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hier--soir · 6 months

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a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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lynnlovesthestars · 2 months

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Could I request headcanons for Harleep, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with kind and patient gn s/o? This is quite self-indulgent of me because I have been told I'm too nice & so patient so I'm curious how they would react XD

first of all sorry for being so late, but my small brain has to process things multiple times to make sense, so i wrote this like... 5 times? So it takes me a while, but i hope that waiting was worth it.

Also i saw you sent a second ask to see if i recieved this one, so ill put dammon and rolan there cause this is starting to get a bit long:3<3 thank you so much for your patience!:3

Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird

Headcanon: BG3 men with kind and patient s/o. (pt. 1)

Zevlor:

Zevlor is emotionally a wreck already, he considers kindness a virtue and it definitely makes him swoon when he notices you put extra care in making sure he's treated with kindness. At the end of the day, he basically got bullied on all fronts when all he really wants is to prove himself worthy of the title he carried for so long.

Zevlor has a short temper too, and he appreciates so much your effort and patience in dealing with his outbursts, whether they are of rage- not towards you of course- or of sadness, you offer always a shoulder for him and he cherishes it so much.

He is lowkey jealous when he notices that your kindness is not mostly exclusive to him, he has learned that people can abuse one's patience and care, and 1. he doesn't want you to get hurt, 2. he wishes your kindness was maybe reserved to him. Call him selfish, but after being deprived of it for so long, he is hesitant to let go of it.

Astarion:

Initially he would be very wary, in his experience being nice always lead to him getting hurt, so why would he trust someone who's default reply is kindness? At the end of the day the last time someone was '''''kind''''' to him, he was turned in a vampire spawn, so he takes it extra slow, he has just regained control over himself, he won't blindly accept kindness. He's lowkey afraid you are just part of a bigger scheme that will bite him in the ass and leave him shackled and caged again.

Once he gets accustomed to your kindness and finally accepts it, he revels in the kindness you offer and your patience, especially the smallest gestures like opening a door for him. He will literally melt for it, he's already smitten, your kindness leaves him like mush in your hands.

Nevetheless every good side, comes with a negative one. He is dead afraid your kindness will bring you to get hurt. He often reminds you to be weary and keep all your kindness for people you trust (HIM), rather than going around and helping every lost soul that asks for help. He will fight you on this a few times- especially if you do get hurt or it is obvious you are about to- he will not bite his tongue and keep it for himself, and that's one of the moments when he's glad you are patient.

You understand where it comes from and you try your best to find a solution that would make both happy. Your patience of course doesn't stop there, he knows he's an handful: he carries an heavy trauma baggage and he has a feisty personality, yet you always show him you don't mind, that you are there for him and that he can take all the time of the universe to sort his problems out.

Wyll:

Wyll would find it so endearing, how you are ready to go to someone's aid, you stop on your tracks to support someone in need, and he would love seeing you being kind to everyone. It's probably one of the reasons why he falls in love with you. Unlike Astarion he encourages you to be kind to everyone, cause he considers it a virtue, he incourages you to be the best version of yourself, and he reminds you that if you do get hurt, he will be there to pick up the pieces.

As far as patience goes, he's grateful to the moon and back, he knows he is an handful, especially if he doesn't break his pact with Mizora and has to leave more times than ever. He makes sure once he's back though that he makes up for lost time, whether it is with gifts or by taking care of you.

Haarlep:

Harleep is so used to Raphael that honestly he's taken aback at first, living in the hells means that kindness is hard to come by and around Raphael? It's either a trick or a miracle, so he brushes it off, not repelled like Astarion would, but definitely not eager like Wyll either.. he would be probably the one that takes it as it is, just.. that. But when he gets used to it? He becomes unsufferable. So unsufferable that he goes around demanding Raphael to be treated with kindness and patience! He purrs whenever you are nice even the smallest, thanking you and praising you like a goddess. He even tries to be nice himself- to you only- and despite it has to be and effort, since he has never been exposed to much kindness, he does become a little more mindful, even asking before taking your form or just with small acts of services.

One time Rapahel makes sure to send a message to you through him. "Tav, Raphael asked you stop being nice to me, cause if i demand it from him as well, he's going to turn me into fertilizer", message delivered with a pout that begs exactly the opposite.

Harleep is another that is deeply afraid of your kindness. Let's be real, you can defend yourself as much as you want, but people tend to use people and your kindness is one of those characteristics evil people would pry on- he knows well since its literally part of what he does, and a facet of what Raphael does as well. He probably scolds you a lot for this reason, he does it in a sweet way- don't get me wrong- he sugarcoats the shit out of it, but he will let you know when you are about to get in peril or you are too careless with your kindness.

Gale:

Gale is touched by your kindness, already from the first days after meeting him.

You had helped him out of his blotched portal, you fed him artifacts, you didn't question his secrets or push him to reveal anything, and he doesn't give that for granted. Once he's closer to you, and he learns that you are unconditionally kind to everyone, he's scared.

He starts warning you to be a little less nice, to use your judgement before you blindly trust a stranger, but he doesn't push it past a warning. As much as he wants to protect you, he doesn't want to take away your chance to grow from your errors.

In matter of your patience he's so grateful, he spends days thanking you when he's still afflicted with the orb condition, he cooks as a form of apology or thanks depending what he did, he gets baths started for you, he's treating you as a queen/ king. He alread would do it, but with you? He's even more protective, he almost feels like he has to match your kindness and patience with as much attentions he can muster.

Halsin:

Halsin is a fair man you think he wishes everyone was kind, but he actually wants you to be fair, he wants you to be mindful of who you give kindness to, he wants you to be a reasonable judge rather than unconditionally nice cause it is the way of the nature as well. Nature is not only nurturing and lush, it's also the poisonous vipers and herbs.

Does he appreciate when you are kind? Absolutely, he thinks it's the best gift Silvanus has ever bestowed him, but it doesn't take away the fact that he wants you to be treated kindly as well, so the moment someone crosses the line and starts abusing your kindness or becomes rude, he's definitely stepping in to s h a m e the other person. "You are lucky you have met Tav, cause they are kind, but nature wouldn't be so understanding and patient" He says it with a rage you rarely see in his eyes.

He will do his best to remind you to surely practice kindness but also to be mindful who you help and who you are kind to, cause there's always rotten that can harm you, and lowkey if you get hurt he will invite you to take back what you gave.

Despite this Halsin considers kindness the bare minimum a person should be, and what stops him from encouraging you to be kinder, its just the knowledge that you might get hurt.

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mooishbeam · 10 months

Text

『♡』 Obey Me

♡ featuring: kaeya x f!reader

♡ summary: you learn your lesson for disrespecting the calvary captain wc: 4.1k+ (i am so sorry)

♡ cw/tw: wax play, humiliation, degradation, sex toys, dacryphilia, rough sex, hard dom, overstim, orgasm torture, edging, bondage, squirting, pet play if you squint, kaeya is kind of an asshole, pet names (dove, pretty girl, sweetie)

notes: idk how the word count did that I'm too silly. feral kaeya does something to me tbh. n e way I promise a shorter one next time hehe. art by ttalby_ on ig <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Kaeya isn’t used to feeling like this.

The interesting days of tasks and adventitious missions superseded his need for activities outside of the Knights of Favonius. He often stumbled—more so, needlessly interjected—into petty situations. He lived for theatrics, an audience to indulge emotion and intimacy in its most vulnerable state. A man who solves the problems of the public before his own knew neither authentic nor genuine connection. Kaeya was well aware of how easily he made hearts swoon, with a silver tongue and attractive timbre, a mask imperceptible. When you arrived as an apprentice for the 6th Company, he assumed you’d be just as easy, just as captivated. You were anything but. You barely acknowledged his existence for the first year, and he’d be wrong to say your lack of dalliance didn’t chip away at his self-esteem.

Something egotistical in him wanted your attention. Romantic prospects were dispensable to him, but you had to know who he was. After all, who doesn’t love the Calvary Captain?

Just for fun he told himself, as you became the first person to turn him flushed and sow seeds of doubt surrounding love in his heart. Kaeya finally managed to achieve your regard and all you asked for was his name. The audacity of you, to ask the captain who he is? He nearly busted out laughing. He gently held your hand and kneeled to kiss it, maintaining eye contact throughout.

“Kaeya, my dear.”

You were surprised to find him waiting for you outside the headquarters one day, handsome navy strands haloed in confidence, a delicate flower and perfumed letter in hand. Kaeya watched you read it in silence, his poem dedicated to you, requesting a date. You couldn’t help but smile at his charm, despite his sweaty palms as he awaited your answer. An accumulation of the little things; the bouquet of roses he bought you weekly, so you’d always have a fresh one, making sure you were always hydrated, his ability to make you laugh in trying times. You were both full of adoration, though he wouldn’t admit how invested he was. The only person who glimpsed the truth was Diluc. Kaeya rambled in his drunken stupor at the tavern, and Diluc sighed at the overdramatic sonnet. “My heart beats for her like no other. Will this be my fate? My Greek tragedy?” he mumbled through hiccups.

As your relationship blossomed, work withered. An emerging problem reared its ugly head. Your assignments consumed your daily life and dwindled the moments spent with Kaeya. In the beginning stages of dating he understood, exuding nothing but patience and encouraging words. He didn’t expect you to drop work for him, and he was willing to accommodate the hectic schedule. Romantic gestures were limited to light caresses or kisses, clandestine sessions in abandoned alleyways. Frequent dates reduced to a couple a week, then a month, then none. The worst instances were when you assured Kaeya you’d arrive, only to call him a couple hours later with a tired apology, still stuck at your office. You promised him you’d make time for yourself and practice self-care, but it was evident you weren’t listening to his advice. You were no stranger to quickies, kindly offering them to Kaeya if he ever needed “destressing”. But the captain was never a fan of rushed affairs. He wanted desperately to share extended time with you, and you had none to give. It became easier to lie than to admit how overworked you were.

Kaeya didn’t come to headquarters today, but you recall the conversation from the previous night.

“Mm, I’m missing my little dove. Think you can come see me?” he said, tilting your chin up to meet his loving gaze.

“Of course. I don’t have a lot of work tomorrow so I should be done early.”

“Great. I’ll make dinner for us. Be at my place by 8, okay?” You agreed to the timeframe.

Now that you’re comprehending the incomplete documents strewn across your desk, you regret your conviction. You shouldered the weight of everyone in your division. It’s getting close to the date, and you’ve barely scratched the surface. You fumble for concentration, anchoring down to finish the rest of the list. You make haste and shove the papers at Hertha. I still have time to get there you thought. Glancing up at the clock as you dart out the building, your eyes widen at what it reads. 10:15 pm.

Fuck. You’re running now, skirt bouncing and bag rustling, navigating busy streets with an uneasy mind. Once again you promised, and once again you broke it. How could you be so careless? You catch your breath when your hand contacts the door. You relax before giving a few light knocks. The door swings open.

Kaeya’s hair is free from its usual constraints, draping down his back and shoulders, wispy bangs hugging his sharp features. He’s clearly pissed reclining against the doorframe. He stares at you with his arms folded in front of the parted button down that peaks into the muscular, scarred chest underneath.

“Kaeya, I-”

“Get inside.” He turns and walks to the kitchen. You follow him inside and take note of the cold portion of a beautiful plate—presumably your meal—sitting on the table. He swishes the nearly finished red wine before taking a sip. You search aimlessly for an acceptable excuse while he leans against the table with his hand, glass in the other, eyes trained to the floor. Each second of silence simmering makes your stomach knot tighter, and he lets you stand uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, I... There were a few roads closed in the area. I had to take a different route.” you fib. He gazes at you, panning up and down before forcing a sarcastic smile.

“How unfortunate. Are these the same roads that made you three hours late?" His jaw tightens.

“It was pretty busy today-”

“I’m feeling generous tonight, so I'll give you one more chance to be honest.”

You sighed. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a lot of work lately. It’s not fair to you to deal with my problems.” He scoffs deeply, downing the rest of the glass and sets it on the table.

“If this isn’t working for you, I understand.”

“Oh? Are you suggesting a separation? Not even the gall to try and make it up to me?” he sneers.

“You’re handsome and people like you. It’s not hard to find other options.”

“If it’s not hard, why is the one thing I truly desire so difficult to hold? A petal drifting unpredictable wind, too quick to grasp.” He starts stalking towards you, relaxed but seemingly irritated. The contrast between his words and actions unnerves you.

“How many times must I tell you to take care of yourself, to not let them walk over you, to come to me if you need help?” He gets to you and snakes his calloused hand behind your neck, a firm grip. Yearning lips are inches from yours, his hair tickles your eyelashes.

“Why can’t you just listen to me, (Y/N)? Hmm?” He’s lenient, but you feel a shiver up your back and heat pooling in your stomach, nonetheless.

“I’ll try harder. I promise.” you say, barely above a whisper. The pad of his thumb swirls your cheek.

“I won’t entertain promises. Show me your dedication.”

“What do I do to prove it?” A sadistic grin grows across his face, and lips graze your ear, sultry voice coiling around the shell. Your breath stalls.

“Tonight, I’ll eat you up slowly-” Kaeya peppers soft kisses between the words against your jaw. “-savoring every. Little. Bite.” He trails down to your neck. You're melting in his hold, grabbing his robust arms for anything to stabilize you. "And when I’m picking you apart, and there’s tears in your eyes and you’re begging and you can’t take it anymore-” He drinks up your anticipation, an amused chuckle from the shudder prickling your skin.

“-you’ll sit there and obey me until I'm done. Like a good pet.”

You’re stripped of everything besides your underwear in front of the restlessly eager man. Standing in the center of this candlelit room, you feel miles away from him as he sits fully clothed on the edge of the bed. He’s lax, legs spread with a nonchalant posture; they invite you to kneel between them. Sex with Kaeya was never like this. Though infrequent, your back-alley blowjobs were done with kindness and haste. It was one thing for Kaeya to ogle your mouthwatering figure, another in the humiliating state he constrains you to. Your hands are bound by leather handcuffs that clip to a chunky black collar on both sides, limiting the movement of your wrists to just centimeters away from your face. You could move if you tried to, but the collar locked and tightened around your neck the harder you struggled. In the middle was attached a dangling leash, empty of its owner.

The vibrating lace panties he put you in buzz agonizingly low against your clit, sending gentle bursts to the butt plug filling deep, foreign space in your body. You’re glutted, chafing your thighs together to numb the sweet ache dotting your core.

“C’mere dove.” Kaeya orders, his finger curls in a guiding motion. You take one step assuming his entreat, and he retorts with a tut.

“Aht aht, dogs don’t walk. Get on your knees and crawl to me.” Embarrassment overcomes you as you drop to your knees from the filthy demand. It’s degrading, having to crawl without the use of your arms. You scuffle with balance, and he takes pleasure in playing with the controller. Your rocking rear and wobbly legs find rhythm on the floor through the violent highs and lows of vibration. It was harder due to the position you stumbled in; the bullet teases you in the right spots. You finally reach him, resting your head on his knee, exhausted for what’s to come. He merely pats your head and uses the other to stifle the smug smirk.

“Good puppy. Look at me.” Suddenly, he wraps the leash around his hand and pulls in taut. It snaps your eyes to his lustful expression, a thick aura that encapsulates you, suffocates you in his command. Kaeya zips his pants down to spring his throbbing cock free, a dark brown gradient to the mushroom tip.

“Suck. If you let anything spill, I’ll punish you” he cooes. You lick the pre come away, fixating on the sensitive tip. His breathy sighs show appreciation. You lick in circular motions around it before lolling your tongue and taking all of him between your lips. His girth makes space in your mouth impossible until the head presses the back of your throat. “Ugh, fuck” he groans. Kaeya stands and pulls the leash towards him, enough to nuzzle your nose against his pubes. You gag and slobber over his balls from the constant pressure in your throat, and he keeps you there, watching the tears ball in your eyes, unfazed by your retching pleas. He keeps a firm grip on the back of your head.

