#mixed both prompts cause i liked them both too much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justporo · 4 months

Note

Could I request no. 44 (Public Kisses) please?

Maybe the kisser proving the kissee that they don’t care who’s watching and that they’re proud to be with them

(with either Astarion being worried about Tav being seen with ‘an undead’ or Durge worrying about Star being seen with a Bhaalspawn).

Thank you!

Last one for the kiss prompts - allow me to take the "not caring who watches" a bit further even. I fully didn't intend this to become this long (like always...) but here we are... Oh, and then I edited it and it became even longer. Enjoy Tav making clear they belong to Astarion and vice versa!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) | Wordcount: 2,2k | Warnings: light mention of violence / Act 2 spoilers

MASTERLIST | AO3

Affirmations

Everyone was staring - all the time.

It wasn't enough already that, entering Moonrise Towers again, meant venturing deep into the lion's den. But to add to this you couldn't even go unnoticed.

Of course not, you were a True Soul! In touch with the Absolute itself! Destined for great things! So there wasn't a single moment without a pair of eyes upon you. And you hated it - deeply.

Quite frankly, it seemed like the primary requisite to becoming a cultist of the Absolute was being way too fucking nosey. But you had to be honest with yourself you were at least partly to blame with the scene you had caused with this godsdamned drow yesterday.

Just thinking about her made your blood boil again. Just the way she had looked at you, but most of all Astarion. The arrogance, the unquestioned privilege - it immediately conjured another wave of bile rising up within you.

If not for the sake of the greater mission you would have very much liked shredding her to pieces so she would have never been able to even look at Astarion again. You would have done it with a pleasant smile on your face. But alas, it would have only complicated matters even further

Your visceral reaction had been surprising even to you. Normally you weren’t one for excessive blood shed. Actually you much more liked solving things without weapons: talking your way out of situations, tricking others. That was much more your style. But your bloodlust, brought on by a powerful urge to protect Astarion, had almost taken the better of you yesterday.

It had shaken you; not least your companions as well - and most of all Astarion.

All the way back to camp the vampire had been barely able to hide his wild mix of feelings - shock, admiration, insecurity. You had felt his wide red eyes on you the whole time and had known that something was about to happen. A tipping point had been reached.

But you hadn't even remotely been prepared for what had followed when Astarion had approached you when everyone else had already retired to their tents for the evening.

On the other end of the night the two of you had come out with a new layer added to your bond: fresh still, barely fully formed - but fueled by both of your deep desires to hold onto the other and not let go.

Immediately, it had been weird for the two of you after. The next morning you had barely been able to look at each other. Simply because this was daunting for either of you. Hells, not even the two of you knew how to go on from this but you were determined to make it work. And unsteadiness had quickly turned to small glances, short touches in passing as you all got ready for a new day ahead, affirming smiles - and some suspicion from your fellow companions.

When you had made your way back to the godsdamned towers you had felt uneasiness rise up again, tendrils of negative feelings forming a tight knot in your chest.

And in an overly brave moment you had grabbed for Astarion's hand when you had been about to enter the towers again - repeating a gesture from last night. Wishing to feel same kind of warmth and steadiness again and also relaying the same sentiment to the vampire you saw slightly nervously move his head to loosen the tension in his neck.

It had made the vampire almost recoil as he looked at you with shocked wide eyes and you were sure you had heard a surprised gasp from your other companions behind you. But when you had tried to let go again, immediately regretting your short-circuit action, you found that Astarion had been lightly holding on to your hand and had thrown you a small smile. You would have called it coy with anyone else but him.

The gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed by Lae’zel whose eyes had been steadily narrowed at the both of you from there on out.

Only when you had come across the first guards had Astarion let go, but not without squeezing your hand in his a last time.

You had stayed close to each other walking through the headquarters of the Absolute, trying to investigate this damned place further. An unsettling feeling was filling all of you but the only thing you could do was trying to pull through.

In the main hall - Ketheric's throne thankfully empty - most of the cultists had gathered for some strategy discussion. So, an excellent opportunity to listen in on them and maybe find someone to squeeze for some more information.

Thankfully, Gale and Shadowheart had somewhat taken the lead today giving you and Astarion some time to recover from everything that had happened. You were standing next to the vampire - your partner now, you reminded yourself - stealing glances up at him from time to time. He usually caught you while he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, throwing you a small smile in response that always made you turn away again, slightly blushing. But then you also noticed him peering at you out of the corner of his eyes. And despite your dire situation as a whole you couldn’t help but feel a little giddiness inside of you - maybe all wasn’t lost after all.

At the moment, Gale was talking to another higher-up drow, trying to convince her to give up some more details about Ketheric Thorm. She very much was having none of it, but the wizard kept deliberately trying. Shadowheart, meanwhile, did next to nothing to keep him from verbally digging his own grave.

It was then that you felt the hairs of your neck stand up and felt someone staring at you. With a sinister suspicion, you turned to look over your shoulder to find: Araj Oblodra looking at you angrily. The drow from the day before was openly staring at the two of you, after having just entered the hall, wearing a massive displeased snarl on her face.

You immediately felt your own face sour, a deep fold forming between your furrowed brows. At your negative reaction Astarion’s brows drew together quizzically and he looked over his shoulder as well. When he found what you were looking at his nose scrunched up in distaste, mirroring you closely. You even heard a low growl rumble in his chest. Had he been unsure yesterday how to react you had worked wonders to help him draw a line. Astarion’s repulsion was radiating off him, almost physical.

The drow kept staring. And so did you - not willing to give her the impression that her presence was bothering you.

Moments became minutes while Gale kept rambling with some half-hearted support from Shadowheart (the rest of the group staying painfully silent). Meanwhile, others noticed the silent staring contest across the room. Even more pairs of eyes were observing you now. Probably everyone here knew to the tiniest detail what had gone down yesterday. And the longer this moment was drawn out, the more you felt your grip on your emotions slip. One of your hands had formed into a fist at your side - nails biting into the flesh of your palm and leaving crescent moon indents behind.

Then an idea, or just an impulse really, sprung to your mind. Your eyes jumped to Astarion who was still staring down Araj through his brows, crimson eyes sparkling dangerously. One of his hands had casually wandered to the dagger at his side, wrist languidly resting on its hilt. A leisure threat, but an open one.

“Astarion,” you whispered silently to him, “you trust me, yes?”

The vampire’s brows furrowed a bit more, gaze flitting to you, then back to the drow still glaring at you.

“Of course, my love. Why-,” he began and quickly looked at you again. Then he interrupted himself. He must’ve seen your intention on your face and now he turned his head to fully look at you. His fingers unconsciously clenched around the pommel of his dagger now, focused on something entirely else than making barely hidden threats.

You threw him a questioning glance as you took a deep breath. He lightly nodded, a soft smile curling up one side of his mouth while he turned to you.

And then, before you would get too scared, you moved to grab Astarion’s face with both hands, stepped even closer to him and stood on your tiptoes to reach for his lips with your own.

There was another short moment before your mouths met in the kiss: his full lips slightly parting, his eyes open almost vulnerable, glinting with something much different from the anger before, if not less passionate.

A shaky breath left you as you stared up at him. You knew you must be pretty much mirroring his expression at this moment.

And you were sure that this, all of this, had been the right decision.

Then your lips met. A sigh immediately wandered from your mouth to his as Astarion kissed you open-mouthed, softly opening up yours. Then his tongue shortly ran over your lips, then entered your mouth, taking up yours in a dance you were already familiar with.

Astarion’s arms moved around you. He placed his hands on your hips but immediately let them wander to your behind to pull you closer to him, making you almost slam into his body. You felt him grinning as he did that. A yelp left your mouth, pleasantly surprised by his initiative, but didn’t break the kiss for a single moment.

You had done this dozens over dozens of times, almost the exact same motions. It had been enticing and electrifying each time, enjoying each time it had happened.

But this was different. Everyone’s eyes were on you. You were making it very official what you were to each other. Not only to your friends but for the whole world to see. And in that sense it felt very much like a first kiss altogether.

The passion was there, as Astarion kept deepening the kiss, turning his head, looking at you intensely as you batted your eyes open for a short moment. His hands were stroking up and down your back while yours had entered his hair, tugging on some curls, pulling his head closer.

Somewhere in the middle you had almost forgotten that you weren’t alone. You felt him smile as you desperately wanted to keep going. Gods, you never wanted to let go again.

But Astarion slightly withdrew, his lips hovering slightly over yours, looking at you through his lashes. His voice was sinful. “Think we’ve given them enough of a show, darling?”

You frowned, shook your head. And without another word you pulled him in again as you heard a low laughter from him vibrate through his chest and by proxy through your body as well. He was intoxicating and he knew it. You’d given him the room to start feeling good about it. And you were merely getting started.

The kiss went on for another few moments although becoming softer now, slower. Less a show than a treat for the two of you. Then you softly lifted your mouth from his and looked up at him: breathless and a little shaky now, but a wicked smile already forming on your lips from the passionate kiss as you were still on your tiptoes.

Astarion mirrored your smirk before he pressed a quick peck to the tip of your nose - in just a whim of the moment. His arms were still firmly around you, holding you close to him. You kept smiling at him.

And then your smile grew icy and vicious as you turned to Araj who was looking at you in shock now. You let your tongue run over your bared teeth as you kept up the eye contact, daring her. And eventually the drow turned away, unsettled while your grin grew even broader.

You noticed that almost everyone else around you had also turned away from the public show of passionate affection. Only some still dared to look at you out of the corner of their eyes.

A victorious smile crept onto your face as you looked at Astarion again who looked at you with his signature smirk and a keen sense of pride he didn’t even try to hide.

Then, after a while, you turned to the other side.

And were faced with your friends staring at you in disbelief, just blinking at the two of you. Even the unshakable Lae’zel looked slightly irritated, not being able to hold your gaze for long

“Hot!” Karlach exclaimed, her expression of shock quickly turning to a smug, broad grin. And in true Karlach fashion she gave you a thumbs-up and a wink - causing you to blush and bite your lip. “Get a tent, am I right?”

You must have gone a little overboard with your public display of your newly formed bond. Your heart dropped a little. But Astarion only softly laughed at that and affectionately bit into the tip of your pointy ear. Seemingly the ice for public displays of affection had been broken for him - with a cannonball.

“So, you guys are official now?”, Wyll asked while cocking his head, looking kind of sceptical. Shadowheart just rolled her eyes, while Gale seemed stuck in a state of being too flustered to react.

“I guess you could say that, little lord”, Astarion answered, grinning smugly, one eyebrow twitching and pulled you to his chest again with one arm casually around your waist. He couldn’t keep a proud tone out of his voice as he looked down at you again.

Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3 #kiss prompts

295 notes · View notes

parad-ice-lostandfound · 6 months

Text

Prompt: If someone had told you an hour ago that Vil and Rook would attempt breaking into Ramshackle, drunk out of their minds, you would have laughed and waved off their words. Well, that was what you would have thought an hour ago.

Pairing: Rook x Gn!Yuu/Prefect/Reader x Vil

Genre: Fluff

TW: Underage drinking, mentions of being very drunk, Rook and Vil are most definitely ooc (cause they're drunk)

A.N: For the record, I am not trying to encourage underage drinking. That is not my intention. I just had a funny story told to me by my aunt that inspired this. Again, not trying to encourage underage drinking or heavy drinking (drink responsibly and only after you come of age please).

If someone had told you an hour ago that Vil and Rook would attempt breaking into Ramshackle, drunk out of their minds, you would have laughed and waved off their words.

After all, Rook would never willingly compromise himself by drinking to the point where he couldn't walk without stumbling. He was a hunter; his sharp senses were his pride, and alcohol muddles the senses, rendering them dull. The idea of such loss of control over his actions may be a bit tempting, but you knew he wouldn't be as irresponsible as to have alcohol on a school night.

The same could be said for Vil. He was comfortable with showing you and Rook more of his natural and less put-together side, but he would not exactly let himself be drunk to the point where he slurred his words, each syllable melting into the next as he attempted to communicate with you. Not just to keep his dignified and elegant image, but also because of how horrible the hangover on the next day would be for him (he was a lightweight who learned it the hard way after getting into his father's special alcohol stash one day).

Well, that was what you would have thought an hour ago.

You sighed as you looked at the two boys who had all but broken the door to Ramshackle down. The pounding on the door (courtesy of Rook, who was also saying something that sounded like an essay in French as he stood outside your dorm) had woken you up from where you had fallen asleep completing assignments. You could still remember Grim's confused "Mrah?!" as he walked over and opened the front door for the two, bolting upstairs when the stink of alcohol became too much for his poor sensitive nose to bear.

Somehow, you had managed to bring the two inside, to the guest room, where they were both sprawled in a messy heap of limbs on a couch. It would have been a little cute, had they not been absolutely hammered beyond belief.

"Mon cher Trickster~" Rook hummed, eyes sly and captivating even as they drooped from the influence of alcohol. "Come nearer, and allow me... allow me the privilege of... basking in your glory..."

His voice was smooth and silky, and if it weren't for the way you saw him struggle like a newborn fawn just moments ago, you would have believed him to still be somewhat sober.

Vil, meanwhile, was just staring up at you with an awe-struck look on his face, eyes wide and shiny. Cheeks warm and a soft red from whatever he drank, he seemed content to just watch you as you stood in front of them wondering what to do. You looked over their appearance. Both the Pomefiore boys looked as beautiful as ever, even with their very obviously inebriated actions and reactions.

"What did you two drink? And how much?" You asked Rook, crouching slightly to reach his eye level. Rook scrunched his nose, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to remember; meanwhile your eyes focused on the freckles that had begun making their appearance after hours of being hidden beneath makeup.

"Apple... juice," Rook said, head tilting towards you as he answered your question. "Just... apple juice," Vil agreed, words mixing in his mouth even as he answered you with all the seriousness of a five year old trying to tell his mother that he had not had any cookies before dinner.

"You two don't seem like you had just apple juice though," you hummed, holding back a smile as Vil pouted at your words. Before he could voice any protests, you lightly patted his head, running your fingers through the silky blonde strands. Vil melted under your tender touch, eyes closing in bliss as he rested his head on Rook's chest.

"Stay," you ordered him, much in the way Crewel would with his students, but with a marked gentleness to your tone. Vil nodded, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you tried to make them more comfortable on the couch. Coaxing Rook to get up just a little for you to slip a pillow under his head, getting one of the blankets Vil had gotten especially for you, he watched you do every little thing to make their impromptu sleepover more comfortable for them.

Rook had fallen asleep by the time you finished making arrangements for the two of them to sleep somewhat comfortably. While you would have preferred to get them to your room and on an actual bed, they did not seem to be in any condition to climb the rickety stairs Ramshackle was famous for.

Ruffling Rook and Vil's hair one last time, you turned to move... only to be held back by a hand closing around your wrist. Your eyes trailed down your arm, an amused expression on your face as you saw Vil holding onto you.

"Yes, Vil?"

"Stay," Vil mirrored your words from before, the softly uttered command lacking the impact it otherwise would have had on you. Dewy eyes looked up at you, and a gentle "Please.." slipped through his lips, tugging at your heart strings the way he was tugging at your wrist.

You chuckled and acquiesced, sitting down in front of the couch with your wrist still in his grasp. Moving Rook's hand out of the way, you laid your head on the edge of the couch, looking into amethyst eyes. Eyes that softened with sleep and contentment as he watched you settle down near the two of them.

He stubbornly tried to remain awake, even as his eyelids kept drooping in protest. You, who had already had quite a restful nap (thanks to Professor Trein's homework) kept watching him in thinly veiled amusement and adoration for a few minutes, before speaking to him in a gentle tone. "You should go to sleep Vil. It's late."

A petulant pout was directed at you, and you resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks. "Come on, you need to sleep. It's important for a healthy and glowing skin, y'know," you hummed, using his own words (that he used nearly everyday for you) for him. His eyelids drooped even lower at the warmth in your voice, yet he stubbornly kept looking at you.

"I'm not going anywhere, Vil. I promise."

Finally, the male seemed satisfied with what you said. At least, that's what you figured from the way his eyes fully closed and remained closed, his breathing gradually slowing down as he fell into a deep sleep.

Your hand was still held in his. While his grip had loosened in his sleep... you did promise to stay.

Well, there were more uncomfortable places and positions you could have slept in.

324 notes · View notes

a-constant-gay-panic · 1 year

Note

Hi I just found out about ur page I love it so much! Could I request a smut oneshot with sub!timothee chalamet and dom!fem reader, basically the first time Timmy realizes he likes to be on the sub side more, there's a lot of flirting from both ends and 🐱 eating with him on his knees or in another positing(idrc), choking and prompts 1, 6, 7,16, 18 from the smut section mixed in there. I tried to make this as detailed as possible as to help you, there is absolutely no problem if you can't/don't want to do it, I understand; sending love<3333

Dirty

GIF by mserdbeeri

masterlist

gif doesn't suit the fic well, i just thought he looked good in it 😔

pairing: sub!timothée chalamet x dom!fem reader

summary: timothée has always been the more dominant one but when he lets you take control one night, he finds himself liking it a bit too much.

warnings: choking, marking, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), hand job, hair pulling, timothée calls reader “ma’am” once, degrading if you squint, riding, “traffic light” safeword system in use

word count: 1.8k

a/n: sorry this took me so long to get to anon, hope this was worth the wait tho, enjoy <3 out of all the unholy words i used today, ‘panties’ was the one i cringed at the most. why am i like this? also, i wrote this over the span of 3 bloody weeks (thanks to my laptop bombing out and me having to get a new one) so you’ll notice the reader goes through stages of being kinda sadistic to being caring. oh well.

promps: smutty 1. “you look good but you’d look so much better with my hand wrapped around your throat.” 6. “you're mine. y'hear me? fucking mine.” 7. “touch me… please…” 16. “harder…” 18. “needy little thing, aren't you?”

not proofread cause i get second hand embarrassment when i read smut which i’ve written :’)

— — — — — X — — — — —

you gaze down at your boyfriend who is obediently kneeling in front of you as his skilled tongue laps at your cunt, desperate to please you and get something in return. you use every ounce of self restraint in you to stop yourself from throwing your head back and letting loud moans escape you. you refused to miss this, the sight was something you never wanted to forget.

you smirk down at the desperate man, eyes greedily roaming his exposed, bare body and the marks which you placed on his pale and delicate skin. his eyes slowly drift closed and you admire the blissful look on his face for a moment before your hand gently snakes into his hair, slightly tugging at the roots, a silent indication to open his eyes.

he either doesn't get the hint or doesn't care as he continues to eat you like a starved man.

“timothée.” you breathe into the hot room as you tug at his hair again. he doesn't react but you know what he's doing, you know he heard you. “timothée .” you say, adding more strength into your words and in your actions as you pull his head back with the fistful of hair in your hand.

the action forces his mouth away from you and makes him open his eyes. he lets out a whimper at the sudden movement and the brief moment of pain in his scalp. the look in his eyes makes you groan; desperation, confusion, excitement, lust. all of it combined as your lover gazes up at you as if you’re the only thing which matters in his world.

“what did i say about keeping your eyes open?” you ask, running your hand through his messy locks. “if i don’t keep them open, you won’t touch me…” he whispers, eyes becoming glossy as he becomes painfully aware of his leaking cock which sits untouched on his trembling thighs.

“correct.” you smile at him. it’s a sickly sweet smile which makes panic rise in him, knowing you had something up your sleeve.

“on the bed.” you stand from your place, stepping out your panties and watching in silent amusement as timothée scrambles from his place on the ground to the sheet clad mattress (which you know you'll have to wash later). you walk to your vanity and pull the chair out, sitting on it backwards to situate yourself in front of the bed and his anxious frame.

“i said i wouldn’t touch you, right?” you ask rhetorically. “well, guess what?” you lean your arms forward, resting them on the back of the chair, “i never said you couldn't.” you smile cheekily at him, eyes shining with glee.

his eyes widen and you look at him in anticipation. “what are you waiting for, love? don’t you want to cum?” your words seem to snap him out of his confused state and he shyly trails his hand down to his cock, wrapping his slender fingers around the base and slowly pumping it, groaning lowly at the new found friction which he’s craved all night.

you silently watch him, drinking in his appearance and how he whines for you to help him. a few minutes of what he considers blissful torture pass before you speak up, “are you close, hmm?” you know damn well he is and you also know damn well that he can’t finish without your help.

“please…” his voice is hoarse and you raise a brow at him. “please? please what?” his eyes squeeze shut, “touch me… please…”

you chuckle at his words, a simple “no” reaching his ears and making him groan in frustration and dread. you place your head on your arms as you drink in the sight of the broken man on your bed, a sadistic smile gracing your lips.

after a few minutes of watching him writhe and squirm as his hand works himself, you decide to be kind and help him out. you quietly stand and slide off the oversized shirt which hangs limply on your otherwise bare body before making your way over to timothée.

his eyes snap open and a loud moan escapes his parted lips when he feels your hand replace his own, milking him for all he’s worth. his hands grab at everything in his reach, your arms, waist, breasts, anything to ground himself as he feels his high approach rapidly. you enjoy every second of his orgasm as you listen to his sweet whines and pleas, words of appreciation and love spewing from him like a waterfall.

you release your grip on him but he chases your hand with his own, bringing it back to his aching cock which twitches at the contact. you chuckle airily at his desperation but continue stroking him, watching with amazement in your eyes as he squirms under your gaze and touch, another orgasm ripping through his body.

“you gonna give me another one?” you lean closer to his ear, “gonna cum again for me?” he shakes his head wildly, burying his face in your neck as tears start to form in his eyes. “c’mon, you can give me one more, can't you? you were so desperate for it a moment ago.” he whines and you smirk when you feel him thrust up into your hand.

“there you go, cum for me.” his breaths come out quicker and he groans at your words, wildly bucking his hips upwards, chasing the orgasm which is building embarrassingly quickly. “needy little thing, aren't you?” you tease him. “such a dirty thing… my dirty boy.” you mutter and as if on cue, he tips over the edge and cums again with a small cry of pain and pleasure.

you give him a few moments to calm down before you straddle him, pressing your lips to his bruised ones in a reassuring kiss. he gasps into your mouth as he feels your slick entrance against him, hips involuntarily bucking upwards. “fuck…” he mutters softly. “i don’t know if i can cum again…” he mutters, head foggy. “you’re not gonna leave me high and dry, are you?” you ask playfully. he frowns and shakes his head.

