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daosies · 17 days

Text

l(over)

when someone else flirts with you in front of them.

heizou, wanderer, neuvillette ♡ gn!reader

warnings: not proofread, neuvillette may be ooc, wanderer is a little crazy 😊

notes: i played heizous hangout quest and he got me 😭😭

frankly, heizou is amused.

"you're beautiful," some random stranger states, "do you happen to be free this weekend?"

you blink in confusion, glancing back and forth between the detective and the strange person. does he not see the way heizou's hand is linked with yours?

"well, someone clearly isn't a detective," heizou states, not bothering to lower the volume of his voice. when the person still doesn't quite understand what heizou means, he lifts your laced hands up to eye-level, emphasizing the fact that he's not letting go anytime soon.

"please don't interrupt," the stranger states, suddenly feigning ignorance to heizou's presence.

"oh!" heizou exclaims, unbothered. "sorry about that!" you can tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that shikanoin heizou is, in fact, not sorry. he's not sorry at all.

heizou brings the back of your hand up to his lips, staring directly at the stranger whilst doing so. still, the random man does not budge.

"what's up with this guy?" heizou mumbles, loud enough for just you to hear. you laugh, and heizou can't seem to tear his eyes away from you, his gaze belonging wholly to your existence.

when the stranger glares at him, heizou merely shrugs, a smirk fixed onto his face. the oblivious person then turns to you, a gentle smile on his face.

"might i have the honor of knowing your name? i am kenzaburou kadenokouji, and seeing you has blessed me with the inspiration to write my greatest upcoming novel: 'i was reincarnated as the raiden shogun's plane of euthymia, where i did nothing for 500 years before finally meeting the love of my life in the middle of the city?!'"

your mouth hangs agape, flabbergasted at this surreal experience.

heizou, however, is not fazed in the slightest. "is this based off of true events?"

"do not interrupt an artist's craft," kadenokouji replies, before extending a hand towards your free one.

so he knows i'm holding their hand, is all heizou thinks. without another thought, the detective pushes the writer's palm away, tugging you towards him.

"you're going to need to find inspiration from someone else! my intuition tells me that this isn't going to work out," heizou declares, his thumb coming to rub the back of your hand, as if he's trying to reassure you.

(you think that it's more for him, though. because although heizou is a self-assured, confident man, he is sometimes shrouded deeply in fear, swayed by the same emotions that make him so human, so lovely.)

(it also doesn't help that you adore novels. a majority of heizou's worries are attributed to how you devour those absurd reincarnation stories.)

"no, no... together," kadenokouji trails off, dismissing heizou with the flick of his hand. "together, we will defy fate! and with you, beautiful stranger, i will publish the greatest novel known to inazuma!"

"he's delusional," heizou mutters, but it sounds as if he's more impressed than incredulous.

"i have a boyfriend," you reply, still recovering from shock. "he's right next to me."

kadenokouji takes it the wrong way. "wow, you move pretty fast! although we just met, and i still don't know your name, i am completely fine with this sudden turn of events!"

"wow," heizou mutters to himself, almost amazed, "this guy's pretty good."

"he's like the opposite of you," you whisper, leaning closer towards heizou, "completely oblivious."

that gives heizou an idea.

"sorry pal, but they only like detectives," he declares.

"that's okay! i've been meaning to write a detective novel, you know, i am always switching things up!" kadenokouji exclaims, not taking the hint (but it's not even a hint, it's a full blown answer).

"oh, really? have you ever heard of shikanoin heizou?"

you and heizou exchange not-so-discreet glances (it's not like kadenokouji notices, anyway). heizou winks at you, as if urging you to stay quiet so he can get the spotlight in a novel that he's always been dreaming of.

"yes, yes! i love doushin shikanoin's work—in fact, i've been meaning to ask him for some information regarding his famous intuition! i plan on basing the main character of that novel off of him, really!"

"that sounds great! you know, doushin shikanoin believes that he needs the publicity, so your novel would be the perfect match!"

"is that really so? that's incredible! i must reach out to him immediately!" kadenokouji says, his attention belonging wholly to this newfound idea.

"i can relay the message to him," heizou replies, "what would you like to ask?"

"yes, thank you! please ask him if he's willing to meet me outside the tenryou commission for an hour or two for me to ask questions! and if he's willing to tell me about his intuition and how it works! my novel's main character will also have something akin to his intuition, but not exactly because i am always original and meaningful with my work—"

"alright, i will!" heizou declares proudly, "he'll hear of it by today!"

"thank you, kind sir! if i might be so bold to inquire, what is your name?" kadenokouji asks, suddenly becoming heizou's biggest fan whilst forgetting about your presence. how the tables have turned.

"shikanoin heizou," he states, the smile on his face never wavering. "my intuition tells me you're going to fall to the floor in utter shock!"

his intuition, as always, is correct. kadenokouji collapses to the floor as if he had just witnessed the most terrible thing, all the color draining from his face while his jaw hangs wide open.

"d-doushin shikanoin?!"

"that's me! also, could you include me in the novel's credits? you know, being a detective isn't always just about skill. in this day and age, we need publicity! we need a name for ourselves!"

kadenokouji faints.

"did you come from another world?" someone asks. "'cause you look otherworldly."

"that was ridiculous," wanderer mutters, "and redundant."

"is he bothering you, your highness?" the person queries, taking a step towards you. their hand reaches out for yours, as if they're trying to take you away, but wanderer is quick to intervene.

he blocks you with his figure, the vision on his chest beginning to glow vividly as a gust of wind rushes through the akademiya's library, sending papers and books flying. scholars panic as their research projects flutter all across the marble floor, and usually, that'd be enough to deter a sane man.

unfortunately for you, your admirer (the other one) is no sane man. you suppose that you attract a certain group of people.

"so you think you're a big shot 'cause you have a vision, huh?" the stranger asks, unimpressed.

"hah! you don't even know who you're talking to," wanderer replies, clenching his fists. he takes a step toward your admirer, the air around him becoming tense and unwelcoming as it begins to manifest into something grim, something violent.

you're not in the mood for a suspension right now.

"wanderer!" you exclaim, tugging at his sleeve. "let's go somewhere else. this guy's just weird."

"you go first. i have things to deal with," wanderer replies, irritated. but the way he looks at you doesn't quite match the tone in his voice, because when the wanderer's cornflower pupils fixate on you, they melt. you mold him into something quiet, something lovely, when you do so much as exist.

briefly, the wind brushes past your face, kissing you with its tender touch.

(all you have to do is exist, and that'll be more than enough for him.)

"he's not worth your time," you say, not releasing your hold on the puppet's wrist. even though wanderer could easily escape your grip, he chooses not to—instead, he basks in your touch, inching closer towards you, letting you hold the strings of his artificial limbs to move him as you please.

wanderer relinquishes himself to you. wholly. and he trusts you with his fate, with his severed strings.

"whatever."

his severed string manifests anew, wrapping around his pinky and yours, turning red—not red from blood, but rather, from love—and knotting.

you are bound to him.

and then he gives in.

(he does a lot of that when it comes to you.)

"surrendering already, huh?" the stranger asks, clearly not knowing his place. "i knew you were nothing but bark."

oh, you think, sighing, this guy's an idiot!

"does the akademiya accept anyone who applies?" wanderer asks, contemplating murder. still, he doesn't release himself from your hold.

"that's what i was thinking when i saw you. leave us alone!"

a category 5 hurricane begins to brew in the akademiya library at the word "us." scholars begin to evacuate the premises whilst the insane man stands amidst it all, still trying his best to court you despite getting blown away.

i tried my best, you tell yourself, glancing away.

you let go of wanderer's hand, and then you close your eyes.

"let me know when you're done," you mutter, voice drowned by the whistle of the winds and the screams of scholars whose projects are getting engulfed by the storm.

wanderer, of course, hears you. he can always hear you, picking out your voice from the cacophony, taking the sound and placing it deep within his empty chest, letting it resonate and replay there. instead of a heartbeat, wanderer has your voice echoing throughout his torso, fusing into his artificial ribs.

he is bound to you.

a breeze wisps past your nose. even with the whirling winds and the threat of suspension lingering around your figure, no harm ever comes your way.

you are in the eye of the hurricane.

the eye of the beholder. it melts.

neuvillette is flabbergasted.

back in fontaine, he had the luxury of comfort. everyone knew that the two of you were together, so he never had to deal with someone trying to court you, much less in front of him.

this is how he experiences culture shock. not by the customs of other nations, but rather, by the sheer audacity that some people have. especially when your hand is laced tightly with his.

"i think... i think..." the stranger trails off, his voice filled with an adoration that makes neuvillette's stomach churn. "... i'm getting lost in your eyes, beautiful."

the stranger reaches his hand out to give you a rose, a dashing grin on his face. you smile awkwardly.

"sorry, i'm taken."

"taken... by my good looks?" the stranger asks, putting a hand under his face to emphasize his features. neuvillette squeezes your hand.

"no, they are taken by me. we are partners," neuvillette explains, his tone remaining polite.

"partners in work?"

"yes, but—" neuvillette starts, but is quickly interrupted. you spare him an endearing glance, charmed by his honesty.

the tips of his pointed ears begin to blossom red. again, he squeezes your hand.

"no, we are married," you state blandly, and the stranger's gaze flickers over to your hands, searching for a ring. neuvillette doesn't like the look on the stranger's face; it's evident in the way the iudex narrows his eyes, the way he steps forward a little even though he'd usually try to avoid confrontation.

"i could get you a ring," the stranger says, clearly not getting the hint, "and you wouldn't have to lie about being married."

"there is nothing we owe to you that requires us to prove our marriage. we are married, and that is all you need to know," neuvillette declares firmly, his tone becoming harsh.

"but words alone don't mean anything," the stranger replies with a shrug.

neuvillette furrows his brows, clearly stumped by the stranger's statement. he disagrees—words don't mean everything, but they are definitely worth something.

"just back off," you suddenly chime in, tugging neuvillette closer to you. he lets you string him along to your whims, allowing his figure to inch towards yours, finding its place by your side.

"i'm not interested in you. i already have a lover."

the stranger rolls his eyes.

"ugh. i didn't even like you anyway."

neuvillette frowns. "now that is completely incorrect. just moments prior, you were—"

"just shut up!" the stranger yells, not even bothering to listen to neuvillette's explanation.

clouds begin to form.

"let's go, neuvillette," you say, rubbing the back of the iudex's hand with your thumb. "don't worry too much about that guy."

he looks at you, and the sun emerges.

"you're right. thank you, [name]."

a ring dangles from the silver chain on your neck; it's a vibrant shade of blue.

it glows.

"and you wanted to try this land's water, right?"

he lets you string him along, a gentle smile on his face.

"yes," he vows, "i do."

his hand slots perfectly into yours, and the world is engulfed by a radiant glow.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin #heizou x reader #heizou x you #shikanoin heizou #genshin heizou #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #wanderer x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin

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yrbladie · 6 months

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♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎THE WAY THEY HOLD YOU IN THEIR HEART PT1ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ kaeya, neuvillette, childe, albedo, diluc

warnings ：established relationship, fluff, implied marriage, gn! reader, reader is called pretty tho (kaeya) so if this word carries feminine feelings for u be warned, just a tad bit suggestive at the end with neuvillette, mentions of aging (neuvi), implied long hair (albedo) and reader is also called a 'muse', I'm not fluent in english so I don't know if this word carries any feminine connotations, but it's warned anyway, implied reader wanting kids in the future kinda (diluc), if they're ooc I'm sorry, non fluent writer

ㅤWhen people look at Kaeya, they see his charming smile and the misleading way he conducts himself, like a well played play no one has the guts to call him out of.

ㅤWhat you see, instead, is a gentle man with the softest of hearts. The one who stays up just a little bit later after you sleep, so that he can look at you, admire you. The one who caresses your face with such tenderness that makes you wonder if he thinks you'll disappear if he were to touch you in the slightest wrong way.

ㅤYou see the way his smile drops the second he walks into your house after a tiring day. The way he sighs deeply. Sights that are only reserved to you, because he trusts you more than anything.

ㅤThe Kaeya you see outside of your shared home, his provoking grin and convinced looks, is also the same one who lays in bed with you in a night without stars, his head on your chest while he quietly listens to your heartbeat. His hand in yours like he wants to make sure you're still there with him. That you're not leaving.

ㅤAnd you tell him, "I love you" and you'll see the way his eye softens while he kisses your forehead. He doesn't say back, but you know he also loves you, for no words are needed for it.

ㅤYou know, from the way he talks about you and your achievements in the bar, when he had a little bit too much to drink. Who looks back at you when you come to get him home, and smiles like he's just seen the sun for the first time after a long while.

ㅤThe same Kaeya that tells you "How lucky I am to have snatched someone as pretty as you.", and also who blushes so hard when you tell him the same.

ㅤThe Kaeya that follows you during your dances and singing, even though he says he doesn't like the songs. This Kaeya, and the one that he shows to everyone else are the same. And you love all of him.

ㅤHis nightmares pierce your heart painfully and his dreams are also yours. His touch that lingers in your skin even after he's already left for work and you're far away from each other. His voice and laugh stays in your ears, making you think of him for the entire day.

ㅤAnd you know that for him it is also the same, from the way he always hugs you so tight after he finishes his work or when he has a break and finds you on the street.

ㅤYou're not scared of the shadows of his secrets, and you'll never be. You don't want him to be perfect, you just want him.

ㅤAnd Kaeya also wants you too. He wants you to be the one that everyday he'll come home to, the one he can share all his pain, happiness, sadness, his success and also his frustrations. He doesn't want only the good, he wants everything that comes with it, with you.

ㅤYou love him, and he loves you too.

ㅤNeuvillette loves you so deeply he starts to wonder if it truly is okay with that. If you are truly okay with it, with the intensity of his love for you. Because not even he knows to which lengths he'll go just to have you by his side for a second longer.

ㅤHe wants you to show him all there is about love, and about this life. Share your pain and laughter with him and he'll share his with you. He wants you to know that it's okay, that things get better with time and care.

ㅤEvery day he learns something new about feelings and humanity, but mostly about love. Seeing you smile over silly things, crying over having to leave a cute little bunny go back to the wilderness. Watching your back while you guide him through the streets while rambling about your favorite book or about a new play you heard about. And caressing your hands while you both drink tea in his office and listening to your giggle when he says he still prefers water.

ㅤNeuvillette never knew you could fall in love with the same person multiple times a day, but he does. No matter how much time passes, his heart still beats out of his chest whenever he catches wind of your perfume and the idea of having you by his side still makes his hands sweat.

ㅤYou gave him a purpose, taught him what loving meant under the surface. And Neuvillette felt like he would never learn enough. The judge knew you would change slowly by the years, but he hoped you would never fret over the lines of your smile, he loves it all the same. It just shows how much happiness he has brought you.

ㅤNo matter how long time goes by, how much your face changes, he'll always know your soul. And he could love it anyways, anywhere, anytime.

ㅤHe will always recognize you and will never forget about how it feels to be loved by you.

ㅤSo if you'll have him, allow him to love you for the rest of your life. Allow him to love you until even after all the stars in the night sky die, until eternity doesn't taste the same anymore, and all he can sense in the water are the memories of you.

ㅤAllow him to love you until all his dreams and fondest memories are of you. Until the only touch that'll matter are the ones that comes from your fingers.