“Can you take it?” It’s almost mocking, as if he can’t see the mascara that smears your cheeks and your sweaty, breathless figure. You nod anyway, eager to please. He hums approval before pulling out completely and hammering his length down your throat. His heavy balls smack your chin at a savage pace, and strings of spit connect your puffy lips to his shaft. It’s barbaric and your throat is raw from the impact, but he chases his high. You’re absolutely powerless, your hands can’t even push his thighs back. However, subconsciously it felt nice, to be out of control, at the mercy of someone else using you for their impulse. The whir in your soaking panties feels richer now, tangling in your lower back and clouding your senses. All you smell and feel is him, it was like you never worked a day in your life. Like you were made for this, and this alone. Obscene noises come from your squelching mouth and Kaeya’s broken moans. Fuck and yes are all he can handle through constant whimpers, and you feel him trembling toward his release. He tilts your head to get a better view of you, spit and tears mixed with strands of hair stuck to your skin. You were a mess. But his eyes are solely on you, drenched in adoration and pure love for your trust in him.

“I want this pretty face on me when I come” he whines and speeds up his thrusts before spurting hot, creamy ropes down your throat, painting your mouth white. He twitches wildly on your tongue till rest, and his guttural moans echo in your ears as you hollow your cheeks to suck him clean. A satisfying pop emerges when you free his tip, and he recollects himself. He somehow looks completely untouched, besides the sheen of sweat; the poise of a prince.

Once Kaeya comes to his senses, he eyes the evidence of wetness that soaks through your panties, along with drops of pre come you failed to notice. Truthfully, you tried hard to avoid spilling anything, but the sensations in both your back and front were dizzying. He drawls a dramatic sigh, and loosely fiddles with the leash.

“Didn’t I say not to spill anything?” His words are methodical, weaving enough vitriol to make your blood still at the upcoming punishment. “I’m sorr-”

“You made a mess. Clean it.” He drops the leash and waits. What you assumed to be a towel clean-up was quickly refuted as you felt the tension of his boot press on your upper back. With just enough weight, he forces your body down towards the fluids, arms crossed. You lick it up without complaint. “Good puppy” he praises.

Kaeya picks you up as if you’re featherlight and sets you on the edge of the bed on your stomach. You can’t see what he’s doing, and the silence frightens you. Immediately, the judder of the bullet increases significantly—not enough to make you come, but just enough to torment. You attempt to sway from undying heat between your legs, yet the static overtakes. Unbeknownst to you, the butt plug begins to vibrate, as well. You whine and arch your back involuntarily. You finally hear a deep chuckle from Kaeya. His fingers graze your sopping underwear.

“So naughty, you got like this just from sucking me off?” He pushes the bullet harshly against you. You mewl from the feeling. “Please Kaeya, it’s too much.”

“Shh, I know, I know. We still have a long way to go.” he soothes. He spreads your ass to reveal more area, and he’s hushed to an alluring whisper in your ear. “(Y/N). I’m going to spank you. And each time I do, you’ll count. One, thank you. Two, thank you. Up to sixteen. Understand?”

“Yes” you rasped.

“Good girl.”

Kaeya massages your backside and prepares a slap. His palm crashes sharply on one with a resounding crack. Blazing surge sprawls across the whole cheek, but you manage to stay afloat. “One, thank you.” He promptly delivers another, a staggering strike to match the other cheek. “Two, thank you” you hissed. He kneads the smoldering dough in his hands and smiles at the juices stuck to your inner thighs.

“Such a pervert. You’re not enjoying this, are you?” he teases. The lines of pleasure and pain blurred for you long before. The crackling fire of his hand swatting your ass makes you cry out. He’s brutal, and the grip you have on his sheets colors your knuckles white. You endure delicious thwacks with a tender bottom all the way through thirteen. Your malleable mind forgets to count past that, forgets your place. Kaeya feigns hurt. “Am I that forgettable? Should we start over?” A shudder trails down your back.

“M’no, Kaeya ple-ase. ‘M sorry.” you stammer. He swipes your tears with his thumb and licks it. “I’m touched by your tears” he groans. He moves back to your searing bottom, digging crescent shaped indents into the welted flesh with his nails.

“Do you know why I had you count to sixteen?”

“N-no...”

A low hmph. “That’s the number of dates you missed.” You go pale for a second. “It won’t happen again, Kaeya. Please!” you beg. The need for release ruins your rational thoughts, and he can taste your desperation. “Please what, dove?” He plays ignorance. “Tell me exactly what you want.” He caresses your face lovingly, despite his cruelty.

“Wanna come, I need it so bad, Kaeya.” His name rolling off your tongue in lewd fervor makes his length constrict in his pants. You’re putty in his presence, and he delights in molding you to his wishes.

"Are you worthy of it?" he taunts. Fresh tears brim your eyes, and he can’t fight back the snicker in his throat. He walks away from you, and you’re left alone until you feel the mattress give way under his knee. What little sight you had in front of you is robbed by the silky black blindfold pulling stiff on your eyes. “Too tight?”

“A little.” He loosens it a bit and kisses your temple. Suddenly, a sphere makes contact with your lips, and you open. The ball gag secures around the back of your head, and you’re already salivating from the stretch of your jaw.

“You know what, I’ll let you come.” he lulled. You can’t hear the malicious tinge in his words, and he swiftly turns both vibrators up to a harrowing speed at the same time. A strangled moan gets caught in your throat and you quiver and lurch over. He spanks your sore behind in response.

“Keep your back arched. I want a perfect view” he husks. You use the stamina you have left to stay in that position. Your hips are unconsciously rutting against the bullet, and the ecstasy lapping at your swollen clit sends trails of fire up your stomach. Kaeya watches the saturated outline of your convulsing vulva, the honeyed, muffled moans unending and palms his erection.

“I’m sorry, this must be so hard for you” he soothes. “Almost as hard as it was for me to hear you lie so blatantly.” Kaeya wasn’t a man that held grudges, but he took amusement in your reactions. All he can think about is breaking you, with each touch and kiss; so that you travel through heaven and hell, drowning in desire until he carries you out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you come hard, hole fluttering around nothing with electricity squirming in your bones. However, the pressure doesn’t stop, it seems to vibrate faster as you buck and cry. “Oops, wrong setting.” He turns it up higher, the bastard. It rips through your orgasm, already approaching another and you can’t take the sting. “Tell me if it’s too much” he sneers. Your hands jolt and snap back to the collar.

“I’ll turn it off later, I’m kind of busy right now. You know, work and stuff.” What? He wouldn’t leave you like this, right? Undecipherable noises bounce around the gag, but none persuade him. Footsteps get quieter, then the door shuts.

You can’t look or beg for Kaeya, and tears begin to stain the blindfold. Buzzing roars in your ears, your limbs are too weak to hold up and you can barely breathe. Your thighs shake from sick passion, and you come undone again over the persistent toys. The twenty minutes he was gone felt like hours. Your muffled sobs are uncontrollable, come cascading down your legs and spit dribbles from your lips. You aren’t sure how many times you came before he got back.

The Archons must have shown mercy; the vibrations stopped. You hear that suave voice resounding in your brain.

“I think you’ve earned a break.” he says, freeing the panties from you. The plug steadily glides out of your pulsing ring, and he removes the blindfold. Kaeya is the first thing you see, and for a moment he shines like royalty. The gag comes off and you’re babbling Kaeya’s name over and over like a chant, a devoted disciple. He cradles your face and hushes you.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” He flips you on your back. You’re in a daze gazing at him but his attention is lowered to your spread legs, slabbering at the slippery aftermath of his abandonment.

“Beautiful. A living work of art” he whispered. His mask dissolves before you. He reaches for one of the red candles glowing vividly on his nightstand and returns with the wax-leaking stick. You share a soft kiss, warm and pure while he tilts the candle over your chest. He’s careful with the course and allows it to dance across your breasts, down your sternum and above your pelvis. Each crimson plop and fleck are its own singing thrill, but your awareness is diverted to his wanton kisses, the nips on your bottom lip. Heat reignites your core. Once he blows out the candle, he smudges French kisses down your neck, tracing the pattern of the wax to subdue the burn. “You’re flawless” he breaths against your nipple. He sucks one while pinching the other, the occasional bite on your slightly bruising skin makes you wince. He slides off the bed and starts stripping with an insatiable thirst that longed to be inside you, shirt and pants thrown about. In one swoop, he grabs your thighs and pulls you to the edge.

“If I uncuff you, will you behave?” You nod frantically with the clinking metal, and he detaches the restraints. He brings your legs over his shoulder, and you feel the cockhead prodding your slit. Kaeya sinks his tip into you, and you’re suddenly overcome with frenetic throbbing that ripples through your hypersensitive clit. “W-wait, Kaeya-” You don’t have nearly enough strength to protest when you grab his wrists settled on your waist—he’s determined to fuck it out of you. “Mm, just a little more” He’s craving, his veins rub your walls all the way to the base. With his balls flush, he pulls out and drives into you. The first pump sends a flaming shock through your body, an abyssal fall you succumb to. You can’t register the erotic screams or pleasant shock of Kaeya as a stream of liquid coats your bodies and drenches the sheets. Your hysterical sobs and innocent sorry’s are music to his ears, better than any melody in Teyvat. He rubs circles on your lower belly and starts again at an unrelenting pace. “I-I can’t Kaeya, ‘m coming so hard.” you wail, writhing from the deep strokes coaxing your g-spot. Your stomach quakes and you grip him like a vice, he can’t stop the feral urge. “Fuck- aww, sweetie. I know, I know. Can you do another one, for me?” He tries to keep his composure, but his voice is bordering unhinged, dying to see you squirt again. Kaeya's chest pins yours and he pummels your cunt with your shaky legs locked around him. Your nails latch onto his back and you weep into his shoulder. The emotion is too intense; your heart thrums viciously in your ears.

“You’re my pretty little fuck toy, hmm?” he stutters through thrusts. “Just lay here and take my cock. Quit your job. Be mine entirely.” Loud plap’s accompany his silent plea, and you feel another orgasm boiling. His palm pressing on your womb makes you incoherent and he chuckles. “Aw sweetie, it feels too good?” he mocks. You touch foreheads. You’re both teeming, waiting for each other. “Give it to me. Come on my cock like a good slut” he demands. Wave after relentless wave splinters you, and the gushing sprinkler covers him exactly like he wanted. Kaeya moans at the sight. “Shit, ‘m coming.” He pursues his sputtering hips, shooting thick globs that greedily crowd your sex.

Kaeya breathes heavily as he comes down from his peak twitching inside. You still tremble sporadically in his arms. He rubs your back, placing calming kisses all over your face. “You alright, pretty girl?” You’re edging on unconsciousness. He stays with you until you gather responsiveness.

When you wake, the collar is off, and you identify concern in his eyes. “You weren't this scared when you were killing me” you murmur quietly. Kaeya flashes a genuine smile. “If you died from good sex, that’d be quite the compliment on my part.” He props you into his lap facing him, and you're reposed on his chest. He pats your hair, staring off into nothing and everything.

“I’d much rather have you in pieces. Because I’m the only one that can put you back together.” It was a passing thought, one that shouldn’t be said out loud. It churns in your gut, and you aren’t sure why.

“You worked so hard today. Let’s take a bath, okay?”

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya smut #kaeya

1K notes · View notes

invidiia · 11 months

Note

can you do more teenage platonic yandere ones 🙏🙏 i love them bro

one suggestion is them (chuuya, ranpo, dazai, sigma, idek) w a rebellious teenager 🙏🙏🙏🙏

sorry, you've been misinformed.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ "we appreciate." 𖤐 separate platonic yanderes chuuya, ranpo, dazai, sigma x reader

these mfs cannot deal with rebellious teenagers!!!!

m.list // previous

[ a/n ; HI SILLIES SORRY I DIDNT DO A YANXREADER POST YESTERDAY IDKFKKFKFCX ANYWAY HERES THE PLATONIC YANDERE SILLY PEOPLE ?! ]

[ warning ; platonic yandere, lowkey crack 😭😭, stalking ]

— CHUUYA NAKAHARA

⋆ lord, please give this man the patience to deal with you

⋆ he gets it, he was a rebellious teenager too, but so? he doesn't have time for you to act this way, like at all. probably best to just,, cooperate

⋆ chuuya has to put a lot of time into his job, being an executive and all, so that leaves you a lot of time to go do rebellious teenager shit

⋆ you can imagine it's pretty often he comes back to find you not there, or if you go to school, he'll get calls about you skipping class to go do whatever it was teenagers did when they skipped

⋆ yokohama mall is huge, perfect place to go to have fun and get away from chuuya!! it most definitely ends with you getting dragged out of the mall doors by your collar and shoved into the backseat of the car to go home, but it was fun anyway.

⋆ funny ass little arguments, too. "and if i find out you left when i come back, you'll regret it." "uh-huh, i bet i will." "just shut up and stay here."

⋆ please take him seriously, or at least pretend to, for his own sanity 😭

— RANPO EDOGAWA

⋆ ranpo doesn't take you seriously at all.

⋆ even if he knows you'll actually go do something stupid, he won't take you seriously. and when you go do it, consequences await you anyway 🤷

⋆ no point in keeping secrets, he already knows

⋆ plans to sneak out? getting stuff without permission? anything you keep from him? yeah, he knew already lol

⋆ lowkey draws a line at going against him and doing illegal stuff. committing any kind of crime? lmao no, he'll just keep you with him at all times or something which is probably embarrassing asf

⋆ am i wrong to think he may drag poe into this? maybe, shrug

— OSAMU DAZAI

⋆ he doesn't have time either, i almost feel bad for him

⋆ he's like ranpo actually, has no shame in forcing you almost everywhere with him or leaving you to atsushi which is really evil, poor atsushi

⋆ arguments are funny as hell (for him) probably you yelling and trying to make a point and explain why you do whatever you do or something and dazai just laughing and not listening LMAO

⋆ "that's crazy kid lmao" "i'm trying to make a point, don't fucking call me that."

⋆ doesn't really care about you yelling at him. just forces you everywhere with him

⋆ remember in chuuya's part where you just sneak into yokohama mall to get away from him and have fun? too bad lmao, dazai knew you were coming and followed you anyway!! just when you thought you were finally alone, away from the suffocating presence of dazai and could terrorize the shoppers in peace, nope LOL

⋆ he just tags along with you, keeping a hand on your shoulder and a smile on his face while you just grit your teeth and deal with him. "can we just go home?" "no wayy, didn't you wanna come here?" "not with you."

— SIGMA

⋆ poor guy lmao

⋆ literally has to stop you from terrorizing the customers or damaging the casino somehow

⋆ a little hard to sneak out unless you have an ability or another person to help you

⋆ cue nikolai coming to the casino to bother sigma and then helping you sneak out because it'll annoy sigma and he doesn't care LMAO

⋆ probably ends up locking you in your room because he doesn't trust you enough to keep you with him. sigma learned that from a past mistake he made with you

⋆ "wait, this card is damaged. the game isn't valid, therefore, you need to replay." and then the teenager next to him probably being the one who messed up the card LOL

#bsd x reader #platonic yandere bsd #chuuya x reader #dazai x reader #sigma x reader #ranpo x reader #yandere bsd x reader #yandere bsd #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #platonic yandere

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tkaulitzlvr · 10 months

Text

OUT OF LOVE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: once tom realises how much your relationship has lost the love within it because of the distance he has put between you both, it’s his job to make it up to you.

content: angst to smut.

a/n: my first post!! i hope you all enjoy!

lately, tom and i's relationship has hit a bump in the road. each conversation lit an already short fuse within the both of us, the smallest of words capable of creating an unnecessary yet very real dispute that would leave us silent for hours, and in the worst of cases not talking for days. but it wasn't just the things we said, it was whatever we didn't say, too. physical touch was usually a huge part of our relationship, but now, i couldn't remember the last time that i had properly kissed him. it had gotten to the point where we slept on different sides of the bed, refusing to lay in eachother's embrace as we usually would.

as each day dragged on, feeling like tom and i were moving further away from eachother, i failed to even remember how we ended up this way in the first place. we had a perfect relationship, filled with love and trust, those the foundation of what made us, us. everyone knew that we loved eachother, we were the 'it couple'. whilst we had small disputes just as every couple did, it had never reached this point - yet it showed no sign of stopping.

which is why it brought me no surprise that tom had already become irritated from my single question, asking him where he'd been after returning home late yet again, this becoming a habitual occurrence since the beginning of whatever our distance could be called.

