome and pleasurable parts of sex, i suppose. fingering. implied/referenced masturbation ( m and f ). pining. talk of female reproductive issues. author’s note: so before you read anything involving this. i need you all to either go into this chapter blind other than my note about female reproductive issues or i need you to scroll all the way down to the bottom of this past the tag list for a bit of an explanation for that warning. i'm fine either way but i didn't want to spoil it in the warnings considering i left what happened fairly nebulous. all that being said hi y'all, welcome to the second chapter of spark! there is not a lot i can say other than telling you all i am so very thankful for every single one of you who read it and especially those of you who left comments in the notes or reblogged because hearing what feelings i invoked or what i did to y'all was a highlight and truly makes me want to interact with all of you more and makes me just want to hear more from all of you. this chapter and the next are a doozy but this one specifically has the nearly 6k bath scene as i've called it so you're in for a treat. special thank you to my southern gothic/southern sticky romance soulmate @precious-little-scoundrel because y'all know this wouldn't exist without her little whispers. additional thanks to my discord wives @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy, my princess and my peach y'all know how much hearing y'all scream about my snippets made me know i was heading in the right direction. @blurredcolour thank you for also reassuring me that the one bit i showed you worked and wasn't just completely a mess. and last but not least @powerofelvis and @prompted-wordsmith thank you both for the edit job and smitty specifically for a few choice lines. i still am never gonna not laugh about you trying to sneak weepy in there though. and now before this author's not gets much longer, i present the second chapter of spark, titled prayer.

It's so quiet in the room. It's too quiet in the kitchen. It's too quiet even as Lilly hears Elvis's deep breaths against her back, hears her own softer breaths mixed with something that sounds almost like a whimper—a soft cry of elation with every other breath and shift of her body against his. Her vagina—her pussy—oh, she doesn't know what to call it now—aches in a way she's never felt before, not even when her husband took her for the first time in their bed. It aches but it doesn't hurt, it burns but in the way her legs burned after she would go running with Melly or how her arms burned after lifting up a basket of Nathan's clothes. Her—what had Elvis called it?—her clit, her button throbs as she feels his soft cock brush up against it as he moves forward just a bit, causing a noise that sounds so obscene Lilly can't help the way her cheeks darken even as another noise leaves her. Another whimper, this time lower in pitch, a keen leaves her mouth as Elvis stills his attempt to separate them.

"Lilly, darlin' I gotta—you gotta let me let ya down. Ya leg's startin' to hurt, ain't it?" Elvis murmurs, his hand moving down her flank, watching how her body starts to shiver, their shared sweat starting to cool on her body as the fan–the fan he just fixed whirrs above them. "Don't… it's gonna start hurtin' the more we stay here, darlin'. Let—" His hand moves to her thigh, feels how it's so sticky and slick with God knows what fluid, his or hers or both, and he's not sure how he's going to take his hand off of her if it starts to stick. Her shivers are starting to strengthen, be it from nervousness or the cool air or a combination and Elvis can't help the way a singular one flows through him, causing him to tighten his hold on her thigh and bury his face against her shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he feels her clench at it. "It's—come on, Lilly, I gotcha, let me help ya."

It's those words, that mild parroting of words he had just whispered against the shell of her ear not even 15 minutes ago that has her head falling forward just a little, has her body going lax completely, a rag doll for him to maneuver how he sees fit. She doesn't trust herself to help him, doesn't trust the thoughts in her head that tell her to make him keep her this way, to keep him inside of her and keep her filled and aching all at once. Doesn't trust the traitorous thought that tells her Nathan would have never done this, would never be this gentle and calming with her. She'd already be standing on shaky legs with him tucking himself in his pants before telling her that was good. Elvis's arm catches her, holds her tight against him still as he helps her pull her leg down off the counter even as she hears that noise again that—squelch of her arousal and the sheer amount of come he had released in her. If this is how he sounded inside of her, what would happen when he pulled out of her? What would happen as he left her stretched and satisfied? Would—perhaps some would take. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Lil." His whisper is gentle, almost as if he's scared she'll bolt. "You hold onto me. Gonna get outta ya now. Gonna pull out of ya."

Her arm and her hand grip his own tightly, her shivers increasing as she feels Elvis start to pull out. The more he inches out bit by bit the more empty she feels, the more she feels as if there's a wound there that won't heal caused by him leaving. It's never felt like this with Nathan and she knows, she knows so deep in her bones and soul that should worry her. But her mind, her body, her everything has narrowed down to her and Elvis as he finally breaks free of her vagina and she feels a wetness like she's never felt before slide down her legs. Unbidden and unrestrained, a sob is wrenched from her throat as she's set down, her feet finally touching the floor once more. A sudden shift back to reality she wasn't prepared for.

Elvis's arm tightens around her even as her shivers worsen and as he feels and hears the sob that comes from her. He doesn't think he hurt her—not physically, at least—but he can't… he can't check her like this. Not when he looks down at her legs and sees his release sliding down her leg.

A realization hits him in that exact moment as his arm tightens around where—where a child would grow if any of his release caught. Where their child would grow if it caught. He hadn't worn protection. He allowed himself to enter her bare and come not once, but twice. Right in this very moment he could be sealing both of their fates. Her to have the child of a man who is not her husband and him—him, to see another man raise his child. To see his child grow up through pictures instead of being there for every waking moment. His thoughts are interrupted by another of Lilly's sobs and he shakes his head. She–she needs a bath, he can't let Nathan come home and see her like this. Even if he had been neglecting her, leaving her to wilt and leaving her to be watered and in the worst of cases fertilized by another man, Elvis couldn't be sure of his reaction to seeing the proof leaking out of his wife.

The fan creaks as it spins, unused to spinning after the break it had been given from being broken. Elvis's brain settles on the noise even as the air circulating causes even his body to let out a shiver. His own natural heat feels like it isn't enough in this one moment, as if it's too busy trying to keep Lilly warm to remember to keep him fully warm and yet he thinks he can handle it. It's nothing compared to winter in France. Nothing compared to the bite of the cold against his skin then. And yet—and yet it cuts far more to the bone, through his muscles and fat and everything that should protect him. Straight to the heart of him.

His arm finally falls from around Lilly’s waist as she moves to stand on her own, her legs a little shaky like a newborn deer. He hastily tucks himself back into his jumpsuit—she can't see what he put inside her, can't see his uncut cock even if it brought her pleasure he wonders if she's never had before. When she finally looks at him he has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. She looks… she looks like an angel and he's corrupted her like a devil. He's touched something that might not have been pure and innocent but was as close as he’s seen in such a long time and sullied it. Touched it with hands that have seen war and have seen death and threatened to cause death even in peacetime. What sort of person did that, what sort of man who believes in God with all his being now would do this to another man’s wife? Breaking not one, but two sins, and for what? To try and fix something that it isn’t his place to fix, that will never be his place to fix? To try and fix something only to potentially cause more things to break inside and out. He hopes she doesn’t see how his hand clenches into a fist, hopes she doesn’t see how he can’t look her in the eye right at this moment. He hopes—he hopes—he hopes she can forgive him, he hopes God can forgive him.

Lilly can’t help the way her legs shake slightly and how her body trembles just a little bit. She’s not cold, not in a way that would cause this much shivering and yet here she was acting as if she had been dunked in a bath filled with cold water and shoved into a Yankee winter. Elvis was—is warm in a way she knows would help. Or at least she feels as if it would help because it would just be an extension of taking care of her, wouldn’t it? It would be him continuing the duty he’s given himself despite not… not being the man who promised to love and to hold and to take care of her in every conceivable way. He is just a man. He is just a man who she has grown quite fond of but a man nonetheless. A man who is not her husband and yet—no, this was just both of them being tempted and falling for temptation. In her mind, she thinks of never having Elvis speak to her again, thinks of a world where this act has ruined their relationship. No, their friendship, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out in anguish. He had been such good company. He is such good company and to lose that would have her all alone once again with nothing to show for it except… perhaps. Perhaps his release could catch inside her. Perhaps it could catch and form a child, their child and she would have someone to be with. She would have the child she longed for to spend her days doting on and mothering. She would have her company and she could be so much less angry—despondent over her friends and she could enjoy Melly’s pregnancy and any other ones that would come after because she’d at least have her own child. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she nearly misses Elvis speaking to her and grabbing ahold of her hand.

“Lil darlin’, ya shakin’ like a leaf. Ya got a robe or somethin’ in that bedroom of yourn?” He asks all while walking them ever so slowly to the bathroom near the other bedroom. It has a bathtub, that much he knows from using it but he knows it’s likely not anything compared to the one in the main bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Lilly can only nod as an answer. “Ya good to go grab it? Don’t wanna—it’s not my place to see ya bedroom.”

He’s right and she knows he is but a part of her, the part of her that’s clinging onto his hand for dear life and doesn’t trust her legs to carry her into the bedroom and back to him shakes her head. “I’m—I don’t—walk me to it?”

“Lilly,” he starts before he looks up and sees her face pleading with him, begging silently in almost the same way it was up against the sink and he stops himself before nodding. “Just keep holdin’ my hand. I’ll walk wit’ ya.”

Between the walls and Elvis’s hand, Lilly’s steps are a little more certain by the time she makes it to the doorway of her bedroom where just on the inside there’s a hook that has her robe. She creaks the door open just slightly to grab it before pulling it on. It smells faintly of Nathan’s cologne and she can’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste, wishing it smelt different. The walk over to the other bathroom is just as slow and just as measured but the moment they reach it, Elvis moves to set her on the toilet after shutting the lid. His knees crack audibly as he gets down on the floor with a groan. Lilly winces as she hears the water turn on. “Warmer than you think I should have it.”

He hadn’t asked what temperature she wanted the water but she figured it was best to tell him ahead of time, just in case he thought she needed it only lukewarm. His response is a chuckle before he turns the hot knob just a bit more.

Her mind wanders as she sits there feeling more of his release sticking to her leg. Her mind wanders as she looks at Elvis in his jumpsuit still half open but done up so she can’t see what was between his legs, what had given her such pleasure that her vagina clenches

involuntarily at the memory. Clenches at the memory of how full it felt, how it felt like it was catching, how it felt different than Nathan’s penis. Surely—oh surely with how full she feels even now with his release inside her it would take. It would catch and take and her belly would swell with new life. Her child would grow inside her and kick and roll and make her so happy even as she pushed them out, painful as everyone had told her it was. Her child would look like her if it was a daughter or perhaps a healthy mix of her and Elvis if it was a boy. Her breath catches at the image and she finds herself leaning against the toilet and clutching her hands to her stomach with her eyes shut. Her eyes shut so that the lord could hear her prayer because she’s only focusing on Him and the words she was praying up into the heavens. Please, Lord, please let it catch. Bless me with just this one baby.

Elvis looks over at Lilly over the rims of his glasses and is struck by how she looks so serene in the moment. How her robe covers her and how her head is tilted up as if she’s praying for something. His eyes drift down and notice her hands on her belly. Her hands that seem small compared to his on her belly and briefly, in a flash he berates himself for later, he pictures her growing round with his baby after the release he's just left in her has taken root. Pictures her blossoming and blooming right before his eyes as she thanks him with his favorite dinner with their child rolling inside of her under an apron. The word please leaves her lips, though, and it shatters that image quicker than anything else. She is married to an idiotic child, yes, but he is still her husband and is still a strapping young man. Perhaps still more suited for her than him. More suited to give her those children to help her bloom. He has to shut his eyes and pray for forgiveness and for God to dissolve his come before it reaches those parts of her that can bear fruit. She’s pleading with God that it doesn’t take—that they aren’t caught with their indiscretion and his mind is being selfish with the desires it has for her.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and Elvis turns off the water before it gets to be too much. He can’t look at Lilly, hasn’t looked at her since he heard the word please fall from her lips and yet he knows he has to. He knows to help her into the bathtub he has to but he stares at the water, watching it ripple just a little until he hears Lilly’s voice.

“Are you—? You can… can you stay?” Her skin flushes at her own question, as if it’s the worst possible thing for her to say, as if it’s mortifying to have it leave her lips. He is not her husband. He is, at best, a new friend—and she wants him to see her completely bare. “You don’t—”

Elvis cuts off her words with a shake of his head. “I’ll stay for ya. Since ya want me to.” He pauses, his eyes finally looking at her: specifically looking at her legs where his release is still sliding down onto the floor of the bathroom. Had he honestly come that much? “Ya—e need to—I came in ya, Mrs. H—Lilly. It’s gonna need to be washed outta ya,” his hand twitches as his eyes drift to her stomach and he has to stop himself from placing his hand on it with his next words. “Don’t want ya bein’... Don’t wanna cause ya any issues.”