“colour?” you ask. although you were desperate for release, you weren’t about to make him uncomfortable or do something he wasn’t ok with. timothée seems to be in thought for a moment before he looks at you. “green.” and as if an afterthought, “fuck me…”

you can't hold back the smile which is plastered on your face. “what was that?” you tease him, wanting to see how far you can push him off the edge. “please, ma’am… fuck me. fuck me, use me. wanna make you cum too.”

the lust which you feel must be quite prominent on your face as he whines softly, hands grabbing your hips in an attempt to pull you down on him but you resist, hand yanking his head back by the hair again. the angle exposes his marked up neck and you internally scream at how good his jawline looks from this provocative angle.

you dip your head down, placing your lips near his ear, “you look good but you’d look so much better with my hand wrapped around your throat.” you murmur as you rake your nails up and down his heaving chest, a shiver escaping him as you pass lightly over his nipple.

your smug smile turns into a smirk as you watch the wrecked man below you. you feel a sense of pride as you wrap your hand around his throat and hear the moan which escapes him. the power which you hold and feel in this moment is intoxicating and you don't think you’ll ever get enough of it. “you're mine. y'hear me? fucking mine.” you whisper before kissing him harshly and pulling back to get a better look at his face.

timothée opens his mouth but whatever he was about to say gets stuck in his throat as you sink yourself down on his cock, a broken whine being released in place of his lost words. he throws his head back and you feel your own tilt slightly, the pleasure hitting you both as your walls clench around him. “fucking hell.” you can't stop yourself from gasping, moving your hips ever so slightly.

you bounce up and down, the sound of lewd clapping filling the room along with your mixed moans. “harder…” his breathy words are barely audible but you manage to pick them up and quickly obey, quickening your pace and tightening the grip on his throat to sturdy yourself.

your eyes bore into his and he squirms even more as pain, pleasure and excitement course through his tired body. his hands paw at your breasts as his breaths come out in sharp bursts. you would’ve laughed at his sheer desperation but you aren't any better, legs quivering and mouth open in a silent moan as you feel a heat build quickly in your lower abdomen.

his fingers clamp down on your hips, most likely giving you bruises, as his eyes shut tightly and head tilts backwards. you release your grip on his neck and lean down to attach your lips to his now exposed flesh, moving your hand up to thread through his hair instead. your free hand travels down your body before it reaches your clit and rubs fast circles on the sensitive spot, your orgasm approaching just as quickly as timothée’s.

before you know it, a strong feeling of pleasure washes over you as you reach your high and you collapse, bitting down on timothée’s neck, forcing him over the edge with you as strings of ‘fuck’s escapes him.

you gently kiss the area which you had previously assaulted with your teeth in an attempt to apologise. the two of you lay in each other's embrace, deep and erratic breaths being the only sound in the once noisy room. you slightly wriggle on top of him at the odd feeling of his cum dripping down your thigh. from below you, timothée groans and you feel him twitch inside you.

you lift your head up and raise a brow at him. he blushes bashfully and avoids your gaze, “i liked it.” you laughed lightly, “good to know but which part are you referring to?” you asked, not fully expecting an answer but he doesn’t seem to mind indulging your teasing question. “you being in control… it was nice…” he blush deepens even further.

you can't help smirking at his shy demeanour, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “so what i’m hearing is,” you place a gentle kiss on his cheek, “you wouldn't be opposed to doing this again?” he smiles at you, “not at all.” he leans up slightly to kiss you, arms wrapping around you to bring you even closer to him if possible.

you shiver lightly when you feel him pull out slightly and then push himself back inside you. “so needy…” you mutter between kisses. “you made me like this.” he retorts with a grin. “well then,” you start, helping his movements along, “i guess i should fix it then.”

his eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of you overstimulating him once more. it was going to be a long night. certainly one neither of you would forget.

— — — — — X — — — — —

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x fem!reader #timothee chamalet x dom!reader #sub!timothee #fem!reader #dom!reader #dom!fem!reader #smut

1K notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 7 months

Text

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐗𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒.

DAY TWELVE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: vampire court au + "forever isn't long enough for me to forgive you."

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader, max phillips x oberyn, max phillips x reader x oberyn

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, enemies to lovers

summary: after you left the court and hence Oberyn, no one is eager to forgive you for your betrayal. Especially those closest to you.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: everyone's a vampire including reader, orgies, voyeurism, mlm, threesome, sub!max, switch!reader, dom!oberyn, this is hella explicit btw so read accordingly, rimming, ass play, anal sex (oberyn x max), piv (max x reader), biting, mild mention of blood because vampires

a/n: and this concludes the last day of haunted hoedown! thank you for joining in everyone, I appreciate it! (also this was normally just supposed to be oberyn and reader but oh well, gotta go big am I right?)

Your steps echo down the hall, the ends of your dress trailing behind you, swiping against shiny marble. You’ve hated coming back here. Hated seeing the pity and the mockery in the eyes of the rest of the court. But you had no choice. You knew Oberyn would take you back, in a sick twist of faith, you did belong to him after all. He was a part of you as much as you were a part of him. He had looked at you with anger, betrayal. In a similar fashion, he too had thought you’d left for selfish purposes but it was so much more than that.

So much more.

Now you’re basically the errand girl despite your status. You were made to be a guardian. A protector. Lords began to turn humans for this sole purpose. When a human is turned, they are more loyal to the vampire that turned them. The bond would be strong which made most of them lay down their lives for the one who turned them, the one that gave them eternal life. However, like many things, there was a catch: the vampire had to save the human before turning them. It could be from something minimal or something grand, the grander the threat, the more passionate the new vampire would be to protect.

Of course higher vampires didn’t really care, they just wanted guardians. With time they began to cause the threats that would require the human to be saved themselves. It was a scummy thing to do, but there were no rules dictating otherwise.

Oberyn was different. You would know, he was the one that had turned you.

He actually saved his humans, be it from psychological harm or physical, he saved them and gave them a choice. They could live out their lives however they pleased, they didn’t have to be guardians. And despite the choice, they all stayed. Oberyn provided protection, pleasure, and eternal life.

So everyone stayed.

Everyone except for you.

You stand still at the lord’s quarters. You don’t need to see to know what’s happening on the other side. Lustful moans, the sound of skin smacking against skin—sinful sounds that set a wildfire between your legs. You haven’t been touched since you left, your body remembers his touch, how he would linger and taste. . .

You inhale a sharp breath and knock—loudly.

“The door is open.”

Oberyn. He sounds disinterested already.

You push the large doors open and the sight before you is exactly what you expected.

Men and women kissing, sucking, fucking. They’re all lost in the pleasure, their moans mixing and becoming a beautiful melody. Your nipple grows tight at the sight, your legs slightly buckling under your weight.

Oberyn, of course, is playing with his favorite toy. Max Phillips. The younger vampire is sitting between Oberyn’s spread legs, his cock wrapped with the lord’s fingers. They both gaze upon you at the same time, one cold and one heated—though the warmth of that gaze has nothing to do with you and has everything to do with the fist around his length.

Max smiles crookedly, a puff of air escaping his lips as his hips thrust into Oberyn’s fists. The lord’s eyes drop to his lover’s, lips curling with amusement, “Needy.”

His eyes harden when you clear your throat, “What do you want?” he asks, tone dripping venom. “I am busy, as you can probably tell.”

“I’ve been informed to tell you the meeting for tonight is rescheduled for tomorrow.” he shoots you a glare and you add. “My lord.”

You hate calling him that. He never made you call that before, Max also didn’t call him that. It just proved to everyone that you were now nothing but an outsider within your home. Your heart drops. You always hated being an outcast.

Oberyn’s hand stills on Max’s cock and the latter whines pathetically into the air, a bead of precome trickling down his length and over Oberyn’s knuckles. You meet his gaze. He gazes at you for a second later before commanding the rest to leave. If they’re startled, they don’t show it—they just move the party elsewhere, leaving only you, Oberyn, and Max.

The younger vampire makes way to leave but Oberyn stops him, “Stay,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down his neck. Max shudders, his cock twitching eagerly.

You swallow as Oberyn approaches you, his body bare and cock jutting darkly between his legs. You focus your gaze on his face and find it hard not to look down. His smile is mischievous, “You look troubled,” he says.

“I’m not, my lord,” you add a bit more attitude this time, prompting the raise of his brows. You notice Mac looking towards you curiously, his back against the headboard of the rather large bed.

“You do understand you brought this upon yourself, do you not?” he says. “I do not enjoy punishing my subjects unless it is for pleasure. You were free and you chose to betray me instead.”

In your defense, you wouldn’t exactly call what you did a betrayal.

“I understand.”

He’s irritated. You can tell by the way his jaw twitches, “Forever isn't long enough for me to forgive you,” he spits out, angry. This time you do look away, feeling too much all at once. “Not only did you leave after your oath, you left to join another court,” he seers. “And then when they throw you to the street what do you do? Come crawling back with your tail between your legs. You took advantage of my kindness and the peace of this court. Pathetic.”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. Your anger flares, overtakes every fiber of your being, and before you know it the flat of your palm connects with his cheek. The sound of it echoes through the chamber. From the corner of your eyes, you see Max’s eyes going wide, his body going tense as he straightens up to subdue you if need be.

Your slap hadn’t done much to Oberyn. It had simply resulted in a slight turn of his head, the lack of effect you have on him angers you further, and you attempt to smack him again—

However, as unaffected as he might be, he doesn’t allow it.

You grit your teeth at the way he holds your wrist, his fingers too tight around your bone. You attempt to snatch your arm back but he doesn’t allow that either, he flashes you his fangs, eyes momentarily turning purple before resuming their warm brown color.

“Careful there little fox, you don’t want to be angering my favorite guardian now, would you?”

Your eyes snap to Max who is now standing, a sheet loosely wrapped between his waist. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t look angry only worried.

Once more you pull your hand to break free of your hold but the effort only makes him smile, showing your fangs, you hiss. “Let go of me, Oberyn.”

He lets go of the fact that you used his name.

“Why so angry all of a sudden?” he rolls his tongue over every syllable. “Did you not leave? Did you not go and work for the court who murdered my sister? Do not expect forgiveness.” the pink of his tongue moves over his bottom lip. “I was sad when you left. And when I grow sad. . . I grow angry.”

“I did not have a choice!” your voice booms against the walls, startling both him and Oberyn, taking advantage of it, you snatch your hand away. “You do not know what’s it like to have a bond you cannot control, to be tethered to you in a way that I would lay down my life for you. He does,” you point at Max, his lips are tight, his gaze hard. You look back to Oberyn. “But you do not. It overwhelmed me Oberyn. I was scared of it. I was scared of feeling so much so suddenly and left because of it. They were the only court that would take me in. No one else dared.” you hiss out. “I did not enjoy it. I did not revel in the fact of being away from my home—from you. I was thrown away because they noticed I purposefully caused more harm than good.”

His lips part but you don’t allow him to say anything, “You do not get to call me pathetic. Especially since you do not know how it feels to be us.”

Your heart rams against your chest, your breath coming in short, quick pants. You have no idea what comes after this. Do you leave? Do you say something else? Do you apologize? Your thoughts are a hurricane, scattered and constantly spinning.

Oberyn’s gaze lingers a second longer before turning around and heading to the bed, “Very well,” he says, pulling Max back between his legs. “Come and join us, little fox. You want to, I saw it in your eyes when you first came in.”

Your mouth opens, closes, and then opens back up again, “Is that all you have to say?”

Oberyn’s hands move down the inside of Max’s thighs, he still seems on edge but melts when he squeezes his plump flesh. A fresh wave of arousal dampens the fabric of your underwear.

“You should have told me before you left,” he says and kisses Max’s neck before he continues. “I would have tended to you, make the process easier. I would have looked after you. I know how hard your. . . previous life was. However, I still can not fully forgive you for leaving to work with them. No matter how much chaos you might have caused there. That will take time. But. . . in the meanwhile,” Oberyn suddenly grips Max is jaw, forcing the other’s gaze onto you. He slips two fingers into his mouth and Max sucks greedily, the sheets falling away from his waist. “You may resume being my guard again. This one. . . this one has missed you greatly.”

Heat blossoms all over the expanse of your skin, your arousal growing as Max averts his eyes, “Has he now?” you mutter, knowing that they both heard you cristal clearly. Oberyn’s grin is predatory.

“He has,” Oberyn roughly jerks Max’s cock and he moans around the thick fingers in his mouth. “Look how aroused he gets with you watching, such a good boy.”

Max’s hips jerk and a loud whine rattle in his throat, Oberyn only cackles, “Tell her.” he commands as he pulls out his fingers.

“I am not telling her that,” Max says, the first words you’ve heard him speak of since you entered the chamber. “Just because you are eager to forgive and forget doesn’t mean I have to.”

“Such a brat,” Oberyn hisses, eyes finding yours. “Well, I guess you need to make him forgive you,” he teases. “I would start by sucking his cock.”

Max’s lips split into a wide smile, “That might work.”

You fight against the urge to roll your eyes, your lips tug in a half smile, your heart feeling light and playful. Both of their eyes eat you up as you drop your charcoal dress to the floor. Max’s cock twitches repeatedly within Oberyn’s palm, eager to feel your lips. You share his enthusiasm as you climb the bed. The sheets soft like velvet under your knees.

“You want me to suck your cock?” you tease and pry away Oberyn’s fingers. Max doesn’t say a word, lips shut tight as he pushes himself back further into Oberyn’s chest. The lord grins. He teases the sensitive skin between Max’s ear with his fangs. “If you don’t tell me I can’t give you what you want.”

He snarls, “Yes, I want you to suck my cock,” then he adds with a smug grin. “I’ve missed seeing you gag around it princess.”

You try very hard to hide how his words affect you but it’s for naught. His grin only widens at the sight of your very visible shudder. When you drop your gaze to his torso, he quickly forces your gaze back up by sneaking two fingers under your chin. He holds your gaze only for a moment before sliding his hand to the back of your neck and pushing you down.

You slide your tongue underneath as you take him into your mouth. You’ve forgotten how much you had to part your lips to wrap your lips around him. Max groans loudly, thrusting shallowly between your lips.

“Does that feel good, pet?” Oberyn asks Max. “You’ve missed that eager mouth a lot, huh?”

Max makes an affirmative sound and presses his lips against Oberyn’s, you hear both their moans as they devour each other, tongues lacing together in a messy claim of mouths.

You take him further down your throat and pull back, Max breaks the kiss with a gasp and looks down. He watches you with blown eyes, his brows furrowing with pleasure as you allow a sting of spit to fall to the slit. Oberyn continuously decorates the other’s neck with fleeting kisses, soothing his nerves. Your eyes fluttering but not closing, you push his cock to his pelvis and lick the skin that leads to his hole. A choked moan rips from his throat and you head Oberyn shushing him immediately after.

Stroking his cock, you press your lips against his cute little hole and trace the rim with the tip of your tongue. He follows the movements of your tongue, inching closer, whimpers of your name fall one by one, you fight the urge to touch yourself and instead, you push your tongue inside.

“F—Fuck,” he gasps. “Shit shit— that feels so good, don’t stop—”

You smile as you force your tongue deeper, Oberyn chuckles, “You never get this desperate with me,” he says sounding almost jealous. His next words are directed at you. “Get him wet and ready for me.”

You hum with approval, spitting again before pressing your mouth. Max ruts into your tight fist, whining and groaning as you prepare him for Oberyn. You feel his hand in your hair, his needy tugs while he attempts to both push you away and pull you closer. You squeeze his thighs, thrust your tongue deeper into him.

His back arches and his body shakes, parting away, you look at him through heavy lashes. Max looks at you with a hooded gaze, swimming in lust, he only understands the look you’re giving him when you slowly open your mouth and show your fangs, “I missed the taste of you on my tongue,” you say, breath hitching.

Oberyn looks at you with interest and amusement, his gaze quickly moves to Max.

He blinks heavily, lips parting, he spreads his legs further, giving you a delicious view of his flesh, “Go ahead,” he murmurs.

You accept the invitation gleefully. You kiss the inside of his thigh before grazing the sharp edges of your teeth against it. Only those who truly care to sink their teeth into one another because it is done out of choice, not hunger. You lick the salt of his skin before biting in, you feel the puncture of skin and flesh against your teeth, the flood of warm blood trickling down your throat. Max shudders, with the corner of your eyes you see him burrowing into Oberyn’s neck who is holding him tightly as you swallow.

Max tastes sweet. He always has, despite his sometimes unagreeable personality. Warm blood trickles from the corner of your lips, down your throat, he kisses and nips at Oberyn’s strong neck.

When you part, you’re whole again.

“Come here,” Oberyn mutters and without waiting, he grabs you by the neck and crashes your lips together. He slides his tongue over yours, tasting Max, he swallows the moans you make. Meanwhile, Max’s fingers trace between your wet folds, swirl around your clit. He bites the top swell of your breast and you flinch, yet leans into the sharp pain at the same time.

“I want you so bad,” Max groans between swallows. “You taste so sweet.”

“Do you want him to fuck you?” Oberyn asks against your lips. He already knows the answer but you nod helplessly. “Let us switch places then.”

You lay down where the two were sitting not moments ago. Max settles between your legs and as he does you still feel the throb caused by his fangs above your breast. He leans in quickly, as if you might vanish into the night, and claims your lips, tasting himself, you, and Oberyn on your tongue.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” he says with a slurred speech. “Gonna fuck you so good that you’re never gonna leave again.”

Your heart sinks a little further down your chest, beating painfully at his words. You nod because you don’t know what else to say or do. The heft of his cock lays heavy over the softness of your stomach. You arch your back gently, wishing to see his face twisting with pleasure instead of bitterness. It works, it must have because, at the graze of your skin, his lips part with a gasp.

“She won’t,” Oberyn answers instead. “I think our little fox learned her lesson about leaving.”

You swallow thickly and nod. You fear that maybe forgiveness is most certainly out of reach—that Oberyn could never forgive you, not truly. He drags you away from your thoughts with a touch to your lips, your eyes flutter as he slightly parts your lips and feels your fang under his finger.

He doesn’t say anything but the gesture is enough to relax your guilt-ridden heart. Oberyn’s gaze shifts to Max’s back. He makes a show of spitting into his hand and jerking himself, a fresh wave of arousal wets your thighs at the sight.

“Do you think you will be able to take me?”

Max nods and pushes himself back to grind against his lord’s cock, “Yes,” he breathes out.

“Good. I am feeling impatient today.”

You watch breathlessly as Max’s face morphs into one of absolute pleasure. His brows furrow and jaw drops, face growing slack. He moans loudly only an inch away from your face, his breath fanning your heated skin. You cradle his face and pull him to your lips. You two meet in a sloppy kiss as Oberyn buries himself to the hilt. The other man shudders and gasps into your mouth, he falls into your neck. Your lips snug against his forehead, you reach between your sweaty bodies and wrap your fingers around his weeping cock, you guide it to your core, urging him to bury his cock deep into you.

“I thought you were going to fuck me so good that I would never want to leave again, Maxy. Show me what I missed.”

He whimpers but manages to push himself up, Oberyn keeps still as Max thrusts forward, sliding into you with ease. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. He always stretches you so thoroughly, filling you up perfectly. Max adorns your neck with kisses and soon Oberyn pulls back and pushes forward, the movement forcing Max to fuck you even deeper.

You thread your fingers through Max’s hair and pull him closer, making sure he can kiss and suck on your neck as he thrusts into you. His hips move sloppily thanks to Oberyn pistoning from behind, the heat building quickly between your bodies as he fucks further and further into the other. Oberyn’s hands are all over Max, gripping his hips and guiding his motions as he fucks him hard. Oberyn grunts and drops down to sink his teeth into there Max’s neck meets his shoulder. Max’s hips stutter with a pitiful whine tearing from his throat. Oberyn feasts on his blood, moaning into his veins as his hips hammer into him. You can feel the sheer strength in Oberyn’s thrusts, and it only adds to the mind-numbing pleasure coursing through you.

A sudden pulse of pleasure washes over you as you clench around him, Max moans out loud.

“Fuck baby, are you gonna come?” he nuzzles your neck and you let out an equally pitiful whine, your entire body burning, trembling, with him filling you over and over again. “Please come,” he says in a daze. “Come for me, baby, please. I want it so bad, come on my cock and I’ll fill you up so good—please please please—”

“F—Fuck, Max—” You feel the familiar heat pooling in your stomach, your body only needed that final nudge to tumble off the edge. But Max is lost in the pleasure, only taking what he’s given. You beg for him to fuck you harder and he hears none of it, his lips pressed into your neck, inhaling your scent. Oberyn, however, knows what you need. He always does. His hands move to grip your hips as well, pulling you back against Max with each thrust.

Your skin goes taut over muscle. The sensations overwhelm you as you come with a loud cry, clenching around Max’s cock as he surprisingly follows suit, his own cries mixing with yours.

“Look at my sweet pets,” Oberyn breathes, burying himself even deeper, pushing both you and Max together. Max chokes on a cry, his hard cock still throbbing as he spills himself into you. Your lips part wide and Oberyn sneaks two fingers between your lips, pressing them into your tongue. “Look at me as I come,” he growls as Max whines for more, his body pliant and willing.

Oberyn groans and stills, buried deep inside Max, he finds his own release. He doesn’t break his gaze from you as he fills and fills and fills the other man. You feel him leaking as his spend trickles down and moves down your spread cunt. Your lids flutter yet, you still manage not to look away, wanting desperately to please your lord.

“Good little fox,” he teases, pressing further one last time before pulling away. His fingers leave your mouth and Max collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he continues to breathe heavily in post-coital bliss.

You quickly wrap your arms around him, his cock softening inside of you, “Good boy,” you mutter. “You felt so fucking good Max, I’ve missed your cock.”

His cock twitches with interest and he smiles, “If you continue with the dirty talk I might have to fuck you again.”

Oberyn lays beside you and pulls you both towards his sweaty chest. Your bodies are a tangle of limbs and sweat as you all catch your breath, slowly coming down from the intense high. Max rolls off of you, sliding between you and Oberyn, but you don’t mind the loss of his warmth as Oberyn kisses you, holding you close to them both, not allowing you to pull away.