"look, i was just out, okay? what is this a fucking interrogation?" tom fires out, frustration laced in his tone as he throws his keys on the table.

"im sorry for worrying about my boyfriend! i just wont give a shit next time, yeah?" i shoot back, confused on why he acts this way every time i start a simple conversation.

"yeah that'd be great, thanks." he mumbles sarcastically, scoffing and sinking into the sofa, flicking through the channels on the tv displayed infront of him.

"are you fucking kidding me tom?" i utter out, in complete disbelief of his childishness.

despite the clear anger in my voice, he stays silent, shaking his head slightly and continuing to look through the channels on the tv, this only fuelling my anger.

"can you listen to me for fucks sake?" my voice begins to raise as my patience is slowly wearing thin. i walk over to the tv, blocking his view and forcing him to look up at me, his eyes cold, an unrecognisable glare within them in place of the usual love that emits from them whenever our gazes meet.

"what?" he sighs, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger.

"i'd appreciate it if you fucking listened to me, just for one second! i'm tired of sitting here alone, every night, wondering where the fuck you are because you're my boyfriend but i know nothing about you! i never get a text, a call, nothing! instead you come home at god knows what time, and act as if i don't exist. fuck tom, you won't even cuddle me in bed anymore." my voice begins to trail off, tears beginning to cloud my vision, my tongue instinctively hitting the roof of my mouth to stop them from falling.

he stays silent, breaking his eyes away from mine and staring into his lap, his fingers playing with the material of his jeans.

"do you even love me anymore?" i ask, genuinely questioning if he feels the same way he did when we first met, the man that fell in love with me no longer in front of me.

"what? of course i fucking love you. what kind of question is that?" his head shoots upwards, his eyebrows threading together as if i have asked the most ridiculous question, though it was one nagging on my mind.

"really? it doesn't seem like it." i reply, shaking my head and biting my lip, the tears now spilling beyond my control.

"i'm going to bed." i mumble, not waiting for a response from tom as i head for our shared bedroom. the sheets feel cold as i allow them to envelop me, the warmth that i would feel from tom's embrace lost, leaving me empty. it is impossible to fall asleep, my body laid on its side facing away from the door and staring motionless at the wall, longing to be in his arms, safe and content, free of the gut-wrenching realisation that our relationship is not the same as it was.

the door slowly creaks open after a while, my eyes quickly flicking shut as i pretend to be asleep, not keen on the idea of speaking to tom, not whilst his mind is acting so irrationally, mine sensitive enough that any argument would break down my already crumbling walls. i hear the bed dip beside me, tom laying flat on his back, whilst i stay put, not daring to look at him, instead keeping my back to him. the distance between us speaks volumes, tension reaching an all time high.

after a few minutes, the bed creaks, indicating that tom is moving from his initial position. as he has done for the past nights, i expect him to shuffle to the edge of the bed, increasing our already far proximity and confirming the fact that he cannot bare the thought of being near me.

however, much to my disbelief, i feel an arm droop around my waist from behind, tom's hand gently touching my stomach as he tests the waters, clearly thinking that i am deep in sleep. deciding to stay still, my eyes remain closed, accepting this small act of affection, for it is all i have experienced in the past weeks. but, to my surprise, he doesn't stop there.

he moves closer, his chest now flush against my back, pulling me tighter into him as i feel his uncertain breathing against the nape of my neck. my breath instinctively hitches at his unexpected actions, alerting him of my consciousness.

"baby?" he whispers into the dark room, not moving as he awaits my response.

"hm?" i mutter, unsure of what to say, not intending to reveal the fact that i was in fact awake, my cover completely blown as i lay, small and vulnerable, beside him, his body against me for the first time in forever. the uncertainty of what his response will be creates a sickly feeling in my chest. he could want to fight, to let out the last of his anger from our unfinished argument. or, he could want to fix things, to be the boyfriend he used to be. and right now, my mind was going with the first option, assuming the worst and bracing myself for more of his harsh words.

"we need to talk." he speaks, his breath fanning against my neck with each word.

i knew that he was right, my heart aching slightly as the possibility of resolving whatever the fuck we have become finally starts to feel real, not just something that i have longed for.

refusing to face him, i slowly nod my head, awaiting his response, the sound of our steady breathing the only thing to be heard in the silent room.

"i'm so sorry baby." he speaks, slowly and sincerely, his hand that is draped over my stomach beginning to slowly caress the bare skin there, comforting me in the best way. tears begin to silently roll down my cheeks as i struggle to find the right words to say.

he takes my silence as a chance to continue. "what happened to us my love, hm?" he begins, sighing slowly and increasing his hold on me, the pet name causing my heart to swell, making me realise how much i truly missed his affection, wether it be verbal or physical - i just craved him.

short sniffles emit from my mouth, giving away my weakness faster than i would have preferred. tom quickly picks up on this, finally turning me to face him, our eyes meeting, his immediately softening once he takes in my state - eyes bloodshot, tears staining my cheeks, mouth curved into a frown.

"oh baby..." he trails off, taking his hand and beginning to wipe my tears away one by one, the other gently stroking my hair. i melt into his touch, allowing him to comfort me silently. "i can't carry on like this, i just- i need to be with you again, not just in a relationship with you, i want to actually feel close to you again."

he pours his heart out, all whilst wiping any loose tears that fell from my eyes, which never left his, the love in them beginning to flood back as i can slowly recognise the man i fell in love with.

"do you really think that i don't love you anymore?" he asks, guilt evident in his tone as he feels nothing but anger for making me doubt how he felt about me.

i try to find the right words, swallowing nervously. "you didn't want to be anywhere near me tom. i can't even remember the last time you told me that you loved me." uttering those words made me realise how bad things had really gotten. tom would tell me he loved me at every chance he got, never failing to remind me of how he felt. but looking back, those three words felt so foreign that my mind couldn't even remember when he had last uttered them. and the realisation hit him just as hard as it did me.

"oh meine liebe...i'm so sorry." he starts, now slowly kissing away each tear that stained my tinted cheeks, holding my face gently in his hands. "i love you. i love you so so much. never ever forget that, okay?"

i nod my head, swallowing the lump in my throat away. "i love you too."

a slight smile appears on his face, my hand reaching to his head as i pull it closer, playing with the loose braids there. tom takes advantage of our nearing proximity, grabbing my face and gently connecting his lips with mine. for the first time in days, our lips touched, immediately moulding together as if they had never been apart. he smiles into the kiss, moving his hands to my lower back, pulling me closer to him and embracing me, our lips never parting. the desire, the passion in which our lips collided reaffirming our love without the need for words, my body and soul slips further into his touch, reminding me just how much i missed intimate moments like this with him.

he slowly pulls away for air, his lips, now pink and swollen, flush against mine, foreheads touching. "i promise baby, that i'll never give up on us, no matter how hard it gets. i'll never stop loving you, ever."

deciding that actions speak louder than words, i reconnect our lips once more, with much more desire and hunger than the previous one. he picks up on this need, reciprocating it and pressing his lips so hard onto mine that my breathing becomes muffled and there is no option of pulling away - but in this moment, parting from him doesn't even cross my mind. his hand moves to my thigh, placing it over his and kneading the flesh roughly as we lay facing each other, a small whimper escaping my mouth at his actions. our lips fail to part, making up for the lost kisses that we had so desperately yearned for.

lust soon takes over the innocence, my need for him growing by the second as our kisses become harsher, his tongue entering my mouth, mine gladly reciprocating. "i love you." he whispers breathlessly against my lips, pulling away slowly and studying my face. his thumb tugs at my lip, his eyes never leaving mine as he drags it down the now plump skin at an agonisingly slow pace, until he releases my bottom lip, it quickly bouncing back into place, his thumb now slightly wet with my saliva.

"you're so beautiful." he whispers, caressing my cheeks, taking in every inch of me as if this is the first time he has seen me.

"i need you tom." i mutter, looking into his eyes with a glint of desperation, longing to feel him again, our distance meaning it has been so long since we have kissed like we just did, let alone fuck.

within seconds, his lips are back on mine, his body moving in one swift motion on top of me without breaking the kiss, hands clutching mine, mirroring the hunger i feel.

"then i'm all yours." he mutters against my lips, reattaching them and entering his tongue as i gladly accept, moaning slightly into the kiss, a small smirk appearing on his lips in response.

he pulls away, looking into my eyes before reaching for the hem of my t-shirt and whispering "can i?"

i slowly nod my head, the soft fabric being pulled off my body and somewhere on the floor, both tom and i too needy to care where. his eyes scan my body, a hint of adoration within his eyes, his hands reaching for my small lace bra, undoing the back and tossing it aside. he pauses, gazing down at me, drinking in my features, everything exposed to him. despite the look of awe on his face, insecurity takes over, and my hands instinctively cover my breasts, breaking eye contact from him.

tom quickly takes his hands, placing them over mine and moving them away so that he could see me once again. "don't cover yourself, you're so beautiful."

i hesitantly nod my head, moving to remove tom's shirt, his chiselled abs and torso now on display. refusing to break eye contact, my hand slowly runs down the skin, feeling every bump, every muscle there, his breathing hitching as i do so. it has been so long since i had felt his bare skin against mine that it almost didn't feel real, my being lost in pleasure despite us not taking anything further yet.

i soon become impatient, pulling his face downwards and kissing him once more, his hands reaching for my panties and slowly pulling them down, soon removing his boxers, leaving us completely naked.

he pulls away, staring into my eyes and positioning himself at my entrance. "are you sure my love?" he asks, searching my expression for any sense of doubt, hating the idea of forcing me to do anything.

"yes...just fuck me, please." i breathe out, craving the feeling i have missed so much.

he smiles slightly, before slowly sliding in, groaning as he does so, my walls clenching around him, not used to his size as it has been so long since we have last done this. once he is fully inside, he stops. "you okay baby? does it hurt?"

"no...move tom." i reply, and he slowly begins thrusting in and out of me at a steady pace, whines emitting from my mouth as my eyes squeeze shut. his head finds the crook of my neck, groaning into it and beginning to kiss the skin, sucking lightly and leaving marks whilst speeding up his pace.

"oh my god." he mutters into the skin, his hands running up and down my waist until they find a stable hold on my hips, thrusting easier whilst his thumbs caress me, slightly digging in, however the slight pain only fuels my fire, moans now escaping from my mouth.

"oh tom..." i trail off, hands raking down his back, pulling him downwards so our bodies our flush against each other, desperate to feel any part of him, to be closer, despite him literally being inside me.

"i love you so much." he groans out, taking my legs and wrapping them around his waist.

he continues to thrust in and out of me, his tip hitting my g-spot, and i cry out. "oh god, right there tom..."

"here baby?" he taunts, hitting the spot again, causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head. he abuses that spot, my stomach beginning to tighten as the familiar feeling soon takes over.

i clench around him, feeling my release creep closer and closer. "fuck schatz, do that again." he breathes out, and i tighten my walls again, a choked moan escaping his mouth.

"i'm close." he manages to let out, speeding up his pace and capturing my lips into a kiss, moaning into my mouth. i struggle to kiss back, holding back sounds of pleasure each time he thrusts in and out, the sound of my heavy breathing muffled in the kiss.

"tom...i'm gonna, oh my god!" i cry out against his lips, feeling my release wash over me, eyes rolling to the back of my head as i swear i see stars.

"oh fuckkk..." tom drags out, throwing his head back, jaw slack as he follows, my release triggering his own, the feeling of his cum coating my walls emitting another small whine from my mouth.

he moves slowly, thrusting in and out whilst he rides out our highs before collapsing on top of me, sweat coating his forehead. his head rests in my neck, breathing uneven and heavy, planting gentle kisses on the bare skin. i struggle to catch my own breath, my fingers running through his hair, body trembling as the adrenaline slowly wears off.

"i love you so much my love. i'm sorry for everything, i promise i'll never treat you like that again." he says, planting a single kiss on my shoulder.

"i love you too." i reply, tom lifting his head upwards and meeting my lips in a soft kiss, pulling away and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"goodnight meine liebe." he whispers, placing the covers over the both of us as i snuggle closer, resting my head on his bare chest as he slowly strokes my hair, falling asleep in each other's embrace.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #kaulitz #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz #tomkaulitz

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paradiseprincesss · 17 days

Note

Oooo so I saw the anon asked about fluffy Robert so I’ve come to deliver!!

Can I please request Robert Fischer bumping into a struggling young single mom (early 20s) with a daughter who’s around 6 months, in a coffeeshop (she accidentally, literally, ran into him and spilled her drink all over his veryyyy expensive suit) and she’s just profusely apologizing and trying to balance holding her baby and her diaper bag while also trying desperately to clean the spilled drink off of his suit. Robert really feels for her and reassures her that it’s not a problem, he can easily have his suit be cleaned or replaced. She offers to pay for dry cleaning or a replacement suit until this man mentions the heavy price tag (probably a ridiculous amount of money). Anyways, he starts taking care of her and her baby, he pays for diapers, formula, baby food, daycare, pays for her rent, and even offers her a job to come work for him as his assistant (paying her A LOT of money), and he even pays for her to have a very respected and expensive babysitter so that she can have time to relax, to do fun things, to sleep, to go out with friends, and Robert also starts taking her out to veryyyy expensive and nice restaurants. Y/n and her baby end up moving into Robert’s hugeeee house and they are both doted on hand and foot and Robert and Y/n fall in love, and he adopts her baby and takes care of her as his own🥹

boys like you - robert fischer x reader

masterlist

notes: i hope i did this request justiceeeeee lol <333

summary: you're a struggling single mom who happens to bump into a handsome stranger at your favourite coffee shop. unfortunately, you spill your coffee all over his designer suit - though, he doesn't seem to mind at all.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: pure fluff, this is probably one of the most wholesome things i've written lol

you gasped as you felt yourself collide into someone else, all while trying to desperately cling onto your daughters stroller and shush her as she started to cry loudly. you could feel the coffee drip from your cup as it spilled all over the stranger, and you truly, genuinely, felt like your day couldn't get any harder.

"i'm so sorry," you gasp, turning around with napkins in your hand, "jesus-"

once you went to dab the napkins onto the stranger you'd collided into, you glanced up and your heart stopped. the man standing in front of you in a suit and tie (which was now covered in coffee) was jaw-dropping. his soft, brown hair, freckled face, and gorgeous blue eyes caught you off guard. he shook his head gently, taking the napkins from your trembling hands.

"s'okay, don't worry," he says softly, "are you alright?"

"yeah, i'm fine - i'm so sorry." you say to the stranger, who offered you a kind smile.

you look at his now stained suit, grimacing at the mess you made. you appreciated his patience and kindness; you were so tired from being up all night and taking care of your daughter that you'd barely had the energy to watch where you were going. he seemed to notice how sleepy you looked, and he took note of the way you were trying to hush your crying baby.

"please, let me pay for you to get your suit cleaned, or even replace it." you say, rummaging through your purse for cash but he turns the offer down almost immediately.

