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runningfrom2am · 24 days

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cold nights // part thirty-two

summary: the end.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

the end!! omg!!guys thank you so much for being here through this whole story and this was LONG!! over 110k words of a lot of nonsense but to anyone who's made it this far,, ilysm. i'm gonna miss them!! stop they were everything to me :(

ANYWAY same with LTPF if you've read that, there will be an epilogue coming soon and also definitely more oneshots and maybe bonus content that i wish i included in the original series but just didn't make the cut. so stay tuned for that!!

if you liked this series, i'm obligated as well to plug my NEXT series that's coming soon, 'requiem'!! i am so excited about it so please follow me for updates on when that will be posted!! def soon!!

just one more time i wanted to say ily, and thank you :')

see you soon!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

You keep your books tucked firmly to your chest as you walk into your first class, wearing the spare clothes you brought to Sejanus's house on Friday just in case you had to change. In case you spilled something on your white dress, or just felt the need to change- ironically enough.

Your normal seat in the front centre of the room is obviously free, considering also that you were quite early this morning. You had some readings you needed to catch up on anyway, in order to be prepared for midterms which were apparently coming up quickly.

It isn't long after you open your book before others begin to shuffle in, and much to your surprise, you feel the chair next to you pull back and see someone sit down. "Hi, Victor." The boy's voice says, forcing you to look up from your book.

Dark hair and dark eyes, you think you remember his name was Cancor. "Oh, my name is Y/N." You correct him kindly, adjusting nervously in your seat.

"I know that." He says, eyes merely slits as he seems to look past your own eyes and into your soul.

"You're... You're Cancor, correct? I don't believe we've properly met." You add, sitting up straighter.

"Crane." He states. "My last name is Crane."

"That's... yes that's a lovely name." You smile nervously, unsure what to say but still wanting to fill the silence he seemed so comfortable with. "Alliteration is such a fun thing to consider when naming a child..."

"It means spider." He states. "Did you ever meet my sister?" He asks, ignoring your nervous ramblings.

"No, no I don't believe I have. What is her name?" You ask.

"Arachne." The boy says, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly while you take a moment to wrack your mind to place it. He's acting as if you should know her, and suddenly you feel like you do.

You tilt your head slightly, allowing the memory to hit you like a freight train.

The funeral.

All you really remembered until now was being chained to a truck and paraded down the street you now recognize as the Corso, the body of his sister's tribute swinging above you while people screamed and cursed at you. Then, Coryo sang the national anthem.

"Oh, yes. Of course." You nod slightly, a frown settling over your features. "I am so sorry for your loss. Truly."

"No, you're not." He spits. "You don't care, and the fact that you're pretending to is just vile. She meant less than nothing to you and those animals- otherwise, she would still be here!"

You stammer, pushing yourself back in your seat as you grip the bottom of the chair. "No, no- I am sorry, I am. That should not have happened. It- It was horrible."

"Cancor." You silently thank the universe for your professor's quick intervention. "If you wouldn't mind returning to your usual seat and leaving Miss Y/L/N alone."

"We were just talking." Cancor replies, suddenly sweet as honey- cool and collected as if he wasn't just berating you over your faults in his sister's death.

"Go." Dr. Nero tells him again, nodding up toward the back of the lecture hall. "Before I am forced to ask you to leave."

The boy sighs in quiet frustration, slightly aggressive about his movements as he grabs his bag and stomps up the stairs.

You look up to your professor who greets the look with a curt nod and the smallest of sympathetic smiles.

It does nothing to quell the lightness you feel that usually signifies the trembling of your hands, which would soon spread. You close your eyes trying to take deep breaths that wouldn't come, but all you can see is the bodies of Arachne Crane and her tribute by the bars that had separated them. You have to open your eyes to remind yourself you aren't standing in the street, wrists still shackled to a truck. You can feel the chains weighing your wrists down to the desk as you think about it. You had almost entirely forgotten about the whole event- and the guilt of that was suddenly clawing its way up your throat. Cancor had never had the privilege of forgetting the way you had.

Quickly, you shove your books into your bag and stand, heading for the door. "Y/N." Dr. Nero's voice forces you to stop and you just turn to look at him, knowing full well you're unable to speak. "It's 8:58."

You nod slightly, looking down at the marble flooring that lay between you. "Start without me." You mumble, not giving him the chance to respond before you're leaving, accidentally bumping shoulders with some of the final students to enter.

You hadn't missed a single class yet, attendance was important, but right now you couldn't care less. Why should you even have the privilege of attending classes at the university in place of some of the academy's brightest minds who never got the chance? Like Arachne, and the three other mentors who were killed because of the games. You knew it wasn't necessarily your fault, but you understood Cancor's anger being directed at you. In a twisted way, you felt like you deserved it. They were meant to survive, you never were. Yet, here you were- a walking reminder to those students' friends and families that for some reason, they had to lose someone they shouldn't have.

You quickly pace down the nearly empty hall, trying to hold back your tears as long as you could. Feeling like you can't breathe is making it exponentially harder, and you wonder how you even walked out of the arena as it was. Adrenaline is a crazy beast- and you wished you had some leftover now. Sometimes, in moments like this, you wonder if you had used up your life's supply of the chemical the last time you were here in the Capitol.

Coryo was already running late after spending probably far too long conversing with your brother in the car, but he couldn't resist taking a detour into the arts building. He would just pass through, past your room just to glance inside and see if you were really there. Just to get a look at you.

He doesn't need to, though, turning a corner and just catching a glimpse of your hair as you disappear with a left turn at the end of the corridor. He was sure it was you.

Walking past your classroom he looks anyway, just to double-check, and as he suspected, you were gone.

He quickens his pace, taking advantage of his height difference over you to try and catch up with more rushed steps. "Y/N?" He calls out as he turns the same corner, but you're already hidden from view and the door at the far end of the hall is slamming shut.

As he continues down the corridor, a furrow knits its way into his brow. You must be headed to where you normally eat lunch, that is all that would make sense.

Without thinking, he follows. The courtyard is almost empty, aside from your frame curled up on the grass, knees tucked to your chest and bag discarded halfheartedly beside you on the damp grass. The sun casts a shadowed glow where it isn't blocked by trees or buildings in its path of rising, the grass is wet under his shoes as he quickly approaches you.

"Hey- hey, Y/N/N, it's me." He calls out as he walks up behind you. You turn your head, and then stand quickly.

"It- It's okay. I'm fine." You stammer, wiping your cheeks frantically. "You should g-go, you're already late."

"I'm not leaving you like this." He shakes his head, holding a hand out toward you as you avoid his eyes. "Tell me what happened, love. Talk to me."

You shake your head, shoulders backed to an invisible wall as you hold your palms over your face. You can't look at him right now- especially right now, when all you want is for him to hold you.

"You're okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He whispers, taking a hesitant step closer. By now, you know full well he wouldn't hurt you. Not in the way he's saying, at least.

"You should go." You choke over the words that feel heavy in your mouth.

"Y/N, love, I told you, I'm not going anywhere." He repeats calmly.

"I want to go home." You sob. "I shouldn't have won, I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be alive!" You say, voice picking up in frustration. "It's not fair. Nothing is fair, nothing."

He frowns as you lower your hands, clenching your fists at your sides. "Of course, you should be here."

"You don't get it!" You snap, and you hardly even sound like yourself.

This was it. This was your breaking point.

Coryo is taken back by your outburst, almost flinching at the abruptness of your shift. He had never seen you angry- he didn't even know it was possible. Of course it was. He'd spent all this time, all this energy trying to convince people that you were human. Anger comes with that, hand in hand like your cat and the fur that's clinging to his clothes at this very moment. You couldn't have one without the other. "Then explain it to me." He urges you, trying to sound anything other than defensive.

Your eyes soften, as if you're suddenly realizing that your anger was not entirely placed on him. You shake your head. "It's not... I cannot explain it and that is the worst part." You sigh, but the rage flashes in your eyes again as you look down. "Why was it me and not any of them? Why did so many of your classmates have to die? Why did Marcus escape only to face a worse fate than the rest of us, when he tried to help me too? Why am I enrolled at this stuffy university when my spot belongs to Arachne Crane in rights?"

"Arachne Crane?" Coryo mutters, eyes widening with confusion while he wonders where on earth that came from. He shakes his head quickly to dismiss the thought. "Marcus tried to save you, yes, that could have been you who escaped, that's true- but you were too busy trying to save me. And you did." He knows better than to accuse you of regretting that. He knows you don't.

When you don't reply, just staring at him head on now, frustrated and confused, he continues. "If we're going by this unexplainable logic of the universe, I think that it was you because instead of saving yourself, you saved me. And you did it again in the arena, when you went back for Jessup when I was looking at the screen and begging you silently to just ditch him. Same exact thing when you tried to get little Wovey up into the rafters with you, and hell! When you stared down the barrel of my gun, shaking head to toe from fear just to save the life of the Mayor's daughter, who was nothing but awful to everyone!" He says, gesticulating wildly to get his point across. "I've been trying to tell you for months, Y/N. It was you because you are the only person in this whole damn country who cares about someone other than themselves."

You just shake your head, and it's frustrating to him that you're unwilling to accept what he knows to be true. "It didn't work." You sniff. "You're the only one who survived me."

"Listen to me," Coryo says, reaching out and holding your face in his hands- throwing caution to the wind regarding how he knows to handle your panic attacks. "I survived because I had to learn how to love you."

You look into his eyes, flitting your own back and forth between them in an attempt to place any signs of deception. Blue, baby blue. You find none.

"And I did. And I'll love you every day for the rest of our lives. I don't want you to think for a minute that I'm embarrassed by that fact." Your eyes are squeezed shut by the time he finishes speaking, his thumbs swiping over the tear stains left down your cheeks by anger.

"It's not your fault." You mumble, shaking your head under his hold. "I do not fault you for being embarrassed."

"I'm not." He says again. "Look at me, please, love."

You pry your eyes open to face him.

"I've... I've had all this pressure my whole life to be perfect, and now it's worse than ever and I should have never let that get pushed onto you. I want you to be happy, that's all. I want you to be free to do whatever you want, and right now, the cost of that comes with who we are in public. Do you understand?"

"Yes." You say softly, but he can see that's not fully true.

"Here, in the Capitol, everything is a social ladder. We cannot marry who we wish, we marry who we should. Rarely ever do kids here date for fun."

"Like Lucy Gray and the silly mistakes she made over and over again with Billy Taupe." You comment, trying to lighten the tension you feel radiating off his body.

"Yes." He chuckles, smiling hopefully at you, relieved that you understood. "But I want nothing more on this earth than for you to be the one I spend my life with. I want to make you happy, but first, in order to do that, you have to be someone that they will accept. And I am so, so sorry I didn't explain this to you sooner, but I want you to know I've never wanted you to change."

"We don't need them to like me to be happy. That will be an endless uphill battle, Coryo." You shake your head slightly, placing your hands over his as they slide down onto your neck.

"It will be uphill but we can do it." He assures you quickly. "You're already well-liked, we're-"

"Were you not happy in Twelve?" You ask, a sad look in your eyes.

He stops, tilting his head slightly at you. He was happy in Twelve, now that he considers it. He hadn't thought about it, he was so focused on hating everything but you that he just assumed it was awful, but really, it wasn't. Not in hindsight."Is that what you want?"

You smile in response. No one had asked in months what you wanted. What you really wanted.

"What do you want, love? I'll pack up and move us back to Twelve tomorrow if that's what you really want." He says again, nothing short of desperation in his tone.

Faced with the option, you're really not sure. Yes, of course, you'd like to go home. It was very tempting. But Coryo was right, this education was important. You imagine for a moment the life you could have back home if you stuck it out a few more years. And maybe by then, you'll be better accepted here. Maybe by then, the Capitol will be a different place, and you'll be truly happy here. With him, and he will have the power to make the games go away.

"No, no." You shake your head. "I want to do something splendid...something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it and mean to astonish you all someday." You say, and he can tell from your change in notation that the words are not your own. It was something new, unlike what he had heard from you before. He smiles. "I want to be with you, first and foremost."

"You'll always be with me. Where you go, I follow." He assures you. "I was happy in Twelve, if only because I had you."

"That should not be enough, though." You insist.

"It has been for you, hasn't it?" He asks, and you nod, biting your tongue.

He grins. "Then I promise, love, that would be more than enough for me."