“If you ever leave there won’t be a third time,” he says against your lips, your breath catches in his throat upon hearing the silent threat in his tone. Max presses his lips right above Oberyn’s sternum, kissing him slowly as if to calm him. Oberyn pays no mind. “Tell me you understand what I am telling you.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Both of them stiffen for a second before loosening up, Oberyn smiles.

“Good.”

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #oberyn martell x reader x max phillips #oberyn martell x f!reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x fem!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

305 notes · View notes

loviingpedri · 6 months

Text

my declaration of love - jobe bellingham.

prompt: two lovers in high school.

warnings: cursing, angst (fluff at end), grammar issues

jobe was your best friend, there was no denying it. everyone knew that you two were in love, but the idea was always denied in fear. both of your parents were ready for y’all to get married. laughing the awkwardness off, you thought jobe didn’t feel the same. he always gave you mixed feelings. he could be all over your shoulder, then talk to many other girls right after.

you wanted him for the longest. it was burden on your parents seeing you cry over him every time a new girl came into the picture. it even hurt his parents recognizing the pattern of when you came over and when you didn’t. your friendship was too good to be ruined by jobe’s playboy activities.

yet, that was half of jobe’s intentions. he loved you so much, it became unhealthy for him. he had regret for every other girl he even laid eyes on because it just wasn’t you. he was afraid you would never love him back. it pained him seeing your eyes turn sadder when hearing about the new girl he was talking to. truth be told, he tried to get over you through them. no girl would ever hold up to his standard. his standard being you, of course.

the feelings were mutual, but none of you could face it in fear of being rejected.

“jobe, did you do your math homework?”

“sorry, what?” annual study session at the bellingham house, nothing new.

“the math homework, did you do it?” your head was just as confused as his. you wondered what he was thinking of.

“yeah, i did.” taking out his papers. “did you know there’s a party later? we should go.”

“i heard about it. i was debating on asking if you were going. can’t leave without my partner in crime.” you nervously laughed at the cheesy nickname. distracting yourself by copying his answers before seeing his slight smile.

“i mean let’s go. last year, gotta make the most of it.”

“thankfully, i live next door. or else i would not be able to get ready.”

breathing in your dust

this wasn’t your first rodeo, but this was a new memory of a party.

this memory, you weren’t exactly fond on it. jobe stayed with you for the first 15 minutes. he was definitely needed to try and get use to the people. but after those 15 minutes of introduction, he excused himself to the bathroom. then after, said he was going to get drinks. he never came back. you were lucky enough to find some of your friends there. it became suspicious how he just disappeared.

the house was so crowded. you started to get overwhelmed. finally reaching an empty space, you saw a familiar face.

“chris? rigg? i didn’t expect you to be here.”

“oh hey y/n. i’m surprised jobe isn’t with you.” it was true, he was like your personal body guard in public. yet, he decided to leave you alone in a place where you knew almost nobody. “do you want a drink? i poured another cup if anyone else was thirsty. no alcohol, of course.”

“oh yeah, thanks. i was actually looking for jobe. do you know where he is?”

“i think i saw him walk into the kitchen when i left.” giving chris a quick nod and smile, you tried to find the way to the kitchen. leaving the room was two boys who were wearing sunderland jerseys laughing with an o-shaped mouth. with specific intention to make eye contact with you.

walking into the room in curiosity, you had instant regret. there jobe was. making out with another girl. someone who looked the exact opposite of you actually. your best friend goes missing for an entire hour that he invited you to, and is now making out with someone he just met.

jobe use to only tell you who the girls he was talking to and how they were like. it still made you feel pain. this time was different. he was physically causing you to hurt. it hurt like being stabbed in the stomach. he demonstrated how he felt without you. he felt connected to other girls in way you wanted him to feel for you.

he didn’t realize you were there either. fighting your tears back. accidentally, the cup given to you fell to the ground. the red juice flowing everywhere. the noise made jobe notice you. everything seemed to be going in slow motion. from him looking at you in shock. seeing your emotions flash in confusion. how you walked away into the groups of people. he tried to catch up to you. panic was running through his head. he felt lightheaded. he started sweating.

his intention was to lose feelings for you. he didn’t think about how he could’ve lost you entirely in his life. running to where the car was, it was gone since you had the car keys. he could worry about finding a ride home later. the only thing that mattered to him was getting the love of his life back before it was too late.

once again, your mother’s heart broke into pieces as your makeup was ruined. mascara always running down your cheeks for the one and only, jobe bellingham.

this time, it was much more emotional. you didn’t wanna hide your feelings anymore. it was taking over your health and made it worse day by day.

being in your comfortable pajamas and finally laying down after your hard time was comforting. hearing your mom talk to denise about what happened. hearing a few words about jobe. everything hurt. it felt like a stab straight through your heart.

finally learning your lesson. just because you gave someone effort, doesn’t always mean they have to return it back to you.

you reflected on everything you did for jobe. you did anything just for him to like you back. was it all for nothing? it was hard to think. your eyes were dry and sore from crying. the only thing that stopped the pain was closing your eyes and bringing peace to yourself.

waking up by hugs and kisses from your parents was the only thing you ever needed. you adored your parents. it just felt empty without jobe having something planned for the day. it was rare that you even ate breakfast with them.

“i talked to denise yesterday,” it was bound that the topic of him would be brought up. your mom trying to ease you up before trying to get you to talk about it. “jobe isn’t doing well. i mean, your health also isn’t okay either. but, y/n maybe you should try and hear him out.”

“i don’t think i can. i was way too obvious on how i felt about him. he just pushed me aside.”

“relationships are definitely different in this generation. are you ever gonna talk to him?” your father being protective over you and boys, yet jobe was welcomed with open arms.

“this just happened yesterday. i’m still trying to process my feelings.”

“well denise said-“ the doorbell rang. the whole family looking at each other in confusion. you weren’t expecting anybody, nor any packages. opening the door, you saw your first love with a bouquet of flowers and very sore eyes.

“y/n. good morning. sorry if i caught you at the wrong time. i just came here to talk to you.”

“about what?” you didn’t want to come off as rude, but it was definitely wrong timing as you’re in red pajama pants and a winnie the pooh t-shirt.

“i want to apologize for what happened yesterday. i know i dragged you to the party, then i completely left you with people you did not know. it was selfish of me to do that. and to add on, you saw me doing something i should’ve never did. it gave you a bad idea of me. i finally want to admit that i have feelings for you. i was scared that you would never feel the same. i tried constantly to get over you. nobody will ever match up to our friendship, our relationship. i never realized that it hurt me more to lose you completely then just having a little inconvenience in our friendship. y/n, you are the only i want. i just wanna be yours.”

no words need to be said. your eyes spoke for him. instantly connecting your bodies in a hug, his body warmth will always be your serenity.

“jobe, i will always be yours.”

#football x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #spotify #jobe bellingham #jobe bellingham x reader #jobe bellingham x yn #jobe bellingham fanfic #jobe bellingham imagine #jobe bellingham x you #jude bellingham

248 notes · View notes

yujo-nishimura · 7 months

Text

Red Hair or Red Nose? - Part 2

Thank you all for asking for part 2 and the ongoing support. This is so much fun to write, so I hope you have the same fun while reading. <3

The two of them, occupied by their fight, had not realized you were behind them and you just kept watching this scene unfolding in front of you.

“Next time you play a prank like this on me I will kill you, Shanks. Damn you!" In a fit of anger, Buggy had torn his body into disconnected parts, an act of frustration that momentarily disrupted the scene. However, with a collected demeanor, he swiftly reconnected his disassembled body and resumed his composure. "You can consider yourself lucky tonight. I am in a good mood and just decided to enter this pub to get some drinks. And since I arrived first on this island and in this town I have priority in buying their stock of whiskey and rum…!”

“What about we enter this place at the same time and have a drink together just like the good old times?”

“A drink with you?” Buggy exclaimed, “I'd rather never drink again than with someone like you, you damned monkey!”

As Shanks took a step forward towards the pub, his gaze fell upon you. A subtle shift in his expression betrayed a momentary surprise, but whether he recognized you or was simply taken aback by your presence remained unclear. He chuckled lightly, his voice tinged with amusement. "Seems you were so noisy, Buggy, you attracted an audience from inside the pub."

Buggy, prompted by Shanks' comment, turned to look at you as well, his face and eyes unaffected, indicating that he likely had no recollection of who you were. He immediately changed to his usual flashy, entertaining self.

“Oh hello there!” Buggy said with a sly grin, “I see you've brought a lovely companion tonight, Shanks. But she's far too exquisite for a pirate like you!”

You gasped - what were they talking about?

Shanks, however, swiftly corrected the assumption. His gaze fixed directly upon you, he smiled and addressed you, "Unfortunately, I did not bring this lovely lady with me."

"I came here because you two disturbed my calm and peaceful evening!" you finally found your voice, the words escaping your lips with a mix of frustration and determination. In that instant, you noticed a flicker of recognition in Shanks' eyes. Perhaps it was your voice, your manner of speaking, or a combination of both, but it seemed that he had finally realized who you truly were.

"Apologies for the disturbance my dear friend Buggy has caused!" Shanks interjects, causing Buggy to shake his head in surprise at the unexpected term of "friendship". "I assume you're familiar with the pub's menu, so perhaps you could recommend a drink for us? And as a gesture of peace, allow us to buy you one as well."

Shanks takes a step closer to you, his towering figure now more imposing than ever. His broad shoulders and the three scars adorning his left eye serve as a testament to the challenges he must have faced. Despite his daunting presence, you don't feel small or intimidated, but rather protected and safe. The calm aura that surrounds him soothes your senses, and his captivating smile leaves you feeling somewhat weak in the knees.

"I wouldn't mind another drink..." you murmur, unable to maintain eye contact with Shanks, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness within you.

Shanks extends a welcoming gesture, calling out to Buggy. "Come on, Buggy. Just like the good old times, as friends!" His words hold a subtle excitement, and a knowing smile graces his face. In that moment, you realize that Shanks has indeed recognized you and is glad to see you. However, it dawns on you that Buggy remains oblivious to your true identity, adding an extra layer of amusement for Shanks. You both suddenly smile at each other.

With a mixture of anticipation and curiosity, you join Shanks and Buggy, ready to embrace the reunion...

To be continued.

#buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggytheclown #one piece buggy #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #shanks x reader #shanks one piece #red haired shanks #shanks x you

220 notes · View notes

kurosstuff · 1 month

Note

Hihi Lovely~

I have a fluff prompt for the followers event

🍯 Reader (can be fem or gn i dont mind) is an exorcist and they get really hurt on the last exorcism and so they are gone for weeks and Sera is freaking out and can’t come see them cause of her work. But they surprise her with flowers and showing up when she’s working?? (They escaped the hospital-)

Hi sweetie ~ thank you for requesting! Hope you like it♡♡

Warming(s): fighting detailed? Idk I don't know how to write fights. Blood. Sera being a worry wart

Sera x GN!Exorcist! reader: Escape artist

The job was supposed to be easy.

It was almost always easy. But not this time. Somehow? The demons were told how to fight back. How to win. How to hurt angels. You weren't even aware that was possible. But seeing both your bosses reactions? You growled now annoyed. They knew.

Of fucking course they knew.

And they didn't tell the Exorcists? The actual FUCK is that? You raged, slicing demons left and right covered in a mix of angel blood and demon blood. Taking a deep breath, your wings flapped in anger. You weren't surprised. Their too prideful to have warned anyone. You silently cursed, Adam and Lute.

If you knew you could get hurt? Your arm wouldn't have been bleeding. You wouldn't have ran face first into battle. Dodging an attack from your opponent, you easily sliced his arm off. "Hands off, sinner," you growled out. Punching the demons face away from you.

Unaware of the crowd forming behind you. Unaware it was all a trap for you. Hands grabbed you snarling you glared at the sinners. "Unhand me-" your voice cut out from a scream escaping you as a demon broke your arm. Another grabbing your weapon, stabbing into you repeatedly, making you lose so much blood. Everything went black when you heard a familiar voice yelling at you - blurred vision - as you saw what looked to be Adam rushing to you

It was quiet as Sera worked. A usually calming day turned to an unsettling feeling. Sera felt off. It was so unnerving that - why did she have such a bad feeling? Like it wasn't as calming as she assumed? As she hoped? Glancing at the feather around her neck, she smiled, kissing it gently. "Be safe, my love. Soon, you'll be here. Back" a loud bang down the hall was heard followed by yells of something. Leaning back, she tapped her feathered pen humming that unnerving feeling grew.

Sera stopped seeing Adam. Who? Weirdly was quiet. Putting her pen down, she watched. Waiting for him to speak. Watching how uncomfortable he was. A bad feeling crept up her. She didn't like this. Not one bit. As he spoke, she listened to him. Listened to how he spoke of an accident. What exactly what happened he wouldn't say until he said your name. Her blood ran cold. Her extra eyes popping out, staring him down

"What?"

Adam gulped "i- like I said. Your mate? Y/N? Got hurt. Badly." Knowing it was his fault. And by the look in her eyes? She knew it too "look- I- no one saw the demon. No one expected them to try to fight back Ser- High Leader" correcting himself knowing how she got in when mad. Better to be fully respectful. Despite her being kind- she is still a Seraphim.

"I told you. To keep them safe. You know how-" she snarled about to break her composure. Covering her face, giving her a second. Swallowing her rage "Adam. You are excused. Do not allow another to come in here for the time being" making him nod

"I think- I think you should visi-"

"What did I say?"

At that? He turned rushing off without a word. No matter how she wished to. She can't visit. She's the high leader. She has a job to do. No matter how she longed to see her Mate. To see her love. To see how their doing. She can't

Picking up the pen, she sighed, knowing? You were aware of it as well.

Weeks.

A full three weeks since the last extermination. Since Sera saw you. Heard from you- she wasn't sure what was going on. Frantically, she focuses on her work. To not lose her composure. Yet. She wondered. Are you ok? Do you wish she gave up her work her responsibilities? To rush to your side?

Taking a deep breath, she played with the feather nervous. Oh, how she hopes you know even if she wanted to. She couldn't be able to. Not with her rules. Not with how important her reputation is. Closing her eyes. She hummed

She needed more coffee.

And by God does she need it bad.

Taking a full three weeks to rest was boring. Didn't matter the broken arm nor how the stitches in your sides burned. Made you wince by even moving. You sighed, glancing out the window, smiling the best you could. Half your face bandaged up from the slashes. Thank God it was from a normal weapon you thought. Can't lose an eye. But luckily it'll reheal itself

Glancing around the room, you hummed, thinking before smirking at a thought. You could sneak out. See Sera- God, do you miss her. Humming softly you hopped she was resting. Not overworking when she's upset or panicked.

But you knew better.

You knew she was despite you wishing otherwise. Cause, of course, she'd worry. Of course, she'd panic. So? She's over working herself.

Getting up was the tricky part. Legs aren't broken, no, but the pain in your body was too great. Thankfully, your wings were somehow in perfect condition. Helping you get up, flapping to stand up. Taking a deep breath, ignoring how your body begged you to get back to bed. To rest.

You needed to see your mate.

Luckily, it didn't take too long.

Just needed to rush to get flowers avoid the guards(who knew you'd probably run) and escape to Seras office. Now- the tricky part sneaking INTO her office. No doubt if her guards saw? They'd wisk you back to the hospital. Not wanting to be in trouble for aiding a break out.

Snickering at the thought, you held the flowers close, flying past some guards easily. Making you hum. Surely their not that blind no? Surely theyd.. be more vigilant. More watchful.

But no.

They arent

Good thing for this, but.. bad job at guarding. Rolling your eyes, you entered into her office frowning, seeing how ruffled her feathers are. Walking up to her, you gulped, nervous. Would she be upset your here?

"Thought I said no guests. Leave. I'm in no mood"

Your nerves melted at her voice no matter how angry she sounded. You were just glad to hear from her after weeks, "Not even your mate?" AT that? She snapped up, looking dead at you. Blank. Before she teared up, smiling tiredly rushing to you gently lifting upu "got flowers?"

"Oh my swan~ who cares for that? Your..your ok~ your here-" she stopped staring at you, her wings enveloping you in a hug "you snuck out. You should be resting. Not- not here!" She scoffed but the smile on her face? Said otherwise

"Needed to see you," you smiled softly, kissing her knuckles as she gently nuzzled you. "I missed you. I know you're a busy woman, but.. I was hoping you'd be resting?" Kissing her softly as she hummed

"If I did. It wouldn't be good. I'd be pulling my feathers out to find you -" whispering softly to you, holding you closer. Sighing, she reluctantly away. "My swan. You need to go back. As much as.. I wish for you to stay. You can't. Your stitches need constant watch" she frowned Kissing you again gently

"Only if you take a break"

"My swan," she huffed, giving you a look, making you huff shrugging

"Then I guess.. I'll stay here?" With a deep sigh knowing she lost she nodded. Rubbing your waist gently "fine I'll. I'll take breaks. Not long ones but.. fine" she grumbled as you grinned nodding

If this is what you're both gonna see after the five weeks are up? You both can wait another two. But for now. Until the nurses come retrieve you. She'll cradle you close. Gently as if you'd break. She's let herself be a bit selfish until then. Take her much needed break

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #sera seraphim #hazbin hotel sera #sera x reader #seraphim #EVENT

80 notes · View notes

adelheidvonschicksal · 4 months

Note

Omg- I can’t believe someone asked about the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception- I have been literally thinking about it too as a cool power. I love garden of sinners :) for the ask: same prompt as the Mystic eyes of Death Perception one (with the same personality) but the reader also learns to kill concepts (ex. they can see the death lines in cursed techniques and can stop them if cut in time). How would Gojo, Geto, Choso, Maki react/ see them?

A/N: I combined two requests, the other wanted her to come back from being in hiding due to the higher ups wanting to execute her (and she comes back more beautiful and powerful) !

Gojo

Satoru knew deep down he would see you again one day. You’re too strong to let yourself get killed by any of the weaklings the higherups could’ve hired.

What he doesn’t expect when he saw you again was for you to be so beautiful in that same messy way he loves when you get in a fight: breath heaved up with adrenaline, hair messy from the wind and movements of battle, the swirl of magnified cursed energy around you, brilliantly shining eyes that disappear as you deactivate your technique, and the best crooked fight-riled smirk on your face as you call out his name and greet him with a small “I’m back.”

He’s so happy that he spends all day around you and brags to anyone who’ll listen about how pissed off the higher ups are at your survival. It’s a relief to everyone else that you’re alive, and it offers some peace and quiet now that Gojo has you to follow around again like a lovesick child.

He keeps following behind you, poking at you because it’s been so long since he’s seen you. He just has to make sure you’re real, ya know.

He throws his hands up with a laugh and a “woah, you don’t have to kill me,” whenever you get the slightest bit annoyed or he surprises you and you instinctively thrust the kitchen knife his way, a reflex you developed after dealing with the many attempts on your life. He finds it funny every time when you cutely whine not to sneak up on you.

Everyone thinks it’s weird how absolutely tickled pink he seems to have someone around who could actually kill him if they wanted to since you can cancel out his infinity now. Shoko thinks he’s even happier because that person is also his girlfriend. You have to embarrassedly remind them that you’d never hurt him!

Geto

He wants you to join his side to usher in a new Jujutsu society.

If you have nowhere else to go then why not join him and re-write the entire thing? This way normal humans and weak cowards who hide behind social hierarchies can no longer control the lives of sorcerers.

It hurts to see him this way because when you left, he used to be so kind and morally upstanding, but you didn’t know that your assassination order and leaving was one of the reasons he was pushed over the edge.

Geto always speaks about you so well to his daughters, admiring the memory of you and also explaining to them about how much more lovely you’ve gotten since then even if he fails to recruit you to his side. He knows with your technique that he could take on any threat to his cause if push ever came to shove so he’ll keep trying to convince you.

It’s only to himself that he acknowledges that seeing you the way you are now, as strong as you are now, for a split second, made him miss you, his friends, and the time you spent together before everything spiraled.

Maki

It excites her, like getting a long-lost part of herself back. She’s never liked the higher ups or most other people in command so it’s ironically hilarious to her that you managed to survive after all this time, or maybe the adrenaline mixed with the rush of fighting with you again after so long is getting to her.

You can bond over how different the two of you have grown since you’ve been apart. You’re both stronger in skill and technique, and you quickly notice that she cuts her hair short now and has put on a lot of muscle since you’ve last seen her.

Maki is thankful that not everything has changed seeing as how you can go from killing machine to angel again in half a second. It gives her a warm feeling in her chest that the world hasn’t changed that much.

She’d like to spar one day to see what new moves you’ve conjured up since going missing, but you think that can wait until after you’ve given her a hug. She grumbles a little but the smile on her as you embrace her gives away the small soft spot she has for you.

She hopes you weren’t too scared on your own and promises to be there for you from now on. She knows you’re strong enough to protect yourself, but she doesn’t want to make the mistake of losing someone she cares about again.

She gives a smirk and dances the idea of whether you ever thought about just killing all the higher ups now that you gained new powers. You tell her you won’t. She shrugs and scoffs it off as a joke, but both of you know full well that either one of you would be capable enough if someone tries to get between you again.

Choso

Being able to cut through techniques would make him frustrated when he first meets you especially when you cut through his own technique. He doesn’t have a lot of experience yet with those who can destroy his attacks, especially piercing blood, so you’re an annoying opponent for him.

When he joins your side and sees how kindly you treat his younger brother then he becomes a bit softer towards you. He’s still somewhat questions and doubts this sweet persona you put on since he met you when you were enemies. But his suspicions lessen as time goes on and Itadori vouches for you.

Once he gets to know you, he starts to feels guilty for believing that his brothers might not have been accepted by your side. He is fully convinced that you would have been the type of person who could have accepted them.

He doesn’t have much experience in emotions besides the ones he holds for his brothers, but he does know he wants to help you as much as possible and keep you safe from anyone who wishes to harm you, including assassins. He claims it’s because you’re friends with his brother without understanding that it’s more than that.

Megumi

It’s like he’s seen a ghost when you literally come barreling into his life again, saving him from sacrificing his life in another battle only for him to wake up in your arms.

