#I've been working my ass off for the past two days and I still have more work to do

[screampied]

Sorry this is super specific but angry mean and sloppy hate sex w the jjk boys (specifically nanami) is all I've been thinking about 🥹🥹🥹

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ SCREAM, NO BOLOGNA ! ’﹒⺡

sukuna, toji, gojo, nanami, geto

જ warnings. fem! reader, hate séx, implied multiple órgasms, praise, dirty talk, facefucking, hair pulling, choking, overstim, squìrting, implied breeding, daddy kink, the bed kinda… breaks, mdni.

𖬺 — NANAMI KENTO.

“now now sweetheart,” he’d coo. his voice had such a sugary rasp as he spoke. you moan, feeling him casually bend you over with just one hand. you felt him softly caress the soft edges of your ass, lovingly stroking a thumb against your sheer skin before bringing his leaky tip towards your soaked folds. “was that little fit you threw earlier in the mall necessary? told you to wait until we got home.”

“don’t…care,” you huff out with furrowed eyebrows. your breath wafts against the soft material of the cushioned pillow as you pout. nanami raises a brow, making you arch just a little before your lips part. “i was bored all day. just f-fuck me, kento. s-stop bein' all nice ‘n just be rough with me.”

“my oh my, what a filthy mouth you have,” he clicks his tongue, and nanami purposely leans up close to you. you mewled once he grabs a fistful of your hair. he has a good grip before giving it a slight yank. you let off a whimper once the head of his cock skims past your entrance. not once but twice. his words were so rich, coated with pure tease before he lays his weight right up against you. “rough she says,” he whispers, and he brings his free hand to grip your waist. nanami was so precise and slow with his hand movements. you let off a gasp the minute he starts to ease his way inside. “if you wanted me to treat you like this, you didn’t have to be such a—”

he gets cut off by creating a single sloppy thrust against you and you sob out a whimper from how thick he was. a few good inches and you then started to feel yourself stretch. “…brat,” he concludes, and you even hear nanami’s voice get a tad bit lower. his tie tickles against your spine as he starts to move and your eyes didn’t hesitate to quickly rolllll into the very depths of your skull.

nanami didn’t mind being rough, especially if you asked nicely. whenever he was though, his thrusts were just godly. so good…

your maw dangles open as he’s just whacking you in all the right spots, all the right places.

he still had his work clothes on too—you couldn’t wait, you needed him now. his girth stretched you out in every way imaginable, you dumbly jerk against the bed before letting off a cute squeal. “k-kento, harder. choke me. harder pleaseee.”

nanami kisses his teeth, cocking his head to the side as he intakes a sharp concise breath.

“you’re somethin' else, you know that?” and you feel the warmth of his fingers wrap around your neck. his fingers, so thick. you hit back and forth against him—your pussy just squeaking a high pitch tune out in harmony. “rougher baby?” he huffs out, and you moan once he caresses the middle part of your neck. “you—you like bein' arched over like this for your husband?”

“y-yes,” you’d whine out, feeling his gentle touch graze against the fat of your ass. he loved caressing every inch of your body, so gentle. the tips of nanami’s thumbs gingerly press into the sides of your hips before he delivers a mean two second stroke. you gasp, wanting more, more of him being so spry and vigorous with his hips. “fuck me h-hard, ‘ken.”

nanami grows quiet, watching how your torso cutely gets propped up against him.

you were just aching . . . soaked for more of his thick inches plugging inside of your sweetened cunt. he loved the view. such a pretty wife being all arched for him, taking round after round. he wanted nothing more than to just lean right up to you and run a hand down your spine.

he adored getting under your skin, making you all shy and timid. once nanami starts to get ruthless, you’re making all types of noises, such noises reverberate across the entire room — ricochet after ricochet, just bouncing off the walls.

“jus’ like that, kento,” you’d whimper out, and the feeling of his thick cock delving all inside of your walls had you so wet—you were drooling all against the bed sheets. he hit it just right, nanami’s breath became rough and raspy. you wanted him to be a bit rough, so he was more than happy to oblige. you squeezed down against him and he groans, watching your chest slam and jolt against the beat cushiony mattress.

“g-goddamnn,” he throws his head back in pure ecstasy. you had him going feral, he was enticed with how good you made him feel. vice versa, you swallowed him whole. your cunt was just sputtering out sweet noises that made his ears practically pop. he liked seeing you like this, drooling for more cock. strands of saliva seep from the corners of your mouth solely based on how deep he reached inside of you. “sweetheart, you’re gonna—make a mess out of me.”

his voice was so low, it was sweet. how he spoke so rich and smoothly yet his thrusts against your aroused core was the entire opposite. you moaned, momentarily after a while you started to feel a sudden tension build up. a rush of waves went through you, and you whined once his tip kept smacking against your precious g-spot.

again, and again, and again, constant loop. your walls had him in a tight chokehold—quite literally, you were gripping around him like a vice before you squealed out a, “k-kento, o-oh my godddd. i feel, ‘m gonna— right there.”

he chuckles, deepening his hits against you. your cute words were suddenly broken, you couldn’t fully speak a sentence without choking up. he had you throbbing, slick running down your thighs with your jaw cutely open. he was so hefty. his base just rams right into you, it had you dizzy, toes curling and eyes just crossed. your ankle shook before you gasped at the abrupt feeling of you finally reaching your peak. “fuckkk kento,” you’d sob, and you only then realized you’d just squirt all over his cock.

“oooooh,” nanami hums, and he slows down just briefly. he ends up finishing around the same time as you, painting on your your spine with a gorgeous canvas of his own seed. it shot out in thin ropes on your back, you felt so warm and yet empty once he pulled out. nanami had such mahogany eyes full of love, running a hand down your waist once more before having a shy abrupt expression. “did . . my wife just squirt on me?”

a question, a simple question you couldn’t answer but he already knew. he smiles, soft chocolatey irises lingering towards your sopping wet pussy. he brings a hand towards it, giving it a sweet pat.

“mm. appears she did,” he answers for you, and he couldn’t be rough and mean to you for that long. he loved you too much, especially your body. nanami groans, feeling you wriggle your hips up against him, a sign that you wanted him to keep going. nanami’s lips tug up into a smile before he flips you over, slowly prying your legs open before humming. “can you do that again, my love? show me how much of a messy wife you can be.”

𖬺 — SUGURU GETO.

“woah. easyyyy now angel,” geto smirks, and he’d be laid back against the soft cushion of the driver’s seat.

he had you propped up right on his lap. it was tranquil, the two of you being surrounded by a secluded spot with a few streetlights making the scenery a bit more bright. your bottom lip quivered, hovering over his angry tip before swallowing thickly. “hm. i know you’re my ex ‘n all, but with a look like that i’d say you’re still in love with me.”

“just— shut up,” you’d grumble. he chuckles, bringing two rough hands towards the sides of your waist. he loved more than anything to touch you, to run and strum his svelte lengthy fingers all against your skin. it had you weak, he had you weak. geto and you were on and off, sure. but the pent up annoyed intimacy was always amazing. toe curling even, you try to hold back a moan the moment his cock starts to kiss against your folds, his tip gradually going inside. “fuck you.”

geto leers at you before a sly smirk compresses against his pink lips. “…girl, bye,” and his sassiness catches you off guard. with an eye roll, he moves you closer towards his chest—reaching against the left side of the seat to make it recline back. “all this talk for someone who still struggles to take me, even with prep. get serious.”

you glare, not knowing how to reply and he snickers at how quick he made you shut up. your glare turned into a cute eye-widening expression, because that’s when you start to feel his cock massage your inner walls.

“s-shit,” you’d gasp, unhurriedly feeling him sink inside. geto was always so thick, a perfect fit for you. that grip you always gave him. he loved it more than anything.

he still also loved you more than anything, but no one had to know that. “s-so fuckin’ big, suguru.”

“gotta be to stretch my favorite pussy,” he breathes, feeling you start to rock your hips—you moan at how quick he reached you so deep. geto had an upward curve, never failing to locate your most secretive and tender spots with his plump tip. he massaged your gummy walls so good it had your thighs already spasming. it was embarrassing, he had you wrapped around his finger.

you hated it, you hated him, is what you kept telling yourself. alas, you hated him enough to ride him into complete oblivion. “mhm. tug on my hair a bit, angel. always love when ya do that.”

you moue at him, forgetting how much of a slut he was. perhaps an even bigger one than you. you grab onto his silky healthy hair, giving it a nice tug before he slips off a moan. “heh. aw, does me moaning for you turn you on? felt you squeeze all against me jus’ now.”

“s-shut uppp,” you’d huff out, your voice starting to become a bit nervy. geto’s fingers trail against your waist before you start to grind against him. as his seat was reclined—he had such a pretty view of your face.

whilst you’re wrenching and jerking strenuously against him. his dick expands all inside you, his sheer girth, his cockhead that was dragging all through your folds. the more you moved, the more you coated his entire lower shaft with your glistening slick.

you made sure to use your hips in such a sensual motion, rotating them before swerving back and forth. geto grows quiet, your cute moans being the only sounds in the car — replacing the vehicle’s deafening silence with your sweet murmurs.

“still mad at me?” he suddenly whispers, your rhythmic movements driving him to the first street of plain insanity. you always knew how to ride him just right, hands of yours roamed all down his abs that poked through his white tee. “i can see right through that pretty bratty expression. you just wanted to fuck me. admit it.”

“stop—talking,” you’d grouse cutely, narrowing your eyebrows at him. you knew he was right though. geto groans, feeling you start to bounce on his lap . . the lap you were happily straddling. your eyes ran down his perfectly structured body, he wore a simple leather jacket with a white tank top underneath. a pretty figure, his abs were clenched and tightened all because of you. you moan, feeling his dick brush and swipe against your g-spot. it didn’t even take that long. geto’s taken by surprise the minute your fingers wrap around his neck, giving him a tight squeeze.

“well shit,” he gruffs out, giving the right part of your hips a squeeze. slender fingers of his go towards your ass before smacking it. you moaned, and geto hums. “got the audacity to choke me? kinky girl,” and as his pitch grew low and husky, you felt your pussy throb. it was pathetic—just a few words from geto’s mouth and it’s already enough to have you drenched. “if you’re gonna choke me, at least do it harder. i like it rough in case you don’t know, girl.”

he was such a brat, and you thought you were the problem. you didn’t even know if that was possible—you glare at him though, giving his neck a slight squeeze and he moans. “now fuckin’ ride me. and stare at me the whole time too,” and he then grabs you by the neck this time, pulling you into a deep sloppy kiss. it was a mixture of many feelings. a low groan gets caught in his mouth as he feels your hips gradually speed up. geto’s tongue runs against yours, and he can’t keep his hands off you — off your ass. “fuck me. fuck me, f-fuckkk,” and his last words were a bit slurred. you were taking him fully, grinding your hips to where he even starts to stutter.

geto’s ego gets ahead of him, so much so to where he ends up cumming early. it shot out so much that he’s taken aback. dark hooded eyes staring into your soul practically. geto’s out of breath, losing track of time as your spongey walls soaked him for all that he was worth.

“and you call me the brat,” you’d pant, leaning in to press a slovenly wet kiss against his jaw. you paused your hips, letting off a soft moan once you felt him overflow your cunt with a dump of his cum. geto’s the one glaring at you now, and then he stares at you once you kiss near his neck. “still finishing early like always.”

“hmph,” he pouts, not wanting to face reality that you’d have the one up on him. geto was so cute and pouty, beads of sweat racing down the sides of his forehead before he mumbles a pouty, “i’ll take you outside this car ‘n fuck you on the hood, don’t play with me.”

“do it.”

“my girl,” he slyly says.

𖬺 — SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“foolish woman. the nerve is beyond me,” sukuna growls.

his nostrils flair up, witnessing as you’re happily on your knees for him. not even the slightest bit scared. albeit, you were a bit irked that he pulled out his shaft only to make you—in his own words, ‘clean up your own mess.’ he’d snicker, watching your pout turn into a cute scowl before leaning in to bring a kiss towards the top part of his dick. “oh good. ya know exactly what to do. thought i was gonna have to lecture you.”

as your knees bury themselves into the ground, you take a brief look at the cursed shaft right in front of you.

you stared in awe for a moment, so lengthy. such a pretty swollen mushroom tip, just glistening with droplets of his seed that was just inside you nearly a moment ago. “shut up,” you’d loll out your tongue, tasting the bitterness that resided against his frenulum. “mhm.”

sukuna grunts, the vibrations you purposely made to make him feel bundles of nerves stir up inside. he grips onto the crown of your head before a side of his pearly white canines show.

“watch that mouth ‘n tend to your meal,” and his voice was raspy, a tad bit shaky. you could hear it in his voice how sensitive he still was. his recent release took quite a lot out of him—that much was a no brainer. sukuna had a near curve to him, length decorated with markings all over his skin.

you ran your tongue in each particular spot, staring at him the entire time before giggling. “teasin' whore. stop wastin' time ‘n get it wetter for me. spit.”

with a glare, you part your lips, spitting right on his tip before leisurely taking him into your mouth. again. he was just so thick, sweet girth included. “cute little pout ya got goin' on. what’s the matter? don’t like being told what to—do?”

you abruptly gag, feeling his tip prod against the very back of your throat. sukuna sneers, watching how much of a messy girl you already were for him. so sloppy, strands of spit were already starting to run down your chin and decorate your chest. you kept him so warm inside your mouth, swirling that pretty tongue of yours against the plump front part of his dick. that spot, it made him nearly give your hair a mean rough yank.

“s-shit,” he’d roughly breathe out, and once sukuna starts thrusting his hips into your mouth. you hold onto his clenched thighs, making an attempt to relax your jaw. you felt a vein that ran alongside his fat cock twitch alongside your tongue. he groans once he sees your eyes flutter. “this the only way to get you to s…stop talking back to me, princess? fuck your sloppy mouth until you’re drooling all over me, huh?”

being bratty, you give him a nod and he glares. his glowering gaze quickly turned to a caught off guard look and your tongue’s so playful, skimming all against his tip—sloppily having all kinds of strands of spit run down the crevices of your lips.

“my nasty girl,” he huffs, rolling his bright eyes at how easy you made him get so close again. his thighs started to ache, and he’s still got a firm grip on the crown of your head. “nasty. nasty. nasty,” he enunciates between each vigorous thrust into your mouth. he liked hearing your noises, gulp after gulp. cute lashes fluttering and all.

your spit paid a huge role, contributing to making him all slick — so filthy.

a glistening cobweb of your own lewd saliva trickled off your lips. sukuna grabs your chin, smearing it all over your lips before his own bottom lip quivers. he had a pout. sukuna ryomen was pouting all because of you. he wanted to kiss that bratty mouth, it irked him. you were so pretty, having your tight throat be stuffed like this.