ㅤUntil the time he has finally traced every little part of your body and has kissed every single freckle you have. Until he has kissed your lips more than a million times and knows he would do it a million times more.

ㅤFor all the eternity he could have, the forever he saw in your eyes was his favorite.

ㅤHis hands shake when he thinks about you. He'll sit and wonder if you're well and healthy, if you already had dinner or if you're still waiting for him back home.

ㅤHis heart races when he remembers each of your smiles. All the specific upturns of your lips that makes him want to kiss your breath away.

ㅤAnd he gets impatient to go back to your arms when he remembers the way you tried to hold onto his sleeve and asked him for one more minute in bed. He wished— he should've— have stayed.

ㅤBut he knows he can't always be glued to your side. Maybe you'll even hate him if he does.

ㅤSo he makes sure to spend every hour of his day to keep you safe, it doesn't matter if it keeps him from his work. He may love his job, but he loves you much more.

ㅤHis lackeys are so tired everyday to have to sit through his ramblings about you and they dread the moment he chooses some of them to guard you. Don't get them wrong, they agree that you're definitely a lovely person and that you're always gentle with them despite the reputation the Fatui have, but the one they can't stand is Tartaglia.

ㅤHe's an absolute menace if he gets even a whisper of you getting hurt under the watch of one of them. It may have been only a scratch on the knee, it doesn't matter.

ㅤChilde can be a bit... overbearing when he can have you back in his arms again, but bear with him just a bit longer, just until he makes sure you're actually safe and that nothing happened.

ㅤAnd of course, he loves to see you fight and he'll be your biggest cheerleader, not mattering if you're actually a good fighter or not, but most of all, he wants you to be safe. Due to the nature of his job, and all he has already seen in this world, he's scared.

ㅤScared that if he takes his eyes from you for one second you may be taken away to somewhere he won't be able to follow. Somewhere that not even with all his fighting skills and abilities he'll be able to reach.

ㅤChilde had no idea of how hard he was going to fall for you when he met you and sometimes he wonders what would be of him if he never had found you and you never found him. But he prefers to not linger on these thoughts, having you right now is all that matters. Loving you right now is what matters most. And if he loses you... he'll have nothing but his family to hold his slipping rationality before losing himself.

ㅤSo even if you can really, really fight and protect yourself well, please, just at least allow him to watch over your back for you. He's the best partner you could have in an adventure, so have a little faith in him.

ㅤAnd if you fall, don't worry, Childe will catch you before you hit the ground. He'll always be right by your side at your arms length.

ㅤHe wants to be there for you, no matter what. To hold your hand while treading new paths and exploring the world.

ㅤIf you were to ever ask for the moon, or for the stars, Childe will do everything he can to get them for you. He'll search around the entire world for ways to get you even a piece of the unreachable sky.

ㅤHe'll make Celestia burn and the Abyss freeze if you so ask for it.

ㅤHe wants to be there with you when you open your eyes in the morning, and when you close them at night. For the rest of his and yours lives. He'll love you until there's nothing of him anymore. And if this world burns, then so be it, as long as he can have you and his family safe by his side.

ㅤ"Love is such a beautiful concept, is it not?" he says while showing you drawings he made of you. And he couldn't help but smile at the amazed look you had and the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity.

ㅤAlbedo is not someone who will usually voice out everything he thinks. But you still know he loves you.

ㅤBy the way he gently tucks your hair back when you're immersed doing something you like, and you can see his tender eyes before he turns around to go about with his own activities.

ㅤAnd by the way he doesn't try to hide his notebook from you, for all there is are images of you. You have seen it all a thousand times already, but you'll always find joy seeing how he envisions you in his heart and mind. It looks so intricate that you wonder if you truly look like this, and he tells you that, yes, you're the closest to perfection a human could be.

ㅤHis drawings show you something that no mirror could. Something not even your eyes notice. But Albedo does, he notices every single little detail about what makes you, you. All your small imperfections and flaws, the things you hate and find ugly are the ones he'll hold most dearly in his hands.

ㅤYou're the ruler in the kingdom of his mind, the muse to his artist heart, the soothing melody to his unresting soul.

ㅤYou know all there is to know about him, about his woes and dreams, his aspirations, his shadows that clutch at his ankles like paint, staining his being.

ㅤAnd you'll tell him, "I don't mind it." even if it stains your hands, as long as you can carefully hold his heart in them, with all the love he has for you, you truly don't mind it. In fact, you love him more for it.

ㅤYou'll kiss at his golden locks and let him admire you with his sky painted eyes. He admires you like one would a butterfly, so within his reach but he'll much rather have you fly freely, showing to the entire world your beauty.

ㅤFor he knows, you love him just as much as he loves you. In that, he'll never have a doubt.

ㅤThat is how he loves you, completely, totally, calmly and wholeheartedly. Like a peaceful stream unperturbed by the exterior.

ㅤHe may not completely understand yet what love is, but he thinks he kind of gets it a tad bit more every moment he spends with you.

ㅤWhen you're hurting under the surface, Albedo will kiss at every single one of your fingertips, taking his time to show you how much he loves you. He won't say anything until you're ready to talk with him. And he'll always know, you don't even need to tell him directly. He'll know by the way the tension on your shoulders finally eases and the way you gently close your eyes, one, two seconds and then he'll talk.

ㅤHe'll tell you how important you are to him and that there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. That if you want, you can share your burdens with him and he'll hold it for as long as you need while you rest. For you, he would hold the entire world on his shoulders for eternity and he wouldn't mind it if that gave you peace of mind.

ㅤAnd you know he's being sincere.

ㅤEven if you know that he could destroy everything around him one day, it doesn't matter. Now, you feel safer than ever in his embrace and you have faith in his love for you.

ㅤDiluc's love is like the rays of the sun during the earliest hours of the morning. It never burns but also never leaves you cold. It warms up your skin and blooms in your chest like wildflowers.

ㅤHis love is the type that lingers on you and on the surroundings even when he's gone for a long time. In the clothes you wear that he gave to you as a gift on your last birthday, in the bed sheets that smell like the perfume you bought for him for his birthday and that he says it's his favorite.

ㅤOne day you realize how everywhere in his once cold and lonely manor is now filled by the warmth shared between you. Filled with the gifts bought with love, and the pictures on the walls of the both of you. And it makes you fall in love with him all over again.

ㅤIn the kitchen there's the tea set from Liyue you had bought together from Marjorie. In the living room there's the blankets in the couch you both share during the coldest of nights in winter, while sitting by the fireplace, warming each other. In the bathroom there's yours and his toothbrushes that even though he always complains about hygiene and that each should use their own, even he sometimes confuses the two similar toothbrushes and uses yours.

ㅤIn your room there's the shared cabinets and shelves, with things from far away and pictures from everywhere, even the books you read together before bed by the desk.

ㅤYou fall in love with him again, with his smile, and his contained laughter when in public, with the way he looks at you every time you visit him in the tavern or when he sees you from afar. You hung the stars and the moon in his sky, you brought the sunlight to his dawn.

ㅤYou knew you would love Diluc for forever on the day he brought you along to visit his father's grave, and instead of silently staring at it, he spoke about you. Spoke about his love for you, and about everything you did for his life. He knew his father would be proud of him for finding you, for giving love a chance again.

ㅤYou both mourned together on that day, embracing each other under the blessing of the whispers in the wind, that softly carried the scent of memories from childhood.

ㅤAnd you still remember the day where you met Kaeya. The way he silently thanked you for being by his brother's side when he couldn't anymore. To receive not only the Cavalry Captain, but your lover's brother's blessing meant a lot for you. You knew they both still held each other in high regards. And most of all, you knew Kaeya would do anything to see Diluc happy, just as you would too.

ㅤYou look through the window of your home, to the garden and the vineyard, reminiscing about shared days, of laughter, of slightly younger times. When you used to hide behind the grapes to play a prank on Diluc. When the both of you held hands while taking a walk through the garden, discussing about one day making a playground somewhere there. For the kids that'll visit you during Thanksgiving, or one day...

ㅤThen, you feel arms around you and you smile, recognizing so easily the warmth that spreads around your body. While laying back your head on his chest, there's no need to exchange words as you both already know each other's hearts so well.

ㅤEverything will be okay, his heart mutters to you, I know, yours whispers back.

ㅤYou're happy, and you're content. And you couldn't have wished for more nor less than that.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(★)

all the edits belong to me, so pls don't use them <3

ty for reading 💗

tagging : @yuellii

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cherry-leclerc · 2 months

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method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series, angst, yearning, reminiscent

word count: 3k

cherry here!...you guys, this is it! while i am sad to see it end, i am also so happy for those who tagged along and read this little mini series; i love you all. and so i ask: can i break your heart one last time?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 6

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“I can explain!” you gasp, eyes frantically glazing over to where Charles messily packs his suitcase. “Please, just let me—”

“Sure.”

You come to a sudden halt, blink, and a single tear falls. The Monegasque smiles gently, though a red tint paints his cheeks from trying to not explode due to his fury.

Nothing but a squeak escapes, struggling to find the right words. You felt pathetic; like the worst person to ever walk earth because you were the worst person to ever walk earth. He almost wants to laugh and you can tell by how his lips tug upward in the slightest, and that itself makes you want to hurl over sobbing. This was all a joke to him, of course it was.

The brunette takes long strides over to where you stand in the kitchen, weakly leaning against a wooden chair to help your legs to not give out. You had been so surprised you were even able to run up to the house, clumsily twisting the knob and looking for him. He crunches down a bit, looking down at you with dark eyes, and grabs your face with his right hand. You wince.

“Let me make things easier for you; did you know who I was when we first met at the beach?”

“N-no. I swear to God that I did not know a single thing about you—”

“Did you ever truly enjoy my company as a friend?”

You breath hitches at him even considering the possibility that you never did, but he takes it the wrong way as his jaw clenches. “Of course I did! Charles, you’re the best thing that has—”

“And did your boss ask for you to write this article or was that all your idea?”

The light in his eyes have long dimmed, but your answer crushes the rest of his soul as you look down at his chest and then back at his stern glare. “It was all mine.”

It’s all a blur, and you’re sure you let out a yell when he disconnects from you and wipes his hand across the table, sending a singular plate flying before it roughly hits the floor and recklessly shatters. For a while, it’s complete silence; you can faintly hear the sound of crickets, the wind that sings, his ragged breath and your silent pleas. It’s both beautiful and ugly, all at the same time.

You’re sure to be careful and step around the porcelain dish, steadily making your way over to him. It kills you when he stumbles back as you inch closer; as if you were some type of toxin he knew best to stay away from. It took him a while, but he knew that now.

“The reason I came to the Amalfi Coast was to get away from work; the pressure, the—”

“You think you’re the only one?” he spits out sourly. “You’re not fucking special, we all have our own shit! Except some of us are decent human beings and don’t seek other people for our own benefit.” The twenty-six year old shakes his head. “Grow up.”

The room is spinning, and the walls are closing in on you, but you continue. “I never had the intention of hurting you and I swear I didn’t know who you were up until Nico. He mentioned enough for me to grow curious and that’s when I searched you up.” You release a shaky breath, chest tightening like a fist. “My parents never believed I could make a living out of journalism. No one did.”

Charles stands quietly, orbs tracing your breathless state. “I kept trying to be the best, but everyone was always five steps ahead of me, and I…” Returning your attention back up, you grimace, aware of what you’re about to confess. “And I thought having a Formula One driver as a friend might help get me there.”

When he doesn’t answer, it allows you to drown in an ocean of shame, finding it hard to face his guarded stare. As a way to pass time, you lick your salty lips, runny nose making you cringe.

“A-and then I got to know you.” Don’t do that, he warns coldly, but you push past it. The room is arctic almost, but you try to find strength and warmth in between the memories. “And for the first time in all my years of living, I felt at peace with someone who was my own reflection. You make it so easy; you’re kind, down to earth, funny in all senses, and you never fail to make my heart feel like it's going to fly out of my chest.” The rest of your words get stuck in your throat despite stupidly trying to say them out loud. Then again, he probably wouldn’t like it.

“At first I felt bad, but my hands were still able to move against my keypad; I was sure you would understand. But the more time we spent together and grew closer to one another, I knew that would never be the case. And my fingers felt stiff, they weren’t my own, but I had to do it—my job depended on it, Charles,” you whisper.

The Monegasque had never felt so conflicted in his life, not even when debating whether to resign with Ferrari. A part of him understood completely, and the other was torn. Okay, he murmurs, awkwardly pinching the tip of his nose and then releasing. “If you need this so badly, you could’ve been honest. I won’t be untruthful and say that I wouldn’t have been a bit thrown off, but not disappointed like I am now.” The blow punches a staggered breath out of you, fumbling back, dragging the chair along.

“That’s the thing though…you should have asked for permission,” he pressed, tone harsh, distant, venomous. “And yet you didn’t. You went behind my back, just like everybody else. I actually thought…” His voice cracks and he looks away, blinking rapidly as if pushing back his own tears. “God, I’ve been so stupid thinking you actually cared enough to get to know me.”

Somehow the ability to move re-enters your body, instantly drawing you closer but still giving him enough space. “I did—I do care. I care a lot. Because I’m like that—that is who I am! You’re it for me, Charles; I fucking care.” There. The words were right there once again, and yet you continue vowing anything but them. You’ve run out of breath, ran out of words, and you could only wish there was something there valuable enough for him to accept.

The brunette seems to understand your revelation, even if you think he doesn’t. It makes his heart palpitate as if he just ran a marathon and he hates it. He hates that it had to be this way. In some other dimension, he confesses first. He admits defeat because that’s how worthy you were to him. Because he loved you. And you loved him. But that’s somewhere else; somewhere far away—something far too unattainable.

“You’ve used everything against me, what more do you want?”

The waves must’ve heard your conversation because the once wild sound is now slow, gentle, soft. You almost wish they picked up for your own sake; to swallow the sound of your whimpers. “I told you about Lewis’ contract in confidence, but good for you—you’re the first one who will release the news, so, you got it. I’m sure everyone will congratulate you for that.”

“Drugs aren’t a joke, but did you really have to out me like that? It was my choice, sure, but did you even think about what will follow?” He scoffs. “You’ll get clicks, millions, but I’ll get looked down on by everyone around me. The media, my team, my fans.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind, God, why hadn’t it crossed your mind? You open your mouth and then snap it back shut. Charles runs a hand across his jaw. “But fuck, I don’t care about any of that—not as much as the pin.”

“Charles—”

“That was between you and me. My father was a clever man; a believer. I’m neither of those things, but I’ve tried my absolute best. And you’ve killed the last bit of it.” You suck in a breath; you can feel your eyes getting smaller, skin puffier. “Do you know how hard it is to have faith in yourself as a driver? It’s exhausting.” A beat. “But that golden horse was enough for me to keep going and now it’s tainted.”

There’s no more sounds flying past your lip, but the acid rain hasn’t slowed down, only intensified. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted to happen, Charles…I am so sorry.” Closing the gap in between you two, you thread your brows together softly. “If I could take it all back, I would. I would have never gotten an interview out of you without your knowledge, y-y-you have to believe me,” you plead. He only nods, green eyes flickering down to your rosy lips, then shut tight. When he opens them, it hurts, because you don’t recognize them anymore.

“You took it from me…But I would’ve given it to you.”