"that's alright, like i said, don't worry about it." he says kindly, reaching his hand out to stop you from digging through your purse.

he then told you the cost of the dry-cleaning for a suit like the one he was wearing, and told you how much it would cost to replace it. of course, it was far more expensive than you could afford, and he insisted that it was okay. he had the money to buy a thousand more of these suits if he wanted to, anyway.

as you stared at him speechlessly, he smiled sweetly. his blue eyes glimmered under the sunlight passing through the cafe's windows. "d'you need help carrying all of that? looks heavy." he asked, glancing down at the stroller along with the various items stacked on top of it.

"i should be okay, my car is parked right outside. i'm so sorry, again." you say sheepishly, and he waves your apology off.

"stop apologizing, it's fine," he laughs softly, "and please, i insist. let me give you a hand."

you sigh tiredly as he picked up the heavy shoulder bag you carried around that had various items for your daughters needs. you pushed the stroller towards your car, and you click your keys to unlock the trunk. the man gently places the bag down, and turns to you with a gentle smile.

"i'm robert, by the way." he tells you, introducing himself. you tell him your name, to which he compliments it, telling you how "pretty" it was. "what's your order? let me get you another coffee."

you laugh softly and shake your head at robert, "i can't make you do that - i'm the one who spilled my coffee onto you."

"then how about you let me take you out for another coffee sometime?" he says smoothly, causing you to blush as you put your daughter into her carseat.

"oh" you say, turning back to him as you close the door, "s-sure, yeah."

he offers you his phone, to which you quickly type your name and number into, and he pockets it as you give it back.

"i'll hopefully see you soon." he says, and you smile as you get into your car and drive back home, hoping to catch up on some napping as soon as possible.

that same night after you had put your daughter down for bed, your phone buzzed as you slipped into your covers. it was robert - and he was asking when you were free next. to be honest, you were surprised he texted you, let alone asked for your number. not a lot of men were willing to step up and date a woman who already had a child, unfortunately.

ultimately, you decided to go out for a dinner date instead of a coffee date next weekend. your mom was going to be taking care of your daughter for the entirety of both saturday and sunday, finally allowing you to have time for yourself. as the following weekend approached rather quickly, you dropped your daughter off at your moms, giving her a kiss on the head goodbye as you raced back home to start getting ready for your date.

robert seemed to be a classy guy, so that was the vibe you went with that night when it came to the outfit you wore, the makeup you did, and the way you styled your hair. as you were doing the final touches to your hair, robert had sent you a text saying he was parked outside. you quickly slip your heels on, making your way down your apartment building into the parking lot as you spotted a brand new, tinted, black, audi r8 parked.

you knew this guy had money - but you didn't realize he had this much money. robert quickly noticed you, and got out of the car to open the passenger door for you, causing your heart to flutter. his hand was on your thigh the second he was back in the drivers seat, pulling off the lot towards the restaurant he chose.

"you look absolutely gorgeous," he said softly, "wow."

"you don't look too bad yourself." you teased softly, watching as he sped down the freeway skillfully.

the two of you continuously flirted with one another on the car ride to the restaurant, as well as during your dinner date, too. the wine was getting to the both of you, and the conversation suddenly steered towards much more personal topics rather than the usual, surface level, first date stuff.

"so," robert says, taking a sip of his third glass of wine, "do you have any other kids, or just your daughter?"

"just her, she's my world." you say with a soft smile.

"she looks a lot like you," he said softly, reaching over to hold your hands gently, "do you and her father just co-parent, or...?"

"...he's not in the picture," you reply hesitantly, and this news broke roberts heart, "he basically packed up and left the day he found out i was pregnant."

"i'm sorry, that's awful." robert says softly, shaking his head at the thought of a man being so terrible to a woman - a pregnant woman, at that.

"it's alright," you respond, "we were both only nineteen at the time."

robert looked at you with sympathy, he couldn't imagine how hard that must've been; to be nineteen and pregnant, with the father of your child disappearing completely. he also made note that you were still incredibly young - he knew he must've been at least a decade older than you, if not more.

"how old is your daughter now?" he asked, and you told him that she was just over six months old. "so that makes you what? like, twenty one? twenty two?"

"i just turned twenty one," you laugh nervously, "how about you?"

"wow, you're young," he said with a surprised tone, "i thought you were around twenty four and you just happened to look younger. i'm thirty two."

"nope, i'm definitely not twenty four. i just made the mistake of having a child really, really young." you say, smiling at him as he held your hands gently.

"m'not too old for you, am i?" he laughed softly, and you shook your head no.

the two of you spent all night talking about your personal lives over multiple glasses of wine, and for once, you finally felt like you could wind back and enjoy yourself. it was hard being a single mother, especially when you were so young.

after a couple more weeks of talking, robert was starting to help you out financially. you didn't ask him to - you'd never ask him to - but he insisted. he would help you pay your rent, pay for baby formula, diapers, strollers, you name it. he even offered you a job working for him with a hefty paycheque. obviously, you didn't want to take advantage of his kindness so you politely turned down the job offer, but he was persistent.

eventually, you caved - and that's how you ended up becoming his personal assistant at fischer morrow. you'd expressed your concern to robert about finding a babysitter, but he was already one step ahead of you. not only did he get you a full-time babysitter, but he also made sure that this babysitter looked after your daughter on days you didn't work so you could have some free time for yourself as well.

robert was like an angel that came out of the blue - there weren't a lot of guys like him in this world. kind, caring, wealthy, and incredibly handsome.

"mr. fischer," you say, knocking on his office doors softly, "you have a call on line two, it's urgent."

"sweetheart," he replies, "just robert is fine. 'mr. fischer' feels so...formal."

the pet name had your heart fluttering, but you roll your eyes playfully as he takes his call. it was almost five, so you started to pack your things up and get ready to go home for the night. before you could head out the doors though, robert was calling your name.

"yes, robert?" you asked, turning around to see him coming out of his office.

"are you busy tonight, sweetheart?" he asks.

you were in fact not busy tonight, as your mom had offered to take your daughter for the weekend once more so she could spend time with her granddaughter. you were thankful, since this week had been hectic enough. your babysitter was feeling unwell, and you had to manage taking care of your daughter full-time again while working.

"no," you blushed, "i'm not busy tonight."

"can i take you out to dinner?" he asked you quietly, stepping towards you as he cupped your face and ran his thumb against your jawline.

you and robert had been seeing each other for a quite a while now, and things were getting pretty serious. obviously, you tried to keep it in your pants at work because you didn't want anyone knowing that you were dating the boss, but also, everyone knew. it was obvious with the way robert treated you and spoke to you. hell, it was obvious in just the way he looked at you.

"yeah, of course." you say sweetly, and he places a soft kiss on your lips.

when the two of you got to the restaurant he had picked out, you felt out of place. it was so high-end and upscale, you'd never dined out to such a luxurious restaurant before. robert ordered your favourite bottle of wine, along with whatever food you wanted. over dinner, the two of you talked about anything and everything, but the topic of your living situation had somehow come up.

"why don't you just move in with me?" robert suggested, and you almost choked on your food with how casually he had said it.

"m-move in?" you stammered with surprise.

"yeah," he responds, "...do you not want to?"

"no, i do - i just - we've only been seeing each other for a few months and i have a...kid. i just don't want to be a burden-"

"that doesn't matter to me," he interrupted, looking at you with a loving gaze, "...i love you."

once again, you were literally about to choke on your food as the words fell from his lips. neither of you had said "i love you" to each other yet, but robert decided this was as good a time as any to confess that he'd fallen in love with you. he had come to love not only you, but your daughter too, as if she was his own. he loved watching you care for her and dote on her - it got him whipped. within just a few weeks of dating, he was certain one day he would have a ring on your finger and give you his last name.

"i love you too," you finally said, "...are you sure you want me to move-"

"yes," he chuckled softly, "i'm certain."

and so you did. you moved in with robert, and you were in awe of how gorgeous his home was - you didn't even know a house could have so much space. the moment you and your daughter moved in with robert, you were waited on hand and foot. however, the best part about it all was that robert would take care of your daughter like she was his. he'd often tell you that he thought of her as his own daughter, and he truly meant it. robert became the father that stepped up, and it melted your heart.

eventually, weeks of living there turned into months, then those months turned into years. over those years, your life changed for the better, and you felt so blessed to have bumped into robert all that time ago in that quaint, little coffee shop near your old place.

robert was serious about you from the jump, but he proved it to you when he ended up proposing to you just under two years into your relationship. after getting engaged, the two of you had a private, small, quiet wedding with your closest family and friends - it was everything you had ever dreamed of since you were a little girl.

you, your daughter, and robert were one happy little family. he gave the both of you everything and anything you wanted; he was every woman's dream husband, and the type of father every daughter wished they had. life was picture perfect for you, and even though it took some struggling and hardship to get here, you were so glad to have found someone like your hardworking and devoted husband.

"honey?" you called out to robert with a shaky voice, "can you come here for a second?"

"uh-huh, one second, sweetheart!" you heard him call back, and you peeked your head into the living room to see him playing with your daughter as she giggled with a bright smile on her face. the sight made your heart melt and your eyes watery.

"what is it, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling you into a soft kiss.

you took a deep breath, and with trembling hands, you show him the test with the plus sign on it. you notice that he immediately start to tear up, and a smile forms on his face.

"are you...?" he whispered, looking down at you - his blue eyes were teary as he looked at you with love and adoration.

"yes, robbie," you say quietly, "i am."

he pulls you into a tight hug in an instant, as he was at a loss of words from the joy, and you could hear his heart beating as you let yourself stay in his warm embrace with your head against his chest.

"i love you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head, "i love you so, so much."

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ddollfface · 4 months

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is it possible for you to expand on the alphabet ‘H’ for yandere!athlete? I’m just curious to see the full extent of his punishment when he ‘snaps’. You don’t have to. This is my first ask so I’m just curious

— 🐏 anon

𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"I'm not feeling myself today, so it's alright if I feel you instead?"

Trigger Warnings; bad writing, lovesick behavior, manipulation, toxic relationship, love bombing, reader is called 'girlfriend', fake emotional cheating (it'll make more sense later), um I think that's it, pretty tame ngl, honestly it's shorter than my usual posts sorry(( If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ You are now 🐏!Nonny! Congratulations, you now have your own tag! I hope this is up to your standards... I kind of went on a tiny, just a tiny tangent, but what's new lol

Okay, ngl, I've been waiting for someone to ask about this, so thank you 🐏!Nonny for asking)))

Now, to the question. I would like to preface that it would be very, very, very difficult to make LoveSick!Athlete 'snap', seeing as he's a very patient person, especially with those he's close to. Growing up, he had to be patient and easygoing. He was the oldest of his siblings, so he had to be responsible; had to step up as a father figure for his younger siblings, as he never had a real dad.

He's very soft with you, always speaking kindly, and never letting his anger or annoyance get a hold of him. He wants to be the best for you, truly, but there are just some things that make people... y'know snap. Even for people like LoveSick!Athlete, who has the patience of a saint.

So, now that we know this, we have to think of a scenario of when and why you'd ever push LoveSick!Athlete over the edge; what would've you said to make him that angry?

It'd probably be something along the lines of questioning either his loyalty to you, or the caliber of his love for you, and how much he provides for you. You'd have to take away his purpose and smush it; dragging it through the mud, and spit on it. Now, that would get him going. There's one thing that LoveSick!Athlete hates, and that's someone who's ungrateful.

He's done so, so, so much for you, can't you see?

It would've started from an argument, likely you bringing up how he seems too receptive to other girls on campus, too willing with their antics. And that just didn't sit right with you. You didn't like your boyfriend, in this scenario, hanging around with girls, who you thought to be very, very, very pretty.

Of course, LoveSick!Athlete thought this to be insane, something he hadn't even thought about. Ever since the two of you started dating, he hasn't even looked at a girl, let alone thought about sleeping with one. How could you even say that?

In this scenario, I can see LoveSick!Athlete being petty and becoming flirtatious with other girls just to show you that his behavior before was nothing. If you thought that was flirtatious, then wait until you see him now. Instead of pushing the girls to the side, excusing himself before they could corner him, now he's looking the girls up and down, giving them a little smirk, leading them on. He might even set a hand on their lower back, leading them through the party, maybe even kiss her on the cheek, if you've been rather ungrateful.

Now, LoveSick!Athlete isn't enjoying this, after all, you're his one and only, but you have to learn your lesson. You have to understand that he's been so kind to you, so appreciative of your relationship. Don't you understand? He doesn't like doing this; it's a punishment.

You, seeing all of this, would obviously be distraught. You'd feel so, so, so betrayed. Where had your sweet, loving boyfriend gone? Why was he replaced by some sleazy womanizer? You'd be both sad and pissed the fuck off. You wanted him to tone it down, not multiply it by one hundred!

No matter what, even if you're angry as hell, you'll end up in LoveSick!Athlete's arms, hugging him tightly. He'll find a way to sweet talk you back to him, telling you that you're his only one, that he's just showing you that it wasn't that bad. He'll explain his public image to you; he's gotta stay on top of it, surely you understand, babe? I have no interest in those girls. They're just thinking with what's between their legs. You have to trust me.

Now, that's if you question his loyalty to you, but if you question how much he loves you (which is kinda of related to loyalty, but just ignore that), then you'll face a different type of manipulation. Mans got a whole tool belt on him (I've been waiting to say that lol).

Questioning how much he values you, your affections, your words, and your presence, will lead to love bombing. And for those who don't know what love bombing is, it's a manipulation tactic where the manipulator will use excessive affection to make their victim depend on them for love, believing that they'll only be valued by the manipulator.

LoveSick!Athlete is very familiar with this form of love since he grew up with a mama who has bipolar disorder-

(To be clear, I don't mean to say that everyone with bipolar disorder is a mass manipulator or anything. In certain people, especially mamas who are juggling an abusive marriage, two children, and postpartum all at once, it can be a lot and lead to bad behaviors. Just wanted to say that as someone who deals with a mama with bipolar disorder)

-Now, as a young adult, he's grown the habit of absentmindedly using manipulation tactics to get what he wants. It'll all start with a small argument, you'll question his lover for you, if he even cares for you. After all, he seems to be more attentive over his image than you, his girlfriend!

And all LoveSick!Athlete will do is smile at you, saying that he understands your concerns and that he'll do better. Obviously, this will confuse the hell out of you. Who responds to an argument like that? Certainly, no man you've ever dated!

Even if he doesn't realize it, he'll begin to show excessive amounts of affection after the argument. He'll constantly be giving you hugs, clinging onto you like a leach, and spamming you with messages/calls. You'll grow accustomed to the overbearing affections, allowing it to become a part of your daily life, but the moment you're used to it, he'll rip it away.

Suddenly, it's as if you don't even exist, like you're just another girl to him. Of course, he'll acknowledge you as his girlfriend, but he's no longer touching you. He's not hugging you, having an arm wrapped around you waist, nor is he holding your hand in public. It's as if he's embarrassed about your relationship. You'll begin to think that LoveSick!Athlete is cheating on you (he's not).

And this sudden behavior change is so delayed that you won't even relate it to your argument, thinking that it was a whole separate issue. And LoveSick!Athlete won't realize it either; it's just subconcious decision he made without knowing.

At some point, you'll come crawling back to him, desperately wanting the affection you used to be overwhelmed by. Of course, LoveSick!Athlete will be overjoyed, welcoming your upfront behavior with open arms. To you, this is like whiplash. Just a few days ago, he was off-putting, giving you the cold shoulder, and now he's leaning on you as if he can't stand himself, what the hell is going on?

And that's when you realize that you're not dating the most... stable individual...

Not to mention what he let his teammates do to you... but that's for another ask, yeah?

#lovesick!athlete x reader #bad writing #lovesick #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #x reader #obsessive love #𝙖��𝙜𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 #𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 #🐏!𝙉𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙮 #request #nonny asks

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cmncisspnandmore · 6 months

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heyyy so i saw that your requests were open so i wanted to ask:

could you write an Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader where she kinda has control issues as she could never trust people with doing the bare minimum so she always does it herself- (she is a civilian by the way). so one day simon sees her breaking down, losing her golden patience and being a crying mess because she is so stressed with doing everything

(ngl i need some comfort after that happened to me)

love you and dont stress yourself!!