You’re scarily ethereal. Covered head to toe in blood, the enemies blood; moonlight hitting unnatural eyes at just the right angle to draw his attention; the smell of death is heavy on you so much that it makes his head spin being near you, and you’re staring at him so blank faced that it sends a chill up his spine.

But it all goes away when you deactivate your technique, and your voice goes sweetly soft, and you call out his name twice before he can think to respond. You’re thanking the heavens that he’s okay and fussing over him about how he should be more careful and what would’ve happened to him if you had not been in the same area.

The entire event is probably the most nostalgic feeling he’s ever had in the last five years since he’s seen you, and despite the blood and dirt clogging his senses, it’s probably the most his heart has wrenched so heavily as he looks up at you.

You’ve gotten so much more beautiful with age, some of your softer features leaving you and becoming more defined through the passing years but it’s still you, still recognizable, still unbelievable.

It’s a short-lived moment as you only intervened from hearing the call of his divine dog; and if he was okay now then you had to leave again especially if the school is sending sorcerers to complete missions in the city you’ve been hiding. He understands but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when he dreams about you that night.

Itadori

There’s a lot about the Jujutsu world Itadori still doesn’t understand. He understands the need for his own execution. He’s the host for the most dangerous man in their history. What he can’t grasp is the fact that for some reason the higher ups also want you dead. You’re the least threatening person he knows, at least outside of battle, and you try to be nice to everyone, including him.

He feels like not being able to help you is another one of his failures since becoming a sorcerer, almost in the same way he couldn’t help Junpei. If leaving school is the best way for you to survive then he can accept that. You’ll live. That’s all that matters.

He never sees you again until a few years later during an undercover mission. The two of you have it out, and he swears he’s going to die before he hears your voice, and your name instantly comes to his lips and it’s over after that.

You look so different. You dyed your hair, you’re a little taller, and you filled out more now, but your face is still the same as the memories he has of you.

What isn’t the same is how much stronger you’ve gotten. He fought by your side when you were both students but that’s nothing compared to fighting you now. Even though he lacks a curse technique for your own technique to work against, that still didn’t stop you from throwing him around and giving him a run for his money.

You like to think that he’s become the stronger one of the two of you. You hadn’t recognized him at first, not until that first punch and the lag in cursed energy that followed. You’re really happy you didn’t kill him now! The sentiment, however, doesn’t soothe his broken rib.

The two of you get some time to catch up, and you learn that he feels guilty about not being able to help you when you were students, but he thinks that you should come back to the school now that you’re stronger—that he’s stronger—strong enough to protect you this time. Somehow, seeing him now, and how handsome he’s become, determined, and strong, you can’t stop from agreeing to go back home with him.

Sukuna

He’s excited to see you again. It’s been a long time, and he’s curious to know how much you’ve changed since he’s last saw you. Mostly how much your abilities have improved.

Sukuna isn’t shy about hiding his presence in a normal situation, and doubly when it comes to you; he likes seeing your reaction whenever he’s near and how alert you are to his energy. He’s attracted to strength, true strength, and you exhibit it now more than ever.

He wonders if you know other ways you can use your powers, the more violently deadly ways. You always go for the kill, and so does he, but you’re too precise, too nimble, you don’t seem to understand the joy of truly pushing the limits of your opponents.

He loves to fight you, to see you push to the limit of just how far you can go, and to a tiny degree, how creative he can get as well against someone with your power.

But no matter what, you’re still to soft, not quite there yet when it comes to abandoning your human side to procure true strength. But he thinks he can push out that last weakness from you.

Then, you’d be perfect.

#gojo x reader #maki x reader #megumi x reader #yuuji x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #female reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader

142 notes · View notes

scarletsaphire · 20 days

Text

Clockwork didn't fix anything. Danny's parents, his friends, his sister, everyone was dead, and gone, and all he had left was Vlad. At least the older halfa was doing everything in his power to help him, with no nefarious plans at all. Right?

5th fic for phic phight, and this one is a doozy both in word count and in prompt fills! This one is for: @underforeversgrace, @faeriekit, @scarletsakuraaa, and @shadowfaerieammy. The prompts used will be in the end notes, as always, but having said that, I do not recommend reading them until after reading the fic. You'll see why :)

Danny couldn't say when he woke up. It wasn't as if being awake was all that different than being asleep anymore. It didn't matter whether he was staring at the back of his eyelids or at the lavish canopy hanging over his bed, everything would still be the same. His friends would still be dead. His family would still be dead. And he'd still be in this stupid mansion with the second stupidest man half-alive as his only company.

Danny didn't have any right to complain. It was all his fault, after all. If he'd just been smarter. If he'd just been honest. If he'd just been better. If he'd just been anyone but Danny Fenton, future world renowned fuck up, than everything would've been different. Everything would've been better.

When Clockwork had first shown him everything with his other self, he hadn't really understood. He knew it would hurt, losing everyone like that. He knew it would hurt in the same way that you might know breaking a bone would hurt, before you ever did. A distant kind of hurt that didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

He remembered thinking that his future self was being dramatic in separating his halves. Or maybe it had been Vlad's manipulation, his desire to be the only remaining halfa causing him to force that Danny to become the monster he'd seen through Clockwork's time mirrors. As much as losing everyone would hurt, there's no way it could hurt that badly, right?

Laying here for what was probably the fourth day straight, Danny knew that he'd been wrong.

He didn't turn his head at the sound of the door opening. He didn't turn his head when he heard Vlad's footsteps, sharp and deliberate, crossing the room that was far, far too big for him. He didn't turn his head when he felt the bead compress under Vlad's weight. He didn't even turn his head when Vlad's face appeared over him.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," he said.

Danny didn't reply.

Vlad sighed. "Little badger..." he said softly, resting one hand on the side of Danny's face. It was soft and caring, two thing Danny didn't think was possible of Vlad before last week. "I understand you don't want to, but you need to eat. Even if its just some soup. I can have somebody bring it up to you, or I can do it myself, but I'm not going to sit aside while you waste away."

Even if that's what I want? The thought floated through Danny's head, hazy and distant, but he didn't say it. He didn't say anything.

Eventually Vlad's disappointed face disappeared from his view, and his footsteps retreated from his room. A few minutes later (or maybe it was an hour? Or the next day? Danny didn't know, and he didn't care) he returned. There was the soft sound of porcelain on wood, and then Vlad was sitting on the side of the bed again.

Danny didn't fight as Vlad lifted Danny upwards, so that he was sitting against the large, plush pile of pillows instead of laying on them. He watched languidly as Vlad lifted the bowl back off the bedside table from the corner of his eye, and set it gently in Danny's lap. "Come now, Daniel. Just a few bites. It's got ectoplasm mixed in, so you won't need any more than that."

Danny did not move.

"Your only other option is for me to spoon feed you myself, and I think we both know how you would feel about that."

That got Danny to move, if not actually start eating. He turned his head to glare at where Vlad was sitting. He was surprised to see Vlad's look of relief so clearly on display, but he pushed aside any surprise in favor of annoyance. "If you even think about it I'll bite you." His voice was hoarse, and he became suddenly aware of just how dry his throat was, and how sore. He didn't know how long it had been since he last talked.

"If that's what it takes for you to eat, than I will do it," Vlad replied.

Danny huffed, before looking down at the bowl in front of him. Calling it soup would be a stretch; it was nothing but clear broth. Despite this, the thought of eating it made his stomach churn.

He glanced back up at where Vlad sat watching him expectantly. The older man made no signs of leaving, and he was right; Danny really didn't want to be spoon fed. He wasn't a child.

Danny took the spoon in his hands clumsily, bringing it up to his lips and slurping the warm, clear broth. It stung going down, but as soon as he'd finished swallowing, he felt a little bit better. He let the spoon fall into the bowl again, ignoring the broth that splashed out, and he pushed the bowl away from him.

"There. Are you happy now?"

Vlad pursed his lips together. "You need to eat more than that, Little Badger."

"Why?"

"Because you need food to survive?"

"Too late." Danny slumped backwards into the pillow pile, letting himself slide back down to a laying position. His eyes found the same fold in the canopy he'd been staring at for the better part of a week on instinct. "If only it had worked right the first time."

"Daniel-" Vlad cut himself off before restarting his sentence. "Danny. I will not pretend to understand how you're feeling, but do you really think that your friends and family would want you to stay like this? Even your father-" His voice was surprisingly free from disdain, which was impressive for Vlad. "-would've wanted you to be happy."

Danny didn't reply, and Vlad sighed again. "I'm going to leave this here, for when you do decide to eat." He moved the bowl from Danny's lap back to the bedside table, and then stood up and made his way back towards the exit. "Please try, Daniel. If not for yourself, then for them."

The door was shut with a soft click, leaving Danny to his thoughts once more.

By the time he mustered the energy to sit up and grab the bowl, it had long since gone cold. That was okay. Danny didn't think he deserved a warm meal anyway.

---

Another week had passed during his stay at Vlad's mansion. A week of blackness, followed by canopy, followed by another fight with Vlad, followed by darkness. The only reason he knew it had been a week was because of the different foods Vlad had been bringing up. While the first day had been nothing but broth, the day after it had been proper soup, albeit blended together into a liquidy mush. The day after it had been all soft vegetables, and the day after that a small slice of buttered bread had been included.

Danny hated to admit it, but the food had helped. He still didn't want to be awake, or aware, or existing in general, but he felt less like he was on death's door again. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

This time when Vlad came up to his room, Danny did turn to look at him. Unlike the previous days, he didn't have a bowl with him; he didn't have any food at all.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," Vlad said softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed just like he'd done every earlier day. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Danny said. His voice wasn't ass hoarse as it had been the first day, but it still wasn't anywhere near good.

"I'm not surprised. Do you think you might be up for taking a short walk to the dining chambers?" Vlad asked. At Danny's obvious dismay, Vlad backtracked. "You don't have to, of course, but I thought that it might do you some good, to get out of the bed, if only for a few minutes. That way I can have someone come in and change the sheets, and you'll have a chance to stretch your legs."

Danny didn't answer; he didn't need to. He wouldn't be moving here anytime sooner. Maybe anytime ever, if he had his way. He would lay in this bed until he died, or until the world died around him. Whichever came first.

"Daniel, please," Vlad said. "If not for yourself, and not for me, than for the housekeeper that needs to get these stains out. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for them."

Danny didn't know enough about laundry to argue, but it sounded true. He didn't want to make things harder for anyone; he'd done enough of that already.

It was not easy for him to get out of bed. Even sitting up took as much effort as most of his fights did, and that was without really using his legs at all. Standing seemed like an impossible task.

He was about to let himself fall back to the bed, housekeeper be damned, but Vlad's hand caught him before he could.

Danny looked to Vlad, expecting to see ridicule in his eyes. It's what Danny deserved, after all. Instead, he was met with nothing but compassion and concern, and a second hand, wrapping so very gently around his wrist.

"Let me help you, Daniel."

Danny didn't have much of a choice. If he wasn't strong enough to get out of bed, he certainly wasn't strong enough to fight off Vlad. (And maybe, a small part of him wanted the help. A small part of him trusted Vlad, after everything he'd done. A small part of him just wanted to get out of this pit he'd dug himself into. Danny ignored that part.)

It was only with Vlad's help that he was able to stand, and even then, he fell right back down to the mattress. His legs were weak and wobbly, as if he'd never walked on them before, and black dots crowded his vision. He didn't want to try again, but Vlad was still holding onto him, ready to help him back up.

"I know you are strong enough to do this, Daniel."

Danny wasn't as certain as Vlad seemed to be, but there wasn't much he could do about it besides try again. This time instead of falling back onto the bed, he collapsed into Vlad's side. He clung onto to expensive suit purely out of instinct, nails tearing through the fabric.

He glanced up at Vlad, but was once again met with only compassion. "Well done, Little Badger. Let's go get you something to eat, shall we?"

The majority of the walk had Danny clinging to Vlad's side, legs shaking with every step. It was only after they'd made it a good few doors down, and the smell of herbs Danny couldn't name drifting from down the hall gave him the strength he needed to walk on his own, although Vlad kept a steadying arm around his shoulders.

By the time they'd arrived in the dining room, Danny was exhausted, and embarrassingly winded from such little effort. Still, Vlad didn't say anything, simply guided Danny to a chair before sitting down at the one at the head of the table.

"As I said, Daniel. I knew you could do it," Vlad said with a smile. Danny still said nothing, but Vlad didn't seem to care. He waved his hand, and a cart was pushed out by some invisible force. By the fact that Danny's ghost sense didn't go off, it wasn't just that they were invisible either.

"It's just magnets," Vlad answered Danny's unspoken question. "I have the controls under my side of the table."

"But then why the hand thing?" Danny asked.

Vlad smiled at him. "You know me. I cannot help a bit of dramatics."

Vlad handed out the food, a chicken noodle soup for Danny and something for fancier, and far less recognizable, for himself. Still, Vlad didn't eat, instead resting his head on his hands and watching as Danny fought with his spoon. He debated asking about it, but decided not too; it was too much effort.

The soup was good, and after only a couple of bites, Danny found his eyes falling back closed. He couldn't tell if it was because of the effort of walking here, or because of the soup himself. He didn't have the energy to fight against it, and before he knew it he was laying his head on the table, letting the black void of sleep consume him yet again.

He woke up several hours later, tucked comfortably into his bed with clean, fresh sheets.

---

It was now routine for Vlad to come and get him from his room. It wasn't always for food; sometimes it was get Danny to shower, or to watch a show, or simply to get him out of bed for a little bit. Rarely was Danny ever moving around for more than an hour, and never was it of Danny's own accord.

Not that he wasn't allowed to wander around; Vlad had made it very clear that Danny was welcome anywhere in the mansion, or on the mansion grounds, at any time. Danny just never was.

At least, he never was before today.

He wasn't sure why today was different; he'd woken up well past noon, when the sun was already starting to set, and been struck by such a strong desire to be anywhere but here that it was nearly suffocating. He'd practically run from his room, down hallway after hallway, never noting his surroundings longer than it took for him to figure out the next hallway, the next staircase, the next entrance.

It was only after he'd hit a dead end that he collapsed on the floor. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft, plush carpet underneath his feet, pulling them out in chunks and tossing them aside before doing it all over again. It wasn't enough. None of this was ever enough, he wasn't enough, just like he hadn't been enough to save them.

That's what he'd been running from, after all. That's what he'd spent the past weeks, the past month, the past however fucking long it'd been in bed hiding from. The fact that he wasn't enough. The fact that they were dead, and he wasn't, because he hadn't even been fast enough to die with them.

The carpet was barren now, nothing but the hardened glue the strands had been connected to, and Danny had no choice but to move his hands to his head, to his hair. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough , it wasn't anything like they would've gone through, what they would've felt, what he should've felt instead.

He couldn't fight against the scream that bubbled up from his chest, even though he knew he should, that he needed to. He felt the way the scream tasted on his tongue, tangy and acrid and long overdo, even as his vocal chords vibrated in time with his core. He could hear the sounds of shattering glass and breaking vases, of wooden furniture smashing against the walls around him as he wailed but he couldn't stop it, just like he couldn't stop his fingers from pulling out his hair, just like he couldn't stop Sam and Tucker and Jazz and Mom and Dad and everyone from dying a horrible, horrible death and-

Warm hands met his, pulling them away from his head. Danny fought against it, scratching and screaming and crying as he tried to curl back in on himself, but it was no use; he was already exhausted, and clearly whoever this was was just stronger than he was. By the time they had succeeded at lowering Danny's hands to his lap, Danny was openly sobbing.

"It's ok, Little Badger," Vlad said, taking Danny into a hug. Danny didn't fight against it this time, burying his face into Vlad's shirt without a care for how his tears or snot would mess it up. "I'm here."

That was part of the problem though, wasn't it? he wanted to say. You're here and I'm here and they aren't. They aren't, and I am, and I should be dead in the rubble with them. I should be the one who died, so they could live, just like it was always supposed to be.

Danny couldn't say anything. His throat stung from the wail, and his eyes stung from the tears, and his head stung from the places he'd pulled out his hair.

It might've been an hour before Danny had cried himself out, maybe longer, but through the whole thing, Vlad had stayed their, holding Danny close and whispering soothing, meaningless words. It was only after his very last sniffles had died out that Vlad pulled away.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

Danny shook his head. It was the truth; he wasn't.

"That's okay. You don't need to be. I will be here regardless."

It was disconcerting, hearing words that kind come from Vlad Plasmius's mouth, but then again Vlad had been nothing but sweet to him since he came here however long ago it was. There was a solid chance Vlad would've had to carry him up to the bedroom; Danny couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything about his arrival here; he could barely remember anything from his time here anyway.

Danny didn't flinch away when Vlad's hands came up to his face to rub the tears off of his cheeks, not until he noticed the deep gashes pushed straight through the pure black gloves and into his skin. Tiny beads of already dried ectoplasm sat beneath the cuts, many of them smeared into a faint pink sheen.

Danny pulled away, grabbing Vlad's wrists to inspect them. Vlad did not fight. "You're hurt."

"It's just a scratch, Little Badger."

Danny shook his head. "I hurt you."

"Just as I have hurt you in the past. You didn't mean to."

That was right. Danny didn't mean to. Just like he didn't mean to wreck the potted plant that sat in tatters in the corner of the room. Just like he didn't mean to ruin the carpet, to the end tables, or anything else. He ruined it all, just like he ruined everything else.

He felt his eyes burn again, but this time no tears came. All he could do was tremble in place, hands gripped into tight fists, making sure that his nails dug into his own flesh this time, not anyone else's.

"I've said something wrong, haven't I." He heard Vlad say quietly. "I'm sorry, Daniel, for whatever it was." A beat of silence, before he continued. "Would it help if I let you clean up?"

Danny had almost forgotten that was a thing he could do. This was a mess he could fix, a problem he could solve. He nodded once, quick and shaky.

"I shall go get some supplies, and then we will clean this together. You wait for me here. Understood?"

Danny nodded, and Vlad went off down the hall.

It would be nice, to clean up one of his messes for once.

---

"I don't understand why I need to do this," Danny asked. He was sitting on an operating table in Vlad's own lab, elgs dangling off the edge.

It was weird, entering it for the first time. He was struck with a horrible amount of deja vu, and once he'd fought that off he'd been overtaken by just how different everything was.

His parents' lab had always been messy, to an almost comical and definitely unsafe degree. wires and scrap metal and inventions in various points of construction littered every possible surface, and in some cases impossible surfaces as well. Despite the mess, his parents knew where everything went, where everything was. Danny could still remember the exact order of every single blaster and tool from when it was his turn to clean the lab, despite having not done it for... two, three months now?

Vlad's laboratory couldn't be more different. Not only was every surface visible, it was practically shining. Chemicals and instruments lined the walls on carefully designed hooks or holders, and there were no visible blueprints at all; Danny didn't know if they were holed up in drawers or if Vlad stored them somewhere else. Or maybe he'd given up inventing completely. He had been busy taking care of Danny these last couple months.

"Because you have been through a period of extreme distress, and its important that we monitor your health," Vlad answered, pulling on a set of gloves.

"I guess," Danny said, picking at the hem of his shirt. "But you're not a doctor."

"You are correct," Vlad said. "I do seem to recall a rather unfortunate accident while working on my PhD dissertation."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay, Daniel. I understand being hesitant about this. But as the only other halfa, and with nearly all of the education required to be a doctor in this field, I would argue that I am the best person to do something like this with you."

"Right. Okay. And it's just a check up, like a normal doctor would do?"

"There are some other things I will need to test for," Vlad said. "But they will be a handful of scans, nothing more. The worst thing I will be doing is a blood test, and I will make sure you are well aware when that will happen." He turned back to Danny with a smile. "I try not to lie to you, Daniel. Not unless its necessary."

Danny trusted Vlad. It was still a novel concept, but he did. The older halfa had been almost unreasonably kind to him during his stay at the mansion, and hadn't so much as insulted his father more than once or twice. He'd done everything he could to help Danny, and had asked nothing in return. The least he could do was sit still for a quick doctor's visit.

They worked through the tests in near silence, Danny listening to the instructions the best that he could. It was only once Vlad had stepped to the side to wheel over a cart, something to measure the strength of his core, that Danny spoke. "In the other timeline, you'd built a statue."

Vlad stopped. A full, complete stop, as if someone had pressed pause on him. Danny had begun to worry that Clockwork was about to make another appearance before he started moving again. "Oh?" was all he said.

Danny nodded. "Where the... accident. Occurred."

"I suppose you are asking if I can do the same?"

Danny nodded again.

"I can see why you might think it's a good idea," Vlad said slowly. "But I will have to disagree."

Danny's heart dropped. He'd been sitting on this idea for a few weeks now, waiting for the perfect time to bring it up. He had thought Vlad would say yes; technically, he already had said yes, even if that timeline was no longer accurate. "Why not?"

"I just think that something like that is more likely to make you start living in the past," Vlad explained, just as slowly as before. "I know you have not told me everything from this 'other future,' but it is quite possible that doing such a thing encouraged your other self to do all of that, is it not?"

He hadn't thought about it that way, but Vlad did have a point. Maybe the statue had been a tipping point for the other him; had he gone back to cry over their makeshift, communal grave? Had he gone there so many times that he could fly the route by heart? That his knees were in a permanent state of bruised and muddy from the time he spent kneeling there.

Danny only hummed in reply.

"I suppose that does lead well in another topic I've been meaning to talk with you about," Vlad said, wheeling the cart over to where Danny sat. "I also don't think its a good idea for you to return to Amity Park."

Danny threw his head up to look Vlad in the eyes. "What? Why?"

"It will be much, much harder to avoid... sour reminders, so to say," Vlad said. He pressed some buttons on the machine, pointedly not looking at Danny. "It will be much harder to continue as you have been in the last few days, when you are faced with their passing again."

"But-" Danny swallowed hard. "But what if a ghost attacks?"

"Do you really think there hasn't been a single ghost attack since you first came here?" Vlad asked.

Danny's eyes widened in worry. He hadn't really thought about it, not between everything else he'd been through, but Vlad was right. The ghosts didn't take days off based on how Danny was doing before, and they certainly wouldn't now. With his parents dead, that only left Valerie and the Guys in White, and while Valerie may have been competent, she was only one human. The Guys in White were hardly worth mentioning.