"O-okay." You agree, suddenly flushed by his stare. Coryo smiles, looking briefly at your lips as you speak. To him, they seemed more tempting now than ever.

He starts to lean in and you move your head back quickly, a worried look crossing your face and you look around. "Coryo, we-"

"I don't care." He says quickly, gently pulling you back to him and pressing his lips to yours. Consequences are the last thing on his mind right now.

You take hold of the front of his delicately pressed shirt, pulling him closer with his hands on your neck. Here, in the middle of the university courtyard with the sun shining down on your back, everything is okay and at least for now, the cold night has given way to a warm, sunny morning.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls , @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @cascadingbliss

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (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: References to sexual situations. 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: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

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!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it. Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver

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sssammich · 8 months

Text

day 19: hazy

for supercorptober 2023

read on ao3 instead

crepe AU: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 day 19: hazy, day 22: art, day 24: enchanted, day 30: magic

author's note: this is kinda sad with no real resolution at the end. so if you don't wanna read it, then that's fine! feel free to skip. thanks!

---

“Kara, who am I?”

“You’re Lena. You are my life’s greatest love.”

“Don’t forget, okay?”

“How could I ever?”

—

Kara, depleted of all her energy, watches as the vengeful alien points a specialized extraterrestrial gun directly at her. She places her hands up in surrender, but he is not so merciful, his final act before his inevitable death is simple: take Supergirl down at any cost, to isolate and ruin her the way her people had done to his.

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that.

The gun blast hits Kara dead center in the solar plexus, penetrating through the dwindling defense of her supersuit, propelling her back several yards until her back collides with the wall. She is caught under the rubble, her body buzzing like it’s been infiltrated by white noise under her skin.

She hears a muffled voice yelling after her, pushing through the debris until she finds Lena hunched over her.

Her consciousness starts to wane and within one long blink of an eye, the vengeful alien’s mission is complete.

—

When Kara first opens her eyes, her gaze immediately lands on the source of her deepest comfort standing by her bedside: dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight.

She blinks a few times to clear the remaining haziness in her mind and she is awash with relief, her nerves settling.

“Hi,” she offers, her voice croaking. Lena turns to her, relief all over her face as she stations herself by Kara’s side. Alex rushes to her other side, quick to give her the once over and check for her vitals. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Lena asks, her voice tinged with worry.

“I just remember this nasty alien shooting me and it blasted me against the wall.”

“Well, that’s about the long and short of it, actually,” Alex offers. “You’ve been out of it for about 36 hours.”

“Didn’t think a gunshot would render me powerless,” she comments, grimacing as she pushes herself upright. She does not see the way Lena and Alex glance at one another.

“It didn’t.”

Brows furrowed, she asks, “What do you mean?”

“We’re not….we’re not sure what the gun did to you. All of your injuries and your blown powers can be traced back to everything before he shot you.”

Their worry gives her pause, but she is not the paragon of hope for nothing, so she bravely wears a reassuring smile, and grabs hold of their hands. “I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll figure out in due time. For now, though, mind if I go home?”

Her wish is easily granted and she makes her way back to her apartment, Lena by her side. Kara senses the tension and worries all over Lena’s face.

“Are you worried?”

Lena’s gaze softens. “I think you know by now I’m always going to be worried.”

She slumps against the bar stool and beckons for the other woman. “Tell me. Please?”

There’s hesitance in Lena’s posture, but Kara only flashes her a reassuring, albeit tired, smile.

“I just…it doesn’t make any sense. You were affected by the blast, but the shot itself did not affect anything, at least none that we can trace or track or check for. But…we can wait until tomorrow to start solving that particular problem. How about for now, you get settled in bed?”

She doesn’t protest and follows silently as Lena ushers her to bed. Lena tucks her in before sitting on the edge of the bed, their joined hands resting on Kara’s stomach.

“Whatever it is, I know you’ll figure it out. You protected me before, I know you’ll protect me again. You always do.”

Lena smiles and clutches at Kara’s hands. “Always.”

—

The return to normal is expected, and goes without any special notice. She attends to her duties and her obligations, savors every minute with her loved ones. Her days inch forward the same as they had always done. And the case with the vengeful alien laid to rest a few weeks after the attack, though without any real conclusion or closure.

Yet despite moving forward, the tension in her shoulders never quite disappears, not when Alex and Lena continue to share worried glances from across the room when they think she’s not looking. Or when they huddle together in a corner in hushed tones when they think she’s out of earshot.

“Maybe it was just an anomaly,” she offers one late night at the Tower. “I just don’t want the two of you to carry all these stresses when nothing has happened.” The ‘so far’ hangs unspoken.

Alex and Lena share one last glance before they nod and accept that perhaps they have given this incident more power than it truly wielded. Satisfied with their promise to let the issue go, Kara gave them both hugs. She wished her sister a good night just as she left with Lena to spend the night back home, the two of them under the security and comfort of rest in bed.

They break their promise: speaking in codes, meeting in secret as they pursued the niggling thought in the back of both of their heads that there was something more. They don’t get very far, every theory hitting a dead end.

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that.

—

Exactly 42 days, 13 hours, 56 minutes, and 27 seconds after Kara was shot that they enter the point of no return.

—

It starts with her nightmares, the images playing in high definition—vivid and real and altogether harrowing. She wakes up from them drenched in sweat, limbs tangled in the covers. She’s gasping for breath, like desperately breaking through the surface after having been underwater for a minute too long.

Lena is there, always, with a mixture of fear and worry and helplessness. Kara eventually comes down from the adrenaline rush, and she is filled with equal measures of guilt and regret when their eyes meet under the blue shadows of the moon that filter in the bedroom.

“You’re Lena,” she gasps out, a means of reassuring herself, even as she reaches forward to tether them together. She shuts her eyes tightly and lets herself be comforted by Lena’s arms that circle around to her back and rubbing it soothingly despite the dampness of her shirt. Or the way Lena presses comforting kisses on her hairline.

What Kara doesn’t see is the tremor in Lena’s lips that she tightens against her forehead nor the dawning fear in those eyes of what she and Alex had feared from the beginning.

—

The changes are gradual, almost imperceptible until she’s already in the middle of something that she realizes something is amiss.

Like ordering takeout from three places despite agreeing to only order from one.

Lena’s confusion is apparent when she enters the apartment and slowly drops her purse on the counter amidst the bags of takeout. Kara scratches the back of her neck as she does her best to explain what she cannot explain.

“Pizza, postickers, and sushi?” Lena asks, amusement laced in her voice even as she looks at Kara incredulously. “Are you really that hungry?”

No, she wants to say. This wasn’t her plan, she wants to say. She doesn’t know what made her do it, she wants to say.

“I saw a bunch of videos while at work and got carried away,” she offers with a shrug. Lena studies her for a moment before sighing and helping spread out the containers all over the coffee table and ottoman that they pull closer.

Kara’s not even that hungry, but she pushes herself to eat everything so that Lena doesn’t question her even as her mind reels.

—

On and on the days progress and Kara is beginning to buckle under the strain of making sense of her world and failing.

“Jess, how much longer is Lena gonna be? You think I can sneak into her office and wait?” she asks one late afternoon, carrying a bag of donuts for the two of them.

Jess only stares at her in mild confusion before slowly looking at her monitor.

“Is this some kind of trick?”

Kara’s brows furrow and she stares dumbfounded. “Wh-what? Why would you think that?”

“Because Ms. Luthor is in Metropolis for another two days.”

They stare at one another, the assistant’s face quickly transforming from confusion to concern, slowly reaching for the phone, no doubt on her way to call Lena. Kara reaches forward and places her hand on the phone.

“Gosh, I just—I must have been losing track of time and missing her so much. I’ll call her on the way home and see how she’s doing. Here, have the donuts and share it with your partner.”

Jess stares at the bag that gets dropped right by her keyboard.

What Kara wants to do but will not do in front of Jess is check her phone with the text message she knows is there from Lena telling her that she’s been craving a strawberry frosted donut and that she’d love to have one miraculously appear after her meeting with the board today.

“Can you do me a favor and not tell Lena about this?” she pleads. “She worries enough about me as it is and I want her trip to go without a hitch. I just, you know, really miss her.”

It’s another few beats of growing awkward silence until Jess nods.

“Thanks, Jess. I owe you.”

She doesn’t quite break into using her powers, but she hightails it out of the office, practically slamming her hand against the elevator buttons, hoping that it swallows her whole. She doesn’t dare look past the doors as they close knowing that Jess is watching her every move.

When she opens her phone in the comfort of the empty elevator, she is filled with abject horror when she finds no textual evidence of Lena’s craving for a donut anywhere in their messages.

—

The moment it comes to a head for them all is when Alex and Lena find Kara sitting by the window of her apartment in front of an easel and a table with paint supplies.

“Hi guys,” she greets them over her shoulder before returning her attention to the image of what she’d drawn, putting the palette down, the brush gripped in her hands.

“That’s beautiful, Kara,” Lena says, placing a soft kiss on her cheek and resting her chin on Kara’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“Thanks.” She stares at the canvas in front of her; hues of red skies and purple mountains, a vista of a distant yet familiar landscape. “It’s…”

Kara’s silence stretches, her mind searching for words to come to mind, yet none appearing.

“Krypton.” It’s Alex who supplies the response when Kara’s silence has stretched entirely too long. “Kara, that’s Krypton.”

“Right.” She frowns, her eyes searching the canvas for answers, but not finding any. “This is Krypton. I am from Krypton. I am Kryptonian.”

Her heart sinks when she moves to look at Lena and Alex’s eyes, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I think I’m in trouble.”

—

She explains the last few weeks, the way her mind has been playing tricks on her, fabricating memories about dates and appointments, swaths of her memories blank for a time.

She confirms their suspicions and they explain all the secret work they’ve been testing.

The rest of the Superfriends are briefed about her situation and they all get to work as a team, coming together to pool their wits and resources on finding a solution that will reverse this problem and get Kara back to them.

Kara maintains her unwavering hope, if not for herself, then for Lena who touches her softly, reverently, cautiously.

“I won’t break,” she whispers to Lena, afraid to break the quiet that has blanketed over them in bed.

“But I might.”

She pulls Lena closer to her, their noses touching slightly. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll always protect you.”

Lena is crying now, and Kara’s heart splinters and cracks.

“I love you,” she says, kissing away each tear that escapes. “Please stay strong for me, Lena."

Lena’s face is tear-streaked and heartbreaking, but she’s kissing Kara and holding onto her, the two understanding what’s at stake, the gravity of their situation weighing on them.

—

When Kara opens her eyes, she sees the most beautiful woman in front of her.

Dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight. Her face is light and pale save for the pink hues of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, like she’s been crying.

How unkind, she thinks to herself, to have such a beautiful woman cry.

She flashes the woman a smile. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Who are you?”

The woman flinches slightly, and Kara thinks she’s done something wrong. But the woman’s smile is soft, is sad. “I’m Lena.”

She likes that name, it’s familiar to her. She warms to it instantly.

“Hi, Lena. I’m…I’m Kara. Yes, right. Kara. Kara Zor-El.”

She offers her hand and Lena glances down at it for a second before gingerly placing her own.

It’s the same hand that has held her and touched her and loved her for years. So to offer it now as if for the first time is a cut through Lena’s heart and soul.

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that.

—

Alex sidles up next to Lena as they watch Kara talk with Kelly from across the Tower. Close, yet far. A chasm now between them and Kara.

She is determined above all else to get Kara back, but it doesn’t soften the blow or lessen the ache of having Kara stand in front of them in this state: like a stranger, like an alien.

“We won’t stop, okay? We’ll get her back. Just hang in there.”

She nods, restraining her tears as she watches Kara’s every move. As unreachable from this distance as she would be if she was in Kelly’s place.

Kara seems to sense her, and she turns to meet Lena’s eyes. Her smile is bright and lively and beautiful and darling and it’s still directed at her. Lena knows Kara is still there, and she’ll do anything to have Kara back and fight their way back together again.

—

“Lena, who am I?”

“You’re Kara. You are my life’s greatest love.”

“Don’t let me forget, okay?”

“How could I ever?”

