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a-kaash-me-outside · 1 year

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𝕚 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ~ 10k ᴡᴏʀᴅs (exactly) ✧ nsfw ✧ minors dni!! ✧

slight voyuerism, overstim, threesome, super sweet aftercare uwu

truthfully was not a kuroo simp before this and then i wrote this piece and now i’m literally so in love with him absolutely so soft for him so take that as u will

"I have a question for you.”

Before you've even turned over to face him, before you can even see the expression on his face, the one that looks like he's trying so hard to hide the mischief and failing miserably, you know that this question will not be a simple feat. "Kinda ominous that you started out with that and not just asking me the question," you say, flipping over on your side, propping yourself up on your elbow, "but I'll bite. What's up?"

“We’re close enough for me to ask you this question, I think,” he says, matching your position, jaw resting in the palm of his hand as his elbow sinks into the pillow beneath him.

“Considering you were literally inside of me about 15 minutes ago, it worries me that you only think we’re close enough,” you retort.

"If you would be so willing," he starts, the facade already slipping and the real intent shining through as he ignores your comment.

You cut him off, squinting at him and trying to pinpoint what emotion exactly is floating to the surface. "Seems less so now, but go on..."

"I need your help with something," he states plainly, innocently, despite the fact that you know whatever else comes out of his mouth won't be.

"You sure are dancing around this question, Kuroo," you reply.

"I have this theory, right," he pauses, giving you just enough time for your brain to start to wander, but not enough time to flesh out the details, "centered around limits and, well, someone exactly like you." The smirk on his face is in full view now, no remorse and no concealing the way that the corner of his lip pulls upward towards his narrowed eyes or the way they scan you, slowly, but not critically.

“What kind of limits?” you ask, skeptical now and just as equally intrigued.

"Ones that involve you being completely naked and having a lot of trust in me and Tsukishima," he explains, as plainly stated as he possibly could for the words that he just spoke.

There are a million things that want to come out of your mouth, but the only thing that actually does is, "I'm sorry, what?" The shock doesn’t come from the thought of you being naked in front of him. You’ve done it plenty of times before and felt completely comfortable doing so. Honestly, you always have. It’s one of the perks of the fluidity of your relationship, the casualness of it all, more than friends, definitely not partners, some weird blend of best friends and fuck buddies.

It isn’t about the trust either; you trust both of them completely. It’s the combination of the two. The only time that you hang out with Tsukishima is around Kuroo or in big group settings. There are a handful of names that could’ve come out of Kuroo’s mouth that would have made more sense than Tsukishima, someone that you’ve barely had solo interactions with, let alone shown any sort of romantic or sexual interest, no matter how attractive you thought he was or how much sexual interest was actually there.

He doesn't respond, just gives you time to soak in what he's said, so you continue, "What do you mean by 'someone exactly like me', like it has to be me or…”

This time he answers straight away, looking directly into your eyes, giving you something to focus on as your head spins around the proposal. "It has to be you, but there's no pressure, is what I mean."

The vague praise makes a heat rise into your cheeks. Has to be you. You push past it, worrying that if you linger for too long, Kuroo will definitely start to notice. "But what kind of limits? You didn't really answer my que-."

“The more you know, the more prepared you'll feel and the less accurate and genuine your reactions will be," he explains, pausing to let you get the full effect of every single one of his words. "But you can trust me and Tsukki," he continues, "We'll take care of you."

You’re silent, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. And then it clicks. "Are you asking me if I'll have a threesome with you and Tsukishima? Is that what you're asking?" you blatantly pose, trying to figure out if this is some weird, convoluted way of approaching a difficult situation.

For the first time tonight, and maybe ever, you've shocked Kuroo, his demeanor faltering until he clears his throat. "Kinda? I guess," he starts, not really looking at you, but thinking, mulling over the question in his head before shaking it and back-pedaling, "I really want to test this theory that I have and Tsukishima agreed to be my assistant and," he turns the palm that’s not supporting his head upward and takes a deep breath, "will you help me?"

"Like, by take care of me, you mean...," you trail off, knowing that he’ll fill in the blanks without you having to reach for it.

He moves closer to you, smirking at your curiosity. "I mean exactly what you're thinking." He pauses, wondering if he should take it as far as the thoughts in his head, and then he does, “just like I did tonight.”

You rush to respond, to distract yourself from the feeling that’s rising into your core, the one that’s making your heart rate quicken and palms begin to sweat. “Yes, Kuroo, I will have a threesome with you and Tsukishima. All you had to do was ask,” you tease, your voice just as strong as you need it to be.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, short and light, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist gently, extending his fingers against your palm and stroking the soft skin. His entire aura changes in an instant, the cockiness and complex fading away, leaving behind a look of sincerity and concern. “Seriously, though, if you don’t feel comf-.”

Your response is instant, almost instinctual. "I trust you," you say because it's true.

His smile reappears, more confident now as he presses a quick kiss into the side of your hand, his eyes boring into yours as he does. “Good.”

The way that you were envisioning it, you were so absolutely sure that the science aspect of it would be pushed to the side. You knew that Kuroo was a science nerd at heart, sure, but there was no way that that would take priority over the fact that no matter how you sliced it, you were about to have a threesome with two very attractive men.

Walking into Kuroo's house feels exactly like every other time you've walked into Kuroo's house, nothing ominous or altered about it. You kick off your shoes in the exact same way, you call out Kuroo's name in the exact same way, you throw your things on the side table right next to the door in the exact same way, and yet, Kuroo doesn't greet you in the exact same way.

Kuroo doesn't greet you at all.

It's Tsukishima that you see first, and who sees you first, and it's only then that you realize how different tonight has the potential of being.

Still, you raise your hand in a nonchalant greeting, murmuring some sort of pleasantry that doesn't get returned to you. He only offers a small, "Hey." You can't get a good read on him, on whatever he's feeling, and it's so much different than Kuroo.

With Kuroo, you could read every emotion that he wore, even if it was only there for half a second. You're not sure if that's the result of who Kuroo is, how long you've known him, or how well you know him. Either way, it was a luxury that you didn't have with Tsukishima, his eyes looking you up and down, but not saying another word or giving way to whatever he was thinking.

You ignore his lack of reciprocation and ask him directly, "Do you know where Kuroo's at?"

"Sorry!" Kuroo calls from the other room, not letting Tsukishima answer, though you're not certain he would've. "I was finishing setting up. You're early."

"Yeah! Well, I made the first train so I didn't have to wait for the late one," you explain, the small talk feeling so foreign. "I hope that's okay," the courtesy also feeling very foreign. The air feels equally as foreign and you almost feel like you shouldn't be there.

And then Kuroo flashes a smile at you. He takes two quick, lengthy strides towards you, pushing your hair out of your face and leaning in close enough so that only you can hear him say, "Are you nervous?"

The unfamiliarity that was brought along by the possibility of rigidity fades away as soon as you feel Kuroo next to you, instantly feeling at ease again. You pull back from him, only a few inches to play into the question. “Why would I be nervous?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “Should I be nervous?”

"You don't have any reason to be nervous, no," Kuroo denies. He takes you by the hand and pulls you along with him. "Thanks again for agreeing to help out. Do you want to get started?"

The formality almost makes you laugh, and you're grateful for it. There is plenty about this situation that could have made you spiral, but just being around Kuroo is making you feel so much more at ease. "Absolutely," you confirm.

You follow him down the hall, your hand still in his despite the fact that you're pretty sure that you know his house layout better than your own. In fact, you're sure that if you were blindfolded, you could find your way to Kuroo's bedroom. The bedroom that you just passed.

You're about to open your mouth, to poke fun at him for missing his own bedroom or to wonder aloud why you were walking so far, but then he stops abruptly in front of a door.

"Your office?" you ask.

He nods, looking down at you and explaining, "Repurposed for testing."

His response surprises you, given the fact that up until this point you were still convinced that this was just a strangely-veiled setup for a normal threesome. The surprise doesn't have the chance to settle before more sets in.

He pushes open the door to his office, but it's not the same as it was the few times you've been in here before. The furniture is all pushed against the walls, making way for a long, steel table in the center of a perfectly white sheet on the floor. Beside it stood a matching, but significantly smaller, table holding a variety of neatly placed, and equally distanced toys. Your gaze doesn't remain on the table long, far more intrigued by the hinged lamp that was positioned next to it, pointed directly at the table, but turned off.

The scene in front of you is like nothing you expected. You outstretch your arm, fingers spanning until they make contact with the table. It's so much colder than you think it's going to be, the chill sending shivers up your arms and throughout your body.

Kuroo can see the overwhelm in your movements and reactions, so he reaches out his hand and places it on top of yours, combatting the feeling of cold that's transferring to your body so easily. "Is this okay?" he asks.

He's not talking about the hand placement, you know that. He's talking about the place that you're in, the company that's downstairs, what he's going to ask of you, to do to you, what the future holds. He curls his fingers around your own and withdrawals them from the table, fast enough for you to forget what the metal feels like against your skin, but not too fast as to startle you.

You remember back to the conversation that you had with him, how much he cared about you feeling comfortable and not pressured. You remember back to how Kuroo's been the entire time you've known him. And then he solidifies it.

"I meant what I said," he mutters into your shoulder, "We'll take care of you. You can trust us. I promise."

He places his hands on your hips, kissing up your shoulder gently and pulling you into him, your entire body weight resting on him. "Okay," you reply, letting yourself relax. "Yeah. I trust you."

You can feel the kisses against your skin turn to smiles before he turns you around to face him, the small of your back resting against the edge of the table. "Can I let Tsukishima undress you?" he asks, your body turning rigid at the unfamiliarity of the concept. "Please."

You don't reply, not fast enough at least, because Kuroo runs his hand up your body and places it under your chin, pinching it gently between his fingers. "What happened to trusting us, to letting us take care of you?" he asks, "Give up control, okay?"

“Okay,” you respond, maybe too quickly as you exhale the breath out of your lungs.

“Okay, what?” Kuroo asks, lowering himself so that he can look into your eyes more easily.

“Okay, I’ll give up control,” you explain. You wait for Kuroo’s response, but it doesn’t come. He stands there, eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he waits for you to continue. “Okay, I’ll let Tsukishima undress me.” Your cheeks feel warm as the words come out of your mouth.

Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge you, just turns his head towards the entrance, immediately calling out of the room for Tsukishima who appears in the doorway in an instant. “We’re ready.” Tsukishima replaces Kuroo in front of you so seamlessly as Kuroo moves to the smaller table, pushing things around ever so slightly.

“Turn around,” he says, quietly. The words aren’t nearly as loud and commanding as Kuroo’s, but you still want to follow every direction he says. His slender fingers grab the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards as his fingers scrape against your stomach, his hips pressed firmly against the back of you.

Despite how much of your skin that he’s touching and the goosebumps that it’s leaving behind, it all feels so precise, so scientific. You lift your arms, allowing Tsukishima to pull it over your head. You know that if it was Kuroo, your shirt would have been in a heap on the floor 15 seconds ago, but Tsukishima is taking his time, to tease you or not to make any mistakes, you’re not exactly sure. He straightens out your shirt, folding it in half, tucking the sleeves, and then folding it in half again, before setting it down gently onto the corner of the smaller table.