The atmosphere is something astonishing; the colorful fireworks, the deafening cheers, the cameras, the podium celebration—it truly took your breath away. And he deserved all of it.

It’d be half-witted to think he would agree to this; he had every right to turn you down. Rightfully so, he could have. He should have, you think to yourself as you nervously click your pen. You didn’t keep in touch after that summer, so it made perfect sense for you to think that he would look rather different.

But as he makes his way over, chatting with his PR manager, he looks just the same. Yes, he’s older; a bit more tired looking than the last time you saw him, much leaner, and his smiling crinkles have expanded like a beautiful sight. But he was still Charles to you.

“Congratulations,” you quip when he reaches you with a knowing look. Stuttering, you point over at the screen that replays his terrific race. “Y-y-you were incredible. World Champion, eh?” Complete silence. Can we get a minute to ourselves? The older lady hesitantly agrees, strolling away. You click faster, heart rate picking up as you watch her go.

The Monegasque licks his lips. “You showed up.”

Somewhere in the distance, you can hear fans screaming his name, the flashes shuttering brightly; you’re honestly impressed you were able to find a place to talk. “I said I would, no? I, um, also have this…” You extend your hand out towards him and his breath hitches,

Nothing would ever shine as bright as gold. His trophy is utter counterfeit compared to the prancing horse that winks back at him. His green eyes blink slowly for a while, almost as if he doesn’t recognize it, but that quickly dies as he reaches for it.

His simple touch grazes past you but it zaps you to the point where you jump up a bit, and he does too. The fireworks up in the open sky were doing a fantastic job at interpreting what you were feeling at that very moment. Charles clears his throat, orbs tracing his reward. His golden cup was great, but this?

“Thank you.” And it sounds so sincere that you almost release a cry. “I really appreciate you keeping your word. I know I didn’t keep mine.”

He hadn’t. But you understood. The wedding invitation had been sent to him and he never responded. He never showed up. You never figured out why you were so surprised, but you were. “You were busy. I get it.”

Tension lingers. “How’s work?”

Work was great; easier. You guess that's what happens when everyone finally applauds you. It took a lot of strength for you to publish the article, but you did it anyway. Do it, he mumbled that night as he walked out of your life for three years. Don’t let all of this be for nothing.

Running your sweaty palm against your dress, you hum. “I’m chief executive now.” The Monegasque lets out an impressed whistle and for the first time since you landed in Abu Dhabi, you smile. “Eleanor retired a while ago and apparently loves me now.”

“How could she not?” You grow stiff. “How is Grayson? I’m sure the wedding was great, by the way.”

His eyes flicker down at your ring and you beam. His heart breaks just a bit when your eyes stare down in adoration. “He’s amazing—he’s right over there, actually.” Your husband is far enough away, but he could still see it all. The little boy giggles up at his father and you laugh.

Charles smiles. “I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Thank you. But tell me, champ; how do you feel? This shit doesn’t happen everyday, now does it?”

“A lot of work and patience, but it all worked out at the end. Which I’m glad because I was close to blowing my brains out.” You playfully pout, red lips curling into a familiar look.

“Still going to stick around?”

“A couple years or so…” His gaze shifts over at the rest of the grid who eye you two suspiciously. Even to them it was clear that there is history that will always remain. “I think I could do it.”

You tilt your head, hair falling over your shoulder. “I know you can, Cha.” The newly World Champion freezes and then shakes his head, avoiding your vibrant eyes. “Question,” you mumble.

“Ears,” he retorts, voice painted with humor.

“Do you ever…” You’re too embarrassed to finish your sentence, too afraid to face the possible answer. The Monegasque chuckles, a single hand over his heart and it takes you back to your last day with him in Italy where the weather was perfect.

“No regrets.”

His confirmation shouldn’t have been enough to reduce your forever heartbreak, but it manages enough. Releasing a weak exhale, you curiously peek over to where he retreats a gem. Your gem. The shiny pearl radiates, nearly making you blind, but it's new look is something that tugs at your heartstrings.

“Where did you…how did you?”

He shrugs, slipping it onto your ring finger; but on the right hand as the left now had an owner you loved back. “A friend of mine proposed to his girlfriend a while ago and I had it laying around and I just…” You blink with glossy eyes. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” A wet laugh slips out, hugging him like a blanket. You chew on your bottom lip. “I’m so happy you kept it safe; thank you so much.” He blushes, large hands brushing his damp hair back. “You know, sometimes…sometimes I think about you.” His name is mentioned on the large screen, but he’s not concerned by any means. Green eyes are focused on you; they always have been. “It’s mainly in the shape of a nightmare, but hey…” He winces. You continue. “It’s not your fault though, I brought it upon myself. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“You shouldn’t have.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “But don’t worry about it anymore; I forgive you.”

You can’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders. You don’t even care how sweaty he is, you don’t at all. You’ve kissed him twice in your life, but this had to be the best interaction you’ve had. You didn’t deserve it—you were well aware—but he had always been kind. Even to people like you.

Hot tears slide against his red fireproofs and he doesn’t dare pull away. Your sweet scent was still the same, but more mature. Your body was just as he remembered, but he could feel the small belly forming; you’re someone's home. He swears he feels a kick and his heart stops. Alas, you pull away with a rosy nose and swollen eyes. You giggle, wiping your teardrops.

“I think about you all the time, too.” He fiddles with his fingers. “But mine aren’t nightmares; they’re dreams.” A heave leaves you, pursing your lips. “They’re blurry, but they’re my favorite. In them, you didn’t step all over my heart. In them, you’re mine. And in them, I’m yours.” The pearl glistens harder. “And in them, I tell the truth that’s stuck with me from the moment you stepped foot on stage, rusty microphone in hand.”

He must think you’re having a breakdown by the way you crazily stare at him, but you’re not. You practice the shape of his nose, his lips, his brows. You admire his freckles, his watercolor eyes. Since when did they have a pinch of gray?

Charles takes a step towards you, but gets caught by the gate that separates you both. It’s up to his hips and he curses for it even being there. But then again; it was a sign. You must realize that too when you sigh sadly, delicate hands tracing the cold metal. “I loved you then.” A beat. “And I love you now.”

A sob is all heard as your face disappears, pressed against your hands, hiding. They grow louder and everyone must assume he made the pretty journalist cry or maybe it was her pregnancy. Maybe it was both. Separating to look up at him, you smile melancholic. “Do I even have to tell you too?”

“You don’t have to,” he clarifies. “Because I know.”

The feeling was bittersweet; it was more than that, but you would survive. Everything will forever stay in the Amalfi Coast, and you will cherish it all.

The Monegasque knocked out on the beach. The bar. Nico. The AirBnB. The love. The heartbreak.

Both ends were content. You would never truly get over that last summer, but you had others to care for now. He would never truly heal, but for now his job kept him busy. You were both at your prime. Just not together.

Clicking your pen, you nudge your notebook with a weak smile.

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…Can I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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lillithhearts · 3 months

Note

I saw that you didn't have any ideas for the 3rd prompt so maybeeee the moment Alastor makes a deal with the reader and he's all like "jeje all this power for the small price of my soul" and then the readers like "nu-uh that's not a small price actually, I'm gonna treat you horribly" and then it dawns on him that he literally sold his soul. :P

Or after the fight with Adam the reader like goes to rub it in Alastors face by helping him patch up and stuff after hearing him sing about him trying to find a way to get out of their deal.

Also manic Alastor giggles 💕✨💖

Whichever you want if you want, don't want you to feel pressured or stressed!

Also I am loving the Rosie and Alastor fics you've been writing they are amazing! 💖 You are definitely my fav hazbin writer ✨✨

As always, drink water and eat a snack!

✨ anon

Alastor x Overlord!Reader˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

ׂׂૢ pairing : Alastor x Reader

ׂׂૢ cw: Not proofread, abuse of power, Reader being mean (in a loving (not really) way)

ׂׂૢ reader is gender neutral

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

While quietly walking among the broken remains of the hotel your eyes scanned every piece of debris watching the dust settle from the violent, bloody fight you witnessed; stepping in Yellow glowing blood you paid no mind before your eyes slowly trailed to the trail of red blood; back to a very familiar spot that you knew all too well, with a shrug of your shoulders and a deep breath you, you made your way to the tower; the blood of your dearest soul sticking to the sole of your shoe.

Arriving at the shattered and battered radio tower, you easily hoisted yourself up into it; not making the slightest effort at keeping your presence unknown to Alastor who was hunched over his control panel; rigid, shallow fast breaths while his chest heaved; you smugly watched his ears flatten further upon his realization of who had found him, his gaze shifting to meet yours after a few seconds his body too, turning to you; revealing that nasty gash on his chest his eyes seemed heavy, his smile strained; wince and pained expressions contorting as you tutted at the Overlord while walking up to him; gently undoing the layers to get to the gash, his hand raised; hesitating to stop you his hand quickly retreating back to the control panel with one sharp glare from you.

"you should be more careful. Look at you, I thought I didn't need to see you this truly pathetic again"

Your words cut through him as his eyes averted every inch of you; shame, embarrassment and humiliation washing over his weakened body before he leaned more into the control panel, his sharp nails digging further into the metal surface at the next venom laced words coming out your mouth

"oh. So because you're hurt means you no longer answer me, Alastor?"

"no,no you're right I'm sorry, I should've been more careful"

The sweat dripping from his forehead while one of his eyes lingered on you watching you meticulously work on his fresh wound, your face didn't match your hands gentleness however; your eyes filled with annoyance and hints of just pure anger; you had better things to do then take care of his pathetic self; he had felt your tug when he was hit, essentially further convincing him to get the fuck out of there; the second he was away he knew he'd never hear the end of it from you; and now his flattened ears are listening those very said words.

"I thought you were a powerful overlord, you honestly thought this would've been a good idea? It seemed I underestimated you"

Every new word, every new insult and comment made him wince again and again while glancing at you looking for perhaps a sign you'd soon let up with your entourage of sickly words, not helped by the sly smug smirk very abhorrent smirk on your face, Alastors eyes met yours; seeing a glint in your orbs, God how he hated being infront of you it always felt so overwhelmingly humiliation under your precise watch.

"you can be glad I saved you last minute, honestly why do I need to save you every time, The leader of the exorcists; did you think he'd be an easy fight? Or did you go into that fight wanting to embarrass me?"

The silence in the broken radio tower was thick and deafening, Alastor shallowed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth, trying to look at you, looking for even the slightest bit of worry in your eyes, trying to find even a sliver of you that actually cares about him, quickly snapping back when he felt a rough hand grab his jaw and pulling to kneel over while his body tensed at the pain shooting through his body

"answer me, before you lose that tongue of yours."

His breathing quickened and his clawed hand gently came to hold your wrist, seeing him fighting to regain his composure.

"i— I don't know what I was thinking, that was stupid of me..I apologize"

"hm. So you can listen. Pull yourself together"

You let go of his jaw, clearing your throat and stepping away from him; turning your back to the Overlord and leaving through the hatch you come through; leaving Alastor stood there with a gentler hand replacing the one you had, the other one hovering over the cleaned and patched up wound.

Author's note : man...I GOT A LIL LAZY AT THR END....I KINDA HATE THISSS

Taglist : @k1y0yo @ihavetoomanyfictionalcrushes @d0nutsaur @anni1600

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine

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scekrex · 2 months

Note

YOU ASKED FOR MORE ADAM REQUESTS SO UH HERE I AM

so yk how adam knew angel dust was a pornstar when charlie mentioned his name. uh i have not been able to get that out of my head because he knew him by NAME it wasnt just like he passed by an angel dust billboard cause those are probably fucking everywhere and was like “cool” NO bro looked at it closely enough to know his name by memory— anywaysss what about adam x male reader whos a pornstar cause thats cool dhdkd maybe he sees an ad with the reader on it or something and gets intrigued 😋 anyways have a super silly day

I fucking adore you for that prompt bc the fact that Adam knew Angel by name was/is stuck in my brain too and I've been meaning to write pornstar!male!reader for a while, you simply gave me an actual reason to do so. Also the warmest, cuddliest hugs to @ultimateissuessimp who not only helped me to come up w a plot but also fixed my writers block xoxo to you bro.

Any way you want me, baby, that's the way you got me

pairing: Adam x pornstar!male!reader

warnings: language, smut, sex without consent (it's not Adam guys, chill), mention of sexual abuse, choking (with and without consent), unprotected sex, reader dies (then he ends up in heaven)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Your pimp massaged his temples and sighed, “Stop acting like a fucking picky whore, if you want your fucking money you'll do the job.” You crossed your arms over your chest, you were having none of it.

It had been a couple of years since you started doing what you did, it had been a couple of years since you had dedicated yourself to that fucking asshole who was trying to force you into something that was way outside your comfort zone. So you have learned to stand up for yourself, to say no. And usually that was fine because usually your clients weren't some snobby bitches with an ass full of money. This time your client was exactly that though, and that asshole of boss - at this point you were sure you could call him that - saw the money and nothing but the money. So a ‘no’ wasn't on the table for you this time as it seemed.

“Fuck you, I'm telling ya, I'm not doing that bullshit,” you told the man in front of you. He however simply grabbed your wrist and pulled you in, “You’re gonna drop that fucking attitude of yours right fucking now because you're gonna do it, if you want or not is irrelevant.” You huffed and ripped your arm from his grip, “Fucking fine, but if that whore breaks me it's on you.” At that your boss chuckled deeply as he gave your cheek a light pat, “Good boy.”

So there you were huh? In a room with some asshole you didn't trust the slightest bit.

It didn't take long for the man to not only undress himself but also to basically tear the fabric off your body - quite literally because your shirt was being ripped open and he yanked your pants down hard enough for the stitches to give out on it.

Your mind went blank after that, everything was just a hazy blur as you tried to get it over with. There were cold hands on your body, then you fell, the landing was surprisingly soft.

A scream filled with pain ripped from your throat as the man thrusted in, in, in until he was fully inside of you, no lube, no preparation. A hand was firmly pressed against your mouth and while probably not intended, he also covered your nose leaving you no way to breathe but you took it, what were you supposed to do? Say no? With that hand on your lips? Yeah, pretty impossible. You also doubted that the asshole would care about your wants. It all went down when his other hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed, he didn't even try to ask for consent, he just took what he wanted, maybe needed.

Your hands were on his wrists in an instant, your nails dug into his skin in order to try and push his hands off of you but to no result, he was stronger. And then the hazy blur faded to black.

When Adam read the news about his favorite porn actor being killed he was quite furious.

The news articles all stated the same, that some rich bitch had paid for a session with you - an recorded one on top of it - and had choked you to death. And on top of that the manager of you had published the video, hell Adam was even able to see you die at his hands.

The news articles also blamed you for not giving him any signals to stop, Adam thought that was bullshit. He had followed your porn career for a while now, he had seen interviews too, if only two - it wasn't like many people wanted to interview pornstars on a daily base - he knew you had this little rule about consent and therefore he knew you had given the man signals he just tended to ignore them.

“Can you fucking believe it, Lute?” he asked angrily as he held his phone in front of her face, on the tiny screen there was a news article about your death, a picture of your corpse covered by a white sheet was also featured. Lute looked at it briefly, then shrugged, “Who cares? Just another whore that'll end up in hell.” Adam put down his phone and grabbed Lute by her shirt, “Watch your fucking mouth, he wasn't like the rest of those disgusting sluts.” Lute just shot him a weird look and mumbled a quiet, “Whatever, Sir,” as Adam let go of her clothes.