#supercorptober 2023 #supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #my fanfiction #this is mm sad #so sorry in advance

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wooyoungmybelovedhusband · 2 years

Text

Bratty baby boy | Choi San X F!Reader (Smut)

Pairing : Choi San x F!Reader

Warnings : Pure smut. Bratty baby boy San, Busy CEO reader, choking, soft dom!reader, whiny San, sensory deprivation, name calling (baby boy, mommy) handcuffs, subspace, hand job, overstimulation, breeding kink, dacryphilia kink. Minors dni.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

San sat up in his bed, kinda feeling whiny after seeing that the bed was empty next to him. He hated days like this where his mommy wasn't next to him when he woke up, it always made him act bratty. And that's exactly what he did. Sending a pic of him sitting in front of the mirror in just his boxers which prominently showed his bulge was definitely what you didn't expect while being in the meeting room. Even if he was bratty you most probably expected a whiny message from him saying he's needy.

You soon typed out a message warning him for his behavior

Y/n : Babyboy better be a good boy till mommy comes home. Or you will be punished.

San let out a mischievous chuckle as he read your message, feeling too bratty to care about what you said over the text. He removed his boxers as he started stroking himself slowly as he started recording himself. Also letting out loud moans, whining about how much he misses you. After feeling he has done enough through the video, he sent the video having a smug grin on his face.

The meeting had already finished at the time when your phone buzzed. You saw there was a video sent to you by your beloved baby boy. You pressed play only to hear breathy soft moans which soon turned into loud whines as you saw him stroking his cock. You were shocked to see him being so brave today. You were definitely not gonna let this slide.

Y/n : Babyboy I want you on your knees in our bedroom, naked. I'm on my way. Pick the handcuffs u want.

San felt an adrenaline rush reading your message soon fumbling around your room to grab his favorite blue fluffy handcuffs. As he got to his ordered position. You took your coat and soon rushed out to get to your house. You shrugged off the worried looks that were shot at you because you never left your office until it was at least 10 at night. You walked into your shared bedroom as you found San on his knees wearing his cat fluffy cat ears with his favorite handcuffs placed next to him.

"Not so bratty now huh?" You let out scoff at his smug smile as he looked up at you. You sat on the nearest chair as you patted your lap and beckoned him towards you. He tried to get up but stopped hearing your words. "Bad boys don't get the privilege to walk babyboy, crawl to me." He of course obliged and when he reached you he soon got on your lap and started straddling your lap.

Your hands found their way to his hair as you pulled him for a kiss which turned into a make out session. You tugged at his hair with your right hands as your left hand travelled down to his neck as you wrapped your hand around his neck. He let out a whiny moan as he pulled away. Your eyes turned dark as you looked at him fucked out state.

Your left hand travelled down as you attached your lips on his neck. Your hand wrapped itself around his throbbing cock. You started stroking him painfully slow, making him let out a loud moan. "M-mommy f-aster p-please." "Yeah, do you deserve it, love? Weren't you being a brat just an hour ago." "So-rry mo-mmy I will be-behave. P-please let me c-cum." You started stroking him at a very fast pace and soon with one hard stroke he was making a mess on you as he came undone on you.

You captured his lips, helping him ride out his orgasm. "On the bed, Now." Even if he was on the verge of falling into subspace he still crawled to the bed and got on the bed. You picked up the handcuffs laid on the floor and looked down at him. "Hands." He obeyed as he held out his hands as you wrapped it around his hands.

You soon started undressing yourself and as you removed your belt you wrapped it around his neck , turning it into a leash for you to pull on. And that's exactly what you just did, you pulled hard on the belt making him lunge forward as he let out a whine. You pushed him down on the bed and you soon undressed yourself and got on top of him. The leash in your hand and you slowly sink yourself on his cock watching his face for any discomfort before slowly moving.

Your slow pace soon became fast and rough as you pulled on the leash every time you clenched around him. San was letting out pornographic moans as tears welled up in his eyes because of too much pleasure. "Mommy w-wanna cum inside you, c-can I? " "Fuck yeah baby boy, fill up mommy." He started orgasming at that as he shoke uncontrollably. You soon came following him. You both rode out your orgasms as you fell on the bed next to him.

You tried to get up to grab a towel for both of you, but soon his hands held you tightly as he burried his face into your chest. "Don't go, Mommy." You knew he would go to subspace from how hard he was shaking after reaching his high. This wasn't the first time he has gone so deep into subspace. You gave up as you just hugged him back going into your dreamland.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My first ever smut..... Never thought it would get me so horny.

-Jeong Aera

My taglist: @spoorti09

(If u wanna get tagged on my posts please do request and also tell me the groups u wanna get tagged in.)

#ateez #sub! san #san smut #ateez smut #sub!san #sub!san smut #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot

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silveredhowls · 2 months

Text

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

I. GNEREAL This muse is still in his beta phase :p Meaning, I'm kinda testing him, and activity may vary.

I prefer to write on Discord! Feel free to ask for it if we're mutuals c:

25+ ONLY. I'm turning 29 this year, and I'd like to write with people in my age range.

This is no space for OOC drama, IRL political discourse, people who can't differentiate fiction from reality and think it's okay to police adults on what to write on their blogs (go touch some grass). Hard-block. I will also opt for blocking instead of soft-blocking if our rules clash, if you have numerous triggers / DNIs, or to avoid misunderstandings. In most cases, it's nothing against you personally.

Yeah, so. This is a 25+ blog, run by a 25+ mun, and there will be adult content, including but not limited to: violence, abuse, gore, monsters, gaslighting, manipulation, canon-typical fantasy racism and overall offensive / problematic themes. Triggers won't always be tagged. If you're triggered by any of these, this blog isn't for you.

Communication is key!! You'd like to share an idea? Go right ahead. Don't like where the plot is going? Let me know. You want to scream about our muses? YES. Writing is so much more fun if the muns get along. I promise, I don't bite.

II. INTERACTION I'm selective and mutuals only. If I don't follow back, it's likely because you're not a BG3 / D&D related blog, I already have a lot of threads, too much formatting, or I feel our muses / writing styles don't mesh. Additionally, if your rules mention steering clear of the topics / triggers mentioned above, I won't follow. We don't have to write anything that makes you uncomfortable (!!!exclamation mark!!111!), but they might come up.

If I follow you, I want to interact! Don't be shy <3 I will also assume that if you follow me back, you're fine with me sending you memes / tagging you in starters / sliding into your IMs to plot.

MEMES. I'm a feral meme goblin. Please don't ever feel obligated to answer the 517 memes I've sent you (or any at all), and in return, feel free to bombard my inbox. Even if we already have 3,670 threads. Idc fam, send me more. We haven't interacted yet? Meme. I haven't answered your meme yet? My muse probably didn't vibe with it, send another. Send memes. I may not respond to all of them and not every meme will spark a new thread, but... send memes. If you want to turn a meme into a thread, DO IT. No need to ask.

I prefer to keep it simple when it comes to formatting. It looks cool, but reading paragraph after paragraph of double spaced text hurts my eyes.

I'm a big fan of making my muses suffer :D I love angst and exploring dark, gritty plots. If you have any triggers, let me know before jumping into a RP with me, aka the angst queen, so we're all on the same page.

My ADHD often influences my activity. Sometimes I'll reply super fast, sometimes it takes me ages, and sometimes I can only focus on specific threads / muses.

III. DUH Mun =/= Muse. I don't condone the bs my muses do.

Please don't soft-block me, I have the memory of a soggy pickle. Hard-block.

Protecting your online space is a mature thing to do, and I promise I'll 100% support that. No questions asked, no hard feelings. We're all here to have a good time.

IV. SHIPPING / RELATIONSHIPS Speaking of having a good time: We're sex-positive and kink-friendly in this house. I enjoy a raunchy smut-driven RP as much as the next depraved soul, but I won't write smut on the dash. The steamy stuff will be moved to discord or IMs.

This blog is multiship, male lean. Matter of fact, I love to ship, so if that's something you'd like to do, slide into my inbox.

Pre-established relationships: Yes. I usually don't do romantic pre-established relationships (some exceptions may be made for "what if" scenarios, or if I know the mun), but there are plenty of other options.

V. MUN They/Them, hatched 1995, dog parent, hyperfixating on problematic villains, D&D player.

#RULES.

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ashes-writing · 2 years

Note

I know you have thots on Billy Loomis and I would like to know what they are (headcanon request; you can go spicy if you like 🔥) 😜

AHHH OMG I LOVE YOU FOR THIS THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH. But like also.. I wanna warn you now, this one got kind of.. well.. dark. Spicy, yes.. But also, dark. So, please feel free to skip out if anything I mention in the warnings is a hard no.

Again, thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my black little heart! I actually had fun playing around with this, despite the fact that it does get a little darker than most of the things I've written. Again.. If after reading the warning section you feel like this isn't for you, please don't feel like you're obligated to read.

This is not meant for minors, so minors, don't you fucking dare. Also if you're not into somnophilia, mentions of blood (period sex / blood kink), corruption kink / deflowering kink, vague hints of obsessive / possessive tendencies, pain kink, body fluids, biting / marking, voyeurism, mentions of possessiveness that might lend to m*rder choking / asphyxiation and spit you are not going to wanna read any further.

Tag List; Uh.. see, what happened was that there's nobody on my tag list for horror movies and stuff, and given the nature of what I laid out here, I uh.. Kinda felt like it was safer not to tag anybody without asking. But.. If you'd like to be on my tag list, please, by all means... Click the link below.

Other Stuff; tag list doc || pinned - my rules / fandoms and some, not all of the characters i write for || requests ; open - headcanons only please and thanks.

I do not consent to my work being reposted/rewritten and posted elsewhere.

✯ Bisexual af. Billy Loomis is bisexual af. I strongly believe that Billy and Stu had a little something going on behind the scenes. Or that if they didn’t, he at very least had entertained the idea and maybe even certain fantasies about his best friend Stu. He’s also still kind of dealing with / struggling with the fact that he is attracted to men and women, so yeah… Just putting that out there. This is something I've come to firmly believe about him. He's bisexual but he isn't quite comfortable knowing so. There are just certain things he does, there's a certain way he and Stu act together in some scenes of the movie that in the back of my mind always kind of made me think... Hmmm. There has to be more between these two idiots.

✯ Corruption / deflowering kink. I say this because the proof is right there in the movie with the way he lords it over Sydney that they either did or nearly hooked up. I feel like if he knew you were offering up your virginity it would absolutely make him go feral. The question is, after reading the rest of this little list… Do you really want him to? Because it’s… a little bit of a wild ride.

✯ Relentless with the teasing. R E L E N T L E S S. Also doesn’t care where you happen to be when it’s started bc he knows it’ll be finished. Whether it’s in a private corner of wherever you happen to be at the moment the mood strikes, the backseat of his car / your car, your room when he sneaks in at night.

✯ Somnophilia. If he knew you were down for letting him ‘use you’ while you’re sleeping and he’s laying there having gotten himself all good and worked up watching you toss and turn or the little sounds you make, oh my god. Ugh.. He’d be all over doing it in a heartbeat.

✯ His jealous streak, oh my god. Listen, this man is absolutely possessive / territorial af. We won’t talk about what he’ll do to the other person he feels is competition -another story for another day bc unaliving / murder and that’s not what you asked for and I’m trying to keep this lighter? Anyway..- Let me just say this. When he gets you somewhere private, he’s going to show you exactly who you belong to. You will be covered in handprints, bites, hickies, you name it. And he’ll keep going until your legs are shaking and you can’t form a coherent thought. The more you beg him to stop and let you recover the more he’ll insist you have ‘one more’ in you and persuade you to keep going for him. The jealous streak takes over and he’s only worried about one thing… How many times you scream for him and not the other person - who he’s either already dealt with privately in a gruesome way or will deal with privately and in a gruesome way - .. So.. Possessive as fuck.

✯ The possessive streak extends to protecting the shit out of you too. If he were to catch someone slipping something into your drink (I knowwww this isn’t dirty and you wanted my thots but I can’t resist, okay? I cannnnt.) he would not wait to address it privately, he’d start a fucking brawl right then and there that would inevitably end with Billy making them drink the spiked substance.

✯ Do.Not.Play. with this man. His anger is scary as hell and knows no bounds. I feel like this needs to be said despite the nature of the ask. Don’t pursue him because you think you want a bad boy because if you fuck around, you will find out. If he catches feelings, he gets way attached. And he’ll stop at nothing to keep you to himself. It’s a bit on the obsessive side and honestly, you should be worried. So please, for the love of God and all that’s holy just don’t play with him if you’re not prepared for the intensity he brings to the table.