Don’t want to have my child growin’ inside of ya, is what he means, Lilly thinks. Her traitorous mind wants to be that mean woman Nathan’s accused of her of being and spit that she wants to swell with his baby. She wants to grow round with his baby because she wants a baby and Nathan won’t give her one. She wants a child to love and dote on and to cherish. She bites her tongue though, because it’s not right to say it, it’s not proper to admit she might do anything for a baby. Instead she nods and moves to take off the robe, motioning for Elvis to help her with the rest of her clothes as she stands up. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, and Lilly can’t help the goosebumps and shivers that dot her in his hands’ wake as his fingertips glide across her skin. Her body hunches over just slightly to protect her modesty as if he hadn’t just had her against her kitchen sink not once, but twice. Elvis frowns slightly when he sees this, the frown only deepening as she moves to step into the tub on her own. It doesn’t take him but a second to scoop her into his arms.

Lilly squeaks slightly at the unexpected touch before she leans against him, her hand moving to play with his chest hair until he sets her down softly into the tub. A whine escapes her lips as her vagina hits the water, the temperature difference reminding her of their actions. A moment passes before Elvis opens his mouth to ask something and Lilly tilts her head to the cabinet above the toilet. “Middle shelf.”

A nod is his only response to her direction until she hears the crack of his knees signaling how he’s back down on the ground. Her eyes haven’t left the water, watching how there’s little bits of white, stringy and almost clear swirling around the water. It was all going to waste. It was all going to be going down the drain and she was going to remain barren, a woman with no fruit of her loins to call her own when there should be no reason for that. Elvis eyes her before setting the washcloth in the water and humming, his hand moving to touch her shoulder, a strangely domestic touch that she doesn’t shy away from.

“There’s so much of it.” Lilly whispers absentmindedly, her head tilting just so as Elvis hums and chuckles slightly because she’s not wrong.

“It’s just—that’s my—that’s what I produce before I actually release inside ya. Hell, I think most of it might be that ‘cause I ain’t ever produced this much.” A truth if he’s honest with himself, even in his younger days he doesn’t remember this much being in a condom and yet he had filled her with so much it’s just leaking out of her. He had filled her like he was her husband and they were trying for a child. He had done the unthinkable and yet there’s a small part of him that wonders how much of his release is inside of her. That small part has his cock twitching just slightly against his leg, ready to give her more if she asks, to fill her up and replace what’s being lost in the water. He shakes his head to clear it, to direct the blood flow back to his thinking self and not the desirous snake in his pants.

“This ain’t the part we gotta worry ‘bout anyway. It’s the thicker stuff,” he points to a small bit that’s floating from her vagina as he speaks, “like that right there that we gotta worry ‘bout. But the rest? Ya see how it's slidin’ right out? We don't gotta worry bout those parts.”

Lilly has to stop herself from perking up at that knowledge. That there’s more where this came from and that this? She can lose as much of this as she is right now while still perhaps having his seed catch. This was just the initial bit, the majority of it is still inside of her and she clenches, tightens her vagina even as it feels to be an insurmountable task as it throbs and pulses from the effort. She can't tilt her hips up like her mother had told her but later, perhaps, later she could lay in bed and tilt her hips to help whatever is left behind reach where it needs to be.

Elvis can't put it off any longer as he stares at rippling water, he needs to help this along, other than those small bits not much of his release is coloring the water. If too much stayed within her—her body would change soon, her body would change and it would be all his fault. He would be responsible for her blooming and blossoming but with a child that wouldn't be, couldn't be taken care of the way he'd want them to. He leans closer to Lilly and finds his hand holding the washcloth sliding up her leg.

"Don't—I gotcha Lilly. Gonna help clean ya out, alright? Gonna be as gentle as I can." He waits to see her acknowledgement of a nod before he finally moves his hand up to between her legs, the heel of his hand against her mound and his hand covering everything else.

Her body—her vagina feels as if he's shocked her, as if there's a live wire from his hand to her. A gasp leaves her lips even as she inadvertently grinds down on his hand, chasing a feeling she can't quite put her finger on. It’s almost instinctual the way she reacts, the way her eyes shut as she hisses, the pressure too much while at the same time too little. At her hiss Elvis pulls back his hand as if it’s been burned. It’s not his job to take care of her, it’s not his job to make sure she’s alright after their intercourse against the sink and yet he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he hurt her. He knows how to take care of a woman after sex and he’d be damned if he didn’t treat Lilly with all the respect—and love, his mind traitorously whispers—she deserves.

“Lil, ya alright? Did I…” he starts before his words are cut off with a violent shake of her head. Words are failing her and his eyes search her face for a clue as if that will explain her actions and finds it in the way she shifts in the bath slightly. “Ya sensitive down there?”

Lilly nods and breathes slowly through her nose. “I think so? It’s—It feels like it’s throbbing, Mr. Pre—Elvis.”

In the back of his mind he knows that means she took him well and that he pleasured her thoroughly. It means that her body is overwhelmed with the sensation. It means that it’ll be like that for days to come. A small, sick bit of joy shoots through him at the thought of her aching for him and his stomach roils as soon as the thought comes to him. He would be no better than her husband who ignores her if he took pleasure in the idea. If he took pleasure in knowing he left her aching for him while she is married to her husband.

His words are measured when he speaks, a low murmur as he leans closer, taking the washcloth back in his hands. “Ya ain’t—I’m a lil bigger than most, should have prepped ya better. Jus’. We both got a lil’ overwhelmed, didn’t we? ‘S’alright, ‘m gonna make it better, darlin’. Gonna be gentle as I can. Gonna help ya get all this out of ya. Keep ya from having my baby.”

Lilly’s face falls at his words even though he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with shifting his focus downward to her vagina. Her breath is slow and measured as she watches him, trying to give this a clinical air, trying to make her body realize there’s nothing arousing about this. This is him just trying to clean his release out of her to keep from being tied to her in some way permanent. Her hand drifts to her belly as she curls into him, her head leaning onto his shoulder. He’s methodical with the outside of her and using the cloth he tries to reach between her folds, tries to open her up only to feel as she tenses just that little bit harder. Forcing her open isn’t an option, not one he wants to seriously consider, at least, and he pauses. His fingers through the rough washcloth threaten to ignite another fire low in her belly as they rub slightly against her skin—at least, if the way she whimpers softly is any indication. Perhaps if he brushed against her clit, perhaps that could open her up. It’s helped in other times when he’s wanted to pleasure another woman. His thumb is already near it and without dwelling on his thought his thumb swipes against it, the wash cloth adding friction that has her unclenching faster than he thought was possible, the shock of it ricocheting through her system. A gasp escapes her lips. A gasp that sounds like his name. He refuses to dwell on what that means as he brushes his thumb against her clit once more.

“Elvis,” she whimpers his name as his thumb swipes a third and a fourth time and she can feel her vagina clenching and unclenching at the feeling, at the sensation as finally she relaxes fully, allowing his fingers to enter her without a question. “Sensitive.”

Her mind is narrowing to single words, the swirl of arousal curling tighter and tighter in her abdomen with each brush of his thumb and each press of his fingers inside of her. The washcloth shouldn’t help the feeling, it shouldn’t make her eyes want to roll in the back of her head from the friction and the slight roughness. The splashes of his arm and hand hitting the water as his fingers move in and out of her ground her and yet have her floating away. Her brain registers him speaking through her whimpers of pleasure. Pleasure that she doesn’t know what to—to do with, having been denied it for so long.

“I know it’s a lot but gotta be thorough, Lilly. Gotta make sure it's all out,” he whispers softly to her, his fingers never stopping their task. “That's it, unclench for me, Lil darlin. Let—ya gotta help me, we gotta make sure there isn't anything left up there."

Faintly she can hear him and feel herself nodding, too busy trying not to rock against his fingers. That’s not what he’s doing this for, he’s trying to prevent—he’s trying to prevent a child. He’s trying to protect her marriage and yet her body wants to move on instinct. She wants to be beholden to her instincts just this once. Just this once she wants to have pleasure and happiness she doesn’t have to beg and plead for. It’s nice, this haze that overwhelms her senses, and she can’t truly recall the cold, distant figure of her husband leaving each and every day for work without so much as a kiss on the cheek as it has been recently. Instead she is nestled into the crook of Mr. Presley’s neck, lips tasting of the salt of his sweat. She wants to feel like he made her feel against the sink. Her body cants itself just so in order to earn another swipe of his thumb and she feels herself dangling on the precipice of something—of her orgasm, maybe? Was she about to find release on his fingers as he cleaned her body out with a washcloth? As he cleaned his release so a child didn’t form inside her, giving away their actions from tonight? A miniscule part of her feels as if she ought to be mortified but it doesn’t drown out her sighs and whines as she feels his fingers curl just so—trying to make sure she’s clean. It doesn’t drown out how her hips move once in another attempt to grind before he puts his hand on the back of her neck. A comforting gesture, yes, but when paired with his next words seals her fate.

“Take what ya need right now. Jus' takin’ care of ya. It’ll help get more outta ya. That’s it, Lil darlin, Elvis’s gotcha.”

A keen, high pitched and pained, leaves her mouth as she feels herself fluttering around—no, clenching around—his fingers before becoming practically boneless against him, the aftershocks from the orgasm causing a new round of shivers and goosebumps to happen. Her face burrows into his shoulder as he works her through them gently before her hand moves to grab his wrist, the sensitivity finally becoming too much.

“Elvis it’s, o-oh—” Lily struggles to articulate her words and breathe and exist in this moment, the sensation drowning out any thoughts other than the pulse of her own heartbeat she feels between her legs. “It—”

Elvis shushes her, trying his hand on her neck, rubbing it and tightening over and over as he finishes cleaning her out, knowing that whatever is left is too high up for him to reach. He’d have to just pray to god for that to be done away with. "Shhhh, Lilly… Darlin', I'm sorry, bein' as gentle as I can.”

Lilly should object to how his hand at her neck feels almost as if she's a kitten being dragged along by their mother but she can't find it in her to do such a thing. She can't find it in her to since objecting would mean he'd remove something that truthfully is keeping her tenuous grip on reality and the Earth there. She figures she'd float away without it. There's a part of her that doesn't think she'd mind in that moment, that she'd understand floating away after what's happened because it almost doesn't feel real, especially as he takes care to wash her body despite her being fully capable of doing it herself. His grip loosens for the last time as she watches him lean over and unplug the drain. The water swirls slowly at first, gaining speed the longer she stares at it and the more of his release slides down the drain. She hears the crack of Elvis's knees as he stands up and winces for him even as his shadow towers over her. She should get up out of the tub, she knows this and yet her legs feel just shaky enough that she finds the task impossible until she feels his arms underneath hers.

Getting out with his support allows her to fully catch her bearings as he hands her a towel that she wraps around her body, drying herself off as he grabs another and assists with her legs, his knees cracking once again at him getting back down. She makes the mistake of looking down at him and seeing him look up at her with a surprising sense of worship she only ever usually associates with church and God. A shiver makes its way through her at the realization.

Her voice sounds like it's going through a tunnel as she says something about how she's fine from here. She swears she hears herself say Mr. Presley and hears him say Mrs. Harris like he hadn't seen her naked and like he hadn't just helped her to clean out his release. Their formalities would make her laugh in any other situation, especially if she thinks of his seed catching inside of her. It wouldn't do to call her that when she was carrying his child, now would it? Wouldn't do for her to call him that as her belly rounded out with his baby, would it? Would it?

He leaves and she waits until she hears a goodbye burst forth loud enough to break through the tunnel her ears are in to finish drying off and getting ready.

She barely finishes making dinner as Nathan walks through the door.

Elvis… Elvis finds himself under his shower cursing his actions even as he remembers her face and her pleasure. He dreams of a life. He dreams of a life with her. He dreams of their life together. It feels worse than any nightmare.

Charlie notices something is up the moment he walks in the diner and sees Elvis already sitting down at their table, a plate with just bacon in front of him in addition to eggs and what looks like toast, or at least he hopes it’s toast. It looks like a plate for him and Elvis and yet he sees the man he's willing to call one of his truest friends eating it all as if it's just for him. He ought to be gentle about the whole thing, ask Elvis a question calmly and innocently.

Instead, as any sensible friend who’s seen you naked and bleeding and cryin’ for your mama does, he steals two pieces of bacon and sits down in the chair across from his best friend and chomps on said bacon before asking one, singular question: "What are you doing?"

Elvis's hand darts out with a speed that betrays his army training to grab the other piece of bacon only to be rebuffed with a frown. "Eating bacon, Charlie. Ya suddenly blind now? Short and blind, what a catch for ya wife."

Charlie visibly recoils and waits for Elvis to apologize or give him some clue that the statement was just his normal, playful ribbing. The crunch of the bacon disabuses him of that notion as the minutes tick by. "We got a family so she must've seen something in me. Just thankful she didn't see you first."

"Ain't that everyone's damn thanks. Thankful I didn't see their wives back then but if I see 'em now they ain't gotta worry. Women don't go for this body like they did back in the day." Elvis stabs at his eggs and Charlie—Charlie thinks he knows what's going on and he can't help but roll his eyes internally.