When the world around you got bright you were confused, what had happened?

You found yourself in someone's office, the walls were painted white and there were golden accents to make the room seem less stirile. “Where the fuck am I?” you asked, visibly confused as three pairs of eyes stared at you, one of them was a small girl, she looked delighted to see you. Then there was a woman, you figured it must have been her mother or something like that, she offered you a small smile. The last one was the face of a man who seemed to be equally confused as you were at first, but soon his expression softened a little.

“Well look who we have here,” the man spoke and got out of his seat to walk over to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he shot you a sharp grin.

“Welcome to heaven, Y/N.”

It took a good while for you to get used to the afterlife you were expecting, it looked like your beliefs had been with you and that God had decided to put you out of your misery and send you to heaven a little sooner than you had thought. Not that you complained though, the company was better than the people that had surrounded you on earth.

Adam and you had grown to be close friends in no time and soon after your bond had increased so much you had asked the first man out. He had agreed and so the two of you started dating.

He was surprisingly soft with you - was it really surprising though, given that he knew how you had died? No, not really. But it was nice that he accepted your ‘no’ without further questions - sometimes, when he was really into something you said no to, he sat down with you and talked it out, gave you all the options to stop whenever it got too much or you simply didn't like it. Consensual sex without fighting for what you wanted and didn't want was new to you, it wasn't something your former boss or former clients had ever given you.

But that all shattered when Adam requested something that really didn't sit right with you.

“Fuck no,” you exclaimed, and got up from the bed, “No choking, not after-” you cut yourself off, you weren't able to say it out loud, not yet at least, “No.” Adam sighed, he wasn't annoyed or frustrated, he was actually able to understand the situation you were in quite well. “Babes, I’m not gonna hurt you like that bastard did,” he explained himself while also giving you the space you needed, otherwise you'd feel cornered and that was the least thing he wanted you to feel in that moment.

You knew that, in the name of God, you fucking knew Adam wouldn't choke you unconscious and he most importantly wouldn't kill you again by doing so but it felt wrong to let anyone grab you by the throat with the slightest bit of force. “Adam,” you pleaded, your eyes begging him to drop the topic. Adam's body language softened and he patted on the bed, a nonverbal request for you to sit down again. You hesitated for a moment, then you sat down again.

His wing wrapped around you immediately and his arms pulled you to sit on his lap. His chin was resting on your shoulder as he softly spoke, “I’m not asking you to live through a full fucking session, I'm asking you to try it, to let me show you how it's properly done. You can always tell me to stop and I'll be off of you in an instant. I won't ask you to ever try it again if you don't like it.” The brunette's hands rested on your chest, one of them slowly moved upwards to caress your neck and acting out of instincts you leaned into the soft and warm touch of his.

You thought about it. You thought about it for a while and you came to the conclusion that Adam was right. Trying was okay, trying meant you were allowed to hate it. So you hummed in agreement adding a quiet, “Okay.”

Soft lips were kissing your throat and you tilted your head upwards to offer Adam more excess. The first man gladly took it as an invitation to leave hickeys on the soft skin of yours which earned him a throaty moan. “Someone’s fucking horny,” Adam grinned and pressed his palm against the slowly growing bulge in your pants. You immediately lifted your hips to chase the friction that was given to you, a deep groan was ringing through Adam's ears, fuck he could listen to the sounds you were making all day. “You’re one to talk,” you breathlessly countered and lifted your knee against Adam's crotch. The taller man's hips stuttered and his wings flapped in excitement at the newfound and unexpected friction. “Oh fuck,” he mumbled against your throat as his fingers clawed at your shoulders and his nails dug into your skin, the pain it caused was different than the pain men had brought you back on earth, the pain Adam was giving to you always felt so deliciously holy and you could drown in it.

You have had sex before with all kinds of men, rude and harsh ones, shy and soft ones, ones that took what they wanted and then left without the slightest thought of satisfying you. But with Adam it was different, Adam always made sure you were feeling as much pleasure as he was experiencing and if he were to get too caught up to jerk you off, he'd blow you afterwards.

Your fingers itched towards the hem of Adam's robe and pulled the soft fabric up until his lower half was exposed. “Get that stupid shit off, it's cockblocking us,” you growled with lust audible in your voice. That was something Adam was quick to do, he was always so eager to get undressed for you, no matter what, no matter when.

Once Adam's robe had hit the floor, your clothes were joining it in no time. Your naked bodies were pressed together, his lips never left your skin long enough for you to actually miss them, they were on you constantly. “Gonna fuck that brain out of your pretty head babes, it'll be all you will be able to think about for the entire week,” the first man whispered in a deep, aroused voice that gave you the most pleasant kind of goosebumps you've ever had and your body shuddered against his lips. “You gotta try real hard for that, you sure you can fuck me that well?” you teased, very much aware that, yes, he was able to do as he had just said, he had proven it before and he'd prove it again. “Watch it, whore,” he grinned up at you and then your nipple disappeared between his lips and another moan tore from your throat to let the first man know what an incredible job he was doing.

Back on earth you had disliked, maybe even hated the term. It was always used as an insult that was supposed to play down what you were doing but when Adam said it, it sounded like the most beautiful thing to achieve, to be called whore by Adam was something you took with pride, something that made your body heat rush to all the right areas.

“Nah,” you replied and even though it was more of a whine than an actual statement, you confidently continued, “You like it when I use my mouth and we both fucking know it.” Adam's wings twitched at the thought of you sucking him off and his eyes revealed that he liked the idea - not for now though, now you two had other plans. “Sure do, babes, sure do,” the brunette agreed as he reached for the bottle of lube that he had placed on the bedside table earlier.

That was also another thing you appreciated about the sex with Adam, while he made sure you were feeling that holy version of pain earth could never compare to, he was also gentle, well as gentle as someone like Adam could be. But he prepared you, always did, and he was the type of guy who'd rather use too much lube than not enough.

At first it had been weird for you that Adam knew about your carrier, in the name of Lord above that motherfucker had seen you die because of that stupid porno. But it turned out to be quite useful for him to have all that knowledge about your past, that way he knew how far he was allowed to go without constantly having to ask you. He did check on your well-being during sex though, a thing you appreciated very much. He also knew about the things you were into, figuring his kinks out was as easy as breathing, the first man did nothing to hide the things that turned him on.

Adam covered his fingers in lube, waited a moment for the liquid to warm up and then slowly started to push his index finger inside of you. Your back arched and your hips rocked down on his finger, taking it like it was a daily thing - maybe because it was. “Gimme the second one,” you breathed out and watched as Adam moved his hand a little, his index finger almost slipped out and you were about to complain but before you had the chance to, two fingers were thrusted inside of you and you groaned, “That’s what I'm talking ‘bout, pretty boy.”

“Just look at the filthy little slut you are,” his hand moved up and down your side before it stilled on your hip bone, “So fucking eager to take the first dick ever made.” You nodded, “And so fucking ready too, so what ya waiting for, big guy?” Your lips had curled up into a shit eating grin as you challenged him, “Scared you'll hurt me?” Oh and that made something inside of Adam snap.

He quickly withdrew his fingers, causing you to complain about the emptiness you were left with. “Adam,” you whined and wiggled your ass closer to his hips, “I can take both, your fingers and your dick.” That earned you a light slap on your hips, “Don’t be so fucking impatient, you'll get what is needed to shut your mouth.” “I think it'll make me open up instead, moaning yo-” you cut yourself off with a loud moan because the brunette had just bottomed out inside of you without any kind of warning. And the burn that came with it from how wide his dick stretched you was beautiful through and through.

“Don’t just fucking talk about moaning my name, do it,” he demanded and gripped your hips firmly to keep you from squirming, he didn't move however, gave you the time you needed to get used to the feeling. Oh the self control this man had was driving you insane. “Goddamn it, fuck me already, what use is it to have the first dick inside of me when it doesn't fucking do shit,” you whined as you threw your head back into the pillows.

Adam didn't move his hips, however he leaned over you and wrapped his left hand around your throat, there was no pressure at all, just the feeling of his hand. For a moment panic flooded your brain and your body screamed at you to make him stop, to tell him not to fucking touch you like that, but then he spoke up and his voice was so soft, sounded so worried, “You decide when it is too much, if this is too much you simply say so and I won't touch you like that again unless you ask for it like a good fucking boy you can be.”

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed, his hand was still on your throat but you relaxed. “No, it's okay,” you whispered without looking at him, then added, “Now get to the fucking point and fuck my brains out like you promised.” And then there was pressure on your throat but at the same time the brunette started to move his hips, the pace at which his hips slammed in and out was bruising but it was exactly what you needed. You bared your throat as much as you could, showing him that it was okay, showing him that you trusted him with this, “Fuck, Adam.”

The sound of Adam's balls slapping against your ass filled the room and while one hand was firmly yet not painfully wrapped around your throat, the other slowly slid up your torso until it reached your nipple, the skilful fingers of your lover twisted it in such delicious ways that moan after moan spilled from your lips and Adam admired it, admired you. He was purely enchanted whenever you got vocal during sex - which was quite often.

“Fucking right, whore, moan for me ‘n’ my dick,” he hissed before he caught your lips in a bruising kiss, your back arched off the mattress even more, your hips tried to chase his whenever he pulled out only to slam himself back in again a second later. A whine fell from your lips and seeped into the kiss, your wings closed around his back, trapping the both of you behind feathers but neither of you minded, you were both too caught up in pleasure to care about such things. “Adam, please,” you moaned as your hips helplessly moved in sync with his own, “Fucking touch me.”

Normally Adam would make you beg for it, deny you your orgasm for as long as he could, but not that day. You had been doing so well for him, had tried something that neither of you were sure you would like. You had given him your trust by allowing you to touch in ways no one ever touched you with consent and he wanted to reward you for it, wanted to give you what you so desperately graved. As he attempted to let go of your throat you stopped him. Your hand tightly gripped his wrist in order to keep his hand where it was and you looked him in the eyes as you said, “I fucking dare you to stop choking me, use your other hand to jerk me off.”

He couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled through his body but he did as he was told and once his hand had started to stroke your dick, it only took you a few moments to reach your climax. The white wetness covered your stomach, a few drops even reached Adam's chest but you were too fucked out to pay any mind to it, all that you were able to focus on was Adam, Adam, Adam. Adam, who was fucking you through your orgasm to chase his own, Adam who didn't take much longer to reach his peak, Adam who filled you up with his cum until it started to leak.

The first man breathed heavily on top of you as he pulled out, a weak snap of his fingers cleaned both of your bodies before he fell into the sheets beside you. Well to be fair he had landed on your wing instead of the mattress but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You turned around to face him and curled up against his chest, Adam wrapped his entire body around you in order to keep you warm and protected.

“Thank you, Adam.”

He kissed your head softly.

“Anything for you, babes.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you #smut

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lovelettersforthedamned · 6 months

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i’m not brave enough to actually verbally request this but this link explains 🫣

https://www.tumblr.com/uncharted4bliss/733772501952380928/the-world-needs-more-premature-ejaculation-smuts

i'm thinking...very, very hard LOL

nsfw below the cut...

tasm!peter parker

he quite literally came from just the slightest graze over his heams when you two were having a very heated make out session.

his heightened senses are to blame tbh.

he tries to hide it at first, but you always know when he’s cum.

his cheeks get red, and his eyes wander to try and avoid your gaze (i need him so bad it’s so not funny anymore)

joel miller–jackson era

this man hasn’t been touched in so long, let’s be honest.

now that he’s in jackson, he can finally let his guard down…especially with you.

he’s grinding into your warm core, you two are both fully clothed. the night just starting.

the friction sends him over the edge.

joel gets embarrassed, and he starts to apologize. you quickly cut him off, letting him know that it’s cute that he can’t help himself (which he doesn’t take lightly…aka he fucks the attitude out of you).

pattinson!bruce wayne

poor baby has been so stressed lately.

he needs you so bad, and you know this. letting him relax for the night.

he’s whining as you sink onto his cock.

you rock back into him for the second time as you feel it.

his cum is shooting into you, there’s no doubt about it.

he’s also very apologetic, but you remind him that tonight is all about him and that he has nothing to be sorry about.

matt murdock

matt is very similar to peter when it comes to heightened senses, except for the fact that matt’s is magnified by one hundred.

he’s eating you out when it happens because matt is a munch (duh).

just the taste of you has him cumming on the sheets.

he’s not even embarrassed (man whore).

he’s too focused on your upcoming orgasm to put his needs before yours.

din djarin

my man is extremely touch starved.

i think that it’s the little things that drive him crazy.

a little kiss on his neck, you finger trailing up and down his arm…things like that.

so when he gets to experience your touch fully, he can’t handle himself.

you’ve been pumping his cock for like a minute max, but as soon as your warm mouth sucks on his neck, his cum coats your hand.

he’s bucking into your hand, needing more even though he just came.

din is breathless, he’s too dazed to care about anything. he just wants you.

--author's note: oh this is...so good. I AM A SLUT OKAY?? I DONT CARE!!! i love my boyfriends!!!!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support your writers. my asks/inbox is open!!! send me more things so i can be silly and feed into both of our delusions:))) ok, bye ily<3333

#tasm!peter parker smut #joel miller smut #pattinson!batman smut #matt murdock smut #din djarin smut #oh this fucks

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the-oracles-maw · 4 months

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headcanons: miguel o'hara x aroace/aspec! SO

me, an aspec writer when there's no aroace/aspec Miguel x reader bc it's all either smut or angst:

from my previous comments I got on the first time I wrote this, people have pointed out that Miguel could very much be Demi, and I am all over that.

I mean look at the man, analyze the man. Behold: a man. He's juggling protecting multiple realities and commanding spider people from said realities. Finding a partner is probably the last thing on his mind.

Look, you know the man is sculpted to perfection. He reminds you of Michelangelo's masterpieces walking from their mantles.

That didn't necessarily mean you wanted to stick him inside of you or vice versa.

This? This doesn't make Miguel feel insecure in the slightest.

I headcanon that Miguel knows how good-looking he is. He's long grown numb to the stares from men and women alike.

You think this man's never seen a mirror before

Some bold sumbitches have probably even come up to hit on him directly.

He noticed quickly you don't look at him like many people look at him. He noticed how innuendoes towards you went completely over your head. He noticed you didn't quite understand the subtle outrage from some of the spiders when you called him a "complete dick" once.

He knew that outrage wasn't over that he was a figure of authority.

You humble the hell out of him. One of his favorite things about you is that he has to work for you. You're not swayed by his sex appeal.

He finds that that makes you interesting. Very interesting.

It also make him fee.l.. human? Like he's not a prime cut of meat to be chewed up and spit out.

He loves that most about you.

Of course, at first, you're none the wiser to this.

Like all eventual emotions that arise in every relationship, you begin to have your doubts.

Is Miguel even satisfied with you? Are you... depriving him because of your orientation?

Plus, there's so many beautiful men and women in Nueva York.

Miguel is quick to assure you that you're more than enough for him.

Of course, eventually, someone does say something, and goes too far.

You return to your shared apartment, that is conveniently adjacent to the Spider Society headquarters. Miguel immediately notices your shift in mood, as the usual pep in your step isn't there. Knowing that you'll talk when you're ready, he lets it go.

