#how to measure your window for curtains

[abyssruler]

arguments and odd positions

lyney x gn!reader

you knew lyney was a magician, but opening your fridge only to see him inside instead of your recently bought groceries is taking it a little too far. or — you refuse to talk to lyney after an argument, which leads to lyney putting himself in various odd positions in order to get you to speak to him.

comedy-ish, just lyney being weird and lynette being his accomplice

Lyney’s not one to let you stew in your anger after an argument. He’s persistent in getting you to speak with him to try and resolve the issue, which leads to a few… ridiculous and frankly odd situations he puts himself in just so he can talk to you.

An hour after you rushed off after a heated argument, you open your door only to find a little note stamped on it with the words I’m sorry :( written in a loopy handwriting. A bit creepy that he sneaked into your bedroom without your notice, but while the note makes you soften a bit, you’re still angry with him.

Which then leads to more… drastic measures. The likes of which Lyney has to force Lynette to help him with.

Two hours after your argument, you’re opening your fridge, only to lurch away and bite back a scream of surprise when you see Lyney standing inside your fridge.

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but you’re quick to close the door on him.

It escalates after that.

Everywhere you go, Lyney is right there.

In the middle of watering the plants in your backyard, you shift a few leaves from a bush and come face to face with none other than Lyney. He smiles sheepishly at you, a few twigs stuck in his hair. You don’t know how he managed to hide himself in that bush, but instead of acknowledging him, you spray him with water and leave.

You’re in the middle of cooking when you open your cupboard and see Lyney crouched inside the small space (how did he even fit in there?) He gives you a little wave which you ignore as you close the cupboard on him.

It goes on like that for a while. You turning around and seeing Lyney in bizarre positions that make you question how he even managed to end up in the first place.

You check in on your aquarium to feed your fish, only to see Lyney inside the aquarium. You open a book to read, but Lyney’s face is printed on every page. You try reading the newspaper, but the headlines are filled with nothing but Lyney’s name and why you should forgive him. You play a song, but Lyney’s voice echoes instead of the opera singer’s. You open your closet to change clothes, and Lyney is inside the cramped space wearing your clothes.

He’s everywhere.

You shift the curtains open, and Lyney. Is. Right. There.

You swear the windows had been firmly shut, and there hadn’t even been the slightest outline to tell that a person was hiding behind the curtains.

“Darling, please—”

You swish the curtains close on him and stomp your way to the bedroom. You make sure to lock the door, double checking the windows to prevent any chances of Lyney sneaking in.

When you’re sure that not even the hydro archon can break into your room, you sink down on your bed, exhaustion settling in as you turn your head over this bizarre day.

Lyney was persistent, yes, but never to this degree. He showered you with all sorts of compliments and bent over backwards so you can always have your way. In hindsight, the fact that you’ve never once argued before should have been a hint that Lyney has always been careful to make sure you’re happy—too careful, at that. It makes sense, you think, that he’s so desperate to make peace with you now that you’ve had your first argument.

Still, despite how odd his actions were, it was a little touching to see how far he’d go just to apologize to you. Maybe tomorrow you’ll finally acknowledge his existence.

You shift, turning to the other side of your bed—

And Lyney is right there, laying on his side and watching you with a smile on his lips.

You feel your anger and resolve crumble in the face of that smile. And really, it’s been a long day. Staying angry isn’t going to do anyone any good.

He opens his mouth, but you interrupt him with an exasperated sigh, shuffling forward and snuggling your head in the crook of his neck.

“I forgive you,” you murmur.

You feel him circle his arms around you, letting out a happy little sigh of contentment as he buried his face on top of your head, pressing a kiss that sends a spark right down your spine. He’s dressed in a soft shirt and cotton shorts made for sleeping, clearly having expected to sleep here beside you. Sneaky. You’ll get him back for the near heart attacks today, but for now, you’ll settle for basking in the warmth he radiates, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

And you think that’s the end of it, that the two of you will drift off to sleep in each others’ embrace, but then—

“Lynette, tell Freminet to cancel the fireworks show! Plan Y version two is no longer needed!”

[sky-is-the-limit]

“𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔..”

𝑷: 𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 '𝑮𝒂𝒛' 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑭!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

𝑾𝑪: 1,208 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔.

𝑵𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆<3

Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the curtains, sending them fluttering softly against the window.

It was a peaceful night, the kind of night where time seemed to stand still, where the world faded away and all that mattered was the warmth of Kyle's body beside you, the softness of his lips against your skin.

As you laid in bed, naked beside Kyle, you could feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He had just returned from another mission and now he was finally home, safe in your arms.

The weight of his presence beside you felt comforting, reassuring, like a lifeline in the darkness.

Sergeant Garrick was gone and Kyle, your Kyle, was safe beside you.

The room was cast in a soft glow, illuminated by the gentle light of the moon filtering through the window. Its silver beams danced across Kyle's features, highlighting the delicate contours of his face, the chiseled lines of his jaw.

You traced your fingertips lightly over the scars that crisscrossed his arms, each one a testament to what he went through.

They seemed to catch the moonlight, gleaming faintly in the darkness. Perhaps it was just your imagination playing tricks but to your tired eyes it almost seemed like he was glowing.

Some marks were faint, like wisps of memories barely clinging to his flesh while others stood out boldly, jagged and deep, stark reminders of the pain he endured away from home, from you.

In the moon's soft embrace, they seemed to dance with a ghostly luminescence, painting intricate shadows across his skin. Despite the horrors they symbolized, you found them strangely captivating.

It was impossible not to when they adorned the body of a man whose very presence was like poetry in motion.

It was as though the divine had spent centuries perfecting every curve, every line, every spot. You marveled at how someone could look so breathtakingly beautiful, even after returning from hell itself.

You cursed them in silence, cursing the world for what it had done to him, for the terrors it inflicted upon his soul despite it being his choice.

And though you wished you could hurt them back, you never doubted, even for a second, that he had already taken matters into his own hands, eliminating those who wanted to harm him before they could inflict any more pain.

"What about this one?" You whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the night.

Your fingertip delicately trailed the deep, large scar on Kyle's shoulder that almost reached his collarbone, tracing its path with a tender curiosity, as if mapping out the constellations in the night sky.

For a moment, Kyle remained silent, his breathing steady and measured, as though he was caught between being awake and dreaming.

His touch remained on your back, caressing your spine so softly that it was a surprising how you didn't fall sleep.

"Attacked from behind." He murmured, his tone eerily calm despite the gravity of what he said.

Wrapped in his embrace, you couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of fragility that enveloped him whenever he returned from a mission.

Kyle hated it, of course. He would reassure you, his voice soothing, telling you that he was okay, that he was back in one piece and that no one was going to take him away from you, at least not in that moment.

Despite his words, your fears lingered like shadows in the corners of your mind.

You feared the phone ringing in the middle of the night, dreaded the thought of waking up to find the bed empty and his uniform missing from the closet. You feared those fears becoming permanent, nightmares creeping into reality.

And so, for the first few days after his return, you treated him like porcelain, as if the slightest touch might shatter him into a million pieces.

With a trembling breath, you whispered against his scar, a kiss so tender it barely brushed against his skin,

"I'm sorry."

It was a futile apology, you knew. It wasn't your fault, couldn't be your fault. Yet, the weight of helplessness pressed down upon you, a suffocating burden you couldn't shake.

It felt like you were apologizing for not being there, for not being able to protect him from the dangers that lurked in every corner. Irrational, perhaps, but the feeling lingered nonetheless.

His job was a choice he made. He had chosen this path, this life of danger and sacrifice and found his peace with it in a way that you couldn't comprehend. While he accepted the risks as part of his duty, for you, the worry, the fear, it gnawed at your heart like a relentless tide.

Those who preached about gender roles, about the man being the protector and the woman needing protection, seemed like nothing more than empty rhetoric to you.

Love knew no boundaries, no predefined roles.

When you loved someone as deeply as you loved Kyle, you would willingly face any danger, endure any hardship, just to keep him safe.

But reality was far less forgiving.

And so, the weight of that realization bore down upon you, consuming you whole as you sat in the darkness, waiting. Waiting for the door to open, for his footsteps to echo through the silent house, for the confirmation that the monsters he faced were put to rest, at least for the time being.

Not permanently, though. That was his choice to make.

"S'not your fault, baby. Never your fault." Kyle murmured and despite the weariness etched in his tone, he fought against the pull of sleep.

He refused to succumb, his determination evident in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. He didn't want to leave you alone with your fears, not for a moment.

That was your man, determined to fight and protect you, even from the invisible dangers that only existed within the confines of your mind.

But eventually, exhaustion won out, and you saw the struggle fade from his features as he finally yielded to the embrace of sleep.

You glanced up at his beautiful face, softened by the gentle glow of the moonlight, it was clear that he was lost in a dreamland.

All you wished for in that moment was that his dreams were kind to him, that they offered him the peace he deserved.

In that moment, you promised to protect him as best you could. You vowed to guard his heart, to love him as he deserved. Through all of life's ups and downs, in sickness and un health, you swore to stand by his side, no matter what. You'd wait for him patiently, never losing faith.

Your pledge went beyond just keeping him safe physically. It was about preserving his kindness, his humor, his ability to love fully and honestly.

Kyle Garrick loved with a sincerity that felt like springtime warmth, like the innocence of a child. It was a love that knew no bounds, overcoming barriers with its purity and sincerity.

Even if you couldn't shield him from every danger, you knew you could at least protect what truly mattered. His essence, his spirit, his heart.

The very things that made him, him.

[p0ckykiss]

stain on the sink - mingyu

summary - mingyu is sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at his phone. for some reason, he had thought that you, who has never even dyed your own hair, let alone someone else’s, would be the perfect person to bleach his whole head. you agreed after mingyu said he’d buy you dinner if you did it.

-> established relationship, kissing, fluff, sexual joke implication

the smell of bleach stuck to every surface in the apartment, no matter how many windows you opened. you knew it was inevitable but fuck, did it have to be so bad?

you walk back into the bathroom, the smell only worsening.

“your scalp burning yet?”

“i can feel it, but it's not hurting." you sigh in relief at that, you didn't want to have to drive mingyu to the hospital because of your combined stupidity.

you clean the supplies up off the sink, the box of leftover bleach finding a home in the back of the cabinet, shoves the plastic bag you'd received at the convenience store into the corner. after you're finished, you move away from the sink, nudge mingyu's leg with your own to get him to scoot over enough for you to sit. he complies, but even with the added space, you're thigh to thigh, the ledge uncomfortable as all hell.

mingyu looks up from his phone, meets your eyes before slipping a hand into your hair. he combs it back in the way he’d learned you like, done it so much it'd become muscle memory, repeats the action. mingyu thinks this is the most content he’d ever seen you, eyes shut and a soft smile laying across your lips.

you sit like that for a while, it could have been five minutes or fifteen. neither of you know, your only measure of time being that mingyu's phone had faded to black while he was preoccupied with you.

mingyu offhandedly comments, “your hair is so soft, i don’t think mine has been like that ever since i first dyed it,”

you remember that, the shock you felt when mingyu walked into your apartment with dark brown hair. the difference between his previously black hair and the dyed brown wasn’t much, not in reality, but to you it was like his whole world shifted. you can still recount how pleased mingyu looked with it, his laugh when you couldn’t find the words to convey his support. and you could definitely recall the newfound confidence mingyu had after, low hanging shirts and burning grins.

“i liked your dark brown hair, it suited you.”

mingyu hums, then asks, “is it your favorite?”

you don’t think much about his reply, mostly because you'd already spent hours debating this topic on your own, “no, i like that dark black you did a little more,”

“makes sense why you bought that then,” mingyu says, pointing at the unopened box of black dye that's peeking through the wrinkles of the convenience store bag. you may have attempted to persuade him into doing that instead, unfortunately without any luck.

glancing at your phone, you see that the timer you set has a minute left. you shove the screen in mingyu's face, disorienting the other for a moment. when his eyes focus on the numbers, he pats your thigh with his hand, stands up, and stretches his back.

“shampoo?” he asks, elbow stretched behind his head.

you hum in confirmation, get off the tub ledge and grab your gloves again, the tight nitrile meeting your skin once more. you pull the shower curtain to cover the outside, twist the knob to turn the showerhead on.

while turned away, you feel arms circle around your waist, chin digging into the flesh of your shoulder. though you don’t want to, you tug one of mingyu's arms away from you and bring him towards the shower.

“put your head in, dummy.”

mingyu surrenders, leaning forward into the water, allowing you to shampoo the bleach out. you can’t make a final decision yet, but in your unprofessional opinion, it doesn’t look half bad. sure, it isn’t an a-grade job, but you never claimed to be a miracle worker, only someone with two hands and box bleach.

when you're certain you've gotten it all out, you turn the shower off and grab a towel from the rack beside mingyu.

you begin to ruffle the towel against mingyu's hair, intentionally shaking mingyu's head side to side. he looks like a wet dog at this point, head drooped and yielding to the attack.

you think you're as far as you'll get with a towel and tap mingyu's chin to get him to look up.

though you were surprised when mingyu first dyed his hair, and you'd thought that was long enough ago for you to not be affected by any change to his hair color, you felt that breathless feeling from before all over again.

mingyu looked good, even with his shabbily bleached hair and old pajama shirt, because of course he did.

you have been staring for far too long, you know that. mingyu breaks the silence with, “so, you gonna give me a blow job?”

the moment is gone just like that, you slap mingyu on the side with the towel. 

“do you have no decorum, mingyu?”

“i meant the hair dryer,” mingyu quips, but the smirk on his lips says otherwise. 

“sure,” you reply, words coated thickly with sarcasm. 

when mingyu turns away to look in the mirror, leaning over the sink, hands running through his hair, he simply says, “thanks, babe,” before taking the towel out of your hands and beginning to hang it on the rack, in its previous spot.

“you’re so unfair,” you whine, and mingyu has the audacity to look confused, eyebrows scrunching as he looks over at you, extremely lost. you continue, “i bleach your hair, shampoo it out, and towel dry it, and all i get is a thanks? what happened to romance?”

mingyu laughs, head titling to the floor. you hold back a smile, knowing you've got him in the palm of your hand.

“romance? okay,” mingyu's hands meet your waist like they were built to be there, pulls you closer, breath hitting your lips. you like this more than anything else, even if the smell of bleach hasn’t stopped biting your lungs at every inhale you take. “thank you so much, y/n. how could i ever repay you?”

you find you don't need to answer that because your lips have already met, and words that didn’t need to be spoken are shared between your mouths, a secret for only you and the walls of the bathroom.

bleaching hair isn’t so bad. not when you get the reward of your still-gloved hands in mingyu's newly bleached hair and your bodies pressed against each other. you also get your free dinner, so it's a win for you in the end. 

[crappymixtape]

gold & glitter

REQUEST → @superblysubpar, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ i’m thinking a little rich!steve harrington, a little spicy somethin, somethin and a holiday play – spicy is right, steve takes you to see the nutcracker, but you don’t even make it to the first act • 18+  | ( 3.1k – smut with a dash of fluff, rich!steve x reader )

G O L D & G L I T T E R 🎶 the nutcracker suite, tchaikovsky

“Good evening, Mister Harrington. Miss. May I take your jackets?”

“Thank you, Charles. Did you order the MacCallan Anniversary malt?”

“Of course, sir. It is available neat here from your decanter or we can dress up however you like. Miss, your jacket?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you opened them again expecting the finery before you to disappear into thin air like a dream, but it didn’t.

“Oh ye-yeah. I mean-yes. Yes, thank you,” you stumbled over your words as the waitstaff took your coat and disappeared behind the curtain. God, you were working overtime to maintain the same level of calm and collected sophistication that seemed to come so easily to your date.

Steve Harrington. Son of John Harrington and heir to the Harrington fortune. One with a foundation built by generations of brokers and wealth managers. Carried on throughout the years to be passed down to the eldest or, in Steve’s case, the only son.

You’d been together for over a year now, but you still weren’t used to it. This lifestyle.

Going anywhere with him meant multiple planned routes in and out of your destinations. Private cars with dark tinted, bullet-proof windows. Black American Express cards, Gucci loafers, and champagne flown direct from the Garonne Valley in Bordeaux, France.

And of course, at Christmastime, a viewing of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker from a private balcony, performed by only the finest troupe at the New York City Ballet.

You’d been to the theatre, the opera, but never like this. A suite all to yourselves, up and away from prying eyes, and upon each seat rested a pair of exquisitely golden opera binoculars for your viewing pleasure. It felt otherworldly. Lush and dark, gilded and polished. Long, red, crushed velvet curtains draped heavy to the floor and on a small table thick, crystalline tumblers sat next to a matching decanter full of only the finest single malt whiskey.

Lifting a hand, you ghosted an immaculately manicured finger around the rim of one of the glasses.

“Is it up to your standards, honey?”

The low, warmth of Steve’s voice broke your trance and pulled your gaze quick to look up at him.

“What?” you wondered aloud, still surprised at how he could ask such questions, “My standards? God. It’s beautiful.”

“Good. M’glad you like it.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth as he watched you walk to lean out over the balcony and look down at the sea of seats below. You were wearing the emerald green dress he’d bought you especially for the occasion. Made of the finest silk and fitted tight against every curve and dip of your body. Your hair swept long over one shoulder, soft skin exposed through the keyhole cut into the back. You were exquisite.

And you were all his.

Tucking a hand into the pocket of his slacks he reluctantly looked away from you and took up the decanter to pour a measure of whiskey for himself. MacCallan, single malt, from 1928 and around three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle. Lifting the tumbler he inhaled deeply and let his eyes drift shut. Worth every single penny.

“Charles,” his voice notched up in volume and the man from earlier appeared through the thick, velvet curtains.

“Sir?”

“A bottle of Dom and a chilled glass,” Steve took a drink from his whiskey and let it sit on a his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. “Oh, and my cigar case.”

“Sir, you know smoking isn’t permitted–”

Steve hummed, a low thrum in his throat, and stepped forward toward the other man.

“How much do I pay for these seats, Charles? How much does my family pay for these seats? Since the theatre opened in 1964…I’ll let you do the math,” he took another sip of whiskey and lifted a hand to smooth down the other man’s cravat, “My cigar case.”

“Yes. Of course, Mister Harrington,” the man replied quietly, eyes glued to the cheap, shiny black plastic of his dress shoes.

Steve put on a smile, the one he gave to clients when he knew he’d closed an account, and gripped the man’s shoulder, “Good man.”

And without another word Charles was off again through the curtain.

There was no denying it, Steve’s presence always held weight. Held power. No one could tell him no. Stood in boardrooms dressed to the nines. Gold heirloom cufflinks, custom tailored jackets and Tucci de Lusso oxfords included, but this version of him was different. Somehow more and you didn’t know how it was possible.

Brunette locks perfectly coiffed. Custom black Armani suit fitted tight across his chest and shoulders. Gold signet ring with his initials engraved upon it shining up from his index finger, and damn if his ass didn’t look incredible in those slacks.

You clicked your tongue at him and fixed him with a look, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Babe, he’s just trying to enforce the house rules,” smoothing a hand up his chest, you pretended to adjust his tie as an excuse to touch him.

“Honey, you and I both know who makes the rules around here,” he drawled, his tone making you weak in the knees, and he set his glass down in favor of taking hold of your waist. His hand wide and warm on the small of your back as he ran it down the curve of your ass and squeezed, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“Steve,” you chided, no heat behind it, and he dipped down to press a kiss to your neck.

“This really is your color,” he whispered in your ear and your eyes fluttered at the sound. Pressed your thighs together as he traced a finger across your exposed collarbone. Warmth blooming in your core as he followed the hem that chased along the edge of your shoulder.

“You’ve got good taste,” you whispered back, swallowing the moan that had crept up your throat and he grinned.

“I do, don’t I.”

“Sir, your cigar cas–oh!”

Charles came back through the curtain to find the two of you pressed into each other, Steve’s nose buried in the crook of your neck. Your cheeks burned at being caught.

“My sincerest apologies, sir! I should’ve–”

“S’alright,” Steve chuckled, pulling away from you to casually take the case from the other man without missing a beat. He reached into his money clip and slipped a hundred dollar bill into Charles’ hand, “Now. That will be all. If I need anything, I’ll ring you.” The finality of his words hung in the air.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excuse me,” and with that Charles disappeared again for what you were certain, after all that, would be the last time.

“Shit,” you breathed, cheeks still bright red as you bit back a laugh.

Steve was laughing too, but no where near embarrassed, and he grabbed your hand to pull you close to his chest again as the theatre lights flickered and slowly dimmed.

“Mmm, damn. Showtime,” he murmured softly into your hair.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of having to sit so still, and so far from Steve for three hours, but then another thought came to you. One that made your cheeks flush again and you pressed your face into his lapel, breathing in the citrusy, cedar scent of his cologne.

Pulling away just enough to meet his gaze the expression you maintained was innocent, but the look in your eye wasn’t. It was dark and needy. Warm and flickering at the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“We could freshen up first,” you suggested quietly and as Steve put your words together his pupils blew wide. Pools of black edged in gold and he squeezed at the plush of your hip.

“Uh-huh,” came out strangled and it was all he could manage. Unable to focus on anything other than rucking that silk dress up around your thighs, and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the thick, velvet curtains.

The corridor was empty, Charles hiding wherever he’d rushed off to, and everyone else was in their seats to catch the opening act as Steve led you the short distance down the hall.

Luckily for you, the neighboring balcony’s ticket holders had filed for bankruptcy earlier in the year and now the restrooms on this wing were exclusively Steve’s. Doors crafted from thick oak and etched with breathtaking carvings of Swan Lake and Slyphide, they were heavy enough to drown out anything happening on the other side.

Thank god.

Ignoring the men’s and women’s signs, Steve chose the closest door and shouldered into it, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his shirt as he held muscled it open. It was a hurried mess, both of you tripping into the room on the train of your dress in a fit of giggles as Steve huffed a laugh and cursed under his breath.

“Baby.”

Heels clicking on the white granite tile floor, you regained your footing and finally took in all the exquisite details of the ornate room. Wide marble slabs. Bottles of lotion and perfume that cost more than your mortage. Gold fixtures shining in the low light falling from crystal chandeliers that refracted bright shards of color against the walls.

You would have appreciated the incredible beauty of it all, but Steve. You couldn’t have cared less and neither could he.

He spun you around to face him and hooked his arms behind the backs of your legs. Scooped you up off the ground and pulled a squeal from you as you held on tight around his neck to steady yourself.

Squeezing his hold on you, he freed an arm and swept it across the counter. Knocked the soap dish clattering into the sink basin and paid absolutely no attention to the lush basket of designer hand towels that fell to the floor as he lifted you with ease onto the marble surface.

“Steve,” you protested weakly and when he notched himself between your legs you felt yourself melt under him.

His hands were everywhere. Your waist, the small of your back, fingers pressing into your cheek and pushing your hair over your shoulder to drag messy, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. It pulled a moan from your lips and at the sound he groaned into you.

“Christ, babe. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you climbed into the limo. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture in this thing. So damn hot. All for me, huh?”

“S’always for you,” you half-laughed, but it caught in your throat as he slipped a hand between your thighs, “God, Steve.”

“This for me too, honey?”

He gathered a handful of emerald green silk in one hand and pooled it at your waist as the cool air of the room sent a shiver up your spine. Then he caught sight of the black lace panties hugging tight against you and sucked in a breath. Bit down on his bottom lip and looked like he might cry.

“You’re gonna kill me with these. Are you kiddin’ me? Baby. Look at this,” he babbled, just standing there not touching you and you grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him back into you.

“Talk too much,” you murmured against his ear, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging your nails against his skin, “It’s all yours…Mister Harrington.”

And fuck if the dress and panties weren’t enough, the sound of your voice wrapped around his name did him in.

“Damn right it is.”

He growled as you tugged on his hair, slipped his hand back between your legs and tugged the thin fabric of your panties aside. The way he had been kissing and talking at you out on the balcony had been plenty to send you pressing your thighs together, but the way he was handling you in here had you soaked.

His fingers slipped in your slick as he felt just how wet you were and he smirked against your skin as he dragged his lips up to your jawline. Tutting softly he slowly circled your clit, his other hand moving to wrap gently around the column of your throat.

“Bet you want me to talk now, huh honey? You want that? Talk dirty to you?” his voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers slid down to press against your entrance.

You swallowed against the hand he had on your throat, your lips dropping open into a perfect little ‘o’ as you squirmed against the counter, impatient for him.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed and he smirked at how he had you wrapped around his finger, literally as he slid one into you.

“That’s my girl. I know what you like, don’t I? Give you everything you need. Take care of you, hm?” he babbled, kissing and sucking at the hollow behind your ear as he began to slide his finger in and out, in and out. A slow drag at first before adding a second finger and pulling a moan from your lips.

“Good care of me,” fell out mindlessly as he gently tightened the hand on your throat making your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“This isn’t enough though, is it? Not enough. Want me to fill you up, don’t you honey?” he whispered and you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and god you wanted him to make you see stars.

He pulled his hand from between your legs to undo the button on his pants and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the loss of his touch.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” he coaxed, pulling down his zipper and reaching in to free his rock hard cock.

It sprang out of his pants without any encouragement and he wrapped a hand around it. Rubbed it against your slit as it practically cried in anticipation and as he slowly pushed himself into you it made you sucked in a rasp of a breath.

“Steve,” you begged and he moved his hand to grip your thigh.

“I know, baby.”

An inch more and he was into you up to the hilt. Filling you so much that you could feel the tip pressing against the spot only he could reach. Easing out he groaned as you clenched down on him before pushing back in and he set the pace there. A slow drag. In, out. In, out.

The wet sounds coming from you as he fucked you slowly were obscene. Made louder by the empty room, but you didn’t care. You wanted more.