"Did some woman turn you down and now you're moping? Over a plate of bacon after church?" He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice but there's still a hint there that he can't do away with.

If looks could kill as well as every gun both he and Elvis have ever used, Charlie's certain in this moment he would be preparing to go to sleep in his eternal resting place. As it stands he once again realizes that perhaps he ought to not poke his absolute bear of a best friend. Elvis's next words punctuated by another crunch of bacon and a laugh so bitter Charlie's never heard it come from him seals that idea.

"Oh. Charlie, my boy, my boy, that would have been better. I would have handled that like a champ," he shakes his head, "ya 'member Mrs. Harris? The—the woman I told ya 'bout?"

“Yeah, the one with the niece and the husband who can’t work his way ‘round a wrench. What about—?” Charlie stops mid sentence and stares long and hard at Elvis trying to school his face into something normal and something less like he looks about ready to murder him before realizing it’s impossible and saying the first words that come to mind in the most hushed tone he can manage. “Wasn’t one of your rules you wouldn’t sleep with a married woman?”

Elvis can’t help but curse the fact that Charlie has seen him through some of, if not the worst, parts of his life and can regrettably read him like an open book sometimes. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he allows himself to eat a piece of toast that is both soggy and crispy all at once. His silence is practically deafening before Charlie exhales.

“You—ou got me thinking your daddy died or something and all this is because you slept with another man’s wife? A man who’s practically ignoring her despite how she looks like a—” Elvis swallows and holds up his pointer finger before practically growling.

“Not other fuckin’ word, Hodge. Not a single fuckin’ word. Lilly ain’t some fuckin’ European floozy we forgot ‘bout the next day. Don’t ya say ‘nother fuckin’ word.”

A chuckle leaves Charlie’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop it. Elvis is moping about a woman alright, just not the way Charlie thought he was. He wouldn’t have—He loves Elvis, he does but he would have never predicted him managing to charm a woman like that if she didn’t know who he was beforehand. If she didn’t know him as he was when they both came back from the war, both struggling with things they had seen yet pared down to a lean type of beauty: the scraggly pines that grew on Italian mountaintops. Yet maybe, just maybe, there was hope. Very stupid and unwise hope, but hope nonetheless that Elvis might be able to enjoy the same sort of life he has.

"Cursing on the Lord's day. At me. She's got you—pass me your whole pig's worth of bacon and tell me what happened, E."

Elvis stares at the plate and lets out a heavy sigh as he scoots the plate over. “It ain’t a whole pig’s worth of bacon.”

“It’s as big as my head.” Charlie states, motioning to get the attention of one of the waitresses in an attempt to get a plate and different food even as he eats a piece of bacon.

“Ya have a tiny head, Hodge. Like a damn lil hedgehog.”

Meanwhile across town Lilly finds herself in her sister’s kitchen, sitting at her dining room table with the light of the sun shining on her through the window. Her sister Melly busies herself with the finishing touches of a lunch for the two of them and Jerry. Lilly had tried to help only to be waved off with an ease that had her sitting down in the chair watching, her hands settling on her stomach as they had been since that fateful afternoon. It’s too soon to know, she reasons, too soon to know if Elvis’s seed took and has filled her empty womb with a child she’s craved for years. Yet her hands gravitate there anyway, almost trying to provide a cradle as if to tell the child she hopes is forming inside her that it’s okay to stay, it’s alright and that she’ll be their mother. She’ll take such good care of them and they’ll get to meet their cousins. They’ll get to meet their cousins and grow up with the one swelling underneath Melly’s apron.

Melly notices this, of course, notices how her sister is cradling her belly and yet she doesn’t dare ask. She doesn’t dare ask if Nathan’s finally done right by her sister and given her the baby she so desperately wants. Her chest hasn’t changed and she hasn’t felt a firmness when she’s brushed against her but perhaps it’s just too early.

“You’re looking happier,” Melly comments as she sets down the plates of food. She leaves Jerry’s on the counter, knowing her husband will grab it when he comes back inside from dealing with the yard.

Lilly can’t help the way she smiles slightly and practically preens at the acknowledgment that she seems happier. Elvis might not be—Elvis might not have been by since that afternoon but there was something so beautiful about his actions, so gentle and nourishing about him that it stuck with her. The throbbing in her vagina’s finally stopped after days of her cupping it and playing with it next to Nathan’s snoring body, wishing her fingers were thicker and longer and wishing it was Elvis’s cock sliding in and out of her. That he was keeping her full and telling her he’s got her, he’s always got her while filling her with so much of his release that there’d be no other choice but to swell with his child.

She doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s taken another man to make her feel a way she hasn't for years. She can’t dwell on that because it’s improper and she’d like to just bask in the glow of everything for now. She’d like to bask in the glow of things before a different glow would overtake her.

“I feel happier.” Lilly answers, still continuing to grin as she digs into the food. There’s a hint of nausea at some of it but she chalks it up to being hungry. “I feel different.”

Melly’s eyebrows both move upward as she settles into her chair and takes a bite of her toast first, knowing how her stomach reacts to food without a bland base to start off with. “Different. Does that have anything to do with Nathan and you? Anything you want to tell me?”

Lilly’s hand stills in its subconscious rubbing as her eyes widen. “No. Not—not yet.”

There’s something that shifts in Melly, a brightness that shines through as she looks at Lilly. If she is pregnant it's too soon to tell but the idea that she'd be carrying her second while Lilly is finally carrying her first delights her in ways she can't put into words. It's perhaps a secret dream she's always had. The scrape of her chair against the linoleum is harsh to both their ears and yet it’s a small price to pay for the feel of Melly’s hand against her stomach.

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?” Melly’s voice comes out as a whisper, as if she’s scared to speak it any louder. “You’ll tell me I’ll have a niece or nephew on the way?”

Lilly nods quickly as she hears the door open and hears Jerry’s voice carry into the kitchen. Melly’s hand moves off of her stomach as quick as can be before Jerry pops his head in and smiles. “Won’t ask what you two were doing before I got here.”

Life doesn't stop that Sunday and instead continues on and on with one week passing by and then another and another until Lilly knows she's due for her cycle and yet it doesn't appear. Her underwear remains pristine and white with not a drop of blood in sight. She doesn't dare tell Melly or anyone yet, knowing it could be a fluke, a stress induced issue but she swears she feels her womb hardening. She swears she feels it bloating in a way that feels different than what comes before her cycle. Perhaps, perhaps Elvis had done it. Perhaps Elvis had filled her and their child was forming unbeknownst to either of them. It occurs to her that she should try and reach out to him and see if he can come by her home. There's nothing that's broken for him to be fixed and yet he deserves to know what's happening inside her. That soon her stomach will round outward and their child will kick and roll and grow inside of her. That she is still married but it would be cruel to deprive him of ever knowing of their child.

It's too soon for him to know, she'll tell him when she's sure, when there's no mistaking what has happened to her because of their actions that afternoon. She'll tell him then, she'll convince him to come by and press his hand against her stomach so he can feel what he's—what she wished and prayed to have happen even as he washed himself out of her. He ought to be able to be in their life somehow because he's their father and he'd make such a brilliant one. He'd make such a brilliant one and her mind traitorously tells her it's a shame she wouldn't be raising the child with him.

Six weeks is a long time for him to be avoiding Lilly and he knows that. He knows that she didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like that—to be left without company and companionship like that but he can't help it. He can't help how his mind drifts when his exhaustion sets in remembering how her body felt against his when they danced and when she sagged against him. It’s a sin to covet a man’s wife as much as he covets Lilly. It’s a sin to want to be in another man’s home taking care of his wife in any way she’ll let him. It’s a sin and yet it feels so right, it feels like he’d be doing what he’s meant to be doing. Elvis is not her husband and yet his mind—his traitorous mind and soul tells him he should be and tells him she needs him in some way. She’s been happier, he thinks, since that afternoon—and his mind tells him that he had something to do with that. There’s a glow about her and it draws him in like a moth to a flame before he pulls himself away every Sunday when she passes off her niece. A nagging thought crosses his mind as the weeks go by and he swears that glow is stronger every time he sees her, that perhaps it wasn’t just happiness and joy causing her to glow that way. He ought to ask her and yet the idea feels invasive in a way that makes him think he has to find the right time for it. If his suspicions prove to be correct, he figures they both will need time to process it.

Six weeks is a long time for him to avoid her and it makes it so that when he gets a call that sounds like Lilly crying there isn’t a moment of hesitation before he finds himself jumping into his truck and driving to her house she shares with her husband. Her door is unlocked and he wants to admonish her for it, tell her that she shouldn’t leave the door unlocked because you never know who might come in but then he sees her. He sees her tear stained face and her rumpled dress and fears the worst. A flash of pure anger courses through his veins as his mind swirls with possibilities of why she’s crying. Why her face and body betray such anguish that it twists his gut and has his mouth opening to speak before her voice sounding so small in a way he’s never heard interrupts him.

“I was waiting. I was being careful!” Her words don’t make sense to Elvis even as his eyes trace over her form and around the house where they’re standing as if either thing holds the clue for what’s going on. As if some part of the way she’s carrying herself—hunched over—or the way things seem out of place—her lunch was sitting on the table only half eaten—would explain what’s happening, why she had called him crying, muttering about needing to fix things.

His tone is soft and comforting as he moves to touch her shoulder, to pull her into some form of a hug. “Darlin’—” The word slips out before he can stop himself but he continues. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

Her eyes look up at him and he’s struck by how bloodshot they look. How long had she been crying? How long had her body been wracked by sobs that no one was there to comfort her from? Elvis watches as her mouth opens and closes several times before she shakes her head. “I—the oven is broke again.”

“Lil—Mrs. Harris, things I fix don’t break like that. Not this quick.” He tries to defend his work, knowing there’s no Earthly way that it was broken already. He had made sure to fix it, he had made sure that her oven wouldn’t need his touch for quite a long time after he was inside of it that day. In the back of his mind he thinks he’s missing something.

“It’s broken, Mr. Presley. It’s broken and can’t keep heat and bake anything and I’ll call someone else over if you won’t fix it. Just please take a look at it. Just make it work like I thought it was.” Lilly’s voice shakes but doesn’t waver when she speaks. If anything it seems to get stronger the longer she speaks. It seems she’s more insistent with every word that comes from her mouth. Something is broken—the oven he was supposed to fix is broken and she wants him to check it again. That nagging feeling grows as he looks at her in confusion. He prides himself on being a smart enough man, but… maybe it’s because she clouds his judgment. He can’t tell what she’s talking about.

“Lil—Lilly, why did you call me here?” He manages to almost stutter out the words, wincing he hears it. She has to answer him when he asks point blank, doesn’t she?

Lilly is silent for the longest while and Elvis thinks he pushed too hard, thinks that he’s overstepped for once—twice—in their friendship and opens his mouth to apologize before she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. In a rush everything clicks into place for Elvis and swears his heart stops. He should move his hand and yet he can’t, it’s almost as if there’s a magnet keeping his hand attached to her stomach. The oven is broken, her oven is broken and empty and can’t keep heat.

The night before, when his body gave out and had him sleep he tossed and turned over images of him and Lilly together. Images of her swollen with a child and laughing next to him. He remembers being on his knees kissing her still-flat stomach and laughing with her hand over his and telling her how she’s made him the happiest man alive. He could still hear her giggles ringing in his ears when he woke up. That was fantasy, a dream dreamed up by an old man who shouldn’t be dreaming of a life with a woman he isn’t married to and who is married to another. They’re brilliant company for each other but—but she is not his wife and he is not her husband.

“I’m sorry.” Elvis whispers the words and they feel so insubstantial, so insignificant to what he feels in this moment. The sorrow he feels for her being fed by her tears and the way her silence just drags on and on. Perhaps this was his doing, perhaps there was something there and he had broken it. Perhaps—perhaps he should have been selfish and not cleaned his release from her. Or perhaps—he can’t dwell on it. It threatens to drive him mad if he does.

And yet his mind can't shake another time and place where his hand is there for another reason, with her hand over his, a smile on her face instead of tears rolling down her cheeks and onto his suit as she curls into a hug he offers. She looks so young and yet like she's been crushed by the world all at once. A flower run over on the side of the road, soaked in the gutter. The attempt he finally makes to move his hand is thwarted by her own grasping his wrist, forcing him to press down to feel that she's bloated but still very empty.

It was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to go well, she had prayed and begged and cradled her womb and for what? For her cycle to be off and there to be blood mocking her in her underwear? For there to be cramping that feels like it might threaten to tear her in two. No one she’s known has lost a baby, there’s no one she can ask to see if that’s what’s happening. If the child she swore was growing from the moment Elvis released inside of her not once but twice was gone. Or if there just wasn’t one at all and she had been deluding herself. Either option feels almost unbearable and feels like a lead weight in her stomach.