You both settle in for a little movie night on the sofa. Snuggled against your man, you hardly pay attention to the movie, and then begin acting strange.

Rubbing against him, running your hands up and down his pectorals, attempting to straddle in his lap-

Miguel immediately knew something wasn't right.

Of course, Miguel wasn't one to protest your affections, but he could tell you were forcing it. The touches, the kisses, they weren't all there.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing, mi chulo/chula? What's-hey, hey, no more of that okay?" He pauses to push your hands away from him- "What's all this about? What's wrong?"

"Don't look at me like that, I know something's wrong. I know you're putting on an act." He takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. "I know you, babe. I know when you walk different. I could tell something was wrong when you came home tonight."

"Well," you begin. "It's going to sound dumb," you're cut off by him. "It won't. It's bothering you." He leans over to place a kiss on your forehead. "Come on, baby. What's the matter? Is it me?"

"No! Not at all, actually, it's me."

Subtle outrage is scary. Miguel doesn't show it, but he's totally fuming over what your coworker had said to you. You were excited to introduce Miguel as your boyfriend.

"And you mean to tell me you and that... oh wow, supermodel haven't done it yet? Haven't you been together for, like what, two years?"

"That's pretty amazing. I don't know how I could ever stay in a sexless relationship, much less two years. I admire your self-control."

You weren't dumb. You caught that subtle jab. But couldn't help but wonder if they had a point. Miguel could have just about anyone he wanted. Why you? Why someone he could potentially never have sex with?

"Hey now, you listen to me, yeah?" Miguel withdraws his hands from yours and wraps your arms around you. "I, am, more than satisfied with you." "You," he emphasized his point by placing a finger on your chest. "Make me feel more than fulfilled. We don't have to have sex for me to love you as much as I do. We never had to. And still look at us."

He smiled down at you, "You think I'm gonna throw this beautiful thing we have between us away for a quick fuck? Be serious, mi amor."

You tighten your hug around your boyfriend, and suppressed giggles as he placed chaste little kisses on your collarbone. "We may get there, we may not. But none of that changes how I feel about you. How I love you. Got that?"

"Mn," you sighed. "I understand."

"Bien. Muy bien." Miguel placed a kiss on your forehead. "How's about we call it an early night, hm? Want me to carry you to bed?"

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le-trash-prince · 3 months

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Kenta

Okay. It is once again time for me to talk about my number one little man. I was interested in Kenta from the very beginning, and at some point I realized that I was not going to be normal about him, but I really did not anticipate how much he would come to mean to me. I hope y'all have enjoyed witnessing my descent into feral blorbo state. It is not over for me in the slightest.

I want to say that Garfield really acted the shit out of this role, and the writers knew what they were doing when they cast him. His arc was so important to the overall plot, with his growth being pivotal to Tony's downfall, and yet he had a relatively small amount of dialogue to work with (although certainly not the smallest amount of the cast).

A lot of his scenes involve him standing in Tony's office, taking instructions, or even just simply observing. A lot of his lines are based around business deals and errands—rather than furthering his emotional development. He doesn't give big speeches, he doesn't talk about his feelings or his dreams, it's always just "I'm doing xyz for Tony, and I will never betray him."

Some of his most dialogue heavy scenes are in one stairwell with Pete and in another with Tony, which I think are extremely pivotal moments, both of which reveal a fear of abandonment.

But it's honestly when he's quiet that he says the most.

And I love that, I'm obsessed with it. I love that the whole fandom could insantly tell that he and Pete had something going on, just from the way they looked at each other. I love that the storytelling in his arc was so highly visual.

In the beginning, Kenta appears to be nothing more than Tony's lackey: quiet, intimidating, and actively complicit with what is going on.

But as we see him more and more, it becomes exceedingly apparent that he cares, so much. I know I am biased in saying this, but I do also pay close attention to what other people are saying about Kenta, and I know almost everyone has been waiting the entire series to see him stand up to Tony. The amount of acting that Garfield did with his eyes, while remaining such a stoic character, was insane.

Despite him repeatedly declaring his loyalty to Tony, despite the fact that he does not reveal any actions against Tony until episode 12, we feel so much of his inner conflict.

I think for me, personally, the aspect of Kenta's character that I relate to the most is his inability to speak up when he wants to. I've struggled with selective mutism my entire life, and there have been countless, countless scenarios where I've had so many things to say and no ability to say them. The more dire the situation, the more my words fail me. I have to spend so much of my energy constantly planning for potential conflict scenarios just so I can have the time I need to figure out which words to use. Because it can sometimes take months for me to figure out certain phrases. And because it is so painful to stay silent when you want to tell someone to stop. To stop fighting, to stop hurting each other, to stop hurting me.

So I was beyond moved and proud to watch Kenta finally be able to protect his brothers and quietly say the one thing he has wanted to say all along.

Don't hurt anyone anymore.

I will take some of the words that P'Chod gave to Garfield before they went into production. "It’s just you want to live in a peaceful house and be happy together.” All we want is peace.

I wish that Kenta had not been forced to kill Tony because I don't think he has ever wanted to hurt anyone. But I'm sure as hell not sorry that he did it. There will always be people who are unwilling to stop.

And I recognize that Kenta tried a peaceful method first. He gave X-Hunter what they needed to put Tony in jail, and Tony refused to give up. He was never going to be the kind of person who would simply surrender. To him, these people's lives are property that he is entitled to.

Here is an auto translation of something Garfield said about Kenta at the final episode screening.

"I already knew that Kenta would be similar to me, in that I'm someone who doesn't dare to express my feelings to the people around me, saying very little. So when I got the role, I felt… that it teaches us that as long as we dare to be ourselves and do things that make us happy, that's enough."

We may never know what happened to Kenta after Tony died, but I hope he is able to find his peace. I hope he is able to engage with restorative justice, and I hope he is able to learn what family really should be.

And I hope that someone, anyone, will give him a goddamned hug.

the first shot / the last shot

Thank you, Kenta, from the bottom of my heart, for showing us yours.

#god okay this one took a lot out of me IM STILL RUNNING ON LOW SLEEP #anyways I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIMMMMMMMM #pit babe the series #kenta pit babe #pit babe spoilers #pit babe meta #em post #em meta #pit babe

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soapoet · 7 months

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PJO pick-a-card reading

Luke Castellan; A message from above

Soapy scribbles: I opted to format this topic as generally as possible since we all hold various different beliefs. Whether this message comes from your spirit guides, angels, higher self, God, any deity, ancestor or passed loved ones, or anything beyond my comprehension, is for you alone to know based on how it resonates with you. I am just the messenger and it is no business of mine who your particular sender is.

01.

Shufflemancy: Travelling by James Spiteri

You're coming out of a period of stagnation. Either delays entirely out of your control, or the sheer lack of motivation has kept you at a stalemate unable to proceed with your plans. You have found comfort in distractions aplenty. A seemingly never-ending cycle of avoiding the next step because it appears so very daunting, then being overcome with guilt and shame, which you again run from, chasing anything and everything which would put these feelings at bay. Now the first step looks less frightening, and you may feel more motivated to journey onwards.

Growing pains may feature, but you are able to handle them well. You may feel inclined to keep secrets, especially regarding your endeavours. This will prove beneficial as it reduces pressure, you now have nobody to hold yourself accountable but you, and you avoid the urge to run away should anybody dare inquire about your progress. Push yourself forward, as unnerving as it may be. You will quickly notice how light you are on your feet and the distance you can go when harnessing the dopamine from simply overcoming this fear.

Do not be too hard on yourself or expect to run a marathon. A little progress is better than none, but do not use busy work as yet another distraction. You have great gifts and plenty to share with the world, and you are destined to inspire others with your achievements and your accolades. As much as you detest routine, try to keep even a small one. Do a little bit every day to inch yourself closer to your dreams. To avoid feelings of uncertainty and your fears of failure, set aside time to sit with yourself in silence and ask yourself why you want this, where it will lead, and why that is where you want to be and what you hope to achieve, the life you wish to lead and what legacy you wish you leave. Remind yourself of the answers to these questions whenever motivation begins to evade you on your journey.

Sometimes a writer can only muster a sentence, perhaps one they will later entirely eliminate, yet they did something. And sometimes all this writer can do is stare at the manuscript before them and give of themselves nothing. Yet they did something. They got up to look at it rather than wince across the room and refuse to rise to the occasion at all. Celebrate even your smallest victories and allow yourself a cheer when you muster even the slightest effort. Do not expect perfection of yourself and know that many before you had to go through trial and error, and learn and adapt along the way. That is perfectly okay and you do not need a doctorate straight out of the womb to be good enough.

02.

Shufflemancy: Kiss the rain by Yiruma

You must cease this pattern of giving up your energy so easily to so many who are not deserving of your time. When bad news arrive, it is fine to feel whichever way you feel, but anchoring your emotions to this negativity will suck you dry of the life force that you need to shine. You are allowed to have boundaries and you are encouraged to enforce them and guard them closely. Those who would trespass should know punishment swiftly. Do not tolerate things you do not tolerate truly. Do not quietly hope unfortunate things go away and that people notice your discomfort and stop what they're doing that is harming you.

Stand up for yourself and make your thoughts and feelings heard. It is also not your duty or responsibility to translate a simple no or a stop to people wilfully ignorant and always finding a justification for their words and actions. No is a full sentence. Anybody who fails to internalize this fact and look in the mirror to reflect and to change any behaviour that's lead them to ignore this simple command is not a headache to take as yours. You should be unapologetic in your selfcare and demand space when you need it. Set aside your fears and shoo away any prowling feelings of shame and guilt. If you would be happier alone than in bad company, seek solitude and cut off what no longer serves you.

There are lessons some learn only upon a collapse. You may pray for a change of heart and hope for the sun to shine again, but you do not need to weather storms that are not yours to experience. You're not a bad person for stepping back and saying enough is enough in a situation that only causes you distress. Those who need help must want it and ask for it. You can promise to be there when they're ready and aid in their recovery, and still express to them the grief that they have caused you. Sometimes people need to be faced with the harsh truth. The pain and the agony and sleepless nights which they have brought upon you and others and be shown they could truly lose it all lest they stop and strive to do and be better.

If somebody truly needs help and you do not have the heart to abandon them, seek assistance. You need not be alone in a quest which requires more than you alone have to give. There are many sources of help and even more solutions once more hands are there to help, and you only have two and are allowed to seek extra pairs to aid you in this task. You are commended for your resilience and your kind heart. It may break and bleed often, and you must know that things will get better. These rough waters will calm soon enough and you will find peace.

03.

Shufflemancy: Ballerina by Yehezkel Raz

You don't need to run so fast. You have all the time in the world to make the changes that you want and need. Slow down and allow yourself to breathe. You have been much too hard on yourself and allowed everything outside of you to weigh you down. Shelf some burdens that were never yours to carry and make the choice to serve yourself for a change. Be gentle with yourself and listen to your own body and soul, and act according to that which is truly in your best interest. You are your own worst enemy when you let the beasts feed upon your negative self talk and your fixations on perceived failures.

Know that you have no more need for tips and tricks and new methods to your madness. You already have everything that you need, and no tool beyond your own consciousness is required. You could paint cathedral ceilings with just your imagination, so cease your struggle and let yourself be carried by the stream. Do not waver in your convictions, and do not let doubt lead you astray. Stick to what you know in your heart to be true and cast away every inkling of worry and fear.

You need to learn to let life happen to you rather than holding the reins so tightly you vitiate the opportunity to experience the present moment altogether. The present is all we really have, so try your best to cling neither to the past or the future. We all have regrets behind us, and wishes for the future, but it is the present moment which we truly have control over and get to experience.

Let go of any unhealthy dependencies you may have allowed to take root in your garden. Whether this is a person, a habit, or a situation, if it isn't doing you any good in the long-term, do your best to weed it out so that more energy may be received by the things you do wish to grow and nurture. If you feel unqualified to tackle some of this gardening, do not hesitate to ask for help and guidance from gentle people who will understand how delicate some situations may be. You do not need to tolerate fear mongering or unnecessary pressure, time constraints or misplaced ultimatums. Be direct with what you need and the tone and feel you wish to engage in so that you do not end up feeling cornered and threatened so much that you refuse any help at all in favour of protecting yourself from harsh criticism and judgement.

#pac reading #pick a card reading #luke castellan #pjo #energy reading #intuitive reading #percy jackson and the olympians #pac #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #tarot reading #tarotblr #soapy.post

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jayteacups · 9 months

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Levi Week Day 3: Shy & Blushing | Affections & Fondness

@leviweek2023

To celebrate your second anniversary together, Levi takes you to see the beach for the first time.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: Back on my soft Levi agenda :3 Fluff, established relationship, canonverse, civilian!Reader, takes place a short while after the beach scene in S3. Mild NSFW (very brief descriptions of oral sex, F receiving). Mild as it may be, I still don't want minors interacting.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: So I haven’t written anything in a while but this event is helping me get over my writer’s block little by little! I missed the first two days sadly, and this is also a day late, but I wanted to at least get something done for Day 3 lol. This is based off a really cute dream I had a few months ago about a beach date with Levi, but I never got around to writing it, so this was the perfect chance to finally put it into words. I am absolutely incapable of writing anything other than soft sappiness lol. Hope you guys enjoy reading!

Before today, the biggest body of water you’ve ever seen was the lazy, winding river that runs right down the middle of your home village, where all the merchant boats come in, where all the kids go to play in the sweltering heat of the summer. You practically grew up in the river. It is a second home to you.

And yet it doesn’t hold a candle to the ocean in the slightest.

Miles and miles of pure blue stretch out far beyond the naked eye, the rolling waves on the horizon glinting as they catch the sun’s rays. Untouched by mankind, there is a serene quiet to the air, punctured only by the splash of water making land and the occasional bird cry.

Such a place could only ever exist in myth, or so you thought.

“It’s like something out of a fairytale,” you whisper in awe.

You feel Levi’s eyes on you from behind. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, it is.”

The two of you are coming up on your two-year anniversary as lovers, and the Survey Corps’ last expedition to the coastline a couple months ago had inspired him to take you out to the beach to celebrate. He had wanted to show you it’s raw, untouched beauty, before the infrastructure development plans are put into motion.

The way the dry sand shifts under your bare feet catches you off guard. Soft, warm and pliant, which isn’t what you expected at all. The sensation makes you giggle. You can’t help but lean over and touch the sand with your hands, picking a handful of it up and letting the tiny grains slip through your fingers.

“Beware of the sand.” Levi says next to you ominously, taking off his forest-green cloak. “Before you know it, it gets everywhere.” He’s decked out in full uniform and gear. Even though Paradis Island has been declared clear of titans, Levi refuses to take any chances.

You look over your shoulder back at your lover, grinning giddily. “Guess we’ll just have to wash it off in the ocean, then,” you declare, heading right towards the sea. Gone is the soreness from days of camping and riding through endless grasslands, your arms clenched like a vice around Levi’s waist as you tremble atop his horse, feeling all too exposed without the safety of the Walls. Only curiosity and joy remain, propelling your feet towards the water.

“Shit—wait, don’t go too far,” Levi calls. You turn back. The reins on his horse are gathered in one hand, both of your cloaks and your shoes in the other. “I’m going to set us up under that tree over there. It’s hot and Mercy needs some shade.”