His fingers are moving with so much care, each tiny movement planned and meticulous, and it’s affecting you far more than it should be. He snakes his arms around your waist, unbuttoning your pants, pulling down the zipper, navigating through touch alone. The contact brings you a comfort you didn’t expect, relaxing into Tsukishima’s arms and resting yourself against his chest. You feel him tense, lose his poise, if only for a beat. He slides your pants off, hooking his thumbs into your underwear and dragging them down in the same motion.

His hands don’t linger longer than they need to, but God, do you want them to, wish they would hover over every inch of you just light enough so that you could feel their presence. He doesn’t even need to touch you. You just want him to be there. “On the table,” he directs, breaking you out of your escalating thoughts. He folds your pants with the same amount of care, in half, matching the hems, and then in half two more times, setting them on top of your shirt.

You listen without acknowledging, climbing onto the table. “On your back,” Tsukishima specifies. You nod this time, hands bracing the table as you lower yourself slowly until your back is flat against it.

You’re not sure what shocks you more, how cold the metal is or how hard it is. There’s no forgiveness in the solid sheet you’re lying on top of. You arch ever so slightly in reaction to the sudden change. Tsukishima’s hand lies gently on your stomach, pushing, not harshly, to counter your movement, until you’re flat on the table again, embracing the uncomfortability of the material.

It’s Kuroo, now, that towers over top of you, looking down at you with a look so void of lust and filled with authority and inquiry. You feel so exposed. You’ve been naked in front of Kuroo so many times before, but this feels like an entirely new experience. “I’ll explain,” Kuroo says, distracting you, if only for a moment, from how on display you feel.

“It all started with an observation,” he kneels down right next to your face. You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still, concentrating on yours as he speaks. “Sex with you is incredible.” And now you know why he keeps his eyes trained on yours, the effect showing so strong within them.

“So I was thinking, why is that? There are some obvious reasons,” he says, smiling as he pulls a reaction out of you once again, “but more than anything else, I think it’s because of how determined you are to hold off on your first orgasm.”

You blush at this, at the fact that he notices it in the first place and the fact that he’s saying it aloud with such pride. It doesn’t make complete sense, though, in your brain, why that would equate to the sex being incredible. He answers your unspoken question.

He stands up, no longer worrying about how affected you are by what he says. “You focus so hard, so intently, on not coming for as long as you can so that your first orgasm is unsurmountable. Am I wrong? That would be really awkward if I was wrong.”

You shake your head, because, of course, he’s not wrong. You’ve always loved holding it, thought it made the pay off so much sweeter, and it definitely did. He knew it too.

“So, then, I had a theory,” he says, walking to the foot of the table, placing both of his hands on each of your ankles, pulling them apart. “that you would stay so strong in the beginning, but then, as time goes on, you would crumble away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left.”

Your jaw falls open so subtly, but Kuroo notices, doesn’t try to hide his smirk as he does. “All you have to do,” he starts, “is wait to come for as long as you possibly can.” He runs his hands up your calves, massaging into them, and pushing up until he gets to the insides of your thighs. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, slowly at first, because you’re not even sure that the movements are conscious, but then you feel his thumb digging into your thigh, rubbing pressured circles into the muscle, and a verbal confirmation following a breathy whimper leaves your mouth.

“Great. Tsukishima, tell her the spiel,” Kuroo says, lifting his grip from off of your thighs so suddenly that another whimper breaks from your lips. Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge it as he starts picking things up from the table beside you.

“We’re working on a colored system. If at any time you’re feeling like something is moving into a place where it’s too much to handle, say yellow. We’ll stop, make sure you’re okay, slow down, adjust. If at any time, it’s too much and you need to stop for good, say red. We’ll stop, help you however you need to feel okay again,” Tsukishima explains, his hand resting on your arm the entire time, the touch helping you focus on every word.

“If you can’t speak, three firm taps, squeezes, contact of any kind, whatever you can manage. Just three, repetitive motions, okay?” he asks.

“Okay. Yellow, red, three touches. I got it,” you repeat, nodding along, and then tacking on a, “Thank you, Tsukishima.”

You’re so focused on Tsukishima’s words and the grasp that he has on your arm that you only notice Kuroo lowering himself next to you when he’s already there. He’s rubbing his thumb against the pads of his two fingers, pulling them apart meticulously as a string of liquid connects them together.

He reaches his hand down, careful not to get the liquid on anything other than where he’s aiming. His fingers hover between your legs, not making any contact yet, just lingering. He speaks at the exact moment that he dips his fingers between your lips, the coolness of the lube rivaling the metal on your back when you first came into contact with it, “I’m going to let Tsukishima fuck you first, okay?”

Air draws into your lungs quickly, a small, sharp inhale both from the words and the feeling. “Okay,” you reply.

Kuroo rubs the lube between your lips. He lets his fingertips graze over your hole, teasing it, gently prodding, but not inserting them, not yet. “More lube,” he says, pulling his fingers away from your hole, but still between your lips. He rubs your clit with the length of his digits, letting the bundle of nerves slide between the creases of his fingers as you watch them intently.

Tsukishima uncaps the bottle, letting a generous stream of lube pour onto your pussy, the excess dripping between your legs and onto the table. Kuroo adds another finger, rubbing the pads of them over top of your lips, repetitively moving them up and down until he slips the middle one inside of you.

“I’m going to stretch you out first,” he tells you, as he pushes as deep as he can go, his other fingers resting against your ass. Both Kuroo and Tsukishima are watching you so closely, your body language and your facial expressions and the way you move when Kuroo adds another finger and then another until his three fingers are slowly stretching you.

He slides his fingers in and out of you, reaching down with his other hand to rub your clit. You hum at the additional contact, feeling your own wetness add to the lubrication between your legs. Kuroo’s fingers feel so good, but they’re not deep enough. “Tsukishima’s going to fuck you now,” Kuroo says, no confirmation at the end of it this time. Still, you nod.

“Move to the end of the table,” Kuroo says as he removes his fingers from you. You listen immediately, scooching to the edge, legs dangling off of the side as Tsukishima positions himself between them.

Tsukishima has his fist around his cock, stroking the length steadily, rubbing lube over the top of his head as he moves closer to you. The unfamiliarity of it all is setting in, your breath quickening as Tsukishima places one hand on your knee, spreading your legs open even further. He rubs his head between your lips, letting your wetness spread over the tip before pushing inside of you.

He grabs the undersides of both of your knees, holding your legs up and pushing them into your chest as he gets deeper inside of you. He’s not as thick as Kuroo, but he’s so long. You let your head tilt back into the hard surface, gazing up at the ceiling as you concentrate on each inch being inserted inside of you.

He’s so deep and he just keeps getting deeper, pushing into you until his hips are directly against your thighs. You can barely catch a good breath, looking up at him, seeing the bliss in his eyes before he starts moving, pulling out slowly and pushing back in even slower.

You can feel it building up in your stomach as he continues the repetitive motions, but it’s nothing you can’t manage. You look directly up at Tsukishima, staring into his eyes as he thrusts in and out of you. You want to tell him to move faster, but you know that you should pace yourself, know that Tsukishima is probably giving you exactly what you need for how early it is in the night.

“Tell me, how long do you think you can hold it when you can’t breathe? When you’re concentrating on staying conscious instead of holding your orgasm?” Kuroo questions, positioned directly next to your face, pumping his fist around his cock. “Open.”

It’s like they’ve planned it. The second that Kuroo finishes the word open, Tsukishima starts fucking into you faster, holding you in place by your hips as he thrusts so deep inside of you. He lets you feel his entire length slide in and out of your hole, not sacrificing anything for how fast he’s getting.

You can barely part your lips before Kuroo’s head is between them. He pushes his hips forward, spreading your lips with his girth and your mouth feels so full so quickly. You weren’t a stranger to Kuroo fucking your throat. You both loved it. But there was something so different about it when you could feel another cock ramming in and out of you.

He pushes into your mouth slowly, your jaw opening as wide as it needs to compensate for how thick he was. You can feel the underside of his cock slide against your tongue, the head driving into the back of your throat, gently prodding at it before withdrawing.

It’s harsher this time, the thrust inside of your mouth. You can feel the spit coming from the back of your throat and coating him as he messily fucks your mouth, your lips stretching around him. His head rams against the back wall so rough that you gag violently. You can feel Kuroo stroking the sides of your face, his hands migrating down to your throat as he massages his thumb into your airway.

He pushes his cock as deep as it can go, your nose against his hip, but he doesn’t pull back this time. He just keeps it there, blocking any air that begs to come through. He reaches down, plugging your nose so that there’s absolutely no chance of you getting any oxygen. You don’t know what to concentrate on as your head feels lighter.

Tsukishima’s thrusts into you haven’t stopped, have only gotten more ruthless as he watches Kuroo abuse your throat. He’s so deep inside of you that you feel like you can feel him in your stomach, but the longer that Kuroo holds his cock in your mouth, the less you can feel it. Your eyes are shut tightly because you can’t see straight anyways, and your head hurts, and you’re opening and closing your fists because you’re starting to not be able to feel them.

“Switch with me, Tsukishima,” Kuroo says, pulling out of your mouth right before you would have pushed him off.

He moves so quickly, Kuroo, to get between your legs, and when he’s positioned there, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He slides inside of you, grunting at how tight you are around him. He’s not as deep as Tsukishima was, but you can feel how much he’s stretching you already. “Fuck, Kuroo, I’m so fucking full, fuck,” you groan.

He fucks your tight hole faster than your throat, harsher than your throat. He’s being relentless, knowing that he’s the one that wants to make you come for the first time. He wants to be the one to feel you tighten, to ride your high with you.

But not yet. You focus on your Tsukishima’s cock in front of you, capturing his head between your lips and then sliding them down his length, taking him inside of your mouth and then as deep down your throat as you can manage, your fist stroking anything you can’t reach. You concentrate on how he tastes, the noises that escape him. You do everything in your power to ignore what’s going on between your legs, on the mess that Kuroo’s making of you, because if you thought about it, even for a second, you’d be coming all over him.

You concentrate on how your tongue swirls around the head and how the tip fits so perfectly in the slit. You concentrate on how your body twists so that you can massage his balls with your other hand while still stroking the rest of his cock steadily, building speed as you feel his balls tighten. You let his head glide against the back of your tongue, swallowing around him, letting your throat massage the length.

It doesn’t take much more of this meticulous care that you’re giving Tsukishima’s cock or the sight of your entire body bouncing from the force of Kuroo’s thrusts for Tsukishima to come down your throat. He grabs hold of your hair, moving your face at the exact speed that he needs as he uses your mouth just like Kuroo did.

You feel his cock pulse between your lips, your mouth a tight ring around him. It coats your tongue, bitter and warm, and you know that Kuroo is probably so jealous right now. Tsukishima doesn’t stop moving his hips, pushing the cum deeper into your mouth. “Will you swallow for me?” he asks, the first thing he’s asked of you all night. How could you deny that?