Elvis doesn’t speak and Lilly’s thankful for it. Her dream of telling him and them figuring out how he would be involved has been flushed down the toilet multiple times today and is currently flowing between her legs. Her hand finally loosens its grip on his wrist and her chest tightens as she looks into his eyes. Those blue eyes shouldn’t be so caring, they shouldn’t look so caring when looking at her. There shouldn’t be sympathy in those eyes directed toward her or her empty womb. Yet there is and Lilly is struck not for the first time at how different Elvis is from Nathan. She’s struck by how she’s been in this sort of position before with her husband and she doesn’t recall there being nearly as much care and—dare she even pretend?—-anguish in his gaze. She remembers frustration at himself or, or her? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall just now.

“I—I was late,” She starts, and shakes her head, sniffling. “I was late for my cycle and I didn’t—I don’t know why I called you.”

Elvis doesn’t dare say the first thoughts that come to mind. Doesn’t dare tell her that he thinks she knows exactly why she called him because the mere idea shouldn’t be put into words. He’s already damned himself and her anguish, her pain is perhaps a consequence of it. Had he not given in to his baser urges perhaps Nathan would have given her a child that she could tell him she was growing inside of her. If he hadn’t given into his baser urges she wouldn’t have thought his child was growing inside of her. He shuts his eyes, trying to not think of the image of her swollen with his child once again.

“Comfort?” The word as an answer feels safe and from the look on Lilly’s face, how it relaxes just a little bit and how her hunched over position straightens out even as she grimaces in pain he was right. However, that urge to fix that had caused so many problems rears its ugly head again and Elvis knows he should ignore it but the grimace on her face reminds him that she’s in pain and to leave her in pain without attempting to help her feels cruel. It feels cruel to just allow her to deal with this on her own. Perhaps that’s why she had called him, taken the chance that he wouldn’t want her to be alone in this situation. Taken the chance to assume he missed her and just wants what he's craved from her more than anything else: her company.

A nod is the only thing she manages before her body is wracked with another flare of pain as Elvis watches. He’s never—he’s never been here when she’s on her cycle so he doesn’t know if this is normal or not but he remembers June and remembers the other girls and knows, in this moment, he can’t leave her like this. Especially after she had called him. His mind tries to think back on what other women would do before he remembers how some would curl up in bed and ask for heat and any number of other things. The flash of memory at her in the bath after their activities and a flash of a fantasy of her in the bath with him runs through his thoughts until he shakes his head to clear it.

“Missus—Lilly. Darlin’, I—wouldn’t it be better to be laying down? For your pain?” His words are chosen as carefully as he can and yet he still feels like he might have said the wrong thing until he sees her move to lean and sag against him as if he’s the only thing that’s going to keep her standing in this exact moment.

“My—oh, just help me to my bedroom, you don’t—” The words are lost as Elvis picks her up, earning a bit of a shocked gasp from her. “You don’t have to pick me up, I can w-walk.”

Elvis stays silent for a moment or so as he walks, ignoring the ache in his knees that tell him he should have prepared more for this. That he should have known better than to pick Lilly up like this and yet he finds that it’s easy to ignore the ache as her protest grows a little quieter and she practically burrows into his hold. He is not her husband and yet he wonders if her husband’s ever done this for her. Ever treated her with care when she’s like this.

Nathan had noticed her pain that morning and brushed it off, much to Lilly’s frustration. It’s not that she wanted him to know she had engaged in a transgression but she was his wife and she was in pain. Jerry had made sure Melly was taken care of after Lizzie and Nathan couldn’t even be bothered to call her sister or anyone. The neglect is what feels like an even worse knife than the one she swears she feels in her lower stomach. The neglect is why she called Mr—Elvis. Even in the short time she’s at least partially known him—the actual him, not the image she had of the man who taught her niece’s Sunday school—has taken care of her and hasn’t left her to rot and wallow in her pain and loneliness. He’s kept her company and fixed so many things around her house that at this point she’s thinking she’s going to have to break things just to have an excuse to get him to visit under the guise of working.

She knows she shouldn’t relax in his hold, she shouldn’t burrow into his arms like he’s her husband and he’s just carrying her to their bed but she can’t help it, the sheer joy and calmness that settles over her from the care he shows overwhelming her. His arms allow her to feel safe in the moment, help her to forget how much pain she’s in physically and mentally. They are a balm to her aches even as she potentially causes some for him. It doesn’t take too long for him to reach her bedroom, using his body to open the door the entire way from its cracked open position. Lilly hears him sigh and feels his head move to try and avoid looking around before she feels him shift her in his arms.There’s a difference, she thinks, in knowing that he would have to eventually set her down on her bed and him actually doing it.

A shiver runs through her body that has Elvis’s grip tightening as he moves his hands away. It’s not cold and yet here she was shivering like she was that fateful night.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low and questioning in a way that he shouldn’t be.

“You’re warm,” she whispers back at him, looking into his eyes and trying to pretend that answers everything. Pretend that telling him he’s warm will get him to stay and comfort her until it’s time for Nathan, cold, icily indifferent Nathan to be home. “I feel—it felt good.”

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before his breath catches in his throat at the sheer intensity of the look she’s giving him. He can’t put a name to what he sees in her eyes, only that it threatens to overwhelm him if he stares at her for too much longer. He has to leave, he needs to go back to work or home or just somewhere where her eyes aren’t burning holes into his soul. He finally starts to step away only for Lilly’s arm to find its way in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Her hand moves to grab his and grasps it so tightly he can’t wrench it from her.

“Can you—can you stay?” She asks, quiet as a church mouse and looking as if she expects him to say no. As if she expects to be left alone to deal with things once again. It makes his stomach roil and twist and he feels almost like throwing up before he moves to sit down on the bed.

“Not for too long, Lilly,” he answers, as he watches her move to the other side of the bed, letting go of his hand as she does. He sits down, groaning slightly as he does at the feel of her bed underneath him. It dips more than it did when she was occupying the same spot, his weight causing the springs to creak just a bit more. Lilly waits until he gets comfortable to move closer to him. He stays sitting, his body leaning against the headboard, not even daring to try and lay down in her marriage bed. It makes trying to cuddle with him harder than it should be but after a moment of a deliberation she settles on laying her head in his lap. The warmth of his belly seeps into her head, soothing any headache she’s gained from crying and the vantage point allows her to feel encased in what feels like a protective shell. Elvis tries to keep his hands to himself but as he feels Lilly settle against him and sees every wince and shift his hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. Scratching ever so softly against her scalp. Lilly’s sigh tells him it was the right thing to do and emboldens him to sing, breathe out into the world the first song that comes to mind when he thinks of her.

Lilly hears Elvis’s voice singing Jo Stafford to her, a song she’s only heard once or twice before but it feels so romantic that something inside her chest feels warm and feels almost like it’s blossoming the more she hears his voice singing in that low tone, his hands flowing through her hair.

“But just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me,” he sings, watching as Lilly’s eyes start to flutter shut, the pain and the emotions of today getting the best of her. The more he sings the more he realizes he wishes those words were true. The more he wishes he wouldn’t have to leave in a few hours. But she is not his wife and he is not her husband and he’ll leave in a few hours as he should. He’ll leave after he shakes her awake lightly, grimacing as she winces in pain and as her eyes practically beg him to stay once again. He'll leave watching her curl back into her sheets but won't see her head move to where he had been sitting or see her hands grab at the pillow that had been behind his back.

She will wake up alone right before Nathan comes home. She will wake up to a simple dinner made with two plates on the table.

She calls him back over the next day.

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @coolgirl462, @vintageshanny, @memphisflash1935-1977, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @tryingtogettoelvis, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @moodyblueriver, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons good heavens, i think that's everyone. those of you who didn't get the tag, know i'm gonna head to the messages within the day. also i including those of you who reblogged the first chapter. i would have done likes as well but there- there was a hefty chunk and i didn't know for sure if you all wanted to be tagged.

additional explanation: so if you haven't just read the fic instead of just scrolling down to the bottom to see what's up, hello. but even if you did just read the fic, let the record show that i myself did write this with the idea that lilly had a very early miscarriage. and it's why i added a tag just in case for it since i know some people avoid the subject matter for their own mental health. however i purposefully left it nebulous because she herself wouldn't know for sure and it's- the same result occurs either way, she is not pregnant and that wrecks her emotionally because she had put so much stock in the possibility that she would be. no matter what if she wasn't pregnant she was going to be sad and depressed and generally in a state of anguish. so, you can read this whichever way you want, it does not really change the intent/what happens afterward in this. but i didn't want to directly spoil all of you in the warnings especially since it causes a turning point of sorts, but i also don't want anyone to be in duress because of me. also i promise honestly these two have a happy ending, just trust me like y'all trusted me with professor presley, okay?

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin'#elvis x lilly #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #spark universe #elvis x reader #crawfever adjacent #elvis #ally writes #tw: miscarriage

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animeomegas · 1 year

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Headcanons for omega kankuro, hidan, and omega asuma plzzzzz

(I don't write for Hidan or Asuma, but I can give you some omega!Kankuro headcanons for sure!)

GENERAL OMEGA!KANKURO HEADCANONS

(There's some n-sfw at the end :D)

Kankuro didn't really think about nor care about his secondary gender when he was young.

As far as he was concerned, his secondary gender was puppets and trying to avoid getting murdered by baby Gaara.

Once he's approaching chunin, he does kind of feel grateful that he's an omega because his shitty father was an alpha and Kankuro looks a lot like him. It's helpful to have a layer of separation with different secondary genders.

When he's an older teen/young adult is the first time he starts feeling uncomfortable with being an omega. He just feels wrong and it stresses him out a lot for a while until he figures out what's wrong.

Basically, Kankuro is super not okay with the idea of being pregnant, it really freaks him out, he feels like he wouldn't be 'him' if it happened, so having a functioning reproductive system was affecting his mental health.

Once he yeets the womb, he's back to being very chill about being an omega once more.

No pups for him, he lowkey hates children. (But he's the weird chill uncle for Gaara and Temari's pups though, family is important to him.)

However he will only babysit very young pups in an emergency.

...

When Kankuro gets married to you, he takes advantage of social convention and retires from active duty. He likes to call himself a house husband.

He is not really a house husband though because he spends all his time in his workshop, working on his puppets.

((n-sfw warning for this bullet point) one of his puppets is a sex puppet he based on you from before you got together because Kankuro is kind of a freak ngl) but I digress.

He also helps out Gaara when he can, and he might take on an apprentice if he can find a child who's good enough for him to mentor.

So yeah, he's not a traditional house husband, which is good because he lacks several of the key skills, like cooking. He can make some of the best sandwiches you've ever had in your life though. Sandwich king!

...

Omega!Kankuro's scent is very herb-like, like rosemary.

He almost never whines. He hates omega whines, thinks they're so annoying and insipid, so whenever he feels the urge, he gets irritated, which turns the would-be-whine into a growl lol.

He's not really a nesting guy. Until he's sick that is. Then he needs a nest so bad it hurts.

He always ends up building the nest while he's sick though, because he's the sort of person who denies being sick when he first starts to feel the symptoms.

His nests when he's sick is always in the coolest part of the house, even if that ends up being the bathroom or something. This is so he can pile blankets on himself without getting heat stroke.

Sometimes he has cooling packs, heat packs and blankets on all at the same time, it makes no sense, but he gets very grumpy and upset if he can't have them all.

He needs cooling packs on his neck, feet, and in between his legs, and then hot water bottles on his stomach and chest, then a pile of blankets on top keeping everything in place.

Just imagine that, but also Kankuro is laying in the bath tub and his grumpy little flushed face, free of face paint, is sticking out from all the blankets haha. So cute.

some n-sfw hcs

Kankuro is into somnophilia, but not on him. He wants to have his way with his alpha while they're asleep.

He 'jokes' about introducing puppets into the bedroom a bit too often. If you ever give him permission, he'll drag entire boxes into the room, filled with stuff he prepared but was too awkward to bring up himself.

On a similar note, he's a big fan of toys. Especially those that vibrate.

He's an evening sex guy. Comes with living in the desert.

He's kind of a voyeur too. He likes to perve.

His hard nos include anything associated with pregnancy, like breeding, lactation etc. and also he only ever spits if he gets a mouth full of cum.

Man, I don't talk about Kankuro enough! I love this asshole 🥺

#kankuro #n-sfw #x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #kankuro x reader #alpha reader #alpha!reader #hcs #headcanons

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eitherlyingorstupid · 3 months

Text

I imagine that pregnancy and organic-style reproduction was a thing among Transformers millions upon millions of years ago, but once they got the Allspark up and running they kind of abandoned it. In fact, most of the documents that pertained to this type of reproduction were destroyed in the Great Purge, and only the oldest of the oldest bots, like Alpha Trion, have ever even heard of it.

They still have "sticky" sexual arrays, of course, but their only use is for recreation.

Then the war happened, the Allspark was lost, and everything went to scrap.

Once the war was over, the missing Allspark became a really, really big problem, because protoforms are useless without the Allspark to give life to them.