You tilt your head. “Okay. Need a hand?” You reach for your shoes and cloak to carry them yourself, but he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I got it. Besides, I can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with excitement to go frolic around.”

“Mm.”

“So you can go ahead. Just not too deep, I know you can swim but the waves might be stronger than you think. And watch out for poisonous shit and don’t pick any sea creatures up. Hange got stung by this weird-ass blob called a jellyfish because they got too cocky after picking up several non-poisonous things despite me telling them every five seconds to not do that, and their hands were covered in welts for a fortnight.” Revulsion passes across his face for a moment as he recalls the memory.

Confused, you frown. He hasn’t told you this story yet. “What’s a jellyfish?”

“Fuck if I know. That’s what Arlert said they were called. Just watch out.” He leans forward and kisses your cheek tenderly. As he pulls away, you notice his ears are flushed. How cute.

“Alright, alright.” You laugh, and follow it up with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be careful. Come join me soon, yeah?”

The slightest of soft smiles graces his face as he nods, before you turn around and jog back towards the sea, lifting your skirt above your knees.

The sand grows colder, wetter, firmer under your feet, a change that rips another joyous laugh out of you. As you approach, the sea moves forward, as if to greet you, and a small wave splashes gently over your feet. You giggle.

“Hello, ocean,” you murmur, kicking the water to gently splash it back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

A quick scan of the shallows revealed no sea critters. Bummer, you were hoping to at least see what a jellyfish looked like—what kind of an explanation is ‘weird-ass blob’?—but you suppose not seeing one is better than an accidental sting. Lifting your skirts up higher, you wade deeper into the ocean until the water reaches your thighs before looking back at the shore.

On the beach, Levi spreads out his spare cloak as a mat underneath a tree. Next to him, his horse, Mercy, sits and takes a well-deserved rest in the shade after a long journey. He then strips himself of his jacket and boots, before folding them neatly into a pile next to your camping packs. He does the same for your cloak and footwear that you’d discarded carelessly earlier, too caught up in excitement. As he loosens his cravat, Levi’s head turns back towards the sea, evidently looking for you, and offers you a little wave.

You wave back enthusiastically. “Come join me!” You call. As fun as frolicking in the water sounds, you don’t want to do it all by yourself.

Another handful of minutes is spent taking off his gear and straps, before he walks out towards the sea. You wait excitedly, as he slows to a stop, just a hair’s breadth away from where the water stops.

Levi rolls up his trouser legs and tentatively tests out the waters with the tip of his toe.

You grin.

“Don’t laugh.”

You purse your lips. “Not laughing.” He’s just so endearing.

He was like this too with the river near the Queen’s Orphanage, where you work as a teacher. One day, Historia took the orphans to the riverbank to play and invited Levi Squad to spend the day off there with her. You’d waded into the water and beckoned him to follow, only to find him standing hesitantly on the riverbank, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There aren’t many rivers and lakes down in that shithole where I grew up, are there? I can’t swim to save my shitty life, you remember him saying. Eventually, you’d coaxed him into standing ankle-deep in the river, and he’d ended up watching over the children that didn’t want to venture any deeper either. After all, they had all come from the same place he did. On expeditions and even now on this camping trip, Levi uses a bucket and rag to wash instead of submerging himself in rivers or lakes like everybody else does.

“It’s okay.” You say reassuringly. “It’s hardly any different from standing in the river.”

He gives you a very familiar look of exasperation. “Give me a break. I didn’t get into the ocean when I was here with the others, and I still can’t fucking swim.”

“That’s fine. We don’t have to go any further than knee-deep.”

He nods. Despite that, Levi still lingers with his toes barely in the water. Slowly, you get the feeling that his hesitation has nothing to do with his inability to swim.

You purse your lips, holding in a laugh. “I see. You’re scared of jellyfishes, aren’t you?”

He blinks, deadpan. “You’re hilarious. I’m not scared of jellyfishes.”

Your face splits into a grin. “Yes you are.”

“I am not. This is ridiculous.”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, what would you do? Hide behind me?”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, you’d be the one hiding behind me, just like you do whenever there’s a spider in the house.” Levi crosses his arms and gives nothing away with his expression, but his ears are turning redder by the second.

You give him a teasing look. “Sure, sure.” And even if you did end up being scared of a jellyfish, you know Levi would help you without a second thought. Just like he does with the spiders. “You know, I still have no idea what a jellyfish is. How would I hide behind you if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be hiding from? What even are they?”

“Freaky little fuckers, that’s what they are,” he grouses.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let a stupid freaky sea creature ruin our fun, yeah? We know that they exist now, and since you’ve seen one, you know what to look out for.” You hold out a hand. “We’ll be okay.”

Levi’s eyes drops towards your hand, clearly debating on whether or not he should take it. He’d been too shy to show any sort of physical affection towards you when Historia and his subordinates were also present, even though everybody was off-duty that day.

Now, though, there is nobody watching.

Just how the both of you like it.

Levi searches your face for a moment, before he quickly snatches up your hands, and takes another step into the water. A new wave rolls in, harder than the rest, and crashes against both of your calves, soaking the hems of his trousers and your skirt.

“See? All fine.”

Still holding onto your hand so tightly his knuckles begin to whiten, Levi scans the waters with narrowed eyes. “Mm hm.”

This won’t do. He’s still far too tense, far too on edge. What you wouldn’t give for him to be able to relax without feeling guilty about it. Concerned, you squeeze his hand.

“Hey. How about we get out of the ocean for a bit? You said we were going to stay here tomorrow for the actual anniversary too, so there’s absolutely no rush. For now, we can walk along the beach as far down as possible and then back up here again. The sun looks like it’s going to set soon too, so it won’t be too hot for us. You won’t have to worry about leaving Mercy alone for a short while, she won’t overheat.”

Bit by bit, the tension seeps out of him as he considers your offer. He squeezes your hand back.

You smile. “Let’s go.”

———

As you walk along the beach, two bright red, shelled creatures make you yelp as they abruptly cutting the two of you off in your tracks, scuttling sideways. You also come across the occasional pretty seashell that Levi offers to hold in his pocket, before eventually stumbling across a strange mass washed up on the sand.

Levi flings an arm in front of you. “Stop.”

“What the—” Realisation strikes you quickly. “Is that a jellyfish?”

He nods stiffly.

“So that’s what it looks like… well, you’re right. It is a weird-ass blob.”

“This one’s triple the size of the one Hange picked up.” Levi informs you in a whisper.

“Um, is it dead? It’s not meant to be out of the water, is it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.” Levi looks back out at the sea, tugging on your hand slightly as he slowly inches backwards. The sun is beginning to set. “Should probably turn back anyway.”

“We could just walk around the poor thing, if you want to keep going.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “But I don’t mind either way.”

He shakes his head, the tugging on your hand growing stronger. “It’s been too long since I’ve fed Mercy. And the sun is setting; we need to set up our tent before dark. Come on, let’s go.”

He’d fed his horse not long ago, but you just suppress a smile of endearment and let Levi eagerly steer you away from the beached jellyfish. You squeeze his hand in comfort, and he squeezes back in thanks.

As the sun sets, the sky burns. Above you lies every shade of red, orange and yellow imaginable. The sight is gorgeous.

But not more so than Levi himself.

You’ve always attested to his beauty, though he’s always quick to say otherwise. But if he could see himself today, alight from the sunset glow, you aren’t sure even he could deny that whatever higher forces are out there took their time shaping every feature of his to perfection.

And he says he’s the lucky one.

As the two of you walk, hand in hand, you both gradually drift sideways towards the ocean, until the two of you walk ankle-deep in water, feeling the sand get drawn in and out under your feet as the ocean ebbs and flows.

Despite his nerves from earlier, Levi had chosen to walk on your left side, the side exposed to the big expanse of ocean. Content to stroll in silence, to simply take in this beautiful feat of nature around you, you notice Levi looking out to the sea every now and then, admiring how the light glints off the waves. Even the curve of his cheek—which is all you can see when his head is turned away from you like this—just fills you with an inexplicable joy. As Levi looks back in front of him to see how much farther the two of you have to walk, you notice his expression is softer, content. Dare you say it: he’s happy.

“It’s really nice seeing you like this.” You murmur, voice barely audible above the breeze.

He looks back at you. “Hm? Like what?”

“Like you’re at peace.”

His breath hitches. At a loss for words, Levi’s pinky curls around yours as he looks back out at the ocean for a moment.

“I have you to thank for that.”

The words are accompanied with an awkward clearing of his throat and a blush so undeniable he could not possibly pin it on the reddish glow of the sunset.

“The last time I was here, it wasn’t like this. It was… All I could think about was…”

He pauses, exhaling harshly, as his feet come to a stop. You come around to face him, taking his other hand. In times like these, you’ve found it’s best to not say anything, to give him the room to gather his words. It’s hard for him to express his feelings and thoughts, and from the small glimpses of his past he’s revealed to you, it’s not difficult to see why. There is no room for vulnerability in the life he leads. And yet, he tries for you. You’re so incredibly proud of him, beyond what your own words could ever express.

“Hange and my squad were having the time of their lives. Armin’s dream to reach the ocean came true. But all I could think about was how everybody who didn’t live to see the ocean should have been there to see it. How much they would’ve loved this place, just like you do.” He swallows thickly. “Then Eren, that brat, he… he goes and ruins the mood for everybody else. He goes and reminds us all of what awaits on the other side of the ocean. As if we could ever forget.”

You remember reading the article about it in the papers. How your blood had gone cold. How faint you felt at the realisation that everything Levi and his comrades fought for, shed blood for, offered up their hearts and lives for, had been for a truth uglier than anyone could possibly imagine.

No. It’s not like you could forget either.

“And if that wasn’t enough, he goes and contemplates what it will take to finally reach the freedom he thought was beyond the ocean. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what his first thought was.”

You feel sick to your stomach. The hurt and shock on your face must be clear as day to him, for Levi shakes his head and pulls you in closer to him, a hand rubbing your back.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I just… before today, that was my first and last time seeing the ocean. This time… this time is better.” Voicing it makes him blush once more. He looks away again. “Much better.”

Reeling from his words, all you can do is bridge the gap and pull him in close for a hug. Inside, there is a sinking, sickening feeling that things are only going to get worse for the Survey Corps from now on.

You close your eyes. “I wish this could all be over,” you mumble into his shoulder. He’s warm under your touch. “You must be so tired.”

In response, he holds you tighter, his body melting into yours, and sighs.

———

On your way back, you feel Levi taking quick, stolen glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere. Every time you turn back to look at him, he’s whipped his head in the opposite direction and is looking out at the ocean, presumably to hide his blush.

You grin to yourself, and look in the opposite direction. Beyond the sand lies a more firm, grassy area with those unfamiliar-looking trees just like the ones you left Mercy under. You and Levi quickly agree that once you get back, you’ll go a little further inland to set up camp, since he’s wanting to avoid getting sand in the tent.

In your mind, you replace a patch of the grassland with a cosy cottage facing out towards the sea. You can almost hear the sounds of joyous laughter being carried by the wind: yours, Levi’s, and perhaps a third voice, much younger, much less burdened by the weight of the world.

The two of you make it back to where you started with still some daylight to spare. You give Mercy some water, and prepare dinner from the packed rations, whilst Levi, having proven himself capable since he does this every time he goes on an expedition, walks a little further inland and puts up the tent.

The moment you two crawl inside and lay down your sleeping bags, Levi presses a searing kiss to your lips. It isn’t long before his head is between your thighs, bringing you to the edge. Always willing to give. Your fingers weave through his silken hair, and tears of pleasure—tears only Levi has ever managed to draw from you—sting at the corner of your eyes.

When you come, he comes—untouched. And after the two of you gather yourselves and clean up, he’s looking at you ever so fondly, like he will never get the chance to look at you again.

“If I could give you the world,” you say, pulling him closer (it will never be close enough), “I would.”

“I don’t want the world,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, “I never have. I want you.”

———

Long after you’ve fallen into slumber, Levi lies awake, mind racing.

I want you.

He means it in every sense.

Out on the beach, walking beside you and admiring your breathtaking radiance, he’d come to a realisation he should’ve come to a long time ago: he wants to marry you. The question had lingered at the tip of his tongue the entire way back, but he had managed to hold back on asking you right there and then by looking away, catching his breath, letting his burning face cool with the breeze. He couldn’t let himself ask you in that moment. If he was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, he was going to do it properly, with a ring that shines as brightly as you do.

It’s kind of ironic, how this entire trip to celebrate your two-year anniversary as lovers, would’ve been the perfect time to propose, yet he’d been too slow to realise it until now. He decides that the moment he gets back to the Walls, he’s visiting the nearest jewellers.

He’s always been that way, Levi supposes. It had taken him years after your first meeting at that teashop to tell you how he’d felt, and he almost never told you at all. For so long, he had been convinced this could never be in the cards for him. Everybody he has ever loved meets the same tragic fate, and he’s scared that one day, you will too.

But if you ever do meet that fate, he knows in his heart of hearts he will never regret loving you.

He reaches over to pick up his pocket watch. It’s dark inside the tent, but his eyes have always been keen, and he can make out the positions of the hands.

Fifteen seconds to midnight.

He takes a moment to look down at you in fondness. Your cheek is squished against his chest, soft lips parted to let out slow and deep breaths, your arm loosely draped over his side, legs entangled with his.

Ten seconds to midnight.

He dares to mouth the words. Will you marry me?

As if in response, you snuggle up closer to him with a sleepy sigh.

Three, two, one.

“Happy anniversary,” Levi whispers, heart full, and closes his eyes.

Masterlist

#leviweek2023 #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman fluff #m/dni

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 10 months

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Omg i just read all of the angel and devil steddie au things you wrote and I AM OBSESSED! Literally you are so good at writing and I am so jealous that I’ll never experience this irl lol. Anyway thank you for making so many amazing pieces of writing!! :)

Could you write something where Eddie makes Steve watch him slowly tease and finger the reader, using his tendrils to keep Steve against the wall in a chokehold when he tries to come over and touch you? You get a bit worried, but Eddie says that he’ll let go of his grip on Steve once the reader cums a few times, so he makes the reader squirt and then Steve joins them and plays with her boobs and kisses her, then they fuck her until she’s overstimulated? Eddie’s degrading her and Steve’s praising her?

(Sorry if that didn’t make sense, also feel free to write it however you want, whatever sparks your creativity!)

Thanks! :)

a/n: oh my gooooddd I cannot tell you how hard it was not to write this into a whole, huge fic! if only I had all the time in the world...

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | devil & angel AU masterlist

“Come on, baby,” Steve attempted a slow exhale to calm the throbbing within his jeans, staring at you intently from his restrained spot across the room, “please cum. Do it for me. Let go so that I can come over there and have a taste, please.”

“Eddie,” you whined shakily in protest of the devil’s purposely feathery light touch over your still panty-clad cunt, tickling your throbbing clit so rudely that your whole body trembled in need of more.

Settled comfortably behind you, the doe eyes you tilted your head to flash the creature didn’t sway him one bit as his tongue simply flickered across his smirk, “what?” a condescending chuckle rippling through him, “what is it?”

“M-more Eds, please,” you whimpered in his arms, “I wanna cum so bad.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna cum, do you?” he taunted, not changing his teasing touch in the slightest, his stubby nails drawing slow circles over the agonisingly thin barrier covering you up, tickling the obvious wet spot to grow as he further drew your body into madness, “you wanna get off so that your precious little angel can get what he wants, huh?”