“fuckkk,” he growls, feeling his thighs start to tremble. you always knew right when he was about to finish. his breathing with get irregular and his voice would be super deep and husky. thrusts against your face began incredibly sloppy while your lip gloss smeared all over your lips, ruined. “relax that fuckin’ jaw for me. gonna paint that throat white just how ya like it.”

not even long before he says that, sukuna ends up finishing again. you don’t even realize how soaked you were between your legs, cramped up fingers playing with yourself while your mouth was being salaciously occupied. a nice load coated the tip of your tongue—he pumps a good amount into your mouth, sweet sweet ropes of cursed cum.

“don’t fuckin’ swallow yet,” and you blink twice. sukuna pulls his throbbing now flaccid dick out of your mouth before getting down to your knee-level. “give me that kiss you owe me, brat,” and with a tug on your chin with one hand, you moaned, feeling sukuna sneak a rough yet somewhat passionate kiss.

he tastes the entire mess on your lips, not even being fazed before he pulls you away with a cute scowl. “did you enjoy the meal?” and he squeezes your spit-glossed lips together. you nod with cute puffed up cheeks before swallowing and he narrows his eyebrows, stroking your chin. “tch. good. because now i gotta clean you up. touchin’ yourself without asking me. bend the fuck over and face the other way. yeah.”

𖬺 — TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“soooo much back talk for a slutty arch like this,” toji grumbles. you steadily shudder, feeling him run fingers down the soft skin of your spine—you moan sweetly, gnawing on the bottom of your lip. “you claim you 'hate' me ‘n ya still get this pussy all soaked f'me without me havin' to say anything, baby?” as you spoke, you arched your back, slowly…

oh, you hated it, no…loath was probably a far more better word.

you loathed how easy it was. no matter what, toji had always found himself back in your bed—or vice versa, you in his. safe to say, he couldn’t get enough of you.

perhaps he had a bit of attachment towards you, or maybe the main thing was that he was infatuated with your sweet sopping wet pussy. “fuck you toji,” you huff out, feeling big rough hands grab your ass. he’s playing with the fabric of the string that ran down, taking in your curves before springing his weighty length out.

just feeling his fat cockhead. leaky and all…

casually smearing against your slick entrance, you felt yourself salivating shamelessly, puff after puff, the pants that departed from your lips were never ending.

“fuck you toji,” he mocks your tone, his raspy rough tone trying to pitch to yours—simply humiliating. “dumb words for a dumb little girl,” he snickers, and you gasp once he makes you scoot your ass up towards him. while your chest welts against the bed, you let off a whine once he gently starts to make his way in.

you took toji numerous times, a plethora of times, but it was as if every time was the first. toji was so thick, regardless of if he was barely in yet or fully, you always felt all of him—effortlessly expanding throughout your spongey walls like it was equivalent to an elastic band.

he was so mean and it always turned you on. the way he was the only one to memorize all your sensitive spots. he knew every inch of your body, the specific precise angle to hit with his dick to tear out those cute shrilling orgasmic whimpers from you. “just f-fuck me then. always take fuckin’ forever.”

“i’ll take as long as i want ‘n you’ll still get wet for me, whore,” he coos, burying his massive cock right into you. you couldn’t see him, but you could probably guess he was throwing his head back right about now. he loved that feeling, the salaciously delectable grip your pussy had on him, happily taking him in like it’s missed him — it did, and maybe you even missed him too. when toji’s mean, he’s fucking mean. he fucks mean, and his dialogue is always even meaner. “now be a good girl ‘n open up for me. missed my girl.”

plump lips of yours were all pretty and glossed, parted open with a little drool coming out. it was a sight. once toji’s dick figures out a sensual rhythm, you’re right back to where you started. his pace was simply mouthwatering. striking and snapping against you with such abrasiveness, you could barely keep up. toji’s stamina, it was never something to be taken light either. his hefty base taps near your ass again and again.

that makes you wet, just imagining how full he must be. “d-daddyyy,” you’d gasp out, basically being shoved right into your own mattress. your breathing was very much competitive — having an entire race with your irregular breathy pants. “f-fuck.”

“what’d you just call me, baby?” toji gruffs, and his voice was a deep low. the baritone that resided in his words had you pulsating. he cups your ass with two hands, moving it closer towards him to get a deeper and thorough angle before he sneers at your cute whimpers.

“s-said toji,” you’d whine, dragging out your words. your sweet words were all unsteady and bumpy all due to his thrusts against you. you were bouncing back and forth, mimicking his tempo.

toji sneers. “nuh uhhh,” and then he brings a hand towards the curvature part of your neck, stubby fingers stroking against your skin. “don’t lie to me. tell me what ya said originally,” and then you feel his hips pivot. toji’s dick prods against that spot, his curve brushing past your walls and you moan out. “orrrr do i gotta make this sloppy pussy tell me instead?”

you whine, feeling him bring a sharp sting to your ass. he loved giving you a spank or two, dragging out those sweet whimper from your mouth left and right. your cunt throbbed whenever his palm made contact with your ass cheek and you finally sputter out a, “daddy. called you daddy, toji.”

“yeah. you fuckin’ did girl,” he grunts, his voice was so pitched. such rude hips of his, no manners whatsoever . . snapping right into you, it was so good.

his full balls, hefty and all pressed up against your entrance, you’re in a trance. profusely drooling for him to fill you up, everywhere. leave your sweet hole dripping with nothing but his sticky cum. toji titters, seeing how you were trying to keep up with his pace. you failed miserably though.

despite that though, toji doesn’t realize how good he’s fucking you because not even moments later, he hears the wood of the headboard split. your ears twitch upon instinct, and you sort of sink further into the mattress. his bummy weight smacked right into you from behind.

“whoopsie daisy,” he shrugs, pausing for a moment. toji realizes the bed—well, your bed was now broken. with a sly grin, he makes you lean forward before pulling out to smear his leaky tip over your entrance. you whined, feeling yourself so close before he just departs. “fun time’s fuckin’ over,” and then he spanks your ass for probably the countless time, getting off of you. “mhm. my bad, doll. i’ll throw ya some cash for a new box spring the next time i see ya.”

no he won’t.

𖬺 — SATORU GOJO.

he’d come home pissed off, probably from losing a battle and he’s so annoyed. gojo isn’t used to losing, and he’d rather not talk to you about it in full detail. at least not yet.

“hey baby. was work okay?”

“princess, i need you.”

his voice was richly raspy, gojo sounded kind of needy. you stared at him, and his hair was all ruffled and tangled—a bit of his clothes had a few battling rips and spreads.

he needed you badly. his eyes roaming across your pretty physique only made things far more intense. that sundress you wore, it showed off your curves and he just only then imagined it being torn off of you. “i-i’m so annoyed, but i’ve been thinkin' about you all day…. ‘m kinda hard too.”

“come here then, baby.”

those simple four words that came from your mouth—all it took for him to go straight feral.

within seconds, he didn’t waste no time to press his hot lips onto yours.

gojo was aching, just the way your hands roamed all on his clothes made him shiver. you were the one who started to shiver next, the moment he’s got you laid flat on your back in a simple mating press.

“f—fuck,” he’d groan, and you can’t help but be so noisy. the way he’s jackhammering his thickset cock in and out of you. squelch after squelch, your legs just mindlessly sway and droop over him before you whimper. that’s when you feel gojo dip his hips even further into you. his rhythm, it had your head spinning, mind racing. it was indescribable, your pussy coated his entire length with nothing but your satiny glossy slick. “look at me,” he grumps out. you nearly throb, seeing him get all close up to your face. he’s heavily panting, heaving whilst pretty cerulean eyes stare right back at you. intently.

he was balls deep, his thrusts became extremely vulgar. soft white clouds of breath run past his lips before he grabs underneath your chin.

“damn. ‘s all her fuckin' fault,” he grouses cutely. a near pout then spreads onto his lips. you furrow an eyebrow—confused by what he meant as 'her' before with a free hand, he grabs onto your ankle. his eyes avert towards your sloppy pussy before grunting. “been thinkin’ about this pussy all day. think that’s why i lost, princess,” and his breathing was so hitched, driving such merciless thrusts into you. “got me s-so damn distracted. all ‘cause of a pussy this wet.”

“i’m the reason you lost?” you moan with a sly smile pressing against your lips. gojo’s still maintaining a grip on your chin, he then intakes a sharp breath—only then deepening his jagged thrusts against your entrance. “tell me more baby.”

he’s so careless, such vigorous thwacks going back and forth against you. it gives you whiplash. eyes nearly crosses and tasting your own sweetened saliva salivate inside of your mouth, you return his eye contact. he fucks you like he hates you—when in reality, he loves you more than an anything.

“mhm. right when i was about to get the job done, started thinkin about….about…fillin' you up,” and he swallows thickly at the thought, envisioning the entire thing in his mind. you whimper once he grabs ahold of your ankle, you’re jerking against the sofa with the stupidest expression. “stuffin' you full ‘n then plugging it back in when it spills. was so pissed when i realized i was daydreaming.”

just saying it aloud makes him palpitate. it was an ongoing race with his heart, beating quickly as he gave you such rugged hits against your entrance. your legs, oh how he loved the way they’d just jangle right beside his face. gojo found himself creating soft bike marks near your ankle, groaning out a, “you make it s-so hard to be mad at you,”and gojo’s voice cutely cracksz he can’t help but lean right into you the moment he feels in self grow full to the upmost extreme. he had so much to give you, his kisses—now they were sloppy.

as he’s plummeting solid lengthy inches in and out of your cunt that forevermore gripped him, gojo leans in to kiss you. he whines the moment you kiss back, feeling your legs lock around his slim waist, the heel of your foot skims against all of his forbidden battle scars. he was so sensitive there, he tasted sweet. enchanting.

“mine,” he groans, slowing his hips down briefly before reaching a hand down towards your tummy. his hips stutter before that’s right when he came, licking the side of your mouth before panting once he poured deep ropes of cum inside of you. “s—so pretty like this,” and his hand roams near your belly, so soft and tender. he pulls out just to stare at the pretty ring you had that coats around the base of his dick. a rich sheeny color, he licks his lips before pressing another wet kiss against your mouth. “you’d look so much prettier with a round belly. wanna give you a baby or two,” and then he moans once he feels your legs lock around his waist even tighten. “if—if you’d let me, pretty girl.”

#★vegasbaby. #sukuna smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami smut #geto smut #sukuna x reader #toji x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #female reader #anime smut #tw sex mention

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc au #dpxdc au #dp dc #dp dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #clone^2 #this made me realize that Danny's ghosts PROBABLY don't know what he looks like under the mask for a WHILE #they just know he's a pain in the ass and also human and also insistent to get them back into the ghost zone #danny being the battinson bat clone is THE funniest thing to me like goddamn. you're a drowned kitten #does this imply that none of his rogues have seen his face in the two years before he got damian? yes. but wraith knowing why ember is #silent and being indignant with baby brother rage is so funny to me. protective little siblings ftw >>>> #dany being battinson bat makes so much sense because clone danny has no powers and runs around in a hoodie and jeans and baseball bat #and battinson is the exact amount of lanky and tall wet rat that seeing phantom WOULD be unsettling if you saw him at night. #also sam and damian get along but i dont know or think that damian would ever trust her tucker or jazz like he ever would with danny #he likes them and trusts them to take care of danny and him (to an extent) but he like. TRUSTS trusts danny. #hhhh fuck danny is permanently the battinson bat in my head fUCK. it makes so much sense #danny resorts to Batman Grunts when he’s overtired + in pain + unfocused

[wileys-russo]

Hayley Raso + “you’re such an asshole I can’t believe I like you” + playing video games together ! 🧎‍♀️🫶🏼

world class II h.raso

"hay, baby you can't sleep yet." you wandered past the lounge and noticed the australian start to drift off, shaking her ankle as she groaned and opened her eyes.

"why?" hayley sighed deeply, rubbing her face and crossing her arms over her chest. "because the entire point of your jetlag plan is so you're back and fit to train a few days before your match babe." you smiled sympathetically.

"baby i could just take a tiny nap? then i'll still sleep tonight!" the brunette tried to bargain as you shook your head. "not part of the plan, and as both your girlfriend and a physio i have to ensure you follow that plan!" you laughed, gesturing for her to sit up.

you and hayley had met during her season at everton. you were only a trainee physio then, on work placement to finish your degree but you'd caught the australian's eye right away, the two of you getting along like a house on fire.

hayley was sat with a proud smile at your graduation, still only a friend to you then but not for a lack of trying, you only taking her attempts to flirt with you as banter and not yet clicking she wanted to be much more than just friends.

after you were fully qualified you quickly found yourself with a job offer in manchester for the devils, though still with 6 months left on your lease you stayed living where you had been and hayley amped up her efforts to woo you.

finally you clicked that she wasn't just being friendly on a drunken night out with some of her friends who were visiting from australia that she'd insisted you join, two of them quickly pulling you aside and asking when you and hayley had started dating it all suddenly made sense.

fast forward a couple of years and you'd both made the move to spain and were living in madrid, hayley still playing football and you working in a local sports clinic, working more with younger kids and teenagers who came up from the academies than directly with a team like you had been prior.

"you're no fun." hayley pouted with a frown as you shook your head. "maybe not, but neither is being medically benched because the team physios catch wind you're too tired to be cleared to play." you warned lightly, her eyes widening.

"you wouldn't!" hayley sat up properly now with a scoff. "i would love, if it meant you avoided any and all risk of injury." you promised softly, running a hand through her hair and shrugging.

"i wish you'd stayed working in england." hayley mumbled as her eyes began to once again feel heavy. "well aren't you absolutely charming." you rolled your eyes, turning to leave as a hand grabbed the back of your top.

"sorry! i'm just tired." hayley groaned, pulling you down onto the lounge and trapping you in between her arms and legs in a tight bear hug. "i know baby, but this plan will mean you aren't tired like this for very long." you twisted your neck to sweetly peck her lips.

"will you play fifa with me then? i was getting my ass kicked at tillies camp and i have to make sure i can hold my own before the next one. i didn't win a single game!" your girlfriend huffed, forever hotheaded and fiercely competitive much as it amused you to watch.