Hi Nonny! I hope you're feeling a little better now. You can always message me if you need to talk. I'm sorry this isnt super long, my 3D printed tiny human is having a rough day, but i wanted to get this out for you. I hope i did it justice, its kinda hard to put into words what doing everything looks and feels like. But I did my best. If its not what you wanted/needed please let me know and I will try again. Lots of Love <3 Paige

Pairing: Simon X Reader

Warnings: Overwhelming feelings, soft simon, little bit of butt touching. Like one swear word.

Word Count: 960

You were tired.

Beyond tired, you were exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that seems to be radiating from your bones. Your hands shake as you sit on the floor of the bathroom. Your back pressed against the side of the bathtub. The cool surface sends chills down your spine as you wipe your hands across your cheeks. It was a pointless action, the tears were falling faster than you could get rid of them. Your cheeks are raw and sore from the constant rub.

Your chest aches from trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to escape. You clamp a hand over your mouth as your shoulders shake, strangled gasp for breath leaving your lips. A pair of boots stop outside the bathroom door and you know that you’ve been caught. Your best efforts to keep quiet, to not worry Simon, have been foiled.

There's a soft knock on the bathroom door, followed by the handle being turned, the wood creaking as Simon’s blonde hair and brown eyes peek behind the door.

“Love?” He says softly, as he slips through the door and closes it again, coming to crouch down in front of you. His brows pulled together in worry. “What's wrong?” He asks softly.

“I’m tired… I just.. I need the world to just pause for a moment so I can catch my breath,” you sniffle, as Simon takes a seat next to you. His arm wrapping around your shoulders as they shake.

“What do you mean Lovie?” He asks, his fingers brushing along your upper arm as he listens.

“I feel like I can never relax.. There’s always something that needs to be done. The dishes, the laundry, something at work, going to appointments, making sure the house is taken care of while you’re gone. I feel like i'm running on empty,” you sob, resting your head on his shoulder.

Simon is quiet for a moment, his hands continue to stroke the fabric of your shirt sleeve as he holds you. He knows the feeling, the inability to let someone else do something for you because what if they don't do it right. Or what if they don't do it at all? He's been there before, after his family was killed. After he was buried alive. He didn't trust anyone else to do the job, so he did it all himself. Wore himself out so thin he wasn't sure he would ever recover.

He noticed it in you too, at first he thought you were just trying to be independent. That you wanted to show him that you could do things on your own when he was away. Which Simon appreciated, he liked to know that you would be okay while he was gone but it quickly became more than that. You started taking over all the chores, making sure that everything was done before he got the chance.

It wasn't to say that Simon didn't try to help you. He did, but you were often insistent that you could do it, you didn't need him to look after you. Night after night you would come home, make dinner, clean it up, and do everything in between, while waving Simon off with the promise you could handle it.

But now, as Simon holds you in his arms on the bathroom floor he wishes he could take what you're feeling away. He wishes he tried harder to get you to relax, because it was clear you hadnt relaxed in a long time. Simon takes a deep breath, his head resting on yours.

“You gotta let me help you, Lovie…” he whispers.

“But i can do it…” You sniffle, pulling away slightly to look at him with teary eyes.

“I know you can, but you don't have to. You don't have to do everything yourself, we’re a team…” His hand comes to rest on the side of your cheek, wiping away your tears. “How can we be a team if you do everything yourself? You know how much I love you right?” You give him a small nod, leaning your cheek into his hand.

“Good girl…” he smiles slightly, “And because I love you, I need you to start letting me help you out. You don't need to be the one who keeps the house in order, or makes dinner every night, you don't need to pretend that nothing is bothering you. I know how stressed you are at work. I know how you feel like you're being pulled a million different directions at all times because you feel like you have to do everything, control everything. But you don't, Love.” Simon’s thumb wipes some of the tears from your cheeks.

“So what you're going to do now, is you’re going to change into your comfiest clothes, and you’re gonna go to our room and lay down, pick out a movie, and i’ll be there in a moment. Then we’re gonna spend the rest of the day in bed, napping and eating junk food until you feel a little better, okay?” He leans forward kissing your forehead.

After a moment you let out a small sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Okay…” you mumble into his shoulder as his arms wrap around you, one hand on the back of your head. “I love you Simon…” You whisper.

“I love you too, now go,” he smiles as you pull away. As you stand up and head out of the bathroom, Simon's hand smacks your ass, a yelp leaving your lips as you look back at him with a small smile on your face.

“Simon!” you scold.

“Sorry Darling, I couldn't help myself,” He smirks as he follows you out of the bathroom.

#simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #x reader #cod xreader #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw3 #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #comfort fic #drabble

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etheries1015 · 1 year

Text

Communication Chaos pt2

Pt 1 (Tighnari):

INCLUDING: Isekei(kind of not really) reader X Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, Wanderer (SEPARATE)

general warnings: Slight Kaveh favoritism, my bad. I can't help it, he's just so babygirl. Also Cyno is more of a crack fic than anything else, it's short and unserious, I'm sorry.

TW: None that I am aware of, however if I missed anything please let me know and I will update this section accordingly!

INTRO:

You wake up one day sitting on the bed of a small hut-looking building in Gandharva Ville after being found unconscious by the forest ranger known all around as Tighnari. The moment you opened your eyes and met the gaze of the multi-colored-eyed male, you felt a warm tingle of excitement and confusion fill your chest...however the moment he opened his mouth to greet you, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

You can’t understand a single word he just said.

Despite the obvious language barrier, what caused these men to fall in love with you?

KAVEH

Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and hardworking nature saved him in many ways he never thought he could be saved.

Words have nothing to do with being kind, sometimes it’s the actions one takes that can steal the heart of another. Tighnari had brought you to the home of Alhaitham in order for him to attempt to decipher what language you spoke, However, what Tighnari did not put into play, was the fact that Alhaitham agreed to ONLY decipher the language, but not help you become more understanding of their own. The architect had taken pity upon you seeing as Alhaitham had left you to struggle, and brought it upon himself to assist you. How could he not? you seemed so lost and afraid, he could not leave another person to suffer alone. One fateful night enhanced his affection for you when you decided it was time you returned the favor.

You often got in the middle of the two arguing frequently, Alhaitham obviously speaking in monotone expressions and condescending notions that told you he wasn't truly giving Kaveh the light of day of understanding. Judging by the look of graciousness Kaveh gives you whenever you stand in between them, folding your arms to hint that you were not interested in being in listening to such bickering, you could only assume you were correct. In the end, Al Haitham leaves you both standing in the living room alone, to which Kaveh scoffs in disbelief. He was obviously upset at whatever it was, so you tried your best to comfort him with physical affirmations rather than words. Walking up to the blonde-haired man you gently patted his back and nodded, trying to tell him it'll be okay. He replied to this with a somber smile and a "thanks," before sighing and standing up straight, back into his normal bright smile and enthusiasm. "Well! Time for your lessons of the day, right?" He exclaimed, grabbing your hand before leading you to the table of books and notes he had laid out for you.

Kaveh wasn't the best teacher, not by far compared to Tighnari or Alhaitham. However that didn't stop him from earnestly trying his best to teach you, and he appreciated your ever-lasting patience and remarkable strength at picking things up quickly despite his poor lectures. Kaveh always found himself rather attracted to your intelligence and hardworking nature, the hours you spent at that table studying the notes he wrote and enhancing your linguistic skills.

He took the time out of his busy schedule to help you, whilst you were not truly aware of the agenda he had and the work he was behind on because of the lessons he had given you.

Night time arrived quickly, you got up thirsty from the spot on the couch they had given you to sleep and made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass. As you opened the fridge you heard a faint sound...something that seemed similar to crying. Curious, you snuck quietly to the hallway connecting the other bedrooms in the small home, where you determined the sound was coming from none other than Kavehs room. Pressing your ear against the door, you could make out muffled sobs and clanking of some sorts that sounded like tools and clanking. this was a sound you were rather familiar with, you had heard him doing something in his room that sounded like mechanical work, however you never had the words to inquire what it was he was working on. With a light knock, you heard all sounds halt, silence ringing for a few awkward seconds before knocking once more.

"Kaveh?" You asked in a low tone, careful to be respectful of the time of night.

"y-yes?" He called out, tone almost in a panic as you heard more rustling coming from inside before opening the door. He greeted you with a smile per usual, yet he couldn't hide the swollenness in the corner of his eyes and the redness of his nose from you. With a light sigh, you cocked your head in worry, "Are you okay?" You asked in his language (A phrase you learned over time). Looking slightly shocked, his gaze wavered and turned away slightly unable to meet your own, his smile obviously forced.

"Of course," He replied with a sad chuckle, "why- wait- hey! Don't just-" You interrupted him with an irritated look, pushing past him and into his room to see what he was trying so hard to block your vision from. Around the room, you saw what you can only describe as an... academic monstrosity. Books were scattered all over the floor, photos of designs and tools were everywhere, with the table covered in what you can make out to be notes and more artistic diagrams with mini models, tools, and mechanical parts sitting around. An architect, You thought grimacing, is this all the work he has been doing? Why is there so much here? you turned back to the red eyes, eyes that seemed to hold so much sorrow and pain. Folding your arms you gestured towards the atrocious amount of work, to which he replied by sighing exaggeratingly in defeat and slumping against his bed with his hands covering his face.

"as you can see," he grieved, "I'm obviously a failure who cannot seem to catch up on his work. The deadlines on multiple projects are coming up and I still have so much to do...Maybe I should just...give up..." His voice cracked, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. You weren't too certain of the full context of what he had said, but you could understand the gist with a few main words.

I see... Making your way towards the exhausted male, you placed your arms around his now-shaking body. He tried to hold back the tears for your sake, however, he now found himself grabbing onto your body with desperation the moment your arms wrapped around him. You ran your fingers through his long blonde locks, planting a gentle kiss on the top of his forehead whilst his tears stained your shirt.

"It's okay," You said in his language, "It... I... um.." You growled in light annoyance, frustrated that you were unable to find the words to comfort the overworked man who hugged you tightly. You wished you could convey how much you empathized with him. You wanted to tell him how amazing he was doing and how you didn't want him to give up, yet none of those words were in your vocabulary, much to your frustration. He hugged you almost desperately as his body trembled as if you would disappear when he let go, shaking his head and giving you an encouraging nod of understanding in your intentions. You gave up attempting to speak their language and began to speak on your own.

"I know you won't be able to understand what I'm saying right now...but I know it's hard. you have a big heart, Kaveh, and I know you'll achieve great things and figure it out for yourself..."

Even if he wasn't able to understand, he could tell by the tone of your voice and the way you gently rubbed his back lovingly that you had said nothing but kind and thoughtful words. This moment was the moment he had promised himself something, the moment he knew in his mind how he felt about you during the few months you had came into his life unexpectedly.

He would do anything to return the kindness you showed him, seeing how hard you had worked in a place so unfamiliar gave him motivation and strength to create a new resolve of his own work ethic, and he wanted to express his great gratitude to you for that one day. And...he wanted to believe that perhaps luck was finally acknowledging him, and you were the one who would one day pull him out of the darkness of his old scars.

ALHAITHAM:

your intelligence and resilience made him feel a lot of respect for you and captured his attention, Something not many people get the opportunity of experiencing.

Tighnari had brought you to Alhaitham in hopes Alhaitham would have an easier time deciphering the language you spoke. He looked far and wide for the answers, however, he had to admit defeat. He had never heard of your language, and couldn't determine its origins. Whilst you had managed to catch on rather quickly to Teyvats language, he too was becoming familiar with your own. You both took time to teach each other new things and managed to work together to somehow create flashcards with words and phrases in which you wrote your language on one side and he the flip side. He was rather astonished at the fact you were able to work with him on this with such diligence, to the point where he saw your presence more of a...comfort and excitement, less than a chore given to him by Tighnari. He found himself excited to go home after his work as a scribe, using a lot of his free time to work with you once again on speaking.

Alhaitham loved learning new things and would take any form as knowledge as important knowledge. He always found textbooks and facts much more interesting to learn rather than human emotions and how humanity works as a whole, and he couldn't put his finger on the moment in which his mind began to change since meeting you.

Ah... that was it.

It was perhaps a couple months into your arrival, you had learned the language at a remarkable pace, and Alhaitham had decided that he wanted to observe you going out in town and running a few errands for him. He provided you a sheet of paper with a picture of a specific set of groceries with their names attached and gave you a day to memorize and reiterate what he had written. Once you had memorized the list he had given you, Alhaitham nodded to you in approval as you walked out the door with enthusiasm. You waved and smiled, giving the scribe a thumbs up before skipping your way into town. It was such a simple gesture, however, his heart skipped a beat at such a small thing... he grimaced at the thought, shaking his head to rid the frustrating emotions.

Thus he began to follow you. As you made each round to the stalls in the market, you had successfully asked each of the stall owners for the fruit he had asked for. There was one specific owner that gave you a particularly hard time, however.

"You want what? I can't understand a single word you're saying. Try it again, but make sense this time," The old man scoffed in annoyance. This wasn't remotely true, even Alhaitham could tell you were speaking clearly, just with a slight accent. This man was just looking to provoke you. Looking to gauge your reaction, he noticed you not losing your cool, yet only taking out the money needed for the product and holding it up.

"I would like that Harra fruit, please." You simply said. You didn't allow the man to get to you, and Alhaitham found that...rather impressive. You didn't get emotional, you didn't yell, you didn't cry in frustration, and you ended up getting what you came for. The man rolled his eyes, aggressively grabbing the money out of your hand and practically throwing the fruit at you, to which you gave a smile and a "thank you!" Sighing, Alhaitham had decided to leave it at that. He could tell you had a strong head upon your shoulders, and he respected how no matter the times the stall owners or other strangers had given you strange looks and annoyed glances, you remained resilient and in your lane. You didn't need him there to watch over you, he could already tell you shared his same idea of "in and out", and would be able to handle yourself well enough on your own.

Alhaitham never thought he would find himself wanting to be involved with anything besides his books, studies, and research. He was never interested in other people and their emotions, Yet he couldn't help but be excited to come home and see your smiling face, ready to learn...a little bit more about you than just your language.

CYNO:

Your sense of justice and the way you always have surprises up your sleeves leaves him enthralled and always excited when he's around you.

He was there when Tighnari first took you in, he had been aware of your situation ever since it was brought up and he would frequently come back to the forest under the ruse of watching over you, he seemed to take your sudden appearance and amnesia somewhat his fault. He hadn't realized you were not conscious of your fall from what he thought was a tree, and fully expected you to catch yourself while he was dealing with some eremites nearby. That was...until you didn't stop, and you ultimately made a rough landing into a pile of bushes down below. It was only then that he realized two things;

you are an ordinary person (upon further examination, your clothing were no where near the eremites.)

You were indeed, passed out from the beginning of your fall.

The moment he really fell for you, however, was the moment he saw you barrel yourself into another person with your entire body.

You had joined him on a light stroll around the forest, around the area where you had fallen to try and jog your memory somehow. You weren't able to speak with him, however, he took this as an amazing opportunity to tell you all of his amazing corny jokes that he hadn't been able to use on anyone yet (despite not knowing the language, he just wanted someone to listen to his jokes.) Being comftorable in your silence while he spoke, you had both noticed out of the corner of your eyes that there was a rather tall man bothering a young woman.

Both of you stood by to watch as she pushed his chest away from him, in his response he grabbed her around the waist, her face twisting with pure fear and disgust. Before Cyno could open his mouth or interrupt the man, you had taken it upon yourself to sprint as fast you can, and barrel yourself right into the assailant. you tackled him to the ground, punching him right into the face. Both Cyno and the woman looked in shock at you, for you had just managed to make a grown man cry and flee in a frenzy. You simply stood up, dusted off your clothes, and gave the woman a nod and a smile, before skipping back to Cynos side.