“Harder,” you pleaded. He wanted it too and as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding into your cunt he nearly lost it.

Letting go of your throat he grabbed onto your other thigh for purchase and pulled you to the very edge of the counter. Picked up the pace and started fucking you faster, the slap, slap, slap of his thighs against yours filling the air.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. You like that? Huh? Want more?”

“More–shit. Yes, god. More, Steve.”

Your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the counter, moans falling freely from your lips now as Steve pushed you both closer and closer to climax. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he squeezed into the plush of your thighs and your hand flew up to grab at the back of his neck.

“Gonna–ugh–come, baby. Come with me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw ticking when he clenched down, and as he rocked his hips back into you, you both came.

Your orgasm wrapped around you tight. White hot. Electric. Every inch of you buzzing and sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July and you cried out as his thrusts fell out of sync, jerky and messy as he came down.

A soft thud echoed against the tile as your head fell back against the mirror behind you, beads of sweat holding your hair messy across your forehead. Steve leaned into you, rested his head on your chest, and slowly your breaths evened out.

Your lips twitched with a smile, your hand lifting to cover your mouth as you held back a laugh, and Steve seemed to have the same thought as he chuckled against your dress.

“Someone heard us. For sure,” you finally said, voice crackly from breathing so hard.

“And? Who gives a shit. Maybe we just gave them a good idea,” Steve grinned, looking up at you from where he rested his chin on your belly.

You swatted at him, gasping as he pulled out of you to avoid getting hit.

Bending down, Steve grabbed a couple of the hand towels from where they’d landed on the tile and ran warm water on them. Quickly cleaned himself up and then took his time with you. Paid close attention to where he’d held onto your throat. Where his fingertips pressed into your thighs. Dabbed softly across your forehead and spent extra time on the mess between your legs.

You touched up your makeup and perfume, adjusted Steve's tie and hair, and when you both finally emerged from the bathroom the piece the orchestra was playing reached a crescendo and the theatre filled with applause.

It couldn’t be the end of the first act?

Steve walked you easy back to the balcony and held the heavy velvet curtain open for you. Your gilded opera binoculars were still sitting perfectly upon your seat where you’d left them and the bottle of chilled Dom Perignon was on ice along with a champagne flute – you hated whiskey.

You both sank into your seats as the orchestra began to play again and you recognized the piece and shot Steve a look.

“The party scene just started,” you whispered, “We’re not even out of the first part of act one.”

“Christ,” he groaned, grinning into his hands as he rubbed them across his face. Then, glancing over at you he grabbed his cigar box, “We can always make up for it next year. Right?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“Skip the Nutcracker?” you asked incredulously and he quirked a brow at you.

“Yeah. Skip it and we’ll go catch part two of the bathroom scene at mine,” he said giving you a wicked grin and you feigned shock, your own grin threatening to shatter your facade.

“Mister Harrington, what would your mother say?”

And the look he gave you then was the absolute definition of smug.

“My Stevie boy always gets what he wants.”

And damn if she wasn’t right about that.

[kowaiitenshii]

[Sunkiller Lullaby Part Two]

Pairing: Darth Vader X Reader

Plot Summary: Accepting your role as Lord Vader’s personal attendant, you take the first steps in learning your new duties, and proving your loyalty to your new master. 

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Mentions of death/murder. Descriptions of fear. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Improper use of the force. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns and descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.2k

A/N: First off, thank you so much everyone for all the love on part one! I truly did not think so many people would enjoy it! I appreciate everyone who reblogged and liked, and I cannot wait to continue sharing this story with you. If people continue to enjoy my writing, I will most likely open up for requests/prompts!

Part One HERE

Part II:

To your dismay, you awaken to bright beams of starlight peeking through the sheer inner curtains of your suite. 

You blink in confusion as you mull over the contents of the past night’s dream, and lament the fact that it was only that; a dream. 

Sighing deeply in disappointment, you slowly rise from bed and dress yourself for the day, deciding on a deep ruby red set of robes. They’re thick and soft as you slide them on, and you decide that red really compliments you. 

You are again presented with a decadent breakfast, this time dining on exotic ripened fruits, cured strips of thinly sliced meat, and toasted breads.

When you finish, the friendly droid again kindly leads you to Lord Vader’s private chambers. 

As the doors slide open, you nearly jump out of your skin when you find your master awaiting you, staring at the door expectantly as he anticipates your arrival.

 Forcing yourself to hold your head high, you saunter into the room as nonchalantly as you can muster. Your hands shake as you approach, and you clench them tightly in an attempt to push down your building nerves. 

“Morning, young one.” he greets you coolly, his deep voice resonating through the silence. 

“Good morning, My Lord.” you reply calmly, bowing to the Sith Lord. 

He gives you an approving nod as you rise, before turning to the large window behind himself, commanding you to join him. 

“Come.” he booms simply, and you oblige him. Standing next to him only highlights the size difference between the two of you, seeing as you only reach his shoulder at the highest. 

All the lights of the room both overhead and from electric controls shine off of Vader’s helmet and armor, creating almost an aura of light which glints off of him. Your eyes are drawn to the heavy slant of his shoulders with his cape draped over, and the curve of his very evident biceps beneath his thick suit. Your face reddens slightly before you turn to face the window, feeling a measure of shame for looking at a Sith Lord in such a way. 

The two of you gaze out at the expanse of stars before you, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight. Being from a small planet and having been enslaved since you were just a young girl, you had never any chance to explore or travel, no matter how badly you may have wanted to. 

One of the things that amazes you the most as you stare out into space is the realisation that the stars are colourful.

There are stars of every colour you can imagine, and most of them are planets. Each star glittering across the sky in endless hues, they remind you of the fields of wildflowers that were common on your home-planet. 

For a fleeting moment, you imagine lying amongst the stars and wrapping yourself in a blanket made of space itself, before Vader speaks again. 

“I have arranged a test for you today.” he asserts, his tone unreadable. 

Cocking your head, you glance up at your master, questioning exactly what sort of test he had in mind. 

“We need to have the understanding that we can trust in one another if I am to take you on in personal servitude.” He explains, sensing your curiosity. 

You can feel yourself go cold as the words sink in. It could be any kind of test, and ice cold pangs of fear grip your heart as you pray you do not fail. 

Failure is simply not an option. 

The trembling in your fingers only worsens, and to your horror, Vader notices. 

He takes one of your quivering hands tightly within his own before placing the other heavy, leather-clad hand over top of yours. His touch is like holding a livewire, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it makes you jolt in your skin. 

His gaze albeit masked is fixed upon you as he speaks, the air catching in your throat. 

“I can sense your fear, your hurt. Your rage.” he says, a reassuring tone hidden in his distorted voice. “Use them. Do not fear me.” he commands, before dropping your hand like he had never touched it in the first place. 

Not fearing him was a hefty task indeed. 

You say nothing in response, swallowing thickly and flexing your fingers to rid them of the lingering sensation of his touch. 

Just then, the ship begins to descend on a barren planet. The land is desolate, clouds of smoky-coloured dust covering the rough, rocky terrain. 

You take deep breaths to steady yourself as the ship lands, still reeling from the touch along with your nerves and their gnashing teeth gnawing at the back of your mind. 

As you disembark, you can feel how tightly wound your body is with anticipation. Despite this, you diligently follow your master as he treks along the barren, grey landscape, leading you to a wide clearing in the rocky wasteland. 

All around you are boulders and crystals of enormous size, and you figure this must be an Empire-controlled resource planet. 

Looking up to the violet sky, you pray to the maker that you make it out of this in one piece. 

Vader stops at once, turning to regard you once more as you come to stand before him. 

“Before we begin,” he starts “What is your name?” he asks, striking you with the realisation that you had not yet told him, and that he almost certainly already knew it. Truthfully, you had nearly forgotten that you had a name, as more derogatory terms were commonly used to refer to slaves. It is a strange thought that Lord Vader would even care to know it. 

“(Y/N).” you answer dutifully. 

“(Y/N).” he confirms before speaking again. “As I previously stated, we must be without a shadow of a doubt that we trust in one another. I have brought you here to assess that fact.” he explains, his droning voice reverberating off of the jagged walls of the terrain surrounding you. 

Doing your best to maintain your shaken composure, you watch as the Sith Lord strides a few paces away before speaking again once more. 

“I will test you, as you will test me.” He iterates, now turning towards you and watching you for a moment. 

Rooted to the spot, you clench your shaking hands and swallow the lump in your throat, fixing your gaze upon Lord Vader.

 You will test him? What could he possibly mean by that? 

You watch in thinly veiled terror as he raises his right hand and the ashen earth around you begins to tremble. A large mass of sparkling crystal sizable enough to crush a freighter breaks away from the earth, beginning to levitate.

Stomach in knots and your mind racing, you watch in horror as it rises impossibly high and comes to a stop directly over your head. 

In your youth you had heard tales of the Jedi and the Sith, but you had always taken them with a grain of salt. It is then that you come to understand that the stories were true, and the force is more powerful than you could ever have imagined. 

Vader’s voice cuts through your frenzied train of thought, snapping you back into the moment. 

“Focus on me.” he instructs you, holding the spiked mass of crystals steady above you, pulling it higher. 

Although every atom in your body screams at you to run, you know there is no point. Wiping away the fine sweat forming on your brow, you obey your master, fixing your widened eyes upon him. 

“Feel your fear.” he commands in a guiding tone. “Feel it, and understand that I will never harm you.” 

Dread cuts into your chest like knives, and still you obey. You feel the goosebumps on every inch of your skin, your muscles poised to flee, and the fine tremble running through you in waves. 

You look upon Lord Vader who holds your life in his hands so effortlessly. Focusing on the expressionless countenance of his helmet, you envision looking into his eyes and finding unwavering certainty there. 

You stand as a statue as the massive crystal drops, time itself seeming to slow, and you don’t so much as blink when Vader catches it just before it hits.

“Very good.” Darth Vader affirms, before reeling back and launching the crystals far off into the distance; the sound of impact only coming as a murmured echo. 

Sighing a huge breath of relief, your shoulders and head droop as the tension washes away in waves. When you lift your head, the Sith Lord is in front of you again, this time holding a cylindrical silver and black object in his outstretched right hand, motioning for you to take it. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks as you carefully take it from him, examining the activation switch on the side. 

“Yes,” you affirm as you inspect the object with great curiosity. “It is a lightsaber.” 

You had seen them in use only once when your planet was under siege, but you had also seen them traded by smugglers a handful of times.

 However, you had never held one. The metal is cool to the touch, and it is deceptively heavy in your hands as you marvel at it, turning it over and over in your hands. 

“Turn it on.” Vader demands, cutting your observation short. You swallow your nerves, holding the lightsaber in your right hand and placing your thumb over the switch. You jump as you press it, the glowing crimson plasma blade instantly shooting out with a sharp sound.

The glowing saber incandesces between the two of you, red light illuminating Vader’s ominous visage. 

“Good. Now off.” he directs, and you obey immediately. 

“Now, we test my faith in you.” he states intently, stepping closer and closer until he is merely an arm’s length away, looming expectantly over you. 

Stomach tingling and your mind blank, you watch as he harshly grips the wrist of your right hand and presses the unarmed lightsaber against the blinking control panel on his chestplate, the shocking sensation of his touch feeling a million miles away. 

Staring at where the hilt of the blade rests against his armor, you have the cold understanding that you could kill him right now. 

You could kill him, and yet it would do nothing to change your fate. 

It takes a moment to realise he’s staring at you before you look up to meet the blank gaze of his mask. Somehow you can feel it in him, the faith he has in you and the understanding that killing him would not save you. 

You’re like that for a moment, staring at each other and listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing before he steps away, and you hand the lightsaber back to him. 

“Well done.” he praises as he beckons you to follow. “Come. We are done here.” 

You both board Lord Vader’s ship once again, your mind and emotions still reeling from the stress of the situation you just managed to live through as he calmly leads you to his chambers.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he orders as you enter the room, and you waste no time in shrugging off your outermost robe, leaving on your cowl and belted underdress. Plopping wearily onto one of the long couches in the room, you notice that it’s notably firmer than the plush furnishings of your suite, though you were in no place to complain. 

Lord Vader stares at you for a moment, and you become bashful at the idea of him looking upon your uncovered skin, before he turns to his place at the large window to watch as the ship takes off. 

You wonder if he does anything other than stare out the window in contemplation. 

Straightening yourself up, you watch the grey planet fade away as the ship flies, bidding the site of your near-grave a goodbye before looking around the room in which you sit. 

Now that you have the chance to really look, you take in your surroundings. To your right, the wall with the door is covered in blinking controls which you can only assume are either used to manipulate aspects of the room or call droids and Imperial personnel. On the far wall opposite where you sit, there is a large open doorway into an illuminated room housing an enormous tank filled with a mysterious blueish liquid, and you wonder what the purpose for it could possibly be. 

You don’t see a bed in the room, so you assume that Vader sleeps elsewhere. That is, if he indeed sleeps. 

In the left hand corner of the opposite wall, you can see a long white table littered with various parts, mechanisms and tools laid out upon it, and you find it mildly interesting that Darth Vader likes to tinker. 

The Sith Lord’s voice cuts through your curious observations like a razor.

“What do you know of the force?” He asks, peering over his shoulder at you. 

You’re stunned for a moment before you answer. 

“I must admit, Lord Vader, I know very little, as it was forbidden to be taught on my homeworld.” you reply truthfully, caught off guard by the seemingly random question. It was true, the ways of the force were not formally taught as a form of trying to shield the people of your home-planet from the Empire; all you know are the legends and the myths that were told as stories. 

Lord Vader nods in acceptance. 

“This ship is equipped with an entire library full of knowledge of the force, both light and dark; Jedi and Sith. You are free to utilise it if you so wish.” He offers, but it sounds more like an order.

Feeling as though there’s something he’s not saying, you simply nod.

“Thank you master.” you accept graciously with a soft smile. 

He only nods in reply, gaze lingering heavily upon you before he turns away from the window, pacing over to his work bench in the opposite corner from where you sit and taking a seat. 

You do not know how long he toils over his machines, nor how long you accompany him in doing so. 

The last thing you remember before waking up in your own bed is dozing off on Lord Vader’s couch. 

Confused and unaware of how you got back to your suite, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and sit up. As you rise, a gentle knock sounds behind the door. 

“Come in!” you call out, clearing your throat and wetting your lips. 

The friendly droid enters, bowing to you and chirping its greetings. 

“Good evening, Madam! I’m assured you’re ready for your meal?” it asks politely. Smiling softly at the kind droid, you nod. 

“Yes, please.”

After all, the stress of the day's activities has left you quite hungry, your stomach growling at the thought of the decadent spreads you’ve been spoiled with. 

The droid steps out for a moment, promptly returning with a spread no less extravagant than the others you’ve been lucky enough to enjoy. Tonight, your meal consists of a striking plum-coloured stew, accompanied by an herbed mash of root vegetables, and crusty baked breads still warm from the oven. 

As you eat, a curious and humorous thought crosses your mind, and you set down your spoon to ask the droid a question. 

“Was it you that carried me all the way back here?” you giggle playfully, finding amusement in the idea of the spindly droid hauling you through the corridors.

“No milady, Lord Vader saw to that himself.” the droid answers dutifully. 

Knowing it is incapable of lying, the idea hits you like a train, and you’re struck by it for a moment. 

Carrying you to your room seemed like a task that would be uncharacteristically tender, too gentle for Vader to carry out. You can feel the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you come to the understanding that there is still much you do not know about your master. 

“Oh, um. Give him my thanks.” you reply quietly, leaving it at that.

“As you wish, Milady.” the droid affirms. 

Spending the rest of your meal in contemplative silence, it does you well, nourishing and soothing your tired body. 

Before the droid leaves you for the night, you request the books that Lord Vader had mentioned, thinking some studying may help you to understand your master, even if just a small bit more. 

It happily delivers them to you, leaving you with a stack of thick and heavy books with weathered bindings. 

Elsewhere, Darth Vader paces in his chamber, heavy footsteps echoing around him. 

He is quite satisfied with the recent turn of events, knowing surely now that your spirit had not been broken by your life of torment, but that it was bendable.

It was true that you had great fear within you, but your lust for power and your anger was greater.  Your suffering had made you fierce, it made you courageous. 

The Emperor will be pleased. 

Remembering the strength in your expression as you had connected with him while your very life hung in the balance, the absolute, steady faith you had in him; And then the dichotomy of holding your serenely peaceful sleeping body in his arms, your angelic calmness, he feels an unfamiliar flutter in his chest before shaking it off. 

Spending the rest of the night flipping through an ancient tome, you are thoroughly intrigued by the stories contained within. They read like fairy tales; tales of heroic bravery, of villainous contempt, of epic battles and galactic love. 

They’re enchanting, reminding you of those cherished times as a child when your parents would read to you before putting you to bed. 

Well into the late hours of the night, you finally ready yourself for sleep, yawning and stretching as you shrug off your garments. 

As you lay out an outfit for the next day, you catch a glimpse of a passing moon. It’s beautiful, a light yellow hue to the pallid monolith as it glows. Moons always reminded you of solitude, your only companion in those quiet hours of the night. As you watch it pass, you silently hope that you dream of your mysterious suitor again. 

Your prayers are answered. 

Becoming aware of your surroundings, your eyes scan the room around you. It’s a more intimate setting this time, a quaint stone cottage within a verdant forest. There are strange herbs and flowers hung to dry all about the room, leaving it with a floral, green aroma. 

Sitting on the floor in front of a warm, crackling fire, your vision finally adjusts to your dimly lit setting, and you spot the one you had wished for standing just within the doorway. 

He smiles warmly as your eyes land on him, exposing a row of perfect teeth. You can’t help but to smile back. 

Striding out of the shadows, he joins you by the fire, nestling you against his side. His energy is the same and you can feel it just as strongly as before, entrancing and sultry as the fire before you. 

You spend a long moment just looking at him, committing every aspect of his features to memory in case you never get the pleasure of seeing him again. 

He’s still got that warm smile on his face as he gazes back at you, making your stomach flutter. His hair falls in perfect golden waves on his shoulders, framing his outstandingly handsome features. His eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he looks upon you; his full, pink lips parted. 

Feeling the heat in your body rising, spreading across your face and tinging the tips of your ears, you look away shyly. 

The connection you feel with this man still baffles you, it doesn't make any sense, leaving you confused and questioning whether you can even trust your own emotions. 

Though, you suppose dreams don’t have to make any sense. 

Reaching over to you, he brushes a tress of hair away from your face to read your expression, pulling your attention back to him. 

You blink sheepishly at him through long lashes as he hooks a finger under your chin, turning you to face him fully. Goosebumps form instantly at the contact, your hairs standing on end as a wistful sigh leaves your lips. 

He brings your face so close to his own that you can feel his gentle breaths tickling your lips. The air, the energy between you is like a thunderstorm; intense, restless, and exhilarating. 

You revel in the way he touches you like something that threatens to break. 

The realisation then hits you that this is your first time seeing him unhidden by his cloak. You take your time in taking in all the new details you had missed, noticing a lengthy scar on the right side of his face, running nearly all the way from his hairline to just below his eye. 

He slowly curls a strong arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking eye contact while doing so. Following his movements obediently, you shift your legs to wrap around his waist as you perch on him; the tips of your noses tickling each other as you adjust yourself.

 You want, you crave nothing more than this closeness and contact with him.

After being denied pleasant, consensual human contact for so long, the feeling is intoxicating. It makes your head swim, and your heartbeat race. 

Still face to face, you delicately raise your right hand, ghosting the tips of your fingers down the length of his scar, taking great care in case it’s still painful for him. Your fingers buzz and tingle, like nerve endings coming back to life after having fallen asleep. 

Lips parting and eyes falling shut at your touch, he presses his forehead against yours. 

Your whole body lights up and hums at the sensation, like a static charge. His intense and all-consuming energy surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

And you let it. You let him in. 

Holding the doors to your mind open, you begin receiving visions. 

Visions of a small boy with tawny hair and bright blue eyes. Visions of the familiar sandy, dual-sunned landscape of Tatooine. Visions of that small boy toiling away in the shop of a cruel junk dealer. 

Your eyes fly back open with the newfound understanding that the child was him, that he truly had lived a life like yours. 

In this moment, as your heart races and your eyes flit between his, he feels like the person closest to you in the entire world. 

He looks back at you with soft eyes. The expression on his face is one that says: 

This is me. Do you see it? This is me. 

Overwhelmed by the connection, by the painful swelling of your heart in your chest, you let instinct lead rather than logic.

Leaning into him further, you brush your lips just barely over the full curve of his, inviting him to close the distance.

Instantly he relents, capturing your own lips with his, pure passion and intense longing radiating off of him in waves. 

As he tangles a large hand in your soft hair, you can feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins. Draping your arms over his sturdy shoulders, the very air around the two of you feels electric, tingling and crackling with released tension. Lips locking over and over, hands everywhere, tongues tasting each other in the heat of your fiery desire, you send a message through your ministrations. 

I see you. You say with every touch of the lips, every tease of his tongue, every rake of your nails across the soft skin of his abdomen. I see you. 

When you finally break the session to suck in greedy gasps of much needed air, he bites onto your bottom lip, prolonging the contact for as long as possible. He clutches you tightly, possessively to his strong body, as if you could be ripped from his arms at any moment; his own chest heaving as he breathes. 

He slides a large, rough hand up the small of your back, steadying you as you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. Pressing a feather light kiss to the petal-soft skin of his throat, your eyes slide shut with great satisfaction. 

Credz: 

Lightsaber graphic creds: @saradika  

Taglist: 

@heyitsaloy

@poisonedsultana

@cryptidsrcool 

@mayhemories 

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Turtles x tattoo artist!reader

Got this idea after I read a Leo x tattoo artist on Wattpad. It was super cute, but as a tattooed person that has started tattooing my friends, I have to tell my fellow ff writers something that will make your tattoo ff more realistic. DON’T EVER REUSE NEEDLES!!!! WEAR GLOVES!!!!! ALSO WHEN YOU PUT ON A STENCIL!!!!!!! Hopefully I saved some turtles from an infected tattoo.

Enjoy!💙❤️💜🧡

Warnings: Needles, pain, tattooing, some of the turtles being cheeky, spelling.

—-----------------------------------------------

Leonardo:

As your last client of the day went out the door with their newest tattoo, you breathed a sigh of relief. The last few ones have been though. Unable to sit still, with a need to look at the tattoo several times while you were working on it, almost causing you to go outside of the lines. Not what you needed. But all the thought of irritation and frustration washed away, when you remembered; your boyfriend was coming to get a tattoo.

Last night, Leonardo had asked you if you would do a tattoo on him. You had obviously said yes, excited to finally tattoo your boyfriend. Leo was by far heavily tattooed, but he did sport a few on his arms, all symbolizing his brothers.

As you locked the front door, flipped the open sign to close and pulled the curtains, you could hear the back door that led to the alley, open and close. It was Leo. You rushed to the back door with a happy skip, and greeted your green boyfriend with a big smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and brought his face down to yours for a kiss.

“Hey”, you smiled.

“Hey”, he smiled back before giving you another kiss.

You brought him with you back into the main area of the shop, asking him what he wanted to get tattooed. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pockets and gave it to you. You unfolded it.

A katana. Simple black lines with minor shadowing. You were pretty sure that Leo had drawn this himself.

“Of course”, you chuckled, looking at the paper in your hand. “Where do you want it?”

“Right here”. Leo pointed to the side of his left forearm.

“That could actually be really good”, you said, studying his arm. Leo’s arm was nothing new for you. They had been wrapped around you so many times, that you knew them as well as the back of your own hand. But on the rarest occasions, had you thought about tattoo placements on his arm.

“I think we should size it up. Around… this big”. You measured out his arm, with one finger marking out just above his wrist and just below his elbow.

“Is that because you as a tattoo artist know it would look better, or is it because you as my girlfriend want an excuse to keep tattooing me for as long as possible?”, Leo asked with a smile.

“A little bit of both, I would say”.

“In that case, I think we should do it”.

To say that you were happy was an understatement. All your earlier tiredness and frustration flew out the window, as you went to your desk so you could draw the stencil. Leo followed you, and watched you intently while you drew over the stencil paper, tracing the outlines of his design.

“That’s not how Raph did it”, Leo said with a small chuckled, remembering the time he and his brothers did each other's tattoos, with a tattoo machine Donnie had made.

“How did Raph do it?”, you asked, smiling at the thought of what Leo had told you. Young turtle brothers sitting in the shared bedroom of their old lair, long after Master Splinter had gone to bed, tattooing each other like the young rebellious teenagers they once were.

“He drew it directly on me with a marker”.

“Doesn’t sound very sanetray”, you laughed. “Especially not in a sewer”.

“Nope. That is why I’m going to you from now on”, Leo said as he reached down to kiss your forehead.

With Leo’s stencil finished, you went to work preparing your station one last time that evening. You put on your gloves, wrapped the station in film, prepared the cream, poured the black ink, got your new needles and wrapped your machine for a better grip.

Leo watched you with those eyes that always made you blush, while you disinfected his arm, applied the transfer jell, and then placed the stencil. When you moved back and told Leo to look in the mirror, he didn’t move. Instead he just stared at you with those eyes and that little smile.

“I trust you. It looks good”.

Fighting your flustered face and biting down your lip, you moved Leo into the seat, before stretching his arm and moving it to an angle, so it would be easy for you. With that you started your machine and began doing his lines.

Leo - with his high pain tolerance - didn’t move a muscle, but instead just stared at you as you worked. You could feel his strong gaze on you, trying your hardest to focus on his tattoo in front of you.