“Yes,” you nearly cried.

“You know what I think? I think you can cum from just this,” he purred, sucking your earlobe in past his lips, “hell, I think you could even squirt for me, soak those pretty little panties and show Steve just how much you want him inside of you,” you felt like clawing up the walls from just how intense and overwhelming the lightness of his touch felt, “come on, cum for him,” he breathed, his fluttering caress steady on your mess of a trembling form, “come on, you can do it,” not even truly realising how far his teasing had pushed you, your desperate moans didn’t register in your own ears as his airy petting conjured a warm trickle to slowly darken the cotton between your quivering thighs, “there you go, honey,” he chuckled as the gush itself had flown completely over your own head, “fuck…” he suddenly gave the sodden gusset a sharp tap, the clear contrast to the previous rude butterfly that had been his touch caused your whole body to jolt and additional squirt to sputter out, your whole centre literally dripping from your juices, “such a pretty fucking mess…”

Dazed, you peeked out of the crook of Eddie’s frame that had become your hiding spot, “c-can you let go of him now?”

His eyes briefly flickering up towards the angel enveloped in the familiar forceful and inky tentacles, his smirk then redirected to you, “if you cum for him twice in the next 5 minutes,” you felt his long fingers finally breach the waistband of your underwear, your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as you caught sight of the vision of his hand bulging underneath the drenched cotton, “then I’ll maybe consider it.”

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gartenofbanny · 10 months

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Alright, for some reason I actually typed an indepth review of Unhappy Campers because I didn't really have much else to do, so with that out of the way let's get started with the positives!

The Positives

Alright so now that the positives are out of the way let's get started with the negatives!

The Negatives

The Characters

The characters in this episode were all just infuriatingly insufferable to watch throughout the episode or were just painfully underwhelming. I'm gonna start off with the character I disliked the most in this episode and that's Moxxie.

Moxxie, as I said in a previous post, was honestly stupid, extremely sensitive, and legit wanted the attention of everyone in this episode. They had the clear opportunity to just solve the case and get it done, but Moxxie wants to roleplay with literal kids, wants to be well known, and use his solo mission as some detective game for some fucking reason. He gets mad at Millie just because she's getting the attention he wants where tf did this toxic behavior come from exactly? Moxxie is a hypocrite in this episode and Millie was 100% in the right to tell him off.

Oh yeah and I almost forgot, they made Moxxie physically weak again. Which I gotta ask why was he struggling against Barbie Wire and how tf did he not kill the human when he was fully capable of fighting and killing demons twice his size just an episode ago? Doesn't seem consistent now, does it?

Not to mention the writers did another "Moxxie gains confidence arc" AGAIN. Millie tells him to "play to his strengths" literally giving him the same damn advice she gave him IN HARVEST MOON it's just worded differently.

And for some reason, Moxxie is like a Blitzo dickrider in this episode. Why is Moxxie ecstatic when Blitzo gave him the solo mission? Why was Moxxie down in the dumps when Blitzo called him a disappointment? Moxxie in Season 1 wouldn't take that shit, what the hell happened? They made one of the more sufferable characters in Helluva Boss so insufferable.

Now onto Millie and this is going to be short. I am glad that Millie's getting a lot of screentime but this entire revelation where she likes being loved and respected because of her physical capabilities comes completely out of nowhere.

Millie has always been respected for her physical strength especially by Moxxie, but she wasn't this fixated on it. Where did this come from? Why is it that she's obsessed with fame over her physical capabilities? And what's even worse is that her fans don't even like Millie for her personality that much they mainly like her because of her looks and strength. It had no build up and Millie wasn't even affected in the slightest when all of that reputation she garnered was instantly flushed down the drain. It was just meaningless. Now that I think about it, I would appreciate the character arc more if it had some form of build up and Millie would actually reflect and talk about it later on. But I know she probably won't.

Now onto fucking Barbie Wire. Her screentime in this episode is 3 minutes and 16 seconds and the entire episode is 20 minutes and 18 seconds long excluding the credits. So there was more screentime of Blitzo and everyone he confronts MENTIONING her than there was actually showcasing her.

Barbie Wire is literally Blitzo but female design wise and disguise wise..she just looks like a human version of Velvette. Tell me you can't design characters without telling me you can't design characters, this is the second new character in a row that shares a physical similarity to a previously made character. I'd get why she looks exactly likes Blitzo but having her human form be extremely similar to Velvette's actual design is lazy as hell.

Barbie Wire is also a groomer too. I know that the counselor is technically an adult, but Barbie Wire is still using her body to manipulate him and adults are vulnerable to grooming. Plus it's still weird to me due to the age gape, Barbie Wire is in her 30s and the counselor is 18 to 19 years old. I bet you're all wondering how I got this info too, well Viv made a tweet about it. It wasn't stated in the episode that the person Moxxie and Millie were trying to kill was barely an adult leading many people to believe that Barbie Wire was a...cupcake eater.

Barbie Wire is revealed to hate Blitzo, do we know why? No, we do not and for some reason the writers decided to keep this part ambiguous. When we first saw Verosika Mayday at least it was revealed that she had a reason to hate Blitzo but we don't get that with Barbie Wire for some fucking reason. Overall Barbie Wire is underwhelming but also infuriating, I honestly thought that I could manage to like her going in this episode but it just couldn't work no matter how hard I tried. So we have to wait another couple of months or at most years for Barbie Wire to show up again so then we'd fully know why she hates Blitzo from her perspective.

Blitzo was honestly the least sufferable character mainly because he didn't have much screentime, I was honestly so happy. But then I realized why is it that Blitzo now wants to see Barbie Wire? The nurse over at the rehab told Blitzo that Barbie Wire checked out of rehab months ago, so why is it that Blitzo didn't visit her prior? He apparently wants to make amends and catch up to her but why? We're not given an explanation or even a reason. He wants to help Barbie Wire, why? How come he doesn't visit Fizzarolli or anyone else he had a past relationship with?

Blitzo complains to Barbie Wire for not keeping contact with him even though he had opportunities to actually talk to her. Then after he's confronted by Barbie Wire he immediately goes back to being regular old Blitzo. At least in Ozzie's Blitzo actually had some form of guilt, in this episode we don't see how Barbie Wire yelling at Blitzo even affected him all we see him do is just make the sad puppy eyes, that's it. What was the point in all of that if you're just gonna go back to the status quo? 💀

Anyway, somehow they managed to make all the characters bad or underwhelming. Idk how they achieved both with Barbie Wire, they need a medal for that one.

This episode is a waste of time

This episode in all honesty is a literal waste of time. Nothing has changed aside from the fact that Barbie Wire is out of rehab. You can skip this episode and miss nothing because this episode immediately goes back into the status quo regardless of all of the shit that happened. The only important thing in this episode is that Barbie Wire got out of rehab, but even then we'd know that information from a throwaway line. And what's even more frustrating is that this episode isn't a filler episode, it's a chronological episode with nothing that's relevant to the story.

More fucking questions

This episode as always raises a lot more questions than it does answers. With the main one being if Blitzo can find an Asmodean Crystal in a week then why does he even need the Grimoire? The Asmodean Crystal has more use to them regarding their business and actually gives them human forms. Next question is how come Barbie Wire didn't cover up her tattoos so nobody would find her? How did Blitzo recognize Barbie Wire in her human disguise instantly? Was the counselor aware that Barbie Wire was a demon the entire time? There's just so many questions but no canonical answers.

Too many plots

This episode juggles around three plots. Moxxie and Millie killing their target, Millie getting famous while Moxxie tries to get famous, and Blitzo finding Barbie Wire. This could've easily been split into two episodes have the Moxxie and Millie plot one episode, reveal that Barbie Wire is the one selling and smuggling the heroin then have the next episode dedicated to Blitzo finding Barbie Wire and trying to talk her out of selling drugs with Barbie Wire revealing why she doesn't like Blitzo throughout the episode.

But instead the episode just jumps from one scene to the next. Moxxie trying to get famous while also trying to go inside the shed, Millie loving her fame, and Blitzo trying to find Barbie Wire. It's especially apparent when Barbie Wire vs Blitzo and Moxxie is always halted to show Millie's fucking performance. Like holy fucking shit we don't need to see Millie perform, show the important fucking part.

Barbie Wire is confronted, cuts to Millie using her rizz, then it cuts back to Barbie Wire being confronted.

This is definitely an Adam Neylan episode because it's always the episodes he writes that has these amount of plots in one episode.

The..jokes

This is honestly the last thing I wanted to touch up on because the jokes in this episode are not even funny and honestly disturbing most of the time. I'll name the three worst ones.

The camp is called Camp Ivannakummore and it's a camp filled with preteens and children. Let that sink in.

Moxxie wants to be famous around kids and starts crying because he isn't even though he's in his 30s. I'm pretty sure that they were doing the "high school nerd trying to be famous" trope, but it doesn't work because Moxxie isn't in the same fucking age range as these kids. It's like if an adult disguised as a teenager tries to go back into their peak high school years by going into some random high school and starts doing some fucking musical.

This is like the worst joke in this episode by far. Fornication between demons disguised as minors that are also disguised as siblings in front of a crap ton of other minors. What is this, Rick and Morty? Did Dan Harmon write this joke?

Conclusion

This episode in my opinion is the worst episode to me. The characters weren't likable or just flat-out boring, there were too many plots, and even then it led to nothing in the future, none of the jokes made me laugh or even chuckle, and it was honestly very painful just dragging myself through this episode. Unhappy Campers has all the worst aspects of Helluva Boss in the span of 21 minutes. And it was just very very painful to even sit through. I honestly don't think I would've missed anything if I didn't watch this episode because that's what it feels like, a nothing episode that managed to make me mad.

Anyway, thank you all for reading and I hope you all have a nice day! ❤️

#helluva boss #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #helluva critical #vivziepop #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #helluva criticism #helluva critique

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 6 months

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Non BL Fan watches Only Friends - Part III (Part I) (Part II)

So Neely finished Only Friends. To say they didn't enjoy it would be a massive understatement. So much so, that I ended up feeling guilty for persuading them to watch it. Which is silly of course, as they kept reminding me, but I can't help it. If anyone manages to read all of this you'll understand. They did enjoy writing about it though, specially in a more casual tone than they're used to. They wrote as soon as they finished so it's kinda raw and personal because of their own personal feelings. i always check with them before I post to make sure they're okay with everything, and they were. There's a freedom about writing from a personal place when you don't know who's gonna read it, that even though this space is anonymous always gives me pause and stopped me from writing about this show. They didn't have such concerns.

Because this is the last one, it's the longest one, so just skip to the conclusion for a broader view on the show as a whole.

Neely's final thoughts on Only Friends

I think it’s worth to preface whatever is coming next here by saying I think I am in general, and specifically at the moment, for personal reasons, particularly sensitive to coupledom and the social pressures to belonging in one. This feels relevant to preface, because it has been the main thing that kept reverting back to me during my time watching the series. It felt almost like it was punishing me as I watched it. This was the thing that, despite not really connecting so deeply with any of the characters, made me shed a tear at the end of the last episode, as everyone celebrated their built Hostel, and the scorned-slut doesn’t even deserve a passing mention. Boston was erased, made completely invisible, he left no mark, he was the rock that fell in the centre of the lake and there were no ripples, because he refused to assimilate.

And, just like him, I didn’t belong either, no part of the moral and main journey of this story was for me. It made it very clear why, and how, they thought I deserved to be excluded. It wasn’t like the world was there but I didn’t quite find my place, wasn’t like I couldn’t connect but I was welcome to try to, it wasn’t awkward in that way; it was more like I was very purposefully being denied access to it. It wasn’t the awkwardness of being in a new place and not quite fitting in, it was a fairly explicit violence of “we do not want you here”. And I know Boston was a horrible character, the villain, there was pretty much nothing he did right over the course of this, and with that, he did deserve some sort of punishment, we could argue he did deserve to be fully left out. But I’m more concerned with who created and wrote him, who also created and wrote the other characters, and why this is where we end up, why it was decided that Boston was the one person that did not deserve to exist and repent in this Universe. He was incurable. The cruelty of the hostel they’ve built together, and the series itself, being called Only Friends, and ending with this really pointed exclusion - it floored me. He’s not a friend, because he’s a slut. It’s such a harsh, morally-superior ending; I felt stepped and spat on. But I have to say, it did not surprise me in the slightest, as this is the world they’ve carefully built throughout the 12 episodes. The cherry on top being that Jennie and her partner have been made part of the group. The slut is cleansed and a new couple enters. Could we be more obvious, writers? And this, not to get all political, is honestly one of the most unqueer messages a show could wrap itself in.

Boston: I will start here since I mentioned him, but I don’t really know what to say. But also just typing this first sentence, I know it’s gonna be the longest section. I think it’s careless, problematic, deeply biased, I wanna even say dangerous, to write a character in this way. To explicitly say: this is the one person in our world that deserves no redemption, that will have no opportunity to repent, that deserves no future.

It wasn’t enough that he went after Top from the start, when that story line was exhausted and culminated, what do we do with him? How could we make him get even worse? How can we punish him even further for his ways? - Oh, make him have sex with a friend’s younger brother.

Why was that storyline even there, aside from just hammering even more into the audience that slut=bad? Brother didn’t even matter beforehand, he was written fully into the show to come and tell us how bad Boston is. Yes, Brother lied, and we get a mild relief that we are not going to go with Boston as a criminal, but to follow fucking your friends Boyfriend with fucking your friends younger brother, consensually or not, is a bad bad move. And the show is telling us: bad bad slut, sluts are bad bad. And the show does this without ever giving us a context for why he is so careless, why he keeps fucking up - because that doesn’t matter in this world.