✯ Okay, I’m done with the maternal warnings I feel I need to give you precious babes about this man, let’s get back to it… Billy Loomis loves pain. He loves to give/dish it out BUT… he loves to receive it most of all. So if you were to say… Take over… Bite him, slap him in the heat of the moment, pull his hair really hard, scratch hard enough to almost draw blood to the surface of his skin, holy shit. He’ll be putty in your hands.

✯ If he’s caught in the act he’s not stopping because he gets off on being watched. And if he finds out you’re into it too? Oh my goddddd.

✯ He is very charming. Very persuasive. The kind of guy who will smoothly talk you out of your clothes before you even realize that he’s done it. He’ll get you agreeing to God only knows what before you realize it, oh my god.

✯ Despite all of the above he would never ever take advantage of you against your will. He’ll only do exactly what he knows you want / can handle. It’s hard to restrain himself sometimes but he manages. Barely, but I digress. Consent is huge for him, as is trust. (For example, the way he reacted when Sydney rightfully suspected him of the murders, ya know.. He walked away angry and hurt). So.. if you guys do get up to any one of his numerous kinks, he will tell you to come up with a stop word and if you say it, everything comes to a grinding halt.

✯ He teeters on the fine line of being a switch. He’s dominant for the most part but he does possess sub tendencies on occasion. No mistakes made, he’s primarily dominant but, but.. It’s mostly out of habit/expectation and a slight huge discomfort at not being in control / handling the side of himself that wants to take it like a good little boy. SO… if you really want him to be putty in your hands, take control once in a while.

✯ Thinks it’s sexy to spit in his partner’s mouth. Will only do it if you’re into it or it’s something you want.

✯ Has a secret stash of Polaroids in his room of you/his partner of choice in various states of orgasmic bliss, all fucked out and practically drooling and they’re like trophies to him. Nobody is allowed to see/touch them but him and he uses them often to ahem… Take care of things on his own when the need arises.

✯ For all the ladies out there - vagina owners or otherwise.. Period sex. That is all. The guy isn’t afraid of a little blood, I mean… C’mon.

✯ Speaking of blood. He has a bit of a blood kink.

✯ Loves the idea of erotic asphyxiation. Loves the sensation of cumming while something’s on his throat and cutting his breath even shorter.

✯ Speaking of choking… The space between his thumb and index finger should bear the tattoo “Your throat here” because the guy fucking loves to choke in the heat of the moment. But again, only if you’re into it.

✯ Surprisingly, he’s very very good at aftercare. Very gentle, especially if this isn’t just a one time thing between you two. Will hold you, help you get dressed / take shower with you, etc.

✯ Very into the way certain body fluids look splashed across certain parts of your body. Absolutely fucking loves it. Also likes the way you/his partners moan when he pushes his fingers into their mouth after he’s done using them on you/his partners. Probably has a photo or two of this in his little trophy box.

✯ Dirty talk, oh my god. And the man is absolutely the filthiest at it.

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stackthedeck · 1 year

Note

Please do give us the two types of fictional consent rant

Yes!! Okay, so there are two types of fictional consent, in-universe and narrative. Think of it like watsonian vs doylist or diegetic or non-diegetic music. (discussion of sex but nothing graphic and mentions of rape under the cut)

So in-universe consent is where the characters look at each other and say hell yeah I wanna fuck. It's not something that's particularly hard to establish. Often times in the debate around censoring mature acts from literature, works with no in-universe consent get targetted

narrative consent is much harder to establish. I think of it as you giving your consent to the writer. The reader kinda enters into a relationship with the text, but like all consent, it needs to be informed. The text has an obligation to signal to the reader through foreshadowing and tone that whatever sex acts happen are coming and you the reader should suspend your disbelief and feel a certain way about it. Narrative consent isn't established because it's the right thing to do, but because it's good storytelling.

So you have stories with in-universe and narrative consent. Congrats you wrote a sex scene and your reader enjoyed it! The characters wanted this to happen and so did the reader, whether that's because it's a slow burn with gentle hinting at a greater passion, the two characters locked eyes and felt a spark, or there was a half naked man on the cover, the reader knew what they were getting into.

Then you have no in-universe consent but you do have narrative consent. There's something impeding the characters' abilities to consent and the reader knows this, but the tone and framing make it so the reader isn't upset by this but continues reading for some kind of desired response. These are your bodice rippers, your sex pollens, your mating cycles, etc. A kidnapped princess can't really consent, but the narrative describes it as pleasurable and she doesn't feel bad afterward and so there's narrative consent. Why would someone want to read that? The prevailing theory is the displacement theory of sexuality. When society vilifies sexual pleasure in a group, that group feels shame around sexuality but they're still human and feel desire. These stories provide the paradoxical fantasy of receiving sexual pleasure while also having a distance from desire. The reader is in a position where they feel that they are not allowed to want, so a character that does not want but still receives, can be a gratifying experience. Not for everyone in the group that is made to feel shame btw and idk if I even believe this theory but it is a neat explanation

and that's only if the desired response is pleasure. Stories the have no in-universe consent but narrative consent can also seek out catharsis as the desired response and depict rape. The reader will have a "bad" reaction the same way they will have a "bad" reaction to a tragedy or horror, you know. Not everyone reading something dark is getting off to it you know. Sometimes you just want fiction to hurt and the story tells you that's what's going to happen, clearly signaling what's going to go down through tone and framing.

I'm tempted to call all stories with no narrative consent bad writing. Like if there's just suddenly a sex scene that you the reader weren't prepared for, that's bad writing. Often times texts don't establish narrative consent because they're simply not that good, not because they're trying to harm their readers. Have you ever read a sex scene and it's just really boring and then nothing changes afterward and the characters don't get closer because of it? That's a violation of narrative consent. Sometimes you're reading a horror novel and then there's a gruesome rape scene and woah you really didn't think it was that kind of novel. That's a violation of narrative consent

And like I don't think it's strictly necessary to call this concept consent because it's just the full effect of communicating with the reader through genre conventions, tone, foreshadowing, etc. But I like to call it that because I think trashy romance novels have really mastered this idea and sex is held to a very different standard than other acts in fiction. I think tragedies and horrors are also really good at his, at holding the reader through the catharsis, not just hitting them with the horrible thing, but sitting with them in the horrible thing and letting them have the fallout.

#asks #sorta nsft

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noxsoulmate · 7 months

Note

Hi it's your Tarlos Secret Santa checking in.

I just wanted to check a couple of things with you about your prompts to help me out.

For the meet cute how do you feel about an AU meet cute or do you prefer in Canon/ canon adjacent? Also what part of a meet cute specifically are you thinking....I'm kinda struggling a bit to come up with something.

And for the fantasy/fairytale au prompt is there anything in particular you really really don't want. Like specific fantasy shows or movies that are just really no go's?

Hope you have a great day 😊

Hii 😍🎅 so sweet of you to check in with me - I'm sorry it took me a bit to get back to you, it was my dad's 70th birthday yesterday so... lots of RL stuff going on.

Anyway, let's get to your questions:

The meet-cute setting

I'm a big fan of meet-cutes (or even meet-uglies) in general, no matter the setting. I do love the canon world our two boys live in but if there's an AU you've always been meaning to write, I'm only all too eager to read it. If you would force me to decide 🤔 mhh, I guess currently, a cute AU with canon undertones would be my first choice. But truly, go in whichever direction you prefer cause I'll love reading it either way.

What part of a meet-cute am thinking

Oh, that's a tough question 🤔 I do like those where they meet "in action", either helping/saving each other (like, imagine Carlos saving the paramedics in S2E8 and this is how Tarlos meets) or a third person (for example, if the incident with the bus driver in the season 1 finale would've been their first meeting), but I also love fluffy stuff, like both of them reaching for the last donut on display or whatever. Also very cute: the ones where an animal or a kid is the reason for them meeting for the first time... Buttercup running up to a stranger (Carlos)? Carlos' nephew falling off a tree and a cute stranger helping cause he's a paramedic? Yeah, these kinds of things 🥰 But please know that all these examples just came to me right now - you're not obligated to use any of them, they're just here to show you the kind of things I like.

no-no fantasy/fairytales

Honestly, not that I can think of. I love the world of fantasy and fairytales... maybe not the dark undertones and "deeper darker meanings" (yes, I studied those at university, don't make the same mistake) but the general plot of quests that have to be conquered, of being able to overcome struggles so that it all always reaches a happy end, of the couple coming out of any obstacles victoriously - you know, something positive compared to our cruel world 🙂

I also often love how the couple meets for the first time in most fairytales, so writing a nice meet-cute in a fairytale setting would totally be an option 😏

Generally, I just want you to have fun with creating this story - if there's something you feel isn't what you would normally write, don't force yourself just for me. Write anything you like and I'm 100% positive I will love it 🥰 just the thought of someone creating something for me is amazing as is.

I hope this helps, if you do need me to be more direct with a prompt, let me know, otherwise I'll see you in a few weeks and can't wait to find out who you are 🥰🥰🥰

🎅🎅🎅

#tarlos secret santa 🎅#sweet anon ask

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regular-lord-reckoner · 3 years

Text

just kind of need to vent some fears i have right now throwing this into the void style but

i know i desperately need to start therapy, have for a long time but i think i’ve realized this week why it scares me so much

it’s not that i’m so much afraid of sitting down and talking about...well, everything, but it’s that i fear my life getting better

i fear growing and healing and being happier because i don’t know what i’ll do when the next inevitable tragedy happens

i’m scared it’ll undo all my hard work or hit me ten times harder

i’m scared i’ll meet new people or even fall in love (fat chance) and something will go horribly wrong

after all, my parents both had pretty shitty lives for a long time but finally found happiness it seemed like and then...bam, worst fucking thing imaginable

and i get that that’s...life. i get that nobody gets to be happy and only ever be happy and i get that horrible things can happen to anyone at any time, regardless of whether they’ve happened before but i dunno

it just seems...safer this way?

like yeah, i’m deeply miserable and can’t wait to die but isn’t that better than actually enjoying life for a second only to be body slammed back into misery?

what if life’s got even more fucked up shit in store for me and i do all this goddamn work to overcome my trust issues and abandonment issues and just...all of it and then i just have something happens that’s almost as bad as the worst thing that’s ever happened to me?

i guess that’s...childish of me? stupid of me? silly and irrational? but i don’t know how to not feel that way when a massive part of my problem is that one day i woke up to a suicide by someone that promised me they’d always be there for me.

i already feel like i walk on eggshells all the time and am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop

if i hear a loud noise downstairs i don’t think, “oh, someone probably dropped something” or even just “what was that?” i think “dead. they’re dead. someone just died and you’re going to have to see it”

and even with all of that aside like...what life am i even supposed to have?

my parents need me. my dad’s old and has a lot of health problems so i’ve been taking on even more responsibilities around the house and that’s only going to increase the older he gets

their relationship has...deteriorated. it’s not constant fighting but it’s been enough that it’s also got me on high alert and i’ve had to intervene several times because i don’t want either of them to say some shit that’s going to really hurt the other and i also just don’t want them yelling at each other

i genuinely worry about what would happen if i were to move out, i feel sometimes like i’m the only thing holding this all together and like...yeah, that’s not really fair to me but at the same time too...i would have ended my shit a long time ago had it not been for them so i feel like...what choice do i have but to stay? might as well, right?

if i’m too chicken shit to get better because i’m scared it’ll all fall apart anyway then i might as well just stay stagnant and stay here and just take care of them and try to keep the peace as long as i can and whenever they’re eventually gone i figure if life’s okay i’ll just ride it out until the end but if not...well.