That's when the millions of years old pregnancy programming kicks in, and bots everywhere are randomly seized with a desperate, intense urge to frag or get fragged immediately. Their internal temperature rises to dangerous levels, and the only thing that relieves this mysterious new ailment is to have a certain amount of transfluid in the valve.

After a while, medics are surprised to discover that a tiny protoform is growing inside some bots… a protoform with a spark, no less. This is huge news. Now, Cybertron can be repopulated with pre-sparked protoforms, and the Allspark is no longer needed.

Eventually, heat suppressants and a method of birth control are created and generally become available to most Autobots. The heat coding can't be turned off without practically lobotomizing the bot, so it's kinda something they have to live with.

HOWEVER, it's important to note that Decepticons and warframes, while they do have arrays, don't have forges (wombs). They also don't have heats, and Shockwave, while going undercover at Autobot Boot Camp, realizes this far too late.

But he can't really code himself into being able to get heats, and he is a good actor but not "faking a heat" good. So when Bumblebee asks why Longarm hasnt been in heat yet, Longarm replies its because his cycle just finished before he came to Boot Camp.

"Oh," so Bumblebee says, "you'll be due in about… 40 stellar cycles, then, huh? That overlaps with my heat. We should partner up." (Bumblebee's already thinking about if Longarm's dick can stretch like his limbs can).

"That sounds delightful," Longarm lies through his teeth. (Internally, he's sweating bullets and trying to figure out what to do).

A few stellar cycles later, Ironhide goes into heat and gets clanged against the wall by Wasp. Longarm's never actually seen an Autobot in heat before, and it's… something.

Bots are very loud, very desperate, and very unconcerned about who sees them interfacing. And they go all day, and most of the night. Longarm has to recharge to the sound of metal on metal and formulate how he acts when his heat will supposedly hit.

Thankfully, Bumblebee goes into heat before Longarm is due, and he helps Bee with it. He's not prepared for how much stamina Bee has, nor how many rounds he's willing to go for (which is a lot). Longarm has to beg Ironhide to take over for him, lest he be completely drained of transfluid.

When it comes to his own (fake) heat, Longarm tries his best to emulate Bumblebee. The size difference means Bee has to go for quite a few rounds before Longarm's valve is full, and Longarm feels like a shriveled-up husk by the time it's finally over.

#valveplug #mech preg #heat stuff

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clonerightsagenda · 5 months

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Getting Involved Locally

Every time I see a post implying the only two politically relevant actions you can take in America are voting or not voting in federal elections, I tell myself I will make this post, so now I am finally doing it.

As an American, it can be frustrating and dispiriting to feel like we're being held hostage by our politicians while the United States continues to be one of the biggest forces for suffering on a global scale. This post is not about what we can do on that scale but instead suggests that, if you're feeling powerless and depressed about your national/international impact, you can take action on the local level. I got involved with a local activist group a few years ago, and we've been able to tangibly help people in our community, get genuine policy passed, and net some legislative wins. It's much easier to influence a smaller system, and a lot more rewarding than doomscrolling on social media.

Disclaimer: I am an American who lives on the outskirts of a fairly large city. This post reflects my experience and not everything in it may be applicable to yours. Take what is useful and leave the rest.

What's out there?

There are a variety of ways to get involved locally depending on your preferences. I'm going to lump them into a few categories:

Local government. City council, school boards, library boards, etc. Many of these orgs have open meetings and allow public comment. They're often sparsely attended and members are frequently elected by small margins, so they're far more likely to listen to what you have to say than federal legislators. Check out your home's website to see if you can find minutes and agendas to learn what they're discussing and how you can weigh in. Great choice if you want to develop a first name basis nemesishood with a local politician.

Volunteering. If you have low bandwidth and just want someone to tell you what to do, but would like to know your actions immediately benefit real people, volunteering gigs might be for you. Lots of organizations need help! Community kitchens, greenspace cleanups, giving immigrants rides to appointments, phonebanking, tutoring, supporting cultural centers, etc. Find orgs connected to something you're interested in and see what they need.

Organizing. Organizing involves long term work to build groups of people who can push for change. Outside of labor unions, there are tenant unions (renters pushing their landlords for better conditions) and groups organizing around a specific issue. (Off the top of my head, in my area I'm aware of multiple groups organizing around abolition/decarceration, minimum wage, environmental justice, transit, and reproductive justice.) These groups require more commitment, but that also means you'll have more input than showing up to volunteer for a nonprofit a few times a month.

(The group I'm currently involved with is organizing-focused, so if you're curious I'm happy to share more details of what that's like, I just don't want this post to be even longer.)

How can I learn about opportunities?

Word of mouth

Local government websites

Library, college, and community center bulletin boards

Local events (I tabled at a music festival last summer)

Protests and rallies

Local news outlets (might be covering actions, etc.)

Social media

Google (try 'mutual aid' and your location)

Start getting involved. I cannot express how much I've learned about the activist landscape in my city just from joining one org. Between partnerships, solidarity requests, etc., so many groups are now on my radar that weren't before. As I said before, I'm in/near a fairly big city, but you might be surprised by how much is going on where you are!

A note on self-interest

Something we talk about in organizing is self-interest. Why are you passionate about this cause? Why are you in this fight? Identifying your self-interest is important for a few reasons. First, it helps you convince other people to care. Second, it keeps you engaged. If you start volunteering out of a vague sense that you're 'helping', it's much easier to lose interest. If you recognize how winning this fight makes your life better, you're more likely to stick with it. I'm not saying you should only get involved in causes that immediately materially benefit you, but it's worth thinking about your personal stake so that you can return to that when you think 'ugh I don't want to get out of bed for this meeting'. You may have seen the quote credited to Lilla Watson and a group of other Aboriginal Rights activists: "If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."

In conclusion

This is work. I've spent weekends in campaign retreats and driven 45 minutes across the city to make care packages. I am doing group projects and not even getting paid for it. But when you're frustrated with the state of the world, it's nice to be able to roll up your sleeves and make a visible impact on something you can control. It's also a great way to meet people irl who care about the same things as you and learn ways we can support each other when larger structures let us down.

As yet another American election season draws near with its avalanche of posts about voting, whether you intend to vote or post on tumblr about how much voting sucks or are a long-suffering non-American cursed to always see this shit, I challenge you to take a step* into your community and tackle a problem there. Who knows? You might even help solve it.

*Virtually if necessary. Many orgs try to be accessible. I attend many of my org's meetings on zoom!

#idk if this is actually helpful in any way #I'm happy to talk more about what being in an organizing-focused group has been like for me #also sorry I turned reblogs off bc I did not want this somehow turning into voting discourse

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kenjakusbrainstem · 7 months

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Just For You (Kenjaku x Mahito)

Contains: breeding, weird biology, Mahito changes his genitals, Kenjaku's breeding obsession.

Hello again! Day 8 of Kinktober was breeding so we all knew where this was going, I'm sure. A little different as I didn't want to fully change Mahito's genitals, so I did have to consult some Mahito Genital Experts for this one. While I don't mind him with a pussy, I just feel like sometimes his cock gets neglected outside of the xreader genre. Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twt at kenjakusbrain. Hopefully it isn't too strange! Comments and rb's are appreciated as always!

Mahito stared incredulously at the man that sat across from him. There were times where he was genuinely taken aback by the things that Kenjaku said and this was one of those moments. They had been playing chess, or rather, Kenjaku had been playing chess while Mahito watched and occasionally moved one of the pieces without being told to. When suddenly Kenjaku stopped as if he were lost in thought.

“You want me to do what to myself?”Mahito asked, believing he had misheard the man. He’d mentioned before his willingness to do almost anything for their plan, but this time he wasn’t sure if he was comprehending.

Kenjaku crossed his arms over his chest, he didn’t entirely like repeating himself but he supposed it had been an odd request. It hadn’t been long since they had revived and lost two of the Death Womb Paintings, and while Kenjaku didn’t need any new vessels technically.

“I simply asked if you would be willing to alter the shape of your soul enough to give you reproductive organs,” Kenjaku asked again. There really was no other way of putting it, he was more curious about seeing whether he could create a child with a curse instead of a vessel or being like Choso and his brothers. The science of a man’s body mating with a curse versus a woman’s was not as well studied, even if he was the only one studying it.

Mahito frowned, it wasn’t as if he was against the idea, it was more he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to change. Though he’d seen some of the books Kenjaku has, the anatomy books, even if he wasn’t interested in them he was sure he could figure something out by going through them.

“What’s in it for me?” Mahito asked. It did sound like something that could be fun, every other time Kenjaku had brought up ‘reproduction’ it always ended in pleasure for him, so he wasn’t afraid. Mahito just wanted more of a reward this time.

Looking around the room Kenjaku noted the time, nearing midnight. The apartment he stayed in when not working directly with the curses was a nearly empty one in the same run down building. Still it was a good place for him to keep some of his things safe without relying on the curses or using the former home of his vessel.

He didn’t spend too much time here, and even rarer did he let the other curses come here as well. Mahito had been following him around more though, and with the thought of trying curse impregnation again, Kenjaku figured the time was right.

“I’ll tell you a secret about my technique, something important that you can’t tell anyone before Shibuya,” Kenjaku proposed. He knew Mahito’s curiosity would get the better of him, the curse was already suspicious of him, so perhaps if he gave him some kind of information, it would keep Mahito’s snooping in check.

Mahito’s eyebrows rose, the shocked look on his face speaking volumes. He hadn’t expected Kenjaku to offer something like that, he’d expected something else on the lines of the pleasure he’d get as usual. This was something he’d been waiting for however. Moving his rook forward blindly, Mahito nodded.

A cheshire grin worked its way onto Kenjaku’s face, both at Mahito’s agreeance, but also his foolish move. Falling right into his trap, Kenjaku moved his knight toward Mahito’s now unguarded king, placing him in checkmate easily.

What a lovely metaphor.

After about thirty minutes of showing Mahito different medical textbooks, the two of them sat on Kenjaku’s bed. Mahito laid completely nude and propped up by pillows, his legs bent and spread before Kenjaku. The scene was surprisingly clinical, as Kenjaku placed his hand on Mahito’s soft cock, the curse whined but didn’t move.

“Can’t I just change the insides?” Mahito whined, he had already changed his guts to match that of the pictures they studied. The curse didn’t quite understand why he had to change anything else. He enjoyed the way it felt for Kenjaku to play with his cock while he fucked him, it just didn’t seem as pleasurable without it.

Kenjaku rolled his eyes, he honestly hadn’t expected so many questions about the genitalia, especially when he provided plenty of examples of it. Kneeling in between Mahito’s open legs, Kenjaku moved his hand over to rest on the curse’s thigh.

“There needs to be a way to access the organs you’ve added, otherwise there isn’t a point to them being there,” Kenjaku explained.

Nodding, Mahito thought for a moment about what he could possibly do. It didn’t take long to come up with something he was sure Kenjaku hadn’t expected. Sitting up further, he placed his hand over his cock, hiding himself from Kenjaku’s curious eyes.

When Mahito removed his hands, he revealed something rather unexpected to Kenjaku. Where the curse’s balls had been, now sat the glistening folds of a newly added pussy. His still flaccid cock rested above the hole where one would normally expect to find the clitorus.

Kenjaku could feel the look of awe on his face, he hadn’t expected Mahito to get so creative with this. He supposed this was a perk of being so intimate with a curse like Mahito, even less reason for human expectations.

Hand trailing over from Mahito’s thigh, Kenjaku traced the wet folds of Mahito’s new pussy. The flesh sensitive if the small moan from Mahito was anything to go by. Kenjaku coated the tips of two fingers in the wet substance that was covering the area and brought it to his lips. The taste was similar to Mahito’s normal release, a taste he had grown fond of.

The sight of Mahito splayed out before him, legs open and eyes looking into his for approval, Kenjaku could already feel himself getting aroused. He had already stripped down, only wearing a soft pair of pants, but the loose material was already feeling too constricting.

Without warning, Kenjaku leaned down, taking Mahito’s soft cock into his mouth at the same time he pressed two fingers into Mahito’s leaky pussy. Mahito’s legs wrapped around Kenjaku’s shoulders as the new sensations washed over him, pleasure taking over his body quickly.

It didn’t take long for Mahito’s cock to grow harder in Kenjaku’s mouth. Bobbing his head, Kenjaku kept his pace the same as his fingers pumping in and out of Mahito. He could feel Mahito squeeze his fingers every time he sucked at the head of his cock. Even if the goal of this was to test how Mahito’s body reacted to new organs, he still took pleasure in seeing the powerful curse so overwhelmed with pleasure.

Mahito’s hands flew down, tangling in the dark hair near the bun on Kenjaku’s head. His mind was swimming, Kenjaku’s mouth always made him feel so good but he hadn’t expected this new hole to feel any different. The stretching feeling of having Kenjaku’s fingers inside him felt almost euphoric. Perhaps it was because the body part was new, but he felt so much more sensitive than usual.