Vlad rested his hand on Danny's shoulder and gave a slight, reassuring squeeze. "Relax, Daniel. I thought of this as soon as I saw what state you were in. I have used my connections to make sure that your town is perfectly safe from any harm. And, not to brag, but I do believe my precautions are just as strong as you are. Perhaps even more so."

Danny sagged in relief. "Oh thank the ancients."

"Actually, I think you should be thanking me," Vlad teased. "Now, straighten up. The scanner doesn't work as well when you're folded up like that."

Danny obeyed. It was a good thing Vlad had thought ahead like that; Danny didn't want to see what an Amity Park without a Phantom to protect it.

---

Things had been going well. Almost unreasonably well, for only a couple of months having passed. Living with Vlad had become almost enjoyable, and Danny was feeling good.

Maybe that was why he was flying back to Amity Park.

He'd realized, some time after digging himself out of the vat of survivors guilt and depression, that just because the most important people to him weren't around anymore, it didn't mean that there was nobody left who relied on him. He was Danny Phantom, Amity Park's number one line of defense against ghost attacks. He couldn't disappear forever, not until his town was safe.

He'd let himself stay out of the fight for long enough. Part of that time, he didn't have much of a choice; sitting up had been too much effort, let alone a proper fight. The other part, his fears had been assuaged by Vlad's promises to keep the ghosts out. As much as he might not approve of Vlad's methods, he knew that they worked.

That didn't mean he could just leave his home behind. He had a job to do.

And maybe, there was a large part of him that still screamed in agony whenever he saw a creepy book from Vlad's collection, or when he booted up Vlad's ancient computer, and his first reaction was to message Sam and Tucker. How the voice in the back of his head that encouraged him to go through the motions of self care sounded a bit too much like Jazz, or the lab Vlad did his check ups in, and how his initial reaction was always that it was too neat , not nearly enough life in it. That part needed... something. Closure, maybe, or maybe it just wanted to drag Danny back down into the depths of his despair.

Either way, Danny needed to get back to Amity Park. Even if only for a little bit. Even if Vlad didn't want him to.

He made sure to stay invisible as he passed the welcome sign to the city; he wouldn't be surprised if the Guys in White had gone a little crazy in his family's absence.

The city was in surprisingly good condition, for what he could tell. He couldn't say anything about the Nasty Burger's disaster site; even now he couldn't get himself to look at it, but everything else was almost exactly how he imagined it. There wasn't an abundance of ectopuses roaming the streets, none of his normal rogues gallery had take over the town, and the Guys in White had either gotten much better at hiding, or they'd not taken up the reigns as much as he'd expected them too.

It was nice, seeing just how well Vlad had kept his promise. If this was how well the city ran with him gone, maybe the fruit loop was right; maybe he could move on and stop clinging to the past.

Danny drifted aimlessly through the streets, keeping high in the sky to avoid any ghost scanners that may detect his presence. He didn't have a real destination in mind, and was almost surprised when he found himself floating above the park.

He was surprised when he saw a familiar red hat.

Danny blinked, then shook his head, then rubbed at his eyes, but the hat didn't disappear. Neither did the familiar figure whose head it was sitting on, nor the girl wearing far too much black for the warm, sunny weather.

It was Sam and Tucker, sitting on their park bench, just like they'd done a thousand times before the accident. They were talking animatedly with each other, and while Danny was too far away to hear, he knew them well enough to fill in whatever inane argument they were having by their gestures alone.

They were alive. They were here, and they were talking, and they were alive. Danny didn't care how, didn't care why, didn't care about anything besides getting back to his spot on the bench, empty besides them after months and months of tears. They were alive.

Danny entered a steep dive, not caring to keep his speed in check, the only thing on his mind being his friends smiling, happy, living faces. He would be back by their side in just a few minutes, back where he belonged.

And then he was. Danny Fenton, lazily slotting into his spot on the bench as if he had never been gone. As if the last few months hadn't happened. He was shoving papers into his purple backpack, complaining loudly about some English assignment he didn't want to do.

Danny Fenton sat on the bench, in his normal, human form, and Danny Fenton watched him, frozen in the air, invisibility hiding his ghost form from view.

The person on the bench was him, he knew it with a certainty he couldn't remember ever feeling before in his half life. That Danny was him, and yet here he was, still floating dozens of feet above ground. Something was horribly, terribly wrong, and Danny had a feeling that he knew exactly who was at fault.

---

Danny was sitting on a billboard, overlooking the perfectly intact Nasty Burger when Vlad- when Plasmius found him. Even though he was in his ghost form, he was a mess, nothing like his normal, distinguished self. His hair was a mess, and he moved with a twitchy, anxious quality that Danny had become far too familiar with over the years.

"There you are," Vlad said, the relief palpable in his voice. "I was worried about you, Little Badger."

Danny hummed, not moving his eyes from the fast food restaurant. "It's still standing."

Vlad sat next to him, close enough that Danny could feel how he kept his body tensed. "They must have rebuilt it."

"Right."

"Daniel, I understand that you've missed this place, but you can't just fly off like that," Vlad admonished. "If you had just asked-"

"I did ask," Danny interrupted. "Several times. And you said no every time."

"I didn't realize you would go to such drastic lengths to get back here. If I had known, I would've brought you."

Danny hummed again. "So you could make sure that everyone had a convenient reason to be out of town, right? So you could make sure that I didn't see anything that would ruin the lie you've built up?"

"Ah," Vlad said, any warmth and worry he'd had in his voice gone. "You saw them, then."

"Yeah, I saw them. And I saw the real Danny too. Because I'm not real, am I? All those tests, all those check ups, they weren't to make sure I was still healthy, were they? You were testing to make sure I wouldn't, I don't know, melt away or something, weren't you?"

Danny finally turned to look at Vlad. He was staring through Danny, pure red eyes unmoving and unfocused. "I really thought you had changed, Vlad. You've been so nice to me, and now I find out that everything was a lie? That I'm a lie? You let me go through all of that, just because, what? You were lonely? Was that it?"

"I am sorry, Daniel," Vlad said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you really think an apology is going to make all of this better?" Danny said, just barely shy of shouting.

"I'm not apologizing for that."

The pain hit all at once, a horrible, burning, piercing feeling that seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. It was pure agony, coursing through his veins, a type of pain he only remembered from the portal. He couldn't stop himself from falling forward, straight into Vlad.

Danny clung to Vlad's arms, squeezing hard enough that he knew it would hurt, but he didn't care, couldn't care, not over the horrid pain he was going through. Distantly, he felt Vlad's hand on his head, carding hands through his hair so very gently, just like he had done a dozen times before. He couldn't tell at what point it stopped being hair and started being pure ectoplasm.

"Hurts," he slurred, his voice muffled and distorted as he choked on his own melting flesh and ectoplasm.

"I know, Little Badger," Vlad said, voice soft. "It'll be over soon. I won't let this happen again. I promise."

---

Vlad did his best to gather as much of the ectoplasm as he could. He wouldn't be able to use it again, of course, not with how tainted it would be from the dirt and debris on the sign, but he couldn't find himself to let it go. The ectoplasm would be placed in a vial in the lab, safely tucked away in a cupboard with the other failures.

He did his best to blink back the tears he felt gathering in his eyes. He'd gotten attached to this one; how could he not? It was so close to perfect, so close to success. If it hadn't been for this little trip, it would have been.

Vlad took a deep, deep breath. Next time would be different. He knew what to do now; this Daniel had given him the answer on a silver platter.

It would only be a matter of time before he got his son. His Daniel.

Only a matter of time.

---

Prompts used: ScarletSakura - Danny finds out he’s a clone, what happened to the real Danny? shadowfaerieammy - What if Danny's clone was actually identical to him? faeriekit - Two Faced underforeversgrace - It hurt. He always knew it would hurt. He didn't realize how much.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #phic phight #tw depression #tw survivors guilt #tw self harm #tw hair pulling #tw manipulation #post tue

45 notes · View notes

appocalipse · 1 year

Note

Idk if you're still doing that prompt list but "sick" or scenario 13 with Steve would be 🥹🥹

i wasn't going to do it anymore, but...reading those prompts gave me an idea so i decided to try ♥ i kinda mixed them together

[SICK; Trying not to look but helping them out of their clothes when they’re physically unable to, both of them so close together. ]

"Steve," you had called, worry eating at you. Halfway to the front door, he'd turned and looked at you over his shoulder. And so, even though you knew the answer, even though you hated the answer he would inevitably give you, you'd asked, "Do you have someone to take care of you?"

And that's how, you remind yourself, you ended up where you are now — moments away from helping him out of his clothes.

The thought seems alarming, but there's nothing romantic or sexual about it.

Or at least there shouldn't be.

"Here," you say, touching the hem of his sweater with shaky hands, hoping he doesn't notice your inexplicable uneasiness. "Let me help you."

Steve lets you. He's a much better patient than you are a nurse, you think. But the reason you're here, helping him out of his uncomfortable clothes so he can hopefully catch some sleep is pretty valid: he's broken his right arm, and as if it wasn't bad enough there is also a cut on the left side of his abdomen, just below the ribs, big enough he'd needed 8 stitches to close it.

In his defense, the car crash hadn't been his fault.

The sweater is gone after what seems like an eternity of careful movements and apologies at every slightest hint that Steve was in pain (although he'd assured you the whole time that it's okay, it's okay, I'm fine), but in the end, you're successful. How the people at the hospital had managed to get those clothes on him so quickly is an absolute mystery to you.

You breathe a sigh of relief, a small burden lifted from your shoulders. You don't even have to look to know that Steve is beaming. The fact that he is so calm through it all is even more maddening to you.

Next up is his t-shirt.

The cycle of nervousness starts all over again when your fingers find the hem of his shirt and you start to lift it up, exposing a small sliver of skin, then a bit more...

Steve says your name and it's the first thing he says after many minutes of being silent, so you lift your head to look at him without a second thought.

"Breathe," he says, certainly not without kindness but with an unmistakable amount of amusement in his tone as well.

He's too close. Almost nose to nose, a hairsbreadth of distance between your face and his.

And yes, as much as it bothers you to admit it, Steve is right — you were holding your breath without realizing it.

He bites his lip to hide a smile. "That's not funny," you chide, though you're trying to contain your own smile.

"You're nervous."

"You had eight stitches and broke an arm."

"Sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," you say, because it wasn't, although he probably isn't apologizing for that specifically.

Steve always drives carefully and responsibly, most likely because there's almost always one of the kids in the backseat of his car. The problem that caused the accident was some malfunction in the car, something you hadn't quite understood because all you could really think about since you found out that Steve had crashed the car was him; if he would be okay, if you'd be able to see him, if he'd be in pain. Most of the explanations got lost on the way from your ears to your brain.

"I meant I'm sorry for calling you," says Steve, and for the first time he sounds serious, almost embarrassed. "From the hospital. They tried my parents first, but they-"

"-are idiots," you say, with more contempt than you probably should let on. Then you realize how rude that probably sounded like. "Sorry, I-I shouldn't have said that. They're still your parents and-"

To your surprise, Steve laughs — a low, small chuckle that barely lasts a second, and even so it's enough to make him wince, probably feeling pain. Fortunately, it passes quickly. "No, no, you're right. I was going to say they're out of town as always, but you're right. They are idiots."

You smile.

The feeling that took over you the moment you'd arrived at the hospital to see Steve and realized that he was there, alone, was indescribable. He was alone in there as if he had no family. As if nobody cared about him.

Maybe it was for the better that his parents didn't show up until now, you think. You're not quite sure what you would have said or done if they had appeared in front of you.

Great. Now there's a lump in your throat.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve would have shrugged if he wasn't injured, you're sure. "I'm used to taking care of myself, it's no big deal."

"Well, you can forget about that," you say firmly. Because I'm going to take care of you from now on, you hope he understands.

He doesn't say anything. It doesn't seem like he's able to, you realize. But, in his silence, Steve understands; he understands so well that he cannot express his gratitude in words, his affection. He hopes that you will be able to read it in his eyes.

Back to your task, you take a deep breath, looking away from his face to where your hands are gripping the fabric tightly. You help him pull his shirt over his head very slowly, very carefully.

If Steve feels any pain, he doesn't let it show. It wouldn't be the first time, but you hope it's not the case, hope he's not in pain anymore, that he feels he can be vulnerable in front of you. Everyone needs to be at some point.

There's not much else to look at than Steve's now exposed chest, although you do your best not to stare. The flush creeping up your cheeks betrays you, though, and now there's only one piece of clothing remaining.

Steve is wearing jeans. You can't sleep in jeans, can you?

"You don't sleep with a shirt on, do you?" you ask, wondering if he'd like something else to wear.

"No," he says. "No pants either."

Your mind freezes for a brief second. Probably not your brightest moment. "Do you want me to- I mean-"

You're far from a doctor, but it doesn't seem like a good idea for him to bend over to take off his own pants when he's had that many stitches.

"Are you asking me if I want you to take my pants off?" Steve is making a huge effort not to smirk, you can tell.

How can he be so relaxed?

Somehow what comes out of your mouth is, "I promise I won't look."

"I don't mind if you do."

A shiver runs down your spine and you feel what can only be described as butterflies in your stomach, something wonderful and unnerving at the same time. Your gaze meets his and you try to sound convincing as you say, with your chin held up, "Stop messing with me, Harrington."

"But I like messing with you."

"Oh my God-" you let out something between a sigh and a small laugh. "I hate you."

"You love me."

And then, it's like your mouth works on its own.

"I do," you find yourself saying.

And, as expected, silence follows. Steve looks shocked. This silence seems to last a lifetime, to stretch out impossibly longer — it's an everlasting torture. You didn't mean to drop the l-bomb on him like this, didn't mean to say the words even though you knew them to be true. He probably did too, but hearing it out loud is a different thing entirely.

Steve's mind is a mess.

Did you mean it as a friend? he wonders.

Did you mean it as something else?

Did you mean it at all?

Then…

Does it change how I feel?

No.

"I love you too."

Unlike you, Steve sounds firm, certain. Like it's a decision. Like he is ready for it to change everything between you two or nothing at all if that's what you want.

"I would do all of this for you too, if you were in my place," he continues…and then he frowns, as if something unpleasant just occurred to him. "Actually, please never be in my place- I don't even want to think about you in pain. Okay?"

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #stranger things drabble #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things oneshot #stranger things imagine #stranger things #can i ever stay away from this blog? no I can't

743 notes · View notes

genderfluid-insomniac · 11 months

Text

Prompt: A: Is it hot in here or is it just me? (with Macaque x reader)

B: It's you.

A: What?

B: What?

Summer was your least favorite season for many reasons. One was the dreaded heat and how it only got worse because of climate change. Two was your ability to get sunburns in minutes and the severity of them usually involved talking others down from bringing you to a doctor. “UGH! Can’t the fucking sun calm down and take a day off?!” You were laying on the ground outside and staring up at the leaves of the tree that you sat under while your shadow companion mediated. Not missing the irritated tick mark that was practically visible on his face.

“You didn’t have to come with me you know. I told you I’d be honing my hearing ability while being surrounded by noise and it’d be boring but you didn’t listen, moonlight.” He spoke with his eyes still closed and all six of his ears out. Briefly mesmerized by the color lotus petal-shaped ears, how the uppermost ears were a bright glowing fuchsia and casting a filter over the middle ocean blue pair to make them appear purple. His last pair of ears matched the emerald green of the forest surrounding you but seemed a bit lighter in hue and all six flittering because of the wind. “You’re staring~”

“I am not- I just got distracted by- um a butterfly” Macaque quietly laughed and mumbled under his breath. “Sure, sweetheart.” You tried to nap but with the sun beating down on you it was tough and soon you’d be laying in a puddle of mud mixed with sweat. Your lover always seemed unaffected by the weather and was often cold as an ice cube, in the winter laying by the fire comfortably and reading a book (most often plays or scripts of old performances). Maybe he could cool you off now…. It was worth a shot!

Carefully you moved onto his lap and immediately felt like you were sitting in an ice bath, feeling a bit guilty that you interrupted his training and getting his midnight black fur dirty. Sighing in relief as you leaned back against his chest and nuzzling your face into his check, “Much better~” A tired groan left his mouth and tried his best to return back his meditative state but couldn’t. Peaking an eye open to glower at you with little actual meaning and running one of his hands through your hair. The sun came back out behind the cloud that covered it and threw a new wave of heat towards the both of you, causing a pathetic whine to pass your lips.

“Is it hot out here or is it just me?” Sarcastically asking the six eared celestial primate and chuckling at the predicament you put yourself. “It’s you.” You perked up and looked at him, his signature smirk still on his face and unaware of how sweetly affectionate his tone was. Smiling at the compliment, “What?” He must have caught on because the red mask on his fur became even redder and a very flustered expression quickly took over. “What?” You moved so you sat in lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, cupping his face so he had to look at you and grinning widely.

“No- no. You said-“ “I said nothing!” Wrestling out of your grip and averting his gaze to anywhere but you. “Yes, you did!” You slowly crept over to him and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me and by way,” Macaque looked at you with a put-off grin and silently waited for you to finish. “I think you’re hot too~”

#lmk macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk x reader

156 notes · View notes

ro-is-struggling · 1 year

Note

Finally, Ro's followers celebration!!!!! I'd like to request this prompt: Character A and Character B have feelings for each other but can't bring themselves to admit it. That is until they have to pretend to be a couple (for a mission, a family party, whatever) and end up kissing on more than one occasion. Their feelings for each other become evident and they end up confessing their feelings - but not before acting like a couple of nervous, awkward idiots {Brooklyn 99 2x23} with james potter! I want it to be fluffy, pls😩🥰 thank you. love u <3

Hi beautiful!! Of course my first request had to be from you💜💜💜

Thank you so much for participating! I'm so happy to start the celebration with your request💕 I had a lot of fun writing this one so I hope you like it!!

Undercover Mission || James Potter x Reader

Summary: An undercover mission for the Order of the Phoenix leads you and James to confront your repressed feelings for each other as you are forced to kiss to keep your covers from being blown.

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, friends to lovers, humor, set after they graduated from Hogwarts

English is not my first language

Word count: 4900

Notes: I based this story on the episode of b99 from which I got the prompt, I hope you don't mind. I just think James and Jake are literally the same person so I couldn’t resist

"Are we sure we have the right guy?" you asked, the boredom and exhaustion clear in your voice. James, Sirius, Marlene and you had spent the last few hours trapped in an old van following a guy under suspicion that he was a Death Eater. Dumbledore believed he was transporting an important package for the Dark Lord and he wanted the Order of the Phoenix to intercept it before it reached its destination, but so far nothing interesting or remotely suspicious had happened.

"If Albus suspects him then there's gotta be a reason," James stated beside you, his eyes glued to the window as he kept an eye on his target.

"I know, but this dude hasn't done anything since we got here," you complained, letting your head fall back against the seat cushion. "Am I the only one who doesn't understand why he would be in the Muggle world if he wanted to do Death Eater shit? It doesn't make sense."

"Cause we wouldn't expect it," Sirius said from the driver's seat.

"Or they're planning an attack," Marleen muttered next to him and your heart stopped for a moment. You really hoped things wouldn't escalate to such a level. If they were planning something big you didn't know if the backup would arrive in time to stop them and save the lives of the innocent muggles caught in the line of fire.

"I don't think they are," James said, turning to look at you for a moment. His tone of voice was soft but determined, trying to control the situation and clear those ideas from his friends' minds —especially yours. "Albus would have heard something if that was their plan all along."

The van fell into silence for a few minutes as you waited for something to happen. The soft rock playing on the radio was the only thing that could be heard inside the vehicle, anticipation, fear, boredom and adrenaline a strange mix of feelings that affected the minds of the four young, newly graduated from Hogwarts. You were definitely too young and inexperienced to be participating in secret missions, but someone had to do it. Someone had to stand up and fight for what was right.

You drove through town for another hour following your target. The sun had already gone down when you parked on a nice, well-lit, but quiet street. Your target entered a restaurant at the end of the street and you let out an exclamation of joy as you finally got out of that old truck for a while to stretch your legs.

"Okay, we'll go in and keep an eye on him I'm case he makes the deal inside. You two stay here and wait for my signal" James instructed his friends as both you and he exited the vehicle. You took a moment to straighten your clothes, wrinkled after so many hours sitting in the car. It wasn't the nicest muggle outfit you had, but luckily the restaurant didn't seem to be too fancy so you'd be fine.

"Do you see him anywhere?" James asked once inside the establishment, scanning the crowded front desk for his target. You gently nudged him in the ribs to shut him up, nodding your head forward. His eyes followed your movement and he then discovered that just a couple of inches away was the man you had been following all day. He spoke to the woman at the front desk and was quickly escorted to a table inside the restaurant, leaving you behind without any visual of what he was doing.

"What's taking so long?" you complained in a mumble that only James could hear. "He could be making the deal right now."

"Should we use our wands?" suggested James. Using magic was risky, but it would get you a table at the restaurant in a matter of seconds.

"No, I have a better idea." Taking James by the hand, you walked up to the woman at the front desk to ask for a table. She informed you that the place was full and that you would have to wait for a table to clear before you could get in. But that was not an option for you, you had to get in and you had to get in now. So you held onto James' arm and smiling warmly you said, "Oh but we just got engaged and this is where we had our first date, isn't that right sweetie?"

James looked at you with wide eyes, surprised by your words. It took him a few seconds to respond, not because he didn't know what to answer but because he had been stunned to hear you call him by that affectionate nickname. He would be lying if he said he didn't want to hear you call him that for the rest of his life.

"Yes, yes! It was a beautiful night like this one. And special too. When you left the restaurant that night I knew you were the one, I just knew." James played along, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close against his body as he spoke, looking at you with a smile on his lips and the distinctive glint of love shining in his eyes. It felt real, too real, so you looked away before losing yourself in his beautiful blue eyes. You were on an important mission and you had to concentrate. "I would have made a reservation but I didn't know if she was gonna say yes."