Yeah. He knew you were the one.

WANDERER:

You reminded him of himself, causing him to feel as if he could be free around you. Or perhaps...he just likes to have a little toy to be around for his entertainment. He would never admit it either way.

Not wanting to become a burden to the forest watcher, you decided to leave the humble abode and safe haven that Tighnari had provided you with and explore the world you fell into. You knew much about Teyvat from your video game, however, that didn’t change the fact that there were many perils and dangers that had become very real. A certain wanderer stumbled across you yelling in a foreign tongue whilst using what seemed to be a makeshift sword in an attempt to do...whatever it was you were doing to that hilichurl. At first, it was pure amusement, however, he found himself far more intrigued by this human regardless of the fact he hadn’t a good way to communicate with you...

It was somewhere along a line of forestry where he found you swinging a sword that was rusted and obviously not well suited for a serious battle. If he hadn't saved you that time, you would have probably ended up stranded and injured. He had realized that you spoke a language he wasn't familiar with, yet kind of...preferred it this way. You weren't able to ask him about his past, who he was, or what he was after in this life. You didn't need to know about him, and he frankly had no desire to learn more about you. If anything, he was rather annoyed when you had decided to follow him around while he was traveling.

You foraged food and made meals for him, even tended to a wound on his knee (He had no way to tell you he was a puppet, so your worry was futile.) Over a small amount he would rant to you about his worries, his past, his troubles...knowing it had no repercussions or judgment for you were totally ignorant in everything he was saying. Yet...you continued to stare at him with...affection, understanding, and admiration. He enjoyed the fact that you couldn't commentate on his life stories, he could be free to speak how he would like around you, and even decided to reward you by showing you how to properly wield a sword. He used his hands to fix your stance and guide you where you needed to swing and found it entertaining whenever you would charge into a battle attempting to put together what you had learned from his lessons (when the only way to teach you was by showing.)

He once decided to leave you. Not leave you completely, but to leave you to your own devices, make it seem as if he had just up and left you. You woke up, looking around confused. You were not even able to call out his name, he never gave you one to call him by. He kept watching nearby in the forestry, seeing you just...sit there. At one point you curled yourself into a ball, sighing shakily before...crying. He knew he hadn't a heart, however, if he did have one, he could feel it tighten in his chest. You reminded him so much of himself, a lone little bird in the world, nobody to turn to. You couldn't speak the language, and you barely had the fighting skills to care for yourself. The moment he saw you alone and afraid, all he could see was flashbacks of his own past. He then realized what he had done. At that moment all he could think about were the people that abandoned him in his life, and he refused to be the one thing he hated the most.

"Stop wasting your tears. Hurry and grab your things, we're leaving." He said abruptly, walking past you, yet not making your gaze. You gasped slightly before greeting him with a bright smile, quickly standing up and quickly grabbing the little number of items you carried to catch up where he ran off to.

Yeah, he thinks he'll keep you around a little longer.

#Wandere X reader #Wanderer #Scaramouche #Scaramouche X reader #Genshin impact #Genshin impact X reader #Genshin X reader #genshin imagines #Genshin impact fanfiction #Cyno X reader #Cyno Genshin impact #Alhaitham X reader #Alhaitham genshin impact #kaveh #Kaveh Genshin impact #Kaveh X reader #Genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact headcannons #genshin fanfic

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

Text

Closing In

Leon follows reader home...

Note: thank you to anon for suggesting this premise, ohhhh I did not realize how much I would like writing this - and thank you everyone for your patience!

Content: 3.9 k words, 18+, cnc with enthusiastic consent, stalking roleplay, slasher roleplay, home invasion roleplay, denial, rough sex, taunting, humiliation, crying, overstim, sadism/masochism, Slasher!Leon, obsessed Leon, LeonxReader, fem reader, no y/n.

"I dunno, I just think it's kind of romantic," you say. Your hands fiddle nervously with the tassels on your throw pillow.

"He was a stalker, babe." Leon's voice hides just a hint of amusement. "He cut women up."

"Okay, but besides that-"

"Besides the... The serial killing."

"Yes! Besides the serial killing."

Leon stared at you, an eyebrow arched in judgement. You tried to stay straight faced - by God, you tried - but he had a way of half-smirking his way past your mask with his annoying, pretty face.

"Look, I'm just saying," you roll your eyes, not even sure why you keep talking, "something about... Obsessing over someone like that is kiiind of romantic. What's the point of love if it doesn't make you a little crazy? Y'know? Anne Rice would agree with me."

"Anne Rice was horny for a Confederate twink," he points out.

You gawk for a moment. But like, he's kind of right. So instead of saying anything clever, you throw the pillow at him. He deflects it with his forearm, but that gives you the opening to jump on him. You're wrestling in no time, breathless and sweaty and... Moving against each other...

You're out for lunch with your friend, Jessie, at some too-fancy Parisian style café. You sip a caramel iced latte and share a plate of rose coloured macarons. She complains about her studies, you complain about work, and you both come to the resounding agreement that deadlines suck. She complains about her last date, some butch that was more well-read than her that accidentally made her feel stupid. You don't have the heart to tell her that they sounded cool as hell. You tip-toe around telling her about Leon. It's not that you weren't proud of him, it was just... With the nature of his job, what were you going to say? Yeah, I'm seeing this guy who has a gun case built into the dresser and is super paranoid about people visiting his place and won't tell me what he does but he's like, totally a sweet guy and not some psycho? Yeah. Okay.

You stretch, appreciating the summer sun on your limbs and the peaceful breeze around your skirt. Your phone rings. Jessie snatches it up before you have a chance to, and then gives you the most scandalous, shit-eating grin you've ever seen.

"No. Don't you dare-!"

"Hiiiii lover boy," she coos over the phone.

Oh fuck, kill me.

"Jessie, give me the phone!" You reach across the table, the ceramic plate between you clattering loudly against the glass table. You freeze, feeling eyes on you. Jessie opens her mouth in mock embarrassment.

"So you're the secret boyfriend that my best friend keeps hiding from me?"

"Jessie, come on."

She listens for a moment, then laughs. You get up from your chair and walk over to her while she tries to twist away from your grasp.

"mhm, mhm - oh, sorry, I think someone wants to talk to y-"

You finally snatch it from her grasp. You give her a stare with the intensity of someone who can kill by staring. You try to keep your voice as flat as possible.

"Hey, sorry about that. What's up?"

"Is that Jessie?" He asks. He's got that... Quirk in his voice. The one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel Jessie watching you and try to keep it cool.

"Yeah, sorry, she's like, literally five years old sometimes."

"She seems fun."

"Babe, I'm kinda busy, did you have a reason for-"

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

You freeze halfway to sitting back down in your chair. Jessie tilts her head, giving you that concerned-puppy-dog face she did when she knew something was up.

You clear your throat and find it suddenly dry. You sit back down but you're a little clumsy, your skirt getting caught on the arm rests. You snatch it back, and then trying to regain your cool, you take a sip from your iced latte. You hear him chuckle on the other end. Did it get cold all of a sudden?

"What, uh, what do you mean by that?"

You can practically hear him grin into the receiver.

"I mean," he says, drawing out every syllable. "I can see you. And you look pretty today. That skirt will roll up pretty easy-"

You hang up on him. Mostly in panic. There was no way you were going to do that in public! Your eyes scan the area around you. Pretty cafe patio, pretty park across the street, some people going about their daily business. You can't see him anywhere. He must be fucking with you. He must have known you were going to wear a dress, it's so hot out, and where would he even be hiding?

A cold hand touches yours and you almost jump out of your skin. Jessie's taking your hand in hers, and when you meet her gaze, she looks like she's about to cry.

"I'm so sorry if I caused any issues between you, I totally shouldn't have answered it. I didn't think he'd like, get angry with you," she starts to wetly babble, swaying between guilty and protective. You love her very much, but you don't know what to say.

Oh, it's just this weird sex game we play, I promise this brooding dude who you've never met and only spoken to once is definitely a good guy and not like emotionally abusive.

"Hey, hey, Jessie. Don't worry about it. It wasn't about that he's got this... Thing. Unrelated. But uh, look, I have to go."

She frowns, almost curving her pink lip-glossed mouth into a pout.

"If he so much as leaves a scratch on you, I will kill him."

Your thoughts flit to the bite marks and bruises that are just covered by your dress. If only she knew.

You kiss her cheek, snatch up one final macaron, and take your leave. You try to control your pace, look cool, act natural. Your eyes scan the buildings and alleyways around you. You seriously can't find him.

Your phone rings.

You stare at it for a moment. Your hands are shaking a little when you answer it.

"It's sweet how much she cares about you," he says. An idea dawns on you. You nod and give an mhm sound, listening around you for anything noticeable. A church bell rings just ahead of you and you hear it echo over the phone.

"You're close," you say. You try to sound threatening. He just laughs at you.

"Obviously. How else would I know you're wearing that citrus perfume I love?"

"I wear that everyday." Your voice shakes as you speak, and you can't help but whip your head around. You half expect to see him there, but it's just some guy who gives you a dirty look.

"No, you don't. You only wear it when you're going to see friends. You usually wear the vanilla one. You like that it's so subtle."

You're a little impressed he noticed that. It was kind of sweet, really, if he wasn't totally freaking you out. How did he possibly get close enough to smell your perfume without you noticing? You start walking again. You want to catch the train home. Maybe you can trap him there.

You use the shop windows as you pass to get a better look, pretending to window shop.

"Do you think I'd look good in that," you ask, with no idea what you're referring to. You're looking past whatever is behind the glass to observe the reflection. A spot of blonde hair, maybe... He got a totally different hair cut? No. Not him.

"Using the reflection. Clever."

He hangs up.

You spin around again, desperately searching the crowd. He was a beefy guy and he moved like a panther, there's no way he was just casually blending in. But, you can't find him.

You wrap your arms around your core. Knowing you're being watched makes you want to shrink into yourself. Yet you can't ignore the excitement you feel. It was kind of romantic, really. Kind of dangerous.

You liked Leon best when he was dangerous.

You set off again, somehow walking a knife's edge between nervous and confident. Both prey and prize. You keep looking over your shoulder as you pass into the crowded underground of the subway station. It's right around rush hour and it's so packed you can hardly move. Other people are breathing your oxygen and you're just recycling theirs. It's tight, and hot, and moving at the exact speed that makes you feel like no one is really getting anywhere. You pull your purse tight to your body and try to shove past people, only to be confronted with more people.

Your phone rings. You hang up. And then, in a stroke of brilliance, you call back.

His ringtone echoes out in the tiled halls. You try desperately to find it, but it only rings out twice, then it's lost in the sea of people.

"Clever," his voice is deep on the other end. "I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah. Why don't you stop hiding?"

"Oh, I know you're eager, but I didn't think you'd want me to cut you up in this crowd."

He's impatient. You can tell by the sharpness of his voice that he's more frustrated than he admits. The threat sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but picture yourself bent over on the filthy tile floor, knife to your throat, fucked within an inch of your life as people step past. The ebb and flow of the crowd pushes you towards the oncoming subway.

"What exactly is your plan?" He asks. You can hear the screeching brakes over the phone. "I know you take the 76 Southbound until Queen Street. I know you get off and walk two blocks to George Street. I know you live in a turn of the century brownstone with a heritage plaque and bathroom sink that takes forever to drain."

You step onto the 76 Southbound near the front. You press your back to the wall and watch as people get on.

"Yeah, well," you say victoriously, "I know you have to go the same way."

And then you see him. He walks directly into your trap, and realizes it too late. His blue eyes widen in realization. The door slams shut behind him.

You hang up.

Some people pile up in front of you, giving you cover from him. You watch him from behind shoulders and under arms. Open, navy bomber jacket and a grey t-shirt with black jeans doesn't exactly scream slasher killer. But, something about how casual he looks keeps your attention. He blends in, he's unsuspecting. And, to your surprise, he's grinning like a fox.

He's broad, and when he moves through the crowd, people make room for him. He scans every seat and every face with purpose. Inching his way towards the back. You realize you have nowhere to go. You start to panic. Maybe you get off a stop early? And then what, he beats you to your house and waits for you?

No, you have to get home before he does. Lock the doors before he can get in. You push closer to the door so you can be the first one off. You turn to track his progress and directly meet his gaze.

Fuck.

His expression drops, his eyes glaring at you from under his brow. You're almost hypnotized by them, frozen in place while he cuts through the crowd.

You're pinned down with nowhere to go. But, surely, nothing will happen in public, right?

He pushes past a few more people and then he's on you. He towers above you, his broad shoulders cutting out other's view of you. You notice how his t-shirt clings to his body. How well fitting his jeans are. You also notice the angry squint in his eyes from under his brow.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" He brings a hand down to touch your hip, holding it in his grasp. You quiver against him as he leans down, close enough to whisper in your ear. "Don't you know I’ll always find you?"

You turn your head away from him defiantly. Your eyes scan the train, but passengers nearby don't seem to notice. They all have that vacant long-day- commute stare.

"No one's going to help you, sweetheart." He closes in, one arm rests on the wall beside you, his body angled to ensure prying eyes can't see. His free hand slides up your body. It caresses the curves of your hips, the softness of your tummy, the round of your breast.

You flush. Your hands come up to his chest as if that will stop him from pawing at your tits.

"Leon, seriously? Here?" You whisper it, completely embarrassed.

"I can take you whenever I want." He uses that commanding voice you've only heard a handful of times before. "You're mine."

To prove his point, his hand dips between your thighs, and he presses his fingers against your pussy over the fabric of your skirt. It's so sudden and strong, your hand goes to his wrist on instinct. He doesn't stop, rubbing hard enough to make your legs shake.

"Could probably take you right here," he mutters, his breath hot on your ear. You feel yourself get wet at the thought.

"Queen Street." The robotic, automated subway voice chimes out from overhead.

The door opens. You lose your balance, but manage to recover quickly. You move fast, hoping to put as much distance between yourself and Leon as you can. You take the stairs two at a time until you breach the surface, taking in the fresh air like it would save you. But the summer heat brokers no peace, and you know Leon isn't far behind.

You don't look behind you for fear of slowing down. You take one block normally, then decide to cut through an alley way to save time. Every minute was another he could be gaining on you.

As you take a few paces into the alley, your hair starts to stand on end. It's somehow darker here, the smell of mildew and gasoline making your stomach turn. Your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Stop calling!" You snap, betraying more fear than you mean to.

"An alleyway? You're smarter than this." Leon is unphased by your outburst.

You give in, turning your head to look behind you. He stands at the other end, the sun behind him obscuring his features.

Then he moves. With long, easy strides, he makes ground quickly. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he whistles a slow, off-beat tune.

You turn and run. Your hand meets the corner at the end of the alley and you use it to redirect your momentum. Full tilt sprinting in a sundress down a public street in the middle of the day probably makes you look crazy. Leon made you look crazy.

You get to your brownstone on George Street. You take the few steps up to the front door. You throw your phone in your purse as you frantically rip through it for your keys.

Fuck, come on, where are they? Lipstick, tampon, water bottle, wallet FUCK! There. You snatch them up like they'll save your life. Your hands shake as you put them in the lock. It turns, and you take one last look to see Leon - oh shit!

He's at the base of the stairs! He takes them by two. You manage to get the door open wide enough to barely squeeze through. His hand slaps against the door but you throw your full weight against it. It slams in his face. He turns the knob. You struggle to hold it against him as you turn the dead bolt. Then the chain. He slams a fist against the door and you slowly back away from it.

A chilling thought dawns on you.

Back door.

You run to the other side of the house, tripping over shoes and a discarded purse as you do, cursing as they steal precious seconds from you. You turn the corner and run directly into the door. Your body stings from the impact. You shakily turn the lock.