"love i've not got a clue how to play. in fact hay you banned me from playing because it was 'too hard to watch' remember?" you quirked an eyebrow as a guilty smile curled into her features.

"babe that was ancient history, i'm a new much more patient woman now." hayley grinned as you let out a loud sarcastic peal of laughter and tapped at her forearms to let you up.

"it wasn't even eight weeks ago raso." you hovered over her with a shake of your head, suddenly pulling back as she tried to sit up and capture your lips in hers. "oi! come here and give me a kiss." the australian frowned impatiently.

"no." you smiled, standing and heading toward the kitchen to make lunch for the pair of you, not at all surprised at the sound of footsteps hurrying after you.

"hayley!" you gasped as a body barrelled into you almost taking you down to the floor before your girlfriend grabbed your hand, spinning and dipping you, holding you just from falling as your heart raced.

"don't do that! its not funny." you smacked her chest with a thump as she laughed and you scowled, trying to move past her but before you could take another step her mouth was pressed against yours, feeling the winger smile into the kiss.

"you're a child sometimes." you pulled away and smacked her on the head with a magazine that was handy on the counter, only causing her to smile wider clearly proud of herself.

"that can wait! just one game? it'll help keep me awake." your girlfriend tugged you back from the kitchen with her best puppy dog eyes as you sighed. "fine. one game!"

"how the hell do you defend? i forget the controls!" you moaned in annoyance, only having had possession for about two seconds this entire half as your girlfriend knocked back goal after goal.

"hayley!" you huffed as she made her player do a backflip after another goal and cheered loudly in your ear, kissing your cheek apologetically from where you lay between her legs, your elbows resting on her knees and your back pressed to her front.

"you said this would be easy." you complained as the game stopped for half time. "no, i said i would put the match settings on easy." your girlfriend corrected as you pinched her thigh unimpressed with the answer.

"you're winning 8-0 surely you can spare five fucking minutes to show me the controls again?" you huffed before she could click to resume play, a lazy kiss pressed to your jaw as she dropped her remote and her hands settled over yours.

"when you attack you click this to pass, this to clear, this one to sprint and this one for a header or a short ball, and this to shoot." she explained slowly, pointing out the different buttons as you nodded.

"when you defend its the same sequence just different results. this one to chase, this one to tackle, this one to slide tackle and this one to clear." your girlfriend explained as again you nodded, doing your best to follow along.

"so does this mean you might let me keep the ball for more than thirty seconds and maybe even give me a pity goal?" you asked hopefully as the winger grabbed her own control and grinned.

"not a chance darlin." she stole a kiss and clicked resume before you could bite back with a remark. the second half you played a little better, but still you failed to score and conceded yet another five goals making it so hayley won with a whopping 13-0.

"that was humiliating." you scowled tossing the remote to the side onto the lounge and rolling your eyes. "thats life, win some you lose some. i feel a lot better about my results at camp now! thanks baby." her hands settled either side of your face and tilted your head back so she could press kisses across your skin.

"you're welcome." you rolled your eyes, gently tugging her hands away and sitting up, glancing to the screen only for a moment as your head snapped back to it and you frowned.

"world class!? you said you put it on beginner." you turned to glare at your girlfriend who shrugged, quickly turning off the tv and sitting up on her knees.

"did i? guess i must have clicked the wrong one babe, sorry." she grinned, pushing you to lay down as her face hovered over yours, not an ounce of remorse in her eyes.

"you're such an asshole, i can't believe i like you." "only like?" "barely tolerate." "what happened to love!" "maybe if you weren't a world class bad loser, you might get some."

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #hayley raso x reader #hayley raso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

[zepskies]

Hello. I was wondering if you could write an imagine in the BMD-verse (been following it for a while now; love, love, love it, by the way!) where Ben cries?

Like something really bad happens in general or to the Reader, and he losses it? I mean, personally, I have never known this man to cry, and I would love to see you conjure up something that could possibly elicite that reaction from him.

But no pressure - will definitely understand if you don't want to write it!

Oooh, so you really wanna kill me, huh? 🫠😭😭

Lol it's okay, thank you for loving Break Me Down!! It's one of my favorite story verses that I've been able to create on here. ❤️❤️

This request was difficult for me on multiple levels, but I think I was able to pull it off? (I'll let you be the judge.) This is set in the BMD-verse, shortly after "Love Actually."

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst, show-level violence, hurt/comfort, "twist" ending (you'll want to read until the end, trust me).

Imagine: Ben loses you.

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

He turned and saw you stopping in another damn kiosk, this time looking at a selection of Pashmina scarves. As if you didn’t have enough clothes.

“We’re not here for a damn shopping spree,” he called after you.

He ignored the people who glanced at him as they walked past, a couple of them even shooting him an annoyed look.

One didn’t just stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York City, but as with most societal protocols, Ben couldn't really give a fuck.

He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.  

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.  

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while. And he’s always happier with something sweet.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Read the Sequel:

A friend of mine requested a sequel to this imagine: "You confront Ben about his fears."

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#ask me stuff #soldier boy #Imagine Ben losing you #angst to the max #hurt/comfort #Soldier Boy imagine #soft!Ben #BMD verse #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #Break Me Down verse #zepskies answers

[grxmreaperx]

Mark Hoffman cockwarming kink while he's working 👀 ft. Reader squirming on his lap then him slowly giving in

I've gotten quite a few requests for a cockwarming kink with our favorite detective, so I am here to provide!! Might write another fic with this kink at some point, kind of unsure about how this one turned out and I wanna do it justice!

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: 18+!! Porn with no plot. Teasing, cockwarming, p in v penetration.

Summary: You and Mark have secretly been seeing each other for a while now. One day, when you try and tease him, he makes you work for what you really want.

“What the fuck was that?”

You looked up from your papers, smirking as Mark stormed into the workshop. “What was what?”

“You know what you were doing.”

You pretended to think for a minute. “Oh! What, me putting my hand on your leg?”

He shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don’t act like that’s all you did.”

You and Mark had been seeing each other for a little while now. You were both appointed by John to help him with his plans and, when the tension had become too much, you had both given in. However, you had agreed to keep your relationship a secret from John, and by extension, Amanda. You knew he would be upset, probably believing that it would interfere with his work. You wouldn’t put it past John to put the two of you together in a trap if he found out, maybe not with the intention to kill, but with the intention to scare the living hell out of you.

Even with this threat in mind, you couldn’t help but tease Mark whenever he couldn’t do anything about it: around John and Amanda. You had been sitting together at a table, Amanda placing herself on top of a desk, as you all listened to John talk about his next game. You had zoned out after John had given you your instructions, turning his attention to Amanda. With his attention diverted, you decided to play your favorite game: seeing how far you could push Mark. You placed a hand on his leg, slowly inching higher as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He grabbed your wrist in warning before letting you go. After a few moments, you rested your hand back on his thigh, before moving upwards to palm him through his pants. He sucked in a breath before grabbing your wrist again, turning to you and mouthing “be good.” You rested your chin in your hand, trying to cover your smirk.

You had scurried back to your work room in the warehouse after John was done, setting yourself down at a table and trying to make yourself look busy, waiting for Mark to find you.

“Get up,” he said roughly, sitting down at his own work desk.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to. Get up and get your ass over here.”

You slowly got up from your seat, making your way over to him.

“Lucky for you,” he started, hands working on his belt. “John and Amanda left to go to the other warehouse, needed to work on a trap over there.” He unzipped his pants, pulling himself from his clothing. “Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to get what you want right away.”

Your thighs squeezed together at his words.

“Strip,” he said in a low voice.

You quickly got to work pulling off your clothing before moving to straddle his lap. Already soaked from the thought of what he would do to you, you sunk down onto him, mouth falling open. You began to bounce when he grabbed your hips, stopping you. “What did I say, baby?” he asked. “You don’t get what you want right away.” Your brows furrowed, slightly confused. He laughed. “You want to be a bad girl and tease me? You can sit here and keep my cock warm until I’m ready to fuck you.”

You began to protest, wanting nothing more than to feel him thrusting into you, before a hand around your throat cut you off. “You’re going to be good and sit still here while I work, or I won’t fuck you. Understand?”

You nodded, restraining yourself from rolling your hips.

“Good girl.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he got to work on the design in front of him. You held yourself tightly against him, trying not to think about the ache between your legs.

You tried to slowly roll your hips, trying to get any sort of friction. You let out a yelp when his hand came down on your ass.

“What did I tell you?” he asked.

“To sit still,” you whimpered.

“Exactly. So be a good girl and sit still.” You could hear the slight strain in his voice, how he was forcing himself to stay still as well.

He got back to work as you clung to him. The feeling of being full of him, but not feeling him thrusting into you, was almost unbearable. You let out small whines, tears pooling in your eyes, legs shaking slightly with restraint.

A small moan escaped you when he shifted slightly in his chair, your core so sensitive you thought you were going to implode.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly as he felt your nails dig into his back. You felt his hips move slightly, a small groan leaving his lips. He tightly gripped one of the armrests, trying to keep himself in check. The feeling of you wrapped around him, the small noises you made, the way your legs shook slightly, almost did him in.

He was done for when he heard you whisper a small “please” in his ear. He roughly thrusted up into you, unable to hold himself back any longer. You moaned loudly, quickly beginning to bounce on his lap. He gripped your hips, letting out a groan.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you both from the chair and setting you on the table in front of him before quickly thrusting into you. Your back met the table, legs snaking around his waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised. “Did so good for me.”

You cried out, desperately rolling your hips, meeting his thrusts. He grabbed your thighs, pressing them back against your chest, allowing him to go even deeper. Your head fell back against the desk, loud whimpers leaving your throat.

“Got off easy this time, baby,” he groaned. “Just sounded so fuckin’ pretty trying to restrain yourself.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk as you felt your orgasm quickly approaching. His hand found it’s way down to your clit, rubbing rough circles as he gave you permission. Your back arched off the table, pleasure washing over you as you fell over the edge. He gripped your thighs tighter, thrusts growing sloppier, as he emptied himself inside you.

You both stayed there, trying to catch your breaths. He let go of your legs, placing his hands on either side of your head.

“The next time you try that shit,” he said, still slightly breathless, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll make you warm my cock until I finish the whole design.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99

#saw #saw franchise #mark hoffman #fanfic #mark hoffman x reader #fanfiction #smut

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | part fourteen preview

Blue holds her arm out, stopping you from taking another step.

"Sh. I see one."

Up ahead, a squirrel stills on a tree, beady eyes unblinking. In a matter of seconds, Blue throws her knife and pins it to the bark through the stomach. 

"Nice," you comment. "You got it on the first try this time."

In your hand is the other squirrel she killed for you. Ghost started working on your bow yesterday. He didn't say anything to you about it, but you spotted him sitting on the porch chiseling away at a hunk of oak. Until he's finished, you've struck another deal: helping Blue skin the rabbits in exchange for her killing squirrels with you. She's better at killing them with a knife than you are, and you needed something to get you off the couch, anyway.

"This is good practice for me." She wriggles the knife out and hands you the kill. "Poor guy didn't see it coming."

"Probably better that way."

She slips the knife back to her ankle. "Do you need more? Or is two enough."

"Two is enough. I saw these flowers by the trench that I think are edible."

"You can eat flowers?" She makes a face. The two of you begin heading back toward the camp. You didn't go off too far with her. Ghost said she wasn't allowed to go past the pond without him. Truthfully, you were surprised he let her go with you at all. 

"Yeah. Pink Sorrel. They taste lemony, and I'll add the leaves, too. Like a salad."

"Yum," she says sarcastically. "Did Paul teach you that?"

You nod. "He knew a lot about plants."

"Are you sure he didn't like you?" 

"Blue," you almost groan. "You've asked me this twice now."

"Well, you seemed to have spent a lot of time with him, and he taught you a lot of things."

"You can spend time with someone and learn things from them without... liking them."

"I wouldn't know," she shrugs, waving her hand around. "There are no boys here for me to spend time with besides Ghost." 

There is a pause as a cloud rolls over the sun, turning everything dim before it passes. The weather these past few days has been fluctuating like true spring. Cold showers in the morning, intense sunlight by noon, and clouds that come and go. The cabbages Blue planted have sprouted fat, juicy leaves. You've mentally scolded yourself for not including seeds in your deal with Ghost. 

"So when are you and him going to start training or whatever?" Blue speaks up, switching subjects.

"Training?" you repeat.

"He told me you wanted to learn some things." She glances at you. "Look, let me just warn you, he can be a real hard ass. One time, he made me climb up and down a tree twenty times without stopping. And another time, he made me throw knives over and over until I hit the exact same spot on the tree again."

Right. Somehow, that last request you made of him has slipped your mind. You did ask him to teach you how to better defend yourself against other people.

It's been over a week now, and the two of you still haven't talked much except for the necessities. Honestly, it's probably best that way. Maintaining a clinical relationship with him should keep the peace and maybe even earn more of his trust. You're growing confident that he doesn't see you as much of a threat anymore. Last night, you ran into him again after waking up sweaty at some odd hour, and all he did was walk past you, step outside for a cigarette, and then go back to his room. He didn't seem suspicious of you being up at all.

That said, the reminder of the 'training' he's supposed to give you makes your teeth snag onto your lip. 

When you don't respond, Blue adds, "What exactly do you want him to show you? I hate to say it, but I don't think he'll give you one of his guns."

"No," you shake your head. "I don't want that. It's not Greys that I'm as worried about. As long I've got distance, I can use my bow for them. It's more about... other people. They get close. Too close."

"Well, you can always bite their nose off," she gives a bump to your shoulder.

You cringe. "I'd rather not have to do that again."

She pauses, looking at her boots. "What did it taste like?"

"Fucking awful. Probably the grossest thing I've ever experienced."

She looks up. "If you were a Grey, you would've loved it."

"Well, I'm human still, and I much prefer these guys." You wag the dead squirrels in front of her face and she laughs. If you could replace all her tears with that sound, you would.

"You still haven't answered my question," Blue tilts her head. "When are you getting started? Because I have some training in mind for you, too."

You arch a brow but don't question it. "Um. I don't know. Ghost hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's busy working on my bow right now."

"Why don't you ask him, then?" She shoots you a knowing smirk. "Are you scared of him, Twix?"

"No," you say all too quickly. "No... I'm not. I just don't know how to talk to him. He's not exactly approachable."

"Just do what I do. I say whatever I want to him. Except when he's pissed, then—" she freezes for a moment and lays a hand on your shoulder. "—it's better to shut up and listen. Believe me."