The thighs around Kenjaku’s head squeezed as he pressed his lips to the base of Mahito’s cock, nose brushing against the curse’s pelvis. Swallowing around Mahito, he felt the curse’s body tremble with pleasure.

Kenjaku could feel how aroused Mahito was by the juice dripping down his chin. He hadn’t expected it to be such a turn on to feel Mahito’s arousal in so many different ways. Looking up he could see Mahito’s eyes were rolled back in pleasure, mouth open as he breathed like he was mid-fight.

That was enough observation for Kenjaku, licking a stripe up Mahito’s cock before sitting up. Mahito whined as Kenjaku pulled his fingers out, the curse not liking both pleasurable sensations leaving him at the same time.

Kenjaku lifted his fingers to his lips, pausing before changing his mind. Wet fingers now pressing up against Mahito’s whimpering lips, the curse opening his mouth quickly to suck them clean. Mahito desperately cleaned his own juices off of Kenjaku’s fingers, moaning around them as he ran his tongue up and down the fingers.

Using his other hand, Kenjaku pushed down the soft material of the pants he wore, freeing his cock. Quickly he lined himself up with Mahito’s pussy. Dragging the head of his cock through the folds before teasingly pressing the head inside slowly.

Mahito’s insides had never felt as warm as they did in this moment. Kenjaku wasn’t quite sure what Mahito had done to himself but the heat and pressure around his cock felt breathtaking. Shoving his fingers deeper into Mahito’s mouth, Kenjaku began fucking into the curse as Mahito sucked at his fingers.

It was much easier to fuck Mahito from this angle with his new organ placement, with him propped up on the pillows the position felt much more intimate. Mahito’s cock bouncing between their stomachs, leaking a mess onto both of them. Not as much of a mess as Mahito’s pussy though, Kenjaku could feel Mahito’s slick juices coating his balls and sticking to his thighs. He’d never seen Mahito so turned on.

The curse’s face was a mess as well, the fingers in his mouth causing him to drool down his chin. If Mahito could string together a cohesive thought, he would probably be wondering if he had given himself too many nerve endings. Without any clear direction on that, he’d just made his tight hole as sensitive as the head of his cock. Perhaps that’s why he felt so overwhelmed.

Clenching around Kenjaku’s cock, Mahito felt himself pushed too far, he was already so close. The fingers in his mouth slipped out, allowing the curse’s moans to echo off the walls.

Kenjaku leaned down, his tongue meeting Mahito’s in a sloppy, violent kiss. The warmth of having Kenjaku’s stomach trapping his cock against him was enough to make Mahito release, the sticky white fluid coating both of their chests. Kenjaku’s rough thrusts didn’t slow as Mahito’s pussy quivered around him, the motion enough to continue stimulating the cock trapped between their stomachs.

It was nearly impossible for Kenjaku to not fill Mahito up right then. The curse’s tight heat felt so good, like it was begging for him to stuff it full of his seed over and over until the curse bore fruit. Kenjaku bit Mahito’s lip, blood squirting into both of their mouths as he tried to hold out longer. While they could do this again, as many times as Kenjaku wanted, there was something about how lost in each other they both were that Kenjaku didn’t want to put an end to.

Pulling away from Mahito’s blood stained lips, Kenjaku took another look at the mess the curse had become. Gathering some of Mahito’s release on his fingers, Kenjaku shoved them into Mahito’s mouth. Blood, spit, and cum mixing in what he was sure was a strange flavor to the curse. Mahito didn’t complain though, sucking diligently at the fingers.

“You’re such a filthy curse, but you made this pussy just for me to fuck and it feels so good. You feel so good Mahito, I’m going to fuck you until you’re bursting at the seems with a child for me,” Kenjaku rambled as he fucked into the curse. He could feel his thrusts becoming less measured and more violent, every time he bottomed out it was like Mahito’s pussy was trying to keep him inside.

Mahito’s mouth opened, causing Kenjaku’s fingers to fall from his lips and settle on his shoulder, giving him more leverage to fuck into the curse. Something about Kenjaku’s words struck a chord inside Mahito, as if there was more meaning to them than he realized.

“Just for you~!” Mahito whimpered, Kenjaku’s words still echoing in his head. The curse hadn’t even fully realized he spoke until Kenjaku’s sharp thrusts pressed even deeper inside him. His words cut off by another choked moan leaving his lips.

The thought of Mahito, swollen with his child and still taking him like this pushed him over the edge. Kenjaku’s hips stuttered as he filled Mahito full of his seed, burying his cock in as far as he could go to keep from losing any.

Kenjaku didn’t pull out, though he knew he needed some time to recuperate, he kept his cock buried inside the curse. Reaching a hand down, he grabbed Mahito’s cock, still hard against his stomach despite getting off not long ago. Quickly Kenjaku stroked him, a squeal leaving Mahito’s throat as he hadn’t been expecting more stimulation. It only took a few pumps for Mahito to release again, filling Kenjaku’s hand with more of his juices.

Though their plans in Shibuya were fast approaching, Kenjaku didn’t mind spending a little extra time each day making sure he filled Mahito up first. It was going to be a long week for the curse.

#kenjaku #mahito #getomahi #kenmahi #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #getomahi smut #kenjaku smut #mahito smut

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galacticgraffiti · 1 year

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✧⭒・ Liberation ・⭒✧

!!! NSFW / 18+ / MINORS DNI !!!

Pairing: Elia Kane x f!reader Rating: Explicit (in short sequences) Wordcount: 3.7k Descriptors: I've tried to make the reader's physique as neutral as I could. Reader is described as having female reproductive anatomy. Reader works as a cleaner/spy (?) at the Amnesty compound. CW: moral conflict, obviously Elia is ex-empire, lusting after The Enemy™, exposition for smut with some explicit paragraphs containing vague-ish descriptions of wet dreams and female masturbation.

I try to make my Descriptions and Authors Notes as short, comprehensible and informative as possible. Please tell me if I missed anything or there is any problem!

Big thanks go out to my lovely beta readers @ulchabhangorm and @baba-fett who edited my first draft (I've got some surprises added in for you hehe). Kisses for you both for the help and encouragement. ♥

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦

༻༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻ ⋆✦⋆ ༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻༺

Liberation

Chapter 1: The Fall

You’d seen her around. Of course you had. She knows everything about everyone, just as she did back in the day. Or so they say: Elia Kane, right hand to Moff Gideon.

The thought makes you shudder. The fucking Empire, of all things. You should have hated her - and you did. By the gods, you did, even when that short cropped hair shone in the sun, and that smooth voice sounded across the courtyard. Even when her polite glances in your direction started to somehow feel more intent, and when you began to wonder if you were just imagining the sparkle in her eye when she passed you in the hallways of the compound.

In the beginning, she never noticed you. Why would she? You were but a nuisance in her existence - a human doing a job that droids could do better. Again and again, that had been the argument in the wide halls of the New Republic’s bureaus: Droids clean better than humans. Better than nearly any living creature.

And again and again, your boss had fired back: Droids let other things slide. Droids don’t understand behaviour the way we do. Droids won’t know what a messy bed means, crumpled sheets with sweat stains. Droids won’t care who sneaks into whose room after dark, who comes back smelling of spice and who comes back with the satisfied smirk of a lothcat who has had their cream. Droids don’t see glances and whispers the way we do, droids don’t pick up on the important subtleties of human behaviour.

“Employing people to sort through droid footage is less effective than just sending my cleaners in the first place.” That was the big argument. And up until now, it had always meant you kept your job. Your boss was very good at their job, and you were good at yours. You believed in the New Republic, and you believed you could do some good. Even if it was secretly babysitting former employees of the galactic Empire.

And so, you were here, cleaning the barracks of ex-imperials. Sorting through their dirty laundry, taking note of bathrooms that were too tidy or too untidy, of rumpled sheets that spoke of nightmares, of closets that contained things they weren’t supposed to. Walking about without arousing suspicion was your job.

You’d never liked the word “spy”. That made it sound like your work was way more important than you thought it was. What were these imperial fucks gonna do – play a game of Sabacc they were not supposed to? Gamble away their meagre belongings? Break out to get illegal glo-treats meant for children?

Some of them did. You’d watched them do it. Hells, you’d followed them more than once yourself. It fascinated you deeply, how their behaviour changed on and off the compound. But even if it was bad, nothing ever came of it. A few were stupid enough to get caught. Elia Kane never did.

You were indifferent to the small disobediences. Those were just part of human behaviour. In your eyes, it was more concerning if someone followed all the rules without question. After all, wasn’t that how the Empire had gotten into power in the first place? If sneaking out for sweets was the worst that these bastards did, you would count yourself lucky.

Elia wasn’t the worst of them - she was the perfect Amnesty Programme soldier, in fact. At least on the surface. Rule-obeying, glowing reviews from her weekly droid interviews. She knew just what to say and how to package it. And that made you suspicious as all hells. You’d brought it up to your boss, but they’d shrugged it off as nothing time and again. And still, the more you watched her, the surer you were that Elia Kane was up to something, and that that something was not just glo-treats and Thrandoshan Poker. What it was, you could not say. But you intended to find out.

On the next cleaning cycle, you called in some favours to get yourself assigned to Elia Kane’s room. Something had to be there, something that told you enough about her to know what was wrong. Why her eyes flicked over you a little too carelessly, why she raised her voice when she spied you across the yard as if to say: “I’m here. Look at me talking about the weather, because I have nothing to hide.”

Most of all, you hated what your friend and colleague had reiterated over and over again: That there might be nothing wrong with Elia Kane at all. That you were paranoid, or - and that was the worst part - that you were attracted to someone you despised.

And despise her you did. You despised the aura of being untouchable that still surrounded her even in this exile, the perfectly cropped hair, the cords of muscle that ran down her way too tan arms. Despised the air of arrogance that she carried even now that she had fallen so far. Despised the way she tipped her hat and greeted you every time like she knew exactly why you were here. She couldn’t know why you were here. To her, you were just the cleaner. And still, it seemed like her performance was that much more careful when she noticed you around.

Elia Kane had a secret. You were sure of it. And for the last few weeks you had been trying your very hardest to figure out what it was.

You’d found lots of small things: Red Biscuits from imperial travel packs, which were rare goods so many years after the fall of the Empire. Packets of Sabacc playing cards that were forbidden on the compound. A civilian shirt, but lots of imperials in the programme had those to work out in. You had even seen her wear it in the courtyard, doing pull ups. That sight had gotten to you. It was the first time you had seen her out of uniform, her usually neat hair so messy, strands in her face, and her cheeks reddened. You had told yourself to get on with your work, but somehow ended up cleaning the same spot of windowpane until Elia finished her set. You’d told yourself it was just a coincidence. And it was – next to her were a few other formerly high-ranking officers. You had to make sure they weren’t talking about things they were not supposed to be talking about!

That lie felt stale on your tongue even as you had told it to your friend. They had laughed in your face, and you’d thrown Mantell mix at them in revenge for their stupid ambiguous comments.

Your most, well, interesting find in Elia Kane’s room was a very old, battered magazine with some… spicy pictures that made your cheeks feel warm. The centre fold was faded from being touched so often. It showed a beautiful Twi’lek woman, her long lekku the only thing covering her body, her eyes focused on you with a dark intensity even after all these years since the magazine had come out. You had stared at the centre fold a little too long. Elia Kane did not seem like the kind of person who would have things like this. This magazine must have been against imperial regulations even back then. A small act of rebellion, then. The first hint of a real personality. You cherished that find because it gave Elia Kane a sense of humanity that you had missed up until then.

At night, the thought of what this magazine meant had bloomed in your mind, and it had sprouted in unwanted directions: The image of Elia Kane on her bed, the magazine opened next to her as she writhed underneath thin sheets had stuck in your head, and you hated it.

You hated that your mind remembered as you slid into bed alone, and you hated that the image followed you to your dreams. That those dreams had made you wake up breathing harshly, hot and sweaty, with an old familiar stickiness between your thighs. And you hated that you could not get the image that your brain had conjured out of your mind until you’d let yourself sneak your hand down to your pussy, dipping into the slickness of your arousal. Hated that it had been to the image of her glowing cheeks and cocky smirk that you came, and that you had to suppress a moan of her name.

You hated Elia Kane. And you knew her - gods, you knew more about her than you’d known about your last girlfriend. You knew the official statements, you knew her interviews and her job postings – imperial as well as the ones she now had – you knew what size clothes she wore, knew that she had remaining family members in the outer rim that no longer spoke to her. Knew which interplanetary holidays she celebrated and which ones she didn’t. And as much as you hated to admit it - she was interesting.

You kept telling yourself that, of course you were interested in a professional capacity. It was your job to be interested without being interesting. But when she greeted you in the hallway of the compound with that lopsided, knowing smirk, all you could feel was your cheeks heating up in a decidedly unprofessional manner.