You continued working in silence, with nothing but the sound of your tattoo machine being heard. Silence wasn’t new for you and Leo, nor did it make you uncomfortable. The two of you would often enjoy each other’s presence in silence, each doing your own thing, simply finding comfort in being near each other. Like him meditating or sharpening his katana, while you were drawing or reading. Just like right now. Leo admiring you while you were working.

After two hours of tense work on Leo’s arm, you finally finished. With a last whip over his arm, you wrapped it up, making sure it would be protected during the first stages of healing.

“So, what do you think?”, you asked Leo as he assessed the katana on his arm with warm eyes.

“It’s amazing”, he said, smiling bright. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“You might have told me a few times”, you said as you started cleaning up.

Leo stood up from his seat and walked to you, before wrapping both arms around you, bringing his face down to yours.

“I love you, my amazing little tattoo”, he said, before letting your lips meet in a sweet kiss. And with that you knew, you would definitely tattoo Leo again.

Raphael:

Under normal circumstances, you would have said no to be doing a tattoo in the sewers. No way that wouldn’t get infected and heal probably. It was a tail made for disaster. But when your brute of a boyfriend asked you as nicely as he did, and promised you cuddles and a foot rub, there was no way you could say no. Especially not when he made those big teddy bear eyes that only you got to see. You just had to say yes.

So there you were in Raphael’s room, in the sewers deep below New York City, setting up a small tattoo station on his nightstand. Raphael stood right behind you fiddling with a football in his hands, watching you unpack your stuff with curiosity. Yes, he did have a tattoo, but one that was made with a machine Donnie had but together, not a real machine. So to see a real one in front of him for the first time, had his attention peaked.

“So”, you asked, checking the battery for your machine. “What were you thinking of?”

“A samurai”, Raph said with a small smile, as he spun the football in his hands.

“You and those damn samurais”, you chuckled and laid out your paper and stencil paper. “I thought that this time around you would like a ninja”.

“Maybe one day, on the other leg”, Raph said with a smug smile. “If this one goes right”.

“Well okay smart guy”, you laughed turning towards him. “Where on your leg do you want it”.

“I was thinking here”. Raphael laid the football on the ground before going to the outside of his right calf, measuring out from his knee to ankle.

“Do you want it to take up the whole side?”

“Of course”, Raph smiled. “It has to match”. He pointed towards the samurai on his shoulder.

“Just as black?”

“You know me baby”, he said, giving you that smug smile.

You bit back a smile, trying to fight back the blush that was creeping up your face. Damn Raphael and his smooth comments.

“Okay, I’ll do a sketch and you tell me what you think about it. If you like it, we can get tattooing”.

“Sounds like one of the best plans I’ve heard in a long time”, Raph said, still smiling like that smug fucker he is. But damn you loved that man.

As you got drawing on the sketch, Raph would walk in and out of his room, grabbing drinks and food from the kitchen, before returning. Every once in a while he would get up from his bed, just to give you a kiss on the cheek, wrap his arms around you, and look at how far you’ve gotten.

Raph loved your finished sketch, stating something along the lines of; “so far, so good”, just to annoy you.

With Raphael laying on his bed, with pants rolled up and wrapped around his knee and slightly turned to the side, you placed the stencil on the side of his muscular side calf. You had to admit, you were proud of your work so far. The artwork flowed with the curve, sway and size of Raph’s calf, showing it off.

As you started the machine and dipped the needle in the ink cup, Raphael got comfortable with his hands behind his back, still with his smug smile plastered on his face.

“Are you ready?”, you asked as you placed your other hand on his leg to spread the skin.

“Born ready”.

And with that statement from your boyfriend, you started working on the lines in his tattoo.

Raphael’s tattoo was big and detailed, which meant a lot of work. But not even 15 minutes into the tattoo, you saw Raph shifting and grimes for a split second, before pressing his eyes shut. Your tough boyfriend was breaking character.

“You okay there, Raphie?”, you asked with a sly smile, dipping the needle in the ink once more before going back in.

“Yup, I’m okay. More than okay actually”, he said, still with his eyes pressed shut.

“I hope so, because you know, the closer I get to your foot and the closer I get to your knee, the more it’ll hurt”.

“Ah fuck”.

“And that’s just the line work. I’ll have to go in afterwards and do filling and shadowing”.

“H- how long do you think all that will take?” Raph’s eyes now open, looking at you with a slight fear in his eyes.

“Well, with a tattoo this size and this detailed, easily four hours”.

“So only three more hours?”

“Raph, baby, we’ve only been going for 15 minutes”.

Raphael groaned loudly, grabbing onto the pillow behind his head. “Fuck me”.

“Later baby”, you laughed. “It won’t be a good idea while you have an open tattoo”.

Raph sighed. “(Y/N), I love you, but sometimes you’re annoying as fuck”.

“I love you too Raphie, and if it helps anything, I too find you annoying sometimes”, you smiled sweetly at him, causing Raph to bite back a smile, the same way he made you do not too long ago.

“And just so you know”, you continued while wiping ink away from Raph’s leg. “You still owe me cuddles and a foot rub afterwards' '.

Raphael exhaled loudly, face scrunching up as the needle went back over his skin. “I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

“Nope, not at all”.

Nevertheless, after four hours and many loud exclamations from Raphael that could be heard all throughout the lair, your boyfriend had gotten himself a new big tattoo. And if you had to be honest, it was pretty hot, and not just because you were the one that made it.

Donatello:

When Donatello had asked for you to tattoo him, you were kind of shocked to say the least. Your sweet, tech nerdy, genius of a boyfriend, who did not have a single tattoo on his beautiful green body, wanted you to tattoo him. You had to blink and ask him to repeat his request.

But Donatello was serious. He wanted a tattoo. He even offered to give you space in his lab, so you could set up a propper station, and that was an offer you just couldn’t refuse.

You had unpacked your station in Donnie’s lab, currently drawing the design Donnie had given you onto transfer paper, while he was taking a closer look at your tattoo machine.

“It’s very different from the one I made”, Donnie noticed, turning it in his three fingered hands. 

“How did you guys even do it back then?”, you asked, eyes still on the drawing.

“Well, I made the machine, and the guys had several designs”, he said, thinking back to the old days in the old lair with a smile. “We all got a turn tattooing Leo”.

You chuckled, finding the thought amusing. Stupid and reckless, but amusing nonetheless.

“Where did you get ink from?”

“A pen. Many pens actually”. He placed your machine on the table, before taking a seat next to you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder, looking at your hand working. “We broke open the pens and poured it into a solo cup”.

“That is really not sanitary”, you laughed, leaning your head to the side, so your temple was pressed against Donnie’s forehead.

“No, it really isn’t”, he laughed, nuzzling his face closer to yours.

“Now Donnie”, you said, nodding towards the drawing in front of you. It was a design of a turtle, somewhat like the one Leo and Mikey shared, but with its own intricate design around it. “What is the meaning behind this, and why do you want it?”

“Well, it is a turtle, so much is obvious”, Donnie said, causing you to nudge him slightly. “And well, it just felt like it was about time. I just finally want a tattoo. And me being the lucky guy that I am, have a tattoo artist as a girlfriend, so it just seemed obvious”.

“Well, that is enough reasoning for me”.

You finished the stencil and put on gloves, getting ready to prep Donnie’s skin with disinfectants.

“The shoulder is one of the easiest places”, you told him, as you smoothed the paper over his shoulder. “Many people experience that the shoulder hurts way less than any other places”.

“Did yours hurt?”, Donnie asked, nodding towards the tattoo on your shoulder. He had looked at it so many times, often wondering how you felt while getting it. It was probably one of the main reasons why he hadn’t gotten a tattoo yet; the fear of it hurting. Especially after he saw the way Mikey and Raph reacted to their tattoos back then.

“Not at all”, you said, peeling the paper back from his skin, leaving back purple lines for you to follow. “I almost fell asleep during mine. Now, take a look in the mirror and tell me what you think”.

Donnie went to the mirror and took a look at his shoulder, before turning to you with a smile.

“It looks great”, he said.

“Then sit down good sir, and let me get started on you”, you said, opening a new needle with your gloved hands.

Donnie sat down like you told him to, and watched as you got the needle ready. You turned on the machine, dipping it into the ink cup while it hummed. You placed your other hand on Donnie’s shoulder, spreading his green scaly skin.

“Remember, you can always tell me if you need a break or if you're getting uncomfortable. Keep your breathing calm and level, and it will save you from a lot of unnecessary stress. And with that in mind, are you ready?”

Donnie nodded with a small smile. “I’m ready”.

You let the needle brace Donatello’s skin, watching for any reaction by your boyfriend, showing any discomfort.

“Okay, that is not as bad as I thought it would be”, he said, turning his head slightly to look at the needle.

“It’s rarely that bad”, you told him, wiping the first line. “Trust me. I still get surprised every time I get tattooed”.

Donnie chuckled, imagining the scene of you in a tattoo shop.

As time went on, and as you were half way through the tattoo, you noticed the first signs of discomfort from your boyfriend.

“Okay, I can feel it now”, he said, grimacing slightly. “It is not bad, but it’s more. I’m not sure how else to describe it”.

“Don’t worry. We’re halfway done”, you said, dipping the needle in the ink cup. “But I will recommend that you take it easy afterwards and get a good night's sleep”.

“I will if you stay and keep me company”.

“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice”, you said, wiping the tattoo down one more time.

It didn’t take long before you finished the tattoo, smearing cream over it before wrapping it up. Donatello seemed slightly shocked by it.

“Are you done already?”, he asked, looking at his new tattoo under the plastic wrap.

“Yeah, it was not a super complicated tattoo”, you laughed, as you started to clean up after yourself. “And you’re really easy to tattoo. That only made it quicker”.

“Well in that case”, he said and stood up, before wrapping his arms around from behind. “Would you like to start that good night’s sleep a little earlier?”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do”, you said, pulling your tall boyfriend down to you for a sweet kiss.

Michelangelo:

Bless your boyfriend and his kind, sweet, beautiful, helpful heart. What he wouldn’t do for you? Nothing. He would do everything and even more if you asked for it, also if you didn’t ask for it. And that was the nature of Mikey. Showing his love for you in spontaneous and caring ways, that not even you had expected. Such as volunteering for you to practice your tattooing, after hearing you talk about how much you wanted to practice.

And that was what led up to you and Mikey sitting on your couch, talking about the best place for you to tattoo him.

“I don’t know, baby”, you said, pressing your fingers against Mikey’s upper stomach. “I’ve never tattooed a plastron before”.

“Don’t worry Angelcakes, it will be fine”, Mikey said with a bright smile. “It will just be right here”, he said, gliding his finger over the top of his stomach, to outline the placement.

“But can a needle even get through that?”, you asked, pressing a little firmer against his plastron. You knew how firm Mikey’s plastron was. You had found yourself being pressed against it so many times, that you had familiarized yourself quite well with it at this point. But the thought of poking a needle through it had never crossed your mind.

“I don’t know. Maybe? There’s truly only one way to find out”.

“But baby, what if I break your plastron instead?”

“It’ll heal. Have you already forgotten this beautiful body as mutagen running in it? I can heal in no time!”

“But”, you said in thought. “Aren’t your shell and plastron also bulletproof?”

“But Angelcakes!”, Mikey pouted. “It could be so sick with a tattoo like that! I would look so good!”

“But you already look good Mikey”, you giggled.

“I know but still”.

You sighed. It was no use trying to argue with him about it. It would take either your needle or his plastron cracking slightly before he would drop the topping, so therefore you finally agreed with your silly turtle of a boyfriend.

“Yes!” Mikey fist pumped the air before giving you a quick kiss. “I knew you couldn’t resist the thought of me with a stomach tattoo!”

You laughed, shaking your head, before going to your room to find your supplies. Mikey already had a very clear idea of what he wanted. He wanted he and his brothers’ birth year of 1999 tattooed over his plastron, in good old gothic lettering. It actually relieved you that he hadn’t chosen anything more detailed. You just wanted to practice, not rival his name sake.

It didn’t take long before you had finished the stencil and placed it on your boyfriend, before telling him to go look at it in the mirror. You couldn’t help but smile, as Mikey started posing in front of the mirror. The 1999 on his plastron, still dark purple from the stencil ink.

“Yup! I like it! Lets go!”, Mikey said, jumping back towards you with a big smile. “I’m ready!”

“You cute goofball”, you laughed, guiding him towards your couch. “Come and lay down”.

Michelangelo did as you told him, and laid down on his shell, with his hands comfortably behind his head, watching with a smile as you sat yourself down. That smile could easily make butterflies erupt in your stomach, and it did so in that very moment, right as you dipped your needle in the ink.

To your surprise, the needle glided over Mikey’s plastron easily. It was almost easier than on real skin, and closer to the fake skin you usually would practice on. You didn’t even had to spread the surface with your other hand. Mikey seemed to enjoy himself.

“Do you feel anything?”, you asked, wiping the tattoo. It stayed pretty well.

“I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s a little strange to be honest”.

“Strange or not, I still think you're cute”.

Mikey smiled, hinting at you to come closer. You removed the needle from his plastron and leaned closer to his face, before being met by him in a sweet kiss. You giggled before returning to his plastron to continue his tattoo.

“I am the luckiest man and turtle in this world”, Mikey then said. “I have the hottest girlfriend there is, and she makes some pretty awesome tattoos. I’ll say I got the best of both worlds”.

You giggled, shaking your head one more time, feeling a blush grow on your face. What did you do to deserve this guy?

With Mikey not feeling any pain from his tattoo, and the fact that you didn’t have to spread anything or do much, it didn’t take long before Mikey’s plastron tattoo was finished. You were throwing the used needle out in the kitchen trash can, when suddenly a question popped into your head.

“How long does it take for your plastron to heal?”

“Not long”, Mikey answered, drinking casually from a Capri Sun by your side, poking slightly at the new numbers on his front. “I think it will be healed by tomorrow”.

“So you don’t need any aftercare at all?”, you asked, pulling his hand away from his tattoo.

“Depends”, he started, placing the Capri Sun on the counter, before wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his face closer to yours. “What kind of aftercare are we talking about?”

“Dork”, you laughed.

“Hey, don’t deny what we both know will happen”, he said, getting ever closer to your lips.

“When your tattoo is healed, Mikey”.

“Oh well, would you look at that”, Mikey said, pointing towards his plastron. “I’m already healing”.

After that night, Mikey would definitely be asking for more tattoos from you.

—-------------------------------------------------

I need another tattoo soon…

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for lottie; poly Pockets, cut for length.

His Pocket just curls up tighter in his hands and stifles another sob. Bart groans in frustration and takes him back to the bedroom, finds his pillow–which is in the closet, now, for some reason?–and then sticks him back on the bed and under his pillow again. The pillow seems like an improvement on the washcloth, at least. 

. . . his Pocket still doesn’t seem willing to give up the washcloth, though. 

Weirdo.

“You’re really picky, huh,” he observes, poking at his pillow. His Pocket just makes an unhappy sound and burrows in deeper under it, washcloth and all. Bart isn’t even sure that washcloth is clean. Like, who knows? He hasn’t done laundry in like a thousand years, or at least a couple days, so it could be super gross or whatever! 

He doesn’t know why his Pocket’s so upset, but he doesn’t like it. It feels . . . weird, or whatever. Bart didn’t ask for a slow Pocket, but he guesses his Pocket didn’t ask for a speedster either. Or maybe he did? Pockets are confusing. 

It’s weird. 

Bart really didn’t want a soulmate, honestly. Like, the chances of getting one that could keep up or wouldn’t think he was weird were never all that good, considering, so . . . so . . . 

So he thinks he’s mad, a little, that his Pocket can’t keep up. Because for a little bit there, he’d thought maybe his Pocket could. That he’d be fast enough and maybe, like . . . get it, a little. 

Nobody else gets it, really. Wally’s such a jerk most of the time, and everyone else is so slow, and . . . 

Max gets it sometimes, he thinks. Maybe. But Max also gets frustrated with him when he’s just doing stuff that seems normal and makes sense to him, and that’s frustrating, and . . . 

If Bart had to get a soulmate, why couldn’t it have been one with superspeed? Somebody like–Jenni, maybe. He misses Jenni. Misses somebody else being fast enough. 

Misses somebody who can just . . . keep up. 

He would’ve . . . that would’ve been okay, maybe. Like. For a soulmate, anyway. 

Maybe, anyway. 

If Bart had gotten to pick a soulmate, he just . . . he would’ve picked somebody who could keep up. That’s all. 

“Why are your powers weird?” he asks, poking his pillow. “Are you, like, still messed up from being dead or something? Do you need more sun? I could get you more sun.” 

That’s probably only gonna be helpful if the actual Superman gets it, but . . . well, maybe it’d help a little, at least. Or like, whatever. 

He doesn’t really know, he guesses. So maybe it’d be worth a try. 

Bart zips to the window and pulls up his blinds as high as they’ll go, and pushes the curtains as wide as they’ll go, and then squints questioningly at the light that’s coming in. It’s kinda sunny out, at least, but it’s not as sunny as it could be, so . . . hmmmmm. 

“Maybe we should go someplace tropical,” he muses. “You’ll get faster if you get more sun, right? Probably? Like, it might fix your powers or whatever.” 

His Pocket sniffs, and also stays under the pillow and washcloth. Bart considers the merits of putting in a skylight. He could learn how to do that, probably. Like, if he wanted to. 

He wishes Jenni were here. Jenni can keep up. Jenni’s fast too. 

Heck, he’d settle for Wally right now, if he didn’t know the guy would just be annoying about it. 

He hopes Max is done with his calls soon. This is getting really frustrating. 

Really frustrating. 

“You at least like the sun, right?” Bart asks, fiddling with the blinds a little more. His Pocket sniffs again. Bart frowns in frustration at the blinds and just snatches the duct tape from the kitchen to tape them up off the window altogether. “Like, you at least do that? Even if you don’t like Superman stuff?” 

“Bart,” his Pocket mumbles unhappily, and Bart blows his hair out of his eyes with a sigh, then tapes back the curtains too for good measure. Maybe he can set up some mirrors or something, focus the sunlight towards the bed a little better? 

Yeah, that’s a good idea, he decides, and bolts off to grab every mirror in the house. He’s not allowed to go anywhere, but there’s the hallway mirror and Helen’s vanity mirror and a whole attic full of stuff, and prying off the bathroom mirrors helps too, so–

It takes a couple seconds to set up all the mirrors, but he does manage to get as much light reflecting towards the bed as possible. So that's a start, he figures.

“Better?” he asks. “Until we can actually go somewhere tropical, I mean. Or the desert, maybe. Maybe the desert would be better. But tropical has, like, more fruit and water and maybe some beach chairs.” 

“Bart?” his Pocket says, then chitters something uncertain-sounding in Pocket-talk. He finally peeks out from under the pillow again, looking red-eyed, and then goes still and stares at the mirrors, and then the window. 

“More sun,” Bart explains, gesturing at them. “Right?” 

His Pocket keeps staring at the mirrors and window for a moment, then sits up, lets the washcloth and pillow fall off him, and zips over to Bart again. 

“Ack!” Bart sputters as the other hits him in the face and–oh, wait, he’s like . . . clinging to him, kinda? Not hitting him hitting, just–this might be a hug? Is this a hug? On his face? 

Weird. 

. . . really weird. 

. . . . . . how long is his Pocket gonna do this, exactly? 

“Maybe I should name you after somebody,” Bart reflects distractedly, sort of awkwardly . . . patting his Pocket’s back, he guesses. Well, at least he seems less upset now. He thinks? Maybe? “Or after whatever random island or desert fixes your powers. Like, once we get them fixed. I dunno. Does it really matter that much to you?”

“Imp,” his Pocket mumbles tightly, then lets go of his face and faceplants into his hair instead, and now . . . well, now Bart just has a Pocket in his hair, he guesses. 

Okay then. 

Less upset is probably better, at least. Even though Bart just directed all the sun towards the bed and his Pocket immediately moved off the bed. 

Well, whatever, Bart thinks, and sighs again. 

[sprout-fics]

Homecoming

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

Snowblind Masterlist

Rating: M Wordcount: 3.8k Tags: Whump, Angst, Fluff, Post-torture, Post-rescue, Established relationship, Living together, Domesticity, Non sexual intimacy Warnings: References of torture, starvation, captivity A/N: Part of 'For Once In Our Lives' on AO3

It’s five in the morning when Simon pulls the car up to his flat.

Your flat too, but still his, technically. Your name, like his, isn’t on the lease. If anything it’s Price’s, his official signature on the document so as to avoid collecting a paper trail for his lieutenant. Despite that, it’s been your space together for most of the year now. Your presence is written in the curtains that hang neatly in the front window, the pitcher of kitchen utensils on the counter behind the coffee maker. You’ve staked you claim on a section of the bathroom counter upstairs, taken advantage of the corners of the shower to deposit half empty bottles of shower supplies you hardly ever get use with the amount of time you’re deployed. The couch in the living room was your idea, a replacement for the terrible worn thing that had tormented your spine in the evenings you’d spent sleeping on it, before you were allowed in his bedroom.

You left traces of yourself, whispers, small hushed murmurs that cling to his skin in the weeks you were gone. In your absence Simon had sought you there, had waited and prayed for the smallest blip of life on a radio that had long gone silent.

Eighteen days. Two weeks and roughly one hundred hours from the time you went dark to the time you’d been rescued.

Your captors had starved you, tortured you, beaten you bloody and left you to fester before returning for more. You’d gone through interrogation training with Price’s supervision, and you had been prepared from the moment you’d stepped off the plane for no man’s land for the capture that might, and did, ensue.

Nothing had prepared you for the return home.

Simon exits the driver’s side door fluidly just as you stir from your drowsy state, blinking wearily up at the flat beyond the garden gate. The windows are dark and shuttered, closed off, and it feels aching somehow, lonely. The dim, hazy light of dawn tucks dusky shadows around the corners of the townhouse, softly blue and patient, waiting for your return.

You open the door to your side, withholding a wince at the motion of your torn shoulder. Yet Simon is already there, hands reaching for you before you can protest. Normally you would, too stubborn to allow anyone else, especially him, to do things for you. Now, when Simon lifts you into his arms you say not a word. The walk to his car from the infirmary had been exhausting enough, atrophied muscles screaming with each step, too weak from the weeks you’d spent in hospital care. So you lift your good arm around his neck, brace yourself there and tuck the crown of your head under his jaw in a silent gesture of comfort to you both.

Simon is quiet as he walks up the steps, chest rising with slow, measured breaths as he balances the weight of you in his arms. You’re not sure how he manages to get the front door open, and if you weren’t...as you are now you probably would have made a wry comment about his dexterous hands. Instead it’s silent between you both, with the weight of the things that have happened weighing too heavy on your fraught souls.

You’re deposited on the couch that no longer smells like you while Simon fetches your bag from the car. In the time it takes him you manage to look around the apartment, witness the devastation your absence has caused.

Half eaten MRE foils litter the dusty coffee table. Beneath them are maps of Serbia, and you trace the marked coordinates of your last known location, notes scribbled in slanting writing that indicates sleeplessness. An empty tumbler sits to the far edge, a thin circle of amber at the bottom betraying his taste for bourbon. The room is unkempt, like he’d bumped into things and never bothered to pick them up. In the far corner: A knife wedged into the wall. The spare one you’d left behind.

The front door closes, and in the echo heavy bootsteps draw your attention to the large, looming figure that enters your line of view.

“How’s the pain?” Simon asks, and when you look up to his eyes you can’t tell the shadows there apart from his war paint.

You catalog the various aches and pains left even after your medical discharge. A broken shoulder that’s still mending. Stitches on the meat of your upper thigh, a dark slice across your collarbone above your two broken ribs, a fractured fibula that may leave you with a permanent limp unless you adhere to the PT instructions sternly given to you.

Yet the look in Simon’s eyes is different as it plucks a tender, grieving chord inside your chest. Tired, blank, hiding the rot you know is there, the rot he refuses to show you.

“It’s fine.” You almost say on instinct, but catch yourself before you can. It’s a lie, one he won’t appreciate, not here. Not now.

“How much more am I allowed to have?” You ask, and before you can finish the words Simon is fishing through your bag for the discharge papers, scanning them with his back turned before reaching back inside for a small orange canister. He vanishes in the direction of the kitchen and reappears just as swiftly with a tall glass of water that you finish along with the medication.

There’s a pause then, and once more your eyes look up to peer at him under his mask. There’s a sunkenness to his gaze that whispers of the dark grip of insomnia, a gaunt sort of coloring that you’re able to see despite the ink around his eyes.

“Is there anything in the cabinets?” You ask, and your voice seems so loud in the silence between you. “To eat?”

Once more he’s off, striding in the direction of the kitchen without a word. You hear the click of the stove, the cabinets being rifled through, and then quiet as Simon sets about making something.

After several minutes you get up to follow him, mouth parting in a silent, wheezing cry as the pain of putting pressure down on your booted calf. Yet you bite down on any wounded noises, clutching the wall and crossing the foyer to come stand on the threshold of the kitchen.

He didn’t even turn the lights on.

You do, and it makes him cast a small glance over his shoulder, the sturdy frame of him obscuring whatever he’s making on the stove.

“You shouldn’t be standing.” He tells you, voice low in his chest with a familiar rumble. “Sit.”

“You left me alone.” You try to joke, but it has no effect. He doesn’t even seem to register it, acting automatically in cooking whatever it is he’s poking at with a wooden spoon.

So you see yourself to the tiny kitchen table beneath the front window with the curtains still closed. As you wait, you study his back, the way Simon is postured. There’s a tightness to his shoulders, a coiled uncertainty that’s weighed down only by fatigue. The soft, dark, familiar cloth of his hoodie stretches across the planes of his shoulders, having shrunk from one too many times in the wash. The sleeves are rolled up halfway, exposing the dark swirling ink of his forearm on his left side. You trace the images there, of bombs and broken bones and viscera that you thought yourself would be a part of weeks ago in the dark shed they’d kept you in.