You speak under your breath. "Noted."

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

[bellarkeselection]

Hey love your page I was wondering if I could have a John request where your the new horse trainer and slowly reader and John fall for each other maybe Beth doesn’t trust her but Kacey likes her ?

Opinions of our Horse Trainer

Twirling the rope in my right hand I held onto the end of the rope with my left. Clicking my tongue I watched the horse quickly running around me in circles. I had been working for the Dutton family for a quite a few months now. Since John Dutton’s youngest son had taken on the position of Livestock Commissioner so they needed someone else to break in the new horses that would come in and I was hired. “Come on, boy. You wanna come at me then let’s go.” I taunted the horse causing the horse to charge at me so I ran climbing up the fence and the horse hit the wooden fence.

“Are you crying to make him want to kick your ass?” Turning my head around I heard a woman’s voice and recognized a girl with her blonde hair. She stood on the outside of the fence wearing a white and grey dress and some heels. “Cause I don’t think you want to piss a horse off sweetheart.”

My hair fell in front of my eyes, and my tan cowgirl hat was close to falling off my head when I was eyeing John's daughter. "You've got to knock the defiance out of him somehow."

"If you say so. I've just decided not to go anywhere near those things...not anymore at least." Beth shook her head at me, pulling out a cigarette.

Swinging my legs over the wooden fence, I climbed back down into the wooden fence, clicking my tongue to get the horses attention again. "Berh, I hate to say this but can you just say what you want to say because I should get back to work here."

"I'm just trying to see what your intentions are with my father." She said quickly before leaving and heading towards the white barn. I saw that John was coming from the barn, but I couldn’t hear their conversation. She smiled at her father. "Hi, Daddy."

John paused in his tracks. "Morning honey, what were you talking with Y/n about?"

"Just trying to see what you see in her exactly." She shrugged her shoulders.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Uh! Beth, don't do this. I don't want to have this conversation with you."

"I loved my mother and it just seems odd for you to be with anyone but her. Even though she's dead." His daughter explained hearing footsteps coming towards the entrance of the barn.

John ran his hands down his face, not thinking this was how his morning was going to start. He removed his cowboy hat, running his fingers through his grey hair, finally seeing that it was Kayce coming towards them. "What are you two talking about this morning?" Kayce asked, tugging his horse to a stop in the doorway.

"How dad is trying to sleep with someone else who will never be as wonderful as our mother." Beth rolled her eyes, kicking some dirt with the edge of her heel.

John cursed under his breath. "Shit, Bethany!"

"Beth, I get that you'll still love our mother. But dad should be able to date other women." The youngest son said back.

The Dutton girl scoffed. "Are you serious, little brother!"

"Yeah, I am, sister. Our father should be able to be happy just like he wants us all to be. He shouldn't just be trying to maintain this ranch without having some sort of love life away from all the work." Kayce declared at his sister, wanting her to see his side of things.

She crossed her arms over her chest, letting silence fill the wooden barn for a few seconds. "So what are we just supposed to be okay with this?"

"Yeah, unless it all goes to hell in the end. But let him try and be happy with someone until the day he gets to be with our mother again." Kayce nodded, tipping his hat at the pair walking forward to put his horse in the stall.

John patted his son on the back when he walked past. "Thank you, son." He then walked in the direction of the wooden fence training area to watch Y/n as she had the horse right where she wanted it to be.

Holding one hand on the top of my head so it wouldn't fall off, the horse slowly bowed its head to me. Raising my free hand, I slumped my shoulders, not noticing John just yet. "There you go, boy. You’re a good horse. You'll do just fine now."

"Y/n, he rather likes you. And he certainly ain't the only one." John tells me with a kind smile, leaning his arms against the wooden fence.

Brushing my fingers through the horse's mane he made a noise where I focused my attention back to John. Leaving the horse I leaned my body against the fence sending him a wink. "Are you asking me to dinner, Dutton. I don't quite think you're daughter would like that very much."

John groaned slightly when he began climbing over the fence and dropped down on the other side in front of me. "To be honest with ya, darling. I don't really care what they think. So if you'll go on a date with me then let's just do it and to hell what they think."

Stepping forward I dropped the rope in my hands cupping his face in my hands and kissed him out of nowhere. "To hell with what they say it is then, John." I mumbled before he drew Mr back in for another kiss not bothered by the knowledge that Beth and Kayce were watching.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list @whateverthecostner @the-morning-star-falls @rosie-posie08 @hcwthewestwaswcn @kcloveswrestling @kaymudd @nettysworld-madisonclark @elenavampire21

#john dutton one shot #john dutton imagine #john dutton x reader #john dutton #kevin costner #yellowstone x reader #yellowstone series #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone #beth dutton #kayce dutton #horse trainer #dutton ranch #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

[valerieisunavailable]

König x Reader

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Konig was usually pretty busy; he was the Colonel, after all. But for the past couple of days, he had been completely ignoring you. Of course you asked him about it, but he brushed it off, saying that there was this new project he had to work on for a mission and that he had a lot of paperwork to do. He needed to focus. You had eventually had enough of this, and you had come up with a plan to try and get his attention somehow. But you weren't exactly sure of how you were going to do that when he was in his office all day. But you figured that you'd eventually be able to get his attention. So, you started wearing his oversized shirts with some shorts that tugged on your thighs, as well as talking with the other soldiers and letting them flirt with you.

Today, you decided to visit König again in his office. You sighed, knocking and walking inside of his office. Upon walking in, he glanced up at you, but was still relatively focused on the paperwork that was on his desk. "Can it wait, libeling? I'm kind of busy." He says, before going back to focusing on the paperwork. You let out an agitated sigh. He's been saying this for weeks. You've really been losing your patience with him. "I'm sure a small visit won't hurt." You say, walking over behind his desk and sitting down on his lap, before placing a kiss on his cheek.

But he was still more focused on his paperwork than on you. "Please, Liebe. I need to focus on this." He replied. It seemed like you weren't going to get through to him. Although he seemed to have noticed that you were wearing one of his shirts. A glint of surprise could be seen in his eyes, before they shifted back over to his work. You frowned, before getting an idea. You bent over, leaning against the desk. He didn't take notice at first, still just focusing on his work. A few minutes later, a soldier walked in.

König glanced up at the soldier. "Can I help you with something?" He asked. The soldier had handed König some reports, as König just simply nodded in response, taking the reports from the soldier before placing it aside and focusing back on the paperwork in front of him. The soldier glanced over at Valerie.

"Oh, hey Val. How about we go for coffee sometime?" The soldier suggested.

König stopped. His eyes immediately shot back up at the soldier, giving him a glare. "Excuse me?" He says, the anger clearly present in his tone. Great, he was finally taking notice. If there was one thing that you knew about König, it was that he hated when other people tried flirting with you. "I said that me and Valerie should go out for coffee sometime? You know, as friends." The soldier said. König just simply glared at the soldier, before waving him off. The soldier then walked out of office, closing the door behind them.

But that's when König noticed. There, he saw you bent over, leaning against his desk. But that's not what caught his attention. It was the slit in your shorts that went through your underwear, showing a glimpse of your dripping folds. He stared, almost in shock, before putting the pieces together. You had done this on purpose. That sight alone, along with you being bent over his desk, was enough to get him fully erect.

"Liebe…You have a hole in your shorts.." he says, still staring at your wet folds. The scene was entirely erotic. "And? What about it?" You reply teasingly, looking back at him as you slowly shake your ass in front of him. He lets out a low groan in response, before chuckling. "Du dreckiges Mädchen… Is this how you plan on getting my attention?" He asks curiously. You just simply smile in response. "It seems I've been ignoring my Schatz for too long…" he says, before rolling his chair forward and stretching out his two fingers, not even bothering to take off his gloves as he enters two fingers inside of you. You instantly let out a moan, feeling the cold leather of his glove enter you at a slow pace. Your eyes flutter in response, your body leaning against his desk. König could feel your body tightly clenching against his fingers. He slowly increased his pace, while using his thumb to rub circles on your clit. You moaned as your body relaxed, laying limp on his desk.

"König…" you moaned.

"Hm? Is this what you wanted, meine Liebe?" He asks.

You nod as he increases his pace. But you gasp as he enters a third finger inside of you.

"K-König–" you try to protest.

"Tsk, tsk. You come here and distract my work, and you expect to be rewarded? That's not how this works, Liebe." He says. You swear you can feel him smirking. You can feel yourself reaching your orgasm each second. Your moans become quicker and more desperate. But then he stops right before you cum. You whine in response.

"Now, how should I punish you, Liebe? Should I not let you cum? Or should I make you cum until you can't anymore?" He asks.

The whole reason you came here and set this up was so he would give you the attention you craved. Ever since he's been distracted with this project, you two haven't had sex in weeks. You need this.

"Please. Please, König… Make me cum.." You begged. He chuckled in response.

"Gut, Schlampe…" he says, before re-entering his fingers in you and thrusting them inside of you at a rapid pace. You moaned loudly, your hands gripping at the edges of his desk. Then, König starts harshly slapping your ass. You whined each time he slapped your ass, before letting out a loud moan from your orgasm. But that wasn't all.

Köbig then grabbed your thighs pulling them closer to him as he flipped your body around, so that your back was leaning against his desk. Then, lifting his mask up slightly, he lowered his head down between your thighs, giving a long lick in between your folds, before switching and making circles around your folds and around your clit with his tongue. He would suck on your clit, before continuing making circles around and inside of your folds. You leaned your head back, moaning and still overstimulated from your last orgasm. He wasn't giving you a break as he continued. You couldn't help but moan and whine his name. Your thoughts were already so clouded that you couldn't think. You could only feel pleasure. Your body jolted up when he slapped your pussy, before going back to sucking on your clit and licking circles around your folds. You felt your orgasm reach you again as you moaned, your legs quivering. He chuckled at the sight.

You watched as he then stood up, before he positioned his cock at your entrance. All you could.do was stare lustfully at him with a cockdrunk expression as he entered you. König let out a low groan as he pushed his cock inside of you, wasting no time and begining his paced thrusts. You continued your whimpers and moans as the tip of his cock kept repeatedly hitting your cervix. Your body quickly clenched, feeling closer each second.

"König!" You screamed, feeling the pure ecstasy of your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. After a few more thrusts, König reached his own orgasm and emptied himself inside of you. But he didn't stop there. He kept thrusting, his pace not slowing down for a second. Your body was still so overstimulated. You were quivering and shaking from the pleasure, stuttering his name through choked out moans. Then you felt your orgasm hit you. Again. And again. And again. And again. How many orgasms have you had now? You've lost count. But you could also tell that König was getting physically tired from the way he was grunting and panting. You felt another orgasm hit you as you moaned, and then König sat down, collapsing in his chair, with you in his lap.

"Is this what my Libeling needed?" He asked through tired breaths. You gave a nod as he smiled.

"Good." He replied.

#konig call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #konig smut #konig x reader #konig cod #könig x reader #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty

[gadriezmannsgirl]

hi could i request where the reader has hip dips and is a bit inscure for pedri or gavi as u wish thank u:))

Ohmy- dear, you're the best! I have hip dips and it hit me so hard because I'm working my ass off to fill them in with exercises, even though they are not very noticeable, they make me feel a little insecure when going to the beach... So I stopped everything and made this for me, for you if you have hip dips and for everyone who has them too!

I decided to make this one a little different and I have these two little scenarios for both boys so here it is!

Hip Dips -P.G6 & P.G8

Summary: Their reaction of your hip dips

Pedri:

"Amor, ¿Qué 'tas haciendo?" (Babe, what are you doing?)

"I'm seeing my gym process" You said watching your whole frame and mostly your hips

"Well, I get that, I also do that. But you have been looking at yourself for the past hour and half, it's my job to lovingly stare at you for the rest of our lives" His comment produced a smile out of you as you felt hot on your cheeks.

"Tú si eres lindo" (You're so cute) You said turning around watching him smile at you from his side of the bed, he patted his lap signaling you to get closer with a nod "I'm not a dog"

"Ven aqui mi woof woof" (Come here my woof woof) You both laughed as you walked up to him and sat on his lap, your arms going around his neck "What's up?"

"What's up with what?"

"What's up with you looking at yourself so much in the mirror? Don't get me wrong, I love the fact you're seeing that you're absolutely gorgeous" You roll your eyes "But let's not turn that ego up to the roof that we can be left without one because of it" You shake your head "Don't lie please, I was eeing your face the whole time" He said now seriously

"I'm seeing how much I've progressed with this thing over here" You touch your hip where a very common dip, that many women have; lays, making a face "It's barely starting to fill in but I have been training so hard for it" You shrug your shoulders "I don't know, I guess I want to see the final result now"

"I know you do but it takes a bit of time, amor. It's like a muscle that grows" He says kissing your nose as you smile without showing your teeth

"I know but I wanna have roundy really sexy and pretty hips, y'know? Not that flat and dipped part in them."

"I'm happy and proud of you for working for them and for the better" He stopped looking at you before shaking his head "... But you don't need to, you already are looking nice, you are beautiful and sexy just the way you are. Let me tell you, everytime I see you I go crazy in the greatest term of the word all over and over again" He snuzzled his nose into your neck as you giggled

"Thank you mi vidita" You pecked his lips "But I don't know" You said softly dragging out the words before he tasked his tongue

"I love you, I'm happy for you but I don't want you to overwork yourself for something that is normal 'cus other women have these" His hands went to your dipping area "You may fill it but it won't ever be the same because it's a bone thing, it's something that's with you since you were born and it doesn't matter to me if you have it or not. You're beautiful, I love you and you're still the love of my life with or without hip dips"

Gavi:

You let out another frustration groan and threw the jeans you had on, behind your back and let yourself fall onto the bed, feeling like crying.

It was supposed to be a nice day with your boyfriend of a year and half, his sister, her boyfriend and his friends, enjoying the two weeks vacation you guys had in Ibiza.

You were always comfortable of your body and always said what you think, you knew what you wanted, you stood up for what you believed and you always worked hard if you wanted something.

Right now, all you wanted was to be in a Doctor's office as they checked out your hip dipping.

Everything was going on nicely, you wore your best bathing suit and were enjoying in a yatch at Formentera when you saw another yatch with girls, to be precise, girls without a hip dipping.

You saw how the guys looked at the group of girls and even your boyfriend did for a few seconds until his gaze turned to you and winked at you before pulling you into him and kissing your lips.