"Oh I love how nervous you were!" you exclaimed fondly, playfully tapping his nose and letting out a giggle. "You just had to see him, he was adorable," you added, standing on your tiptoes to reach up to give him a kiss on the cheek. James' heart raced, the blood in his whole body pooling in his cheeks as he struggled not to let his feelings for you show. He'd had a crush on you for a long time —since fifth year to be exact—, but you two had always been such good friends that he'd never gotten around to doing anything about it. He valued your friendship too much to risk losing it. That's why he had to control his heart or the mission wouldn't be the only thing that went wrong.

"You look so sweet together!" the receptionist exclaimed, watching you tenderly. "I'm sure I can find room for two young lovers."

"Yeah.. we are lovers… together... in bed" James muttered awkwardly, struggling to stop his imagination from running wild. He had pictured what his life with you might be like more times than he was proud to admit, but this wasn't the time or place to fantasize about your wedding or think about the name of your future child.

"Okay," you said with a smile, squeezing James' arm to shut him up as you watched the woman disappear inside the restaurant. "Keep it together, Potter. We need that table," you muttered just for him to hear. You knew it was weird for him to be in such an intimate and romantic situation with you. You had been friends for so long that you were pretty sure he saw you as a sister —a thought that made your heart clench painfully in your chest—, but he had to keep his cool for a few more minutes. Once at the table you could drop the act and laugh at how weird it was to imagine being married while keeping your target well guarded.

However, things proved to be more difficult than that.

The woman returned a few minutes later with a smile on her face. She led you to your table herself, wishing you a lovely evening and a happy marriage before returning to her desk. You barely had time to settle into your seats before the couple seated at the table next to yours showered you with congratulations on your engagement as well. It was an elderly couple who were there celebrating fifty years of marriage, so neither of you had the heart to ignore them.

"So, when did you guys meet?" the man asked you.

"Last year" you said without thinking, your eyes searching the crowd for your target.

"Five years ago" James stated at the same time, his gaze locked on the Death Eater dining alone a couple of tables away.

The elderly couple looked at you in confusion and you hurried to correct the mistake. "We met five years ago but we don't count that."

"Yeah, I was dating another girl at that time" James noted and technically he wasn't lying. When you met he was in love with Lily Evans and while you never officially dated, he had planned his entire life with her at that time.

"And I wasn't interested in dating," you laughed. "But a year ago we bumped into each other and we haven't been able to separate ever since."

"How sweet!" the woman exclaimed, looking at you fondly. She reminded you of your grandmother in some ways, which only made things weirder. It was hard not to get carried away with the role you were playing when fate seemed to be determined to make you imagine your perfect life at James' side. "How did you know she was the one?" the old lady asked your friend, looking at him expectantly.

James looked at you, panic written all over his face. "I'd love to answer that..." he stammered, trying to buy himself some time to think. He knew exactly how to answer that question, he had a memorized list of the things you did that made him fall in love with you, but he couldn't be honest. If he spoke from the heart he risked being exposed. "Just whenever I look at her face," he finished, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

"And what about you?" The woman directed her question at you this time.

Your eyes met James' as you contemplated your answer. For a second, you felt as if the world had ceased to exist, the chatter of the people around you getting quieter and quieter until it disappeared altogether. It was just you and him in that restaurant, looking into each other's eyes with an intimacy that felt different. You lost yourself deep in his eyes, looking straight into his soul as your mind went over all the things you adored about him.

"He makes me laugh" you replied honestly, putting a smile on James' face.

"And you know, there's really no one else's opinion who I care about more than hers," he added, feeling comfortable and confident enough to open up a bit.

The elderly couple went on to tell you a bit of their life story and as much as you found it adorable, neither of you were able to pay much attention. They could barely remember that they were on a mission, their eyes occasionally traveling to their target to make sure he wasn't doing anything suspicious. You were both too distracted, lost in your own thoughts as you repeated each other's words over and over in your heads. You knew you just were playing roles, but what you had said to each other, the knowing look you had shared, it all felt too real, too sincere. Of course you both dismissed it after spinning it around in your heads for a while, convincing yourselves that you were seeing things where there was nothing because for some reason you were the only two people in the world unable to see that you were in love.

The moment you were sharing was interrupted when you noticed your target getting up from the table. You kicked James lightly to get his attention, silently motioning for him to look at the Death Eater you were supposed to be watching. Excusing yourselves from the lovely old couple you had been chatting with for the last thirty minutes, you rose from the table and made your way to the back of the restaurant, following in your target's footsteps.

"Do you think he's going to meet his partner?" you spoke in a whisper so that no one but James would hear you.

"I don't know," he replied.

Just as the words left his lips, the man turned and made direct eye contact with you. Time stopped for a second, panic taking over as you realized you had been discovered. You had no reason to be there and you were pretty sure that the Death Eater had already seen you parked in front of him hours ago. He wasn't stupid, he would be able to put two and two together and then your mission would be ruined at best. At worst, you would have to fight to get the briefcase he was carrying, endangering the lives of many innocent Muggles.

But before the panic could fully take hold of you, you felt James' hands close around your waist. You turned to look at him, but you couldn't do or say anything because suddenly his lips crashed against yours. You didn't even take a second to question what was happening, letting the feeling of euphoria run through your body as you felt the caress of James' lips on yours. You lost yourself in him instantly, in the taste of his mouth, in the warmth of his body against yours, in the delicate way he held you in his arms. You were flying in the sky in complete bliss as you let James guide the kiss, struggling to keep up the peace.

But the moment ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving you dazed and confused, missing James' lips the second they parted from yours.

"I'm sorry, I just- I didn't know what else to do," he spluttered awkwardly, his thoughts clouded by the scent of your perfume.

"No, it's okay," you hurried to say, struggling to form coherent sentences so as not to let him know how much his kiss had really affected you. "It's all good. We kept our cover intact, good job. Very quick thinking, very professional." You were tense and couldn't look him in the eye when you spoke, but neither could he so neither of you mentioned anything, opting to pretend nothing had happened as you went on with your mission.

"C'mon he's on the move" James announced as he climbed into the van once again. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his body rigid against the seat of the vehicle as if he was afraid to let go and end up accidentally touching you. He needed to keep his distance from you until he recovered his cognitive functions. His brain would never be able to process what had happened if your perfume kept assaulting his nostrils.

"So how was the restaurant?" Marlene asked you to fill the awkward silence that had formed. She could feel the tension in the air, a tension that wasn't there before you guys disappeared behind the restaurant doors. It was different from the tensions she was used to feeling when you and James were together, much more intense, and she couldn't help but wonder what had happened in there.

"Great! It was fine, totally normal and appropriate" you replied suspiciously quickly raising your voice to a higher pitch than usual. If she didn't suspect something had happened before, she definitely did now.

"What happened? Why are you being so weird?" Sirius asked, looking at you curiously through the rearview mirror.

"Y/N and I kissed" James confessed with a sigh, knowing it would be best to be honest with his friends. After all, it hadn't meant anything, had it? There was nothing strange about telling them the truth because you had nothing to hide. Strange would be if you kept it a secret.

"WHAT? Tell me everything!" Marlene exclaimed in a shout of joy, turning to see her friend in the back seat with a big smile on her face. She knew about your crush on James from day one and couldn't believe there was finally a breakthrough in your story. Sometimes Marlene felt like she was more involved in your little secret romance with James than you were yourself.

"Calm down! It was just to keep our cover from being blown, we didn't have a choice" you explained, feeling the blood from all over your body travel to your cheeks.

"Yeah, it didn't mean anything," James added, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through his heart as he said it.

"I want details," her friend insisted and you rolled your eyes.

"Marlene, it was just a kiss, okay? It was nothing." Only it hadn't been just a kiss, not to you at least, but you weren't going to admit it in front of everyone —especially not James.

"Yeah, who cares about a kiss? Call me if you grab each other's asses" Sirius interjected from the driver's seat, a mischievous grin plastered on his lips. James reached out from behind his back and smacked him on the shoulder, a silent way of telling his friend that this was not the time for his jokes.

Marlene was going to continue pressing you for more details —you and James kissing was the most interesting thing that had happened to her that day—, but her attention was drawn back to the mission at hand when Sirius alerted you that your target had gotten out of the car and was walking towards a park. He still had the briefcase in his hand, but the streets were deserted which made you think he wasn't going to meet anyone that night, but to leave the package for someone else to pick up.

"Okay, you and Sirius follow him just in case he does meet with someone after this." you instructed Marlene, watching as your target returned to his car, without the briefcase in his hands this time.

"Right! And you and James follow your hearts" your friend replied with a smile.

"No!" you grumbled, giving Marlene a murderous look. "We're gonna stay with the package."

"And each other forever" she insisted and you swore she was doing it on purpose to spite you. You didn't even dignify her comment with a response, opting instead to exit the vehicle and slam the door a little harder than necessary. James followed you, crossing the street beside you to get to the park your target had come from.

You walked in silence, enjoying the quiet of the night. The place was deserted, something that was both good and bad. On the one hand it was good because if things went wrong at least there were no Muggles around who could get hurt. On the other hand it was bad because you had no way to hide so you wouldn't stand out. When the Death Eaters came to pick up the package they would see you, there was no doubt about that. You realized then that you would have to be quick if you wanted to catch them.

"Why can't we just take the briefcase and go?" James asked as he leaned back against a tree, his back to the bench next to where your target had left the hidden package.

"Because Albus wants to arrest everyone involved in this and for that we need the briefcase to exchange hands, otherwise there's no case." you explained and James grunted, hating having to stand there for who knows how much longer until someone showed up.

Neither of you spoke for a while, the weight of the silence and the tension in the air increasing your nerves. James' mind was riddled with doubts, fearing he had made a mistake by kissing you in the restaurant. You had told him that you understood why he had done it, assuring him that you had no issue with it, but it didn't feel like things were good between you. You were distant and tense, and you could barely look him in the eye. Regret was eating him up inside, knowing it was his fault that you felt uncomfortable around him.

"Hey, seriously, we're cool right?" James broke the silence forcing you to look away from the starry sky to face him.

"Yeah, totally," you nodded with a smile, hoping that was enough to calm him down. "We're fine." If only he knew that the reason for your strange behavior was that you were fighting the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him one more time....

"Why do they have to schedule their drop off so late? Death Eaters have no respect for Auror's lives and times." James joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. You let out a chuckle and he felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. "I'm starving, we barely got to eat at that stupid restaurant."

"I know! Mr. and Mrs. Green were adorable but they couldn't stop talking" you said, remembering the chatty couple. You couldn't have been there more than forty minutes and somehow you knew when and where they had married, how they met, how many children they had and the names of their grandchildren. "I'm craving ice cream as weird as it might be considering how late it is."

"It's not weird at all, you always crave sweets at these hours, that's why you have trouble sleeping."

"You know what I really want to get right now?"

"Cookies and cream?" said James, more as a statement than a question. "It's your favorite, isn't it? Especially for times like this. I'm assuming you already have one in the freezer waiting for you to celebrate."

"Y-yes," you nodded in surprise. You weren't surprised that he knew what your favorite ice cream flavor was —you had been friends for years, that was normal—, you were surprised at how quickly and confidently he had spoken, leaving you no time to say anything before answering for you. He remembered your silly tradition of celebrating the little good things in life with your favorite flavor of ice cream even though it was something you usually did alone. It was a small, insignificant detail, but it made you feel appreciated. He remembered.

"I brought one too if you want to spend the night at my place after this is all over. We can celebrate together." You were going to tell him how much you appreciated his sweet gesture and how he was the one person you wanted to celebrate your victories in life with, but the words died in your throat when you noticed a man approaching the briefcase they had been guarding for the last fifteen minutes.

"James, he's looking at us," you tried to warn him discreetly, but your friend was too distracted rambling on about the different flavors of ice cream and which ones were the best. "Well, this is happening," you murmured, taking James' face in your hands and leaning in to join your lips in a kiss.

You were the one in control this time, dictating the intensity of the kiss, guiding the movements of James' lips on yours. He was too surprised to do more than try to keep up with the pace of your lips. His hands settled on your hips instinctively, pulling you tight against his body as he allowed himself to lose himself in your mouth for a moment. The mission, his doubts, the tension, all was forgotten as he melted under your caresses.

Though his bliss was cut short when you suddenly pulled away, taking your wand and pointing it at the man who had picked up the briefcase. Reality hit him like a train, his brain working twice as hard to regain its functions so he could end this mission once and for all.

The Death Eater didn't give up without putting up a fight, pulling out his wand and casting spell after spell in your direction as he tried to escape. Neither of you recognized who your attacker was, which frightened you a little because it meant that the Dark Lord had more followers than the Order of the Phoenix expected or even knew about. Still you didn't let that affect you, fighting shoulder to shoulder until you incapacitated your unknown attacker.

"An empty diary?" you said in disbelief as you stared at the mysterious object inside the briefcase you had fought so hard to obtain. "We did all that for an empty diary?"

"It has to be important," James interjected as he used an incantation to restrain the Death Eater's wrists. "They wouldn't do all this for an insignificant empty diary. Albus will know what to do."

“I’m exhausted!” you exclaimed the moment you crossed the entrance threshold of James' house, dropping dramatically onto the couch. It had been a long day, but at least things had turned out well. Both Death Eaters were in custody awaiting trial for their crimes. Thanks to you the army of he who shall not be named had two less soldiers, and as insignificant as it seemed, it was a victory for everyone.

"We can go to sleep if you're tired and leave the ice cream for tomorrow" James said, knowing full well what your response would be.

"Never!" You jumped off the couch, running to the kitchen in search of the ice cream. James let out a laugh, shaking his head as he followed closely behind you. While you took the ice cream out of the freezer he grabbed spoons and a couple of bowls so you could share the frozen dessert without fighting over the pot.

After making a short toast celebrating your victory you engaged in casual conversation while enjoying the ice cream. You didn't even bother to go to the couch, settling into the kitchen without a problem. You sat on the counter next to the sink, swinging your legs playfully as you ate your ice cream. James stood next to you, leaning back on the counter with his body leaning slightly to the side so he could look at you better as you talked. He had a big smile on his face as he listened to you list the reasons why the cookies and cream ice cream was the best of all, completely enamored with the passion with which you addressed such trivial topics as ice cream flavors.

He loved everything about you, even the things you saw as flaws. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to tell you how he felt about you, to hold you in his arms and kiss you until he couldn't feel his lips. But he knew he couldn't -he shouldn't-, your friendship was the most important thing to him and he couldn't lose it for anything in the world.

"I'm sorry for kissing you today," he apologized, breaking the small silence that had formed. "I hope it doesn't make things weird between us."

"Oh no don't worry about it," you downplayed it. "And I'm sorry for kissing you too."

"You know I care about you, right?" James put his empty ice cream bowl on the counter, turning completely around so he could look you in the eyes. You nodded your head slightly, losing yourself in the shine in his eyes. Those damn eyes of his!

"I value our friendship, what we have is something special and I wouldn't want to see it ruined for a stupid decision I made under pressure." There was truth in his words, but there was also pain. He didn't want to ruin your friendship, but he also didn't want to keep being just your friend. He didn't regret kissing you, at least not entirely. A part of him would always be glad he did because no matter what, now he knew what your lips felt like on his.

"Yeah, I get it... Our friendship is the most important thing to me too," you said, but you couldn't stop your eyes from lowering to James' lips. He was too close to you, you could smell his cologne every time you breathed, feel his body heat tickling your side. You couldn't think straight, only feel the devastating weight of longing to feel his lips on yours. If you concentrated hard enough you could still taste his mouth and feel the ghost of his fingers caressing your hips.

James didn't miss the way your eyes locked on his lips, unconsciously leaning closer and closer to you. A rebellious hand slid over your leg, caressing your thigh gently. Your gaze returned to his eyes then and James saw in them a special glow he had never noticed in them before. It was desire. You wanted him. You were as desperate to feel your lips together as he was. And now that he knew it, he didn't plan to leave you wanting for another second.

Once again he took it upon himself to close the little distance that separated you, bringing your lips together in a kiss full of desperation and repressed feelings. And even though this was the third time you had been in that situation that day, this time it felt different. This kiss was not the product of an impulsive decision made in the heat of the moment. No, this was a kiss that was long overdue, the product of the conscious decision of two people who had repressed their feelings for too long. And that made it taste that much sweeter, it made everything that much more special.

And as James lost himself in the warmth of your body wrapped around his he knew that things between you would never be the same again, but that was a good thing.

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem reader #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter imagine #james potter #harry potter imagines #marauders imagine #ro's 600 followers celebration

372 notes · View notes

pixiatn · 1 year

Text

Danny & Duke Prompt/idea for y'all while I'm still trying to write my fic

Now I still don't know if I'm gonna include this in my fic, but I wanted to post it incase I didn't but essentially, Halfa/Quarta!Duke

Ok so basically Pariah Dark would be a halfa (until giving up his humanity/human half like Dan) and was sealed into the Infinite Realms by his brother, Gnomon The Eternal Light who was also a halfa, this in turn not only makes Duke part ghost, but also the biological nephew of Pariah Dark.

Duke has a very small amount of ectoplasm flowing throughout his body and also has a core much smaller/underdeveloped than other ghost and even halfas. He inherited abilities from both his father and his uncle resulting in him having a mixed core (light and dark [psh, ok y/n✋🏽🙄])

Insert traumatized Danny attending Gotham Academy after running away for whatever reason👁️👁️, ahem, and staying in the schools dormitories. Danny's first day is going great, he woke up early, made it to class on time, and his classmates were being nice to him, maybe things here wouldn't be so bad. THEN FWOOSH, almost instantly Danny feels a powerful (and somewhat familiar) chill down and his ghost sense goes off and then he starts panicking, cause if he goes ghost then the GIW will know where he is, if he doesn't help then this ghost will seriously fuck up the school.

Bbg spends a bit too long in his head contemplating his options and feels this overwhelming presence get closer, he doesn't hear anybody screaming so thats good. It very quickly becomes not good when the presence comes closer and he realizes why it feels so familiar, it was an aura similar to that of Pariah Dark. Well great that's just fucking great, first day at a new school and he's possibly gonna get beat up by the former ghost king, which by the way, WHO THE FUCK LET HIM OUT-

Danny is thoroughly surprised though when it isn't a ghost capable of mass destruction that comes into the class but actually a rather cute boy his age (oh very pretty ghost guy ok) it isn't until Duke sits at a desk and people start talking to him does he realize (holy fuck this guy is like me)

During his lunch break Danny-boy slips into the Ghost zone to ask his lil ghost council (which consist of Pandora, Dorothea, Frostbite, Wulf, and Clockwork) if it's possible for two different ghost to have similar auras, Pandora states the each ghost aura is unique to that individual, the only way for two ghost to have similar auras is for them to be related

Great, so Danny's classmate is a relative of one of his strongest enemies, and former king of the Infinite Realms? Fucking great

Edit/update: On Dukes side, he finds himself rather drawn towards the pretty new boy in his class and he doesn't know why (it's bc unlike him, Danny has a shit ton of Ectoplasm running through and Dukes still developing core is drawn to that)

Anyway when he starts hanging out with Danny, his core starts absorbing the ectoplasm in the air surrounding him (which comes from Danny constantly exiting/entering the Ghost zone an using portals) which in turn helps Dukes core develop faster, making his powers stronger and granting him new ones

Meme time

#Duke x Danny propaganda #Quarta!Duke #dp x batman #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #would duke technically be the right heir to the throne?#idk about that stuff man😞#duke thomas #danny phantom #deadlights #Dukes powers develop much slower due to him being a quarter ghost #danny fenton #dc x dp prompt

400 notes · View notes

elvisabutler · 1 year

Text

spark ( chapter two: prayer )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 10570ish so just shy of 11k this time. warnings: talk of children. a bit of negative self talk. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. use of a washcloth in inventive ways. faint naivety regarding come and precome and pleasurable parts of sex, i suppose. fingering. implied/referenced masturbation ( m and f ). pining. talk of female reproductive issues. author’s note: so before you read anything involving this. i need you all to either go into this chapter blind other than my note about female reproductive issues or i need you to scroll all the way down to the bottom of this past the tag list for a bit of an explanation for that warning. i'm fine either way but i didn't want to spoil it in the warnings considering i left what happened fairly nebulous. all that being said hi y'all, welcome to the second chapter of spark! there is not a lot i can say other than telling you all i am so very thankful for every single one of you who read it and especially those of you who left comments in the notes or reblogged because hearing what feelings i invoked or what i did to y'all was a highlight and truly makes me want to interact with all of you more and makes me just want to hear more from all of you. this chapter and the next are a doozy but this one specifically has the nearly 6k bath scene as i've called it so you're in for a treat. special thank you to my southern gothic/southern sticky romance soulmate @precious-little-scoundrel because y'all know this wouldn't exist without her little whispers. additional thanks to my discord wives @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy, my princess and my peach y'all know how much hearing y'all scream about my snippets made me know i was heading in the right direction. @blurredcolour thank you for also reassuring me that the one bit i showed you worked and wasn't just completely a mess. and last but not least @powerofelvis and @prompted-wordsmith thank you both for the edit job and smitty specifically for a few choice lines. i still am never gonna not laugh about you trying to sneak weepy in there though. and now before this author's not gets much longer, i present the second chapter of spark, titled prayer.

It's so quiet in the room. It's too quiet in the kitchen. It's too quiet even as Lilly hears Elvis's deep breaths against her back, hears her own softer breaths mixed with something that sounds almost like a whimper—a soft cry of elation with every other breath and shift of her body against his. Her vagina—her pussy—oh, she doesn't know what to call it now—aches in a way she's never felt before, not even when her husband took her for the first time in their bed. It aches but it doesn't hurt, it burns but in the way her legs burned after she would go running with Melly or how her arms burned after lifting up a basket of Nathan's clothes. Her—what had Elvis called it?—her clit, her button throbs as she feels his soft cock brush up against it as he moves forward just a bit, causing a noise that sounds so obscene Lilly can't help the way her cheeks darken even as another noise leaves her. Another whimper, this time lower in pitch, a keen leaves her mouth as Elvis stills his attempt to separate them.