You don’t remove his cock from your mouth, you swallow around his length just like you did before. He groans at the feeling of your throat tightening around his sensitive cock, but he doesn’t move. You hollow your cheeks as you pull off of him, sucking any last drop.

It all catches up with you the second that Tsukishima’s cock leaves your mouth. You barely have time to swallow the cum that’s left in your mouth before you’re struggling to control your orgasm. You were working so hard to ignore it before, but you can’t now, the feeling of him fucking into you, still stretching you apart somehow.

Kuroo rests his fingertips on your stomach, his thumb flicking your clit exactly how he knows you like it. You can see how insistent he is on pushing you to your limits and as much as you want to curse at him for testing you, you just don’t have the mind to. It feels so good. He’s making you feel so good, a string of curses and his name flowing from your mouth as you try your hardest to channel the pleasure into something else.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Kuroo says, slamming inside of you harder now. The sentence makes you swallow harshly. You’re so close, so fucking close from the repetitive motions and how thick Kuroo is and how full you feel. He can see it on your face, loves watching you lose control like he has so many times before. It’s his favorite part. He wants to watch you unravel from him, and only him. “Tsukishima, stop touching her,” he commands, so harshly that you feel the dominance of the demand. Tsukishima removes his hand from your shoulder that was lingering there from before.

“You’re so close,” Kuroo breathes, chest heaving as his grip tightens onto your waist, holding you in place as he pounds into you. “I know you’re so close and you’ve been so fucking good for me, waiting, holding off on coming, but I’m going to break you now.” A whimper falls from your lips. You feel so conflicted. You want to just let go, but you know that you have to try harder than you ever have.

“Try to hold it for me, baby, but I’m going to break you. I’m going to come so deep inside of you, and I’m going to fucking break you,” he spits, a look of determination now on his face.

His cock is ramming in and out of you, knocking the breath out of your lungs as soon as it enters, the sound echoing around the room and back at you, definitely not helping the vulgarity of the situation or your determination. Your eyelids close tightly, trying to find some sort of grounds, anything to concentrate on instead of how crude and how good Kuroo looks over top of you.

“Open your eyes, baby, look at me. Look at me,” he coaxes, his hands moving from your hips to your chest, dragging them down your body leisurely, letting you feel the pressure and contact on every part of you. You listen to him, opening your eyes just in time to see him licking his lips. His gaze isn’t on yours, but rather, on you, scanning and staring, and somehow that’s worse.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he repeats, “so fucking deep. I’m so close.”

“I-,” you start, interrupted by the abrupt slam of his hips against you, “I can’t hold it, Kuroo,” you admit, shaking your head, eyes watering, core tightening.

“No?” he asks, and you know that he’s patronizing you, and you just can’t bring yourself to care. You shake your head harder, the tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Can’t,” you mutter. “Feels too good.”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He comes first, draining inside of you so deep that you’re convinced it’ll never come out. You can feel his cock twitching with every stream, can feel him still as he takes in his own orgasm, but then he starts to move again. He’s no longer focused on his own pleasure, on taking the time to savor the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, painting your insides.

He pulls out of you almost completely and fucks back into you even harsher than before. You were completely ready to come on his cock solely from the depth and the pulsing and how full you were feeling, but he’s regaining the momentum that he lost for only a moment. In fact, it’s faster now, more brutal, intent on doing exactly as he said, breaking you, not just making you orgasm, but absolutely destroying you.

His name is the only thing on your mind, the only word that you know at this point, and you can’t stop saying it, mushed together in a string of incoherence, getting louder and louder until you’re screaming.

The orgasm takes you harder than it ever has. Your core cramps, your chest rising off of the table, folding into your knees, your forehead colliding with Kuroo’s chest, resting there for only a moment before you violently fall back into the table. Tsukishima’s there to catch you, his hand placed gently under your head as you crash into it. In any other scenario, you’d feel bad, but you’re quite positive that you couldn’t feel any ounce of bad right now, no matter what happened.

Your body is overcome by pleasure, spreading out your entire being, electrifying everything inside of you and out. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and your hands are closed into fists so tight that you can feel the marks your nails are leaving. Your legs are shaking so violently that even Kuroo’s strong hold can’t stop them. And at some point, your screams for Kuroo turn into high-pitched nonsense and then into silent sobbing.

You know that you had to have been breathing, it lasted far too long for you to go without air, but when you regain control, when your body starts to calm down, and the feelings all subside, you can’t see straight, can’t breathe right. Your mouth is open, gasping for air and expelling it just as quickly and severely. You don’t know what you look like right now and you’re not sure you want to know.

You close your eyes, your entire body sensitive to even the tiniest breeze, and even more sensitive to the fingers in your hair, stroking and petting as you regain composure, and the dull nails scraping against the insides of your thighs, but not far enough to make you convulse again.

You move to sit up. Your core is on fire, but you need to feel some sort of control. You don’t get very far. Kuroo’s hand immediately braces your shoulder, “I’m not done.”

Your mind still feels foggy. You’re barely able to understand exactly what he means. He moves you back to the center of the table, gently, slowly, but the touch still makes your skin feel hot. “That was only the first part, remember?” he asks, spreading your legs apart so slightly, your thighs still touching. “The rest of the theory was about you crumbling away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left. That’s the more fun part.”

Even with the pleasure still taking over your brain, you understand. You hear each word and only now do you feel the implications of them for real. Your body already feels exhausted, spent, so tired, and he wants to put you through even more.

He walks over the table, using tissues to clean himself up before putting his pants back on, letting you recover for a little bit longer. He grasps one of the toys in his hand, the wand, and you’re already feeling your resolve slip away.

He spreads your lips apart. “Can I trust you not to move or should I strap it in place?” he asks before pushing the head directly into your clit, a gasp escaping you as your back rises off of the table. It’s not on, but the pressure of something against your sensitive clit makes you flinch.

“Understood,” he replies to your reaction. “Tsukishima, the belt,” he motions his head towards the table behind him. Tsukishima moves quickly, grabbing the leather strap from the table and snaking it under your thighs. Kuroo moves the wand carefully, lying it in between your closed thighs, your lips wrapped around the head which is pushed into your clit, covering the entirety of it. “Tighten it,” Kuroo commands.

You’ve never seen Tsukishima listen so well without a fight to anyone, especially Kuroo, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, an emotion floating between eagerness and inquisition. Your stare is trained on his fingers as they position the belt over the top of the handle and tighten the strap so that neither your thighs nor the wand can move at all.

“Are you ready to test my theory?” Kuroo asks, standing next to your head, stroking your hair gently as he waits for your reply, a low, confident, hum. “Great. Turn it on, Tsukishima, slow.”

The wand presses into your clit harder as Tsukishima pushes the dial forward. You feel the click first, the signifier that it’s on, and then you feel the vibration. It’s low and weak, but enough to make you jolt at the feeling. If it wasn’t strapped to your thighs, the wand would already be out of place.

“How does that feel? Can you hold it?” Kuroo asks, his hands moving from your hair, grasping onto your shoulders. You hum again, but it’s not in affirmation or denial this time. It’s just a sound, a reply without intent, because honestly, you’re not sure. The vibration is weak against your clit and yet as the seconds tick by, despite the fact that Tsukishima hasn’t touched it at all, it feels like it’s getting stronger, like it’s affecting you more.

Kuroo’s hands move, sliding down your neck and over your collarbones as he rubs them over your chest. His thumbs brush over your nipples, purposefully. The pleasure from your chest spreads throughout you, overlapping the pleasure of the vibrations and you feel almost pathetic from how close you already are.

Kuroo rubs your nipples between his fingers, harshly, rolling them in between the pads repetitively. You arch your back as much as you can, pushing your chest into Kuroo’s grasp, showing him how desperate you’re feeling without saying anything. He listens to your physical beg, uses his whole hand to massage your chest, thumbs still skimming over your hard nipples as his fingers dig into your skin.

The vibrations don’t get stronger, but the pressure does. Tsukishima pushes the head of the wand into your clit harder and it’s getting almost impossible to stay still or to stay quiet. “Kuroo, I- I’m close,” you mumble through half-closed lips.

“Already? That’s great,” he says, stopping just short of a laugh. He continues, “I’m not going to turn it up. I’m just going to let you come from the lowest setting.”

The orgasm reaches you so much softer this time. The build-up is so slow, so gradual, and so are the effects that it has on you. You can feel yourself flood. You roll your hips into the vibrations as much as you can. It’s not breath-taking or life-changing like the one you had witnessed just minutes ago, but your body feels warm.

It only takes you a few beats to catch your breath again, but the wand is still on, moving against your sensitive clit, and Tsukishima reaches down and rolls the dial. The vibrations intensify and the embarrassment of how little it took you to come last time is nothing in comparison to now.

It takes so little for your chest to rise and fall dramatically, the airflow matching the quickening of your pulse and the closeness of another orgasm. “More,” Kuroo says, but it’s not to you. He’s looking directly at Tsukishima. He watches how far he pushes the dial, how much stronger the vibrations come. “Good.”

“I’m- I’m-,” you stutter, not able to say anything else as your eyes close quickly. The orgasm hitting you again, faster and more abrupt this time.

“Fuck,” you whine. You don’t have to tell him. He knows. He can see the way he’s wrecking you with each continuous orgasm. He strokes your jaw, pushes the hair out of your face, wipes the sweat off of your forehead.

“I know, baby, I know. It’s okay,” he coos.

It pushes you over the edge, the extra touch and his words. It’s more intense this time, the feeling that washes over you. It’s not as extreme as your first one, but it’s getting there. You lift your knees off of the table, the wand pressing harder between your legs as you rock against it.

“Look at you,” Kuroo gushes, watching in awe, “Even strapped together, you’re still squirming to make yourself come.” He shakes his head, standing up straight. “Well then, do it. Make yourself come again,” he orders.

You don’t move at first, not exactly sure if he’s serious or just taunting you, but then you see the look of expectancy in his eyes. You slowly bring your knees into your chest again, circling your hips so that the head moves against your clit in a repetitive path. It doesn’t take long for that, coupled with the continuous, almost abusive vibrations to bring you there.

“That’s it. Make yourself come. Move your hips just like that,” he mutters, staring down at your every move. He acts like it’s completely up to you, as if the wand between your legs wasn’t put there by his hands, as if the way you’re moving and grinding isn’t specifically for his eyes, because of his words. “Come for me, again.”

And you listen, not intentionally, just because your body wants to do whatever he wants it to do. You hug your legs, arch your back, driving the wand as harshly against your clit as it can be. You rest your forehead against your knees, moaning into the small space you’ve created, muffled by your own skin and limbs.

As soon as it’s finished, you slowly relax, letting your legs uncurl, the backs of them lying flat against the table once again. You brace yourself on your elbows first before lowering your back as well until you’ve returned to your original position. The vibrations aren’t stopping. You don’t even have time to catch your breath.