It’s similar, in a way. The slant of light that cuts through the curtains reminds you of the pale illumination that peeked between the gaps of wood of your cold cell with the dirt floor and the cold, cold earth beneath your exposed form. In the silence between you both, it feels like a different sort of prison, both of you captive to your own thoughts of the things that happened, and that which didn’t.

Simon turns at last with something red and simmering in a bowl- tomato soup, by the smell. It instantly makes your mouth water, pallet tired of the bland hospital food served to you for weeks now, interrupted only by the snacks Gaz and Soap had smuggled past your nurse. It takes restraint to allow it to cool, and as it does Simon slides into the chair across from you, his side of the table noticeable empty.

“You’re not going to eat?” You ask quietly.

“No.” Comes the almost instant reply.

You feel your expression fall as he watches you before he adds on: “Later.”

It’s as good as you’re going to get for now, and you’re much too tired to press him on it. So you set about slowly sipping your soup, letting the warmth curl in your empty belly. There’s an anxious sort of grumble there, body still too taxed to have anything more complicated than this you think. He knows, you’re sure, has been in the same chair you’re in trying to take care of himself in the aftermath of it all.

Alone.

The warmth sours in your stomach.

Simon watches the expression pass over your face silently, observing. Watching, as he always does, taking in every minute detail and storing it for some unknown study in his thoughts you’re rarely privy to.

You finish the soup despite the lingering bitterness at the back of your senses, swallowing down the touch of nausea from your painkillers and looking to the man across from you.

Silent. Still. Unmoving, like the dead.

You reach out across the table, set your hand atop his gloved one, and Simon startles.

There’s a glazed look in his eyes that doesn’t fully dissipate as he looks at you, and in return you offer him a shaky sort of smile.

“Simon.” You whisper, and it draws him back just a little more, eyes unblinking but still something a little less than empty. Not fully here with you, caught in the tormentous spiral of what if’s that settle heavy over you both.

“Where are you?” You ask, voice a breathy murmur.

It seems to shake something loose from him, your hushed inquiry, drawing him back to himself and out of the coffin of his mind. He’s silent for a few moments, just staring back at you, and you watch as his eyes clear, as he’s able to see you again.

“Not goin’ anywhere.” He tells you, and overturns his hand to gently clasp at your hand atop his. “Fix.”

You smile, finally, feeling some of the weight ease from your shoulders, and you squeeze his hand back in reassurance.

“Still with me?” You ask quietly in the dim morning light of your apartment, and Simon blinks slow before offering a little nod.

“Always.”

Always. With you.

Simon leaves the dishes in the sink as he helps you up the stairs one step at a time, gingerly making your way to the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. He sits you atop the toilet seat as he runs the bath, and when you grumble about lifting your sore arm he merely grunts in reply, acknowledging of your griping in a gruff, familiar way that eases the bitterness lingering on your tongue.

He helps divest you of your clothes, and you try not to feel self conscious of the new scars that litter your skin. He traces them with nimble fingers and glancing touches, hovering over each one meaningfully and with great purpose. It’s as if he’s re-memorizing the shape of you, the touch of your skin with freshly healed lacerations and trials of stitches that embark a pathway under his hands.

“Fix.” He says again, softly, and it sounds reverent somehow, worshiping a cracked altar damaged by those who sought your demise. He remains at the foot of it, face upturned into the light that streams through the slats of the broken shed that held you captive and allowing the glow of revelation to stream onto his open eyes.

Later, once you two have mended yourself to each other once more, you’ll ask him if you’re still beautiful. He’ll say yes without question, fervent with a desire so raw it peels marrow away from his bones, strips the sinew bare from his flesh just so he has one more thing to offer you. You’ll get the same answer every time you ask him, and each time the silent question of “Do you still love me despite everything?” will echo soundlessly in your chest.

To which he too, answers: Yes.

He settles into the too-small bathtub behind you, and you shudder at the skin to skin contact that feels so foreign after being so far away from him for so long. The broad drum of his chest braces against your back as he takes his time bathing your tired, weary limbs. You settle into him easily with a sigh, allow him to scrub you free of the sterile touch of the hospital wing, the smell of antiseptic vanishing beyond a haze of fragrant bubbles from your too many bottles of soap. Beneath it is the smell of him, the thick and heavy weight of his musk that you crane towards with a small groan, bumping your nose under his jaw to drag in a breath of him.

“Alright?” He asks, pausing, and you nod into his collarbone, dopey and sated. It releases a little bit more tension from his shoulders, and you feel it in the way his chest depresses, burying yourself there in all the space he’ll allow you.

Which is, to say, all of him.

“I dreamt of you.” You say suddenly, and he pauses as he bends over you, one strong hand grasping the underside of your thigh to haul it upwards to wash. You almost don’t realize you spoke, eyes closed and body loose in the warm, sudsy water.

“I dreamt we went back to the states.” You go on, voice a soft murmur, slurred with fatigue now that you unwind softly into his arms. “We bought a big plot of land in the mountains where nobody could find us, with an old cabin and a fireplace.”

Simon pauses a moment longer before giving an answering hum, resuming his task and minding your stitches with gentle precision.

“Would have to chop a lot of wood.” He offers mildly.

“We took turns.” You reply, head lolling against his chest. You slip just an inch down, and one strong arm loops around your middle to keep you from descending further. “We got chickens too, and a cranky old barncat. I planted tomatoes in the vegetable garden.”

Simon is quiet as you ramble, allowing your thoughts to trickle free like the gentle loosening of a stream after a winter’s frost. He envelops you, warms you through, and in the beautiful blossom of your mind you allow the inside of your heart to be laid bare to him.

“Price and the boys came to visit. I made chicken soup.”

“With our chickens?”

You make a wounded little noise at that, and you feel him almost mistake it for a sound of pain.

“We watched the fireflies in the summertime.” You go on. “Stayed up to watch the sunrise just because. I can still see the colors beyond the trees.”

Pale pink and blue. The same colors that bleed through your curtains, the same colors that had slanted over your face in your would be tomb, allowing you the barest glimpse of freedom.

You swallow then, throat suddenly thick with tears. Like the trickle of a stream, your words pour gently out of you until they flood your eyes all at once, chest seizing with a pained breath as you shudder.

“Every day.” You croak, and he’s stopped now, bent over you as you tremble against him, hot tears seeping into the bath water. “Every day I dreamt of you. The whole time I was there. From the moment I fell asleep until the moment I woke up.”

Simon is silent, tucking you to him, stroking a heavy hand over the chilling flesh of your upper arms, allowing you to dig deep into him like he’s the only thing that will hold you.

“I knew you’d come for me. I never once thought you wouldn’t. The whole time I couldn’t stop thinking of you because I knew you’d come find me. I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

He whispers your name then, your real name, and you hear in his voice the way he trembles through it, as if he’s somehow not allowed. Simon whispers your name like a hymn he’s unfamiliar with, a grace given to him by your endless adoration. You feel it crack in your chest with a cry, swallow down the pain just so the despair, the hurt, the relief surges through you in wet, broken gasps. There’s no longer any words. Instead there’s the shudder of you both as you fold into each other, as he holds you like he can never bear to part from you in his arms again.

There’s so many things you want to say, so many things you wish you could tell him. You want to say you were so scared he’d find your body, that you wouldn’t survive the trip back to base, that he wouldn’t recognize the person that came back to him. You want to tell him that you were scared he’d be so terrified of how deeply you’d consumed his soul that he’d leave you, that losing you that way was better than losing the whole of you to something he couldn’t stop.

You want to tell him you felt the same, that you almost wish he had left you so that someday, should you lose each other, it would somehow hurt less.

Instead now, you cry into his arms and silently beg for him to hold you just a little longer.

You’re not sure how or when you get to the bed, wrapped up in a towel and bare as you lay on your side quietly crying. He doesn’t disappear from you, merely takes you against him and tucks himself impossibly further around you, as if shielding you from your own fears and phantoms.

“Fix.” He whispers, a hand roaming your back as your breathing eventually evens out.

You cling to him, wet skin and all, drinking in his scent, leeching off his warmth and imbuing it in your wounded form. He shifts, tilts you up so you look into his face, free of his mask, wet blonde lashes clinging to his cheeks with every flutter of his eyes. The full range of grief plays out clearly on his face, a despair and a longing so deep that you feel dirt pour over the coffin where both of you are entwined.

“I’ll come for you.” He tells you, voice dark, an ominous, dangerous rumble of a distant storm threatening to consume the horizon. “Every time. There’s nothing in the whole fucking world that can keep me from finding you, Fix.”

You nod wordlessly at him, face scrunching with unshed tears, breath shuddering in the hollow of your chest where he resides.

He takes a breath of his own then, eyes wide before he speaks.

“When they took you to the chopper, I went back.” He confesses. “Price tried to stop me, but I couldn’t leave after what they did to you.”

You shudder to think of the sight that must have been- with Ghost as a wild, feral animal seeking blood, unable to be tamed by the man he trusted the most, seeking out vengeance just to cool the bloodlust raging beneath his skin. Disregarding your injured state at the hands of the other medics, instead taking one look at your crumpled form and feeling a fury so violent it clouded his unwavering judgment in the field.

“I killed all of them.” Simon tells you, and there’s no regret in his voice, no horror at his own actions. A cold, calculating killer fueled by the most terrifying of motivations. “I felt their bones break beneath my hands, how hot and wet their blood was. I carved out their brains and left them for the vultures but it wasn’t enough. I’d kill them a hundred times over if I had the chance.”

You know he would. It should scare you, the lengths this man has gone through to keep you here in his arms. It should terrify you, should make you reconsider all viable possibility of being with him. Yet you fail to even feign shock at the devotion he has for you, laying skulls at your feet just so you can tell him how much you trust him, how much he deserves you- as if you somehow deserve him too.

“When I saw you on that hospital bed...” He goes on, voice softer now, a tone reserved just for you. “The only thing I could think was that I...I could never lose you again.”

“Never.” You tell him, clutching at the arm encircling you to him with ardent fixation. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m going to wait for you each time because I know you’ll come. Even if it means going through it all again, I’ll stay alive just to come back to you.”

You kiss him then, slow and tender, and he shivers bodily into you before surging forward, lips catching yours, body pressing into you as he kisses you like he’d forgotten the taste. Simon kisses you like its the last thing he’ll ever do, like he want to carry the touch of you from one afterlife into the next, like he’s trying to ingrain the sensation of you against his scarred flesh in case you’re ever taken from him again.

“Simon...” You sigh, and he swallows the sound like he’s trying to drink in every breath, as if it’s just one more taste of you.

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to keep you away from me.” He swears coarsely into your mouth. “I can’t- can’t do this without you. You make it all so fucking bearable, Fix. Nobody else can have you.”

You don’t want anyone else. You want him.

“I love you, Simon.” You manage between kisses, the naked, damp planes of your bodies stuck together as he tangles himself inside of you further, so that you’ll never be able ti dislodge him even if you wanted to. “I love you.”

“You’re mine, Fix.” He tells you in return, and you know what it means even though he won’t say it. “I won’t let them take you.”

You know he won’t. In this lifetime, in the next, you’ll stand by his side. You’ll bathe in the darkness of him so ichor drips from your lips, so that your name is seared across his tongue as if it’s the last word he’ll ever speak. You’ll echo a prayer unto his violence and he will kneel at the altar of you once more and ask for a redemption you can’t offer. Instead, you’ll tumble down into the grave together, caught in each other’s arms just like this, the world be damned.

You’ll wait. He’ll come for you. Then you’ll go home and watch the sun rise.

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[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 5

Prompt: Sweat Pairing: boyfriend!Mingi x fem!reader WC: 1,190 Summary: PWOP ngl. It’s slow late summer morning and Mingi doesn’t want to get out of bed. This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Mingi or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

TW/CW Under the cut

TW/CW: Sweat, humping, cockwarming, unprotected penetration, cumming inside.

TBH just some sweaty sex.

 It’s too hot. It’s August and it’s too hot. It was not too hot for August but it was too hot for you, for your small full size bed, for sharing that bed with your boyfriend. It was only eight in the morning and you were already sweating.  Mingi snuffles, morning voice low and congested, “honey, don’t leave.”  “I’m sweaty,” you squirm as his massive arm crosses over your side, pulling you to him. “I’m smelly.”  Silk nightgown sticking to you, the short skirt pulls upward, your bare ass hitting his thigh. “Don’t care, don’t leave.” He moans, deep and low and breathy.  Mingi is like a big needy weighted blanket, his thigh hitching over your hip. As usual his morning wood presses to the cleft of your ass. It’s hot, both literally and figuratively. He’s groaning at least partially as a symptom of waking up. The rumble of his chest buzzes your back. “You’re sweaty too.” You murmur. “Sweat baby.”  Hips slowly rutting against you, he kisses your shoulder. “Your sweat baby.” The small strap of your nightgown doesn’t stand a chance against him, easily brushed aside like the strip of nothing that it is, easing the cup loose on your breast. His fingers play over your erect nipple, tugging and flicking in equal measure. It’s frustratingly nice, working your hips back on him in a feeble attempt at relief.  Bodies sliding against each other you can feel him remove the cotton boxer briefs, your own slip crumpled around your waist.  “Can I,” he’s halfway through tugging the tiny dress up as he asks sheepishly. Sometimes he worries, when sex starts slow like this, that he’s misreading you. Even as you help him remove the thinnest of barriers. So he asks. He always asks.  “Warm,” you whine as he tucks you against his body, your hair clinging and pulling on your neck. The light filtering in from the window is bright in your eyes, the inner thin curtains not quite blocking the sun. Squirming in his grasp you turn to face him, pressing lightly on his shoulder, signaling for him to lay on his back. Normally you’d tuck into his side as he adjusted but instead he pulls you fully over him. Clinging to his chest, you both sweat, combined heat leaving your bodies dripping.  Mingi doesn’t want to wake up too much, he wants to stay in the sweaty warm bliss longer. Cock sandwiched between your bellies he slowly ruts into the slick heat. He really doesn’t mind the sweat, in fact he kind of likes it. The salty musky mixture of scent and old perfume that was so undeniably yours. Absentmindedly he squeezes you closer as his hips drive upwards harder, groaning into your hair.

 There’s no reason to hurry any of it. The lazy morning stretching onward in front of you. Brains hazy with sleep and lust, both of you drift in and out of vivid sex dreams, mirroring pleasantly what was happening in the real world  “Can I warm you?” You mumble into Mingi’s chest, sucking back a bit of drool threatening to escape your mouth.  “‘M already warm though,” gravelly voice sounding confused.  “Dick. Your dick,” you groan  He hums ascent, his cock sensitive and freely leaking precum between you. “Can’t promise-”  “Just need it. Need something in me,” you mutter, pushing up from his chest. The sheet sticks to your back like a cape, billowing behind you. To Mingi’s blurred eyes you look like an angel, two wings spreading behind you, your hair a halo. Despite how much your stomach had twisted with need, how slick your walls had gotten, the stretch to fit him was slow. You allow gravity to help as you bounce lightly on him, each small movement driving him deeper. Fully seated inside you sit back on your heels, slowly circling your hips just to get comfortable.  Mingi grabs your thighs with a whine. “Stop please,” he begs, face scrunched, head back in the pillow. “I’ll cum- I-” he stutters, “don’t wanna yet.” He bites his lower lip, focusing on his breathing, letting his muscles relax again. Carefully you push your hips back and your chest down to his, nuzzling into his neck with him safely inside of your walls. Humming contently your eyes close as he strokes your back.  You begin to drift off in a blissed out fog. Occasionally he slowly rocks up into you, just enough to keep him excited. You cum quietly as he thrusts, holding tighter as your walls pull him deeper with each gentle wave of release. “Feel good?”  Mingi groans low and rumbling in his chest. “Wish we could just sleep like this. Wanna have my cock in you all the time.”  “Wouldn’t it get boring?”  “No,” he says incredulously. “You are never boring.”  “You’d just stay still?” You laugh.  He laughs with you sheepishly. “No, I don’t think I could.”  “You’re doing a good job now!  Involuntarily his hips stutter up into you, words going straight to his dick. Mingi groans again, head spinning even with the slightest of praise.  “I love how much you fill me babe. Every time. Every time you stretch me out so good.”  He holds you closer, thrusting up again, moan spilling from your lungs. “It’s like you want me to cum inside you.”  “I do.”

 You’re both just so needy and lost in the cloud of desire made by the hour of slow rutting and soaking in each other’s fluids. His hands on your hips he fucks into you like he has something to prove, grasping your soft flesh roughly and rolling your hips so you feel every inch of his shaft dragging against your walls. The sweat and precum and arousal gathered on the both of you makes each movement sound even lewder, slick and sloppy as your skin slides and sticks to each other.  “I-I-I’m not gonna last long,” Mingi gasps apologetically between thrusts. “You keep- keep squeezing-”  “I know, it’s fine,” you’re gasping too, oversensitive and raw from the slow grinding and humping.  “You-sure?” He groans and squeaks, gritting his teeth and holding on for dear life. “I-I’m-I-oh shit.” He tenses and spills inside of you as he tries to warn you. As swollen as you are you can feel each small pulse of his cock as his muscle forces his release as deep as it can go. Sweat continues to roll down your thighs and calves, sheets damp around and over you. The room smells like sweat and sex but neither of you seem to mind.  “I love you,” Mingi says as he holds you tighter, unwilling to risk the loss of sensation despite his cock starting to soften and spill from you. Just a little bit longer, he thinks, let’s just stay like this a little bit longer.

It’s a little shorter, wasn’t sure what to do with the prompt, did my best! Also wanted to do something a little less...intense. Give myself a break.

[writing-whump]

Sol, from the sickfic prompts, can I have Isaiah + "Can you please come home? I feel really bad…" where he's the one saying this? I wonder how bad things would have to be for him to admit needing others?

Feverish and stubborn

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Matthew asked for the umpteenth time that morning.

Isaiah smiled at his insistence, internally cringing. He wanted Matthew safely gone so he could collapse in peace.

He had been feeling off since morning. Some kind of exhaustion, making him feel heavy to the bones and tired. Truly, he just needed sleep. He slept only a few hours every day, too busy and fascinated by some kind of assignment or homework or getting calls about lost pups, angry pack representative doing this or that. If he didn't get a job, that part of his life would swallow him whole.

Matthew eyed him suspiciously. "The pack is super friendly and they specialize in that human fighting thing without shadows, that you approve so much. They wouldn't mind me bringing you over."

Seline was at her parents during the weekend and Matthew had a guilty look on for leaving Isaiah alone as well, for a boxing meet between wolves. Isaiah was happy for him. Matt was finding his niche, friends through his interests. His confidence would grow from it, Isaiah was sure.

"I'm sure. I have homework to catch up to and I do not mind being alone. I have been living that way for the last 6 years, in fact."

Matthew bit his lip, scanning him one last time. "I'll text you the address in case you change your mind."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "Shoo. Go already."

Matthew grinned sheepishly, threw his bag over his shoulder and left.

Finally.

Isaiah dropped the happy mask at once, sitting down on the couch. He just felt so tired. Huddling into the blanket where he sat, not pressed to go hide in his room or pretend to function at 8 am, he lied down right there, quickly asleep.

***

Isaiah woke up 3 hours later to violent shivers through his body. He was freaking freezing. His hands and legs were frozen solid, he was trembling under the blanket. Even his nose was stinging from the cold. Did he leave the windows open or something?

He wiggled his head towards the clock and the windows and the balcony but everything was shut. Maybe he should get under the covers, they were thicker, but the idea of leaving the little warmth he had under the blanket made him curl up into it.

He would need to make a run for it, but he needed to gather his strength first.

It was only after that ridiculous thought that it struck him he must be feverish. The only logical explanation.

He shivered some more, mentally playing the short walk to his bed for five times, before finally standing up. Blanket still around his shoulders, he wanted to dash to the bedroom, except his bones felt like someone filled them with broken glass. He felt fragile, unsteady, like he was about to bend over and collapse on his feet. Ow.

Finding his slippers, he made his way to the bathroom instead, taking the big bathrobe against the cold. He leaned against the sink, daring a peek at himself.

Yeah. He was pasty white, giant circles under his eyes like he didn't sleep for weeks instead of the last few hours, and he sweated through his shirt, although he was still shivering.

He was also feeling vaguely nauseous. Not sure if it was from not eating or from the fever or because this flu came with a stomach bonus.

How annoying.

Isaiah felt a little better in the bathrobe, so he devised a plan of not having to get up again for the next two days.

He gathered a jar filled with water, a glass, biscuits, thermometer, some pills and a basin for good measure. He didn't eat much for dinner and nothing for breakfast, he was empty, but his stomach felt tense and sore. Better not risk it.

With his supplies steady on his nightstand, he hunted down thick woolen socks and new PJs. Closing the curtains on the window to not be bothered by the sun, he changed and climbed into his bed with the bathrobe on. No harm done, he would sleep this off.

He took his temperature. 38.4. Yeah, maybe the ibuprofen wouldn't be a bad idea. He took half a biscuit, grimacing at the taste before he took the ibuprofen against the fever and dived under the blankets in relief.

He was shaking until he warmed up the air underneath the covers, but he felt proud of himself for being responsible and sweating this out like an adult.

***

Three more hours later, Isaiah was ready to be better already.

The thermometer showed 39.5 as if the ibuprofen didn't help at all and he was constantly shivering like he was exposed to the Antarctic air.

Not to mention he was starting to feel really nauseous from the fever. His stomach didn't hurt or protest another medication, so he could tell the fever was doing it. The nausea was a slimy presence at the back of his throat, around his teeth and jaw. He took deep breaths against it, shutting his eyes, trying to relax and will himself to sleep.

When he closed them though, all he could see were images of his work as the Executioner or his Father's voice admonishing other pups that wolves didn't get sick. Yeah, getting sick was a luxury. Taking a day off, being able to stay in bed, being able to be so open about it. Isaiah had all the luxury now, so he should be fine. Nothing to complain about.

Other times, his feverish brain made a list of people he would have liked to be here if he dared to call them. Sonny saw him sick from time to time and always knew what to do. Very matter of fact mature presence.

Arnie would probably come if Isaiah asked. Would bring him medicine and worry for him, talk his ear off into sleep so Isaiah wouldn't have to hear his own buzzing thoughts.

Matthew and Seline would come. Matt wouldn't know what to do, but he would be adorable in his efforts. He would probably sit beside him in bed, turn on some Netflix show on their TV in the room and wake him up with exclamations when something funny or angering happened in them.

He dreamed about Seline saying he was okay, keeping track of his temperature and calling him something nice, like darling or sweetheart. The idea made Isaiah sniffle, curling into himself under the covers. How pathetic was he, to imagine something like that?

The fever must be making him delusional. To imagine it would demand his roomates to be here, when he was a completely normal functioning adult who could handle a little fever.

It was a very rude one at that, not wanting to climb under 39.3, even after the second dose of medication.

Isaiah made himself drink some of the water, which made him reach for the basin and gag over it for a cruelly long time, but nothing came up. He curled up around it, breathing harshly as he drifted back to sleep.

***

Next time he woke up to the feeling of liquid in his throat.

Isaiah shot to towards the basin immediately, gagging over it, before a few drop of blood fell on the surface instead.

His nose was bleeding, that's what he could taste at the back of his throat.

Ah damn, he had no paper towels on the night stands. What a stupid thing to forget.

His heart was also beating really fast. Isaiah turned to lie on his back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The nausea was drowning him, his heart thumped painfully against his ribs, the only force left in his body and he was going to make a mess on his sheets with the nosebleed.

For some reason the last part made him want to cry.

He was so glad he was sick with something else but his heart episodes for a change and now the fever might initiate one for him. Or was the nosebleed from the fever?

The more he lied there, the stronger the blood was running, flowing freely down his face and throat. He felt like he was choking on it.

He heaved over the bucket at the taste again, strained over it with no relief for several minutes, face all wet and slimy from the red liquid.

Isaiah slid down from the bed, the basin and covers in his lap. The shivers doubled immediately. He hugged himself, rocking back and forth. He couldn't remember when was the last time he felt so rotten. And if he didn't calm down, he would cause himself a heart episode no less.

Feeling utterly pathetic and ashamed, he reached for his phone, dialing the number he had been craving for the whole day.

Seline picked up on the second ring. "Isaiah, hey!"

Isaiah cringed, the joy in her voice when she said his name squeezing his chest in longing. "H-hey...."

"I was just telling my mom about the theater show we were going to? If we like it, I could get them tickets and next time we could- Isaiah? Is something wrong?"

He could hear voices in the backround, a female and a male and Seline answering something back in Slovak.

"I just..." Isaiah sniffled against the blood clogging his nose, cupping his hand over it to catch some of the mess. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Wait, hold up a sec." The noise of a chair being pushed back as Seline got up and left the kitchen. "Isaiah, talk to me. What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry. C-can you please come home? I feel really bad..." He hated what he was asking. She was an hour away by train, enjoying her weekend with her parents and he was calling for her like a child.

"Oh sweetheart," Seline voice dropped to lowest, sweetest, softest coo. "I'm on my way, okay? Dad will take me to the station, it's 4.30 right now...that means the train at 5.15 should be doable by car...I'll be there at 6.15...Anything I can bring you? What's wrong exactly?"

Isaiah sniffed pitifully. "I don't...I- it's just the fever won't go down and I feel sick and now there is blood everywhere-"

"Blood? What do you mean blood?" She said in alarm.

"'s nothing, just my nose is bleeding for some reason."

"Okay, okay, okay. Everything is going to be fine, you hear? I'll be there as fast as I can."