"Lilly, darlin' I gotta—you gotta let me let ya down. Ya leg's startin' to hurt, ain't it?" Elvis murmurs, his hand moving down her flank, watching how her body starts to shiver, their shared sweat starting to cool on her body as the fan–the fan he just fixed whirrs above them. "Don't… it's gonna start hurtin' the more we stay here, darlin'. Let—" His hand moves to her thigh, feels how it's so sticky and slick with God knows what fluid, his or hers or both, and he's not sure how he's going to take his hand off of her if it starts to stick. Her shivers are starting to strengthen, be it from nervousness or the cool air or a combination and Elvis can't help the way a singular one flows through him, causing him to tighten his hold on her thigh and bury his face against her shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he feels her clench at it. "It's—come on, Lilly, I gotcha, let me help ya."

It's those words, that mild parroting of words he had just whispered against the shell of her ear not even 15 minutes ago that has her head falling forward just a little, has her body going lax completely, a rag doll for him to maneuver how he sees fit. She doesn't trust herself to help him, doesn't trust the thoughts in her head that tell her to make him keep her this way, to keep him inside of her and keep her filled and aching all at once. Doesn't trust the traitorous thought that tells her Nathan would have never done this, would never be this gentle and calming with her. She'd already be standing on shaky legs with him tucking himself in his pants before telling her that was good. Elvis's arm catches her, holds her tight against him still as he helps her pull her leg down off the counter even as she hears that noise again that—squelch of her arousal and the sheer amount of come he had released in her. If this is how he sounded inside of her, what would happen when he pulled out of her? What would happen as he left her stretched and satisfied? Would—perhaps some would take. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Lil." His whisper is gentle, almost as if he's scared she'll bolt. "You hold onto me. Gonna get outta ya now. Gonna pull out of ya."

Her arm and her hand grip his own tightly, her shivers increasing as she feels Elvis start to pull out. The more he inches out bit by bit the more empty she feels, the more she feels as if there's a wound there that won't heal caused by him leaving. It's never felt like this with Nathan and she knows, she knows so deep in her bones and soul that should worry her. But her mind, her body, her everything has narrowed down to her and Elvis as he finally breaks free of her vagina and she feels a wetness like she's never felt before slide down her legs. Unbidden and unrestrained, a sob is wrenched from her throat as she's set down, her feet finally touching the floor once more. A sudden shift back to reality she wasn't prepared for.

Elvis's arm tightens around her even as her shivers worsen and as he feels and hears the sob that comes from her. He doesn't think he hurt her—not physically, at least—but he can't… he can't check her like this. Not when he looks down at her legs and sees his release sliding down her leg.

A realization hits him in that exact moment as his arm tightens around where—where a child would grow if any of his release caught. Where their child would grow if it caught. He hadn't worn protection. He allowed himself to enter her bare and come not once, but twice. Right in this very moment he could be sealing both of their fates. Her to have the child of a man who is not her husband and him—him, to see another man raise his child. To see his child grow up through pictures instead of being there for every waking moment. His thoughts are interrupted by another of Lilly's sobs and he shakes his head. She–she needs a bath, he can't let Nathan come home and see her like this. Even if he had been neglecting her, leaving her to wilt and leaving her to be watered and in the worst of cases fertilized by another man, Elvis couldn't be sure of his reaction to seeing the proof leaking out of his wife.

The fan creaks as it spins, unused to spinning after the break it had been given from being broken. Elvis's brain settles on the noise even as the air circulating causes even his body to let out a shiver. His own natural heat feels like it isn't enough in this one moment, as if it's too busy trying to keep Lilly warm to remember to keep him fully warm and yet he thinks he can handle it. It's nothing compared to winter in France. Nothing compared to the bite of the cold against his skin then. And yet—and yet it cuts far more to the bone, through his muscles and fat and everything that should protect him. Straight to the heart of him.

His arm finally falls from around Lilly’s waist as she moves to stand on her own, her legs a little shaky like a newborn deer. He hastily tucks himself back into his jumpsuit—she can't see what he put inside her, can't see his uncut cock even if it brought her pleasure he wonders if she's never had before. When she finally looks at him he has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. She looks… she looks like an angel and he's corrupted her like a devil. He's touched something that might not have been pure and innocent but was as close as he’s seen in such a long time and sullied it. Touched it with hands that have seen war and have seen death and threatened to cause death even in peacetime. What sort of person did that, what sort of man who believes in God with all his being now would do this to another man’s wife? Breaking not one, but two sins, and for what? To try and fix something that it isn’t his place to fix, that will never be his place to fix? To try and fix something only to potentially cause more things to break inside and out. He hopes she doesn’t see how his hand clenches into a fist, hopes she doesn’t see how he can’t look her in the eye right at this moment. He hopes—he hopes—he hopes she can forgive him, he hopes God can forgive him.

Lilly can’t help the way her legs shake slightly and how her body trembles just a little bit. She’s not cold, not in a way that would cause this much shivering and yet here she was acting as if she had been dunked in a bath filled with cold water and shoved into a Yankee winter. Elvis was—is warm in a way she knows would help. Or at least she feels as if it would help because it would just be an extension of taking care of her, wouldn’t it? It would be him continuing the duty he’s given himself despite not… not being the man who promised to love and to hold and to take care of her in every conceivable way. He is just a man. He is just a man who she has grown quite fond of but a man nonetheless. A man who is not her husband and yet—no, this was just both of them being tempted and falling for temptation. In her mind, she thinks of never having Elvis speak to her again, thinks of a world where this act has ruined their relationship. No, their friendship, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out in anguish. He had been such good company. He is such good company and to lose that would have her all alone once again with nothing to show for it except… perhaps. Perhaps his release could catch inside her. Perhaps it could catch and form a child, their child and she would have someone to be with. She would have the child she longed for to spend her days doting on and mothering. She would have her company and she could be so much less angry—despondent over her friends and she could enjoy Melly’s pregnancy and any other ones that would come after because she’d at least have her own child. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she nearly misses Elvis speaking to her and grabbing ahold of her hand.

“Lil darlin’, ya shakin’ like a leaf. Ya got a robe or somethin’ in that bedroom of yourn?” He asks all while walking them ever so slowly to the bathroom near the other bedroom. It has a bathtub, that much he knows from using it but he knows it’s likely not anything compared to the one in the main bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Lilly can only nod as an answer. “Ya good to go grab it? Don’t wanna—it’s not my place to see ya bedroom.”

He’s right and she knows he is but a part of her, the part of her that’s clinging onto his hand for dear life and doesn’t trust her legs to carry her into the bedroom and back to him shakes her head. “I’m—I don’t—walk me to it?”

“Lilly,” he starts before he looks up and sees her face pleading with him, begging silently in almost the same way it was up against the sink and he stops himself before nodding. “Just keep holdin’ my hand. I’ll walk wit’ ya.”

Between the walls and Elvis’s hand, Lilly’s steps are a little more certain by the time she makes it to the doorway of her bedroom where just on the inside there’s a hook that has her robe. She creaks the door open just slightly to grab it before pulling it on. It smells faintly of Nathan’s cologne and she can’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste, wishing it smelt different. The walk over to the other bathroom is just as slow and just as measured but the moment they reach it, Elvis moves to set her on the toilet after shutting the lid. His knees crack audibly as he gets down on the floor with a groan. Lilly winces as she hears the water turn on. “Warmer than you think I should have it.”

He hadn’t asked what temperature she wanted the water but she figured it was best to tell him ahead of time, just in case he thought she needed it only lukewarm. His response is a chuckle before he turns the hot knob just a bit more.

Her mind wanders as she sits there feeling more of his release sticking to her leg. Her mind wanders as she looks at Elvis in his jumpsuit still half open but done up so she can’t see what was between his legs, what had given her such pleasure that her vagina clenches

involuntarily at the memory. Clenches at the memory of how full it felt, how it felt like it was catching, how it felt different than Nathan’s penis. Surely—oh surely with how full she feels even now with his release inside her it would take. It would catch and take and her belly would swell with new life. Her child would grow inside her and kick and roll and make her so happy even as she pushed them out, painful as everyone had told her it was. Her child would look like her if it was a daughter or perhaps a healthy mix of her and Elvis if it was a boy. Her breath catches at the image and she finds herself leaning against the toilet and clutching her hands to her stomach with her eyes shut. Her eyes shut so that the lord could hear her prayer because she’s only focusing on Him and the words she was praying up into the heavens. Please, Lord, please let it catch. Bless me with just this one baby.

Elvis looks over at Lilly over the rims of his glasses and is struck by how she looks so serene in the moment. How her robe covers her and how her head is tilted up as if she’s praying for something. His eyes drift down and notice her hands on her belly. Her hands that seem small compared to his on her belly and briefly, in a flash he berates himself for later, he pictures her growing round with his baby after the release he's just left in her has taken root. Pictures her blossoming and blooming right before his eyes as she thanks him with his favorite dinner with their child rolling inside of her under an apron. The word please leaves her lips, though, and it shatters that image quicker than anything else. She is married to an idiotic child, yes, but he is still her husband and is still a strapping young man. Perhaps still more suited for her than him. More suited to give her those children to help her bloom. He has to shut his eyes and pray for forgiveness and for God to dissolve his come before it reaches those parts of her that can bear fruit. She’s pleading with God that it doesn’t take—that they aren’t caught with their indiscretion and his mind is being selfish with the desires it has for her.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and Elvis turns off the water before it gets to be too much. He can’t look at Lilly, hasn’t looked at her since he heard the word please fall from her lips and yet he knows he has to. He knows to help her into the bathtub he has to but he stares at the water, watching it ripple just a little until he hears Lilly’s voice.

“Are you—? You can… can you stay?” Her skin flushes at her own question, as if it’s the worst possible thing for her to say, as if it’s mortifying to have it leave her lips. He is not her husband. He is, at best, a new friend—and she wants him to see her completely bare. “You don’t—”

Elvis cuts off her words with a shake of his head. “I’ll stay for ya. Since ya want me to.” He pauses, his eyes finally looking at her: specifically looking at her legs where his release is still sliding down onto the floor of the bathroom. Had he honestly come that much? “Ya—e need to—I came in ya, Mrs. H—Lilly. It’s gonna need to be washed outta ya,” his hand twitches as his eyes drift to her stomach and he has to stop himself from placing his hand on it with his next words. “Don’t want ya bein’... Don’t wanna cause ya any issues.”

Don’t want to have my child growin’ inside of ya, is what he means, Lilly thinks. Her traitorous mind wants to be that mean woman Nathan’s accused of her of being and spit that she wants to swell with his baby. She wants to grow round with his baby because she wants a baby and Nathan won’t give her one. She wants a child to love and dote on and to cherish. She bites her tongue though, because it’s not right to say it, it’s not proper to admit she might do anything for a baby. Instead she nods and moves to take off the robe, motioning for Elvis to help her with the rest of her clothes as she stands up. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, and Lilly can’t help the goosebumps and shivers that dot her in his hands’ wake as his fingertips glide across her skin. Her body hunches over just slightly to protect her modesty as if he hadn’t just had her against her kitchen sink not once, but twice. Elvis frowns slightly when he sees this, the frown only deepening as she moves to step into the tub on her own. It doesn’t take him but a second to scoop her into his arms.

Lilly squeaks slightly at the unexpected touch before she leans against him, her hand moving to play with his chest hair until he sets her down softly into the tub. A whine escapes her lips as her vagina hits the water, the temperature difference reminding her of their actions. A moment passes before Elvis opens his mouth to ask something and Lilly tilts her head to the cabinet above the toilet. “Middle shelf.”

A nod is his only response to her direction until she hears the crack of his knees signaling how he’s back down on the ground. Her eyes haven’t left the water, watching how there’s little bits of white, stringy and almost clear swirling around the water. It was all going to waste. It was all going to be going down the drain and she was going to remain barren, a woman with no fruit of her loins to call her own when there should be no reason for that. Elvis eyes her before setting the washcloth in the water and humming, his hand moving to touch her shoulder, a strangely domestic touch that she doesn’t shy away from.

“There’s so much of it.” Lilly whispers absentmindedly, her head tilting just so as Elvis hums and chuckles slightly because she’s not wrong.

“It’s just—that’s my—that’s what I produce before I actually release inside ya. Hell, I think most of it might be that ‘cause I ain’t ever produced this much.” A truth if he’s honest with himself, even in his younger days he doesn’t remember this much being in a condom and yet he had filled her with so much it’s just leaking out of her. He had filled her like he was her husband and they were trying for a child. He had done the unthinkable and yet there’s a small part of him that wonders how much of his release is inside of her. That small part has his cock twitching just slightly against his leg, ready to give her more if she asks, to fill her up and replace what’s being lost in the water. He shakes his head to clear it, to direct the blood flow back to his thinking self and not the desirous snake in his pants.

“This ain’t the part we gotta worry ‘bout anyway. It’s the thicker stuff,” he points to a small bit that’s floating from her vagina as he speaks, “like that right there that we gotta worry ‘bout. But the rest? Ya see how it's slidin’ right out? We don't gotta worry bout those parts.”

Lilly has to stop herself from perking up at that knowledge. That there’s more where this came from and that this? She can lose as much of this as she is right now while still perhaps having his seed catch. This was just the initial bit, the majority of it is still inside of her and she clenches, tightens her vagina even as it feels to be an insurmountable task as it throbs and pulses from the effort. She can't tilt her hips up like her mother had told her but later, perhaps, later she could lay in bed and tilt her hips to help whatever is left behind reach where it needs to be.

Elvis can't put it off any longer as he stares at rippling water, he needs to help this along, other than those small bits not much of his release is coloring the water. If too much stayed within her—her body would change soon, her body would change and it would be all his fault. He would be responsible for her blooming and blossoming but with a child that wouldn't be, couldn't be taken care of the way he'd want them to. He leans closer to Lilly and finds his hand holding the washcloth sliding up her leg.

"Don't—I gotcha Lilly. Gonna help clean ya out, alright? Gonna be as gentle as I can." He waits to see her acknowledgement of a nod before he finally moves his hand up to between her legs, the heel of his hand against her mound and his hand covering everything else.

Her body—her vagina feels as if he's shocked her, as if there's a live wire from his hand to her. A gasp leaves her lips even as she inadvertently grinds down on his hand, chasing a feeling she can't quite put her finger on. It’s almost instinctual the way she reacts, the way her eyes shut as she hisses, the pressure too much while at the same time too little. At her hiss Elvis pulls back his hand as if it’s been burned. It’s not his job to take care of her, it’s not his job to make sure she’s alright after their intercourse against the sink and yet he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he hurt her. He knows how to take care of a woman after sex and he’d be damned if he didn’t treat Lilly with all the respect—and love, his mind traitorously whispers—she deserves.

“Lil, ya alright? Did I…” he starts before his words are cut off with a violent shake of her head. Words are failing her and his eyes search her face for a clue as if that will explain her actions and finds it in the way she shifts in the bath slightly. “Ya sensitive down there?”

Lilly nods and breathes slowly through her nose. “I think so? It’s—It feels like it’s throbbing, Mr. Pre—Elvis.”

In the back of his mind he knows that means she took him well and that he pleasured her thoroughly. It means that her body is overwhelmed with the sensation. It means that it’ll be like that for days to come. A small, sick bit of joy shoots through him at the thought of her aching for him and his stomach roils as soon as the thought comes to him. He would be no better than her husband who ignores her if he took pleasure in the idea. If he took pleasure in knowing he left her aching for him while she is married to her husband.

His words are measured when he speaks, a low murmur as he leans closer, taking the washcloth back in his hands. “Ya ain’t—I’m a lil bigger than most, should have prepped ya better. Jus’. We both got a lil’ overwhelmed, didn’t we? ‘S’alright, ‘m gonna make it better, darlin’. Gonna be gentle as I can. Gonna help ya get all this out of ya. Keep ya from having my baby.”

Lilly’s face falls at his words even though he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with shifting his focus downward to her vagina. Her breath is slow and measured as she watches him, trying to give this a clinical air, trying to make her body realize there’s nothing arousing about this. This is him just trying to clean his release out of her to keep from being tied to her in some way permanent. Her hand drifts to her belly as she curls into him, her head leaning onto his shoulder. He’s methodical with the outside of her and using the cloth he tries to reach between her folds, tries to open her up only to feel as she tenses just that little bit harder. Forcing her open isn’t an option, not one he wants to seriously consider, at least, and he pauses. His fingers through the rough washcloth threaten to ignite another fire low in her belly as they rub slightly against her skin—at least, if the way she whimpers softly is any indication. Perhaps if he brushed against her clit, perhaps that could open her up. It’s helped in other times when he’s wanted to pleasure another woman. His thumb is already near it and without dwelling on his thought his thumb swipes against it, the wash cloth adding friction that has her unclenching faster than he thought was possible, the shock of it ricocheting through her system. A gasp escapes her lips. A gasp that sounds like his name. He refuses to dwell on what that means as he brushes his thumb against her clit once more.

“Elvis,” she whimpers his name as his thumb swipes a third and a fourth time and she can feel her vagina clenching and unclenching at the feeling, at the sensation as finally she relaxes fully, allowing his fingers to enter her without a question. “Sensitive.”

Her mind is narrowing to single words, the swirl of arousal curling tighter and tighter in her abdomen with each brush of his thumb and each press of his fingers inside of her. The washcloth shouldn’t help the feeling, it shouldn’t make her eyes want to roll in the back of her head from the friction and the slight roughness. The splashes of his arm and hand hitting the water as his fingers move in and out of her ground her and yet have her floating away. Her brain registers him speaking through her whimpers of pleasure. Pleasure that she doesn’t know what to—to do with, having been denied it for so long.

“I know it’s a lot but gotta be thorough, Lilly. Gotta make sure it's all out,” he whispers softly to her, his fingers never stopping their task. “That's it, unclench for me, Lil darlin. Let—ya gotta help me, we gotta make sure there isn't anything left up there."

Faintly she can hear him and feel herself nodding, too busy trying not to rock against his fingers. That’s not what he’s doing this for, he’s trying to prevent—he’s trying to prevent a child. He’s trying to protect her marriage and yet her body wants to move on instinct. She wants to be beholden to her instincts just this once. Just this once she wants to have pleasure and happiness she doesn’t have to beg and plead for. It’s nice, this haze that overwhelms her senses, and she can’t truly recall the cold, distant figure of her husband leaving each and every day for work without so much as a kiss on the cheek as it has been recently. Instead she is nestled into the crook of Mr. Presley’s neck, lips tasting of the salt of his sweat. She wants to feel like he made her feel against the sink. Her body cants itself just so in order to earn another swipe of his thumb and she feels herself dangling on the precipice of something—of her orgasm, maybe? Was she about to find release on his fingers as he cleaned her body out with a washcloth? As he cleaned his release so a child didn’t form inside her, giving away their actions from tonight? A miniscule part of her feels as if she ought to be mortified but it doesn’t drown out her sighs and whines as she feels his fingers curl just so—trying to make sure she’s clean. It doesn’t drown out how her hips move once in another attempt to grind before he puts his hand on the back of her neck. A comforting gesture, yes, but when paired with his next words seals her fate.

“Take what ya need right now. Jus' takin’ care of ya. It’ll help get more outta ya. That’s it, Lil darlin, Elvis’s gotcha.”

A keen, high pitched and pained, leaves her mouth as she feels herself fluttering around—no, clenching around—his fingers before becoming practically boneless against him, the aftershocks from the orgasm causing a new round of shivers and goosebumps to happen. Her face burrows into his shoulder as he works her through them gently before her hand moves to grab his wrist, the sensitivity finally becoming too much.

“Elvis it’s, o-oh—” Lily struggles to articulate her words and breathe and exist in this moment, the sensation drowning out any thoughts other than the pulse of her own heartbeat she feels between her legs. “It—”

Elvis shushes her, trying his hand on her neck, rubbing it and tightening over and over as he finishes cleaning her out, knowing that whatever is left is too high up for him to reach. He’d have to just pray to god for that to be done away with. "Shhhh, Lilly… Darlin', I'm sorry, bein' as gentle as I can.”

Lilly should object to how his hand at her neck feels almost as if she's a kitten being dragged along by their mother but she can't find it in her to do such a thing. She can't find it in her to since objecting would mean he'd remove something that truthfully is keeping her tenuous grip on reality and the Earth there. She figures she'd float away without it. There's a part of her that doesn't think she'd mind in that moment, that she'd understand floating away after what's happened because it almost doesn't feel real, especially as he takes care to wash her body despite her being fully capable of doing it herself. His grip loosens for the last time as she watches him lean over and unplug the drain. The water swirls slowly at first, gaining speed the longer she stares at it and the more of his release slides down the drain. She hears the crack of Elvis's knees as he stands up and winces for him even as his shadow towers over her. She should get up out of the tub, she knows this and yet her legs feel just shaky enough that she finds the task impossible until she feels his arms underneath hers.

Getting out with his support allows her to fully catch her bearings as he hands her a towel that she wraps around her body, drying herself off as he grabs another and assists with her legs, his knees cracking once again at him getting back down. She makes the mistake of looking down at him and seeing him look up at her with a surprising sense of worship she only ever usually associates with church and God. A shiver makes its way through her at the realization.

Her voice sounds like it's going through a tunnel as she says something about how she's fine from here. She swears she hears herself say Mr. Presley and hears him say Mrs. Harris like he hadn't seen her naked and like he hadn't just helped her to clean out his release. Their formalities would make her laugh in any other situation, especially if she thinks of his seed catching inside of her. It wouldn't do to call her that when she was carrying his child, now would it? Wouldn't do for her to call him that as her belly rounded out with his baby, would it? Would it?

He leaves and she waits until she hears a goodbye burst forth loud enough to break through the tunnel her ears are in to finish drying off and getting ready.

She barely finishes making dinner as Nathan walks through the door.

Elvis… Elvis finds himself under his shower cursing his actions even as he remembers her face and her pleasure. He dreams of a life. He dreams of a life with her. He dreams of their life together. It feels worse than any nightmare.

Charlie notices something is up the moment he walks in the diner and sees Elvis already sitting down at their table, a plate with just bacon in front of him in addition to eggs and what looks like toast, or at least he hopes it’s toast. It looks like a plate for him and Elvis and yet he sees the man he's willing to call one of his truest friends eating it all as if it's just for him. He ought to be gentle about the whole thing, ask Elvis a question calmly and innocently.

Instead, as any sensible friend who’s seen you naked and bleeding and cryin’ for your mama does, he steals two pieces of bacon and sits down in the chair across from his best friend and chomps on said bacon before asking one, singular question: "What are you doing?"