Kuroo moves to your side, standing directly across from Tsukishima, and places both of his hands on your legs, holding them down, thighs pushed roughly against the table so that you can’t move at all. You can’t spread your legs or lift them. Any amount of small control you had seconds ago is now completely gone. The only thing you can do is lie there and submit.

It’s Kuroo, this time, that pushes the dial, stretching his finger while keeping his hold on you in place. He lets his finger rest against the wand, feeling the muted vibrations that are coming from the handle. For some reason, knowing that Kuroo’s the one in control again, that he’s the one towering over you and watching you convulse under his touch, brings you closer than the vibrations do.

“Kuroo,” you whimper, his name falling off of your tongue so easily considering that it’s the only thing on your mind. You don’t know whether to beg for more or to concede, welcoming defeat. “Kuroo,” you repeat, begging, but still not sure for what.

“What, baby? Do you want it higher?” he asks, finger moving to the dial again, but not pushing it until he sees your reaction.

You’re nodding, on instinct, with pure need, or just to make him proud, you’re not sure. He smiles at you, “Good girl.” And now you’re sure.

He pushes the dial until the vibrations are so strong that it almost hurts, and yet, the dial doesn’t click again or hit a barrier. Your stomach is in knots just from the contact of the head against you. You regret asking him to turn it up. It barely feels good anymore, the constant, intense buzzing between your legs, but the stimulation is still pushing you towards an orgasm that you’re not sure you can handle anymore.

When you come, the good is good. It might have even felt better than the first time. Though, it doesn’t matter much, because it lasts for mere seconds. Settling in behind it is just the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it definitely didn’t feel good. It almost felt like your entire body was cramping. You wanted to convulse with the motions, feel each wave as it barrelled through you, but you couldn’t move, held down by strong hands. And when it finally fled, the only thing you could feel was how sensitive you were.

But the vibration didn’t stop. No one moved to turn it off, not even with your whining and whimpering, so you opened your mouth, letting your pleas fall out. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sensitive, Kuroo. I can’t,” you ramble, shaking your head against the table.

“You can, you can. You know the system, right? You know what you have to say for me to stop, right?” Kuroo asks.

You nod, eyes shut tightly. You didn’t need him to stop. You could handle it, but the words still pour from you. “I know. I know, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“Tell me. Tell me you know what you have to say, okay?” he tries again. You can’t see the look in his eyes or the concern on his face, barely pick up on the tone of his voice and how serious it sounds. He knows that this is the first time you’ve done something like this and wants to make sure you’re safe.

“Yes, fuck, I know what I have to say, yes. I know. I don’t need you to stop,” you say and then correct yourself, “I don’t want you to stop. I just, I’m so sensitive. I can feel everything so much and I’m so sensitive, Kuroo,” you babble.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good,” Kuroo says to you, and then he talks over top of you, directed at Tsukishima, “Turn it up.” The confirmation gives him what he needs to push you even further.

You’re so focused on the imminent, unbearable sensation, that you don’t even see Kuroo turn on the light. You feel it before anything else, the warmth that the light creates and how quickly it becomes excruciating. Sweat drips down your forehead, glides past your temples, forms on your stomach, and under your thighs, letting you slide against the table. It just makes everything so much more intense.

And then you feel the click of the dial, the signifier that it’s up as high as it goes, and you’re cursing so many things that have played a hand in this. You’re cursing the company that made the wand and Kuroo for being so sadistic and Tsukishima for helping him and yourself for agreeing to this. You’re trying to move your mind anywhere other than how hard the wand is vibrating against you.

You know that you’re talking, you think that you’re talking. Your mouth is open and it feels like words are coming out, but you don’t know what you’re saying and you can’t hear them. Tears are streaming down your face, steadily, not overwhelmingly. Someone’s, you’re not sure whose, and it doesn’t really matter at this point, touches you, moves to stroke your arm. You can hear yourself now as you bark, “Don’t touch me,” regaining enough control of yourself and your voice to add a softer, “please” onto the end.

You lay there on the table, your body feeling excessively hot in every facet, with a buzzing between your legs that if it was any lower wouldn’t even be affecting you right now because you feel so numb. Everything is heightened. You can feel everything. The light, the air, the warmth, the breath on either side of you, the way that the breath is cool against your skin, the way that the breath is moving, slowly, blowing onto your shoulder and neck and stomach. The contrast of the stimuli makes you feel some sort of balance, some sort of ground.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You could feel everything at once, but you couldn’t feel the sensation approaching. You’re positive that you’re screaming because there’s no way you can’t be. Your throat feels sore and the tears haven’t stopped and you reach your arm out, grabbing onto whatever you find first, squeezing into it so hard, your fingernails digging, digging, digging until your hand is shaking so hard that you can’t manage to control it anymore.

It’s so much. It’s so much. It’s almost too much. The second that you’re off of this short high, you know that the sobbing will come. You can feel the tears and the tightness in your throat. You can see yellow flashing in your head. You’re not at your limit. You’re not hurt, but if they don’t slow down, you’re going to be very quickly. The word is traveling up your throat, graces your tongue, but doesn’t get the chance to leave your lips.

The vibration stops.

“You’re done” is the first thing that you hear when you regain awareness. Kuroo repeats it again, “You’re done, baby, you’re done. Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

You nod because, despite the fact that you’re trembling, that every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire, that’s really all you want right now. The flinch still comes when he touches you, rests his hand on your cheek, so he hesitates. If you had more energy, you’d lift your own and put it on top of his.

“You did so well. You did so well,” he repeats, leaning in closer to you and rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone. “God, you did so good.” You can’t respond, but you hope that he knows how much that means to you.

He lets you lay there, not moving you or rushing you, but just letting you recuperate as long as you need to. The second that you’re able, you talk, “Tsukishima, can you unstrap my thighs?” It’s more of a mumble than a strong sentence, but he gets the point, working just as slow and methodical as before, perhaps more so now. You can barely feel him when he brushes against your skin, numb now from the consistent vibrations.

Without the constraint on your thighs and the object between your legs, you automatically feel like you can breathe easier now. “And the light,” you mumble. It’s not a question, but it doesn’t need to be. The light is turned off in a second, the heat fading quickly without the intensive brightness. You hum, now, content with the environment you’re in and the company you’re with.

“I know you probably want to fall asleep right here, but we should get you into bed,” Kuroo mentions, his hand still in the same place against your skin.

“Kuroo, I don’t think I could move right now if I tried. My legs are completely numb,” you say, “Literally if the house caught on fire, I would die here. There’s no way I could even stand right now.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “You most certainly would not. I would save you.”

Your eyes are closed softly, but you still roll them, and you hope he notices. “My hero.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you. You can’t recover correctly from all of that if you’re in this room on this table, okay?” he asks.

There aren’t many things you would deny Kuroo of right now, with his voice as sweet as it is and his touch as soft as it is, and carrying you into his room to be more comfortable is definitely not one of them. Your eyelids flutter open and you’re finally able to see Kuroo looking down at you and Tsukishima watching the two of you.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Can you put your arms around my neck?” he asks, leaning down and snaking his arms under your knees and your back.

“Fire, Kuroo, remember, fire,” you reiterate, “No, I could not crawl myself out of this building.”

“You won’t have to bear any weight. It’s just for support.”

You oblige, using all of your energy to lift your arms and lock them around his neck. They hang lazily and you know that if he so much as moves you in the wrong way, they will fall heavily by your sides. His steps are careful, making sure that they’re not too fast or too harsh and you’re so grateful for it.

Tsukishima pushes open the door to his room and Kuroo carefully steps inside, careful not to bump you into the doorway. He lays you down in the center of his bed so softly that you can barely differentiate being in the air and surrounded by mattress. “There’s water on the bedside table that you definitely need to drink,” Kuroo mentions. “And do you want the TV on or the fan?”

“No, I’m okay. This is nice, I think. I do want a t-shirt, though,” you say, not wanting to be this exposed anymore.

“Yours or mine?” he asks, already halfway to his dresser.

“Yours,” you call out, “something really baggy.”

He grabs a shirt from his drawer, walking back over, and handing it to you. You accept it graciously, putting it on over your head slowly, the clean fabric against your skin one of the only sensations that feel acceptable at the moment. “Thank you.”

“Well, you should get some rest, okay?” he says, leaning over and kissing your forehead. “Hydrate first, though. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything at all.”

You nod, finally relaxing. The bed is so comfortable compared to the harshness of the metal that you were lying on before. It melds against your body so perfectly, conforms to every curve, but you can’t even think about falling asleep. Your mind is still racing, wandering, active, despite the exhaustion you’re feeling so heavily.

“Wait,” you say with the last ounce of strength you have. Both of them stop in place, Tsukishima already halfway out the door. They’re looking at you expectantly, waiting for whatever you have to say or request, but you can’t get it out. It feels weird, almost, that after everything that just happened you would feel uncomfortable saying anything at all to them.

“Do you need something?” Kuroo asks, already moving back towards you.

“I-,” you start, face feeling hot at such a silly request, “I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You’re not sure if you’re imagining it or if Kuroo really does ease when you say it.

“You want us to lay with you?” Kuroo asks, closing the gap, already by your side again.

“I don’t have to if you guys want to be alone,” Tsukishima says, his voice so small it almost goes unnoticed.

You shake your head, “I’d like if you’d stay.”

You’re positive that Tsukishima doesn’t mean to show the look of shock on his face, but he does. You feel the bed sink on one side as Tsukishima walks back into the room and by your side. You flip over towards Kuroo who holds the glass of water out in front of him. “Water first,” he says. You listen, taking it in your hands as well as you can for how spent your muscles still are. The bed behind you shifts, a hesitant hand rubbing the small of your back.

It takes a few moments for you all to get comfortable, to get into positions that fit, to meld together as perfectly as you do, but when you do, you never want to move again. Tsukishima’s pressed up against your back, his hand gently on your hip. Your head is pressed against Kuroo’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and timing your breathing with it.

The room is quiet and your mind is still racing, but with the company in the room, you feel so content. “Thanks for taking care of me,” you say to both of them.

“I said we would, didn’t I?” Kuroo responds, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“I mean, that’s not exactly what I thought you meant,” you murmured.

Tsukishima doesn’t reply, just rubs the bit of skin he has contact with. That’s enough for you. The three of you lie there in silence, syncing your breathing, only ever disturbing the peace with rustling of the sheets and clothes until Kuroo speaks again.

“You know, the scientific theory is based on the fact that your hypothesis is retestable and comparing the results to make sure that they’re in accordance with each other,” Kuroo says into the darkness.

“Tsukki, please hit him for me,” you say, knowing full well that if you weren’t the most exhausted you’ve ever been, you would have done it much more justice.

Tsukishima reaches over you and hits Kuroo’s shoulder so hard that you can feel the effects of it in his chest. You can’t help but laugh, and Kuroo does too, so lightly, and yet, you can feel it against your ear. You feel the safest you’ve ever felt in this moment alone.

“Give me a week,” you mutter.

Kuroo responds far too quickly and eagerly, “Yeah, I mean, of course, whatever you need.”