***

Isaiah woke up on the floor, throat and nose clogged up with dried blood, covers and bathrobe covered in it, shivering and sweaty.

None of that mattered, because he was greeted by the nicest sight he could wish for.

Seline was crouching next to him, jacket half open, frowning in concern.

Isaiah looked at the watch. 5.30 pm. "You made it early," he croaked.

"Dad drove me all the way here. Better than the trains." Seline cupped his cheek with her hand, lifting his face towards her to study him.

"Is he still here? I should-"

"You should nothing," she interrupted sternly. "The nosebleed stopped? Can you get up on the bed?"

"No...I'll make a mess like this." He pointed at his face.

"Is that why you are on the floor? Honey, the sheets can be washed, that's not a reason for you to sleep on the carpet."

Isaiah focused in her voice. She still changed the pet names frequently, like she couldn't settle on her favourite one. He loved it.

Seline's hands on his face felt divine, even though they were way too cold. He shivered under her touch, breath hitching.

"Okay, arm up. We will take your temperature, while I get something to clean you up with, alright?" She put the thermometer under his arm, kissing him on the forehead before leaving.

Isaiah closed his eyes, shivering under the sudden heaviness of her absence.

"Okay, come on, sweetie. Back in the bed." She was really insistent on that, huh?

Seline grabbed his arm and pulled and he followed, standing up and then falling back on the bed with a moan.

"What is it?" Seline sat down next to him with a wet towel and a bunch of those soft paper towels for colds.

"Ugghh. My skin hurts."

"Your skin?"

"Yeah. It's like broken glass all over," he whined.

Seline shook her head. "Your fever is super high, I can tell all the way from here. It's okay. It will pass." She took the towel and started to clean the dried blood on his face.

Isaiah winced at the coldness, but she was so gentle, he couldn't protest.

"I got you all the good stuff. Best rehydration drink ever," she said with a small smile, taking his thermometer, scowling at it without comment, and putting it away.

"I feel nauseous. Not sure I can drink," he said tiredly, closing his eyes. It wasn't his concern anymore. She could decide what he could and couldn't do.

"Just a few spoons, okay? It will really help with the fever. There. Face all clean. It really bled a lot, huh?" Isaiah didn't dare to glance at the ruined towel, but the wet skin left in its wake was stinging with cold. The feeling of cleanness comforted him.

Seline put another, bigger towel soaked in cold water around his forehead and neck. He hissed at the touch, but she took his hand in hers. "I know, I know. But this will help, darling. Please, trust me."

He squeezed her hand back, propped up on the pillows and closed his eyes.

"Open your mouth, sweetie."

Isaiah squinted at her. She really sat there with a mug of transparent liquid in her lap and was offering him a spoon of that salty smelling water.

He sighed but obeyed, letting her spoon feed him four times, before he pressed his lips together as he waited for his stomach's reaction. It sloshed angrily inside him, a cramp making him double over.

Seline's hand was cupping him his face immediately, her lips on his forehead murmuring something into his ear.

He breathed harshly, melting against the contact, then curled up at his side. "No more."

"Okay. That's enough for now. Such a good job. You will be up and about in no time."

Seline put the mug away, patting his face, readjusting the cold towel on his forehead, before standing up.

"Sel?" He whined, afraid she would leave. "Stay? Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

She cluttered with some of the things on his bedside table, before switching off the lamp and climbing into the bed beside him.

He shifted closer on his side, and she pressed herself against his back, arm around his chest. He took the hand in his, curling it against his heart like a talisman.

"It's beating really fast," she said softly.

"Hmmm. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising?" She said in disbelief, voice going higher with emotion.

Isaiah's throat closed up. "I'm sorry I called, I-"

She lifted herself up to loom over him. "You can always call me. I'm glad you called me." Her voice suddenly grew more heated. "No, in fact, you have to call me, when you feel bad like this. How long has this been going on? Why were you alone and not telling me sooner?"

Isaiah blinked in the dark, taken aback.

"When you get better, I'm gonna kill you, you hear? You feel off or like you are coming down with something, you are supposed to tell me before you black out from a fever with a nosebleed. You tell me immediately. I don't care if I'm on the other side of Europe, I'll come."

Isaiah swallowed, eyes burning, heart somewhere in his throat. "I didn't want to be a both-"

"I forbid you from having such thoughts," she said indignantly. "You are never a bother. You matter to me, Isaiah, do you understand that? When you are hurting in secret, alone, away from me, you are hurting me. You want to let me bleed out by not telling me of the wound?"

Isaiah didn't know what to say to that, eyes wide in the dark.

"You don't have to toughen it out," she said more gently, palm on his cheek, caressing it with one finger. "Let me take care of you. It's the least you can do, when part of me is hurting there with you."

Isaiah took in a shaky breath, chest hurting from her words. It hurt, it hurt to face such proclamations, such absolute belief they were true. "You are so bossy," he said, voice wavering on a sob.

Seline pressed herself closer to him still, spooning him, tangling their legs together. "Shhhhh. Yeah. You better get used to it."

[layla4567]

In the meadows

Loki x fem!reader

Summary: You lived near Asgard in a cabin near the forest, you went to get fresh ingredients for the next meal you would prepare when you met a black-haired prince Warnings: p in v, sub reader, oral sex both receiving, smut, stimulation word count: 3K

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You're done eating your stir-fried vegetables with your mashed potatoes and nutmeg. The mushrooms were just right, as were the carrots and other vegetables, finely cut and seasoned to taste. Everything you ate was harvested and prepared by your own delicate hands, it was almost always bread, fruit, vegetables or pasta. No meat, you hated it. Your lifestyle was simple and quiet, not enviable, but you didn't complain either. You preferred the simplicity of your home than being surrounded by luxurious palace servants who did everything for you, it was much more satisfying to do things on your own.

You left the wooden cutlery on the clay plate and took it to the sink to wash it. To tell the truth, most of the things you had in your cabin were handmade. Among your many hobbies were botany, pottery, writing, painting, etc. You just loved everything you could create with your hands, it was art for you. You continued to carefully wash the dishes that you had accumulated. Despite the arduous tasks that you did and that sometimes left your hands dirty, now you looked at them shiny, you enjoyed a beautiful and soft complexion. Your nails were well cut and polished and your fingers were long and thin, sometimes they seemed fragile but you well knew that with them you could create wonderful things and they also had enough strength to carry heavy things like the bags of soil and fertilizer that you had in your garden.

Your little house was comfortable, and baby-blue curtains were hung from all the windows, tied with a satin bow of the same color but darker blue. On the walls hung paintings that you painted yourself, some of them were quite similar copies of famous paintings, or simple replicas of drawings that you saw in your favorite books in your library, always full of them. You dried your hands on the apron that you were wearing over your long brown skirt that ended in a pretty white lace trim and your light pink tulle-sleeved blouse that revealed your shoulders. It was still noon outside so you decided to cook some bread for the afternoon.

You mixed all the ingredients in a bowl and you started to mix the ingredients with your clean and bare hands, the dough was a bit sticky at first but little by little it came off your fingers. You put a little flour on the counter so that the dough doesn't stick and you began to knead it slowly and patiently, you knew that the key to a good bread was to do it calmly and with love. The delicacy of your palms and your fingertips did the sourdough good. Your arms came and went with measured movements as you stretched the dough and put it back together. In the end you made a large ball and put it in a clean dish. You were going to add the final touch: a few sprigs of thyme on top of the bread, but when you wanted to grab the spices that you reserved in a jar in the cupboard, you realized that there weren't any. How can that be possible? Have you finished them so quickly and you didn't realize it? Anyway, resigned, you covered the bread with a clean dish towel and headed towards the forest to collect what you needed.

With your hooded cloak, a corset and your wicker basket on your arm, you headed towards the bowels of the little forest. Luckily it wasn't as fresh as you thought. Full spring and the flowers did nothing but grow around you, their soft aroma came off and remained floating in the air just for you and your nose that wrinkled happily every time you walked through the trees. Thanks to your books on botany and herbalism you knew what things were toxic and what weren't, you had learned that, in general, plants that came in clusters of three or gave white berries should not be eaten. At last you found the species you were looking for, not only did you pick thyme but you had also found rosemary and bay leaves. Perfect.

You were going to return to your home when out of the corner of your eye you saw a tall man with black hair from behind sitting in front of the lake that ran from the left side. His broad back was covered by an elegant suit with shades of emerald green and gold. You couldn't see his face but something about him was familiar to you, he seemed to contemplate the crystalline water with a peaceful air as if he was thinking about something important. You approached carefully and hid behind the trunk of a wide tree making sure he didn't see you. You didn't like spying on people but something inside you insisted that you knew that person. Now the man had turned his head a bit, leaving his face in 3/4 profile, and boy did he have a nice profile. His straight and somewhat prominent nose highlighted his divine and marked jaw, so sharp that it could cut steel. It was like a living painting, it seemed to come out of those portraits that you enjoyed painting so much.

Suddenly something in the gesture of his body gave you the clue that perhaps he had seen you after all, his shoulders had moved abnormally and although his eyes kept looking at the horizon, you almost sensed that they were making a great effort not to look at you with the corner of his eye, after that he lowered his gaze along with his head… suppressing a smile? You didn't want to be nosier than you already are, so you grabbed the basket near the tree trunk and gently turned to walk away when a voice chilled your blood.

"Why are you hiding like a little mouse?"

You did not know what to do, you remained rigid in the place and since you had not answered anything, he returned to the charge with another question

"Can't I have a little privacy once in a while?"

You looked down in embarrassment as you came out of hiding and approached the mysterious figure stammering an apology.

"I-I'm so sorry sir, I didn't want-"

When you looked up you found the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, they were blue but they had a greenish streak and a hint of mischief in them. He was looking at you with a mocking smile. If before you didn't know what to say to apologize, now you had been completely speechless and not only because of its beauty but because now you remembered who that individual was. Loki, the prince of Asgard. Your eyes had widened and your lips had parted a few inches trying to utter a word.

Loki lowered his head and let out a soft laugh, you didn't imagine that a person could create such a beautiful and peaceful sound.

"Yes? What were you going to say? Please continue"

He asked with a raised eyebrow, still smiling.

You swallowed hard and stammered an "Uhmm." God, why was it so difficult to speak in the presence of a prince like Loki?

"Well.. I was just collecting some spices as usual and then I saw him sitting there and uhm sorry if I interrupted his meditation Sir Loki"

You were so nervous you couldn't make eye contact, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear even though it wasn't really bothering you, and you gripped the basket handle so tightly your knuckles turned white.

"I wasn't really meditating"- he chuckled - "And please just call me Loki"

Loki threatened to get up and come to your side but you took a step back scared, you didn't know his intentions and you didn't think it was right for a simple commoner to talk to a prince

"Don't be scared little mouse, I don't bite"

He raised his hands as a sign of redemption while smiling broadly, he liked to see you amazed by his presence.

"It's just... I'm not used to talking to someone from royalty"-you laughed nervously

Loki got even closer to your side and offered his arm so that you could rest your hand on it.

"Let's walk a bit so I can get to know you better, shall we?"

Timidly you rested your hand on his beefy forearm barely touching him, he was being more gentle than usual

"Why would you want to meet a girl like me? I'm not a princess or queen"

"Life in the palace can be very monotonous at times, it's good to see new faces"

Loki adored how helpless and small you looked squashed next to him, it made him look taller and more imposing than he already was.

"Well I'm afraid I'm not that interesting"

"Oh I bet that you are, tell me what were you collecting those spices for?"-he said pointing to the basket

"Oh they are for a bread that I am about to bake, I am always looking for new ingredients. I collect them myself almost every day"

"Mmh, really? interesting…"

Now more relaxed you began to tell Loki all your favorite hobbies, he was impressed to hear you talk and tell him everything you know how to do. You found out that both you and he really liked to read and that he had a huge library in his room, you wished you could see it. He marveled at the passion in your voice as you recounted the pictures you had painted or how you grew your own food.

You two kept walking towards the meadow that led to your cabin. It was full of blue flowers, they were forget-me-nots, your favorites. The grass was quite high and made it difficult for you to walk. Suddenly Loki wanted to stop and sit down to contemplate the view.

"You seem to like looking at things a lot"

You knelt next to Loki in a comfortable pose.

"Never underestimate the power and peace that comes from sitting quietly looking at the world and around you."

You looked at him with admiration, Loki could have very deep thoughts and an enriching philosophy

"I know.. I also go for a walk without having to collect ingredients. Listening to the birds, watching the clouds travel from here to there, there is nothing better than that."

"Exactly"

Loki searched you from top to bottom with his eyes while you were absorbed watching the clouds go by with your head back. The Asgardian delighted in your innocence, he felt a playful and childish vibe and that turned him on somehow. He was wondering how naive you would be

You noticed Loki's gaze and you looked at him blushing, that made the prince more flirtatious and he made sure to bother you a little more to make you nervous. Loki took your hand and looked at it for a long time as if he were looking at a map of his next journey.

"I wonder what else these hands know how to do?"

You started to get hot even though it wasn't the hottest day and you felt your palms sweat. Even so, Loki didn't seem to care since he caressed every inch of the skin of your hands, your knuckles, your nails, your back and palm. He did it with a delicacy and patience as if he were enjoying that moment, and he was. You withdrew your hand, sliding it politely out of his, feeling self-conscious by all these displays of affection. You didn't understand why Loki was being so affectionate with you, you couldn't even imagine that from the way he looked at you he was about to devour you.

"Excuse me, Prince Loki, but it's already late. I think we should go back to our homes"

With a worried gesture you made a gesture to get up but Loki gave you a look like a slaughtered lamb that broke your heart in two, you didn't want to be rude to him but you didn't understand what he was getting at.

"Do you want to leave so quickly? I was having a great time"

Loki found your ankle that was peeking out of the hem of your skirt and began to caress it from top to bottom and from time to time passing the nail almost scratching you but in a provocative way. You felt your legs weaken and you had to support your hands on the grass to avoid falling and you sat down resignedly next to Loki

"That's how I like it, now where were we going?

Loki had raised his hand under your skirt and now he was no longer touching your ankle but your calf, his cold touch made you shudder and tense up, the fine and delicate hand of the Asgardian caressed the upper part of your calf almost reaching the bottom behind your knee. Seeing his hand under your skirt doing something so intimate made you feverish and you couldn't do anything but watch trying not to let out gasps.

"You are very tense, I can fix that"

Loki came closer to you and put an arm on the other side of your body, cornering you between his torso, you felt him so close that in an involuntary gesture you closed your eyes tightly and tried to lean back but you couldn't, he was leaning too far

"N-no Loki, I don't think this is correct"

You turned your head a little to the side so as not to look at him, his eyes were very intimidating and penetrating but he took advantage of this to get close to your ear and bury his nose in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating perfume as he closed his eyes, his head was tickling you. close in your ear Loki took a moment and then whispered

"Relax little mouse"

The heat of his breath in your ear was more than you could bear, you rubbed your ear on your shoulder to undo that tickle that his mouth had left you close to your skin. You had never been so close to a boy, it was not usual to have male contact in your life so this revolutionized your hormones. When you looked into Loki's eyes he smiled mischievously and couldn't resist taking your lips between his. You closed your eyes instinctively but with your eyebrows raised in amazement and you let a sigh escape into his mouth. Loki's lips were warm as opposed to his cold hands, his tongue exploring yours and the rest of your mouth gently.

Suddenly he stopped and looked at you deeply until his eyes slowly traveled up your neck until they reached your cleavage.

"Mmh?"- you looked at him confused

"Your corset is very pretty but it prevents me from eating your skin"

The way he said it made you think that he was the wolf and you were the poor sheep. Nervously you untied the laces that tied your corset with straps in front, but you couldn't untie almost anything in your hurry so Loki's light hands helped you in the process. He tossed the corset aside and continued his kissing path to your neck, brushing your strands of hair aside. Loki sank his mouth into the space between your shoulder and neck like a vampire about to bite you. His mouth forcefully kissed your skin while you tilted your head to the opposite side to make room for him. You didn't understand how all this was happening so fast but you just closed your eyes feeling the pleasure that Loki gave you with his lips.

Without warning, Loki's hand that was on your left, still cornering you, went up to your waist and placed itself on the sleeve of your blouse, his finger pulled the sleeve down more than it already was and gently ran over your skin near your armpit. until reaching your chest and going down towards your breasts that were still covered by the cloth. You let out a surprised gasp. The prince interrupted his kisses on your neck to direct his gaze to where your bust was without stopping to even look at you. Loki was breathing noisily and his jaw was tilted slightly forward, he really looked like a wild animal hunting its prey.

"Let me see you well, please"

Despite his feverish and hormonal rush Loki was still a gentleman even to ask you to undress for him

Now if you lay down completely on the green grass and grabbing Loki's hand you guided it towards your chest where you began to lower the fabric of your blouse little by little until your breast was exposed, Loki wasted no time in grabbing it with one hand and with the thumb begin to stimulate your nipple. Your mouth fell open letting out a high-pitched moan as you threw your head back. Loki seeing you and knowing that he was doing his job well did not stop kneading your nipple along with your entire breast, he fervently wanted to hear you moan again. But you were very concentrated holding on to Loki's arm and squeezing your legs to not let another sound escape, luckily they were alone and the grasses were high enough to cover both of them and not be seen.

But the Asgardian was satisfied hearing his companions moan for him so he took your nipple in his mouth and took a bite. You let out the moan that you had been holding back for a while, it was almost a scream. Realizing that you covered your mouth with your hand wishing no one had heard you, you were too embarrassing for these things. But Loki just looked at you funny laughing

"C'mon pet, no one is watching. But now do something for me, will you?"

He grinned and rolled off me to lie down long and hard on the grass as well. You looked at him blankly until he slid his hand to his groin, you could see that it was tight and he seemed to have the real Mjolnir in his pants. Loki with his thumb began to lower his pants and underwear a little to reveal his pelvis. You wrung your hands trying to control your anxiety. It was your first time doing an oral and you weren't sure where to start. You timidly approached Loki and, asking for permission, you gently lowered the Asgardian's pants and boxer a little until you saw his great attribute. You didn't know how to start so you looked at Loki.

"Don't worry, I'll return the favor"- he said winking

You took his member in your hands and began to caress the trunk slowly from top to bottom, it was like making clay vases. Just like in pottery, your fingers ran smoothly along the entire length of Loki's member. The Asgardian seemed delighted with your hands as he looked up at the sky as his mouth fell open letting out hoarse moans and exhaling loudly. You decided to try putting Loki's attribute in your mouth, first it was the tip and surprised Loki let out another moan. Then more confidently you decided to go deeper but not so much as to hurt your throat. Prince Loki was delighted with your abilities and your tongue made him clench his fists. He didn't want to cum so as not to bother you since Loki could sense that it was your first time, but it was costing him great efforts. You realized that Loki wanted to cum, his penis was getting more swollen and hard so as a precaution you stopped.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, while Loki was catching his breath he was ready to make you touch the heaven. He quickly raised your skirt and without giving you time to protest he caressed your thighs without abandoning his frenzy. He slipped your underwear and sticking his head into the fabric of your skirt being fully covered began to work wonders. How come Loki had so much energy to continue giving you pleasure? You arched your back letting out tender moans. Loki squeezed your thighs as he entertained himself by passing his tongue over your clit. Loki devoured everything in his path no matter how wet you were, he liked it that way. Your breathing was fast, you were very agitated and you felt your intimacy throbbing

"L-loki nggh"-you gasped- "I want-.."

Your high-pitched moans didn't let you finish the sentence, but Loki understood perfectly.

He came up to your face panting

"Turn around"

You obeyed impatiently like a girl at Christmas. Loki loved to see you so needy

You leaned forward and arched your back, raising your rear like a cat, just for Loki. But you turned your head towards him biting your lip worriedly and asked

"It will hurt me?"

Loki couldn't suppress a smile as he adjusted his hands on your buttocks but he became serious and told you gently

"Maybe a little but don't worry I'll be careful"

A little more relaxed, you let one side of your face rest on the grass full of flowers while Loki raised your skirt, revealing your beautiful butt perfectly contoured. Still with his pants down, the Asgardian searched for your pussy with his cock and when he found it, he asked if you were ready. When he heard you nod weakly, Loki inserted the tip of his glans inside you. You closed your eyes exhaling through your mouth and when the Asgardian fully entered you, you buried your face in the soft grass, stifling a cry, your hands clenched into fists and scratched the earth causing it to enter your nails. Loki was quite gentle with his thrusts but his member was so big for you that you couldn't control the moans that came out of your mouth, like pitiful and hoarse moans. Loki had found his ideal prey. Both bodies collided with each other forming one, skin with skin. The heartbeat of both rose. Loki's thrusts were increasing and made your whole body move from front to back as if a force was pushing you forward.

It went on like this for a while longer until Loki and you came at the same time, your fluids ran down your legs and you were both exhausted. You lay on the grass catching your breath and letting the flowers caress your hands, Loki lay down next to you with the grass tickling his face. They both hugged, he caressed your hair and you smiled affectionately at him, even after everything they had done you kept blushing shyly before him. The sun had gone down enough and had been on the horizon, the sky was dyed a radiant orange.

"Loki I'm cold"-you said shaking slightly, you were almost naked

Despite the fact that the prince of Asgard did not feel cold, he conjured a blanket for both of us, you snuggled up happily while giggling.

"I think that now we can go home, don't you think?"-you whispered resting your head on his chest

"Yes, you are free for today my little one"-he mumbled laughing

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By the way this was inspired by a story of @clandestineloki

[biblio-smia]

congrats on 800! “where's my goodnight kiss?” with clapton 🥹🫶

clapton is so,,, i want him so bad | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

it's not very often that clapton takes extreme measures to see you. most days, he is satisfied with holding you between classes, taking you out almost every day afterwards, having you over and making you stay for dinner.

however, some nights he experiences this insatiable longing - a pain in his chest that begs to see you.

so, naturally, clapton sneaks out and finds his way outside your window.

he's knocking lightly, though he's anxious to be inside. it's chilly out and clapton didn't exactly layer up, his feet taking him to his desired destination without much thought. clapton doesn't even know if you're awake - selfishly, he hopes that even if you are, you'll wake up.

it takes a few moments but you're there, thoroughly confused, even more so as you push your curtains aside and see clapton standing on the other side of your window. clapton doesn't mind the playful roll of your eyes because you open your window for him, letting him climb in (with your help, of course).

"what are you doing-" you're cut off by clapton kissing your cheek and the laughter that erupts out of you as his hands find your sides. "clapton, shhh!"

"you're the one being loud," clapton whispers, taking a break from kissing you to look at you.

"what are you doing here?" you finally manage to say.

clapton shrugs. "i missed you."

"so you just... came over?"

clapton grins, resting his head on your shoulder, wrapping you up in his arms. "am i not allowed to see you?"

"not at twelve a.m. when my parents are asleep."

"they don't have to know," clapton chimes, pulling you back into the cozy bed he'd pulled you out of.

the gesture is dramatic, but you can't deny it's romantic. clapton, walking for how long, just because he missed you? your heart beats a little quicker as you let clapton pull you into his chest.

you cherish it. the little habits clapton is guilty of when he's tired, the deepness his voice takes on. he stares at you while you talk, wide-eyed and focused. he tries, and fails, not to yawn, knowing you'll have no choice but to send him home if his eyelids begin to droop.

when clapton can barely keep his eyes open, your sweet voice lulling him to sleep, you give him a look. here comes the worst part: saying goodbye.

it'll only be for a little while (you have a feeling clapton will be at your doorstep tomorrow morning), but clapton resents the feeling regardless, wishing he could stay until morning with no consequences. he dreams of nights where he can sleep next to you and mornings where you're the first thing he sees when he wakes up. maybe one day.

you open the window back up for clapton, not minding the big 4:46 that flashes on your clock. he's one leg out when he stops, eyebrows suddenly furrowing.

"hey," he beings. "where's my goodnight kiss?"

you fight the laughter that bubbles in your throat as you kiss clapton's cheek, watching the disappointed frown form on his face.

you give in eventually, grabbing clapton's face and pressing a long kiss to his lips. then another. then another.

by the time you're done, clapton's ears are red and his eyes are hazy.

"is that good enough?"

"perfect," clapton mumbles, swinging his leg out of your room. he stands through the opening of your window, soon to be too far to hold. "i'll call you in a few hours."

you wonder how much sleep you'll be able to get. "you're on thin ice."

"i miss you already."

you smile bashfully, nudging clapton in the direction of his house. "go home."

"i wanna kiss you again."

"tomorrow," you promise. "as many kisses as you want."

this satisfies clapton, at least for now. who knows about tomorrow?

[the-fiction-witch]

Worship My God

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating SMUT AF LIKE SERIOUS SMUT

Writes Notes: Okay! I know I don't often do this but this ain't a normal fic right here, that rating up there, that SMUT AF is not enough for this! is there was another level above SMUT AF I'm not even sure this would come under that it would be a bit to intense, So! I'm serious! Head my warning, this is gonna be serious! if your still in... enjoy the ride I guess.

I stood in my chamber and got myself into my frock for the day, as this day was to be a very remarkable day indeed if I had the strength to go through with it. I had been waiting for this day for longer than I could face and now it truly was here, I could scarcely believe it. Often pinching my arms to check I was not still in the cling of sleep.

"Will that be all Miss Y/l/n?" My Maid Isa asked as she finished up,

"Of course, head home Isa, I'll be just fine tonight," I told her,

She nodded and gathered up her things before she left my house.

I watched the clock's hands move agonizingly slow as I waited for this afternoon, The mere concept of what will soon transpire was beyond my own heart's reckoning. I could not help but bite my bottom lip, I held it between my teeth for the mere thought that he would be on his way here, the sound of his steps, the shift of his garments, the bounce of his hair all of it exhilarated me more than anything else in this world. The visual of him within my mind was enough to fill me with heart-racing adrenaline. I found each tick to be agony to wait as a tightness grew between my legs and a throbbing sensation that I knew I could not resist. 