Silence. For a few, long minutes, there's just silence. You wonder, disappointed, if he gave up, but take the time to catch your breath.

Your cell phone rings. Sweat rolls down your back as you answer it.

"I got you, motherfucker."

"Did you?" He asks. His voice is cool. Calm. "How confident are you that you got to the back door before I did?"

"I would have heard you come in." You aren't so sure.

"Would you?"

Your apartment is small. You approach the bedroom, then quickly snap the door open. It lies still. Empty.

"You don't scare me," you lie.

"I really almost had you there, didn't I?" He's calling your bluff as you move into the kitchen, "What do you think I would have done if I'd caught up to you?"

The kitchen is still and quiet too. You don't have an answer for him, anxiety knotting in your stomach. You take the turn into the living room.

His arms wraps around your waist with enough strength to lift you off the ground. You scream. You kick at him, but he doesn't budge, dragging you into the living room.

You see a window open.

"Did you climb the fucking trellis?" You ask, shocked and amused at the sight. He tries not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"What are you, Romeo?"

"You said you wanted romance," and then, his voice drops again to that cold, serious tone that makes you feel like prey, "isn't this what you wanted?"

He lets you go and you take the opportunity to run. But his hand is entangled in your hair, the sharp pain making you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes and you whimper. You grab his forearm and try to pull away, but the self-inflicted pain makes you freeze. He rolls his eyes.

"You're just so fucking predictable."

He drags you across the living room floor. It hurts, bare knees roughly hitting the hard wood floor. He lifts you up with an arm around your stomach. Then, he's bending you over the couch.

You try to push back against it. You struggle against him. He pulls your head back by the hair and you nearly sob.

"Please, don't," you whimper. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Not our safe word, sweetheart."

His words make you feel so beautifully helpless. The tears finally fall down your cheeks and, at the same time, you become aware of how soaked your cotton underwear is. His hand comes up and slaps you sharply. You whimper. He does it again, this time harder. The stinging in the side of your face is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He pins you to the side of the couch his hands on your hips. He rolls your skirt up, and makes a choked sound at the sight of you. He tears your underwear down harshly.

"Please, don't," he mocks with a harsh slap on your ass. "Try and tell me you don't want this."

A finger slides along your slick, from hole to clit. He presses his finger against it just slightly but it's enough to make your hips buck. He gently rolls a finger around your clit a few times, already building that high in the pit of your stomach. He barely fucking touched you and you're already desperate to cum, breath ragged, legs shaking. Leon pulls away. You whimper in disappointment. Then his hand comes down hard against your ass cheek. Then again. Then again. Then again.

The pain is overwhelming. But god, you don't want him to stop. You want hand-shaped bruises on your ass, you want to remember this every time you sit down for the next week.

"You look so pretty for me when you cry" His hand still wet from your cunt comes up and rubs your tears away, leaving an obscene mix of your tears and your desperation for him on your cheeks. The tears keep falling anyways. Then, softly, "you do remember our safe word, right?"

You nod, but you don't say it. You want to go further. You want him to hurt you more.

“Hey, answer me when I’m fucking talking to you,” he grabs you roughly by the jaw, wrenching your face to look at him.

“Yes,” you nod, desperately. “I remember.”

“Wasn’t so fucking hard,” he says. He slaps you again, hard enough to stun you into a stupid, teary-eyed grin.

You hear his pants unbutton, then unzip, then fall to the ground, but you're so overwhelmed you can't move. His hand still in your hair, still tugging enough to remind you of your place beneath him, he lines his hips up with yours.

Then he's pushing into you. One, smooth motion is all it takes, your cunt greedily pulling him in. A high pitched moan escapes his throat, followed by a groaned "so fucking wet."

He fucks you deep and slow. Torturously slow, enjoying every minute of pleasure that he gets. The head of his cock presses against your g-spot, building the high like one boils water. Slowly. Your abdomen pressed against the couch makes it easier for him. The hour of teasing and adrenaline and painful foreplay has you overstimulated. But it’s really the slow, deep fucking that drives electricity through your body. Push and pull, ebb and flow, your face and ass stinging as he works. You’re already bordering on the edge, but his pace doesn’t allow you to go over. You just hover there. And hover there. And hover there. For what feels like hours you’re kept right on the edge without ever going over, building the tension inside you until it fucking hurts, and then you’re crying again. You want him to slam his hips into you, to fuck you into the couch, to do something to make you cum, but he doesn’t.

“Leon, it hurts,” you whine.

“It’s supposed to.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation making your voice hoarse. “Please just make me cum, please.”

“Relax.”

“Leon-”

“I said relax. Or I’ll stop right now. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you shake your head, hair falling into your face.

He takes his time to smooth it back, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He wipes more tears from your cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is so hard and cold.

“Greedy little whore.”

With no warning, he’s fucking into you harder. Faster. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re cumming on his cock. Your body tenses so hard your muscles scream, shaking and moaning and gasping for air. Your cunt tightens so hard you hear Leon breathe a fuck, baby. It feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally come down, you’re entirely dazed.

You’re... vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, hot and sticky. But for the most part you just feel like you’re floating. Leon slowly lowers you to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow and tucking it under your head. You close your eyes.

You wake again when the room is an orange glow, a blanket thrown over you for comfort. Leon is lounging on the couch reading a book, and when you stir, you immediately have his attention.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily.

“Hey. Thought I’d let you sleep, you looked like you needed it. Why don’t I run us a shower?”

“Yeah,” you smile softly, dreamy fuzziness still clinging to you. “I’d like that.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #Slasher!Leon #yes he doesn't actually use a knife but it's the energy. you know it is.#anyways it's finally here thank you for the kind messages #requested #<- forgot to tag lol #Aaaaas always! Reblogs help me find more readers and comments are really encouraging! I read every single comment and tag :)

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claymoresword · 11 months

Text

I Choose Her | Chp: 13

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of known death eaters from one of the richest and oldest wizarding family. Are you prepared to abandon everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: character deaths, parental neglect, mentions of mental/physical/emotional abuse, potential self harm references

Note: an update?? who saw this coming? definitely not me! i know i disappeared for a very long time, i have no excuse i just hope you can accept my apology

i also was kind of procrastinating this chap for so long bc of the heavy themes in this, i just knew this wasn't going to be an easy one to write... (i was right) but anyway i added some fluff to hopefully balance it out so we'll see lol

anyway thanks so much for your patience, i hope you enjoy this one!

also one last thing, thanks for all the love shown on the previous chapters, sorry if i hadn't gotten around to replying to your comment yet but i do appreciate all of u !!

Taglist:@gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karsonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic

(pics are not mine)

As you approach Malfoy Manor you find it increasingly difficult to catch your breath.

You were foolish to assume you wouldn't eventually get caught.

You fleetingly consider grabbing Hermione and disapparating, but Greyback's firm grip on your arm prevents you from even attempting to reach for her.

The gates of the manor come into view, and you try to pry your arm away again. A last ditch effort, but it is no use.

The man forcefully holds you in place and you have no choice but to stand in front of the gate.

You make eye contact with Bellatrix as she approaches from the other side, her gaze then shifts to a disfigured Harry to your left, before landing her attention back to you.

A maniacal smile flashes across her face, as if she found the display before her truly amusing, and you have to fight the urge to cower.

"Get Draco."

════════════════════════════════════════════

You stood in the foyer in front of your parents. An involuntary thrill travels down your spine as you study their expressions. You cannot recall the last time you have seen either of them this furious.

"So this is what you have been doing all this time?" Your mother exclaims, gesturing to Hermione and you have to avert your eyes.

Your silence only further infuriates your parents.

You cannot help but feel a sense of embarrassment, being apprehended like a child in front of the other Death Eaters, Harry, Ron, and worst of all, Hermione.

"Have you absolutely no regard for your mother or I?" Your father finally speaks, his voice vibrating with anger.

"We have given you everything. Do you have any idea what we had to sacrifice just to raise you? Your mother and I have provided you nothing but the best." Your father raises his voice, it is sudden enough that it causes you to wince.

"This is how you repay us?" He continues.

"Do you have any idea the shame you have brought upon my name? Upon our entire family?" Your father steps closer but you keep your gaze fixed to the ground.

"I'm sorry." All you could afford to utter.

You hate how you feel in this moment, powerless and meek, only wishing for the ground to swallow you whole, so you never have to face any of the people in this room ever again.

You can feel Hermione's worried stare, but you cannot bear to look at her.

"We have warned you time and time again to end your relations with her." Your mother hisses, gesturing to your girlfriend.

You finally lift your head but your mother harshly grabs your forearm to pull you aside.

"Don't you dare look at her, y/n." She scolds, pure vitriol.

"You must think us fools. Is this all just a game to you?" Your mother taunts but you choose to remain silent.

An effort to de-escalate but it results in the opposite effect as you catch your mother fishing her wand out of her pocket.

"We have given you more than enough chances. More than you deserve." She states, pushing past you, storming directly towards Hermione.

A flicker of fear appears on your girlfriend's face. One you mirror, just as you realize what your mother intended to do.

Hermione tries to retreat, only to bump into Scabior, purposely standing behind her to cease her attempt at fleeing.

"It is time you suffer the consequences of your own actions." Your mother takes a fleeting glance at you before lifting her wand to point it at your girlfriend.

Taking large strides, you manage to put yourself in between Hermione and your mother, just before she gets the chance to utter the spell. You feel your girlfriend's firm grip on your arm as you continued to shield her with your body.

"No! Mother, please, don't." You plead, holding up your hand and she hesitates.

"I am sorry I have disappointed you. I am sorry I went against your wishes."

"But I will not– I cannot apologize for loving her." You hesitate as your voice trembles, but you speak the words anyway.

You hear a cackle from Bellatrix, grumbles and groans of disapproval coming from the Death Eaters gathered in the corner, and once again, you feel more exposed and deplorable than ever.

Your mother remains staring at you, this time with nothing but disdain.

"Love?" She scowls, almost like it disgusted her just to utter the word.

"In love with a mudblood?" Your mother's tone shifts, now incredulous and despondent.

She finally lowers her wand, only to strike you across the face with her other hand.

You hear a gasp from Hermione, but otherwise the room is silent, as you clutch your cheek in pain.

When you finally muster the courage to look at your mother her expression betrays no trace of regret.

"You are no child of mine." She utters, exasperated, and your heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

Tearing your eyes away they naturally fall on your father, standing a few paces behind.

You recognise a tenderness somewhere in his eyes, one you hadn't ever been awarded before. It's jarring and unfamiliar, it makes you want to weep.

"Step aside, y/n" Your mother says, lifting her wand again.

Perhaps it was pity, perhaps now your father was just as embarrassed as you are, or maybe, it is love that compels him to step forward, placing a gentle hand on your mother's shoulder.

"Darling, this is hardly the time or place." He attempts, but your mother doesn't move.

However, footsteps soon approach that causes all of you to shift your attention.

Draco can be seen entering the foyer with both of his parents, interrupting your altercation.

Your best friend pauses at the sight of you, evident concern etched across his face.

"Ah, Draco." Bellatrix acknowledges him and he's forced to look away from you.

The witch walks up to Harry, harshly gripping a handful of his hair to pull his head back, giving Draco a clear view of his face.

"Is it him?" Bellatrix asks expectantly, and the platinum haired boy couches in front of Harry.

"I can't be sure." Draco responds, dismissively.

His father then grips the back of his neck, harshly, and you observed as your best friend flinched under his touch.

You instinctively take a glance at your own parents.

Your mother has since resumed her position next to your father, both of them deliberately avoiding your gaze, once again your chest constricts painfully.

Scabior is standing so close behind you and Hermione, too close, you can both feel his breath against the back of your necks.

"Look closely son." Lucius says.

"If we are the ones to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven." He adds, his voice low but it echoes through the large hall anyway.

"Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him. I hope." Scabior states, finally stepping away from you.

"Mr Malfoy." He continues to antagonize, and it works to set the other man off.

"You dare talk to me like that in my own house?" Lucius raises his voice and Draco flinches again.

"Lucius." Narcissa finally steps forward, extending her arm to calm her husband.

Hermione remained clutching your arm, her grip only tightened the longer you stood watching the commotion before you.

Finally, none of the Death Eaters are in close proximity, so you decide it an opportunity to try and escape.

"We need to apparate." You manage to whisper to Hermione, reaching down to intertwine your fingers but your girlfriend shakes her head.

"We can't leave Harry." She responds and you sigh, defeated.

An answer you expected but it causes your anxiety to heighten anyway. You begin looking for another solution, another way to flee.

"Now, if this isn't who we think it is and we call on him, he will kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure." Bellatrix warns.

"What's wrong with his face?" Draco finally asks with a scowl.

"Yes, what is wrong with his face?" The dark haired witch repeats.

Scabior shrugs.

"He came to us like that." He states simply.

"Something he picked up in the forest I reckon." Another snatcher chimes in.

"Ran into a stinging jinx.." Bellatrix quips.

"Was it you, dear?" She asks, pointing directly at Hermione.

You feel your heart stop as your girlfriend tenses next to you.

"Give me her wand, let's see what her last spell was." The witch orders, and the evident worry that flashes on both of your faces easily gives you away.

"Ah, I caught you." Bellatrix says pointing at the two of you, amidst a cackle.

"It appears your girlfriend is not as smart as she thinks she is." She taunts, looking directly at you, successfully earning a grimace.

You contemplate lunging at the other woman, but before you can act, she halts.

She catches sight of the sword of Gryffindor proudly propped up, next to one of the snatcher's.

"Where did you get that from?" Bellatrix gasps.

"It was in her bag when we searched her, I reckon it's mine now." The snatcher responds with a grin.

Before any of you can comprehend it, Bellatrix sends the man flying into the wall with a single throw of a spell. She then points her wand at the other snatcher in the corner, taking him out too.

"Are you mad?" Scabior exclaims, but the wand pointed at his face in an instant, silences him immediately.

"Get out! Get out!" Bellatrix repeatedly shouts, and the band of snatchers scurry out of the hall, all fearing for their lives.

"Put the rest of them in the cellar." She exclaims, lifting Harry by the collar before grabbing Ron as well.

She shoves them hard enough that they fall by Wormtail's feet.

"I want to have a little conversation with this one." Bellatrix states.

You feel Hermione get ripped from your side, and instinct kicks in.

"No, get your hands off her!" You exclaim, reaching out to grab her but Bellatrix swings her arm, you feel a harsh blow to the stomach that knocks the wind out of you, making you land on the ground as a result.

"Bella!" Her sister scolds, rushing to your side.

"Stop fighting, you will get yourself killed." Narcissa warns, you feel her firm hand on your shoulder as she forces you to stand next to her.

Before you can respond you feel another harsh grip on your collar attempting to drag you to the cellar with the boys.

"No, not her– I want her to watch this." Bellatrix states, gesturing for Wormtail to let you go, and he does.

All you can focus on is the way Bellatrix is handling Hermione, the sadistic smile as she does so, rough and thoughtless.

Your girlfriend looks terrified, and you feel utterly powerless.

She soon retrieves a dagger from her side, holding it up in front of Hermione's face.

"I will give you one chance to answer my question, before I start cutting." Bellatrix says.

Your head is now pounding, your abdomen still aches from the blow, your face stinging where your mother struck you.

Hermione attempts to make an escape but with one swift flick of Bellatrix's hand, she bounds your girlfriend's legs, causing her to fall onto the ground.

You watched as the witch got on top of her, pinning her down by her shoulders.

She then forcefully cuts through Hermione's sleeve with her blade, until enough of her arm was exposed.

"That sword was meant to be in my vault in Gringotts, how did you get it?" She asks, her face an inch away from Hermione's.

Your girlfriend is silent, beyond the whimper that falls out of her lips.