Part of you thinks that come a week, you’ll regret the words that just came out of your mouth. Another part of you realizes the exact place you’re in, the way Tsukishima is still softly rubbing your hip, and the way Kuroo’s laughter is still taking over your mind. That part of you feels the fabric of their clothing and your own and the sheets beneath you. That part of you knows that even when you were as pushed as you were, you felt safe. That part of you knows that they know you better than you know yourself.

That part of you knows that you could never pass up an opportunity to give up control, to listen to these men and trust them completely. You could never regret that.

#hq smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x tsukishima x reader #toriwritesshit

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moonlit-typewriter · 3 months

Text

I love how we got to actually watch Percy realistically figure out that Kronos is behind everything instead of him just knowing it with no explanation or having to be told.

“I don’t really do “jealous.” My brothers, on the other hand, have the market cornered on “jealous.” Family drama is why I don’t go up there anymore. These grudges, they go on forever; super unhealthy. Someone stole Zeus’ bolt and it wasn’t me.”

While Hades is speaking, the camera stays on Percy’s face the whole time. He’s not looking at Hades at all; instead, he’s seemingly not looking at anything, eyebrows intensely scrunched together and eyes narrowed.

As the scene continues, the camera continues to zoom in on Percy’s face and Hades voice - while still intelligible - fades into the background. We can’t see inside Percy’s head like we could in the books, so this is a great way to show that he’s mentally going through all the information he has. He’s not paying attention to Hades all that much because he’s remembering something that he heard before

(Several episodes earlier)

“You’re new to the family young one so let me fill you in on how we work. See, years before I was born, my grandpa Kronos ate my aunts and uncles. Then, my dad made him puke them back up, then chopped him into a million pieces and chucked him into a bottomless pit so that kinda set the tone right out of the gate”

Percy was 100% listening to what Ares was saying in episode 5. As he’s thinking, his eyes dart back and forth, kind of like he’s reading something. He’s quite literally mentally connecting things.

Holding grudges, family drama going on forever?

Seems fitting.

Bottomless pit?

So happens that he and Grover nearly got dragged into one of those.

Sally taught him all about Greek mythology during, assumedly, the entirety of his cognizant life. There’s no way you spend ~9/10 years learning about Greek mythology and never go over the titans. Given his connection with his mom, it’s an important topic to him. When it comes to neurodivergent people, the more important the subject is to them, the more they’ll remember it.

We can see the exact moment where all the different pieces click together.

His eyes widen, mouth drops open a bit more, and eyebrows go up and slightly (but visibly) uncrease.

He immediately looks back at Hades and does what most neurodivergent kids do when they figure something out: he blurts out the answer, completely interrupting Hades.

In that moment, he looks so confident in what he’s saying; there’s such a clear difference in his expression when he’s thinking and once he’s figured it out.

When neurodivergent people, especially students, blurt out answers, it usually means they’re sure they’re correct.

Percy had all the necessary knowledge to realize that Kronos was behind everything but because he was so focused on Hades, it wasn’t until his initial theory was proven false that he actually stopped and thought everything through. From there, everything fit exactly where it was supposed to.

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lu-lus-duckies · 2 months

Text

Idk what to call this so you make up the title

@huskers-bar x @nunalastor

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst?, eventual fluff, yearning?, soft huskers-bar, both mods are separate people, no beta we die like i do in this fic (not yet though), minor character death, ooc, au: hellaverse (hazbin hotel), nunalastor is head of the marketing department of the hazbin hotel (lucifer grabbed them randomly), jealousy?, huskers-bar is an employee at voxtek, lulu and angie as villains, lulu is a dog

chapter: 1/? Word count: 1,431

Featuring: babygirl anon and (eventually) @xxx-angie . I may add more along the way depending on who wants to be added. I can probably shoe-horn-in a few more characters

For the sake of not tagging people a million times, I will call nunalastor as a single entity nunalastor, traumatized mod dickmaster and cursed mod nun. and huskers-bar just husk. babygirl anon will be babygirl anon. i will be shortened to lulu but I don't appear in this fic yet. Angie doesn't appear yet, but he will be angie.

A/N: anyway this is 100% going to be a huskers-bar harem fic because i can write whatever i want. This first chapter kinda boring but it gets better (source: trust me bro). Lemme know if you'd like to see any changes. Anyway, goodbye for now. I have uni to get to so less frequent posting (sorry dickmaster, you'll have to live without any of my horrid art for a little while)

"Did you know that Alastor made a happy deer squeak during this scene?"

Ah, yes, the words that twist people's dreams into nightmares. Innocent innitially, and maybe even amusing for a good while, but the longer one lingered, the more their skin would crawl with irritation and burn their insides. Especially when one knew the context surrounding this particular phrase. And boy, did Nunalastor know the context.

"Another day, another inbox to slay, another heavenly lord to betray" Dickmaster accessed their and Nun's shared blog, unsurprisingly to hundreds if not thousands of asks invading their inbox, all of which were echoes of different variations of *thumps* and *squeaks*. If Nunalastor hadn't already grown accustomed to such deviancy, they would be horrified. Still, the depraved ideas these people came up with never failed to send shivers down their spine, and not the pleasant kind.

And why do they subject themselves to this? you may ask. It was simple. In exchange for free housing, food and supplies, Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself and father of Charlie Morningstar had requested their help. You see, originally their blog was not this unfortunate cesspool of deranged demons who wanted to see the devil, overlords and sinners squirm under immense sexual pleasure. It used to be a simple marketing tool for the Hazbin hotel, but as all things in hell, it never goes smoothly. It wasn't like they had a choice in the matter anyway, refusing the king of hell's requests was not an option! His commands were absolute.

Dickmaster took one deep breath, running both hands through their hair and clearing their mind, preparing for probably several hours of torture that was going to be their asks. They poured themselves a drink, setting down in front of their screen. Taking a few moments to relish the silence, they closed their eyes and listened to the soft hum of their beaten up 1950's style computer, courtesy of Alastor's ban on Voxtek products at the hotel. Clicking on their inbox tab, they mentally braced themselves. even if they knew, they could never truly predict the horrors hell had to offer.

"time for #housekeeping" They declared, stretching their fingers, getting their reaction images on the ready and sifting through their own version of digital hell. It would only get worse from here.

As Nunalastor started to clean their digital home, erasing one cursed ask after another, responding to one alastor circus theory after another, One ask in particular caught their attention. It was definitely a surprise, and a welcome one at that. It stood out like a sore thumb, simple yet elegant, divine and a blessing among heaps of cursed messages that would have asmodeus and satan themselves shaking in fear.

"hi dickmaster" - anon

Nunalastor couldn't explain it. They don't know what came over them, but they felt a strange sense of attraction to this one particular anon. They were sweet, they gave them a place of solace from the dread that was piss kink headcanons and cursed deer facts, equivelent of the clogged up plumming disasters alastor had to fix with his bare hands at the Hazbin hotel. It was the piece of gold nugget hidden in a swamp full of moss and dog urine.

Dickmaster stared at the message for a good few seconds, really taking in the plainness and beauty of the two words before their eyes, appriciating all that message was as a small smile made its way up their face. This called for a special occasion. Dickmaster gripped their keyboard, nearly smashing it with the force. Their fingers danced along the keys and crafted a response like no other, one worthy of this random anon that managed to make their day a bit brighter.

"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor

On the other side of the pentagram, a kind, sweet and not at all deranged huskers was scrolling through hells version of tumblr. Voxtek devices had proven to be quite useful in the underworld. It served as the main source of entertainment and escape for the lonely, not only for husk, but other sinners alike. Besides, being an employee meant he had extra privileges with Voxtek. Regardless, it introduced husk to the nunalastor blog, which was the best moment of their life (or lack thereof, considering they're dead).

They'd quickly grown accustomed to the undeserved hate thrown their way upon their first ever interractioin. Though they didn't understand, they could play along. They found strange comfort in the twisted logic that any form of attention was better than none. After all, being singled out meant they were special in the eyes of Nunalastor, right? that's how husk comforted themselves anyway. And they haven't seen Nunalastor actually reply to anyone with actual love before.

That is... until it happened. Someone who would later reveal themselves as babygirl anon, husks worst adversary and the unfortunate victim of lulu's slander showed up on their feed.

"hi dickmaster" - anon

"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor

Husk stared at the screen in shock, their eyes widening and heart growing heavy. Countless questions and conflicting emotions swirled within them, each clutching their hold for attention. 'Is nunalastor serious? Do I not want them to be serious? Why can't I be treated the same? What did I do?' And amidst the chaos, one thought rose to the surface, crystal clear in Husk's mind.

'I want to be loved like that'

The frustration of being at the end of every one of Nunalastors verbal spears finally caught up to husk. Every small jab they'd written off as jokes suddenly felt like small pin needles scraping their skin. Unable to deal with the whirlwind of emotions and the confusion of it all, Husk sought solace in the one place they could always trust, the bottom of a bottle.

So they took a swig. And another. And another. Intil there wasn't a shred of emotion left to feel. Not a single thread of frustration left in them, not a nerve of anguish, not a line of confusing verbal spewage...

And not even a speck of self-restraint

"THEY JUST KEEP COMING" Dickmaster exclaimed, more like yelled as their inbox was flooded with more cursed asks at a rate faster than they could answer. At this pace, they'll be there all day, answering these asks like a poor overworked minimum wage employee at a call center.

"They'll run out of ideas eventually" Nun responded, nonchalantly, leaning against a nearby wall, sipping on a drink of their own. Nun watched as dickmaster struggled to find another reaction image fast enough so they could call it quits and leave the rest of the struggles for future Nunalastor to handle, or more accurately when it would be nun's turn to answer all the unhinged people in their inbox.

The hurried clicking of the keys on a keyboard could be heard throughout the entire room, bouncing off the walls, reflecting exactly how much infestation was actually happening in nunalastors inbox by the minute. "it would be great if you could answer a few you know, my fingers are dyin-"

And then it suddenly went quiet. The clicking died down and the unbelievably loud buzzing of their computer, along with the hitched breathing of Dickmaster was the only sound bouncing around the room. Nun of course raised a brow at this. "what's the holdup? we can't afford to take a break you know" they said, as if they were the one answering all of the asks in the first place.

nun walked over, curious as to what exactly had stopped dickmaster in his endless pursuit of emptying their inbox, considering they were always the more enthusiastic one of the two. "are you okay?" nun asked, half sarcastically. Their eyes landed over the current ask in their inbox.

"I wish you'd love me" huskers-bar

and suddenly the silence made sense. the pause had been a justified one.

dickmaster inhaled, followed by a deep and saddened exhale. they didn't want to take their eyes off of those five words. they could stare in awe and amazement at them for hours. it wasn't even the fact that it was just another ask that wasn't cursed, but because it was huskers-bar that sent-

a hand on dickmasters shoulder snaps them out of their daze, being brought back to reality, the pitiful reality. they were in hell for a reason, they reminded themselves.

"you remember our deal, don't you, dickmaster?" nuns voice cut through the buzzing, sounding deep, gruff, threatening and slightly saddened.