Ever since that little moment you've been running your mind up, if you weren't inside the water, you were sat or with a towel covering your hips.

Now, it was late and the guys proposed to go out a eat some but none of the jeans, skirts, dresses, jumpsuits you have tried on were satistying your need of looking extremely good.

It also didn't help the fact that Aurora pulled off anything she putted on, she could probably wear a trash emoji suit and she would still look beautiful.

"Preciosa, are you ready? Javi, Aurora and Cristo already left. Mario, Ale and Diego are waiting for- what happened here?"

"I'm not going!" You exclaimed throwing your hands up and letting more clothes fall to the floor "I don't have anything I like"

"What do you mean you don't have anything you like?" He picked up a jean skirt "You love this one" He picked up a black long but transparent sleeve top "You and even I, love this" He point with his shoe a pair of heels "Those make you look fantastic and you love them too" He sighed looking at you and understood your face when he saw you "What's wrong?"

"Nothing"

"Nothing doesn't make you do this mess, it also doesn't quit that beautiful smile I love watching in your face and it also doesn't make you uncomfortable... Talk to me?"

You sighed looking up at him "I don't like how they are looking on me" His eyebrows furrowed deeply

"What?"

"I don't like how they are looking on me" You sighed "Everything's looking bad and it's all because of my dips"

"Dips? What are you talking about?"

"My hip dips, Pablo!"

"Why is this a thing now? You never really care much of it" Pablo shook his head

"I'm doing it now!" He was left in silence for some seconds picking up some of your clothes "You don't have to do that, amor. You can tell the guys I'm not going, you go"

"We, both, are going" He threw a lovely short jumpsuit with sunflowers on it on the bed, he also grabbed a nice pair of sandals, a few accesories and he picked his jean jacket and laid it besides you "Get dressed, we are going"

"Pablo"

"You have nothing to worry about, your hips are the most beautiful I have seen in my life and I love them. You should as well, mi niña. I don't know what made you this insecure with them but I'm telling you, you're perfect and that's something natural that happens to a lot of women. You're not the only one with them dips. Stop thinking badly of them because they only make you unique and more beautiful than what you always are. They are a part of what you are." He smiled softly, giving a kiss to your temple.

"Get changed, hermosa. We're going out, we'll have the most amazing time there, we'll eat and dance a lot and when we come back here, I'll show you how much I love them"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

#M. is writing #pablo gavi x reader #pedri x reader #fc barca #gavi x reader #pedri gonzález x reader

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 1, Unarmed - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Mild language, Bucky and Reader being Tolkien nerds, light fluff, mention of rabies (it's a super scary disease and we should all be vigilant, okay?!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: You just had the pleasure of meeting the very handsome Bucky Barnes. Despite a little bit of awkwardness during your first encounter, you have a feeling your life is about to get a lot more interesting now that he's been introduced into it.

A/N: You know what? I said I wasn't going to do this, but I thought "fuck it!" and decided to post all of Chapter 1: Unarmed. My anxiety is too high to just sit on it. So, please enjoy Ch1. Pt2! Pts 3 & 4 to follow!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

The next evening, you were making your way back to your suite after a productive, albeit exhausting, day in your lab. You were working on a crisis prediction real-time monitoring system to anticipate global threats. You were convinced it would allow the Avengers to respond to trouble faster, but perfecting the privacy algorithm had been an absolute pain in the ass, and you still hadn't gotten it quite right. Technically, you could have farmed the project off to a subordinate; hell, even a team of subordinates of a subordinate, but this was one of your pet projects and you insisted on being hands-on in its development.

You had your tablet open as you walked, chewing on your thumb and reviewing the dataset from the run of your latest algorithm model one more time. Closer, but not good enough. If you were going to convince Tony that this was a program worth implementing, especially at its projected cost, everything had to be perfect. "Damn it," you muttered to yourself.

You rounded the corner and ran smack into Bucky's chest, dropping your tablet and causing him to drop the three books he'd been holding under his remaining arm. "Oh, shit-- I'm so sorry," you uttered as you bent down to retrieve the dropped items. Bucky leaned down to assist you, but you waved him off.

"’S my fault; I've got it," you told him, piling up his books for him. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Bucky leaned up against the wall and chuckled while you stood up and handed the books back to him. "I doubt you could hurt me," he said, smiling softly. "No offense."

You let out a small laugh. "None taken." He was a super soldier, after all. Stealing a glance at book spines, you couldn't suppress the smile that crossed your face. "Lord of the Rings," you nodded appreciatively. "Have you read them before?"

Bucky looked down at the books tucked under his arm. "No, first time. I read The Hobbit back when it was first published in '37, but these didn't come out until after..." he trailed off, but you knew what he meant. After he'd been abducted and brainwashed, turned into a murderer.

You nodded in understanding. "I'm actually really excited for you," you told him. "What I wouldn't give to be able to read them again for the first time."

"You a Tolkien fan, then?" he asked you. When you nodded, he continued: "When I finish them, maybe we can talk about them sometime? Steve's not really into fantasy."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you said. "If you're interested, we could watch the movies. I'll warn you though; they're long as hell, but their masterpieces. I mean, they didn't need to turn The Hobbit into three separate films, but still, they'll blow your fucking mind."

Bucky ran his tongue over his lower lip and you couldn't help but follow the motion with your eyes. "That sounds like fun," he said, his eyes twinkling with... something. "Your place or mine?" Was he… flirting with you?

"How 'bout you finish the books first, then we'll talk logistics," you teased. "Hey, speaking of, what floor did they end up putting you on?"

"Um, this one, actually," he said, tilting his head toward a nearby door.

"No shit," you remarked, laughingly. "You must have done something to piss Rogers off, because he put you right across the hall from me."

Bucky looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpeting. "He said it was the quietest floor, thought I'd prefer that."

You pursed your lips, considering. "Yeah, that makes sense; it's just been me on this level for ages. It'll be nice to have some company for a change."

Bucky looked surprised. "Stark's kept you down here all by your lonesome? That doesn't seem very nice."

You shook your head and dismissed his concern with a wave. "Oh, no-- Tony hates that I still live down here, actually. He put in all new living quarters a few years back. Everyone migrated upstairs, but I was the only one who didn't want to move."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"I've lived here since I graduated college," you admitted, "back when it was still just Stark Tower. When Tony relocated here from Malibu to rebrand it for the Avengers, he wanted to redo everything, which meant fancy new suites for everybody. But I love my rooms, so I asked to stay put. They've been my home for so long now and I guess I just like the stability, you know?"

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "And Tony thinks highly enough of you that he let the blow to his ego slide?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have enough dirt on him that he felt like he didn't have much of a choice." You snorted, not able to keep up the pretense. "No, but seriously, I know you and Tony have a complicated... history, but he's not a bad guy. Ego as tall as this Tower, yes, definitely, but he's also incredibly kind and generous. He paid for my entire college education-- undergrad, post-grad, doctorate. I owe everything I have to him."

Bucky shifted against the wall. "That is pretty generous. And he never expected anything from you in return?" He didn't say the words out loud, but the implication was there. Had you slept with Tony in exchange for your diplomas? The innuendo should have bothered you, but it had been posed to you so many times over the years, you'd stopped being offended by it. Before Pepper, Tony had had quite the  reputation, after all, and an MIT education didn’t exactly come cheap. Most people couldn’t understand why he would offer a full ride to someone who, at the time, had been a complete stranger.

"Tony appreciates talent," you clarified. "When he finds it, he cultivates it, nourishes it, does everything he can to help it grow to its fullest potential. But he does like to get a return on his investments, and my skills have helped him make a lot of money." You shrugged your shoulders with a chuckle. "I love my job, I love the work we do, I love the stupid weirdo family we've built here, so I've always considered meeting Tony to be the best thing that ever happened to me. He's kind of like my own fairy godfather."

"So, what exactly does he have you do around here?" Bucky asked. "I know Steve said you did computer stuff, but you said it was an over-simplification."

You ran a hand up to rub the back of your neck while you considered your answer. How best to explain your position to someone who was born before the invention of the television? "Okay," you exhaled, "so, short answer is that I'm the CTO, the Chief Technology Officer, of Stark Industries and, under that, I run the Avenger’s Technology and Innovation Department. It's sort of our take on Research and Development. I've got a lab where I'm in charge of about 450 scientists, engineers, computer programmers, analysts, et. cetera. And our entire job is coming up with cool new ways of making things easier for the Avengers. Like, new features for suits, developing useful programs, coming up with new defenses and weapons, that kind of thing. And if we've got missions that require heavy computer- or tech-work, I come along for on-site support. I'm combat-trained and good with languages, so that comes in handy in the field. There’s probably a ton of field agents that could go in my place, but for Tony, it’s a matter of trust."

Bucky let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. That's impressive. You're a little intimidating, you know that?"

Laughing, you tucked your tablet under your arm. "Please. I'm about as intimidating as a hamster." You paused to think. "Maybe a hamster with rabies, but still a hamster."

A series of beeps emanated from your tablet. As you pulled it out to check the alert, Bucky moved away from the wall. "I'm so sorry-- you were heading back to your room and I've basically been holding you hostage this entire time."

"Actually," you said, silencing the notification alarm that had distracted you, "That was just a reminder I set for myself to eat. Sometimes I lose track of time in the lab and completely forget to have dinner. Are you hungry? You could join me."

Bucky pulled his head back, regarding you as though he wasn't sure if you were serious.

"Or, if you don't want to, that's cool," you said quickly once you noticed his hesitation. "I mean, you wanted a quiet floor. Annoying neighbor is probably the last--"

"I'd love to," interrupted Bucky with a grin. "I'm just surprised someone like you would want to spend time with someone like me."

"Someone like me? Hey now, for all you know, I could be an absolute trash person," you teased, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a newfound warmth. "Well, I highly doubt that, but I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you do." You cocked your head toward the door to your room. "I'm going to change out of my work clothes. While I do, how about you decide what you're in the mood for, and we'll go from there. That sound good?" Bucky nodded as you let yourself into your room. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but you found you were looking forward to spending more time in the company of Bucky Barnes.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky x y/n

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love, 

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

*

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

*

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

*

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

*

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

*

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

*

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

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

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

[rowritesstuff]

Avoidance (Nikolai Lantsov x Female Reader)

A/N: Heyyyy... it's been a minute... soooo, I could just drop this without saying anything about my disappearance from Tumblr (I mean, I've still been active, but I haven't posted anything), but I figured I should say something. I'm fine. Life's good. I just didn't have the motivation to write. Anyways, this probably sucks ass, but here ya go.

Ro's Masterpost

WORD COUNT: 2.3k words

WARNINGS: SMUT, friends to lovers, argument/yelling, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (please use a condom), fingering (kinda).

You laughed while Nikolai told the story of a shared childhood memory he had recalled earlier in the day.

You had been seven years old and it was Nikolai's eighth birthday. Another noble boy, the son of a count, you believed, bullied Nikolai throughout his entire birthday party, and you had made it your sole mission to ruin the boy's life, or day at the very least.

You had actually succeeded. You had known that his parents didn't allow him to eat sweets, so you managed to convince him to have one of every pastry served at the party, of which there were quite a few, with it being a young prince's birthday party.

"The poor boy's parents were fuming when they caught him with his face covered in frosting," you cackled and Nikolai threw a pillow from your sofa, which you were both sitting on, at you, which only made you laugh harder.

"I believe they banned him from any social events for a month because of that incident." Nikolai took a small sip of his whiskey.

"I still think he deserved it."

"Oh, of course."

You settled in a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks, chuckling every few seconds. Nikolai scooted closer to you on the couch, moving the pillow he had thrown at you off your lap and next to him.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. He took a deep inhale before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him as he took a final sip of his whiskey. Noticing that you had also finished your drink, he took your glass and placed both yours and his on the table in front of you before settling back into you.

"For the record, I would do the same thing for you," Nikolai said, breaking the silence.

You snorted. "You have done the same thing. Remember when we were sixteen? We had just enlisted and that stupid asshole-"

You were interrupted by Nikolai's lips crashing onto yours, pulling you into a kiss. You tensed up for just a few seconds, but before you could return the kiss, he pulled away and turned his body away from you.

"Nik."

Nikolai gathered his coat from your couch and stood up, leaving your room without another word.

Your jaw dropped at the shock that he just left right after kissing you without even giving you a chance to say anything.

Nikolai avoided you for two weeks. Anytime you tried to speak to him he would walk away as if he had somewhere to be. Which, with him being a king, he very well may have had somewhere to be, but it was still rude.

Since he wouldn't come to you, you would go to him. No matter if it was the middle of the night.

You banged on his door, aggressively knocking until he finally opened the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. "It's late. You should be sleeping."

"So should you, but you're not even dressed for bed," you slipped past him and entered his room, stopping at a small table covered in piles of documents of work and you picked one up, "and you're working."

Nikolai closed his door behind you and leaned his back against the wall. "Well, you're dressed for bed." He gestured to the robe that was wrapped around you, covering your nightgown. "Why are you here?"

You dropped the paper back on the table. "I'm here because you kissed me two weeks ago and you have been avoiding me since." He lowered his head to avoid your gaze. "I deserve an explanation."

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

You stomped over to Nikolai. "Says who?"

"Me!" He pointed to his chest. "I shouldn't have put you in that position!"

"If you had waited one more second I would have kissed you back! I was just shocked because I didn't think you returned my feelings for you!"

Nikolai shook his head. "We're not doing this."

"Why?"

He gripped your arms, not nearly enough to hurt you, and pulled your body closer to his. He lowered his lips to your ear. "Because if we start, I won't want to stop," he whispered.

"And what if I don't want you to stop?"

He pulled back from you a little, looking into your eyes. E/C eyes that showed your love for him, your desire for him, and your anger toward him for ignoring you for two weeks.

He swallowed and moved his hands from gripping your upper arms to your lower back, covered by that damn silk robe. He had seen you in it many times before and he considered each moment a blessing. It was your favorite color and it suited your body perfectly.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Yes."

Now having your permission, he spun the two of you, you now pinned against the wall he was previously leaning on. He captured your lips against his, pushing you even closer to the wall while one of your hands landed on the nape of his neck, curling into the short hair there, and the other went to his upper back, pushing him closer to your body.

He obliged your hand's desire, pressing himself against you. His lips wandered from yours to your jaw, then down to your neck. You let out a sigh as you moved your head to the side to give him more access. In appreciation, he sucked a hickey into your neck.