idk. i know that the obvious answers are here and i know what anyone or any therapist would say if i were to say these things. that i need to just get over this and learn to want to live my life for myself and not worry as much about what’ll happen because that’s not my responsibility

but i feel like i already let down one person i really loved in the worst way so i owe to my family to do this, to stay here and to help out however i can

and yeah, it’s not ideal but it’s at least the devil i know so it feels better than the alternative

the downside is i know it’s going to cost me everything else

i know nobody wants a fucking sad sack who won’t get her shit together and isn’t going anywhere in life

i know i offer little to nothing because i can barely muster up the energy to be enthusiastic about my own interests and just generally speaking i suck

yeah, i’m good for a laugh here or there but apart from that? that’s about it

i can’t seem to form any hobbies or do any activities that might be fun because trying new things makes me suicidal as shit when it’s supposed to be like...fun, but it’s not

i feel like all i ever do is bitch and moan and nobody likes that, that gets old really fucking fast and i know that

i don’t blame anyone for giving up on me or losing hope because i did this to myself and nobody but me can get myself out of this and well...i don’t know if i can or if it’s even worth it

so i just...don’t really know what to do

and maybe this is just my very bad brain at the moment and when i go back on my ~medication i’ll change my mind and want to actually get better, regardless of how terrifying that is, but i’ve spent this entire week crying my eyes out because the thought of it just feels so fucking overwhelming and impossible

i dunno. i’m sorry to anyone who reads this because i know this is... a lot, but i’ve been holding this in for a long time and this entire past year has really been hard on me

i try not to talk about it because i know it’s a bummer and i know it just pushes people even further away from me, but i don’t think it’s helping just bottling it up and pretending like it’s not all i can ever think about and again...i genuinely don’t know if i can do the therapy thing because...yeah

i also just need to get this off my chest because i haven’t said it on here or to anyone but i also lost my dog a few months ago

i genuinely don’t know what happened to him, i think someone may have straight up stolen him because some people moved out of one of the houses near us and i know he’d been going over there sometimes so i’m not sure if that’s the case, if it is i just hope they’re taking good care of him because he’s a very sweet boy who doesn’t deserve anything bad to happen to him

we’ve looked everywhere for him and we don’t have those people’s information and even if we did i doubt they’d admit, “oh yeah, we stole your dog!” so i’m really not sure but naturally the last time i ever saw him i was trying to do some work outside and i needed to just get it done but he wanted to play so i told him to just wait until i was finished and then i’d play with him, so he wandered off and that’s the last time i ever saw him

i’ve felt like such a fucking asshole over it and i’ll scroll through my phone looking for something and see pictures of him and i just...can’t. i still keep hoping he’s just going to reappear one day, tail wagging and wanting a hug

it doesn’t have as much to do with everything else but it’s just kinda like...damn, dude.

oh, and my grandmother has lung cancer and doesn’t want treatment so there’s also that

my relationship with her has broken down pretty badly so i’m not horribly torn up about it but i know it’s going to be hard on my mom and so like...even more reason why i feel like i have to be here, y’know?

idk. it just kinda feels like my life isn’t really mine and maybe it shouldn’t be because i’m not sure i can handle it, i’m not sure i can handle it getting good only for it to possibly get really bad again and i know that there’s always the possibility of it just...being okay and that maybe bad things will happen, but they won’t be traumatic and awful but...taking that risk just feels impossible and ultimately i don’t know that it’s worth it because at the end of the day it’s...me.

i figure i already inflict myself on enough good people who only deserve good things and if i’m to fade into the background of my stagnant life then that’s probably for the best because all i do is make things worse and needlessly difficult even when i don’t mean to so it’s not like i really deserve to get better anyway

i’ve rambled enough and if i keep going it’s just going to get more whiny and pathetic so i’ll stop myself but i’m hoping maybe like i said if i can just...put these thoughts here then maybe i can make it through tomorrow without crying?

probably not, but it’s worth a shot, i guess. again, this may just all be temporary given my current mental state, but i’ve also been putting off therapy for a long time since before this week as is so...not sure that’ll really change any time soon. i had almost worked up to just doing the damn thing before the pandemic happened and then...well. feel like i might have missed my window of opportunity if i ever was going to do it because in some senses i’ve gotten better at managing all of this, i guess, but in other ways i feel like i’ve just fallen even further down the hole and trying to climb out feels like it’s guaranteed to just get me hurt even worse so i kind of want to just stay down here.

i’m trying not to give up completely or be totally hopeless about the whole thing, but at the same time...yikes!!!

#need to just brain fart for a second i apologize #this is kinda dark so please don't feel obligated to read #i'll probably delete this soon i just have another shitty work week coming up and if i want to make it thorugh #without completely losing my mind i at least need to kind of feel like i'm talking to an actual human being #because i am not capable of that at the moment

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fireofjudgement · 2 years

Text

Where you belong (Part 1)

Next chapter

Fandom: All of us are dead

Pairing: Gwi-nam x f!reader

Summary: Unhappy with your less than perfect relationship, you decide to leave Gwi-nam but you discover he has different plans for the two of you.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: this fic is strictly 18+, minors DNI! swearing, depiction of a toxic relationship, manipulation, gaslighting, victim blaming, violence, slapping, bullying, sexual content: dub con, mentions of sex, doll/whore/bitch mentions, choking, groping, hair pulling, kissing, grinding, restraints (kinda), mentions of pregnancy, additional tags to be added in the next chapter, also this chapter takes place before the zombie apocalypse

A/N: it's finally here, the one that should probably have stayed in the drafts. I don't think I have to but I'll say it anyway; I don't condone or approve of anything described in this fic. Don't be mistaken, it's not a hidden fantasy, it's more of a..reflection on a past relationship that wasn't exactly healthy. Please, please read all the warnings carefully and don't feel obligated to read. Your mental health and well-being are more important than a piece of fiction. If you do read it, thank you and I hope you enjoy it, despite it being a very first and very poor attempt at a darker fic. Stay safe <3

"We're done.."

"Gwi-nam, did you hear me? We're done! I'm done.." You slowly got up from your chair, making sure to stay in close proximity to the classroom door. Better safe than sorry.

No response. You weren't surprised. He probably wasn't even listening and if he was, he didn't take your words seriously. And why would he? Afterall, how many times have you had this exact conversation? You'd tell him that it's over, that you're done with him and yet less than a week later you'd beg for him to take you back. And he did. Every time. Not without letting you know how weak and pathetic you were, how he knew you wouldn't even last a few days without him in your life. You were nothing without him, he said. He repeated it so many times, you eventually learned to accept it.

But this time was different. You were tired. Tired of how he treated you, tired of how he treated everyone around him and tired of looking into a mirror and not recognizing the person looking back at you. It scared you how much he stole from you in such a short amount of time, taking every bit he didn't like for one reason or another and throwing it away or replacing it with something more to his liking, until there was little to nothing left of the real you. And it scared you how long it took for you to realize that. But better late than never, right? You were still young, you'd just walk away and never look ba-

"If I were you.." his low, clearly annoyed tone interrupted your thoughts. "I would sit my ass down and keep that pretty mouth shut unless you want to put it to better use, doll. I'm not in the mood for this shit today." He didn't look away from his phone even for a second but maybe it was for the better.

You were sure he would make fun of you again if he cared to look at you at that moment. Even though you were trying to be brave and just get this over with, tears were already threatening to fall from your eyes. He wasn't making this easy on you. Not that you expected him to. Fuck. Why did this have to be so difficult? Maybe you deserved it for getting involved with him in the first place. It's not like you didn't know who he was. What he was. Maybe you should have listened when people warned you that he was bad news, that there was nothing about him you would be able to fix. But drawn to the darkness that surrounded Gwi-nam, you didn't expect to be dragged right into it with him.

You stayed silent, gaining the courage to speak again. You were not going to let him intimidate you into submission again. Not this time. You chose to have this talk at school for a reason. He couldn't hurt you here.

"I..I'm sorry you're having a bad day." You started, not daring to look at him. "But we really should have this conversation. Now."

All you got in response was the buzzing of his phone every time it lit up with a new notification. You didn't even want to think about who he was talking to. Not like it was your business anyway, not anymore.

"I'll start then." You tried again. "I..I don't think this is going to work out. I just think we're too different and..and I don't think you're the right guy for me."

Your words made him finally look up from his phone but his expression quickly caused you to regret speaking at all. "You think?" He said in a mocking tone. "Since when, doll?" Chuckling at his own joke he went back to..whatever it was that he was doing on his phone.

Don't let his words discourage you, you repeated in your mind over and over again. He's trying to break you again. Don't let him.

"I thi..Look, we should just break up, okay? No hard feelings and all that."

He didn't respond or even look at you this time but a long sigh escaped his lips. He must have realised that despite his attempts, you're not going to let it go that easily. He wasn't either. Two could play this game. "Fine. Call me when your period's over or whatever."

Too stunned to speak, you just stood there, mouth agape until Gwi-nam finally looked at you again, surprised by the lack of an answer.

"What? We both know you're not going to last a week without me. You'll come crawling back as soon as that tight cunt of yours starts aching for my cock again."

Enough was enough. You tried to be nice, you really did. Clearly that wasn't going to work.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Your sudden outburst startled the both of you. You've never talked back to him, never dared to speak up for yourself, let alone yell at him but he crossed a line this time. Proud of your assertiveness at first, you lived to regret your words almost immediately when his expression changed from shocked to angry within seconds. No, not angry. Gwi-nam was furious.

Before you could say anything else, before you could even blink, he rose from his seat, his phone landing on the floor with a loud thud. Moments later his hand was closed around your throat, your body flush against a wall, his nose almost touching yours. You looked him in the eyes but you didn't recognize the person staring back at you. It wasn't the Gwi-nam you knew, it.. wasn't even human. You were facing a monster. A monster ready to attack.

"You stupid little bitch.." he spoke slowly, a tone you haven't heard before. He scared you, the look in his eyes terrified you but you found yourself unable to look away, gaze still fixated on his face, now twisted with anger. "Don't you ever tell me what to do, understand? And why are you acting so offended all of a sudden, huh? We both know I'm right. You're nothing without me. You're nothing but a dirty little whore, my whore. You have one purpose and it's to take me and keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise. I know you love that. You know you love that."

"In fact, I bet you're wet already." He added with a sadistic smile.

Determined to prove his words, he quickly let go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms, pinning them above your head. His other hand started roaming your body lazily, like he was in no rush.

You tried to fight him at first, tried to escape, but to no avail. Not only was he stronger than you but he also..he wasn't wrong. You hated him for making you feel this way, you hated yourself for feeling this way and you hated your body for betraying you. Why did he affect you so heavily, without even putting in any effort? Why did your fear slowly dissipate, making room for something else, something you desperately tried to fight?

You didn't know and you'd probably never know but you could feel every inch of your body relax with his touch. You ceased to fight him, there was no point anymore. He won yet again and you didn't mind losing. He might have been a horrible person but he made you feel so fucking good, like nobody ever has before. Besides, one last time wouldn't hurt, right? You'll just treat it as breakup sex and then you'll part ways. You won't answer his calls or texts, school is over in a month anyway. You'll never see him again after this.

A sudden slap to your face made you snap out of your thoughts. His next words didn't register at first, while you were trying to fight off the pain.

"..where you belong." Was all you heard before finally regaining your senses.

"W-what did you say?" Your voice was weak, your ears still ringing.

"I said.." he spat out, getting more angry with every second. His hand was now grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him while the other still held your arms in a tight grip. "Since you clearly forgot who you're talking to..I'll make sure to remind you. And I'll make sure you stay this time. Right here, with me. Where you fucking belong."

"H-how?"

The only warning you got was another smile flashed in your direction before his lips clashed with yours, catching you off guard. It didn't take long for him to dominate the kiss, his hand exploring your body again, pulling you closer to him. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your lips or the way your hips were rolling against his, your back arched, basically begging for his touch, begging for more of him. You forgot about everything that led to this moment, it was just you and him again.

Despite the fire growing in your belly, you suddenly felt tears running down your face, staining your cheeks. As much as you tried to deny it, you knew this was temporary. He'll get what he wants and everything will be back to normal. You can't play pretend forever. Nobody can. But this time you won't come back, you'll survive this, you'll survive the last month and then-

He suddenly pulled away, leaving you breathless and confused. Before you noticed your arms were set free, his hand on your head instead, fingers curling into your hair. Seemingly without any effort, he pulled you away from the wall and further into the room, bending you over the nearest desk, his front now pressed against your back.

"You wanna know how?" He whispered in your ear, not loosening the grip on your hair. "Pay attention, doll."

In one swift movement he stripped you off your sweater, using it to tie your hands behind your back. This was new. He never used any kind of restraints on you. You felt your body tremble, whether with fear, anticipation or excitement you weren't sure. Until you heard his next words.

"I'm getting you pregnant tonight, are we clear?"

#lord forgive me for this one #all of us are dead #all of us are dead netflix #all of us are dead x reader #all of us are dead fanfic #yoon gwi nam #yoon gwinam x reader #gwinam x reader

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nerdyfangirl67 · 3 years

Note

May I request Erik with a s/o that's kinda socially awkward and has some social anxiety? (You can make it headcanons or scenario which ever your in the mood for, or if your not in the mood for this at at don't feel pressured to do it! Thank you have a great day!)