"yes of course" dickmaster turned back to the monitor, giving one last look at the ask before typing out what nunalastor has agreed would be the appropriate response.

"you'll get over it. #we are a huskers-bar hate blog"

#i'm kind of sorry but i cant take writing seriously when i called one of yous dickmaster askfdjaslkdfjoasidjgf #huskers-bar x nunalastor #i hope at least. idk i dont read this shit back to myself. my self esteem is low enough already #lulu is delulu #nunwhiskers

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sataniquepanique · 2 years

Text

New York, I Love You.

Summary: Eddie plans a trip to NYC for your anniversary, but becomes distant once you land in the city that never sleeps. You know he's hiding something, but you're not sure what.

Genre: fluff, angst, older!Eddie

Warnings: mention of depression/intrusive thoughts

A/N: I'm getting married in 2 weeks (fucking yikes), so I wrote something based on my fiancé's actual proposal to take my mind off of planning shit for two fucking seconds.

“Have you heard about the theory that Van Gogh didn’t actually kill himself?” You chime, looking over the museum map, eagerly tracing an invisible tour path through the winding galleries.

“You’ve only told me about it a million times over the past seven years,” Eddie chuckles as he stares down the entranceway of the Museum of Modern Art. The two of you look incredibly out of place; stark white walls, juxtaposed with tattoos and leather. The soft squeak of your Docs reverberate through the winding hallway, adding to the anxiety that’s been building since stepping foot in New York City two days ago. Something was off with Eddie, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. It started at the airport, he had stopped talking after getting to the gate; chalking it up to nerves about flying, you ignored it. The first day in the city was the same, barely any conversation unless you initiated it, and even less physical affection on his part. Maybe he was still tired from the trip, or maybe he just hated the city? A third reason rears its ugly head and starts to burrow deep inside your conscious; maybe he was getting tired of you. After seven years of being together, of cohabitating in a small apartment outside of Hawkins, of two cats and a dog later, maybe the love of your life was pushing away.

A hand on the small of your back snaps your attention back to the map. The 1880-1940’s collection is on the 5th floor, allowing you to traverse through the rest of the museum before seeing the one piece this entire trip was centered around.

———

New York City was actually Eddie’s idea, though it doesn’t seem so from his current disconnected behavior. A few months prior he had bounded into the living room, smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“Baby,” he sang in his best, most innocent voice, “how would you feel about going to New York City in July?”

Your head slowly rose from the book you were buried in. His particular tone was usually only reserved for when he was already in trouble, or plotting something mischievous.

“What’s your angle, Munson?” Shifting forward on the couch, your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Hand over heart, he looks at you with faux offense, “How dare you think so little of me. I just think we should do something cool for our anniversary this year.”

All your wariness fades to glowing endearment.

“Oh Eds, that’d be amazing! Of course I’d love to go to New York!”

His face relaxes as he huffs out a relieved breath, “Oh thank god, ‘cause I already bought plane tickets—“

You smile at him, impressed that he had actually planned something ahead of time instead of waiting until the last minute like usual. You’ve been together almost 7 years, and as time went on celebrating your anniversary became less and less theatrical, now consisting of take-out from your favorite Chinese place and a movie of unanimous choosing. Low-key, comfortable, but still full of love, just like you and Eddie.

“—and I also reserved two tickets for the Museum of Modern Art.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head, “That’s where—“

“—Starry Night is. I know, that’s why I’m taking you there.” He flops down onto the couch, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders as you melt into him.

For your entire life, or at least as long as you can remember, Van Gogh has been your favorite artist. Doing master-copies of his paintings in high school, trying to hard to get his technique just right, obsessing over his use of color to convey emotion. In college you majored in Art History, specializing in Post-Impressionism, spending long nights pouring over books about Vincent’s life and background. As much as you love his work, his story made him that much more intriguing. How a man struggled with such a tragic life and still managed to see the beauty in the world was nothing less than astounding.

You’ve seen a few of Van Gogh’s pieces in person at museums in the tri-state area, but you haven’t traveled much further. Money’s been tight ever since you and Eddie moved in together a few years ago, but you’ve always had the bug, itching to go far away and see the world with all it has to offer. Eddie shares the same desire, always talking about dream trips and planning fake vacations, waiting for the day you can make them a reality.

“Eddie, where did you get the money for this?” The thought of possibly spending rent money on plane tickets makes you panic, but he’s is quick to shrug it away.

“I picked up some extra shifts at the shop, we’re fine don’t worry.”

———

Eddie is usually very physically affectionate, constantly having a hold somewhere on your body; but through 4 floors of galleries he hasn’t so much as touched your hand. The lack of contact is all you can think about, barely able to take in any of the artwork you’ve traveled all this way to see. As you make your way to the 5th floor, Eddie trudges behind silently. The awkward tension is killing you, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Turning into the 1880s gallery, a small crowd of people gather around the far corner. A glimpse of familiar cerulean and marigold swirls, the same brushstrokes you’ve studied for years, peaks over the top of their heads. You swiftly push to the front, and all of the air is crushed from your lungs.

It’s other-worldly.

Every photo you’ve ever seen of The Starry Night doesn’t do it justice, not even remotely. The peaks of paint that dot the surface of the canvas, the brightness of each color, none of it can be properly depicted on the pages of a textbook. After so many years of studying this painting, seeing it in the flesh is almost like seeing an old friend. There’s a calmness in it, admiration mixed with giddiness.

You’re close to tears as you feel Eddie’s presence beside you.

“It’s amazing…” his voice is low, partly because of the subdued setting, but also in awe.

All you can muster is a nod as your eyes drag over every inch of the painting, committing it to memory.

You have to practically rip yourself away, buzzing from the entire experience.

Eddie waits by the entranceway with his hands in his front pockets, “Do you wanna go get dinner? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” still unnerved by his demeanor, your tone is stoic and emotionless, “Where do you wanna go?”

He scratches the back of his neck, something only done when he’s uncomfortable, “Uh, there’s this pub across 52nd if that’s cool?”

An audible stomach growl answers for you.

Eddie keeps a few feet of distance between your bodies, weaving through groups of people on the crowded sidewalk. You’ve never seen this many people in your life, even at college in Indianapolis. Growing up in Indiana, your hometown was so small that everyone knew each other, same with Eddie’s upbringing in Hawkins. City life always intrigued you, and up until this moment you had thought of Indianapolis as a “big city”; but it was nothing compared to New York. After high school you moved away to college to study art, choosing Indiana University for its busier atmosphere.

A month after graduating with your BFA, you met Eddie by accident. Moving back home to live with your parents was the last thing you wanted, but finding a good paying job was proving to be more difficult than anticipated.

Depression started to sink it’s disgusting claws into your psyche; you felt like a failure.

One night, in a valiant attempt to bring some joy back into your life, your best friend dragged you to a bar in the next town over; the promise of live music and alcohol extremely enticing. Hawkins wasn’t known for much, except for the weird rumors about mysterious disappearances over the years, so you weren’t expecting much from this hole-in-the-wall bar. The Hideout was kind of gross, but in an almost endearing way. The floors were sticky and the air almost unbreathable, but the staff was kind, despite their rough appearances. The bartender chatted the two of you up for while, making jokes and letting you sample whatever beer you wanted to try, all while some metal band played on the rickety stage in the back.

A little before midnight, the band had packed up and the crowd inside thinned out to just regulars and a few drunk stragglers. As you sat at the bar and waited for your friend to get back from the bathroom, a stranger sat next to you and ordered a beer, greeting the bartender like an old friend. After exchanging a few light-hearted jabs, the stranger smiled and looked over at you.

“Cheers—“ he holds out the neck of the bottle towards you.

Taken aback by his boldness, you return a small grin, “Cheers to what?”

He shrugs, sucking his teeth in thought for a second, “To metal? To surviving another gig? I dunno.”

The guitar pick around his neck catches your eye, “Was that your band playing earlier?”

He gives a shy nod, smile stretching wider and accentuating a dimple on his left cheek.

“You guys sounded really good,” You hold out your own bottle towards him.

“I’ll cheers to that,” he taps against yours, a small clink echoing in the almost empty bar.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.” Normally, you would rather die than talk to a random person at a bar, but there was something about this boy that drew you in. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how ethereal he looked under the neon bar signs, either way you were captivated.

You stayed at the Hideout longer than intended, long after your friend had decided to go home. Eddie made you laugh with stupid jokes and weird stories, sharing your mutual love of horror movies and fantasy books. You were so enthralled that you hadn’t even noticed it was closing time. Apologizing to the bartender, you asked to use their phone to call a cab. Eddie immediately offered to drive you home, promising he wasn’t a serial killer when you profusely questioned him.

The drive was filled with loud music and scream-singing on both of your parts, Eddie drumming on the steering wheel to the beat as you headbanged beside him. When he pulled up at your parents house, you quickly pulled a pen out of your bag, scribbling your phone number onto his forearm. He winked before driving away, having stayed a few extra minutes to make sure you got inside safely. Every thought for the rest of the night was consumed by Eddie; something was tying you to him, and you wanted to follow that invisible tether all the way to the end.

———

The 52nd Street pub was empty, something that was shocking upon entry, but you were nonetheless a little grateful for it. The quiet was a welcome change from the overwhelming sounds of New York, a small corner of solitude in the center of the city that never sleeps. Welcome almost as much, are the beers that you and Eddie down immediately.

Though he normally cannot stop talking, Eddie is being uncharacteristically mute. You have to practically drag out any bit of conversation, forcing small talk until the food arrives and you can focus on that instead.

After a silent meal, the portly older waiter drops off your check and strikes up a conversation with Eddie about your trip and why you were visiting. Eddie put on his polite voice, smiling and laughing along with man’s questions. This stranger was receiving more from him than you had in days.

The nagging voice in your head struck up again: he’s tired of you.

You stopped paying attention to Eddie’s side-conversation as annoyance consumed you. There was an emerging throb in your head, the physical pain matching the emotional hurt of Eddie’s complete disdain towards you. At this point, all you wanted was to go home.

The sun was setting as you walk out onto the corner of 52nd, and you squint down the street searching for a cab.

“Hey—“ Eddie smiled at you for what seems like the first time all day, “—wanna go to Central Park?” He points down the street, and you can make out the tops of the trees seven blocks away.

You shake your head, “I’m really tired, and my head is killing me. I’d rather just go back to the hotel honestly.”

Eddie’s face falls a little, and you feel slightly guilty, but then remember how uninterested he was all day.

Again, he glances towards the park, “Are you sure? It’s just a few blocks away—“

“No, Eddie. I just want to go back to the room.” Your voice was stern, annoyed that he only now wanted to spend time with you. A yellow cab crested over the next block, and you raise a hand to get the drivers attention.

“I would rather share one lifetime with you—“ Eddie mumbles behind you. Only half listening, you swear he’s grumbling about not being able to go to the park, and it sets off a rage flare.

“—What?” You snap your head around to face him, eyes narrow and angry, bracing yourself for an argument.