As Nikolai kissed down your body, your hand gripped his hair. Once he was fully kneeling in front of you, he looked up into your eyes as he untied the tie of your robe. He opened the silk fabric, giving him full view of your nightgown-covered body. He pressed a kiss to your clothed hip bone and looked up at you again. "Can you please take your robe off, darling?"

You pushed the robe off your shoulders and let it fall down your arms, dropping it into a pool of silk at your feet. Taking advantage of the robe on the floor, Nikolai placed it under his knees to protect himself from kneeling on the hard floors.

Nikolai dragged his fingers up your leg into your nightgown, pushing it up to your waist. You took the nightgown off and threw it off to the side.

You were left in only your underwear that blocked the one thing Nikolai had on his mind in that moment.

"Can I take these off?" he asked.

"Yes," you whispered.

He dragged the small garment down your legs, lifting your feet to completely remove them from your body.

He took a moment to drink in the visual of your completely naked body. You were perfect. You were the only Saint that he would ever worship, and he intended to do just that.

He nudged your right leg a little bit away from your left, giving you the hint to spread your legs. Once you were where he wanted you, his hands went to your hips and he gave them little massages as he moved his face closer to you.

You took deep breaths as you watched him move closer until he finally placed a kiss on your clit. You gasped, one hand returning to his hair and the other holding onto the doorframe next to you for support.

Nikolai kissed wet, open-mouthed kisses around your pussy, leaving you gasping and moaning while he kept looking up at your face. He kissed and licked and sucked at your entrance and your grip tightened on his messy blond curls.

He licked from your entrance to your clit, closing his eyes as he sucked at it. Your hand moved from his hair to the back of his head to push his face closer into you. After a little fluttering of his tongue on your pussy, then your clit, a high overcame you, making you lean your head back on the wall. One of Nikolai's hands came up to your side to massage it as he worked you through the orgasm, greedily licking at all of your wetness until you pushed his head away.

He smiled as he fell to the floor before he stood back up, holding you against him as he kissed your cheek, whispering praises into your ear while you recovered.

"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

You pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Slowly, you began making your way to Nikolai's bed until you hit his mattress. You fell down onto the bed, Nikolai following, placing himself on top of you.

You broke the kiss and scrambled to unbutton Nikolai's shirt. Your hands were still shaking, making it difficult to undo the buttons. Noticing your shaking hands, Nikolai took hold of your hands, stopping you. He pressed light kisses on your fingertips.

"Go ahead and lay on the pillows. I'll be right there."

You scooted yourself up his mattress, laying your head comfortably on his pillows as he had asked you to. Only a moment later, Nikolai was crawling above you, completely bare. You looked down his body from his chest, and lower, and lower.

Nikolai gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. He pressed a soft kiss in between your eyebrows. "Have you done this before?" he asked.

You nodded. You had had a few flings in your lifetime, as you were sure Nikolai did too, especially during his time as Sturmhond. He had his own flings on the Volkvolny, as did you.

"Good. I'll give you as much time as you need to adjust and if you ever need me to stop, you let me know. I don't want to hurt you."

You gave him a quick kiss. "You could never hurt me. Except for when you avoided me for two weeks, but- Saints."

His cock entering you interrupted you, though it was quite the pleasant interruption. He filled you slowly and perfectly. Nikolai kissed your cheek as his hips met yours. You took some deep breaths as you got used to the feeling of his cock inside of you. Finally, you gave him a ready nod.

Nikolai started off slowly and it wasn't until you asked him to go faster that he sped up. He kissed you deeply as he fucked you. You moaned into those kisses, the feeling of his cock sending you into euphoria.

"Fuck!" you cursed. "A little harder please?"

He obeyed, going just a bit harder, but enough to have you seeing stars. Your hand started moving down your body to rub at your clit, but Nikolai swatted your hand away and rubbed your clit in small circles himself.

Your hands returned to his hair for the millionth time that night, gripping the blond tufts. He gasped.

"Shit, can you pull it harder?"

You tugged on his hair, making him moan loudly. You smiled as you continued pulling on his hair, loving the sounds that escaped him at the feeling.

He began thrusting into you rougher, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm.

"Nik, fuck! I'm so close!"

Nikolai rubbed at your clit harder. "Me too. Where do you want it?"

"In me! Just-" You groaned, your orgasm overcoming you.

Nikolai wasn't far behind you. It was only a few seconds after your orgasm when you felt his cum shoot into you. He stilled, peppering kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

After you recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, rolling off you and onto the bed to your right. He opened a drawer in his nightstand, grabbed something, and closed it before rolling back to face you and handing you the Alkemi contraceptive. You drank it and he took the empty bottle, placing it on top of the nightstand.

He pulled you closer to him, where your side was tucked close to his torso. The both of you rested in this position for a few moments, you laying on your back, him on his side.

"I'm an idiot," Nikolai said quietly.

You smiled. "Congratulations, you've finally caught up with the rest of us."

He gently pinched your side before lightly laughing.

"What I mean is I shouldn't have avoided you. I shouldn't have left your room that night without letting you say or do anything. I'm sorry."

Your thumb rubbed his cheek. "Apology accepted. On one condition. You tell me how long you've been in love with me."

Nikolai groaned. "My eighth birthday party is when it started. When I saw how determined you were to ruin that idiot's life over him being mean to me."

You laughed. "Wow. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."

"Now it's your turn."

You shook your head. "I'm not the one who owed an apology."

Nikolai raised his brows. "Fine. Since you don't want to tell me..."

He moved his hand from your side to your clit, rubbing small circles again. You threw your head back on the pillows, cursing.

"Shit, Nik."

He didn't stop. He kept rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping into your pussy for more moisture. He sped up his motions until you came once again. He gathered all of the wetness on his fingers and licked it all off.

"When we were 16 and had just enlisted. That asshole Novikov was harassing me. You punched him in the face one day. Three times. You broke his nose. That's when I fell in love with you."

"Awww. We both fell in love with each other when we harmed other people." He kissed your forehead. "Should we be concerned about that?"

"Probably, but right now, I want to sleep."

Nikolai hummed in response, pulling the blankets over the two of you. You turned to lay on your side as he got up to blow out all of the candles. When he finally got back in bed, he pulled you into him, your back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you," Nikolai whispered.

You closed your eyes. "I love you, too."

"Good night."

You softly smiled to yourself. "Good night."

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov smut #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #grishaverse #rowritesstuff

[puppie-b0y]

Stepbro!Charlie Walker

A/N- As a wise man once said- "OH MY DAYS, DONT CHAT TO ME❌️❌️❌️" Bro I've been thinking about this all fucking day and I need to write it out into the world. Is this what you came to my account for? Probably not, but it's what you're gonna get✨️🤭😍

WARNINGS - Stepcest, perv!Charlie, Stepbrother!Charlie, somnophilia, knives, dub con, throatfucking, possesiveness, throatpie, dacryphilia, knife kink if you squint, mentions of breeding at the end and overall just him being a gross loser...

-Stepbro!Charlie Walker, who wasn't all that thrilled to meet you when his dad announces that him, his girlfriend, you and Charlie were to have dinner together so his son could meet the woman he'd been seeing and her daughter

-Stepbro!Charlie Walker, who immediately had his eyes on you as soon as you walked into the restaurant. Jesus, she's fucking gorgeous He thought. As his dad waves you and your mother over to the table, his stomach drops.

-Stepbro!Charlie Walker, who was obsessed with you from the start. The way you were quiet and awkward the first couple of times you had met. The way you always wore cute skirts and low-cut tops. Even when you were just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, the jeans hugged your hips so perfectly, the shirt oversized and baggy, making him wonder how big one of his shirts would be on you.

-Stepbro!Charlie Walker, who makes it his mission to get close to you and earn your trust just so he can finally feel you against him. "I'm a hugger" was his excuse. But in the back of his mind, he knows he only does it to feel your tits pressed up against his chest and your arms tangled around his neck.

-Stepbro!Charlie Walker, who starts acting really weird once you guys get closer. Always so possessive when you start talking about your friend a little too politely. He's just protective of his stepsister, what else can you say? Although, it does get a bit weirder when he starts calling you his one day...

-Stepbro!Charlie, who rolls his eyes at whatever new date you're talking about and pushes you against a wall, grabbing your face harshly in his hand, making you look at him. "Your fucking mine, okay? Hey, don't look away. Look at me. You're mine. You don't need those other people, okay?" His voice whiny, but strikingly scary.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who knows you've been avoiding him ever since that little incident. Always making plans or taking extra shifts at work just so you didn't have to be at home with him. Of course, he couldn't stand that. He had to fix it.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who walks past you in the hallway, the two of you home alone. He notices you trying not to make eye contact and ignore him and he fucking hates it.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who pushes you against the wall once again, yelling at you, his voice still desperate, and yet still all the more frightening. "Is this because of what I said last week?" You can try to push him off of you, but he'll just pin your hands to the wall by your wrists and put his knee between your legs. "Just because you stop talking to me doesn't mean I don't stay updated on you." He smiles dont at you, his eyes softening."You haven't said anything to mom or dad about any more dates. Every time you go out, it's for work or a 'personal shopping trip.' You know you're mine."

-Stepbro!Charlie, who teases you when he gets the chance. You're wearing a skirt? Oh, you can bet on him bending you over the kitchen counter, grabbing the edge of your panties and snapping them against your ass, chuckling as you let out a little yelp. You aren't wearing a bra? He's lifting up your shirt and pinching your nipples, occasionally sucking on then for a short amount of time before he hears someone walking into the room.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who sets up cameras in your room, watching you when you don't even know it. Seeing you watch the horror movies he recommended to you, seeing you talk to your friend about how "Ghostface is definitely some hot, good-looking guy" and "Pretty people are always the most fucked up and weird", seeing you touch yourself while you watch hard-core, perverted porn. Fuck, what would you say if you knew? You'd probably be so fucking embarrassed.. so fucking adorable. And that's why he now needs you to know.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who waits for your guys' parents to leave for a date, excited for when they're gone. Five minutes after you hear the front door close, you get out of the shower, walking out of the bathroom and to your room naked, thinking you were alone. He sneaks into your room shortly after you and sees you facing away from the door, trying to pick out clothes. You bend over to look the your bottom dresser drawer and he sees just how pretty you pussy looks. He needs to fuck you. Now.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who, despite knowing how gross and wrong it is, puts on his Ghostface costume one night, planning to use you. He sneaks into your room once again while you're asleep and puts his hand over your mouth, a knife at your throat. "If you make a sound, I'll fucking kill you. God, you're just too pretty, huh?" He moves his hand from over your mouth and moves the black robes a bit, his bare cock now showing. "Here, I'll help you stay quiet." While positioning his tip at your lips. A few tears run down your cheeks. And you know what this gross, perverted fucker does? He wipes your tears with cock and forces your mouth open with his thumb. "Shhh, don't cry, it's okay, put my cock in your mouth and it'll be over soon, alright?" Slowly thrusting himself halfway into your mouth.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who watches you reluctantly suck on the tip for a few seconds before moving your head up so his cock went down your throat. It honestly shocked him. You had a knife pressing at your throat and a serial killer who broke into your home asking you to suck him off and you quickly obeyed. Just like that. His stepsister was that much of a slut. And God, was she fucking good at it. Taking his whole length down her throat, sometimes holding it there for quite a long time, closing her eyes. He wanted to take this chance. He finally had the chance to take off the mask and wait for you to open your eyes and look up at him once again, only to see that it was your stepbrother the whole time.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who isn't a fucking pussy. Throwing the knife down on your bed, along with the mask. ...okay maybe he was a bit of a pussy. He debates putting it back on and hurrying this up, realizing it might not be the best idea. But before he can decide anything, you look up at him, still deepthroating his cock and he sees your eyes widen and you gag a bit, pulling off and breathing heavily. He covers your mouth again "If- If you scream, I- I'll tell mom and dad all the weird stuff you've let me do to these past couple of months, I'll tell your friends." He slowly moves his hand away, praying you accept this. "Please, just let me keep going."

-Stepbro!Charlie, who is absolutely terrified right now. If you scream, he'd have to kill you, but if you didn't... if you let this happen, you'd be just as gross, just as sick and perverted as he is. ...but I guess we already kinda knew that, didn't we? As you take his cock in your hand and kiss the tip, you hear something you never thought you'd hear. He fucking whimpers.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who ends up getting too needy, grabbing your hair and very roughly gently fucking your mouth. Whining and and throwing his head back, closing his eyes as he feels his cock twitch. You moan at the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat and that sends him over the edge.

-Stepbro!Charlie, who slams into your throat one last time, thrusting deeper than he ever has before and cums down your throat, not paying any attention his the way you're gagging around him and aggressively gripping his thigh and your sheets, eyes watering.

-Stepbro!Charlie who decides you had enough and laughs as he cleans himself up, leaning down to kiss you and speaking softly "Good girl, just remember, don't tell mom or dad or I'll have to hurt you, okay?" Leaving you in your bed, confused, tired, and wet.

...

.....

.........

-Stepbro!Charlie, who decides that wasn't enough and he needs to breed you :)

#i 🩷 charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker #scream 4 #scream #scream movie #ghostface #ghostface smut

[darklordofthesimp]

Flustered (Din Djarin x Reader)

The creed was in the past and Din was freed from his oath to hide his face, except he still hadn't allowed you to see him helmetless. That's until a chance encounter in the refresher gives you more than you bargained for.

Request by: Multiple Anons- #31 Wait, did you just call me cute?

A/N: This is post Season 2, so helmetless Din is a rarity but it's a thing.

Also this is dogshit quality, written horrendously off my phone at work. Please no judgement

Category: Mutual Pining, Angst, Happy ending

Warnings: Swearing, Suggestive Themes, Reader throat punches a half naked Din.

You watched Din carefully from the makeshift chair you'd assembled.

There was a growl of discontent from beneath the helmet and he smacked the bench lightly. "It's a pile of junk."

You pretended to inspect your nails as he spun in his chair, acting as though you hadn't just been staring at him. "So was the Razor Crest."

There was an indignant pause before a simple, "no."

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. "You can't just say no, Din."

"I can."

Since the bounty hunter had created his own starfighter with Peli and yourself, you had both run into multiple problems. One of them, and the most prevalent issue, being it only had two seats and there were three of you.

So, the solution was to find another gunship that could carry both the fighter and still have a heavy arsenal to hold it's own if separated.

You'd so tenderly named the one Din was bagging out: Bolts.

Only because you found a new bolt on the floor every morning from some mystery panelling- you figured it wouldn't be a mystery anymore if they fell off.