Elvis's hand darts out with a speed that betrays his army training to grab the other piece of bacon only to be rebuffed with a frown. "Eating bacon, Charlie. Ya suddenly blind now? Short and blind, what a catch for ya wife."

Charlie visibly recoils and waits for Elvis to apologize or give him some clue that the statement was just his normal, playful ribbing. The crunch of the bacon disabuses him of that notion as the minutes tick by. "We got a family so she must've seen something in me. Just thankful she didn't see you first."

"Ain't that everyone's damn thanks. Thankful I didn't see their wives back then but if I see 'em now they ain't gotta worry. Women don't go for this body like they did back in the day." Elvis stabs at his eggs and Charlie—Charlie thinks he knows what's going on and he can't help but roll his eyes internally.

"Did some woman turn you down and now you're moping? Over a plate of bacon after church?" He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice but there's still a hint there that he can't do away with.

If looks could kill as well as every gun both he and Elvis have ever used, Charlie's certain in this moment he would be preparing to go to sleep in his eternal resting place. As it stands he once again realizes that perhaps he ought to not poke his absolute bear of a best friend. Elvis's next words punctuated by another crunch of bacon and a laugh so bitter Charlie's never heard it come from him seals that idea.

"Oh. Charlie, my boy, my boy, that would have been better. I would have handled that like a champ," he shakes his head, "ya 'member Mrs. Harris? The—the woman I told ya 'bout?"

“Yeah, the one with the niece and the husband who can’t work his way ‘round a wrench. What about—?” Charlie stops mid sentence and stares long and hard at Elvis trying to school his face into something normal and something less like he looks about ready to murder him before realizing it’s impossible and saying the first words that come to mind in the most hushed tone he can manage. “Wasn’t one of your rules you wouldn’t sleep with a married woman?”

Elvis can’t help but curse the fact that Charlie has seen him through some of, if not the worst, parts of his life and can regrettably read him like an open book sometimes. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he allows himself to eat a piece of toast that is both soggy and crispy all at once. His silence is practically deafening before Charlie exhales.

“You—ou got me thinking your daddy died or something and all this is because you slept with another man’s wife? A man who’s practically ignoring her despite how she looks like a—” Elvis swallows and holds up his pointer finger before practically growling.

“Not other fuckin’ word, Hodge. Not a single fuckin’ word. Lilly ain’t some fuckin’ European floozy we forgot ‘bout the next day. Don’t ya say ‘nother fuckin’ word.”

A chuckle leaves Charlie’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop it. Elvis is moping about a woman alright, just not the way Charlie thought he was. He wouldn’t have—He loves Elvis, he does but he would have never predicted him managing to charm a woman like that if she didn’t know who he was beforehand. If she didn’t know him as he was when they both came back from the war, both struggling with things they had seen yet pared down to a lean type of beauty: the scraggly pines that grew on Italian mountaintops. Yet maybe, just maybe, there was hope. Very stupid and unwise hope, but hope nonetheless that Elvis might be able to enjoy the same sort of life he has.

"Cursing on the Lord's day. At me. She's got you—pass me your whole pig's worth of bacon and tell me what happened, E."

Elvis stares at the plate and lets out a heavy sigh as he scoots the plate over. “It ain’t a whole pig’s worth of bacon.”

“It’s as big as my head.” Charlie states, motioning to get the attention of one of the waitresses in an attempt to get a plate and different food even as he eats a piece of bacon.

“Ya have a tiny head, Hodge. Like a damn lil hedgehog.”

Meanwhile across town Lilly finds herself in her sister’s kitchen, sitting at her dining room table with the light of the sun shining on her through the window. Her sister Melly busies herself with the finishing touches of a lunch for the two of them and Jerry. Lilly had tried to help only to be waved off with an ease that had her sitting down in the chair watching, her hands settling on her stomach as they had been since that fateful afternoon. It’s too soon to know, she reasons, too soon to know if Elvis’s seed took and has filled her empty womb with a child she’s craved for years. Yet her hands gravitate there anyway, almost trying to provide a cradle as if to tell the child she hopes is forming inside her that it’s okay to stay, it’s alright and that she’ll be their mother. She’ll take such good care of them and they’ll get to meet their cousins. They’ll get to meet their cousins and grow up with the one swelling underneath Melly’s apron.

Melly notices this, of course, notices how her sister is cradling her belly and yet she doesn’t dare ask. She doesn’t dare ask if Nathan’s finally done right by her sister and given her the baby she so desperately wants. Her chest hasn’t changed and she hasn’t felt a firmness when she’s brushed against her but perhaps it’s just too early.

“You’re looking happier,” Melly comments as she sets down the plates of food. She leaves Jerry’s on the counter, knowing her husband will grab it when he comes back inside from dealing with the yard.

Lilly can’t help the way she smiles slightly and practically preens at the acknowledgment that she seems happier. Elvis might not be—Elvis might not have been by since that afternoon but there was something so beautiful about his actions, so gentle and nourishing about him that it stuck with her. The throbbing in her vagina’s finally stopped after days of her cupping it and playing with it next to Nathan’s snoring body, wishing her fingers were thicker and longer and wishing it was Elvis’s cock sliding in and out of her. That he was keeping her full and telling her he’s got her, he’s always got her while filling her with so much of his release that there’d be no other choice but to swell with his child.

She doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s taken another man to make her feel a way she hasn't for years. She can’t dwell on that because it’s improper and she’d like to just bask in the glow of everything for now. She’d like to bask in the glow of things before a different glow would overtake her.

“I feel happier.” Lilly answers, still continuing to grin as she digs into the food. There’s a hint of nausea at some of it but she chalks it up to being hungry. “I feel different.”

Melly’s eyebrows both move upward as she settles into her chair and takes a bite of her toast first, knowing how her stomach reacts to food without a bland base to start off with. “Different. Does that have anything to do with Nathan and you? Anything you want to tell me?”

Lilly’s hand stills in its subconscious rubbing as her eyes widen. “No. Not—not yet.”

There’s something that shifts in Melly, a brightness that shines through as she looks at Lilly. If she is pregnant it's too soon to tell but the idea that she'd be carrying her second while Lilly is finally carrying her first delights her in ways she can't put into words. It's perhaps a secret dream she's always had. The scrape of her chair against the linoleum is harsh to both their ears and yet it’s a small price to pay for the feel of Melly’s hand against her stomach.

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?” Melly’s voice comes out as a whisper, as if she’s scared to speak it any louder. “You’ll tell me I’ll have a niece or nephew on the way?”

Lilly nods quickly as she hears the door open and hears Jerry’s voice carry into the kitchen. Melly’s hand moves off of her stomach as quick as can be before Jerry pops his head in and smiles. “Won’t ask what you two were doing before I got here.”

Life doesn't stop that Sunday and instead continues on and on with one week passing by and then another and another until Lilly knows she's due for her cycle and yet it doesn't appear. Her underwear remains pristine and white with not a drop of blood in sight. She doesn't dare tell Melly or anyone yet, knowing it could be a fluke, a stress induced issue but she swears she feels her womb hardening. She swears she feels it bloating in a way that feels different than what comes before her cycle. Perhaps, perhaps Elvis had done it. Perhaps Elvis had filled her and their child was forming unbeknownst to either of them. It occurs to her that she should try and reach out to him and see if he can come by her home. There's nothing that's broken for him to be fixed and yet he deserves to know what's happening inside her. That soon her stomach will round outward and their child will kick and roll and grow inside of her. That she is still married but it would be cruel to deprive him of ever knowing of their child.

It's too soon for him to know, she'll tell him when she's sure, when there's no mistaking what has happened to her because of their actions that afternoon. She'll tell him then, she'll convince him to come by and press his hand against her stomach so he can feel what he's—what she wished and prayed to have happen even as he washed himself out of her. He ought to be able to be in their life somehow because he's their father and he'd make such a brilliant one. He'd make such a brilliant one and her mind traitorously tells her it's a shame she wouldn't be raising the child with him.

Six weeks is a long time for him to be avoiding Lilly and he knows that. He knows that she didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like that—to be left without company and companionship like that but he can't help it. He can't help how his mind drifts when his exhaustion sets in remembering how her body felt against his when they danced and when she sagged against him. It’s a sin to covet a man’s wife as much as he covets Lilly. It’s a sin to want to be in another man’s home taking care of his wife in any way she’ll let him. It’s a sin and yet it feels so right, it feels like he’d be doing what he’s meant to be doing. Elvis is not her husband and yet his mind—his traitorous mind and soul tells him he should be and tells him she needs him in some way. She’s been happier, he thinks, since that afternoon—and his mind tells him that he had something to do with that. There’s a glow about her and it draws him in like a moth to a flame before he pulls himself away every Sunday when she passes off her niece. A nagging thought crosses his mind as the weeks go by and he swears that glow is stronger every time he sees her, that perhaps it wasn’t just happiness and joy causing her to glow that way. He ought to ask her and yet the idea feels invasive in a way that makes him think he has to find the right time for it. If his suspicions prove to be correct, he figures they both will need time to process it.

Six weeks is a long time for him to avoid her and it makes it so that when he gets a call that sounds like Lilly crying there isn’t a moment of hesitation before he finds himself jumping into his truck and driving to her house she shares with her husband. Her door is unlocked and he wants to admonish her for it, tell her that she shouldn’t leave the door unlocked because you never know who might come in but then he sees her. He sees her tear stained face and her rumpled dress and fears the worst. A flash of pure anger courses through his veins as his mind swirls with possibilities of why she’s crying. Why her face and body betray such anguish that it twists his gut and has his mouth opening to speak before her voice sounding so small in a way he’s never heard interrupts him.

“I was waiting. I was being careful!” Her words don’t make sense to Elvis even as his eyes trace over her form and around the house where they’re standing as if either thing holds the clue for what’s going on. As if some part of the way she’s carrying herself—hunched over—or the way things seem out of place—her lunch was sitting on the table only half eaten—would explain what’s happening, why she had called him crying, muttering about needing to fix things.

His tone is soft and comforting as he moves to touch her shoulder, to pull her into some form of a hug. “Darlin’—” The word slips out before he can stop himself but he continues. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

Her eyes look up at him and he’s struck by how bloodshot they look. How long had she been crying? How long had her body been wracked by sobs that no one was there to comfort her from? Elvis watches as her mouth opens and closes several times before she shakes her head. “I—the oven is broke again.”

“Lil—Mrs. Harris, things I fix don’t break like that. Not this quick.” He tries to defend his work, knowing there’s no Earthly way that it was broken already. He had made sure to fix it, he had made sure that her oven wouldn’t need his touch for quite a long time after he was inside of it that day. In the back of his mind he thinks he’s missing something.

“It’s broken, Mr. Presley. It’s broken and can’t keep heat and bake anything and I’ll call someone else over if you won’t fix it. Just please take a look at it. Just make it work like I thought it was.” Lilly’s voice shakes but doesn’t waver when she speaks. If anything it seems to get stronger the longer she speaks. It seems she’s more insistent with every word that comes from her mouth. Something is broken—the oven he was supposed to fix is broken and she wants him to check it again. That nagging feeling grows as he looks at her in confusion. He prides himself on being a smart enough man, but… maybe it’s because she clouds his judgment. He can’t tell what she’s talking about.

“Lil—Lilly, why did you call me here?” He manages to almost stutter out the words, wincing he hears it. She has to answer him when he asks point blank, doesn’t she?

Lilly is silent for the longest while and Elvis thinks he pushed too hard, thinks that he’s overstepped for once—twice—in their friendship and opens his mouth to apologize before she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. In a rush everything clicks into place for Elvis and swears his heart stops. He should move his hand and yet he can’t, it’s almost as if there’s a magnet keeping his hand attached to her stomach. The oven is broken, her oven is broken and empty and can’t keep heat.

The night before, when his body gave out and had him sleep he tossed and turned over images of him and Lilly together. Images of her swollen with a child and laughing next to him. He remembers being on his knees kissing her still-flat stomach and laughing with her hand over his and telling her how she’s made him the happiest man alive. He could still hear her giggles ringing in his ears when he woke up. That was fantasy, a dream dreamed up by an old man who shouldn’t be dreaming of a life with a woman he isn’t married to and who is married to another. They’re brilliant company for each other but—but she is not his wife and he is not her husband.

“I’m sorry.” Elvis whispers the words and they feel so insubstantial, so insignificant to what he feels in this moment. The sorrow he feels for her being fed by her tears and the way her silence just drags on and on. Perhaps this was his doing, perhaps there was something there and he had broken it. Perhaps—perhaps he should have been selfish and not cleaned his release from her. Or perhaps—he can’t dwell on it. It threatens to drive him mad if he does.

And yet his mind can't shake another time and place where his hand is there for another reason, with her hand over his, a smile on her face instead of tears rolling down her cheeks and onto his suit as she curls into a hug he offers. She looks so young and yet like she's been crushed by the world all at once. A flower run over on the side of the road, soaked in the gutter. The attempt he finally makes to move his hand is thwarted by her own grasping his wrist, forcing him to press down to feel that she's bloated but still very empty.

It was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to go well, she had prayed and begged and cradled her womb and for what? For her cycle to be off and there to be blood mocking her in her underwear? For there to be cramping that feels like it might threaten to tear her in two. No one she’s known has lost a baby, there’s no one she can ask to see if that’s what’s happening. If the child she swore was growing from the moment Elvis released inside of her not once but twice was gone. Or if there just wasn’t one at all and she had been deluding herself. Either option feels almost unbearable and feels like a lead weight in her stomach.

Elvis doesn’t speak and Lilly’s thankful for it. Her dream of telling him and them figuring out how he would be involved has been flushed down the toilet multiple times today and is currently flowing between her legs. Her hand finally loosens its grip on his wrist and her chest tightens as she looks into his eyes. Those blue eyes shouldn’t be so caring, they shouldn’t look so caring when looking at her. There shouldn’t be sympathy in those eyes directed toward her or her empty womb. Yet there is and Lilly is struck not for the first time at how different Elvis is from Nathan. She’s struck by how she’s been in this sort of position before with her husband and she doesn’t recall there being nearly as much care and—dare she even pretend?—-anguish in his gaze. She remembers frustration at himself or, or her? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall just now.

“I—I was late,” She starts, and shakes her head, sniffling. “I was late for my cycle and I didn’t—I don’t know why I called you.”

Elvis doesn’t dare say the first thoughts that come to mind. Doesn’t dare tell her that he thinks she knows exactly why she called him because the mere idea shouldn’t be put into words. He’s already damned himself and her anguish, her pain is perhaps a consequence of it. Had he not given in to his baser urges perhaps Nathan would have given her a child that she could tell him she was growing inside of her. If he hadn’t given into his baser urges she wouldn’t have thought his child was growing inside of her. He shuts his eyes, trying to not think of the image of her swollen with his child once again.

“Comfort?” The word as an answer feels safe and from the look on Lilly’s face, how it relaxes just a little bit and how her hunched over position straightens out even as she grimaces in pain he was right. However, that urge to fix that had caused so many problems rears its ugly head again and Elvis knows he should ignore it but the grimace on her face reminds him that she’s in pain and to leave her in pain without attempting to help her feels cruel. It feels cruel to just allow her to deal with this on her own. Perhaps that’s why she had called him, taken the chance that he wouldn’t want her to be alone in this situation. Taken the chance to assume he missed her and just wants what he's craved from her more than anything else: her company.

A nod is the only thing she manages before her body is wracked with another flare of pain as Elvis watches. He’s never—he’s never been here when she’s on her cycle so he doesn’t know if this is normal or not but he remembers June and remembers the other girls and knows, in this moment, he can’t leave her like this. Especially after she had called him. His mind tries to think back on what other women would do before he remembers how some would curl up in bed and ask for heat and any number of other things. The flash of memory at her in the bath after their activities and a flash of a fantasy of her in the bath with him runs through his thoughts until he shakes his head to clear it.

“Missus—Lilly. Darlin’, I—wouldn’t it be better to be laying down? For your pain?” His words are chosen as carefully as he can and yet he still feels like he might have said the wrong thing until he sees her move to lean and sag against him as if he’s the only thing that’s going to keep her standing in this exact moment.

“My—oh, just help me to my bedroom, you don’t—” The words are lost as Elvis picks her up, earning a bit of a shocked gasp from her. “You don’t have to pick me up, I can w-walk.”

Elvis stays silent for a moment or so as he walks, ignoring the ache in his knees that tell him he should have prepared more for this. That he should have known better than to pick Lilly up like this and yet he finds that it’s easy to ignore the ache as her protest grows a little quieter and she practically burrows into his hold. He is not her husband and yet he wonders if her husband’s ever done this for her. Ever treated her with care when she’s like this.

Nathan had noticed her pain that morning and brushed it off, much to Lilly’s frustration. It’s not that she wanted him to know she had engaged in a transgression but she was his wife and she was in pain. Jerry had made sure Melly was taken care of after Lizzie and Nathan couldn’t even be bothered to call her sister or anyone. The neglect is what feels like an even worse knife than the one she swears she feels in her lower stomach. The neglect is why she called Mr—Elvis. Even in the short time she’s at least partially known him—the actual him, not the image she had of the man who taught her niece’s Sunday school—has taken care of her and hasn’t left her to rot and wallow in her pain and loneliness. He’s kept her company and fixed so many things around her house that at this point she’s thinking she’s going to have to break things just to have an excuse to get him to visit under the guise of working.

She knows she shouldn’t relax in his hold, she shouldn’t burrow into his arms like he’s her husband and he’s just carrying her to their bed but she can’t help it, the sheer joy and calmness that settles over her from the care he shows overwhelming her. His arms allow her to feel safe in the moment, help her to forget how much pain she’s in physically and mentally. They are a balm to her aches even as she potentially causes some for him. It doesn’t take too long for him to reach her bedroom, using his body to open the door the entire way from its cracked open position. Lilly hears him sigh and feels his head move to try and avoid looking around before she feels him shift her in his arms.There’s a difference, she thinks, in knowing that he would have to eventually set her down on her bed and him actually doing it.

A shiver runs through her body that has Elvis’s grip tightening as he moves his hands away. It’s not cold and yet here she was shivering like she was that fateful night.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low and questioning in a way that he shouldn’t be.

“You’re warm,” she whispers back at him, looking into his eyes and trying to pretend that answers everything. Pretend that telling him he’s warm will get him to stay and comfort her until it’s time for Nathan, cold, icily indifferent Nathan to be home. “I feel—it felt good.”

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before his breath catches in his throat at the sheer intensity of the look she’s giving him. He can’t put a name to what he sees in her eyes, only that it threatens to overwhelm him if he stares at her for too much longer. He has to leave, he needs to go back to work or home or just somewhere where her eyes aren’t burning holes into his soul. He finally starts to step away only for Lilly’s arm to find its way in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Her hand moves to grab his and grasps it so tightly he can’t wrench it from her.

“Can you—can you stay?” She asks, quiet as a church mouse and looking as if she expects him to say no. As if she expects to be left alone to deal with things once again. It makes his stomach roil and twist and he feels almost like throwing up before he moves to sit down on the bed.

“Not for too long, Lilly,” he answers, as he watches her move to the other side of the bed, letting go of his hand as she does. He sits down, groaning slightly as he does at the feel of her bed underneath him. It dips more than it did when she was occupying the same spot, his weight causing the springs to creak just a bit more. Lilly waits until he gets comfortable to move closer to him. He stays sitting, his body leaning against the headboard, not even daring to try and lay down in her marriage bed. It makes trying to cuddle with him harder than it should be but after a moment of a deliberation she settles on laying her head in his lap. The warmth of his belly seeps into her head, soothing any headache she’s gained from crying and the vantage point allows her to feel encased in what feels like a protective shell. Elvis tries to keep his hands to himself but as he feels Lilly settle against him and sees every wince and shift his hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. Scratching ever so softly against her scalp. Lilly’s sigh tells him it was the right thing to do and emboldens him to sing, breathe out into the world the first song that comes to mind when he thinks of her.

Lilly hears Elvis’s voice singing Jo Stafford to her, a song she’s only heard once or twice before but it feels so romantic that something inside her chest feels warm and feels almost like it’s blossoming the more she hears his voice singing in that low tone, his hands flowing through her hair.

“But just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me,” he sings, watching as Lilly’s eyes start to flutter shut, the pain and the emotions of today getting the best of her. The more he sings the more he realizes he wishes those words were true. The more he wishes he wouldn’t have to leave in a few hours. But she is not his wife and he is not her husband and he’ll leave in a few hours as he should. He’ll leave after he shakes her awake lightly, grimacing as she winces in pain and as her eyes practically beg him to stay once again. He'll leave watching her curl back into her sheets but won't see her head move to where he had been sitting or see her hands grab at the pillow that had been behind his back.

She will wake up alone right before Nathan comes home. She will wake up to a simple dinner made with two plates on the table.

She calls him back over the next day.

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @coolgirl462, @vintageshanny, @memphisflash1935-1977, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @tryingtogettoelvis, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @moodyblueriver, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons good heavens, i think that's everyone. those of you who didn't get the tag, know i'm gonna head to the messages within the day. also i including those of you who reblogged the first chapter. i would have done likes as well but there- there was a hefty chunk and i didn't know for sure if you all wanted to be tagged.

additional explanation: so if you haven't just read the fic instead of just scrolling down to the bottom to see what's up, hello. but even if you did just read the fic, let the record show that i myself did write this with the idea that lilly had a very early miscarriage. and it's why i added a tag just in case for it since i know some people avoid the subject matter for their own mental health. however i purposefully left it nebulous because she herself wouldn't know for sure and it's- the same result occurs either way, she is not pregnant and that wrecks her emotionally because she had put so much stock in the possibility that she would be. no matter what if she wasn't pregnant she was going to be sad and depressed and generally in a state of anguish. so, you can read this whichever way you want, it does not really change the intent/what happens afterward in this. but i didn't want to directly spoil all of you in the warnings especially since it causes a turning point of sorts, but i also don't want anyone to be in duress because of me. also i promise honestly these two have a happy ending, just trust me like y'all trusted me with professor presley, okay?

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin'#elvis x lilly #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #spark universe #elvis x reader #crawfever adjacent #elvis #ally writes #tw: miscarriage

185 notes · View notes