He’s standing a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding up a diamond ring. Your lungs constrict, an audible gasp escaping as you stare at him wide-eyed. He grins sheepishly as you freeze in place.

“Eddie…what?”

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone,” He repeats, returning your stare with his soft brown eyes.

“…are you seriously quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?” You laugh, all tension leaving your body.

“Did you expect anything less from me?” His deep eyes search yours, silencing the menacing voice in your head, “Marry me, Y/n. I love you more than anything—“

“—more than Gollum loves his precious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snorts, “Obviously, you fucking nerd.”

Scoffing dramatically, you smile and take the ring from his outstretched hand, sliding it onto your finger.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Eddie Munson. I thought you’d never ask.”

Finally, after days of anxiety and frustration, he kisses you, smiling the entire time. You can almost physically feel the stress leave his body as you hold onto him.

Pulling back you grab his hand, interlocking your fingers, “Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I was super nervous. I honestly planned on doing it in front of The Starry Night, but I freaked out when I saw how many people were around.”

Your heart soars at the sentiment, and you look down at your hand in his, the little diamond sparkling in the fading sunlight.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson edit #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie x y/n #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson au #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem! reader #older!eddie #Eddie Munson angst

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ddemurezy · 1 year

Text

The Witch of Westeros

PROLOGUE - see you on the other side

-×-

disclaimer:

I don't own the Scarlet Witch and her storyline, credits to Marvel and Stan Lee.

gif not mine!! got it from pinterest!

this fanfic doesn't follow the plot of the series of HOTD nor it's books. I simply made it up. major spoilers for doctor strange: multiverse of madness.

note:

tbh, this is my first time ever writing a story in 2nd pov so if it sucks, I'm sorry😭

anyway, It's finally here! sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy!!

warnings:

mention of blood, stabbing, heads cut off, turning things to ashes. I think that's all, if there's anything I missed out, don't be afraid tell me. !! NOT EDITED !!

-×-

The sound of roaring and explosion mixed with the smell of fire, gunpowder, and the distinct, metallic tang of blood was the only thing you can comprehend at this moment. Your eyes darted from your companions to the demons you were fighting. The fight would’ve ended ages ago if you didn’t know there were thousands—no, millions, of them. Not to mention they can regenerate making your head hurt more than it already did.

Saving the multiverse became a job—a responsibility, more likely— for not only you but for Dr. Strange and surprisingly, Loki. It’s been months, years, or perhaps it has been decades since you have been saving the multiverse. Time has been a bit complicated for you, per se.

You, The Master of Mystic Arts, and the God of Mischief traveled to countless realities, defeating enemies such as demons, monsters, or even evil variants of yourselves.

Going through infinite dimensions and saving the other realities was the least idea you thought you would be doing in the future when you first joined the Avengers. Yet here you were, fighting your way through a crowd of merciless nightmarish demonic creatures who can regenerate. Your mission was to retrieve a necklace that holds much power and once belonged to a god and was now passed down to its descendants. It was stored inside the temple on the very top of the mountain that the demonic creatures were guarding. You’re meant to grab it, bring it back to the owner before anyone else can use it to their advantage, and leave without a hassle.

“Anyone care to help me here?” Dr. Strange yelled from a few miles away. He created a portal, making the group of demons from his fall down and he snapped the portal shut, cutting the heads off.

“Classic.” Loki chuckled, witnessing the action as he move to stab the demon that jumped on him, grimacing when its blood hit his face.

You smirked, blasting ten demonic creatures away from you, turning them to ashes as they tried attacking you again. “I don’t think you need anymore help from there, Stephen.” you teased and the said man groaned when another group started hitting him.

“Damn demons. Can’t you do your thing and kill them all, Wanda?” Dr. Strange asked.

“I can, but they keep coming back no matter what.” You told them.

Loki muttered under his breath before sharing his thoughts. “They just keep coming back no matter how many times we kill them. It’s impossible for this to happen.”

“Loki, we are in a different reality. I don’t think there is anything more impossible than this.” You retorted, flicking your wrist and lifting one demon and throwing it to the approaching group.

“What I mean is, there’s a possibility that something or perhaps, someone is summoning them.” Loki proclaimed his theory.

“A distraction.” You sighed out in realization, your eyes widening as you looked around for any sign of different figures in the crowd. A figure walked by miles away from you guys. They were wearing a black hood over their head, covering their face.

They must’ve felt your gaze and turn to look at you, their purple strange eyes meeting yours before they glared and ran away.

“Stay here! I’ll handle this.” You shouted to them, lifting yourself with your magic and flying toward where the figure went, ignoring the yells of protest of your two friends.

You flew away from the crowd of creatures and landed in front of the small cottage you saw them run into, placing a shield behind you so that they cannot attack you from behind. Your eyes hardened seeing it all dark with no trace of light anywhere. Hesitantly, you stepped in, summoning your magic to see a little clearer and to be ready to fight if something or someone attacks you.

The sound of footsteps approaching behind you alarmed you and you turn around, ready to blast your magic to them until you saw their faces when they got closer.

“Loki! Stephen!” You gasped in surprised, internally sighing in relief when you saw them before frowning. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you I will handle this.” you scolded.

“We can’t just leave you to walk in here with no back ups.” Loki reasoned and Dr. Strange nodded beside him.

There was no point in fighting so you just nodded and lead the way deeper into the dark cottage that seems to be bigger on the inside. As you walked in silence with all your guard up, a clashing sound was heard behind you, alarming the three of you.

“He’s right, Wanda. We know you can handle yourself but we need to make sure you’re safe.” Stephen said.

But before any of you could say a word, a figure stepped in front of you and pressed two fingers on your temples making you freeze in place.

You could hear Loki and Stephen yelling behind you, and they seem like they were struggling too but you can’t focus on them or anything but the pain you felt on your mind that’s spreading through your whole body. They leaned down and whisper in your ear before letting you go. You tried fighting it and summoning your magic but it was impossible to move. A portal started growing from under your feet and before you could grab into anything, you fell down fast in an unknown, perhaps never ending, hole.

But you remembered what they had whispered in your ear.

“Видимо се на другој страни.”

See you on the other side.

#hotd x reader #dsmom spoilers #wanda maximoff #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon

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rosestarkillers-blog · 10 days

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"Dreamer's Tale"

Moonwater one-shot, 640 words, angst

“Have you ever been in love?” The question jolts Regulus back into awareness, looking up from his book to frown at Remus. For the past few hours, they had been studying together next to the Black Lake in peaceful silence; well, they had been, until Remus decided to interrupt it with his nonsense.

“Of course I haven’t, I’m only fifteen.” Remus shoots him a disbelieving look, to which Regulus merely raises an eyebrow in return. “Are you telling me that you have been? Love is a fool’s errand, it’s completely unattainable and only leads to heartache. It may be romantic in theory, but that’s simply unrealistic, all of the stories on it are merely a dreamer’s tale. Anyway, who have you found yourself ‘in love’ with? One of the Gryffindor girls, I assume?”

“Nope,” Remus says, the corner of his lips twitching up like they always do when he’s trying not to laugh.

“Tsk, don’t laugh, it was the most obvious guess. Well then, if it isn’t one of the Gryffindors, is it a Ravenclaw? They would certainly match your intelligence, though I was not aware that you were all that familiar with one.” Irritation bubbles up inside him at that, and he runs his hands through the nearby grass, lightly tugging the blades up out of the dirt.

“Reg,” comes the soft response, that he steadfastly ignores, continuing to sulk at the knowledge that Remus had someone he was so close to that he fell in love with them, and Regulus isn’t even aware of their existence. “C’mon, look at me, please?”

Sighing, Regulus lifts his head, returning the piercing stare directed at him. They both sit in silence, as Remus attempts to find something in Regulus’ eyes (what a fool, he would never dare reveal his thoughts so openly like that). The older teen leans forward, and a hand lands atop his own, putting a stop to his destruction of the innocent grass. Regulus freezes, not daring to breathe at how gentle the touch was. While they have brushed against each other before, they usually avoid touch due to Regulus’ distaste of it. For some reason that Regulus can’t comprehend, he has always craved it from Remus, despite that, but was too afraid to reach out first, in case it revealed how weak he was for the other.

“Reg, it’s not one of the Ravenclaws either,” comes the gentle response. Confusion builds up inside his chest, and he squints in disbelief.

“Is this a trick? Are you going to say it’s some character from a novel, or something dumb like that? I’ve never even seen you speak to a Hufflepuff, it can’t be one of them. You would rather be caught dead than talking to a Slytherin, unless it’s one of my friends- wait, oh Salazar, please tell me you’re not in love with Barty. I would actually have to drown myself if that was the case, he would be insufferable about it.” The gentle chuckle he gets almost makes the mental scar of picturing his two best friends together worth it.

“No, I’m not in love with Barty, but he is a Slytherin.”

Icy water floods his veins at the admission. He thought Barty was the worst possible option, but he was so unbearably wrong. Evan would maybe be an okay possibility, even if just the idea of it splinters his heart into a million pieces. The other options though… Remus has to be lying to him, there’s no way he would ever even be friends with the other Slytherins, being in love with one of them is simply impossible. Abruptly, Regulus gathers up his books and stands up, not daring to look at Remus’ face. He heads back to the castle without a glance back, completely missing the way Remus falls apart where he left him.

#i am so tempted to turn this into a full-length fic #there's no way i would finish it though #also poor remus got his heart broken because he thought regulus rejected him #while regulus just left before he started crying cuz he thinks remus likes one of the other slytherins more than him #fanfic #marauders #moonwater #remus lupin #regulus black #angst

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daisyswift3 · 1 year

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The Alcott Analysis

So now that The Alcott has officially been released I wanted to do an analysis of some of the lyrics and how I think they might relate to Taylor. Disclaimer: I know Aaron said Matt wrote the main parts of the song and Taylor only added the dialogue parts so many of these connections might be a coincidence, but I also think it’s possible Taylor could have had more input on the song than they’re letting on since there are so many themes and motifs that perfectly relate back to Taylor’s music. This is just meant to be a fun clown theory

Like many others pointed out, the whole first verse is very “Help I’m still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross legged in the dim light, they say ‘what a sad sight’” and seems like the opposite pov of RWYLM

“It’s the last thing you/I wanted, it’s the first thing I/you do, I tell you that I think I’m falling back in love w/ you” // “I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard” // “Uh oh I’m falling in love, oh no I’m falling in love again”

“I had to do something to break into your golden thinking” // “Lost in the labyrinth of my mind…you would break your back to make me break a smile”— this is directly related to the following ⬇️

“And there you are sitting as usual w/ your golden notebook, writing something about someone who used to be me…I sit there silently waiting for you to look up” // “Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen, time moved on for everybody else, she won’t know it, she’s still 23 inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be…and you’re sitting in front of me” -> Taylor is stuck in her own head reminiscing and writing about the past (the golden age) and this person sitting in front of her is trying to break her out of this nostalgic escapist mindset. I think this may be a direct reference to the film Midnight in Paris which is all about nostalgia and escapism--much like the song Paris on the Midnights 3am edition--and specifically to golden age thinking, a phrase used in that film. Here are some tidbits that I think are worth noting

@chickawah23 made a really great post about the possible Midnight in Paris connections. Here’s a screenshot from that post that does a good job summarizing the important parallels

There definitely seems to be a connection between Midnights, the stories of 13 sleepless nights, and the folklore chapters that were released in Aug 2020, specifically the sleepless nights and escapism chapters. I think it’s interesting that exile is the last track of the first chapter and first track of the second chapter--almost like the second chapter is a direct continuation of the first which again links Midnights to this escapism theme. And there’s been a lot of exile references lately (exile ends, doors, 8/3, etc)

Even though the back and forth dialogue between Taylor and Matt at first sounds argumentative, I think it could also be read in a positive way. This person is going to ruin and wreck Taylor’s plans and Taylor is going to gladly let them. She welcomes the curse on their house. “I’m begging for you to take my hand wreck my plans that’s my man” // “For you I would ruin myself a million little times” // “I wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed...He’s gonna burn this house to the ground...So yeah it’s a fire it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it” // “Dear reader, burn all the files, desert all your past lives” // Taylor is the one that chooses to burn the lover house down. She’s the one holding the lighter on the Midnights album cover and striking the match in the lavender haze mv (here’s a really great post about what that might signify). Furthermore, the willow performance and description make me think that the curse on Taylor’s house was actually her own doing--she’s not only letting this person wreck her plans but is helping them do so. So the burning, wrecking, ruining, cursing/spell casting are all metaphors for the same thing—destroying Taylor’s closet and possibly her career as a result of that

Honorable mention: The beat almost sounds like a heartbeat no? Wildest Dreams??