First of all, thank you for the request! I am super excited about this HC and hope it lives up to your expectations. I hope you have an amazing day too darling! <3

A/N: I didn’t directly call the reader Erik’s s/o, but you can certainly read it as such. I did take the concept of the reader being called forward to sing for a position in the opera, much like Christine in POTO. Hope y’all like it!

Warnings: feelings of anxiety, social awkwardness/anxiety, tense social situations

Pairing: Erik Destler x fem!reader

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go when you had agreed to allow him to teach you.

You had taken lessons from the infamous Phantom of the Opera only because he wouldn’t leave you alone until you had agreed to become his protégé. He had heard you sing as you danced alone on the practice stage one late evening, insisting that with the proper practice, you would have the voice of an angel.

At first, you had been miffed by his persistence, only agreeing to lessons in the hope that it would stop him from randomly materializing, demanding you become his pupil. After a while, you no longer viewed your lessons as an obligation, but rather, you looked forward to the time you got to spend with him, treasured it, in fact.

You had finally managed to get his real name from him, only after agreeing that you would someday share your talent (he insisted you were gifted) with others. You had agreed because you had thought, albeit rather naively, that such a situation would never arise.

You should have known...Erik had his ways.

A short time after he had told you his name, you were being called forward from the scattered group of dancers during a practice.

“Ms. Y/N, I have heard rumors that you are truly a gifted vocalist, and since we need someone to fill in for our lead in the closing aria, who better than you? Would you mind singing from the top of the aria, bel canto, please madame.” The director addresses you.

You had reluctantly walked forward that day, singing as if the only one in front of you was Erik (it had been the only way you could get yourself to sing in front of all those around you). Afterward, the director had insisted you be pulled from your position as a backup dancer to sing in the last composition.

With each practice, more and more individuals came to watch, making it harder and harder for you to focus and sing clearly.

You hadn’t realized how bad your social awkwardness had gotten until the night of the performance. You had spent the entire week leading up to it in a state of tense nervousness. The only thing that gave you any sense of comfort was Erik’s music. He would play for you in the evenings, comforting you, if only for a few hours.

You had sung the part, just as you were supposed to, barely registering what was happening. The clapping and cheering of the crowd pull you back to reality. The crowd presses in around you, causing your breath to catch in your throat, making your heart start to race. You clench your hands into fists as you look for a way off the stage, exiting as quickly as possible.

You hike up the heavy skirts of the costume and run through the hallways, only stopping when you reach one of the small nooks off the maze of corridors at the back of the opera house. You slide down the wall, pulling your knees into your chest as you try to slow your breathing. You stay that way for a while, trying to clear your mind of the image of all those faces staring at you.

It isn’t until you feel the air shift that you realize not only had you been there a long time, but that you were no longer alone. You also knew, without looking, who it was.

“I-I...” You can’t think of anything to say, so you lift your eyes up to his. You are only able to make out a small part of his face, the rest hidden by the shadows.

He doesn’t say anything, instead, bending down to look you straight in the eyes. His dark eyes search yours for only a moment before he tentatively wraps his arms around your shoulders.

You unfurl your legs as you lean in, pressing your face against his chest as you listen to the steady beating of his heart.

At that moment, all else falls away. The crowds, the blinding stage lights, the rapid beating of your heart; it all disappears. All that remains is the feeling of being with him, in his arms. And you realize he had become the comfort you had been searching for.

#phantom of the opera headcanon #phantom of the opera fandom #phantom of the opera fanfic #phantom headcanon #phantom of the opera hc #phantom of the opera reader #phantom of the opera x reader #phantom of the opera reader insert #POTO reader #poto reader insert #POTO #POTO fandom #POTO fanfic #POTO headcanon #erik destler x fem!reader #erik destler x you #phantom x you #the phantom x reader

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imrowanartist · 2 years

Note

Oh no!!! I'm sorry that you're sick! I hope you get feeling better soon. And I guess as a way to help with the boredom I've got kind of a long list for Yara if you're willing

#1, #5, #8, #9, #17, #21, #22, #23

I love Yara so much and I'd love to read more about him! (please don't feel obligated to answer all of these, I know it's a lot XD)

--eyayah-oya

@eyayah-oya

OC Ask Prompts

I am just being a baby about having a cold XD

But I will definitely use that as an excuse to answer al of these about my precious Yara!

I'm gonna put the answer to 1. under the cut, since it involves spoilers for Deference for Darkness. So it's up to you if you want to read it or not ^^

5. How affectionate are they? What are their top love languages?

At first Yara isn't very affectionate, mostly because he's very shy and socially awkward. He prefers tech over people, touch makes him uncomfortable and he generally prefers to be ignored. The longer he stays with Halo, the more he opens up, though! He still won't be affectionate with anyone he doesn't know well, but with Nova, Purrgil and a few others from Halo he feels safe. He's still not usually the one to initiate physical contact, but he does allow it. He doesn't fully come out of his shell until after Order 66, when he's living with Mij, Nuts and the rest of their clan. His top love languages are, words of affirmation and quality time :)

8. What will always make them smile? What will always make them cry?

Anything tech will always make Yara smile! Ask him to fix something, to improve something and he'll be happy. Nuts is also very good at making him smile with his snarky comments and silly antics. There's a person important to him whom Yara loses at some point. Thinking about that will always make him cry.

9. What was their first kiss like?

Ooohh boy... Yara's first kiss is actually with Nuts XD They're both recovering in the care of Mij Gilamar, very much physically and emotionally damaged from everything that happened during Order 66. There's a moment where they're comforting each other and on a whim Yara just...kisses Nuts. He's very awkward and embarrassed about it, but Nuts kisses him back. Then they basically sit back and go...nah that ain't it. They prefer to be friends lol.

17. Do they consider themselves to be romantic? Why or why not?

Yara doesn't consider himself to be romantic, but probably is? He'd be the kinda person to leave sappy notes for his partner to find and hold hands etc. Nuts loves to tease him about it.

21. What are they most afraid of? What made them fear this?

Early on? Being decommissioned. Especially after he loses half his hearing early on after being deployed and ends up with nerve damage in his hands (he loses the rest of his hearing towards the end of the war). Nova and Purrgil promised to protect him, but it doesn't take his fear away completely. Post O66 he is most afraid of the Empire coming for their clan, since they're all deserters.

22. What is something others admire about them? Are they aware that people admire them for this?

His family very much admires his ability to adapt. Especially Mij is very proud of how quickly Yara has learned to lip read, how he has taught himself to live with his disability and how he makes the most with what he has. He's not specifically aware they admire him for this, though he knows his buir is proud of him <3

23. Where would they fall on a politeness/rudness scale of 1-10 (1 being the most polite and 10 being the rudest)?

2. The only reason it's not 1, is because later on he learns to stand up for himself more and sometimes snarks at nat-borns who disrespect him XD

Thank you for all the questions! I feel like I learned some new things about Yara as well!

1. Who are they closest to? How did they meet and what do they like to do together?

Yara is closest to Jinn. Jinn has taken care of Yara since he was a tiny cadet on Kamino who showed more interest in tech than in fighting. They met when Jinn found Yara hiding in a supply closet, trying to hack his own training results so he wouldn't be decommisioned. Jinn watched after him after that, named him and stepped in once or twice when other cadets tried to bully him. Jinn loves languages and reading about different cultures, Yara loves listening to him. After Jinn gets deployed, Yara hacks his own files to change his age and assigns himself to Halo Company as well, a full two years before his training is supposed to be finished.

Jinn's death absolutely crushes Yara and it takes a while for him to get close to anyone again after that. Nova pairs him up with Purrgil intentionally, so they can keep an eye on each other, which works. After Order 66 he is closest with Nuts. They like to watch holo dramas together, especially detective ones and try to guess the plot twists and throw shade. Nuts also likes to drag Yara along into his crazy plans.

#ro talks #clone trooper yara #the clone wars #the road to concordia au #ask game #clone ship #sort of #very minor

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karlajoyner · 4 years

Text

Stressed Out (Sunset Curve x Reader)

A/n: So starting off I've made a master list that I'm posting real soon for you all to access my stories without the scrolling. In order to post it I have to update my post about my requests/taglist and soon because I do get a lot on that comments that ask for more Charlie or more Owen and I wanna give you guys that but I also wanna make sure that I get through the requests that you guys send me with plots and storylines. It just makes it like a thousand times easier to have something to work off of. Opposed to me coming up with my own storylines that I have to do a lot of reading on my own to get my gears working! But again thank you guys for the comments! And finally I wanna say thank you for sending in your requests and your feed back. It is much appreciated!

Disclaimer: Alex is bi in this one not taking away from the fact that he's gay in the show it just runs best for this storyline! There is no Bobby btw! Haven’t written a foursome with 3 guys before so it might suck ass. And it’s not much but it’s something so enjoy my fellow fantoms!

Warnings: Smut (18+)

————

I internally groaned walking into school. I wasn't the worst student. But by far I certainly was not the best. Which is why I had a reputation since I first arrived to high school.

That and I was in a band with 3 of my best friends. Who all happened to be guys. Hot guys at that.

Which automatically made me the schools slut. It was fine with me but the boys didn't like the label.

No matter how true it was.

"Hey y/n heard you gave Mike Dawson a blowjob this weekend. Just when I thought you couldn't be anymore of a slut"

"Mind your fucking business Hayley" I heard a familiar voice speak up for me. A smirk spreading on my face as I felt an arm wrap around my shoulder.

"Did she come to you right after Patterson? What's it like to be her sloppy seconds?" Hayley Becker spoke with a wicked evil smirk plastered on her face.

"Fucking amazing actually. God the long nights we have. It's so great" I heard another familiar voice from my left. A large hand intertwining my fingers with theirs. She rolled her eyes clearly not expecting my boys to speak up for me. But then again neither was I.

"Slut"

"Skank"

"Whore"

"Bitch" I spoke as the bell rang.

"Just watch your back y/l/n" She said before turning around and walking away.

"She will!" Reggie shouted after the dark haired girl. The three of us expectantly looking at our bandmate.

"What? I didn't even get to tell her we would too" I sighed shaking my head at the boy.

"Thanks for sticking up for me guys but I can do that myself"

"We know. But your our girl. And apart of this band so we're kinda obligated" Alex spoke as the four of us walked to first period.

"Your really not"

"Come on y/n you know we're still gonna do it"

"I know and I only let you today cause I can't deal with that bitch at this time of day. I mean seriously it's 8:00 o'clock in the morning. Does she not have anything better to do than spread rumors about me?"

"Apparently not. So you and Jake Mills behind the church?" Reggie asked.

"Didn't happen considering I was with you idiots all weekend. You know your the only guys I touch" I bit my lip hearing the three of them chuckle.

"Yeah well it better stay that way. I don't wanna hear Trevor O'Connor bragging about banging you in the boys locker room again"

"Schools golden boy?" I questioned.

"He tried starting the rumor yesterday during p.e but we quickly shut it down" Reggie explained as I stopped a few feet away from the science room to continue talking.

"So Hayleys boyfriend wants to bang me? Wow"

"Yeah but don't even fucking thing about" Luke said pushing me up against the lockers beside us.

"I wasn't. Unless you guys piss me off" I grinned pushing him off of me. Opening the door a few feet away and walking in.

"Gentlemen. And Ms. y/l/n. Your late"

"Sorry Mrs. Daniels we had to deal with something"

"And did this something give you tardy passes"

"It did not"

"Detention. All of you"

"That's nothing new to them Mrs. Daniels"

"Shut the fuck up Hayley" I scoffed taking my seat beside Alex.

"Ladies stop it before I send you to the principal"

"Yes Mrs. Daniels" Hayley and I spoke in sync.

"I can't believe Luke dated her" I whispered towards Alex glaring at the blonde bimbo.

"Jealous?"

"Why would I be? I already have him. And I could have her boyfriend too if I wanted him" I said taking down the notes on the board.

"Mrs. Daniels I can't focus on the lesson because they're distracting me with their talking" Hayley spoke pointing an accusing finger at us.

"We are not!" I shouted sitting up.

"Yes you are probably talking about who your gonna whore around with next"

"Yeah it's your boyfriend if you don't check yourself Hayley"

"Trevor would never do that!"

"I'm pretty sure he would"

"Ladies principal office right now" I scoffed standing up.

"Wait!" Luke shouted standing up. Everyone's heads whipping toward him. He made his way over to me groping my left boob.

I scowled at how hard he squeezed glaring at him.

"Dickhead" I muttered.