The hunter stood to his feet, gloved fingers rubbing the back of his neck firmly. "I'm sick of working on ships."

You felt a smile tug at your lips, "that's why I'm here."

"Well," he waved his free hand lazily at the flashing warning lights, "you fix it then."

"Oh no, I've been busting my ass all day. I'm on break," you mused, watching him beneath your lashes. "Besides this is prime entertainment."

He said nothing, choosing to stifle his words rather than take the bait.

There was a soft groan and your ears perked at the sound. The helmet was in his way, he wanted nothing more than to massage the stress from his head.

The creed was in the past, after Din had come to realise it was not a requirement for true Mandalorian's to hide themselves. He still wore the helmet around you and you'd only managed to catch a glimpse of his side profile when he revealed himself to the Child.

Since then, Din would only ever unmask around his son.

You playfully pulled your fingers over your eyes, "you can take it off. I won't look."

The air stilled and Din's fingers twitched. He slowly moved to face you front on, hands falling by his side.

"It's not like that anymore," he murmured so low that you almost didn't catch it.

You shrugged lightly, although your breath rattled in your chest, "sure."

It was meant to be comforting, but the word fell sour from your tongue. You couldn't help it, you had been under his employment for so long that you had thought yourself to be part of this little clan.

You were happy with the boundary he had set previously, it was none of your business and you had no entitlement to his face. But as time went on, his creed had been broken then discarded. Others had the pleasure of seeing him when he deemed necessary, the child could see him whenever he pleased.

You?

You got nothing.

The man you had jumped in front of a blaster for, the man you had gone to war for, the man you had calmed down from fear fuelled nightmares;

That was not enough.

You were not enough.

"You're upset," he said gently.

"I'm not upset," you winked at him, recovering quickly. Standing to your feet, you stretched your arms over your head. "I gotta get back to Bolts before I get fired for being lazy."

____________

You smacked on the refresher door again to no avail. Had you known the entrance was jammed you wouldn't have spent so kriffing long on that random ceiling panel.

Your back burned from the awkward positions you'd contorted into throughout the day, the ventilation shafts were large enough to fit into for maintenance. There was no hope of Din squeezing in there so the job automatically fell to you.

Speaking of, the hunter had taken himself and the child for a supply run in town. The least he could have done was warn you about the refresher door, you needed a shower immediately.

You beat against the unrelenting steel once more before resting your forehead against it. The cool of the metal was comforting to your sweaty demeanour- but the positives of the situation ended there.

"Only me," you complained beneath your breath, "it's only ever me."

Everything seemed to always work for the fucking Mandalorian but never the goddamned mechanic.

As if on cue, the refresher door suddenly hissed open. Your body fell straight through the doorway, the support you had been leaning on now non-existent.

A yelp ripped from your mouth as you flailed into the steamy room.

Hot hands burned into your skin, gripping both arms in a slick but firm grip. You dug your heels into the ground to regain balance, supported by the tight hold of the intruder.

Your eyes shot upwards immediately, heart racing between your ribs. Gaze skimming across the tanned, male and very naked chest before you, a whimper of terror fell from your mouth.

Hooded chocolate eyes watched you with the same shock mirrored throughout their expression.

You launched yourself backward before you could think twice and the man's grip hardened. He wore nothing but a pair of long pants and a towel that quickly fell from it's place over his shoulder.

"Let go!" Your voice was a desperate cry as you manically tried to shake his hold.

The intruder's dark hair fell into his eyes as you jostled against him, mouth contorting into a grimace. "It's okay! It's okay!"

His voice was a deep rasp and had you not been in a petrified stupor, you would have realised it was familiar.

"Get off me!" The scream was supported by your frenzied fists beating against his chest.

"It's me! Stop-" the man was cut off by a fluke punch to the throat. He wheezed and his handling became rougher. Herding you into the refresher, he pushed your back against the steel hard enough to knock the breath from you.

You gasped for air, tears spilling from your lashes as he pinned your hands beside your head. Powerful thighs pressed against yours before you could even think about kicking out at him and your arms ached beneath the pressure of his forearms.

There was a stunned silence for a moment, as you tried to regain your breath. Ugly, heaving, rasps from your chest, indicative of your terror. Your eyes were squeezed tightly shut, face turned away in preparation of whatever onslaught was to come.

"It's me, it's Din. You're okay, Mesh'la," the man's voice was a rough whisper. He said your name gently, almost as if pleading with you. "You're okay."

Your body was shaking terribly, both from the scare of a possible intruder and the words you were confronted with.

"Din?" You said, teary eyes widening. You kept your gaze downcast and although you had just seen his face it felt forbidden to look at him again.

"Yes," it was a reassuring croon, "yes, it's me."

Your shoulders heaved as a relieved sob racked from your chest, "Maker, Din, I thought you were going to- I thought..."

Your hunter eased his grip, releasing the pressure on your body to allow you to breathe. "I know, I'm sorry."

There's another silence as you swiped the tears from your eyes and leaned your head back against the steel.

You found the courage to finally look up at him, breath hitching at his proximity. His hands were by his side now, the tell tale twitch of his fingers a symptom of his anxiety.

He was beautiful, genuinely breathtaking. Damp, chocolate hair curling around his brows and his ears, you wondered how he managed that beneath the helmet. He had a strong nose, something you had always pictured, leading towards his slightly parted lips.

Then there was his eyes, deep earthy colours beneath a dark, hooded gaze.

One that was observing you just the same.

You felt heat simmer beneath your skin, rushing to both your face and your core. Is that how we watched you from behind the visor? Your heart raced at the prospect.

He was so fucking close.

And half naked.

Immediately that warmth turned to electricity. It sparked down your spine and across your fingers as you forced your eyes to stay up.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you I was home before I got into the refresher," the words fell from his lips in a breathless ramble. "I couldn't find you and I thought I'd be quick-"

"You're lucky you're cute or I'd kill you right here, Din," you snapped, anger running rampant through your tone. "I thought you were an intruder here to murder me!"

He winced guiltily, and distantly you were in awe of his expressions. He was so animated, obviously he never learnt to school his expressions and it was evident in every pull of his brows.

"I know, I should have-" he paused, the words choked into silence before he could finish. You waited for him to continue and he tilted his head downward to eye you confusedly. "Wait, did you just call me cute?"

Your mouth dried and butterflies flocked together in your chest. Gulping thickly you raised an eyebrow, "what you've never heard that before?"

"No."

He said it so quickly that he startled himself.

"Well," you say slyly, ignoring the shake in your voice. "It's hard to call you cute when you're covered in beskar. Usually, intimidating is the best descriptor."

He nodded softly, his brows lifting in agreement. Din watched you carefully for a long moment, appraising how close you both stood. When he made no move to step away, your stomach tightened.

"And now?" He asked gently. "I'm not intimidating without the helmet?"

Of course he was. The hunter was tall and impossibly broad with strong features. He'd still make anyone cower.

But you didn't say that, you simply shook your head. "Not in the slightest."

Din snorted and the small smile that graced his lips made your heart trip over. "I don't know," he mused playfully, "you looked pretty intimidated a few minutes ago."

You frowned at him, "I wasn't intimidated."

"No?" His tone was sarcastic but his eyes danced with mirth.

"No."

He pushed off the wall lightly with a smile, leaning to pick the towel up from the floor. Din turned his back, showcasing the litter of scars stretched across hard muscle.

"Whatever you say, Cya'rika."

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #star wars #the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series Chapter 1

Summary: A stranger turns up at the store that catches your eye Pairing: Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 4.7k~ Warnings: Explicit language but that's about it lol Start from the beginning

Two years prior

I stir awake to the sound of the birds chirping outside my window as they always do. "Fuck" I say under my breath, stretching and wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I roll over and check the notifications on my phone and widen my eyes in panic realizing I didn't set an alarm and was bombarded by texts from my boss and coworker two hours ago. 

"Shit!" I say jumping out of bed and rushing around my apartment trying to get ready. I throw on my shoes and jacket and run out the door making my way to the subway station as quickly as I possibly can. My job is only three stops away from my place but those stops seem to take twice if not three times as long as they usually do in my mind.

Bolting out of the station I make my way over to the convenience store I work at. "Fuck me, what took you so long? Your shift started 3 hours ago" my coworker says stating the obvious. "I know shut up I forgot to set an alarm last night" I say rushing past them and into the break room to throw my stuff into a locker. 

I tiptoe past my bosses office but he can't help but hear my lame attempt at being undetected. "y/n" I hear being said from inside, (he only ever calls me that when he's mad at me). I'm in trouble. 

"Yes?" I say rolling my eyes before taking another step. "Get in here. Now!" he says in a tone I can no longer ignore. 

"Hi" I say dragging out the last letter as I make my way in until I see his face become even more furious. "Sit" he barks. "Yes sir" I say under my breath just loud enough to be heard but not enough to merit a second glance.

"Three times, three times this month have you been late and we're barely past the second week" he spits at me "And let's not forget the amount of times you've been late since you started working here" he says taking a deep breath at the end and leaning back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. 

"What am I gonna do with you?" he says rhetorically. "I-" I start. "I've had enough of your excuses y/n, I can't keep letting you break the rules like this. I've got a business to run and you working here hasn't made my job any easier" he breathes out. 

"I know I really do but I-" "Can you please just listen and stop trying to wiggle your way out of being held accountable. I would've fired your ass a long time ago if your father and I weren't brothers. I'm doing this not only for you but for the sake of your parents. Try to understand how your irresponsibility affects not only me but everyone around you. I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with your antics". "Please no! Uncle you know how much I need this job! If you were to cut me off then I know for a fact that I'm not gonna be able to make it in this city" I implore. 

"Maybe you weren't cut out to live in this city. There are a lot of hard workers out there, people who would kill to live here and you're just spitting in their face by wasting the days away sleeping in and daydreaming. You're not taking advantage of the opportunities that you could have if you worked a bit harder and just grew up" he says raising his voice and getting out of his chair to tower over me. 

I cower back inside myself taking my much deserved verbal beating and just be thankful that he isn't a violent person. 

He takes a deep breath and goes back to his seat and calms himself down. "Just please" he says in a softer tone "Start to get your shit together kid. You've got your whole life ahead of you and I would hate to see you end up like me, running a convenience store in the wrong part of town.

"But I thought you loved your job?" I question. "Ha! Yeah right, that's just what I tell people so I don't have to deal with their pity. Are there good days? Sure, but there sure as hell are more days that go to absolute shit that outweighs those good days". I nod my head in silent agreement, having a few stories of my own in my back pocket. 

"Listen up! You've got one more chance girl you hear me? One. More. I really shouldn't be doing this but I want to see if you can turn things around with this last push" he finishes. "Really? Thank you so much uncle I won't let you down!" I say going up to shake his hand furiously. 

"I'm pretty sure you will but hey, I've always been a gambling man" he says with a smile on his face. I go to tell him how bad that habit has become, but under the circumstances, I decide to let it go this time. After bowing to him a few times I quickly rush out of his office before he can change his mind and get to work.

I pass by my friend and coworker Grey at the counter on my way out and prepare myself for yet another lecture. "Old man gave you another chance huh?" she says blowing a bubble in her Polar Ice gum. It's one of her habits that annoys me the most but hey, she's a pretty good friend besides that so I can't really complain. 

Good friends are hard to come by these days so when I find one I tend to let them stick around. "Yeah thankfully, it pays to have connections sometimes" I say shrugging my shoulders as I put on the hideous green vest with the store's logo adorned on the top left side along with my name tag placed right below. 

I grab a box full of candy and head over to their designated spot in the store to get started. Straightening up the area before restocking the shelves I start from the bottom and make my way towards the top. I shake my head at the amount of open wrappers and half eaten candy bars I come across left by the many delinquents who occupy the store on a daily basis. 

"I'm surprised there are any left at this rate" I say under my breath. "I know right? Kids these days just aren't taught right from wrong anymore" I hear someone say in agreement. "The adults aren't any better" I retort hearing the voice laugh at my off the cuff comment.

I widen my eyes realizing I have no idea who I've spoken to and quickly stand up while keeping my face to the ground as I apologize to the unknown voice. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to- What I meant to say was- I'm sorry" I say tripping over my words in apology. I hear him let out a short scoff laughing at my attempt to repent for my honest criticism. 

"Hey it's okay. I appreciate your honesty. It's refreshing to say the least" he says, easing my nerves a bit. Feeling a little bit more comfortable I slowly stand up straight but as I do I realize I've been speaking to the most attractive man I have ever laid my eyes on. Pouty lips curved into a crooked smile, skin the color of sunlight, sharp catlike eyes that seem to see through my entire existence, and hair the darkest shade of midnight black I've ever seen. 

I freeze, mesmerized by his beauty balancing an air of androgyny with an adorable boyish charm. "Hey" he says while extending his hand towards me in greeting. "I'm Jimin" he finishes with a slight smile, giving me butterflies. 

"H-hey" I say taking his hand "I'm Luna" I say nervously in response."Luna? Huh, but your name tag says y/n though" he replies. "Oh well my real name is y/n but I go by Luna most of the time" I admit."Luna is a really pretty name. Did you grow up in Seoul?" he asks tilting his head a bit."Well I was born here but I grew up in America and came back when I was about 8 so yeah pretty much" I say, answering his question as calmly as I can.

"Oh wow that really cool! Was it hard for you to learn Korean at that age?"he inquires in pure curiosity."Well we always spoke Korean in the house so it was pretty easy for me to transition here. Although it did take a while to get rid of my American accent" I laugh. He smiles a bit at my openness which makes my heart flutter "I'm sure it was adorable". "I-" I start but am soon cut off by Grey. 

"Hey Luna can I get your help with something?" she questions. "Um yeah just a second. Sorry but I've really got to get back to work" I say picking up the box full of candy I have yet to put away and turn towards the front of the store. "Yeah sure no worries. Hey Luna" he says making me look back at him after turning to walk away. 

He comes towards me and reaches into the box to grab a chocolate bar. "Sorry I just wanted to grab one of these before you go" he says teasingly when there's clearly a whole shelf of that exact one right next to him. "Oh okay, um bye" I say and quickly scurry down the aisle towards Grey.