This seems to only urge Bellatrix to bring the tip of the dagger to Hermione's arm. The older witch begins dragging the blade down the exposed skin.

Hermione's sobs quickly morph into deafening screams and you don't feel anything beyond panic.

"It was me! I stole the sword, not her!" You raise your voice, hoping that it would be enough to take the attention of your girlfriend.

"Quiet! I am not asking you." Bellatrix retaliates, merely brushing you off like some pest.

Your eyes followed as she hovered the blade over Hermione's arm again. You see her blood trickling from her wound onto the wood underneath, and you feel sick.

"Please, I didn't take anything." Hermione pleads helplessly, and your chest aches so much you can barely breathe.

"I don't believe you." Bellatrix begins cutting again, this time she's laughing.

Deriving true pleasure from torturing Hermione, and you couldn't stand by and witness it any longer, you had to act.

Amidst your girlfriend's screams you manage to slip past Narcissa, stepping next to her son.

"Draco, give me my wand." You state firmly, as his hesitant stare meets your pleading one, he hands you your wand after a beat.

"Stop lying!" Bellatrix exclaims, you see her lower the blade down to Hermione's arm again and you don't allow yourself to think a moment longer.

You point your wand at the dark haired witch.

"Avada Kedavra!" You exclaimed, survival and wrath, your only goal was to save Hermione.

The bright green light shoots out from the tip of your wand, in an instant, the witch drops onto the ground with a large thud, motionless.

"Y/n, what did you just do–" You hear your mother exclaim but you don't acknowledge her, you refuse to.

Her shock, along with everyone else's; hangs in the air, mute but suffocating.

Hermione is the first to come out of it, she sits up and you rush to her side.

With your arms around her you shut your eyes not half a second passes before you both disapparate, leaving your family behind.

You find yourself at the outskirts of Tinworth by Shell Cottage. The location you all agreed to meet at if anything went wrong.

It was meant as a precaution, you never actually thought things could ever go this wrong.

Disowned by your parents.

Murdered another in cold blood.

Your girlfriend tortured and maimed.

"Hermione, it's alright, you're safe now." You state, carefully placing your hands on either side of the other girl's face.

Your girlfriend doesn't meet your gaze, scattered, her mind entirely elsewhere.

"Y/n, we have to go back, we have to help the boys–" She says, you stop her with a firm hand on her forearm before she can stand.

"No, Hermione! It's too dangerous. If we go back they will kill you." You say with a raised voice, unintentional, driven by your heightened emotions, but it works to get the other woman's attention.

"I can't– I can't lose you." Your voice shakes and Hermione finally looks at you.

An expression flashes across her face that tightens the knot in your stomach.

She lets herself breathe and think, she realizes what you had done just moments prior, the significance, its implications.

"You killed her." Hermione states, more awe than contempt but you scramble to defend yourself anyway.

Truth be told you don't know why you had reacted the way you did, you weren't even aware that you had it in you to begin with.

"I had to– sweetheart, she would have continued to hurt you if I didn't stop her." You stutter, but Hermione quickly silences you.

Her lips crash into yours, fervent, anguished, and eager. Your girlfriend's hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling even closer.

Hermione's clinging onto you; with no desire to let go of her lifeline, her love, the only reason she is still here, safe and alive.

You are forced to pull away as your lungs burn from the lack of air.

"I will go back for them myself, promise me you'll wait for me here." You breathe out against Hermione's lips, your forehead resting against hers.

Before your girlfriend can even begin protesting you see Harry apparate in the distance. Closely followed by Ron and Luna.

The ginger haired boy is first to run to Hermione's side.

"Hermione, y/n. Are you alright?" Harry shouts, your girlfriend nods but you don't respond. Your eyes remain on the elf behind him.

You catch sight of Dobby, limping as he clutches his stomach.

"Harry Potter." The elf calls out, weak and frail.

Harry finally follows your gaze.

"Dobby." He says, sprinting to Dobby's side, and the elf collapses right into his arms.

You watched as a distressed Harry pulled something that seemed to have impaled the elf, he finally sets it on the sand next to him and your own stomach turns.

You immediately recognize the bloodied dagger.

How can a single object cause so much damage?

You feel your anger resurfacing, you regret not discarding the blade when you had the chance.

"Just hold on, okay?" Harry says as he tries to stop the bleeding, placing his hand over the wound.

"We'll fix you. Hermione will have something." He reassures before turning his attention towards her.

"In your bag– Hermione?" Harry pleads and your girlfriend merely clutches you tighter.

"Hermione." He repeats, desperate.

"Help me!" The man shouts, you hear your girlfriend let out a sob.

A barely audible "I'm sorry." before Hermione turns to embrace you, burying her face into the crook of your neck.

An attempt to protect herself from the inevitable anguish; witnessing someone entirely undeserving of death, go out so painfully, abruptly.

"Such a beautiful place– to be with friends. Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter." The elf mutters, and you are unable to stare any longer.

You make accidental eye contact with Ron, but for once there is a shared regard between the two of you. Grief, sadness, gratitude, acceptance.

The sheer helplessness Harry feels is shared amongst all of you as you watch the elf take his last breath in his arms.

You observed as Luna walked up to him, graciously shutting Dobby's eyes with her fingers.

Hermione remains in your arms, and you hold her close, having no intention of letting go.

"I want to bury him– properly. Without magic." Harry says, fighting back his sobs.

════════════════════════════════════════════

You are jolted awake once again out of a distressing dream. This time your girlfriend is not in bed next to you, you sit up abruptly in a panic.

"Hermione?" You call out, and the voice that responds almost immediately, swiftly eases your nerves.

"I'm here." Your girlfriend says, emerging through the doorway.

"I had to use the loo." She then explains, climbing back into bed.

With the feeling of Hermione's head against your chest you can breathe again.

You spent most of the night lying awake, and when you did manage to find sleep you were merely tormented by nightmares.

The encounter in Malfoy Manor could've gone much differently, in fact it could've ended horribly. You were so close to losing everything that mattered to you. You could only vow that you will never allow yourself to get that close again.

Any relief you felt this morning derived from knowing your girlfriend at least managed to find some sleep herself. Clearly the events of yesterday took a toll on her, but she is resilient, as always, and you adore her for it.

"I'm sorry you had to leave your parents." Hermione says after a long silence.

"Don't be. Nothing good has ever come from me being around them." You state truthfully, threading your fingers through her hair, absentmindedly.

"You saw how they were." You add.

"I know, still, I'm sorry." Hermione repeats it anyway, lifting her head to place several kisses against your cheek, the same spot your mother had struck.

You then reach down, gently grazing her bandaged arm, soon lifting it up to place a tender kiss against it.

The look Hermione gives you in return makes your heart stop and beat faster in your chest all the same.

"You know, I fight so hard because of you." You admit, extending your arm to cup her jaw.

"I never had a reason before you." You add, your thumb stroking her cheek.

You watched as your girlfriend's eyes welled with tears, overwhelmed and consumed by adoration.

Hermione finally leans in, capturing your lips with her own. The kiss snatches the air right out of your lungs, but you don't care. You'd never wish for it to end.

She finally pulls away only slightly before resting her forehead against yours.

"I love you, y/n. So much, more than you'll ever truly know." Hermione says, and the pleasant fluttering that travels throughout your entire body translates to an easy smile on your lips.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #hermione granger #slytherin au #harry potter #harry x hermione #hermione granger x reader

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quimichi · 16 days

Text

MATCH UP TRADE ♡

@merbear25 SO SORRY I'M LATE :((( I had it in my drafts, hit post and--missed and didn't notice--I had soo much fun doing this tho! I hope my picks for you are to your liking ♡

MEGUMI

@ i seriously have almost no idea why i imagined megumi with you specifically...but i think its really cute so deal with it-♡

@ first of all, he would TOTALLY get why you want time for yourself sometimes. Mainly because he does need his time sometimes too. Maybe you can both agree on specific "alone times" so no one is like lonley alone when the other is alone??? Yk what i mean???

@ we all know Megs is a little stoic- he would never EVER admit you're cute. Like super adorable and sweet. You're caring, supportive and clumsy?? Makes him all fuzzy inside. Especially when you maybe drop something out of nervousness

@ or when you silently or loudly support him. The latter makes him blush tho

@ oh but he can hate your strong-willed ass. No you're not coming to this misson, stop preparing. HE SAID STOP WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN HE WANTS YOU SAVE???

@ sooo you're patient? You really need that with him. He would take it very slow in the relationship. Like don't get me wrong he trusts you, loves you and appreciates you so damn much. But he still kind of struggles to show his feelings to you. So your patience will be greatly appreciated. You're gonna be rewarded too :3

@ not really a cuddly person but would try it for you. If the time really allows it yk.@ but would hold you close at night nonetheless. Kind of a harsh grip on you but hey, he just wants you close-

@ can he watch horror movies? Yes. Does he like them? They're ok. Does he watch them for you/with you? Most definitely yes!

@ oh but hes kinda creeped out by your collection. He's not scared of many things, maybe like none...but what definitely makes him uneasy are those dolls and nutcrackers-

@ oh and hes super scared of you being mad-

@ its like me, I'm not scared of many things but my mom being mad?? Nah--it's the same for Megumi

SANJI

@ HEAR ME OUT!!! OK PLS

@ Sanji 🫥

@ you do know how to have fun! You're adventurous! But also you're a very responsible and collected person (at least thats how i see you-)

@ i feel like Sanji wants and needs someone like you! You're not boring. You're very interesting and different. And you can hold his ass back-

@ would teach you cooking! And if you ever crave pizza, sushi, chocolate strawberries or a lemon cake, he will do it for you. Any meal and dessert for his beautiful lover!

@ many many many MANY compliments but its Sanji...its a crime to be insecure around him

@ your dolls lol-he gives you some as presents but is still like...creeped out at them.

@ definitely yelled a "QUIT STARRING" at one of them some time

@ ok now the difficult part...You're scared of large bodies of water (same) he will make sure you forget about it. Just don't go outside--or don't think of it. Just prepare dinner with him!!!

@ would definitely hold and comfort you if you're ever scared of a Strom. Especially on the sea cause...2 dislikes collide with one another--

@ super protective of you, what a surprise ik. Not even Luffy can get roo near you lol-and hes his captain-would kick his ass--

#quimichi #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk #match up #match up trade

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hprewetts · 10 months

Note

an angsty blurb or one shot with Remus dc what about🩷

i'm so sorry it took me a few days omg, i'm the world's slowest writer. that said, tysm for leaving a request<333 i hope i was enough, i used "you" because it comes more naturally to me but if someone wants third person they can say so and i'll try to suffice. i'm still very new to writing this format of fics but i appreciate the trust, here we go :)

This is not a tragedy

summary: you ask remus to get married after james and lily announce their engagement. his answer does not surprise you. 571 words. pairing: remus lupin x reader tags: non committed remus lupin, angst no comfort, open ending, break up (sort of), use of "you" for reader

"Let's do it," you say, "let's get married."

The air is cold against your cheeks once you step onto the balcony. Your breath comes out in white clouds of smoke, drawing trails of mist that disappear against the winds of winter. The words, too, come out slowly from your mouth.

Remus is smoking a cigarette, leaning onto the veranda. James, Sirius, Lily and Peter left a while ago. It's just you two now.

You wait, expectant. The snow rages outside your little flat. It rages inside you, too.

"We want to do it while we can," James had explained at the table, holding onto Lily's hands. The gesture had you breathless for a moment, painfully aware of how much you are missing. "We might not survive the war, the time for living is now."

And you had thought he had been right, at the time. James and Lily wanted to die without regrets and, in a way, their wedding itself was a defiance against the war.

You can not subdue us, it said, you cannot scare us. A pureblood and a muggleborn would be joined in marriage in the middle of the world's greatest attempt to stop exactly that. There is some sort of irony about it that sits quite right.

It's less romantic to you, really. Your love is but a mundane feeling.

James and Lily are larger than life in contrast; their union a symbol of something rebellious, their love alive against all odds.

You feel a little selfish, after giving it some thought, because the only thing you want is Remus to yourself. But perhaps just loving is enough, during these times of terror.

Remus inhales, then slowly lets out a puff of smoke. You just stare, trying to remember this moment. The way his tousled hair sits against his forehead, that scar on his nose you've always been so fond, the way his scars shine against the moonlight. You try to remember, treasure this instant so it won't be lost forever, knowing that you'll lose him.

"I'm sorry," Remus says without meeting your gaze. It's something quiet and small, you can't bring yourself to blame him. "But I can't."

The blow comes quietly, making your chest hurt. You can't say this is groundbreaking, that the world shatters around you because it does not. You held a little hope that he'd say yes, that his love for you would be stronger than whatever it is he's fighting back.

But it does not.

You were always an outsider, a stranger in your own relationship. Remus had always hidden something from you, something big, that you should have known. He disappeared, for days on end, and would never tell you where. When you asked about his scars, he'd lie, his innermost worries, he'd never tell. Remus never let you see him whole, but you thought he would, with time and patience, and that was your mistake.

You were just never that kind of couple.

"I'm sorry," Remus says again.

"I know," you whisper.

"I love you," he repeats.

"I know," you say back.

You try to remember this moment, record it on your memory, but even as he stands before you, the details have already started escaping your memory.

Remus Lupin was never and would never be yours. But you've known that for so long it might as well not hurt at all.

Except it does. It really, really does.

#remus lupin x reader #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #hp drabble #the marauders #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin angst #pls be kind i'm new to writing tumblr #my requests are open #:)

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animehideout · 5 months

Note

hiii!love your writings so much! And MBTI content is just *chef's kiss* :D I was wondering,what do you think Toji's relationship would be with an INTJ? as he wasn't included in that part.I hope this is ok to ask! Thank you :3 (and happy New Year ^^)

TOJI FUSHIGURO X INTJ

a/n : Heyy fellow INTJ @steppenwolfofslytherinhouse I hope you're doing great. Thank you for this request and I apologize for this very late update🥹. I hope really you like this one 🤍✨

Note: I promise I'm working on your requests, sorry for taking too long but life is kinda hectic and I'm struggling to find motivation. I appreciate your patience ♡⁠˖

Attracted to each other:

You initially started off as allies. Toji would be drawn to your sharp personality and you’d find his self-confidence that has no limits very attractive and appealing. Both of you have a shared intellect, highly relying on the power of mind and intuition, that would make things work easier that way, especially if you’re paired together to get work done. When engaging in debates, challenges and insightful conversations, a spark would ignite between both of you, realizing that you’re attracted to each other in a romantic way not just platonic. INTJs and Toji are highly compatible, almost in every aspect. You’re both determined, brave and independent. Despite being lone wolves, when you found each other you started feeling less lonely, finding comfort in each other’s company even though none of you dares to admit it. Funny how both INTJs and Toji are straightforward and honest individuals, but would never admit their feelings. You might view feelings as a weakness at first, afraid that it may restrict you, given that INTJs appreciate independence and freedom, but you grew to realize that you have the same way of thinking and you’re willing to give each other your needed space, so things would definitely work out between you. You show your interest in each other through challenges, constantly competing against each other. Teasing and wittiness are your kind of romance, both of you having a smirk on your lips. You always know what to say though, you never offend or bring each other down. You know when and where to stop. INTJs may be seen as complex individuals, exposed to misunderstanding and judgment, however with Toji you’d feel completely understood, even on deep levels. The more you get closer to each other, the more Toji gets you, effortlessly reading you like an open book even though you’re mysterious and secretive. And vice versa. Both INTJs and Toji are good at reading the atmosphere and analyzing other’s body language or hidden meaning behind simple words. You have a strong connection that rooted from your uniqueness. You and Toji would feel more attracted and draw to each other every time you dive more into each other’s details, your romance blossoms as you explore the intricacies of each other’s minds and hearts. It’s like a journey of discovery, navigating the complexities and mysteriousness that you both carry.

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N: 🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded. You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips.

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

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