"Mr. Patterson! You too principals office" We looked at the other two boys expectantly. Alex immediately rolling his eyes before standing up.

"We could do this the easy way or the hard way Mrs. Daniels"

"If she goes we go"

"I cannot send you two away for absolutely no reason Reginald" Mrs. Daniels spoke challenging the boys.

I close my eyes preparing myself for what came next. Alex was quick to slap my ass while Reggie pulled me in for a sweet kiss. Immediately earning gasps from my classmates.

"Now I can do it. Office all of you! And detention today after school!"

I groaned walking out of the principals office with my bandmates.

"Detention for 3 weeks. Seriously?"

"To make it worse we have to spend 2 of those with Hayley" I spoke seeing the blonde talking with Trevor just a few feet away. Being sure to send them a harsh glare, I finally turned back to the boys.

"Hey you'll be with us everything's gonna be fine" Reggie said throwing an arm around my shoulder leading me away to our next period. That we conveniently had together.

"No it won't. I also have to chaperone the stupid homecoming with Hayley" I cried wanting nothing more than for the day to be done for.

That afternoon we spent in detention not leaving until late afternoon. Due to the fact that my detention went on longer than the boys.

I walked into the studio behind Luke not really in the mood to practice.

"What's wrong y/n/n? You seem down" Reggie asked as I plopped back onto the couch.

"I'm just tired is all. And a little stressed out"

"But we've gotta practice baby, for our next gig. Sunset Curves so gonna rock that book club" Luke said picking up his six string. I watched as Alex and Reggie sent him a glare, the boy immediately putting it back down.

"Or we could take a day off" He spoke coming to sit to my left while Reggie was on my right.

"That sounds amazing" I mumbled feeling Alex begin to massage my shoulders from behind. I craned my neck allowing him more access. Now feeling a little more relaxed than before.

"So tell us y/n/n why are you stressed out?" Luke asked as I shut my eyes.

"Well for starters I'm so gonna get my ass beat when I get home" I sighed feeling Reggie begin to rub my arm to comfort me. Something he did often with how anxious I got.

"And there's just nothing I want to do more than run your ex girlfriend over with a bulldozer" I mumbled hearing a chuckle escape their lips.

"Sounds like a plan" Alex said as Luke intertwined our fingers.

"We'll make a day out of it. Just us four and a bulldozer" He joked making me giggle. The laugh got caught in my throat as I felt a soft kiss on the side of my neck.

"Seriously guys? Not today. No way" I spoke opening my eyes.

"We just wanna help you relax"

"That's what you said last time. I couldn't walk right for 2 days" I mumbled the last part.

"We'll be gentle" Reggie spoke.

"I know you will Reg. It's them I'm worried about" I spoke earning a pointed look from Alex.

"Okay Luke"

"Am I that rough?" He asked a frown forming on his face.

"Sometimes" I admitted feeling a little bad.

"Gee I'm sorry baby" Luke spoke kissing the back of my hand.

"It's okay. I like it when I'm in the mood" I said watching as Alex walked around the couch.

"Well then boys why don't we help our girl relax for today" Alex said bending down in front of me. I bit my lip as he spread my legs open feeling a slight breeze hit my covered core.

"Well there's no need for your skirt or these" Alex spoke toying with the waistbands of both my skirt and panties.

I shimmied out of them with ease leaving me exposed to my best friends like I'd been many times before.

"She just gets prettier every time"

"And wetter"

"Mind if I taste baby?" Luke asked. I nodded my head, watching as he dipped his long fingers in between my folds. Moaning as he pulled them back up to see them glistening with my cum.

"So good" He whispered putting them in his mouth.

"Okay I want a taste now" Alex said opening my legs a little wider.

"Guys. A little help" I huffed as Luke and Reggie hooked themselves on each of my thighs to keep me still.

"Please" I begged getting more turned on by the second. The blonde didn't hesitate to latch onto my core. A loud moan escaping my lips.

"Oh fuck" I struggled to keep still as he moved his tongue skillfully through my folds. Lapping it inside and out as moans fell from my lips.

I whimpered as Reggie slowly began to rub my clit making the pleasure intensify.

"Use y-you're f-fingers" I mustered out Alex obeying my request sticking two fingers in my wet pussy. Picking up the pace. My eyes screwed shut as a familiar feeling of bliss coursed through me.

"Look at me baby" Luke muttered turning my head to look at him with his free hand. I opened my eyes looking into his blue ones covered with complete lust.

He was quick to smash his lips onto mine as the other two worked on building up my orgasm. Which wasn't far at the pace Alex was working on me.

"Holy shit!" I panted pulling away and throwing my head back at the amazing sensation of my orgasm hitting.

"You squirted princess" Alex grinned wiping away the liquids dribbling down his chin. I giggled at his swollen pink lips placing a quick peck to them.

"What now baby?" Luke asked rubbing his hand on my thigh.

I looked at the three boys before discarding any remaining clothes I had left. Watching as their eyes raked me up and down like many times before.

"Reg can you just fuck me today. I really need gentle" I begged as his cheeks turned bright red whenever I asked him to do something. Whether it was sexual or not.

"Sure beautiful" He smiled lopsidedly pushing his lips onto mine.

I sighed in content as he pushed me down on the couch. My head landing on Luke's lap giving me a little leverage.

"She's something else" Alex spoke to no one in particular.

"Your telling me" Reggie panted pulling away to undo his belt and jeans. I bit my lip looking up at the boy with the blue eyes. Who no surprise had a smirk plastered on his face.

"Condom" I heard Alex say presumably to Reggie. But I was too entrance in Luke's gaze wanting to include him. Upon hearing a ripping of a package I glance back at the boy who was hovering above me.

"I can do something for you after if you want" I bit my lip speaking towards Luke.

"It's okay baby. It's about you today" He said moving his hand down from my collarbone to my boob.

Reggie and I moaned simultaneously as he slowly entered me. Immediately stretching me out.

"So tight" He muttered beginning to move at a steady pace.

A squeal escaping my lips as Luke pinched my nipples paying close attention to each of them. He'd always been a boob guy.

I pulled Reggie down towards me our lips meeting in the middle as his speed began to increase.

Then there they were again. Fingers were now rubbing circles on my clit presumably Alex's sending my body into pure ecstasy.

I moaned loudly into Reggies mouth as I felt myself my inner walls clench around him. Earning a groan from the bassist. His thrust becoming more sloppy.

"Shit. Shit. Oh fuck" He cursed as his orgasm hit. Mine coming seconds after.

"Holy fuck Reg" I panted coming down from my high.

"That was pretty fucking hot princess" Alex spoke as Reggie got off of me to go throw away the condom.

"I try" I joked sitting up. Luke immediately removing his muscle tee and handing it to me.

"You do know this isn't gonna cover much up right?" I questioned him putting it on anyway.

"Who said we wanted you to cover up baby" He said pulling me under his arm. I sighed contently placing my hands on his bare torso.

"Anyways Reg why don't you go run her a bath inside the house" Alex suggested throwing me my panties that had been thrown onto the lazy boy.

"Got it!" Reggie said coming over and placing a chaste kiss to my lips before running out of the garage.

"I get to clean her up in the shower. Called it" Luke said as Alex wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Just as long as I get to put her to bed"

"Guys I've orgasmed twice today give me a break"

"Are you feeling more relaxed princess?"

Alex asked grinning at me.

"Much. Now if we could do that consistently for the next 2 weeks then I might be able to get through detention with Hayley without ripping her head off" I spoke earning a laugh from the two boys. Both of them knowing well that I wasn't joking.

————

Up Next: Carrie Wilson x Reader

Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Alex x Male Reader

Luke Patterson x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

————

@lolychu @headheartbellarke @bookish0918 @kcd15 @ifilwtmfc @moviesbooksandfandoms @lovesanimals @lavender-writer @kaitieskidmore1 @morganayennefertyrell @iloveteenwolf @ghostofmgg

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geminil0vr · 3 years

Text

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 !

the masterlist -> part one

summary ✰ it's the night of the slytherin bash, and, intoxicated, you almost blurt out all your relationship troubles to pansy and the boys of slytherin.

tags ✰ @partr1dge <3

word count ✰ 3.4k

content ✰ alcohol, weed, rip. mill's hairbrush, a big party, drunk/high people and reader, mentions of sex, mild (but just as serious) sexual assault, boyfriend being pushy, arguments, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, pansy lowkey admiring the reader and vice versa, pansy taking off your makeup for you.

a/n ✰ yes we're having a lil party moment right on shedyool <3 i think i made draco too hot in this like have i forgotten this is a pansy fic ?? and i've been listening to the playlist on repeat for some inspiration but now all the songs are stuck in my head yikes... anyway, happy reading :))

letting out a short yell, you bolt out the way of millicent bulstrode being chased by her own hairbrush in your dorm room, falling backwards onto your bed, then leaning up on your forearms to watch in amusement as she squeals.

"stop it, stop it!"

pansy crosses her arms, leaning in the doorway for a moment before speaking calmly despite the urgent situation, "mill, i already told you not to try any beautification spells for tonight. they take a certain finesse that you clearly..." she eyes the hairbrush, which has somehow grown teeth, "lack."

daphne fervently attempts to throw millicent's wand to her, having lost her own somewhere in the room, ducking whenever the hairbrush swings too low by her head and yelling encouragement to her as she wails.

"it's gonna bloody eat me!"

you glance over to pansy, your lips quirked but still fighting the brighter grin that tries to force its way upon your mouth, one brow raised. she looks back with a smirk, raising her brows lazily, then pulls out her wand at last.

sure, you have yours, but come on! this is quality entertainment.

muttering a spell under her breath, the hairbrush rises, letting out a sharp, plasticky sound, teeth gnashing at the unknown force which has suddenly halted its rampage. then, thin, dark cracks begin to show upon its surface as it travels higher and higher into the air, finally letting out one last high-pitched sound before exploding into hot pink shards of plastic onto the wooden floor of the room.

millicent makes a lacklustre attempt of trying to catch certain pieces that are still falling, whining about how it was her favourite hairbrush. daphne drops the wand and falls back onto her duvet, exasperated, and you watch ahead in shock.

"blimey, pansy, couldn't you have just done 'finite'?" you ask, eyes wide.

"'s not nearly as much fun," she grins, bounding over to the large, dark oak wardrobe in the corner of the room, "now, ladies. what are we going to wear for the slytherin bash?"

"i bagsy y/n's black dress!" daphne pipes up, bouncing to sit cross-legged on her bed.

"no, you bloody well don't!"

you look in the mirror of the vanity, tucking back a few strands of hair out of your face and looking down at your silky emerald dress, the neckline dipping a little at your chest, the straps thin.

"whatever, i actually might look better in the green, anyway."

slinking out from the bathroom, daphne fixes the button on the back of the dress she's wearing, the black fabric clinging to her skin, "you definitely do."

"you're just saying that to keep my dress, aren't you?"

"maybe so. but you're still very pretty." she pecks your cheek and sits on her bed, fixing her curled hair in a compact mirror and swaying slightly to the thumping music already playing downstairs.

pansy pulls at her dress, leaning onto the vanity and applying a thin coat of red lipstick over her lips, looking at you through the glass "she's not wrong. you look nice."

you swallow, blinking at your reflection. you've brushed your brows, applied some blush, and a little smokey eyeliner, but nothing much. you don't mind letting your skin breathe a little, anyway.

"thanks, pansy." you eye her loose, sparkling, red dress, neckline dipping so low on her chest that you feel the sudden need to look away, instead focusing on her light-green eyes which never actually ceased intensely tracking the movements of your iris. "so do you."

"right. thank you."

millicent finishes tying her hair up, avoiding using any muggle products and therefore resorting to something simple, clipping it back with a claw accessory, "okay," she starts, and you and pansy quickly look away from each other, "so, are we going or not? can't be too late, they're still missing the life of the party!"

"mill, you pass out after three hours during almost every single party." daphne blinks.

"what's that saying, here for a good time but not a long time?" pansy snickers, zipping up her black boots.

millicent rolls her eyes playfully, crossing her arms. "shut your gobs, the two of you! now let's go!"

locking the door quickly on your way out so you won't have to deal with any arseholes doing it in your bed like last time (well, at least they were having a whale of a time), you bid goodbye to your dormmates who all part ways, immediately grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from a large table in the corner, looking over at the youthful atmosphere suddenly claiming such a place as the slytherin common room.

pouring yourself a shot, although you're awful at doing those, you hold your nose (as if that's going to help) and gulp down the alcohol, finishing by setting the little glass down and placing your hands on the table full of drinks in front of you, hair falling down into your face.

feeling a hand on your waist, you tense and stand up straight, not relaxing much when your boyfriend kisses your cheek and whispers a 'hello' into your ear.