This had been all the interaction you ever had with Elia Kane. Until today.

***

You are turning down the bed when she walks into her room - barely a warning, only a few second after you hear the beep of her keycard at the door. Not enough time to get out, just enough to turn to some vaguely inconspicuous activity.

She’s not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be at her current job posting.

“Hi there,” she says casually, her voice dry but friendly. She doesn’t seem surprised to see you.

“Hello.” Your voice cracks even in that one small word. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake in the schedule. I’m not meant to disturb the residents.”

There. Perfectly neutral, professional answer.

Her eyes burn into yours. You definitely don’t get goosebumps from the intensity of the stare. The open door must have let some cold air in. Elia Kane smiles at you.

“My apologies. I was not feeling well and got sent home early. You couldn’t have known. There is no need for you to be sorry. The mistake is all mine.” Her voice is smooth, the kind of smoky smoothness that makes you shiver.

Awkwardly, you pull the bedsheets into place to step back and away from her. You’re a professional. Elia’s eyes follow you intently.

“I’ll move on to the next room. I’m so sorry for the interruption.” Your voice is friendly but detached. It took you ages to perfect, but gods, was it worth it. Elia’s brows shoot up at your words.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, a little impatiently. “I’ve already admitted the mistake was mine. Finish your duties, I won’t be in your way.”

You don’t know if it’s the commanding air that surrounds her, or the opportunity to study her closer that makes you pick your work back up. You are not supposed to work with subjects around - in an unlikely situation like this, you are supposed to politely excuse yourself and resume your duties the next day.

Right now though, you are watching Elia Kane take a seat on the spacious chair in the corner of the room and, without any hurry or embarrassment, open a magazine she grabs from the drawer of the side table.

It’s not just a magazine, because of course it isn’t. The galaxy hates you, apparently. It’s the magazine, the one whose cover you recognise, the one whose contents you know all too well because they are etched into your mind.

The question whether she thinks this is appropriate reading in this situation dies on your tongue as you realise you cannot reveal that you know what kind of magazine this is. The cover picture is fairly inconspicuous at first glance. It’s always been neatly stashed away when you came in - never once a reason for you to have seen it except if you were going through her drawers. Which you had been, obviously.

Elia Kane suspects this, and you know that. You know that because if you were in her position, it’s what you would expect. But you cannot reveal that, cannot confirm that her suspicions are true. She is waiting for you to slip, and then she will eat you alive.

You realise you are still staring at her, when an amused smile plays around her full lips. She’s looking right back at you. Fuck.

You nod to yourself and sort out your thoughts. All the other rooms are done - only this one is left. You swear you can feel Elia watch you as you sweep the floors, shake out pillows and clean the windows. Yet, every time you look over at her, she seems deeply engrossed in her… magazine.

Minutes tick by, and you nearly sigh in relief when you are finally done, even though it’s not even been half an hour. You are good at all your work – not just the interesting part. You are detail-oriented and efficient. Your boss has always appreciated that.

“I’ve finished,” you announce, and turn to the door. Better to get out sooner than arouse even more suspicion, better to flee the scene that to dawdle and invite unwelcome questions. Within seconds, Elia is up from the chair, stepping in your way.

Your breath hitches as her presence fills your personal space.

“Let me help you with that,” Elia says calmly, her breath on your cheek as she leans forward to press the button that opens the door to her unit. You bite your tongue at her smell - surprisingly, she smells warm, a bit like the Coruscanti gardens. Not the sterile starched linen smell you’d always imagined.

You scold yourself for imagining anything at all.

“Thank you,” you manage to mutter before you hastily gather your cleaning utensils and flee the inviting narrowness of Elia Kane’s doorway.

“Until next week!” she calls after you, and it is only on your way home, squeezed on the speeder train between a large Nautolan and a furry mess whose species you don’t recognise, that those words fully register. Next week?

***

The next time you walk into Elia Kane’s unit is indeed exactly one week later. You are about halfway through cleaning – and snooping – when you hear the hiss of the door.

A mix of anxiety and relief floods you - you hadn’t been sure whether her words had been an odd reflex, a taunt, or an honest promise. Actually, you are still quite unsure.

“Hi there.” Her voice is softer this time around. Maybe you did catch her by surprise last week after all. Compared to the relaxed calm that emanates from her this time around, last week’s encounter suddenly seems tenser than it used to in your memory.

“You’re back.” Your voice sounds carefully neutral. “Not feeling well again?”

“Bad headache,” she offers and flops down onto the bed. Her neat hair fans out in short wisps around her like a halo, even though you know she is as far from a saint as you can get. You know that. Right hand to Moff Gideon. Maybe if you repeat those words in your mind often enough, this… infatuation will fade, and the disgust will take over again.

But as she lays there, inspite of her quite impressive physique, she suddenly looks rather small and fragile. Like a discarded toy.

“Ah.” You hesitate. Professional. Polite. “Would you prefer to be alone?”

Her head turns towards you nearly imperceptibly.

“No,” she sighs. “You don’t disturb me. I find you quite calming.”

Her words poke at your heart. Surely, she’s making fun of you. She must be. You have been called many things – positive and negative alike, by subjects and colleagues and ex-girlfriends. Calming has never really been among the number one descriptors.

“Hm,” you finally answer non-committedly and turn back to your task at hand. You clean the room as quietly as you can, careful not to disturb her. That’s what a good, professional cleaner would do. You tell yourself that it has nothing to do with the way that her dark hair looks so stark against the sand-coloured pillow casing that her face seems pale and her cheeks a little hollow. That the way she curls up like a lothcat doesn’t tug on your heart.

She shivers in her sleep, and when you notice, you gently pull up the freshly washed blanket to cover her. Elia mumbles some indistinct words before settling down again. She snores a little. Somehow, that makes her feel more real than she ever has before. Elia Kane reads dirty magazines and snores in her sleep. A droid would never find that important. Maybe you should not either – these are not things you should know, if you are being honest with yourself.

Your mind entrapped in your little moral dilemma, you finish up your remaining tasks mindlessly, but no less thorough than usual.

When all is done, you wager one last look at her. Elia Kane is still asleep on her bed, her chest rising with deep, steady breaths beneath the thin blanket. What strange interactions you two have had lately. She looks so peaceful that you can’t help but try to shush the door as it hisses open.

There is a stir, then a voice comes quietly, raspy with sleep.

“See you next week.”

This time you know she means it.

***

Weeks pass like this. You should report it, but you don’t really want to. You are so close to building something that might be enough that she lets something slip - or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Deep down, you stopped believing that long ago. Every little thing you learn about Elia makes her more interesting: You learn that she has never been to a holovid showing, that she likes tea better than caf, that she actually does read quite a bit – the compound has an extensive pre-approved library. You don’t talk about her past.

Superficial chatter about the weather and about the programme turn into longer conversations while you clean. She comes back every week, her excuse always a headache or migraine. If she’s lying, she is a very good liar indeed. As long as her workplace doesn’t care, you don’t either. Sometimes she just sleeps, but mostly, she sits in her comfortable chair and talks while you work. She doesn’t pick up the dirty magazine again, and you wonder if it was a test that you somehow passed.

Life on Coruscant is another innocuous subject of conversation. It’s very different from any other planet you have ever lived or even visited. No rhythm like there is with most planets that have day and night cycles. Everything is open, always. Traffic does not slow down at night. And there are no plants in the wild anywhere, a fact that still befuddles you. It feels unnatural – and you guess it is. Coruscant is the most artificial planet in the whole galaxy. Elia agrees with you, and you land on how you both miss the smell of real flowers here on Coruscant.

“It truly baffled me when I first came here,” you admit, scrubbing down the mirror next to the door. Elia looks at you in the reflection when you go on, a small smile on her face. “I had never been to a planet this tightly populated, nevermind the astounding lack of flora and fauna. It was quite the culture shock. I think every minute I didn’t spend working in the first few months, I spent in the Coruscanti gardens. There are a few parks and gardens across the planet. I’m very lucky to live close to one. It helped me feel at home. The air bubbles around them help keep the fresh air contained. I thought the gardens would be busy, but it seems not everyone has the same intense desire after fresh air that I do. It’s beautiful there, even if there is artifice and design in the way things grow. I still appreciate the effort.”

Elia’s teeth are bared when her smile widens.

“You know,” she says casually but carefully, “we’re allowed to leave the compound if it’s in the company of a vetted person who is not part of the programme. They only just introduced the law. It’s supposed to help us reintegrate into galactic society.”

The implications of her statement hang heavy in the air for a second before you gain back your countenance. You turn away from the mirror to look at her, your arms crossed as you ponder a reasonably neutral answer.

“Oh, really? That sounds like a lovely idea.” Ugh. Basic. But you don’t want to agree to something you aren’t sure is the truth. Maybe she is just trying to use you. “I bet that will help very much with integration. Sometimes, those pencil-pushers do have good ideas.”

There. A vague slap on the New Republics wrist to make her feel more comfortable. Gods, you are good at what you do.

Elia looks at you, her smile a little emptier now. She seems quietly disappointed and for a second, you despise yourself for always assuming the worst of people. Moff Gideon’s right hand. Right. Right. She is the worst of people.

Or at least, she used to be.

When you look up the new law on your holopad later that night, sure enough, it appears that Elia told the truth. Huh. Who would have thought.

Something tugs at you, and that night, you turn and turn in bed until you give in to the impulse. You call your boss. And the following week, you have a surprise for Elia Kane.

༻༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻ ⋆✦⋆ ༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻༺

>>> Next Chapter

HELLO MY DARLINGS i hope y'all are still here i know it's been a WHILE. elia tickled my brain just the right way to have some Ideas, so here you go!

@cyarbika @deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @lady--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @kik51199 @sharpbarnacle @obeydontstray @rain-on-kamino @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @snakerune @shadesofshatteredblue @100lxtters @damerondala @tachyon-girl @rintheemolion @pickleprickle @mando-amando

#elia kane #elia kane x reader #elia kane x you #elia kane x f!reader #star wars #star wars smut #wlw smut #sapphic smut #galawrites #gala being gay 🏳️‍🌈

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orionsangel86 · 11 months

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What do you think sex means for an entity like Morpheus? Even between us humans it means different things for different people

Thats an interesting question. Probably not one anyone but Morpheus himself could answer. As you said it means different things for different people. Sometimes sex is just a primal desire for carnal pleasure, sometimes its about developing a deeper connection, sometimes its about "love making" with someone you are intimately connected to, sometimes its simply an act for reproductive purposes.

From a human perspective it is very difficult to imagine sex and sexual intimacy from the view point of different beings. We are still only in the very early stages of understanding the importance of sex among other animals on Earth outside of just reproduction, and we know that some animals also have sex for pleasure or for intimacy bonding.

Morpheus, like all of the Endless, is a creature that exist so far outside of anything that we can truly understand. They are anthropomorphic personifications of concepts. What is sex to a dream? When a dream is such a loose concept in itself - dreams and wishes, and midnight sleeping hallucinations created by the unconscious mind... that sex is often a part of, sometimes in insanely bizarre and disturbing ways. Dreams and sex kinda go hand in hand, and Morpheus IS Dream, sooooo... sex is probably quite important to him in lots of ways...

Okay maybe I went a bit too deep there for a moment lol. Lets tackle this on a smaller scale. We know from the comics that Morpheus, as a human shaped creature, has sex. We know he has taken many lovers, only some of which we ever actually learn about. We know he has the ability to reproduce, since he has a son. We know he has human genitals (thank you Sandman: Overture for the full frontal nudity) and that as a male shaped being he prefers to take lovers of a female shape (though juries still out on what exactly happened between him and Lucifer with his smooth Ken-doll groin).

We know from Calliope's rather inappropiate speech at the Wake that not only did they have plenty of sex, that he was very very good at it, enough for Calliope to feel completely consumed by their passion. We know he enjoyed sex with Nada so much that he projected their love making to the entire collective unconscious at the time (one hell of a leaked sex tape there!) so not only is he an excellent lover who is very good at sex, he also clearly enjoys it himself if he can lose control that much from it.

I am hesitant to say that he only has sex with people he loves, though it does seem rather consistent, other than perhaps the situation with Titania which we never learn anything more about - the Audible audiobook briefly elaborates and has Morpheus and Titania very briefly mention that they slept together and it appears to be something they both think of fondly but certainly aren't in love so I wonder if Titania was just a casual fling? Otherwise I doubt they'd still be on good terms! (It's funny how fandom jokes that he commissioned a Midsummer Nights Dream as a way to insult Titania but in the actual comic this totally is not the case, he commissioned it to honour her and her people. Whatever happened between Titania and Morpheus, it did not end on bad terms.) So because of that, I can't really say that he only ever has sex with people he is deeply in love with.

Honestly I reckon that since he was created by a cishet allosexual man he was written with the sexual appetite of a cishet allosexual man. He probably isn't demi or ace and he probably isn't meant to be queer (though arguably a creature such as he could never be shoved into such a limited box as "heterosexual").