I moved my body to my bed, I enveloped my arms around my wooden bedpost my fingers caressed the shapes in the wood. I forced myself closer and closer as I held the bedpost tighter until I felt the gentle curve of the spherical section make itself known against the petticoats of my frock. I adjusted myself in such a way, that my legs were on either side of the bedpost and my grip tightened as I absentmindedly and uncontrollably began to thrust my hips. 

Immediately I began to whine as the stiff wood rubbed through my dress onto where so desperately required attention, my fingers finding cubbies and sections to rest as my grip only tightened, my breath hitched and my mind flooded with ecstasy as I only got more and more frantic. My whines had by now turned to pleads and mutterings between moans "Uhhh! uuuhh!" I tried to restrain but these sounds came from me uncontrollably as did he whom had caused me to be this way. "Dr Dawkins... Ummmm..." I began to grow more merciless on myself but no matter how hard I tried, I could not reach the heights I needed leaving myself only to wallow in rising frustrations. 

I forced myself away and sighed, I spritzed my perfume and let my face cool down unable to quell these horrific frustrations. But I hoped that today may be the day. I headed downstairs and adjusted things in my living room, I made sure the windows were all tightly locked shuttered tight and curtains pulled, I threw a log on the fire to keep it burning gently, I lit a few candles around my room and adjusted pillows on the chamise and chair giving them a fair plump. 

My heart jumped into my throat as I heard a knock on the door, I almost wanted to scream.

I didn't want to wait but I didn't want to seem too eager, so I slowly went to the door and fixed myself in the mirror before I opened it. To the reveal the handsome sight. 

There on my doorstep stood Dr Dawkins, in his usual brown shoes, washed-out brown trousers with a hint of a darker brown plaid pattern to them but they had been so worn and washed it was almost unnoticeable, a long sleeve white shirt with well-worn slightly stained sleeves, a blue textured waistcoat in need of a good dust wack, a washed out green tie around his neck tucked into the waistcoat, a sort of purplish jacket over him unbuttoned and ill measured as the cuffs of his shirts could be seen beyond his sleeves, a black velvet hat sat upon his dirty blonde hair. In his hand his usual doctor's leather bag filled with various... instruments of torment and betterment. 

He saw me and a pleasant smile came across his lips, "Miss Y/l/n, Dr Dawkins." he smiled, 

"Yes, I was expecting you doctor," I blushed, "Do come in," I quickly opened my door to usher him in as fast as I could, the moment he was inside I shut the door and locked it tight in the hope no one saw him arrive, as who knows the kind of questions the town would mutter if people saw him come to my home. 

"Thank you, no Isa today?" he asked as he made his way to the living room, and set his bag on the table,

"No, no I gave her the evening off," I answered as I followed him in,

"Aww, what a lovely kind mistress you must be to her," he smiled, "I do apologize of course for you having to wait so long for this appointment, I have been strangely very busy of late."

"That's alright," I nodded, "Can't be helped,"

"No, of course, you're more than welcome to have Dr Sneed or Prof do your appointments if it's urgent." He explained,

"That's quite alright Dr Dawkins, you're worth the wait." 

"You're too kind," he smiled, as he slipped off his jacket and hat and sat them on the chair, as he often did, "You're my last one for the day, so we can take as long as we need,"

"That's good then," 

"Aww, no cakes today?" He fake pouted, "You almost always make cakes for me, I was looking forward to them." 

"I can make you some if you'd -"

"It's alright, I'm only kidding," he playfully chuckled, "Now, am I to take it this is regarding the muscle pain?" 

"Yes Doctor," I nodded,

"Right, still all over?"

"Mhm," I nodded, 

"Alright, no problem..." he explained as he made a note on his paperwork, "This is getting to be quite often now."

"it is,"

"You taking hot baths like I asked?"

"Yes Doctor, Daily."

"Daily! Ohh my, you really are bad." He said, "You still taking the medication I prescribed?" 

"Yes, Doctor,"

"Good," He nodded, "Alright," He said as he stood up and stiffened himself he adjusted his waistcoat with a tug on its bottom hem, "I'll give you a look over, see what I can do about your muscles see if anything sticks out at me and then we'll go from there alright?" 

"Yes, doctor." I nodded excitedly moved close to the fire and held my hands as I tried not to bite my lip or squeal with excitement, 

He chuckled a moment as he came over and pushed up his sleeves to his elbows, "See that's why you're one of my favourites," He smiled, and I tried not to explode at the thought I was one of his favourites, "such an accommodating little thing," He cooed, 

"Ohh you don't know how accommodating I'll be for you doctor..." I muttered,

"What?"

"What?!" I gulped as I realised I said that out loud, "I uhh I said of course I'll be accommodating for you doctor." 

"Good," he chuckled, "Now turn around for me," he asked, I nodded and turned to face the fire, "May I touch your neck?" He asked in an almost hushed tone, 

"Yes doctor Dawkins," I blushed, 

"Just relax for me," he cooed as his hands graced the skin of my neck, he was so gentle and slow as if touching a wounded frightened cat, his fingers traced the muscles of my neck stroking them and lightly massaging them, "May I touch your shoulders?" 

"Yes doctor Dawkins," I nodded as I bit my lip unable to prevent myself from looking in the mirror above my fireplace to watch his hands move over me, his hands callus and his nails short, a strength to his thin hands, his hands familiar enough with my body to know where he was going, for a second out eyes met in the reflection of the mirror as he glanced up into the mirror to see my face and we caught eyes, Immediately I put my eyes back to the fire's flame, even if I saw a smirk curl up on the corner of his lips. 

"Are you feeling some tightness?" he asked,

"Yes, Doctor,"

"Any stiffness?"

"Yes, doctor,"

"Any, tingling perhaps?"

"Yes. Very much." I nodded biting my lip harder 

"I see," He nodded, and his hands moved to my back slightly he massaged the top of my back which was enough for me to whine,

"Uhh!"

"It's alright I'll be gentle," He reassured, 

I did my best to remain composed as his hands travelled the length and breadth of my body almost every muscle felt his hands touch, his sweet massage enough to force noises from me not unlike what the bedpost had forced from me but these were far quieter as I attempted to conceal them or at least play them off as pain rather the of pleasure. I did my best to relax and enjoy every moment of it but my legs were so weak and between my legs so desperate. 

"Good, that's perfect." He nodded, "Now, open your mouth for me." 

I didn't hesitate to open my mouth as wide as I could and even stick out my tongue with my eyes closed, He came to face me and investigated a moment 

"Not painful is it?" he asked, I shook my head, "Good. That's very good." he nodded, "In." he demanded, so I did as he asked and moved my tongue back into my mouth and his hand came to my chin and shut my mouth for me, before he headed back to his bag, "Your pain doesn't seem to be getting any worse, which is good, I am a little concerned about your legs the muscles there seem to be a little more finicky but I think I'll up your medication and we'll see how you go," he explained as he made notes on his paperwork, 

Immediately I felt disappointed that this was all that was to happen, I mean it's all that ever happened but I had grown so sick of this waiting, that my impatience toppled over, this wasn't fair, he couldn't just leave, he can't be serious that he can't see what he's doing to me, he surely cannot be so cruel to just leave me like this. 

"Is that all?" I asked as I turned to him, 

He stopped a moment and looked up at me with a questionable look,

"I mean we've just been trying medications, and treatments over and over and nothing seems to be working, and I'm having to wait so long to even see you, surely there must be more you can do Doctor."

"It's muscle pain unless there's something you're not telling me there's not all that much I can do for you miss Y/l/n," he chuckled, 

"Don't you have any theories at least as to the course of my pain?"

For a moment there was silence between us, "I have a theory yes." 

"Which is?" 

"I'm almost convinced you have a very common condition, often seen in women your age." he explained, "Not much I can say about it, or do about it I'm afraid," 

"And what is it?" I asked, 

He chuckled, "In my professional opinion. There's nothing wrong with you." he said, and I froze up, "There's nothing wrong with you, no muscle pain, nothing of the sort, you're faking it. Have been for weeks."

"I uhh I see how uhh how did you reach such a conclusion?"

"Becuase I've been giving you sugar pills." He said and my jaw almost dropped, "You've had no medication for two months, plus the fact that your... whines of 'pain' don't match up to what my hands are doing, if you had muscle pain me rubbing on your back should have made you scream, not moan. The fact you are even able to get dressed into that dress let alone go out and wander about town tells me you're fine." He explained, "But... you do have a condition."

"I do?"

"Yes, it's called Woman in Need of a Man syndrome." He explained, "You're not hurt, you're horny." 

"I uhhhh I see." I blushed, "And in uhh your professional opinion what should I do to cure this need of a man?"

"Get married." He answered, 

"I see, yes I absolutely must but uhh... until then," I spoke up, "Is there anything you could do for me doctor Dawkins," 

"Really?" He smirked,

"I'm sure you know just the things to fix me, make me all better."

He chuckled, "You seem very confident in me. I do appreciate that Miss Y/l/n. I suppose I could provide... something for you if that would help?"

"Yes!" I yelped, but clamped my hand over my mouth given I didn't expect to be so loud, 

he chuckled again, "My, my, you seem so very energetic all of a sudden." He smirked, "You really are in need of a man." He smirked as he moved closer 

"Mhm," I whined, "I am very very badly in need of a man, I am in utter desperation for a man, in anguish, misery, need, deprivation for a man such as yourself doctor dawkins." 

"Never seen a lady with quite such enthusiasm for treatment?" He smirked as he rested his hand on his hip,

"Well, I uhh I wanna get better." 

"And would I be correct in assuming that you'd be willing to do... anything to get better?" 

"Anything you ask of me doctor Dawkins," I gasped, 

"Anything?" He smirked, "and what if I... had some particular tastes that would, require very specific things from you miss Y/l/n?" he asked in hushed tone inches from my face,

"I would have no objections." 

"Well then, are you... sure this is what you want?"

"Positive."

"and are you willing to keep our, treatment between us and your bedpost?" 

"Well, I uhh my bedpost may get jealous,"

"Might it?" he smirked, "Oh... Humm, I take it your bedpost is how you've been curving your hormones before?"

"Yes doctor, and my baths you so sweetly percribed." 

"I thought as much," He nodded, "Well then, just between us then?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Good, now... I must warn you, care for this condition can be a little, Explict I'd need to be looking at you very closely for a good while, I'd need to be touching places I would not normal, I'd need to be very... particular. But of course, you do understand this is purely for medical reasons?" 

"yes, medical reasons of course." 

"So, you won't get me in trouble?"

"Of course not doctor Dawkins." 

"Good girl," He cooed and immediately I wanted to faint, "Now you may be a little anxious or embarrassed but I promise I'm going to take good care of you, just try and remain nice and calm for me Y/n."

"I'll do my best Doctor." I nodded, 

"Now turn around and we'll begin your treatment," He smirked,

I did as he asked without question to stand face the mirror again but this time I couldn't dare look away from the reflection, as he came up behind me moved his lips to my ear, "May I touch you now?" 

"uhhh... Yes Doctor Dawkins," I moaned, 

he chuckled biting his bottom lip his brown eyes seemed to smile with the rest of his face in a wicked sly way, as he kissed my ears tragus before he spoke "Good girl, hold still for me," He demanded in a sly whisper as he nibbled on my ear lobe, his hands moved to my hips his thumbs rubbed on them hard which only caused his sly laughs to deepen, as his arms slowly enfolded my body his hands now on the opposite hip crossed over my stomach, "You're excitement is quite noticeable Y/n."

"Yes I uhhh I uhhh yes I'm sure my excitement is uhh noticeable to you Dr Dawkins, I uhh I'm sorry I'll do my best to be still," I answered as I stuttered like crazy,

"I never said it was a problem," he smirked, "You can be excited, you just have to be a good girl for me."

"I'll be good, I'll be very very good." I nodded,

He smirked his hands moved up my waist before he pulled back his eyes staring down at my ass as he held my waist, slowly his hands moved to stroke my curves his middle finger stroked under the curve of my ass slightly picked up the weight of me in his hand and let it drop again caused it to jiggle, which caused him even more amusement, before he slapped me firmly with an open hand,

"ohh!" I gulped, 

"Yes?"

"Nothing, nothing." I blushed, 

"That wasn't a protest from my good little girl was it?"

"No! no never. Doctor." 

"Good," He nodded, his hands snaked around my body caressed under my breasts his fingers traced the bones of my corset, "take off your dress."

"I-"

"I need to examine you, take off your dress." He demanded and snapped the button off that held the back of my dress which left me with no choice but to remove it, 

"Yes doctor," I blushed getting my dress off me as quickly as I could leaving me in my corset and underdress, he chuckled slyly and ran his hands over my corset,

He laughed wickedly as his hands stroked my shoulders before they dove into my corset and cupped my breasts in his hands "Pretty little thing aren't you?" 

By now I was a moaning mess, I didn't care what noises came out of me my heart racing fast, and my whole body throbbed with desire as he squeezed and fondled my bare skin pressing his body against my own, one hand left my breast to sit on my hip pulled my hips against his own and then stroking my thigh which only made me moan more,

"Humm Calm down Y/n." He smirked,

"I- I can't Doctor-"

"Relax for me... that's a good girl." He cooed his hand moving higher up my thigh and softly massaged my thigh and my breast in his hand,

"Please Doctor Dawkins,"

"Please what Y/n?" He whispered in my ear,

"Please... Touch me." I begged,

"I am touching you Y/n," he smirked, "Where would you like me to touch you?" He whispered,

I didn't even hesitate I grabbed the wrist of his hand that had been on my thigh and moved it over to between my legs,

"Oh." he smiled slyly, "Are you sure this is where you want me to touch you?" his fingers began to stroke my mound through my underdress, 

"Yes! Yes! Please! Please, Doctor Dawkins...." I begged, 

"Humm... You really are horny aren't you?" he bit my ear lobe a little hard as his thumb rubbed my mound through my underdress his other hand now shifted the weight of my breast in his hand as he plaid with it, "You want me to touch you, don't you?" he smirked, 

"uuuhhhh! yes! yes Please Doctor Daskins! Please! I'm begging you." 

"Begging me are you?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm begging you please," I whined and tried to push his hand where I so needed him but he slapped my hand away, 

"Beg for me." he whispered, "Beg for my hand Y/n." 

"uhhh! Please, please, please, please, please, please! Please, Dr Dawkins! Please! I'll do anything! Anything! I'll do anything you ask! Anything you want! I'll be yours just touch me please!"

"Anything? Really?"

"Anything! Anything! Anything!"

"Anything?" He asked milking the word for all it was worth, 

"Anything! I'll be yours! I'll be your toy! Your pet! I'll let you do anything you want just please let me have your hand!"

"what a good girl," he cooed, "Anything at all? Even if that included-" 

"Anything!" I screamed, "Physical, emotional, intimate, anything you desire of me, Dr Dawkins."

He chuckled again "You are very willing." he smirked, "What a poor desperate little girl," 

"yes! Just please please im- I'm-" I moaned "Uhh Dr Dawkins, please! I'm desperate! I'll do anything, anything you ask just please!"

"Tell me how bad you want me," he growled, 

"Uhhh! Dr Dawkins!" I moaned, "I want you! I need you! I worship you! I'm begging you for your mercy please!"

"Worship me?"

"Yes! Yes! I worship you, I beg for your mercy, I adore you so utterly, I worship your voice, your body, your very existence, I will be your adoring worshiper, your slave if you so asked it of me If my god would only give me what I do desire."

He moaned into my ear as he heard me say that, "Ummm, How the fuck have you never got a man when you talk like that..." He groaned, "Uhh Be a good girl, and worship your god. Show me how desperate you are, price to me how willing you are to serve me." 

I didn't hesitate Immediately I turned to face him and moved to my knees on the cold wooden floor the moment I did he gave me a look questionable but not like he was going to stop me, I set my hands on the floor between my knees and looked up at him with a wide innocent smile, "ohh my sweet sweet doctor, please let me worship all of you doctor," I pleaded, "let me prove to my doctor what I will do for him"

"Then prove it. Prove to me what a good girl you can be." He smiled as he stroked my jaw, "Show your god how you worship him." 

I blushed but began to kiss the top hem of his trousers felt the soft cotton against my lips, felt his breaths through his stomach, I tugged a little on his trousers and felt the resistance of his suspenders, so I undid them which forced a moan from his lips, I tugged them apart and tugged down his white underwear and I was taken back immediately as the size of him, certainly more then I expected and now it was truly revealed to me that he too was desperate as he couldn't conceal just how hard his cock stood, his stiff his shaft staid, how he throbbed with the desire for attention, "ohh my sweet sweet doctor, please let me worship all of you doctor" I plead "May I-" I began

"Yes." He gasped, not even waiting for me to finish the question, I blushed to think he was so needy for me and I pouted my lips and blew air across his shaft, "Uhh! don't tease your god Y/n." 

"Ohh? Will I face your wrath?"

"You might," he smirked, 

I smiled and gently began to press soft kisses to his shaft, I began at his hilt and slowly peppered kisses to his head and back again, he began to gasp more often and squeeze his eyes tight, "Ohh Dr Dawkins, Dr Dawkins," I muttered between kisses, which only seemed to tease him more, but I couldn't wait any longer I sat back a moment and opened my mouth as wide as I could stick out my tongue out for him before I took his cock into my mouth completely and gently began to suck,

"Ughhhhh!" He groaned his hands came to my head and held my hair, I did my best to insure I pleased him sucking him slowly, moved my head back and forth down the length of his shaft, and licked my tongue around his head, I was so fueled by his moans and groans above me being very vocal for me, his head thrown back and his jaw hung low, "Ughhhh! Uuuhhh! fuck! uuuummm! Yes Yes! Like that! Uhhhhhh!" he moaned, I often opened back allowed my sweet sounds to be heard my little moans and whines vibrated his cock which only seemed to make him more desperate, "Ughhh! Good girl, such a good good girl," he cooed and stroked my jaw he glanced down at me so I made the most innocent of eye contact which drove him insane, "Ughhhhh! fuck! Ummm you look so good when you worship me Y/n!" he groans "Uhghhhh- Please please-" He begged and I felt so so lovely to hear him plead for me so I continued I made sure I didn't change anything, "Just... keep... Go- UGhhhhhhhh!" He grabbed my hair hard and dug his fingers into my head as his hips jolted himself to deep throat me almost made me gag but I stayed still as the warm slightly salty liquid sputtered around my mouth, he quickly pulled out of my mouth and slowly began to soften the moment he released, he gasped, and groaned between his breaths as he tried to calm himself down after such a rush of pleasure, but with a satisfied smile, 

I giggled a little while still sat on my knees my hands between my knees, in my white underdress and cream corset, my mouth hung open wide enough he could see but not wide enough to lose anything that I held in my mouth, I slightly stuck out my tongue as I had earlier and allowed him to see the mess he had made of my mouth, made sure to make the most seductive eye contact I could, 

"Good girl," he smirked, "what are you gonna do with all that then?"

I smiled and licked my lips before I swirled my tongue around my teeth and the sides of my mouth before finally shut my mouth and swallowed and I made sure I made a loud enough gulp that he heard me. 

"A very good girl indeed," He cooed and stroked my jaw again, "I'm surprised just how eager you are to worship me Y/n." 

 "My doctor wants more?" I cooed as I opened my mouth again, 

"More?" He asked a little breathy, 

"Again?"

"humm again? You want to do it again?"

"I want to prove how much I need my doctor and how much I adore him, I will do anything you ask, if you wish for me to do it again I will do it as many times as you ask"

"Well, well, what a very good girl to praise me so." he smirked, "but I think I want to reward my sweet girl for all her worship would you like that?"

"Yes, doctor Dawkins." 

"On the chair, with your legs open. Now." He demanded as he pulled on my hair to force me in the direction of the chair, 

"Ughhh Yes! Doctor Dawkins!" 

[the-library-of-forgotten-endings]

this is why you should NOT hit on Kalim Al-Asim

My piece for the ‘who does the prefect like?’ writing collab by @dulcesiabits ! Sorry this is so late, I hope you enjoy it!

note: they/them pronouns used for reader

“They’re onto us, Kalim.”

Kalim blinked. “What do you mean, (Y/N)?”

“The first years,” you hissed, looking left and right. “They suspect that I’m dating someone.”

All the doors and windows of the Ramshackle Dorm were safely locked, and you had drawn the curtains for good measure. You would have switched off the lights too, if there were any (Crowley had forgotten to pay the electricity bills again). The only thing lighting the room you and Kalim were three of the Ramshackle ghosts.

They were your close allies, which you were grateful for. You would need allies in the times to come…

“…how is that a problem?” Kalim frowned with confusion. “It’s not a big deal if people found out we were dating.”

“…” Your eyes began to brim with tears, and you reached over to your boyfriend and tenderly cupped his cheeks with your hands. “Oh, Kalim…sweetheart, angel, love of my life…if people found out we were dating…it would be a complete travesty!”

“Travesty, travesty, travesty!” echoed the ghosts in perfect synchronisation.

“R-really?” Kalim’s eyes shone with fear.

“Yes!”

“…ah…!” Kalim shivered a little as well. “I don’t know why you would think that, but if you say so…do you have a plan?”

“Kalim…” Your face darkened, and you sat back up on the couch. “We need…to become…pals.”

“…but we’re already pals!” chirped Kalim. “You’re my favourite pal!”

“No, Kalim.” You shook your head sadly. “We need to become simply pals. Nothing more. We can only do pal stuff with each other. No kissing. No holding hands. No buying me gifts. No calling each other ‘sugar-bear,’ ‘sweetie-pie,’ or anything of the sort.”

Kalim’s eyes widened, and he began tearing up. “Not even hugging…?”

“Especially not hugging.”

“…what…what if I slip up?” Terror dawned on Kalim’s face. “What if I accidently hug you in public? Then everyone would find out…!”

“If you slip up and accidently show me affection in any way, you need to jump exactly six feet away from me as quick as possible and say, ‘But not like, in a weird way!’ That should cover it up.”

“I hope I don’t give us away…”

“Of course, you won’t! I wouldn’t have told you my plan if you would!” You gave Kalim a loving, adoring smile. “I trust you, Kalim.”

You suddenly turned away from him. “I’m afraid you must leave now, Grim will be arriving…leave, my dear, lest our secret love be revealed to the world!”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

And Kalim ran out of Ramshackle, trying to be discreet as possible.

By which one means: not discreet at all.

…

“The prefect hasn’t been answering my calls,” grumbled Ace. “They’re probably off kissing Kalim again.”

“Really?” Deuce frowned with confusion. “The prefect isn’t dating anyone, though.”

“Deuce.” Ace grabbed Deuce by the shoulders. “I want you to think. Who told you that the prefect was single?”

“The prefect told me.”

“And why would they say that they’re single?”

“Because they are single?”

“Dummy.” Ace bonked Deuce on the head, and Deuce yelps. “What was that for?!”

“I was trying to get that brain of yours working! Kalim constantly comments hearts under (Y/N)’s photos on Magicam, how can the not be dating?!”

“Maybe because they’re friendship hearts!”

“They have matching heart necklaces with each other’s names on them!”

“Maybe those are friendship necklaces!”

“Deuce, we saw them making out in the corridor.”

“…maybe…they were…making out…platonically?”

Ace facepalmed. “Platonically?! Are you kidding me, Juice?”

“Don’t call me that!”

Jack, who was sitting in the corner of the room silently, finally speaks up. “There are a lot of different sexualities out there, Ace. Platonic make-outs are probably a thing, you know.”

“See, Ace?!” Deuce smiled triumphantly. “I was right!”

“However,” Jack interrupted Deuce’s victory celebration, “I know enough about the prefect that I can be sure that them and Kalim are probably dating.”

“Nah, they’re definitely dating,” called out Epel. “I heard (Y/N) call Kalim ‘wifey’ the other day.”

“What?!” exclaimed Ace and Deuce in unison.

“Yeah. They’ve even got rings. With diamonds and everything, but they’re kinda subtle, so you have to really be paying attention.” Epel looked deep in thought. “Gotta say, if those are real, they hafta be worth a lotta money…”

“No way you’re telling the truth,” scorned Ace. “Even the prefect can’t be that cringe.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar?!”

“You both, calm down,” said Jack. “We need to stop pondering over the prefect’s love life; it isn’t any of our business.”

“That’s the whole point, Jack,” responded Ace, rolling his eyes. “There’s a reason trashy tabloids sell, you know. It’s no fun if it is your business.”

“Still, it doesn’t feel right…”

“Well, if you wanna leave, the door’s right there.” Ace gestured to said door, and smirked. “But be honest, Jack: you’re here because you’re curious, aren’t you? You might try to act all ‘holier than thou’ but deep down you’re dying to know if the prefect is really dating Kalim.”

“…” Jack frowned, but he didn’t move from his seat at the round table.

“Sebek, you haven’t said anything,” noted Deuce, looking at the green-haired, stoic boy. “What do you think?”

“Well, at first, I was admittedly shocked by those two’s behaviour. Handholding? Before marriage? That’s how unplanned pregnancies happen!”

In the background, Ace choked on his own laughter.

“But,” continued Sebek, “When I heard the prefect refer to Kalim as ‘wifey’, it became clear to me that they were, in fact, married or at least engaged, in which case their public displays of affection, while still distasteful, were not the immoral acts of promiscuity I had initially thought them to be.”

“But…they’re not married…?” Deuce treaded carefully, he knew this would set off an explosion.

“What.” A great big frown marred Sebek’s features, and he shouted, “THEN THEY MUST BE SEPERATED AT ONCE! LEST THEY BECOME CORRUPTING INFLUENCE ON THE YOUNG MASTER, NAY, A CORRUPTING INFLUENCE ON OUR ENTIRE GENERATION!”