"ben!" you exclaim, turning around and smiling at him, though not genuinely, "i didn't know you were coming."

"some guys in the year above invited me, unlike my own girlfriend." he teases, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer, and your nose scrunches at the sharp stench of beer on his breath. putting two and two together, considering how he's slurring his words, you realise he's already tipsy.

"right, sorry!" you genuinely are, though if he hadn't showed up, you wouldn't mind much, "i didn't really find out until the lesson before my free hour, and, well, you wanted us to go to your room, so —"

"oh, yeah. how could i forget?" he leans in, almost stumbling over his own two feet as he gets even closer to you, pulling you to him by your waist and kissing your neck, making you push your head down a little. the party having only just started, people are still piling in and the lights aren't turned off just yet.

you push him by the chest, gently, "it's still early, benny. not now."

ignoring your wishes, he nibbles at your neck, and you bring your shoulder up in discomfort, "but don't you want a repeat?" no, you really don't.

"ben, just, back off, please." you push a little more firmly now, shaking him off, and going to grab the bottle again to pour yourself another shot of firewhiskey as an excuse to not stay so close to him. but clearly that tactic isn't great, because he pushes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.

"come on, this party'll be lame anyway. your room's empty, right?" you freeze as his lips meet your throat once more, swallowing before finding it in yourself to stretch your shoulders back, and push his arms from your waist, quickly pouring the shot and keeping it in your hand, just in case you need to spill it on him as a distraction.

if he's gonna be pushy, he could at least be decent in bed.

well, at least, that's your cynical view on it.

"ben. no. my — my friends are here, and i... i don't want to leave them all alone." you fiddle with the shot glass in your hand, brows furrowed, and he exhales loudly before shrugging his shoulders.

"if you don't want me then you could've just said so."

your eyes widen, "no, i didn't mean it like that, just that... just not tonight."

"well, it kinda seems like you're not interested. but whatever, y/n, it's fine." as you try to reach out to him, he walks over to his friends, and you lean against the table, gulping down the firewhiskey and wincing at the burn in your throat.

shit.

"come on, y/n! they're dimming the lights now, i wanna dance!" daphne bounds over to you, dragging you by the arm before you can protest.

and you oblige.

two hours in, you're tipsy, worn-out from all the dancing, yet still going back between the many students for more adrenaline. grinning as a song you love comes on, you regroup your dormmates in the crowd, grabbing them by their hands and all winding your hips to the beat, millicent giggling and falling over her feet, daphne tearing away from her boyfriend to join with a smile on her face. pansy isn't very giggly when drinking, you've noticed. in close settings, sure, but in big parties like this, everyone so close, air hot, green lights strobing across the common room... she just dances. raising her hands above her head, swaying her hips, twirling her friends around by their fingers — it's almost sensual. well, to anyone else. not to you.

pansy eyes you as you spin — the exhilarated grin on your face from being able to shrug off everything burdening you, everything weighing atop your shoulders. and she realises that she likes the shine of the strobing lights against your skin, your nose and cheeks gleaming, eyes a little bloodshot and chest glistening from all the alcohol in your system, and all the dancing. and when you and pansy finally get off the dancefloor to join the slytherin boys on the sofas, she likes the way your eyes tear up a little after taking a long drag from the joint that's being passed around.

"this isn't laced with anything, right?" you clear your throat to speak over the music, passing it back to theo, head dizzy. you watch the lights entangle themselves between little clouds of smoke, and wonder which cloud is yours.

"what do you think i am, a drug lord? no, it is not laced with anything." he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the sofa.

blaise elbows him, looking at you and pansy who are both sitting next to each other, "don't mind him — you know he gets bitchy when he smokes."

"do not." theo huffs.

"yes, you do." draco deadpans, snatching the joint from his hands and inhaling the smoke, blowing it upwards from his bottom lip.

you chuckle, stretching to settle comfortably into the sofa and tapping pansy's bare thigh subconsciously, to which she tenses, "i feel like nott's always a bitch, regardless."

"not wrong there." theo winks at you, rubbing at his eyes. your head feels like it's spinning, and you giggle again, leading blaise to do the same.

"what's so funny, y/l/n?" pansy raises her brows nonchalantly, crossing her legs and studying you at her right. she's taken the joint between her plump lips now, inhaling deeply for a second, then blowing it up into the air.

"think it's the weed." you giggle once more, eyelids heavy, leaning your head onto her shoulder — you two are much more friendly when a little bit intoxicated and high. more so you, than her.

draco leans back into the armchair he's sitting in, looking over to the corner of the room and spotting your ravenclaw boyfriend drinking with his friends in the corner. and, being significantly less of an arsehole with something in his system, draco decided to be polite.

"how's the boyfriend, y/n?" you chuckle at this, smiling softly and lifting your head up from pansy's shoulder.

"my boyfriend is an absolute, grade O, cockhead."

the whole group is still for a short moment, exchanging varying levels of shock and amusement, before turning back to you. draco speaks again, "is that so?"

"mhmm." you nod lazily, as if your head is too heavy to hold up, pointing over at him from the other side of the room, "ben sucks. he's awful. if i could, i would — well, i mean, i could, but if i really could, i'd —"

"right, i think that's enough of that for tonight." pansy takes the joint from between your index and middle finger, interrupting you and attempting to change the subject considering your tipsy and high state. she’s been through enough non-sober confessions in her lifetime to know best.

"no, i mean it. and it would be worth it if he would actually fuck m—"

"i said, enough." pansy presses, trying to save you any embarrassment. being good enough friends with the slytherin boys of your year since you all first arrived, you know there'll be no judgement or rumours spread around. but, still. better not to air out all of your dirty laundry, or whatever the americans say. well, that's what 'sober you' would say. and right now, you're completely ready to confess how shitty your boyfriend is, to reveal the dialogue that usually only stays in your head.

"come on, pansy, the people wanna know." blaise raises his finger to her, grinning. the boy loved drama; he wasn't a sharer, but certainly a listener.

"i, the people, do not care." draco raises his finger as well, slouched in his seat.

"and i, the people, say you're not gonna let y/n humiliate herself. if she really wants to say this, she’ll do it when she’s sober.” pansy frowns, standing up and gripping your arm, passing the joint over to theo who was watching the scene casually.

“usually you love this stuff!” theo raises his arms lazily for emphasis.

“well, she’s my friend.” pansy gives him a blink stare.

"blah, blah, blah, parkinson." you slur you words a little, and she scowls, "i'm ready to say it. ben rowen is shite in and out of the be—"

she muffles your voice with her hand, forcing you to get up and follow her to the dormitory calmly, as you attempt to yell through her fingers, instead practically humming. it's not a messy, nor embarrassing scene -- you're at least sober enough to know better, and no one's paying attention anyway, not with the beat of the music thrumming through the room, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. but you're not sober enough to control your urge to break down and admit that you desperately want to break up with your boyfriend, even though you think you still love (the old, fake) him, even though you're scared to break his heart.

seeing the scene from across the common room, ben strides over with a purpose, and the boys on the sofa snort at his actions. "what happened?" he tears pansy's hand from your mouth (thankfully, you're not wearing lipstick), to which she scrunches up her nose, clenching her jaw and glancing to the side impatiently.

"your girlfriend had a little too much to drink and smoke. she's going to bed."

"she can just stay with me." he seems over his annoyance from before. shame his annoying personality continues to linger, you think.

pansy eyes him up and down rapidly, grip still firm on your arm. there’s something about your boyfriend, especially considering your change in behaviour around him, that pisses her off. you're looking between the two of them with wide eyes, considerably amused. "no."

"what do you mean, no?" you notice now that he's much, much drunker than before. the boys are still watching, leaning forward to hear over the music. well, theo and blaise are -- draco gives the 'altercation' a glance before setting his focus on the almost-finished joint between his fingers.

"i thought ravenclaws were meant to have an IQ of at least more than ten — no, means, i will not let her stay with you, she's going to sleep it off." you look over to the sofas and give a look the boys, half-grimacing, half-grinning.

"listen, i'm the boyfriend here —"

"are you? because i don't recall you ever being present the entire party."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean, i was just over —"

"with her, i mean. why don't you go drown yourself in some more of that beer you obviously like so much," 'ouch', blaise mouths, "and i'll take care of your girlfriend, who... y/n?" you stop making frantic pointing gestures to the boys to ‘translate’ what they were saying since the boys couldn’t lip read, turning your attention to the people in front of you.

"yup?" you shrug, tilting your head up at her, being just an inch or two shorter.

pansy closes her eyes, sighing, then shakes her head, feeling a little wobbly herself, "nevermind. let's get you to bed, huh?" she shoots daggers at ben, whose nostrils flare as you're guided to the girls dormitory. he goes after you two again, but is quickly halted when draco's voice raises over the music.

"perhaps you should let them leave, rowen. just head elsewhere — don't be an arse."

ben sighs in exasperation, making his way to the group, but draco sticks his leg out through the gap between the armchair and the sofa on which you were just sitting, making your boyfriend stumble back.

"that wasn’t an invitation." draco deadpans, although the corner of his lip quirks up as he takes a sip of firewhisky and raises his brows.

instead of casting a quick makeup removal spell, pansy opts to lean you against the bathroom sink at a safe distance, using a cotton pad and cleaning off your eyeliner and any sweat or blush left on your skin. you know, just in case the spell doesn't go well, and you end up being eaten by a magic cotton pad.

you close your eyes, gripping the cold sink behind you loosely as pansy wipes warm water over your skin.

"done." she nods, expressionless, as your eyes flutter open, easily casting 'incendio' on the cotton and not bothering to watch as it crumbles into ash on the floor. she certainly has a flair for the dramatics, and you can't help but think she's picked it up from draco malfoy.

you look into the mirror to smooth down your hair, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen from the firewhiskey (and a little from when pansy pressed her palm into them). she tosses pyjamas at you, and you wobble a bit when they hit your side.

"change."

"okay, sergeant." you snort as she shuts the door, clumsily picking up the shorts and sweater she'd thrown.

shrugging off your dress, you call out from inside the bathroom. "why did you get mad at ben?"

for a beat, there was silence, until she called back. "because he was being a 'cockhead'." pansy mocked.

"and why did you make me leave?" you pull up your pyjama shorts, squinting down and trying to tie a little bow at the front, rather unsuccessfully, "i was having fun."

"well, you were gonna embarrass yourself, y/n. i only helped you out."

after slipping on your large sweater, you peek your head out the door, seeing her tie her raven hair back into a tiny ponytail, most strands falling out due to the length of it (or lack thereof). she'd done a makeup removal spell on herself.

"you're going to bed, too?" you murmur, furrowing your brows.

"yeah, tired." she lies, sorting out her bed covers.

you bite the inside of your cheek before deciding to ‘confront’ her, “and, pansy?” her movements still, “i didn't need help. they're my friends, and i wanted to tell them —"

she turns around, cutting you off with a challenging look that makes you step fully into the doorway, "tell them what?"

you swallow. nevermind. maybe she was right to drag you out of the party. maybe she was right to have cut you off, instead of letting you indulge into your history and your barely-there sex life.

feeling like you're being frowned upon by authority, you duck your head sheepishly and clamber into bed, glancing over to millicent who has seemingly collapsed onto her bed and blacked out.

"is... everything okay with you and — you and ben, though?"

"yeah. i don't know what i was saying. he just pissed me off earlier and i started... talking shit." you lie through your teeth.

"right." she flicks off the lights with her wand, back turned to you as she sits on her bed, pulling off her dress and slipping into a big shirt. the lamp on your bedside table that she turned on beforehand faintly casts the room in a warm glow, and through the darkness you can see the pale skin of her back as she pulls it down. your eyes dart away, deciding to focus on the ceiling, instead, "and you're really okay?" she turns now, and relief washes over you — relief that she didn't turn sooner.

you eye her as she gets under her covers, propping her head up with her hand. you bury yours sideways into the pillow, wrapping the duvet tightly around your frame. "yeah. you?"

"yes, y/n. now, sleep off all that shit in your system. and lie on your side, not your back." you listen to what she's told you plenty of time before, and lean over to switch off the lamp, the entire room pitch black.

"'night, pansy."

"goodnight."

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