In this universe, in Boston’s case alone, past trauma or situations don’t matter, his biggest sin is being a slut (which as I said about the 4 past episodes, isn’t even a good word to describe him). Top get’s a more or less fleshed out fire trauma, Ray gets a consistent referring back to dead mother and complicated family; Boston we know is in the closet to his family, and is stressed about protecting his dad’s campaign, but never does the show try to use this to justify his behaviour like it does with the other characters traumas and backgrounds. For the show, it’s enough that Boston is a slut; for that fact alone, he deserves being written as culprit into almost every single horrible act contained in this series. After all of this, and after being completely shunned by his friend group and ending completely alone, he gets 20minutes of being shown to us as a person with feelings, with emotions, with struggles and remorse (BUT ONLY WITHIN A ROMANTIC PAIR, cause this is the sole context in this universe where one can truly exist); but not for long, don’t forget he is a slut - and what are sluts? BAD BAD - of course he will lie to Nick and literally hook up with someone (i refuse to acknowledge that ridiculous characters existence) DURING their date. I just found this disgusting, kinda revolting, and it’s genuinely been a while that I’ve felt so upset at a media portrayal. My hopes for media portrayals of queerness isn’t very high, but Boston - wow. It is heartbreaking to think that even queer creators think of us in this way. There were very faint moments I found endearing in the short stint of his relationship with Nick. Such as their conversation in the bench, after Boston cheats with Boeing (don’t get me started on this lazy-ass-writing-slutty-exboyfriend-deus-exmachina insert…….) it hinted ever so slightly at who Boston is - that he has opened himself to romance but potentially wants an open relationship; and I think Nick’s reaction wasn’t judgemental, but just well practiced boundaries, which the character needed. “it’s cool this is who you are, but this is not who I am”. We could’ve had that earlier, as part of a wider Boston redemption plot, but again.. slut=bad, no redemption possible. But they kinda closed their connection okay, I guess. With the friends, he is not even fully given a shot at apologizing. We get a really crushing goodbye scene where he is allowed in one last time, but where very clearly he is left out socially and emotionally. The single one in the group, whereas the others have found their final destination in coupledom. Their memories as friends don’t matter to shit, their whole lives together until that moment don’t matter to shit. Boston doesn’t belong anymore, he’s been deleted and made invisible already - and the reason he doesn’t isn’t due what he did: Top was given time and space to repent, Chueam has forgiven Boston for the brother situation, Ray has been absolved, even Sand has forgiven Top, everyone that has now paired-up deserves forgiving. But Boston, nope. Boston is not being judged and put aside based on his betrayals and mistakes. As it is reminded to us, by showing Boston messaging Nick, Boston doesn’t belong because he has refused to partner up. Everyone has moved-on, ascended, to their coupled-up states, and Boston, the selfish, egocentric, with no feelings or care for anyone, has refused to: so he has to go. Once again, romance is given all the avenues to repent itself, to reinvent itself, to flourish and last in the face of all mistakes; but friendship is disposable. A whole life of friendship that doesn’t even deserve an honest conversation in an attempt at forgiveness (Boston) VS a few weeks or months of dating that deserved all the space to repent itself (Top).

As I watched this scene, I just kept thinking how, had Boston accepted monogamy with Nick, this whole group dynamic would be different. They would’ve been laughing all together, Boston wouldn’t have been left out awkwardly checking his phone. I am almost sure even that Mew would’ve accepted Boston’s apology, and given him time to re-gain his trust. Because if tamed by a relationship with Nick, Boston could be trusted to not jump on Top. But single, and slutty, he is a danger to be controlled and never trusted. slut=bad, never forget. So, closing on Boston, I just really hope he is happy in NYC, and hope he has managed to escape the totalitarian puritan prison the writers have set this universe in.

Nick: shortly…I wasn’t a fan of him going back to Boston for that period, but I do think generally he had a good character growth. Probably the most meaningful character growth for me, due to ending up alone, and having set such good boundaries with Boston which was his biggest weakness. All the other character growths are very weirdly edged into promises to their loved ones, and they generally feel less honest and less long lasting to me, but Nick felt like he really grew and learned for himself. And I was happy for him. He deserved that. (side-note: what happened to the older boss he was boyfriends with for a moment? It was weird how he just disappeared. I’m happy they gave Nick time to be single and think about his needs and wants as a solo person. I really didn’t expect that from the show, I thought they would clump him into some happy half-arsed relationship with this boss. But this said, Nick did basically take two boyfriends at once, we weren’t given a scene in which he talks to the other guy, so I would like to know what happened, did Nick just ghost this guy after saying they’re together?) AND THE SHOW SHOULD’VE HAD SO MUCH MORE SCENES LIKE NICK AND SAND CAMPING!! Honestly these two were the only friendship shown on screen, they were so endearing, and every small moment we got of them interacting as friends was when the show felt genuine and loving. Of course the show had to interrupt this with the unexpected and unboundaried arrival of RayMANCE.

Sand & Ray: Listen I’ve gotta stan them because otherwise I will just hate everything. I think they are sweet together, they are the only chemistry I could genuinely feel, the way they communicate is amazing, and Sand is the cutest. They’re the couple goals for me in this series.

But I’m not happy with these last 4 episodes, or should I say 8. So much unnecessary back and fourth drama to then end us at a place where they were already close to being at the start of their relationship. Yea, Ray is aware of his drinking and trying to stop, because abracadabra magic of romance or whatever, but so what? I think it’s a disservice to Ray that Mew had to be the one breaking up with him; he deserved to have agency over his own healing from trauma, and his own moving on. And Mew deserved to be rejected, and not having everyone eating from his hand, for once in this series. Even if they had to have this weird awkward bad fling moment, I wish Ray had been the one telling Mew at the hospital that he picked Sand. Sand deserved to be picked, as much as Ray deserved to undo himself of his own insecurity that Mew was so tied into. It weakens the Sand Ray connection for me, that Mew kinda gave the first push to make Ray pick Sand.

But overall, I’m happy with Sandray’s reunion, and I think the ending gave us some good friend moments between Mew and Ray that I was glad to see too, I guess.

I also think Ray’s conclusion is a huge disservice to a story line about addiction, and again borderline dangerous. Tying sobriety and a rehab process to someone else, going sober for someone else, is literally 101 no no rules of AA and most recovery processes. And I know there’s like two lines in Sand and Ray’s convo about this, where Sand mentions he has to do it for himself, but that’s not what happens in any way. To wedge your well being on someone being with you, to put this weight on the relationship itself, and also put your health balanced on it back, it is incredibly precarious, unfair on the other person, and dangerous to you and others.

And it's more than studied that the chances of relapse when people attempt to stop addictions in this way, is much higher than when they are led to a path of loving themselves first, and sobering up for themselves first. So in my head, Ray didn’t repent, heal or grow; I thought he genuinely would with the therapy scene and everything but, I don’t trust it. He will go back to drinking as soon as him and Sand have an argument or disagreement; just like he did when “the-one-i-will-not-mention”, Sand AND Top’s ex, shows up. But again, this show shits on everything that isn’t a couple. This show never cared about Ray or his health or happiness, it cares about SandRay; just like it never cared individually about any other character, it cared about them WITH their "other-halves”.

Not much to say about Sand himself. I love him, he’s my show crush, and he did pull me through the worst moments, and there were many, as I watched this imho badly conceived mess of a show with a depressing message.

He is consistent, he is a good friend, a loving partner, he communicates well, he fucks up but owns up to it, he apologises, he cares. I was too done with the show antics to care about the whole Ray’s dad paying him or not paying him to force Ray into rehab, I thought that was stupid and unnecessary to add to their plot. So many better ways to explore their class dynamics, which they’d already kinda done to varying levels of success throughout the series.

And I feel similarly with Sand’s ex, that I shall not be mentioning. Just weird filler stories that took up screen time when we could’ve tied ends better, shown more general character growth overall, or idk, wild, but giving the designated shameful slut of this series, Boston, some more episode time to really repent and heal. I think there was a nice potential parallel in Sand and Ray’s differing relationships with their dads, that could’ve also been explored sweetly and used to grow their connection and maybe cause drama even, that I was interested in; but it wasn’t really pursued properly or given a closure. But, that’s all. They win, especially Sand, but in the context of this series that’s not something I’d be bragging about if I was them.

Top & Mew:

I feel like you’ll want me to talk about them and contrarily to this show I like my friends and wanna make an effort for you. But genuinely I couldn’t care less about them, which is also what complicated me watching the show as they were very clearly the main characters. I don’t know, they have no chemistry for me as a couple, I could never convince myself into believing they were together, or that they loved each other, or found each other desirable. I don’t think this is about the acting, but just the way they were written, and the specific troupe they represent which I find so common in gay media: the virgin, or the straight-edge, who melts the heart of, and drastically changes, the player.

I think everything about their storyline was textbook. I’m terrible with remembering names of things but so many times I’ve sat through this over and over again, in very very similar ways, and all of them have this air of judgement. I think, as I said before, the virgin insert, the pure insert, the straight-edge insert, is a plot point to allow judgement on queerness, and that’s the role that Mew takes, and consequently, Top too, once he gets assimilated enough to be accepted into being a couple.

Mew is just kinda there for the whole time, being pure and pristine, being naive, young, untouched, virgin, and things happen to him, at the hand of these horrible, vicious, drunk, sex-driven, cock-hungry gays. I felt so consistently like I was being told to go “oh no, poor Mew”; but I just wanted to go “fuck you you entitled little b—-“. There was for me a consistent taint of manipulation and coercion in his interactions with others, this weaponisation of holding, this overt playing the victim, that I just could not take. I think this is seen with Ray for most of their connection, with Top, and with how he gets revenge on Boston.

There is a small moment of acknowledgement with Ray when they decide to be just friends, at the hospital, but still… I guess there’s also a little hint that Mew fucked up when he plots with the one I won’t mention, the toy-airplane gifter, the ex of everyone and their dog, that appeared magically our of nowhere to create plots I did not need. But I don’t think this was enough. The whole thing read too much to me like we should see Mew as a victim, but I couldn’t do that; he annoyed me quite a bit most of the time, and I just kinda was counting down the minutes for him not to be on screen. I think Top didn’t really have a redemption arc, but I can see why in the context of the show it’s understood as that by all the other characters. I guess he showed his love or commitment to Mew alone and that’s all that matters apparently, but I think his main issues are more into his controlling tendencies in relationships, monogamous and committed or not, and none of that was addressed. He continues to be weird and jealous about Ray for lord knows why, he has this weird macho ew reaction to being kissed by Sand during Truth or Dare at the end that also just shows me he is a creep; he does this huge manipulation plot to get Mew to move in with him, by bringing it up several times when Mew wanted to think, and even re-planning the house and making sad pup face and voice when confronted with Mew saying he isn’t sure. And then he wants to be the sugar daddy, or own his coffee shop, insert himself into all aspects of Mew life, but always holding the power side. Their power dynamics are just problematic for me here, and I kept getting the kind of ick feeling about him, and the relationship. To me, Mew still feels more like a trophy to Top, something he wants to own, as this amulet that proves he is not a slut anymore, a player anymore; it doesn’t seem to me like a genuine connection, and definitely not a loving one.

Even the fire scene at the end, which I felt should’ve been this emotional tying together moment, this metaphor that now Top isn’t alone anymore, felt kind of weird and off to me, especially as Top then has to go check on the staff and Mew is left alone, there, waiting, like.. an object left on the shelf? Maybe I’m being harsh, and maybe I forgot core parts of their relationship and storyline because they really did just bore me, I felt nothing, and I zoomed out at times and only in their scenes because I found them bland and I couldn’t take the predictability of their fates.

Chueam: I’m mostly adding this section as a protest and a wish that I’d been given more to say about her. I stand by all I said in what I sent you about the last episodes. I think she plays the classic woman insert in a gay male series, the balance, the good friend and stable partnered, the moral compass, the mother figure of the group. She doesn’t have anything aside from her relationship to the men, or family, or partner we barely hear from. Even the last scene before the men go to watch the fireworks and the women stay at home, it feels so parent-kids coded: the way April and Chueam are at the door, waving their kids goodbye somehow. IDK. it had very strong semiotics of parents waving their kids bye to prom. I wish we had seen more of them, I wish something had happened for them that wasn’t related to the messy gays. She was fun, and attentive, she worked hard, she cared for family and friends consistently, and it seemed like she had a healthy relationship with kinda funny quarrels between them (like her not liking Aprils films is funny to explore no?!). I would’ve loved to be allowed to witness them more. I wanna know what she allowed herself to dream of. She deserved so much more. I’d trade out the unnecessary brother-fucking storyline for something about her. I’d trade out Sand getting offered money to take Ray to rehab for something more about her. I’d trade out Top and Mew still broken up but playing family with Mew’s mums for something more about her. (even tho I liked the older generation lesbian representation. A dinner party between Chueam and them??? I’d fund that spin-off.) I’d trade out the whole ex of the world, deus ex-machina, sudden drama insert for no reason, airplane model named character, every single appearance and storyline for something more about her. I’d honestly probably trade out both Top and Mew as a whole to a focused storyline on Chueam and April. Well… maybe Boston should’ve just never existed if he was gonna be trashed unfairly like he was from this Universe unrepented, and we could’ve just had more Chueam from the start.

(aaaand yes I wasn’t gonna talk about Boeing because I think adding him was just lazy writing and unnecessary and I basically ignored any kinda plot he created because it added nothing to the story in the end aside from being episode filler. I already don’t like when series bring a random ex without motivations just to cause drama, so I really eye-rolled at him being the ex of two character and not only causing drama on both sides, but also coming to stick the last knife on our already tortured scorn-slut lol. But oh well, I enjoyed having him shirtless on my screen though.)

Anyway, I finished and I am done: This show left me angry and terribly sad and feeling a bit like I was being hated on for absolutely no reason. I am not emotional about it aside from my couple of tears at the ending, cause I ultimately have more to do than care about this guy’s opinion on the world and of me I guess, but eye-roll.

In all honesty and without wanting to cancel anyone, I think this is a deeply irresponsible piece of media, queer nonetheless. It comes across queer phobic to me, this type of queer support that is waged on queers assimilating to how heteronormative society has lived and predominantly lives. It discriminates not about who you love or want to have sex with, but how you want to relate to people and how you want to claim agency over your sexuality and life. I just don’t understand why this is what you would choose to put out into the world, but i guess this was made to shock. And maybe that’s the start of the problem. Its the equivalent to the point of view where “it’s okay if you’re gay, as long as you’re seeking a husband” kind of rhetoric. The wide-plethora of queer identities and relationship styles are burned at the fire. And I’m not asking for the almost circus superficial tick-list of representational politics that western media is on the verge of becoming, and I’m really trying to hold on to some sensitivity that cultural context is very different. But I think what they’ve done is shitty and damaging beyond that. I am not saying I needed a liberated slut Boston on a 6 people polycule, or that I needed an open relationship or anything. You could have most people end up in couples and others end up alone but happy, in a way that didn’t need to include the absolute and nearly consecutive and relentless shaming of hook-ups, of any sort of personal desire that doesn’t include 1-1 romantic coupledom, the relentless punishing of every character that dreams a little different, and the consistent disregard and deprioritising of any connection and interaction that isn’t romantic. It’s just a bit lazy and shitty to me.

Chocomilk, the other BL you showed me a while ago, also was intensely focused on romance, as I guess BL is in general, but friendships were there, other non-romantic interactions were there without being judged or outshone. And I think this is true to most media right, the romantic love often takes centre stage. I really think and hope I’m taking this in consideration when complaining about this show - I don’t think its the only show to blame of course, but it felt more intense here, more pointed and much much more judgemental. Maybe because there really was such little care to every other relationship and interaction aside from romance, because every redemption (or lack of), every character improvement was ultimately based on the fact that they were now romantically involved with one significant other; but also of course, Boston’s ending and general storyline, which has been the most direct and relentless attack on a choice of living and relating to others sexually, that I’ve seen on TV in a long long time. This I have to say, I found really shamefully irresponsible. Ultimately I think the writing in this is lazy and shock based, I think they supported themselves on having famous actors and put them in situations that would shock and cause commotion to an audience that already knows and likes those people. It wasn’t about character building or journey cause we got little of that. From my perspective, and my little context, it was about putting famous BL faces doing things that aren’t usually very BL for the simple point of being shocking and different, rather than for good narrative and story purposes.

So we are left with a story that makes little sense, and to me just feels like a messy manifesto against sexual freedom.

The End

Well that's over. If you've made it to the end, thanks for reading.💜

I'll tag some people that left comments last time or reblogged. @doyou000me @summerfullofsnow @o-nao-lugar @lurkingshan @italianpersonwithashippersheart @mygwenchan however don't feel any obligation to read or comment

#rose and neely ramble #only friends the series #only friends meta #thai bl #ofts #only friends

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