Note: I don't even want to attempt to get into the various "aspects" of Dream where there is a version of Dream for every living thing that dreams in the universe and therefore have to contemplate whether Dream has also had love affairs with creatures of all different types outside of regular human shaped female creatures though I am very curious to see if the King of Cats ever took a female cat lover (i mean honestly if regular Dream was totally cool flirting with Lady Bast...) in which case we can also argue that fem!Dream takes lovers, weird robot alien Dream takes lovers, Martian flaming head Dream takes lovers and so on and so forth.

There is also the interesting dynamic between Dream and his sibling Desire, because sex is what Desire is all about, and sex technically falls under their remit - hence the many many falling outs and tensions between them where Desire appears to be the principle instigator of Dreams romantic woes. I think that for this reason, Dream probably represses his desires for sex (and love) as much as possible, and if he were on better terms with his sibling, would probably seek out sex and romance more often than he does - Thessaly being an outlier because I fully believe he pursued her as an attempt at self sabotage as an awful rebound affair following the situation where he had to face his romantic failings with Nada, Calliope, and Alianora in short succession.

In some attempt at a conclusion: what does sex mean for Morpheus? Well, its something he likes, is good at, and if given the choice would probably like to have more of it, preferably with someone he is in love with who loves him in return, given his romantic inclinations. At the same time, bearing in mind who and what he is, there is probably nothing that even the absolutely filthiest of kinksters could come up with that would surprise him, nothing that he hasn't seen or used in some way to create the most bizarre sex dreams possible, and nothing that would shock or disturb him (it's not like he ever blinked an eye even on his trips to Hell). Though whether or not that means he is into kinky shit well, the only indication of his preferences we can conclude is that he likes strong confident women who can talk back to him, and impress him and treat him as equals rather than the powerful creature he is. So maybe he's secretly a sub? :P

#the sandman #sandman meta #dream of the endless #morpheus #the sandman analysis #the sandman comics #asks

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daylightdabbles · 4 months

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Teyvat Omegaverse AU - Biology

With the help of @biscuit-babbles, I have developed a set of headcanons for what an omegaverse AU in Genshin Impact might look like. This post is about the biology of omegas vs alphas vs betas, but I will also write about how different nations interact with this. This is NSFW, mostly because it discuses reproduction alongside other traits. NSFW Minors do not interact

Humans are the only species to have subsexs. While other species exist that look similar to humans, such as Liyue's Yaksha and Inazuma's Tengu with their ability to take on human form, they do not have the subsexs. Hybrid species, such as the Kätzlein Clan in Mondstadt, do have subsexes which provides insight on their genetic history. Often times, though, non-human species tend to be 'assigned' a subsex based on their behavior by humans, especially when they live in close proximity to each other.

In Teyvat, beyond the primary sex of a person (female, male, intersex, eta), a human is also born with a subsex. This subsex, also known as a secondary sex, is independent of a person's primary sex and can be either alpha, beta or omega. While the subsex is assigned at birth, the differences between them show up around the time of puberty.

Any combination of primary and secondary sex can exist. It is important to note that reproductive traits are determined by the sub sex rather than the primary. While primary sex has more noticeable effects on a person's body, they are not indicative of a person's subsex or their ability to impregnate or carry offspring. It is unknown currently why there exists both a primary and secondary sex in humans, considering most species only exabit a primary sex.

Traits of Subsexs

Alphas

Alphas are considered the more dominant subsex by most cultures in Teyvat. This does not mean that they are viewed as on a higher level in the social hierarchy though, as places like Sumeru and Fontaine actually value betas more than alphas. Alphas are often viewed as the counterpart of omegas. Alphas make up around 30% of any given population.

Alphas do produce phenomes, but it is on the level akin to betas. They can produce basic pheromones that can denote identity or some high intensity emotions, such as rage. Due to their enhanced sense of smell, alphas have an easier time identifying different emotional states in others, especially omegas who have a wide range of pheromones. This is what tends to push alphas to leadership or mediator positions as they tend to have an easier time reading people's intentions and emotions.

Alphas have an enhanced sense of smell compared to betas and omegas outside of heat. Alphas are able to pick up subtle scents and even have the ability to 'track' akin to canine species. Some alphas are even recorded to be able to pick up scents hounds can't, however this tends to be detrimental to these alpha's social lives and is considered unusual.

This subsex also is noted for being able to put on muscle mass and have increased stamina compared to betas and omegas. While alphas are not inherently stronger, alphas do have an easier time than other subsexs reaching higher levels of strength and endurance. Conversely, they can gain weight easier than other subsexs. Most alphas also tend to 'wander' more than betas or alphas, often travelling to other places or feel the need to 'stretch their legs'.

Alphas are mostly noted for being territorial over people they consider part of their 'pack', which is used here to describe the groups of people they are close to via familiar, platonic or romantic bonds. They tend to show more protective behaviors and often have shorter tempers when they feel like their pack is 'threatened.' There is evidence that alphas are predisposition to have a stronger fight or flight response, with a heavy leaning towards the fight response.

This subsex has a lot of traits that lead to the 'Roaming Alpha Theory'. Alphas have a lot of traits that would support them or encourage them to leave their pack of origin to join or create a different pack. This would have increased gene flow between groups of humans, ensuring healthy genetic variation with separate populations. With the ability to 'track' down different groups and ability to gain muscle mass or fat, alphas would be well equipped to survive outside of a group setting for a bit. The territorialness could help with creating a pack and the ability to interpreted pheromones could help maintain the pack overtime.

Alphas, regardless of primary sex, have the ability to impregnate. Alphas are born with a penis and testes, however the rest of their body is determined by their primary sex. Female alphas lack a vagina but still retain breast tissue. However, this breast tissue lacks memory glands, seeming to serve no purpose for feeding offspring. This supports the theory that alphas, and subsexs in general, are an offshoot of when humans were only betas.

'Rut' is a term used for the hormonal response to the pheromones released by an omega who is unrelated to them and is in heat. It is a state of increased sex drive and heightened release of oxytocin when performing bonding acts with others. It is estimated to take about 8-12 hours around an omega in heat for an alpha to enter rut, with about 4 hours to exit rut after being removed from the pheromone stimuli.

In 'rut', alphas often take care of their omega partners as alphas don't experience the same level of hormones in rut as omegas do in heat. They also experience a positive feedback loop with omega pheromone during this time, though outside of rut and heat, alphas are impacted by omega phenomes to a lesser degree. When alpha's react to an omega's pheromones, the change in behavior triggers an increased hormonal response in the omega, which releases more pheromones. This can be a really pleasant time for both the omega and the alpha, but also can be traumatizing if forced.

Betas

Betas are the considered the more flexible of the subsex. They are often considered to be a blend of alpha and omega traits, despite evidence suggesting omegas and alphas appeared later in human evolutionary history than betas. Often viewed as more rational due to not being affected by pheromones, betas make up 60% of the human population.

Betas can smell pheromones but are unable to understand the nuances of omega pheromones nor able to pick up on pheromones except those released by very strong emotional responses. Like alphas, betas produce pheromones but only ones that denote individual identity and with strong emotions. They have an average sense of smell and are unable to track like alphas, but also aren't prone towards experiencing any discomfort around strong scents like vinegar.They can still pick up on personal identifying scents when physically close to someone.

Betas are considered the most resilient of the subsexs as they do not have to deal with the complexities of alpha and omega traits, such as not being rendered overstimulated by pheromones or not having cold sensitivity. Their lack of response to pheromones and other hormone based phenomenons, leave them more flexible in biological and social roles. Their scents are also more stable, which is appealing to the scent sensitive alpha, and their lack of response to pheromones appeals to omegas due to beta's not potentially overwhelming them during heat.

Betas are the most common subsex. Unlike with alphas and omegas, their reproductive traits are associated with their primary sex, with female betas being able to bear offspring and male betas being able to impregnate. This does not impact their compatibility with omegas or alphas. Betas do not experience rut or heat periods.

Omegas

Omegas, making up 10% of the population, are viewed as the submissive subsex by most cultures. Considered the counterpart to alphas, omegas are noted for their fertility, complex pheromones and being the most impacted physically by their subsex.

Omegas have a heightened sense of touch. This leads to them being sensitive to textures, often requiring clothes specially designed for the individual omega to be worn comfortably. This comes into play during 'nesting', which will be discussed later on. It also means omegas are more affected by touch, often experiencing heighted positive emotions with friendly touch and heightened negative responses to harmful touch. Most omegas enjoy touching their friends, family and loved ones, often doing things like hugging them or seeking physical affection more often for comfort than other forms of affection.

Omegas are cold sensitive, getting cold easier than other subsexs. It was theorized that this is a trait that evolved to encourage omegas to stay in packs, seeking warmth. This also connected to their large 'nests', or spaces filled with textures appealing to the omega and is a place the omega feels secure in.

Interestingly, omegas themselves lack a scent associated with their individual identity. Instead, omegas 'adopt' the scent of the area they feel comfortable in or consider home, often times where they live or grew up. This leads to omegas having scents more related to location, such as an omega from Mondstadt have notes of windwheel asters in their scent, or people they are very close to, such as having elements of their partner's scent in their own scent. It is theorized to be something meant to help figure out which pack an omega is apart of, or if the omega already has a partner/partners so other alphas don't attempt to court the omega.

Omegas also have a wide range of pheromones that they release subconsciously. Unlike alphas or betas, omegas don't just release pheromones when experiencing intense emotions and instead have pheromones related to a wide variety of emotions. This tends to get omegas stereotyped as 'emotional' because alphas can pick up on the nuances of their scent (though some betas have been able to pick up the nuances as well).

Omegas have a standard sense of smell, akin to betas. They can also smell identifying scents but have to be physically close to catch it, similarly to how betas can only pick up an identifying scent when hugging someone. There is an exception to this, however. When an omega is in 'heat', or a period when the omega is ovulating and is experiencing an intense amount of hormones, omegas will experience a heightened sense of smell to the point they can pick up on scents meant to denote an indvidual's identity from clothes they wore or things scented, akin to the level of an alpha.

Roughly once every 3 months, an adult omega will enter a period of time called 'heat'. It can last anywhere from 3- 5 days and is a period of time where the omega is experiencing an intense rush of hormones, influencing their behavior. This is also when an omega is ovulating, with 1 - 2 ova commonly being released. During this time, an omega experiences heightened sensitivity to stimuli, heightened sense of smell, increased sexual drive and need for companionship. Omegas also tend to experience 'brain fog' during this time and have difficulty completing certain tasks, meaning prep work is required for a safe heat, alongside an attentive partner. This likely is what caused the 'nesting' instinct to develop in omegas.

'Nesting' refers to the set of behaviors omegas do to create a nest. Nesting usually happens when an omega is approaching heat, but often times its maintenance work as omegas tend to have an established nest year-round. It involves the gathering of materials to create a large 'bed', usually using things that smell like people they are close to and/or are a pleasant texture to the omega. It also involves gathering food and other supplies. Omegas also tend to withdraw a bit when nearing their heat, seeking warm and comfortable places instead.

Omegas are the subsex most effected by their subsex, which has led to the stereotype of them being 'delicate' or 'needing to be protected.' Beyond having difficulties in colder environments and their heats, omegas are just as capable as other subsexs.

Another interesting facet of an omega's heat is the difference in response to individuals around them. While heat can be overwhelming, impacting an omegas ability and in some cases ability to process surroundings due to increased sensitivity to smells, touch and hormones, that doesn't mean omegas are only acting on instinct. If taken care of by a family member or someone the omega isn't interested in sexually, omegas will experience a decrease in their sex drive during heat. This usually leads to increased playfulness, cuddling and sensory activities. This phenomenon is often referred to as a 'warmth' and can even happen instead of a heat due to high levels of stress.

While alphas are territorial over people, omegas are territorial over areas. This usually is just the area that their nest is, usually their homes, but some omegas will claim larger areas. There have been records of omegas claiming whole villages as 'theirs', fiercely guarding the area and the inhabitants from threats. This also tends to make omegas less likely to move, often becoming very attached to their dwellings. Omegas in heat are especially territorial as they are vulnerable while in heat.

Regardless of primary sex, omegas are able to carry offspring. Omegas are born with a vagina and uterus. Male omega, while having a seemingly flat chest, do have mammary glands. These glands grow when the male omega is pregnant as to feed their offspring. Since having twins is not uncommon for omegas, and they heal faster after childbirth than omegas, it is possible their relative rarity as a subsex is meant to ensure there aren't large population booms. It is theorized omegas, and by extension subsexs, evolved in order to combat high mortaility rates due to how dangerous Teyvat is. It isn't uncommon for someone to die due to Teyvat's environment or creatures, so humans evolved ways to make up for this.

#omegaverse #omegaverse headcanons #a/b/o #a/b/o au #genshin x reader #genshin smut #smut #tagging for blocking and such #teyvat omegaverse AU

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