“Tell me you have no bitches without telling me you have no bitches,” snickered Ace under his breath.

Jack slammed his hand on the table. “We need to stop this madness. We’ve become too unhealthily obsessed with this matter.”

“I wouldn’t say obsessed…” murmured Epel.

“Epel, you made an evidence board,” said Jack pointedly. “With red wool.”

“Okay, maybe we’re kinda obsessed…”

“Anways, we need to bring an end to this once and for all. Either, we find out the truth of the prefect’s relationship, or we drop the entire investigation.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded in the room.

“…But…” Deuce raised his hand. “How are we going to find out if they really are dating or not?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Ace reassured him. “It’s fool-proof, so it should even work on the prefect.”

“And what is the plan?” asked Jack.

Ace smirked.

“Ace, what is the plan?”

Ace’s smirk became wider.

…

“Are you lost, babygorl?” said Jack stiffly, before leaning on the wall in front of Kalim.

Honestly, he should have known better than to have gone with this plan. The only reason he was even here was because Ace was holding his cacti hostage (that little shit). And now, he was here. Trying to seduce the prefect’s man.

Why him?

“Oh, you’re Jack, aren’t you? Honey bea– the prefect mentioned you!” Kalim smiled. “I’m not lost! But thanks, though.”

“Um…” Jack coughed. “You’re welcome.”

The tiny receiver in his ear crackled to life. “What the hell, Jack?!” Ace shouted, his voice tinny in the small speaker. In the corner of his eye, Jack could spot Deuce, Ace and Epel buried in a nearby bush, watching Jack with a hawk’s eye. Sebek wasn’t there, because the moment Ace had explained the plan, he had passed out at the thought of ‘intimate talk’ before marriage. 

“That wasn’t smooth. At all,” said Epel. “Try a different one.”

Jack swallowed. “Anyways…” This is so embarrassing, this is so embarrassing– “Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date?”

“Oh, I do really like dates!” Kalim’s eyes sparkled. “Why, you got any?”

“…”

“What the heck was that delivery, Jack,” Ace groaned. “You need to be more sultry! More seductive!”

What the hell did Ace know about being sultry and seductive? Didn’t he ghost his only girlfriend?

Jack decided to keep it simple. “Do you…do you want to go out with me?”

“…we are outside, though?” Kalim frowned.

“He’s so…stupid!” Deuce shout-whispered. “A lost case!”

“You’re the one to talk,” replied Ace. Oh, he couldn’t just keep his mouth shut, could he?

“Why, you–!”

“Deuce, stop choking Ace­– WHAT WAS THAT FOR, GODDAMIT?!”

A few more shouts, a crash, and the line went dead.

But hey, Jack guessed this meant he could leave now.

“…I have somewhere to be. Goodbye.”

“Oh, goodbye, Jac–”

“Jack.”

Jack felt a dark, looming, angry presence behind him, one which made him want to start running, but Jack was a proud person, and he didn’t run away, so he turned around, and sorely regretted it.

Because it was you.

With a face that screamed ‘bloody murder’.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” chirped Kalim from behind Jack. “Jack was just asking me if we could go out! Want to join us?”

“Prefect,” began Jack desperately, “I promise you that this isn’t my fault, they were holding my cacti hostage–”

“HOW DARE YOU HIT ON MY WIFE?” you roared, with the force of a thousand suns.

Pride be damned. Jack started running.

…

Grim blinked, as he witnessed you chasing Jack with a murderous look, then turned his gaze to Epel, Ace and Deuce fist fighting in a bush. “What’s happening?”

“Beats me!” said Ortho cheerfully. “Wanna go to my dorm to play some video games?”

“Sure, sounds fun!”

[whositmcwhatsit]

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

AN: Hi, remember me? Yeah, it's been a tough few weeks, but I'm back on track now and free from soul crushing work, so my brain is free to wander.

The usual warnings apply.

Previous chapter

Chapter 9- Open Your Eyes

Chancy woke up in yet another hotel room. This one had striped wallpaper and heavy flocked curtains. She blinked and smoothed her hair, trying to remember what day it was. With no obvious days and nights, time turned shimmery and difficult to grasp. There were the shows, of course, but sometimes there was one and others there could be two in a day, it was an unreliable unit of measurement.

After a couple of minutes she decided that didn’t matter. Then she tried to remember where she was. Texas? Washington? Ohio? That probably didn’t matter either.

The bed was otherwise empty, which was unusual. She was used to waking before Elvis, having that moment of grace where she could breathe and marvel at him close up. One of the highlights of every day was curling beside him as he slept, her head on his pillow, stroking the back of her fingers down the side of his face and smiling as his lip twitched into the faintest curl.

While he was asleep, he was safe, he was calm, he was predictable. All was well.

Sighing, she threw back the covers and padded across to the bathroom to make herself presentable. As she passed the door that had been left ajar, she heard voices coming from the living area beyond, and she paused to make them out. Elvis’ was unmistakable, of course, but there was also Jerry’s near monotone, Lamar’s nasal twang, and Ricky’s uneven pitch. She also glimpsed Sonny’s broad shoulders through the crack in the door.

 “I don’t know, man, I’m just saying you got your work cut out for you,” Lamar was saying somewhere off to the right. “She’s real sharp, you know. Plus she knows you so well, she’s got you bang to rights, son.”

 “Well,” Elvis replied, his voice soft and slurred. “We’ll see, I guess. Maybe- maybe that’s what I need.”

 “It’s what I’ve been saying for years,” Jerry intoned. “You always need a challenge, man. When you’re working, you rise to the occasion, so why not in love too, you know?”

 “You worried about me being able to ‘rise to the occasion’, Jerry?”

 There was a chorus of guffaws. Chancy rolled her eyes and smiled at them talking about relationships like they always teased the girls for doing. She didn’t want to think about who they might be talking about. There was no good answer to that.

 The list of things she was refusing to think about was getting long enough to warrant a scroll rather than a page of a notebook. The tour would be coming to a close soon and they had not talked about what would happen next. Chancy would be going home to her job and her family and he would presumably be getting ready for his latest stint in Las Vegas.

 Standing in the shower, she told herself that she had only signed up for the tour, and that she was only equipped to be there for the tour. No doubt he already had someone lined up for Vegas, and probably someone else for the rehearsals in LA beforehand too. And that was for the best.

 “I tell ya, no need for windows when I got a view like that!”

Chancy whipped round and had to throw out her hands to stop herself from skidding on the slippery tiles, peering through the shampoo suds trickling into her eye.

 “You scared me!” she replied. He had opened the shower door slightly and was peeking in with a sneaky, boyish smile.

“You don’t ever need to be scared, baby, not with me around.”

‘Most of the time you’re the one who scares me!’ she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head up to catch the spray and rinse off her hair. The waft of cooler air hitting the steam made her glance back over as he pulled open the door, shrugged off his robe and stepped into the cubicle in his pyjamas.

“I don’t think you understand how showers wor-” His lips swallowed her words as he ducked down and kissed her, pulling her against him.

“See, I got ya,” he mumbled, his hands sliding down her slick skin as the shower soaked his hair to his face. “I’ll always protect you.”

“You’re crazy,” she murmured, clumsily unfastening the buttons on his pyjama jacket as her mouth chased his. He leant down to allow to her peel off the sopping top, grimacing in discomfort, but grabbed hold of her again as soon as she flung it over the screen.

“A real man’s gotta be ready to protect his woman any time, any place,” he informed her with childlike earnestness.

“And who or what are you protecting me from right now?” she asked, playfully inching down the waistband of his pants.

“Honey,” he mumbled into her mouth, “you never know.”

As soon as she got his pants down past his hips, he surged forward, pressing into her, and the sudden pressure almost took her off her feet. Trying to help, he grabbed her in a bear hug and almost went with her.

“Shit, this was a much better idea in my head,” he murmured wryly, biting on his luscious bottom lip as he pushed his hair from his eyes.

“It was an amazing idea,” she assured him, fruitlessly trying to swipe away drops of water from his brow to stop them trickling into his eyes. “But I think the only thing I need protecting from right now is gravity and these darn tiles. Can’t fight science.”

“Aw, faith beats science every time, you know that,” he replied, resting his head on her shoulder and turning his face into the crook of her neck. The pattering of the spray against her skin, combined with the soft touches of his lips and the scrape of his stubble and teeth at her throat, was almost too much.

“And common-sense beats all,” she told him, carefully stepping backwards. “Come with me?”

She reached down to grab his waterlogged pants and toss them out of their way and when she looked back his gaze was heavy but loving as his eyes slowly travelled down from her face. She withstood this as long as she could, legs trembling, and then she turned and stepped out of the shower.

“Damn, I’d follow that ass anywhere,” he murmured, catching her when she paused to grab a towel, and pulling her into him. She could feel his excitement against the curve of her ass as he practically lifted her, nibbling her neck like a hungry vampire. When she tried to turn to hand him a towel, he just squeezed her tighter and they half-walked, half-stumbled back into the bedroom.

Something felt different, there was an urgency about his actions that hadn’t been there before, and she wondered if he was thinking about the end of the tour as well. Without preamble, he manoeuvred her onto the edge of the bed, flipping her at the last second so that she was looking up at him. When he swooped down, fitting himself against her like they were made that way, she slid her fingertips up his arms where they twitched against the ripple of muscle as he held himself up over her on his elbows.

“Are you okay?” he asked directly against the shell of her ear, his damp cheek pressed against the side of her face. She went to nod but shivered instead, digging her nails into his shoulders. “I can’t- I…” He pulled back, but couldn’t meet her eye, his cheeks pink. “I want-”

She nodded this time, gritting her back teeth as pulses of tension radiated out through her body. He pulled away from her with a grunt, leaving his hand splayed out across her chest to hold her in place and she clasped her own hands over it. As he looked down, the fingers of his other hand slipped and slid into her, testing her readiness. She writhed slightly against them and his frown of concentration faded into his boyish smirk, his eyes glittering in that irresistible way that made all the girls swoon, Chancy included.

Having learnt her lesson, she didn’t push or urge him on, but scraped her nails up his soft sides, making him twitch his whole body and glare at her with playful ire.

 “Don’t play with me, baby, you don’t wanna know what I’ll do to win,” he warned in a silly, deep voice that had her giggling. Her laughter cut short as he plunged a finger inside her, biting his lip against a smile as she inhaled sharply.

 After a minute or so of this, he nodded absently and took hold of himself, his other hand moving down to her stomach as he positioned himself at the right angle. When he thrust up, she gasped and he sank down and scooped her up with his forearms. His forehead pressed against hers as he drew back and then pushed deeper, filling her with an aching heaviness.

“You’re okay, baby.”

All of her senses were in overdrive, she could feel the droplets of water from the shower still on the  middle of his back as she wrapped her arms around him, trying to tug him in tighter, closer. His chest hair scraped against her skin, the weight of him crushed her ribs and hips, and she wanted more. It was never enough.

“Wait, wait a minute!” he exhaled, pulling up and releasing her onto the mattress. She was hanging half off the bed, and the beaded edge of the mattress felt scored into the skin above her tail bone.

Wordlessly, mindlessly, she watched him rise to his feet and view her pensively, his hands hooked just below his hips. He seemed unaware of her eyes as he thought, his erect cock glistening with her and his soft, round belly rising and falling with his breathing. She marvelled at how intimate and safe they had come to feel around each other in such a short period of time.

“Are you okay?” she asked finally, curling upwards towards him. He started slightly, like he had forgotten she was real, and smiled.

 “Uh, yeah, let’s get you more comfortable, baby.”

He scooped her up into his arms like he was a groom about to carry her over the threshold (She shook her head at her stupid brain making that comparison.) and placed her in the centre of the bed. Face intense, he climbed on after her and slid his hands underneath her head, drawing out her hair and fanning it around her face.

Beginning to feel the chill and aching inside, she lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Are you done? Maybe once you finish dressing the set you could give me a script?” His eyebrow twitched as he considered the thought with faraway eyes. “You are so bad!” She tossed a pillow at him, hitting him right in the middle.

“Hey, watch it!” he retorted, grabbing her wrists and pinning them on either side of her head. He wriggled his hips so that he was lined up perfectly against her and rolled them slowly as he pressed her hands into the pillows. She craned her neck to kiss him, but he moved back slowly, a slow grin spreading across his face. Almost effortlessly, he slid into her, and her breathing hitched as he finally lowered his head, devouring her mouth.

Once he had picked up where he had left off, his pace was relentless and his hunger undeniable. His mouth rarely left her, pulling away only to gasp a breath before he was kissing and biting and just pressed against her again.

The pressure rose as the ripples of pleasure glided out from her centre, her muscles contracting and aching and tingling all at once. She shivered and shuddered beneath him and reached up to cup his face with her hands.

“Baby,” she whispered, “open your eyes.” He did, blinking a little at first like he had trouble focussing on her, before a filter of complete adoration came over his face. And she came in such a rush that it was almost painful, her clenching and moaning sending him sinking into her with a groan.

They lay catching their breath, plastered together, the silence loud and thick.

“Well, damn.” His voice was muffled deep in the pillows and she laughed, wiping her hair out of her face from over his shoulder.

“Now I’m gonna need another shower,” she remarked, as he peeled himself away from her with a wince.

“Let’s have breakfast first,” he murmured, dropping onto his back and resting his arm across his face. “Need to regain my strength. You’re relentless, woman.”

“What can I say, I just can’t control myself,” she returned, giving him a nudge in the side. She caught him smiling underneath his arm.

It was pancakes for breakfast again. At this rate, Chancy reflected that she might be able to write a book on the range, variety and edibility of pancakes served by hotels across America. These ones were good. Not Grandma level good, obviously, but soft and fluffy and just absorbent enough to take in the syrup without sucking it away never to be seen again.

“I didn’t realise there were so many factors to consider,” Elvis remarked after her review. He picked up a strip of charred bacon between his fingers and chewed on it, holding back his smile.

“Of course there are. Pancakes are a work of art.”

“Well, you’d know.” She watched him dip his next strip of bacon into the jug of syrup and shook her head with affectionate disbelief.

“What? C’mere a minute. It tastes good! Here, try it.” She shook her head and he leant over, rubbing the bacon on her lips and coaxing her in baby talk to just try an ‘iddle widdle bit’. When she didn’t crack, he ate it himself, shaking his head at her refusal. She stuck out her tongue and let it flick over her bottom lip, tasting the salty grease and sweet syrup together, but she refused to admit it was good because he didn’t need the encouragement.

“Gotta make the most of it,” he shrugged, munching through the bacon. “Gotta go on a diet as soon as we get home.”

 The look on his face was positively mournful and she stopped herself from pointing out that if he ate less bacon dipped in syrup now then he wouldn’t have to spend so long on a diet later. He wasn’t stupid, but there were areas in his mind where logic failed to stick and eating was one of them.

“You know what would finish this off perfect?” he commented suddenly, brightening. “Something cold and sweet. Baby, can you call down and order me some ice cream?”

 “For breakfast?!” Her laughter was caught between amusement and disbelief.

“It’s six in the evening,” he pointed out with that mischievous boyish smile.

“Are you serious?” She thought back to times when she had witnessed someone question his eating habits and how promptly they had been torn down and tossed out. It made her tense before she gently added:

“Sweetie, you can’t still be hungry.”

“Pwease, Cha-Cha?” He stuck out his bottom lip and she knew that she would give in, as much as she didn’t want to. She was inwardly cursing her weakness as she picked up the receiver, keeping her back to him so that he couldn’t mouth any more requests while she was ordering.

By the time the ice cream arrived, Jerry and Joe had appeared to check in and talk about arrangements for the show. They side-eyed Elvis’s breakfast without comment, knowing better, while Chancy shifted uncomfortably. She knew should have tried harder to talk him out of it, though it was likely she still would have been unsuccessful at doing anything but putting him in a bad mood.

Gradually, as the evening wore on, more people arrived at the suite, the usual faces, but also some locals. There were the beautiful young girls, as always, some local police officers that Elvis had got talking to in the hallway while they were moonlighting as security, (She hoped they were not as zealous as that one cop that had strong armed her in the elevator.) and more of the guys.

Elvis was evidently in a very social mood since he seemed to be making it his mission to talk to every single person as though he was their best friend, leaving her doing her best to not look awkward. She was usually better at this, better at striking up random conversations, but after her first attempt when she had made a joke about Sonny’s shirt and Charlie had come rushing over to laugh hysterically while also giving her a panicked shake of the head, she had retreated to an armchair.

“Hey CC, you okay?” Chancy blinked and stared up into Jerry’s concerned face.

“Sure!” she trilled. His expression didn’t change and he didn’t move away.

“Can I get you anything? You want a drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thank y- You know, actually, a drink would be great.” She looked over to where Elvis was joking around with Joe and Red, shoving at Joe’s shoulder as he burst out with his deep belly laugh. “And, you know, if you wanted to pour a drop of vodka in the Pepsi, I would not be averse.” Jerry winked and nodded.

A few minutes later, she discovered that he did not know how to quantify ‘a drop’. She almost spat out her mouthful, but forced herself to swallow it down, burning all the way.

“Wow, look at you!” Sandi remarked, giving a low whistle as she glanced over at Charlie and the rest of the guys with Elvis. “You’re really looking the part.”

Chancy peered down at the white silk sheath halter dress that Elvis had asked her to wear, wiping her fingers, wet with condensation from her glass, on the geometric sequined shapes that cut into the sides in different shades of blue.

“My arms are cold,” she replied numbly. Sandi nodded, her eyes narrowing.

“It’s a little chilly in here. Are you okay?”

Chancy looked up into her wide, blue eyes and remembered the teenager with a headband and little hair flips like Lesley Gore standing giddily by the gatepost of Elvis’ LA house every time a car drove past her. She reminded herself that she was living Sandi’s teenage dream.

“I’m fine, honey,” she replied, forcing a wide smile. ”You know, you look beautiful, that outfit looks so good on you.”

“Thanks, it’s from Bullocks,” Sandi replied, swishing the skirt slightly. “Cost more than my rent.”

Chancy studied her face, unsure whether that was intended to be a dig at her sitting there in her Elvis-bought dress with her Elvis-bought underwear and her Elvis-bought jewellery. Intended or not, it smarted. She smiled politely the way her mother had taught her to do through awkward situations and glanced down at her half-finished drink.

“Hey, baby, you gotta look up now and again. I’ve been trying to get your damn attention for the past ten minutes.” Elvis squatted at her feet, leaning on the arms of her chair and caging her in. “I needed you to come rescue me from Sonny telling us the story of how he almost made it with that chick Sylvia from last night.”

“Almost?” she asked, recalling the way that the girl in question had practically shoved her silver hot pants in Elvis’ face as he sat talking to some karate instructors he had met the last time he had played there.

“Hell, no, don’t make me retell it, baby. It was boring enough first time round.”

“Does it end with her telling him that she’s holding out for you?” she teased. He grinned, biting on his bottom lip.

“Naw, she said she had a boyfriend.” He rubbed his nose ruefully and reached for her glass. She only remembered why that wasn’t a good idea a second before he took a big gulp and choked on it.

Grimacing, she waited for him to stop coughing and wondered how much trouble she was going to be in. She had a flashback to the time that Elvis’ cousin Junior had given her a glass of some spiked punch at a party and Elvis had yelled at her in front of his family.

His face like stone, Elvis grabbed hold of her by the wrist and marched her into the bathroom away from any nosey onlookers. Slamming the door shut, he emptied the glass down the sink and tossed it onto the counter. She was surprised to see it bounce rather than break.

“Baby, what’s going on?” She had been expecting anger, so his sigh and soft question threw her, leaving her clutching for a response amongst all the defensive, appeasing replies she had already prepared.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she said finally, slightly defensively. He nodded, lowering his head as he stepped closer, sliding his fingers down her palm until they entwined with hers.

“You know, people are sending out messages all the time, sending and receiving, without ever even realising it. Their souls are communicating on a higher level that they are usually not even aware of.” He squinted slightly as he gazed down at their feet. “It’s like waves, you know, o-o-or television or radio signals. And some people, I’m talking heavy, spiritual types, gurus and holy men, heavy mothers, they train for decades to learn how to master the skill of- of communicating soul to soul.”

His eyes flickered up to hers and he had a mischievous, wry look on his face. “Now, don’t go panicking, honey, I’m not saying that I have that power, not completely. I know everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy, yet. All this to say, you might have a fan-fuckin’-tastic poker face, baby, but I receive more than you think I do a-a-and if you try and lie to me it’ll only make me fuckin’ paranoid.”

“You just made a whole meal out of calling me a liar,” she observed. He laughed, rocking on the balls of his feet so that his chest nudged into her.

“Well, one thing I do know is how to turn everything into a performance, right?” Giggling, she swivelled one of his pendants that had gotten twisted in the opening of his shirt.

“I’m okay, honey, really. I’m just a little tired.”

He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, his mouth lifting into a small smile, before stepping around her and reaching for his black case. She rolled her eyes at the wall and turned to follow him more slowly.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he said gently once he had drawn out the pill bottle he was looking for, “so can we just pretend that we already went through the whole damn script already, and you can take one of these?”

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“Just a little boost of energy.” He stroked her side like she was a skittish horse. “Just an itty bitty one for my itty bitty girl.”

“I don’t know…”

“I know you don’t, that’s why you got me. I know, so be a good girl and do what you’re told.”

Gingerly, she took the pill from him, thinking about ways she could dispose of it without him noticing, but he rinsed out her glass and refilled it with water, watching her intently.

Hesitating all the way, she slipped it onto her tongue and took a sip from the glass. As soon as she did, he emptied out several more into his own palm and threw them back. He winked at her as she stared and he pretended to think twice before taking the water from her.

“Nearly killed me last time,” he muttered. “No more drinking, honey, okay? You know I don’t like tasting it on ya, a-a-and it ain’t good for you anyhow.”

He threw the pill bottle back into the case and then pulled open another drawer. When he turned back he had a little smile on his face and something shiny in his hands. He took her wrist and pulled it up, leaning over so that she couldn’t make out what he was doing until he had clasped the bracelet. It was one of his, the rolled gold thick and heavy against her bones, with his initials spelt out in diamonds and one sapphire in each letter.

“There, just a reminder for anyone who forgets.”

“Who you are?” she asked, confused.

“Whose you are,” he replied, gritting his teeth as he clasped her jaw and brought her in for a tender kiss.

It was hard to make the right face after those words, but she gave it the old college try.

“Oh my, this is too much, baby! It’s beautiful, but- but- but it’s yours.”

“Was mine,” he corrected, grinning down at it. “Looks prettier on you.” She threw her arms around him and leant in, finding it much easier to focus on infusing her voice with joy when she didn’t have to concentrate on making the right face as well.

“You are the sweetest man,” she whispered into the shell of his ear, twitching her nose as the sideburn tickled. “I love it, thank you!”

When they walked out of the bathroom, Elvis had a self-satisfied smile on his face and Chancy could tell from the way some of the guys were eyeing each other and exchanging smirks that they thought he had just gotten lucky. She was too unsettled to play along.

The pill began to kick in as Elvis dressed for the show. She was gradually aware of her heart pattering at the inside of her rib cage and her scalp prickling. Her arms and legs felt incredibly restless like they might run off without her if she didn’t get up and move. Her fatigue, which she had felt for days now, melted as lightning, sharp and cold, filled her veins.

She cast her eyes about for someone to talk to, feeling in desperate need of being part of a conversation, as if she might sink between the atoms of the room if she didn’t keep moving and talking, reminding her body that she was a living human being. She spotted Jerry standing by the window talking to a couple of men she didn’t recognise. They were all wearing sunglasses at night like a gang of blind vampires.

“I just want to let you know that you are a lousy bartender,” she murmured, touching his elbow to get his attention.

He glanced over his shoulder and she was gratified to see him smile when he registered her. It was funny how quickly things could change when you were forced to interact with someone at close quarters at all hours of the day and night.

“It’s not a career path I was looking to pursue,” he shrugged. “Seems to have brightened you up though.”

She worked to maintain her smile as she didn’t correct him. She was ashamed to admit that she had taken what Elvis had offered, though she knew that she was by far not the only one to do so.

“Didn’t realise I was so dim before,” she countered, lifting an eyebrow. Like a gentleman, he introduced her to the two men he was talking with, but she found it hard to follow the conversation. Something about a deal, maybe a movie or a concert, percentages, the Colonel, promotion… She moved on again.

Her eyes lit upon Sandi and Charlie standing by the stereo system that had to be unpacked in every hotel room when they arrived. He was switching records now as Sandi gazed over at Elvis while she sipped her drink.

“What’cha putting on, Charlie?” Chancy asked, leaning against the shelving unit.

“Why, you got a request?” he countered with a grin.

“No, I trust you. Just as long as you don’t put on something and then play it over and over and over.”

“Hey, you know I don’t have no control over that,” he replied pointedly, gesturing over his shoulder with his chin to where Elvis was entertaining the masses.

“Then put on something he’s not hung up on.”

“And you know I can’t do that neither.”

Red and Sonny were chatting with a small group of girls. Chancy could have called them women, but she would have needed to do an ID check first. She recognised the guys’ smiles, the boisterous way they were nudging each other with their shoulders and puffing out their chests. She had seen it all countless times over the years. The only things that changed were the girls’ faces and names. Even the hair colours stayed the same.

Joe was standing by the door, walking himself round in a little circle, folding his arms and then unfolding them to check his watch before folding them again. He didn’t look so cool, calm and collected at the moment, no quick smile and charming quip ready to deliver. He glanced up and caught her eye, raising his eyebrows in irritation. There was a message there, a challenge. She found herself nodding like an obedient soldier and moved across the room to where Elvis was talking to a man with a hairstyle that belonged back in the 50s.