"You okay?" she says raising a brow at me. "I thought he might be bothering you since you guys had been talking for a while so I wanted to give you an escape just in case" she says, concern clearly her motive, none of which is written on her face or in her voice. She almost sounds uninterested if you didn't know better. "

Yeah no I'm fine don't worry. He was nice" I say clearly blushing. "He's cute huh?" she says looking me up and down, reading my body language. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to play coy but I can't help but smile at the thought of our interaction. "Obviously he is if you're acting like that. What's his name?" she asks, intentionally getting louder and louder. Meanwhile looking around the store to gauge his distance, doing it loud enough to embarrass me but soft enough not to gain his attention.

"Is he single?" she asks, finally bringing her wandering gaze back to me but can't help but give me a slight smirk. "Shhhh" I say covering her mouth in an effort to keep our conversation away from him. 

"Okay yes, he's cute but can you save the teasing for later, or never? He's still in the store and I'm pretty sure I've already made a big enough fool of myself for the day as is" I say in a hushed tone keeping the conversation hopefully between the two of us this time.

"Alright I'll be quiet. Did you finish up over there?" she questions trying to mark off the various tasks on the nightly checklist. "No, not yet. I started to clean it up but then he started talking to me until you called me over" I admit. "Okay well once he leaves get back on it okay? Why don't you take a turn minding the counter while I start sweeping?" she suggests. 

"Yeah I can do that" I say getting nervous for the next interaction I have with him. "You'll be fine" she says dryly observing the way I start to fidget with hands. "You set me up didn't you?" I say coming to the realization of the predicament she's put me in. "Yup" she's says with a devious smile as she scurries off to the cleaning closet taking away my last hope of escaping. Well I guess in the meantime I'll take a second to calm down before he-

"Luna?" I hear Jimin say. "Yes" I reply whipping my head around towards the direction I heard him speaking from realizing he's just a few feet behind me. "Oh I just wanted to let you know that I'm ready to check out" he says smiling down at me. "Oh right yeah let me ring you up" I say while rushing over to the counter. He follows close behind me and meets me on the other side. 

"Okay that'll be $4.03" he nods and hands me a 10 dollar bill. I take it and can't help but feel a spark between us when his hand bushes against mine. I jerk back slightly and busy myself with finishing the transaction. "$5.97 is your change" I say going to give it back to him again making our hands touch yet again. 

"Thanks Luna" he says sliding his hand away from mine slower than necessary prolonging our touch. "See you later?" he says with a slight questioning tone behind it while turning to leave. "Yeah sure, see you later" I say while nervously reciprocating his goodbye. I hear the bells on the door jingling solidifying his departure and I can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay that was adorable" Grey says sneaking up on me, another smirk accompanying her teasing tone. There are very few things that Grey takes pleasure in and one of those, unfortunately is teasing me mercilessly when it comes to guys. 

"Don't do that!" I say, clutching my chest in surprise, slapping her shoulder right after. "What? Come on dude don't act like you wouldn't do the same if the roles were reversed" she says laughing at my surprise. 

"Whatever" I pout. "That guy is pretty hot though not gonna lie, no wonder you're blushing" she says continuing to tease me. "Yeah he was" I say starting to daydream. "Oh girl you got it bad!" she says scoffing and shaking her head. "I do not! He was just really cute okay. Leave me alone" I whine starting to get fed up with her teasing. 

"Whatever you say dude. So what was his name again? Jaemin? Minji?" she questions, listing off names that she obviously knows are incorrect. "Jimin" I say glancing out the window. 

"Wait why?" I ask, whipping my face back to her in a panic. "I'm just gonna try to see if I can find him on sns or something. I wanna see if he's single before you start falling for him" she says switching between apps doing her best to find him. "I'm trying to protect you okay?" she explains while patting my head. "Are you sure you aren't just doing it because you're nosy?" I question, crossing my arms. "Same thing" she says waving me off as she continues to scourer the internet for our resident hottie of the week.

"Okay found him! Park Jimin, 21. Oooo he's younger than you" she teases. "Yeah yeah what else does it say?" I question leaning in closer to see what she's found. It's really true what they say about girls being FBI agents when it comes to social media. "Mmmm not much, he's into dancing and fashion, huh, that's interesting" she says looking puzzled. "What? What is it?" I ask, getting even closer feeling a bit anxious. 

"Oh nothing, there's a picture of a girl on here though but you can't see her face. He didn't tag her either" she says still preoccupied with finding more information. "So he has a girlfriend?" I conclude, feeling a bit dejected. "Well that's the interesting part. That picture was from a year ago but that's the only picture of her. In fact that's the only picture he has of any girl on his entire profile." she says. 

"So ex girlfriend? But why keep the picture up if she's his ex?" I question. "I don't know dude I think unfortunately the results come up as inconclusive" she lets out feeling deflated. "Oh well, I guess if he comes back we'll find out eventually" I say.

"If who comes back?" a voice says behind us. I turn around and immediately smile at the owner of the voice "Kook!" I say getting up and rushing over to give him a hug. "Oh just this hottie that was here earlier" Grey says. "Ooo scandalous! But aren't you guys supposed to be working and not stalking cute boys on the internet?" he says with a knowing smirk. 

"It's called multitasking" I say while he gives me a kiss on the crown of my head. "Ew gross please stop I don't want to have to bleach my eyes again" Grey whines, shielding her eyes with her hands, hiding us from her vision. "Don't hate just because you're not a fan of friendly affection" Jungkook says teasing. 

"More like any affection at all. Especially PDA. Come on guys get a room" she says in disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you Grey, we're just friends" I say, shaking my head at her and pulling away from Jungkook's embrace. Grey glances up at him with a knowing look and sees him shaking his head prompting her to change the subject.

"Anyways, Jungkook what are you doing here this time?" she asks sounding uninterested as always. "Damn Grey can't I stop in to see my favorite girls every once in a while?" he says, draping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't call me that" she says with a deadpan expression. 

"Okay fine. My favorite girl and her tagalong?" he corrects with a cheeky smile. "You know what? Why don't you just call me by my name okay?" she argues. "Not a fan of the pet names? Okay okay I get it" he chuckles. 

"Luna" he says in an effort to gain my attention. "Yeah?" I acknowledge, turning to face him. "What are you doing this weekend?" he asks with anticipation written all over his face. 

"Um nothing to my knowledge" I reply and quickly hear someone start to talk over us before anyone can speak again. "Good, because you're working two ten hour shifts this weekend" my uncle says while bringing out another box of assorted products to stock. 

"Uncle please" I say with painful annoyance. "No I don't wanna hear anything. You need to make up for the hours that you missed and Sunghoon has the weekend off so I need you to pick up the slack" "But sir I was just-" Jungkook starts trying to come to my aid but is cut off yet again. 

"Jungkook I don't need any lip from you either" he says authoritatively while walking away to busy himself with a task in another part of the store. "Yes sir" he mumbles, bringing his head down and slightly pouting. I swear if he was a bunny I would see his floppy little ears start to droop.

"Sorry Kook, but what was it you wanted to ask me? Maybe we can still do it after I get off?" I offer, giving him a soft smile. He looks at me, still a little sad but I can see a little glimmer of hope coming back. "Well I wanted to see if you wanted to have a picnic or something since our friendship anniversary is coming up" he says returning the soft smile I'm giving him. 

"Has it really been another year? How many does that make now?" I say in surprise. "Fifteen!" he answers, satisfied with the answer and feeling proud of how long we've known each other. "I can't believe it's been that long!" I say starting to reminisce about all the memories of our many adventures together. 

"Yeah but I guess having a picnic late at night isn't as fun as it would be during the day" he mumbles, drooping again. "I've got an idea!" I say with a mischievous smile. "Really? What is it?" he questions, interest peaked. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about any of it. I'll take care of everything! The only thing you need to make sure of is to bring a car. You think your brother would let you borrow his?" I question. "I think I could make that happen" he says with an inquisitive smile clearly suspicious of what I'm planning. 

"Don't give me that look!" I say, hitting him on the shoulder. "It'll be fun!" I say excitedly. "I'm sure it will be but usually when you get this excited about things they tend to be illegal" I widen my eyes at his sudden call out. "Shhhh pipe down. I don't need my uncle to catch onto the things I do in my free time" I say slightly panicked.

"I heard that!" my uncle says from the other side of the store. "Plus you're not slick Luna. I've known about your delinquent activities for a while now but it's never gotten serious enough to bring up. Just don't get caught, I'm not about to bail your ass out of jail. Got it?" he warns while coming over to talk to us again. 

"Yep got it" I say nodding my head in agreement. "And that goes for you as well" He says pointing at Grey. "Hey what did I do" she asks, slightly offended. "Don't play innocent with me. I know you're the mastermind behind these schemes half the time" he says nodding towards her. "How do you know that?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest trying to act cool but still visibly surprised at his knowledge of our delinquency. 

"You do realize that most of the time you're hatching your plans in my store? I know everything that goes on in here" he says mirroring her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fair enough" she mumbles, admitting to her part in it.

"Why aren't you giving Jungkook a lecture about all of this too?" she pouts motioning towards him. "Because I know he's smart enough not to get caught and he's also the reason you guys don't get caught 95% of the time" he says clapping him on the shoulder. 

"He's got a point there" Jungkook admits. "Okay okay whatever. The point of this lecture is don't get caught and don't do anything too crazy. We got it. Anything else?" I say clearly ready for this conversation to be over. 

"Yeah, you get back to work! He says pointing a finger at me. "And Grey start paying for the gum you chew or I'm gonna start taking it out of your paycheck." he threatens pointing towards her as well. 

"Don't you already take it out of my paycheck?" she questions clearly done as well, grabbing another box of products to start restocking. "Ya! Don't get smart with me young lady!" he says following after her. "Yeah yeah" is the last thing we hear as they head further into the store.

"Sorry Kook I guess it's time for you to head out" I say giving him a shrug. "That's alright I should probably get going anyways. I've gotta get to class" he says while giving me another kiss on my head. "That's right, Mr. College Man can't be late to art class" I say smirking at him. He rolls his eyes "Love you loser" he yells as he towards the exit. "Love you too weirdo" I respond waving him off. I watch him leave but I can't help but feel disappointed by his departure.

Jungkook is going to the best Visual Arts school in Seoul and I'm so proud of him! He could've left us behind after high school and made friends with the rich kids in his classes but instead he still comes in and hangs out with us as often as he can. We all grew up together and I honestly don't know what I would do without these two. 

Grey on the other hand is trying her hand at producing music. It hasn't been taking off but she's gotten a few jobs here and there working for smaller artists that are just getting started as well. She's been building a portfolio and honestly she's really good! She just lacks the confidence to take the next step. I've been pushing her to try to apply at different schools to get proper training but she doesn't think she's good enough yet and needs to make sure she stands out so she can land a scholarship. Otherwise even if she did get accepted she wouldn't be able to afford it.

Me on the other hand? Well honestly I have no clue what I want to do. I've worked just about every part time job you could imagine just trying to stay afloat. I don't have time for dreams. At this point I feel like I'm just existing, which is a sucky way to live out your 20s but unfortunately that's the life I'm living. 

Growing up I had many different dream jobs that I had thought about. Fashion designer, Makeup artist, Dancer, but at the end of the day like Grey, I've gotta build up my portfolio to really stand out and I just haven't had the time to do any of that. 

Just like I've been encouraging her to take that next step, Jungkook has been the one in my corner. The one who's always had so much hope and confidence in me and my dreams. Whenever I needed someone he was always there for me. He even spent the night in the hallway outside of my apartment just because he still wanted to be there for me even though I didn't want him to. 

Jungkook is one of the only people in this world I know I can trust. Without him I don't think I'd be here today. 

I've gone through so much and when it got to the point where I felt like I didn't want to exist anymore he was the one that brought me back, nursed me back to health and made sure that I was never left alone. He is my safe place and he always will be. 

I don't know what I ever did to deserve someone as pure and loving as him. He's my best friend and my rock. Life wouldn't be as bright and colorful without him.

"Hey lady are you gonna ring me up or what?" I hear an old man say breaking me out of my daydream. "Sorry sir I didn't mean to make you wait, my apologies" I say while giving him a shallow bow. "Yeah whatever just get on with it" he grumbles, clearly not phased by my apology. I ring up his various items which include a couple bottles of soju, a few bags of snacks, a cup of ramen- "Oh and a pack of cigarets" he slurs. 

"Of course sir" I respond while turning my back to grab the ones he selected. "That'll be $20.35" he tosses the money onto the counter while I place all of his items into a bag. "Thank you sir have a good day" I say while he stumbles his way out of the store. 

"Are people always that rude?" the next woman in line says while placing her items on the counter, glaring daggers into the man's back. "Yeah but I'm used to it at this point. As long as they don't get nasty or angry it doesn't really bother me. It's to be expected working in this part of town" I finish off while scanning all of her items. 

"That doesn't make it right" she say counters, clearly upset for me. "It's alright, for the most part I kind of ignore it" I say before telling her her the total. She swipe her card and I hand her the bag with her items once the transaction goes through. "Well for your sake I hope they cut you some slack" she say before walking away from the counter and saying goodbye. "Thank you, have a nice day" I say to her, genuinely meaning it this time around.

"You too kiddo" she says before walking into the outside world. 'Why can't all customers be like that?' I think, having a warm feeling after the interaction. "Yah! Quit Ignoring me. I'm ready to leave" the next customer says sneaking up on me. This is gonna be a long day.

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[frenziedfireworks]

Kinktober/Update

Hello friends, I'm sorry I've been gone so long!! As I've said before Im chronically ill and the past month has been whooping my ass. So I am sorry to anyone who requested and I still haven't gotten to. As well as that, to get back into the swing of things I thought I'd do kinktober. I haven't gotten the full list yet but heres an idea for what you can see (featuring a lot of Sebastian, I am sorry its the brainrot). You can also thank my best friend @froggibus for inspiring me and go check her kinktober/works out !! <3 love u trog

if you have any other characters you would like to see/ideas, feel free to send them

Day 1 : Hate Sex, Draco

Day 2 : DDLG, Sebastian

Day 3 : Temp Play, George

Day 4 : Exhibitionism, Sebastian

Day 5 : Virginity Loss, Fred

Day 6 : Sex Tape, Fred

Day 7 : Caught Jacking Off/Mutual Masturbation, Sebastian

Day 8 : Praise Kink, Garreth

Day 9 : Food Play, Sebastian

Day 10 : Voice Kink, Ominis

Day 11 : Mirror Sex, George

Day 12 : Comfort Sex, Sebastian

Day 13 : Virginity Loss/Submission, Ominis (Yes, there's two.. but it's Ominis losing his <3)

Day 14 : Costume Party, Weasley Twins

Day 15 : Oral, Garreth

#fireworkskt