“Well, that’s kind of you,” Elvis was saying. “I appreciate it, really. When I first started out, none of them big-time promoters and radio stations wanted anything to do with me, really. It was always the smaller- the ones who actually went to the shows and knew what the kids were into- they were the ones playing my records and getting us out there and everything. Without ‘em I’d still be playing small towns in Texas, or driving a truck most probably.”

Chancy tried to imagine it, but the picture dissolved in her mind each time. He was too big, too stark, too loud to fit into the scenarios she created. When she thought of the truck, she put in an excitable, strange-looking boy, quick to smile and always fussing and fiddling with something, eager to be on his way to the far-off future that awaited him. This man didn’t belong there, wouldn’t have existed there.

With this stark realisation clanging about her brain, she hooked her pinky around his, wincing slightly as he tightened his finger and his ring pinched her.

“Are you coming to the show?” she asked the man standing before her. He hadn’t looked at her once and still didn’t now as he answered in the affirmative. She was impressed since most of the guys had raked their gaze across her cleavage at least once that evening. “Do you know a short-cut, because I think we’re all gonna need it at this rate!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Elvis murmured to the man. “You won’t miss it. Ain’t no show until I get there.” Chancy felt Elvis release her finger very deliberately and let her hand drop and she knew that she had made a misstep.

Minutes later that was confirmed when he snapped at her in front of everyone:

“You don’t have no right, no right, to tell me when I’m done talking. These people, they put me where I am, gave us all we got, and all they want in return is to shake my hand and get a fucking autograph. It ain’t your job to tell ‘em to move along, or me for that matter. You understand?”

The simmering heat in his gaze somehow made her feel icy cold as she stared up at him, knowing better than to try and defend herself or explain.

“Yes.”

“Because if you can’t handle that, then I will send your ass back home so fast you’ll be half buried in that fucking town before you know what’s happening, you get me?”

“Would-” She hesitated as his eyebrows rose, but squared her shoulders and pushed on through. “Should I go and apologise?” He searched her face like he could sense her defiance hiding somewhere, but she had been raised by a gambler and his mistreated wife, she knew how to bury her thoughts and feelings and sharpen them like weapons for later.

“Ain’t no time. We gotta go.”

The rest of the evening, Chancy got a helpful reminder of why people went out of their way not to annoy Elvis. When you upset them, most people might stew in it for a while and then you got past it. Elvis was no different, but when you lived in his world that meant you had dozens of people giving you the same treatment. It could sometimes feel like you had ticked off the whole world.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it will blow over,” Sandi said as they took their seats, the lights immediately going down since the intermission had already run ten minutes over.

“I’m not worried,” she replied, inwardly cringing at how defensive she sounded.

“Good for you,” Sandi murmured, patting her on the knee.

After the first song, Elvis made a barbed comment about being late because of “complications, yeah, that’s about right.” He shot JD and the rest of the backing singers a sideways look, and apologised to the audience, assuring them that he was happy to be there and he would do his best to entertain them. 

Chancy began to seethe, knowing that she didn’t deserve this level of punishment for trying to help. If it wasn’t for her they might still be back at the hotel, Joe pulling at his receding hairline, and the promoters considering having to refund tickets.

After that, the show continued as normal. Needless to say there were no song dedications that night, but the worst part was the looks that Sandi kept throwing her and the supportive, condescending pout on her face as she tilted her head and rubbed her arm.

Elvis didn’t speak to her in the limo, even when she handed him his sunglasses and joined in with the chorus on what a good show it had been.

Back at the hotel, Joe caught her arm as she trailed back to their room.

“Hey Chancy,” he began, and her stomach dropped. She knew that tone, that fake pally smile and easy amiability. “You know, the girls were saying that they haven’t had the chance to have a real catch-up with you yet. They were wondering if you’d come down and visit with them.”

To stop them from betraying her with a wobble, Chancy’s lips twisted into a knowing smile as she reflected that at least she was important enough to warrant the big guns and that Ricky hadn’t been tasked with telling her to get lost for a while. She glanced down, rubbing at her goosebumps as the chemical energy fizzed endlessly inside of her.

“Can I at least get my coat?”

“Oh, you won’t need it. They’re just downstairs and I think they’re planning on coming back up here later.” Oh, they had it all figured out.

“In that case, uh, could you take this and put it somewhere safe in the room?” She unclasped the heavy bracelet around her wrist. “I don’t want to be walking around flashing this about. It might as well spell out ‘Rob me’.”

The way Joe’s smile dropped from self-satisfaction into disquiet was truly delicious to Chancy. In fact, she had to shove down the laughter that bubbled in her belly as she imagined him plodding into the suite with the bracelet in his outstretched hand. She wiggled her fingers in a cheerful goodbye and turned towards the elevators.

The Sweet Inspirations, the female soul group that provided backing for Elvis, were staying a few floors down with the rest of the stage crew. When Chancy arrived at their open door, they were riffing on how they should probably be grateful that Colonel Parker hadn’t put them in a motel by an off-ramp. Estelle nudged Myrna who was making the crack as Chancy wandered in.

“What? Everybody knows what I’m talkin’ about,” Myrna retorted. “He’s the kind of man who’d invite his mama to stay and then charge her rent.”  

“No, he’s not,” Chancy said. “He’d never invite his mama to stay. And she wouldn’t wanna come if he did.”

“Come on in, girl, you’re our kind of people!” Myrna called, beckoning her over to the sofa.

Soon, the music was turned up and the drinks were flowing and Chancy almost forgot about the mess she had left behind. She almost forgot that Elvis was mad at her, that Joe was probably mad with her now, and she relaxed. Kathy the soprano joined them with the rhythm guitarist, and some of the Stamps were wandering the corridor and stuck their heads in to say hi. It was almost like being back home again.  

“So, you see Jerry tonight, Estelle?” Sylvia said with a mischievous grin. “He was looking fine in those tight little jeans, wasn’t he?”

Chancy grinned, watching Myrna shooting them all murderous looks before she started to giggle.

“You shut your mouth about them jeans,” Myrna retorted. “Don’t you be looking!”

It was fun spending time with the women of the crew. Chancy always had fun with the Inspirations, who never ran out of things to say and knew how to have a good time. They had a few drinks, put on some records and gossiped about people they knew. They tried to interrogate her about what was going on between her and Elvis, but she shrugged it off, pointing out that if she was his girlfriend, she would have been up in his suite and not there with them.

An hour or so later, someone must have called down, because people started making their way upstairs. Chancy considered staying where she was just to make a point. She was sure that she could find herself a spare bed for the night after hearing about what some of the crew were getting up to. But she was also weak. Part of her just wanted to be back with him, in spite of how mad she was about the way he had spoken to her. It didn’t feel right being away with him, knowing he was mad at her.

Sonny opened the door to the suite when Myrna knocked, turning back to make a joke to them. Myrna didn’t spot the look of panic on Sonny’s face as he took them in, but Chancy did and a wriggling sick feeling filled her stomach.

It was almost like the crowd parted as she walked through the door. She vaguely felt someone knock into her with their shoulder and was rubbing the throbbing part of her arm as she focussed on the girl in Elvis’ lap. Having strode across the room, Sonny tapped Elvis on the shoulder and then turned away smoothly like he probably had a dozen times before, fading into the background so that he didn’t get caught up in the mess.

The vague impression that Chancy got of the girl was blonde and tall like a model from a Coppertone ad, her legs gleamed golden from the hem of her tiny skirt to her strappy wooden heeled platforms. She glanced up at Sonny as he whispered to Elvis and a perfectly straight curtain of white-blond hair obscured her face. Chancy inhaled as Elvis raised his head, and though the tinted lenses of his glasses hid his eyes, she knew he was looking right at her. There was a self-satisfied curve to his mouth.

If Sandi had even tried to pout and pat her arm in sympathy right then she would have punched her. As it was, the girls shot each other looks and said something about going to get a drink. Chancy forced a smile and joined them, almost counting the seconds as she watched her glass get poured and she sipped it down in big gulps. She refused to give him the reaction he was looking for, refused to titillate all the onlookers waiting for a scene.

Eventually, when it seemed like a good amount of time had passed, though it had probably been only ten minutes, she slowly and calmly made her way across to the bedroom. It took all she had not to slam the door of the bedroom behind her, but she held it together, trying not to think about everyone whispering on the other side.

Even if she hadn’t felt the weight of his gaze the entire time, it was obvious that he had been watching her when he immediately followed.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she pulled clothes from drawers and from hangers in the closet. It annoyed her that someone kept unpacking all her things like irritating little elves every time they arrived at a new hotel.

“I don’t really need to answer that, do I?” she asked, trying to fold a silk shirt that kept slipping and sliding in her shaking fingers until she balled it up and rammed into her case. He put a hand up to his forehead and winced like thinking of a response hurt his head.

“You sore ‘cause of what happened earlier?” he mumbled finally.

Chancy paused and studied him, noting the way his head was hanging and the way he seemed to be listing to the left.

“Yes,” she replied curtly. “You didn’t have to yell at me in front of everyone.”

“You were out of line,” he replied, his tone light and teasing even as the words slurred together. “Being all pushy, like a little bossy baby.” He knelt on the edge of the mattress and bit on his bottom lip as he gazed at her through the dark pink lenses of his sunglasses.

“I’m not playing right now, Elvis,” she returned coolly, turning away from the bed and snatching more clothes from hangers.

Echoing her in that high pitched cartoon voice he knew she hated, he carried on crawling across the mattress and he grabbed the dresses she had just put in her case and slung them behind him.

“Cut that out.”

“Nope.” He waited until she returned to jam more things into the case and then reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her towards him. “You gotta stop being a widdle bossy girl, trying to tell your man what to do.”

“Elvis, I mean it, I’m not- Just leave me alone!” She wrenched herself free more out of luck than anything else. He almost fell backward onto the bed and grabbed the headboard to keep himself steady. His eyes lit up with an icy glow.

“Who in the hell d’you think you’re yelling at, huh?” He jabbed out his foot and kicked her case off the bed, where it overturned and emptied all of her things on the floor. “Waltzing in here all worked up like you didn’t start all of this with your fuckin’- your little show out there earlier.”

“My what? I was- We were running late and everyone was getting antsy and I was just trying-”

“You don’t need to be tryin’ to do nothin’. What d’you think I pay all those motherfuckers out there for, huh? No, I don’t need no more managers and lackeys thinking they can tell me what I can and can’t do, ain’t your job.”

“My job,” she scoffed. “Do I have a job? What is it?” Bed warmer? Human teddy bear? Placeholder until you get someone better?

“Well, it ain’t to be a bitch, that’s for sure!” he spat back. “I- I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, I really don’t.”

Chancy raised her eyebrows in disbelief and dropped to her knees, righting the case and trying to shove everything back in. She scrambled round the bed to retrieve the dresses he had tossed.

“Uh huh, the silent treatment. Right on goddamn cue.” He stumbled off the side of the bed and slid the case under the bed out of her reach. When he clumsily stood back up straight, his face was aglow with a weird cruel, playful energy and his eyes were opaque, he was so high. She looked away as he took hold of her biceps, steering her onto the bed.

“Just sit down for a minute,” he murmured, like he was the reasonable one. “We’re getting ourselves all worked up over nothing. It’s silly, honey. I know you were trying to help, you always help.” He knelt between her legs and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her collar bone.

As if he had hypnotised her, she felt the anger and tension drain in an almost painful wave down her body, her brain instead filling with calm and anticipation. She took a deep breath and let her head sink against the side of his as he kissed his way up to her neck, but as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw the leggy blonde being nuzzled in almost the exact same way. Something inside her crumbled.

“You should let me go,” she said, looking past him and focussing on tiny details in the room to clear her head. “I’m sure that girl is great at helping too.”

“What girl?” he murmured after a long pause, nibbling on her earlobe.

“The girl you were kissing when I came in. She was real pretty: tall, blond, probably had gorgeous blue eyes like you like.”

“No, I don’t think so, weren’t me,” he replied, shaking his head slightly as he continued pressing breathy kisses across her cheek. “I like teeny tiny brunettes with big brown eyes.”

Chancy sighed, put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and scrambled backwards up onto the mattress. She dropped off the other side and leant down to retrieve her case.

“You know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice gritty and deep like he was playing a role. “You better not be playing games, woman, because you walk out that door, I ain’t chasing after you.” He rose to his feet and glared at her across the bed. “You know I hate this kind of dramatic bullshit!”

“Ha, yeah, that’s why you always set it up this way!” she returned, angrily scraping the tears from her eyes with the top of her wrist. “All of that was on purpose, I’m not an idiot and your tactics never change!”

“Just go on, get out!” he sneered, waving his hand. “You’ve had your foot half out the door since the beginning anyhow, don’t even try and deny it!”

“I haven’t!” She was suddenly furious at how breathless and weak she sounded, pathetic. “How can you say that?!”

“Maybe because I got fucking eyes!” He lobbed something in her direction that hit the doorframe with a metallic clink and dropped onto the shag carpeting. She looked down and saw a glint of gold.

“Because I won’t wear a ton of gold on my wrist when I’m all alone in a strange hotel?”

“That ain’t why you threw it back in my face,” he retorted scornfully. “Don’t give me that bullshit! I know when pushy women don’t get their way they get spiteful.”

She snorted mirthlessly and nodded, letting her case hit her against her calf.

“Yeah, just women.”

“Goddamn your smart fuckin’ mouth!” he stormed towards her and grabbed her wrist, yanking her out the bedroom so fast she almost lost a shoe. He was yelling for Joe, who suddenly popped up from out of nowhere like he had been waiting. He probably had. The rest of the suite was empty as if it had been raided.

“Get this bitch a ticket and make sure the fuckin’ plane leaves tonight!” he dragged her forward and released her hand, sending her into the back of the couch with the force of the momentum.

“Don’t worry about it, Joe!” she yelled, even though he was standing feet away. “I’ve got my own damn ticket!”

The bedroom door slammed shut and she heard it repeating over and over in her head. Her eyes were throbbing with the pressure of the tears behind them, but she refused to give in.

“You, er, want me to call down and see if I can get you a room?” Joe asked smoothly. “He’ll probably cool down in a couple of hours and want to see you. You know what he’s like.” She laughed, a couple of loose tears spilling over the edge of her lower lids.

“Yeah, I know what he’s like,” she returned, choking on the sobs and bitter laughter in her throat. “That’s what makes this so pathetic. I’m going to head to the airport, but thanks.” She looked down over the back of the sofa, hating the heavy feeling in her stomach, glaring at the cushion where Elvis and the girl had been sitting.

“Has he got her stashed somewhere?” She looked at Joe sideways, her mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Am I gonna get on the elevator and find myself face to face with a giant pair of legs?”

Joe didn’t say anything, but Chancy laughed at her own joke, before wiping her eyes with the heel of her palms. She walked out of the suite without looking back. 

@thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @c-rosenn, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel, @freudianslumber, @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters, @prompted-wordsmith. @literally-just-elvis-fics, @eliseinmemphis. @lookingforrainbows, @stylespresleyhearted, @amydarcimarie, @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation

[ken-dom]

Home

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader

2.3k words

Summary: Lars has something extra special in mind tonight.

Author's notes: Ok I've got it bad for Lars. Gorgeous artwork is by the wonderful @dranna 🩷

Warnings/content: fluff, marriage proposal, touches on Lars's possessive side if you squint, kissing, gif at the end

The afternoon sun illuminated Lars’s soft, moustache-adorned face in a warm glow as he peered out of his garage window with mild concern, completely unaware, as ever, of how handsome he was.

And even more so tonight, because he had dressed up for something special. Something he had been planning for weeks, and thinking about since the very first time you held hands.

He cautiously stepped away from view when he saw your headlights approaching, and peeked around the curtains to check it really was your car. His heart sped up and his shoulders tensed as he was overcome with the thought that you might not actually show up tonight.

It surprised Lars more every week that you kept coming back. You only shared your first kiss two months into dating. He knew this was considered a long time in the dating world, but it had been a big deal for him and you’d been patient and kind. You’d told him he was a good kisser and let him take it at his own pace. You’d waited another couple of weeks until he was ready to use tongues (and you didn’t make him feel bad for moaning into your mouth when you finally did and he discovered that he liked it). He found you incredible for that small courtesy, despite your protests that you’d wait a lifetime and then some, as long as he was happy and comfortable.

Of course, it was you pulling onto his driveway. You’d turned up for tonight’s date early as usual, easing his anxieties with that one effortless act.

He shuffled over to his full length mirror to triple check that his hair was sleek, his moustache neat, his sweater uncrumpled and his posture straight. Tonight had to be perfect. It had to be special. He wanted you to feel as special as you made him feel, if that were at all possible.

He ran through his rehearsed words one last time, smiling sweetly at his reflection for getting the simple phrase right, cheeks glowing pink at the thought of you actually hearing them later. He’d felt terrified the first time he’d said them out loud to his reflection, wincing and forgetting how to breathe for a moment, but after a few weeks, they began to sound like his favourite song. They brought him hope instead of fear, and they made him feel more connected to you. He just had to make that connection real now.

His stomach turned somersaults when your unmistakable tap at the door broke his reverie.

‘This is it,’ he breathed giddily, slipping on his coat, with one last nod to himself in the mirror, pacing himself with measured breaths as he made his way to the door and creaked it open just a few inches. He stepped into the doorframe to block the entrance, keeping the door pressed to his back.

You tilted your head, curiosity pulling at your lips. ‘Not letting me in, Lars?’

‘Not today,’ he beamed, voice high with excitement.

You beamed back, wondering what had him so amused and skittish. ‘Oh?’

‘I uhm… I thought we could go for a walk. I just need to-’

Curious what he was up to, you attempted to be surreptitious as you peered over his shoulder into the garage as he leant back for his blanket, but Lars, hyper aware of your every movement, noticed as soon as he’d wrapped it around his neck.

Flustered by your inquisitive glances, he pushed his body forward, clumsily closing the door behind him and inadvertently forcing you off the doorstep in the process. You stumbled back, and without thinking, Lars held out his ungloved hand to yours, catching and pulling you toward him in an almost graceful dance. The space between you closed to barely an inch and you felt his breath, hot and fresh, tingle against your lips. Your eyes locked. You shivered.

‘Sorry,’ he breathed, and at the same time you uttered a quiet, ‘Thank you…’

The words fogged the gap between you. You eyes slid for a moment, hoping he might kiss you, but after ensuring you were firmly on your feet, he pulled away and you sobered.

Lars glanced over the top of your head toward the house, where Karin was holding two thumbs up through the window, the broadest smile he thought he’d ever seen plastered across her eager face. He shot his gaze back to you, wanting to keep your attention on him and definitely not draw it to Karin who could give the whole thing away if he wasn’t careful.

‘Would you like to hold my hand?’ he asked hurriedly, watching every minute flicker on your face in an attempt to gauge your reaction. His stomach was in knots and if he wasn’t absolutely sure that you were in the mood for romance tonight he wasn’t sure he could go through with his plan.

You took one glove off and slipped your fingers between his, lifting your clasped hands to slide them inside his coat pocket as you smiled up at him.

He huffed out a heavy, half-relieved breath, heart hammering in his chest at your hand being inside his clothes and your thumb rubbing at the back of his hand. He anxiously squeezed his long, thick fingers around yours and you jumped a little at the pressure.

‘Lars, is everything ok? You seem sort of… nervous.’

‘No! No, I’m not nervous,’ he protested, while forcing himself not to run in the opposite direction, ‘I’m uhm… hey, let’s head to the lake. I want to show you something.’

You knew there was something on his mind, but you also knew he would get there in his own time with your support. So for now, you rested your head against his shoulder, and took a deep breath, enjoying the crunch of frosty twigs and leaves beneath your feet.

At the gentle lapping of the water, you sighed dreamily. The sun was setting over the lake as you approached, and as the treehouse came into view, you saw another glow – there were fairy lights strung up all around it.

‘Lars?! Did you do this?’

He nodded sheepishly, cheeks red with the bitter cold while burning hot with anticipation beneath that soft, pale flesh.

‘It’s beautiful! Can we climb up and watch the sunset together?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered, delighted, his lips curling at your reaction, watching you let go of his hand to skip toward the rope and eagerly climb up to the top where you found a pile of thick blankets and huge plush cushions.

‘Lars!’ you exclaimed, turning to him with tears welling in your eyes. ‘What’s all this for? For me?’

‘All for you,’ he nodded, following you up to the little wooden platform. ‘I wanted to share a romantic evening with you.’

‘I love it,’ you laughed, wrapping your arms around him the moment he was at the top. He was stiff at first, but lingered in your embrace.

You laid down a thick blanket to sit on, and Lars dropped down beside you, smiling gleefully when you rested your head against him again and covered your legs with another, fluffier blanket.

‘Come here…’ he uttered, pulling you with him until you were laid side by side with your heads resting on the same big, squashy cushion.

Lars stared across at the horizon, bracing himself to wrap an arm around you. As if you’d read his mind, you lifted your head at the exact moment he shifted his arm, and placed your head on his chest. That was one of the things he adored most about your time together; you were so in sync, it was painless.

‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he sighed, breath catching in his throat, and then, ‘L is for the way you look at me,’ Lars sang quietly, tentatively.

You hummed, delighted to hear him, and he continued;

‘O is for the only one I seeV is very, very extraordinaryE is even more than anyone that you adore can-’

His voice was dreamy. You’d never heard him sing before, and the sound came as a wonderful surprise; the freedom in the voice and range he played with as he serenaded you made your heart swell and your skin prickle.

Lars had begun to wave his arms in time with the music he was making, and you wrapped an arm around his soft middle, shifting on his chest to gaze up at his face instead of at the sunset. Lars was far more beautiful anyway.

‘Love is all that I can give to youLove is more than just a game for two-’

Wanting the moment to last forever, you joined him, harmonising perfectly;

‘Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break itLove was made for me and you.’

You wondered again if he was going to kiss you then, but his trembling lips were poised to ask a question rather than press to yours.

‘Marry me?’ Lars blurted, eyes so intense on yours you could have melted under the heat.

‘Yes,’ you answered simply.

There was not a single trace of doubt lacing your voice, and his heart soared, but for a brief moment, it was as though the conversation had never happened. You were frozen, laid on his chest, softly weighing him down and staring into his glossy blue eyes while he laid beneath you, sucking in shaky breaths and staring up at you, startled as a rabbit in the headlights but filled with such awe.

The world stood still as the meaning of it all sunk in for you both. The biggest and possibly most important question you'd ever been asked, and the effortless way your agreement slipped from your lips without a second thought. It was easy for you both. The most natural interaction you’d ever experienced.

He’d asked Bianca after only a short time together and still felt the sting of her saying no. He needed time to prepare to hear that again. 

But you had said yes! It was no longer a rehearsal with his reflection that helped form the beginnings of a perfect daydream in his imagination. It was actually happening. It was real.

You both burst into a fit of laughter, and he finally kissed you, firm and passion-filled, fingers threading into your hair to hold the back of your head still.

You missed the sunset. You didn’t care. There’d be others. A lifetime’s worth to share with him, or to miss with him. The thought made your heart swell.

‘Oh, wait! I have something,’ Lars breathed after an eternity, blinking his gaze away and struggling to reach his inside coat pocket with you laid upon it. 

You stood on wobbly legs to give him the space he needed, giddy with the knowledge that you were engaged and you were the only two people in the world who knew. You were giddy, too, at the tingle of his lips against yours, the way his soft moustache had gently brushed your upper lip, the way he had hummed into your mouth each time your tongues slid together.

Lars scrambled around on his knees, clumsily knocking a cushion from the treehouse platform as he finally found what he was looking for. By the time the cushion hit the ground with a dull pouff!, he was knelt before you, holding out a shiny ring with the most hopeful glint in his eye you’d ever seen.

‘Do you want to wear it?’

‘Of course I do,’ you said softly, kneeling with him to slip the ring on. It looked tiny in his huge hands. His long fingers felt surprisingly warm against the cool of your skin, and as the ring slid into position, a rush of butterflies swelled in your stomach. Even after months with him, they hadn’t ceased. You were sure they never would.

‘I could wear one too, if you’d like,’ he offered, unsure.

‘Do you want to?’

‘Maybe. I think so… I want everyone to know I’m engaged to you. That we belong to each other.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ you smiled, flexing your fingers to admire the fit of the ring and the way it twinkled brighter than the stars reflecting off the gently rippling water when you moved your hand around. 

It didn’t capture your attention for too long though. Lars was the real star of the show. You tugged gently at the pale blue comfort blanket tucked neatly around his neck, pulling him closer with it. He didn’t always wear it when he was with you. He’d grown comfortable enough to go without most of the time, but you understood now why he’d wanted it tonight. Your lips pressed to his once again, and he sighed dreamily.

When you dropped back, Lars kept his eyes closed and lips parted as though he was still kissing you, his eyebrows raised in bliss. You supposed he never wanted it to end. But his nose was turning red, and as much as you never wanted to cover your hand up now that Lars had given you a promise to display there, your fingers needed warmth.

‘Let’s go home?’ you beamed, slipping your fingers into his hand again.

‘Yes,’ Lars agreed, with a broad, crooked smile, removing his blanket and draping it around your shoulders to keep you warm.

It turned out that you weren’t the only two people in the world to know about the engagement after all. Lars waved at the house on the way back to his garage and gave a clear thumbs up to an anxious Karin, who was still waiting in the window, and began to bounce up and down and call excitedly for Gus when she saw Lars’s signal.

You waved too, and slipped your hand out of Lars’s pocket to wiggle your fingers and show off your ring.

Lars watched you closely, everything seeming to move in slow motion as you displayed your utter joy to his proud brother and sister in law.

Home, he realised, was wherever you were.

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