#i hope this all made sense lol #sometimes im not the best at articulating my thoughts #im doing this instead of studying for my finals like the responsible student i am #taylor swift #taylorswift #gaylor #gaylor swift #kaylor #midnight in paris #midnights #the alcott #the national #parallels #folklore #evermore #paris #exile #lyric analysis

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 2 years

Text

Honey

Elvis has been there for you ever since you were a little kid. Your dads best friend since high school. He hasn’t seen you since you were little. What happens when he’s seen how much you’ve grown?

Dads best friend! Elvis Presley x Reader.

Word count: 14k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: idk why but I made him an alcoholic in this, 70s dilf Vegas era Elvis, major age gap, barely legal reader, perv dark Elvis, groping, grooming? Making out, manipulation, language, sexual themes, jerking off, parents fighting, drinking, dry humping, taboo themes, possibly more.

A/n: I wanted to thank everyone who read my first Elvis fic. Again, this is fiction and for entertainment only. Nothing is meant to be discriminatory against Elvis or anyone. It’s an interesting story I wanted to share! It’s in the 70s and you’re a cottage core girly. There are dashes to know when the scene ends, so you can read it in multiple sittings! (Smut is in Polaroid.)

Stuffy, inexplicable recording room. Something he once loved has turned sour. He listens to the monotone chatter of The Colonel ending someone's career over a simple mistake. It’s Noon and his headache throbbed. It’s been two years since he first stepped foot in this City. He’s been miserable ever since. He’s exhausted and the chunky sunglasses he wears inside aren't to protect his eyes, but to cover how blood-shot they are. Somewhere among the argument the phone rings an awful high-pitched scream. One goon in the studio answers it.

“It’s for you.”

A man’s chirp sounds beside him. He looks over slightly confused and anxious. He hasn’t gotten a phone call that wasn’t from his mom in years. His mind runs wild with the theories.

“Where’s it from?”

The man shrugs at his question. Elvis frowned slightly, hoping it’s not dealing with business.

“I think Mississippi, they didn’t really say. Just asked for you.”

Elvis nods briefly, now enthralled to uncover the mystery. He takes the plastic phone, he stands and walks over to the table it’s connected to. He sits on the mixing board, wrapping his fingers around the cord.

“Hello, who is this?”

The person who he knows registers as a man laughs. A full hearted wholesome one full of brightness and joy. He wished he could laugh so easily like the man.

“You don’t remember me?”

He just becomes even more bewildered at the question. Was he supposed to? He knows a thousand people and has met a million. The person talks, low and slow. Elvis' mind snaps to the only person he’s known his entire life to have such a specific voice. Your Dad. He rubs his temples with his other hand. He smiles softly to himself, reminiscing about the trouble he caused with him. The crimes, the mayhem they caused as teenagers.

“Oh, hell. It can’t be, can it?”

He fakes a groan of annoyance. The man chuckles into the phone again.

“I know it’s been ten years since we’ve last seen you, but y/n graduated.”

The throbbing of Elvis’ skull leaves and he can’t even fathom what he just heard. His mind is a fuzzy ball of nothing. Your Dad kept going on, elaborating farther. You graduated? Little One graduated? He feels like he’s just been punched in his stomach. He’s been gone for that long? He feels nauseous. He remembers teaching you how to play games, and ride horses. The rushing of blood sends back into his head making it pound. You can’t be that old. He refuses.

“We know you’re busy and all being a showman, but the ol’ lady still wanted to invite you to celebrate.”

He thinks about the rocky relationship he had with your Mother. It was around the time he and your Dad became friends when she asked him out and he rejected her. Ever since she hated him. The man pauses.

“For what it’s worth, y/n misses you.”

Now his stomach hurts. He feels like he swallowed a live thing, and it’s just swimming around his organs. You miss him. He has thought after all these years you’d forget about him. Pin him to be an imaginary friend. (That’s what your Mom had hoped for.)

“We get it if you can’t, but the women were planning to make a feast and-“

His mind gets hung up on your Dad referring to women. Plural, you’re a woman now and he doesn’t understand why his blood pressure is rising.

“I’m goin’.”

Elvis mutters against the phone quickly, voice dropping an octave for a good measure at authority. He gave his foot a little stomp to make it official. An end of conversation. He was going to see you and stay the weekend and that was the end of it. The Colonel tells him to wrap it up. He holds out a finger to tell the heaving man to wait.

“This weekend righ’?”

The man says nothing, but in agreement he hums.

“Excited to see you, Elvis.”

With that, he hangs up the phone. It clatters into place. He nods to himself, already making a plan and arrangements in his head. The lights reflect off his sunglasses. He takes his bottom lip between thumb and index, rolling it as he thinks.

“You’re goin’ to hate me, but I need to go back home.”

_______

It’s Friday Afternoon when he takes a private airline back to Mississippi. It was a fast flight, seven hours turned to three. He dressed down, his version of normal. Beige khakis, white polo with the collar popped. Brown loafers and chunky sunglasses that hide most of his face. His hair is fluffy, and he keeps trying to tame it with his hands but it just keeps puffing up. This damn humidity. He has a scotch glass in his hand as he watches the clouds below. He wonders what it’d feel like to fall through the satin pillows. He tilts his head back and swallows the thick liquor down his throat. It burns but he doesn’t care. It’s helping his mood as the buzz heightens. He’s always been a little nervous about flying but it only fills him with adrenaline. He lays his forehead on the wall, the clouds his own lullaby to sleep.

When the jet lands, he finds your dad’s car parked in front of the hangar. He flashes his headlights saying hi. Elvis smiles to himself as he gathers his strength. He grabs his duffel from the overhead and wishes his employees in the pit safe travel. The sun is setting, it’s evening time. He checks his watch, and it’s a quarter past six. It’s chilly with the large turbines whirling behind him. He stumbles down the flight of stairs that connects the jet to the pavement. He hangs onto his bag with a vice grip, the other holding to the rail with the same ferocity. He’ll tip over if he lets go he’s sure of it. Seeing two cars instead of one. Your dad is now out of the car walking over to aid him. He shakes his hand firmly. Business. He takes the duffel from Elvis and puts it in the back. He opens the door for him to sit and he does. He goes back around to the driver's side. His old friend hasn’t looked like he’s aged a day since the last time he saw him. A soft Southern song plays on the radio. He glances at the station and he doesn’t know it. Your dad pulls out, he watches the jet leave longingly. He’s going to miss his toys and the lavish lifestyle. It’s only a weekend, and he’s becoming melodramatic. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or him being homesick. It’s the first “vacation” he’s had in a while. It’s a good drive back to your home. A little over an hour and a half. He gets nervous again. He wipes his palms on his thighs. He has two rings on his right hand index and pinky. On his left three, thumb index and pinky. His friend whistles to the tune and Elvis hates that he knows he’s flat. He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher on the bridge of his nose. He watches the sunset, and the familiar pastures sing him to a stupor. He dreams of teaching a kid he used to know how to ride her own horse.

_______

Your dad shakes Elvis awake. He blinks his eyes open and sees a house he knew all too well. He smiles crookedly at the memory of helping your family paint the house. That was before he left with The Colonel. He grimaces at knowing that The Colonel is up to some shenanigans he’ll have to fix when he gets back home.

“Hope you’re okay with a home cooked meal. Not the fast food you’re used to.”

He waggles a finger at Elvis.

“Should watch what you eat, it’s the fastest way to kill your temple.”

He pats his stomach and smiles; he leaves the car. Elvis didn’t remember him caring about himself so much, nor him smiling so often. He doesn’t know why but he’s jealous of him. Small family in a big house on a farm that’s now gone. He sees a pasture full of overgrown weeds and brush. A couple of horses run out from the woods and his heart swells. He sees your daddy’s horse, an old stallion that’s grey and white. And yours that Elvis taught you how to ride was a very fine pony with a long golden mane. He sighs, knowing that his high is fading. He hopes that your dad still makes that moonshine he used to make back when they were young. The mixture was strong and thick and lasted for hours or a day if it was fermented. He gets out of the car and grabs the duffel. He shuffles along the gravel to the big house, kicking a few rocks with his shoe. He feels out of place. He once belonged here, so there must be a part of him that still lives here. He walks up the stairs onto the porch. Opening the screen door to a large white one with paint chipping off. Closing his hand to a fist to rap his knuckles to knock, the door swings open before he can. He’s met with a bigger version of you.

“Elvis!”

You squeal and wrap your arms around his torso. He huffs, almost dropping his bag from the force you grab him with. You’ve nuzzled your face into his chest. He doesn’t react from the affection, honestly in utter shock. He got a faint glimpse of your face and from that alone his face is flushed. You weren’t just pretty; you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wraps his arms around your back, hugging you just as strong. Tilting his head down, he can smell how much you scrubbed your skin with something pine and flower smelling in the shower. That smell is going to drive him insane. Breathing shallowly, he concludes that him staying here was going to make him a dead man.

_______

He sits in your living room, sweating like a sinner in church. You’re sitting directly beside him, absolutely radiating with energy. He gave you those expensive sunglasses; they sit on your head. His eyes are straining and blurry, but you’re fully aware how blue they are. You haven’t stopped staring since he gave you the thing that concealed them. Your bright eyes and pretty white teeth and your soft lips never stop. He tries to keep up with your insightful questions.

“What’s Vegas like?”

He gives you a pg moderated version.

“Flashing lights and colors, it never sleeps.”

“Do you tour every night?”

He gives you the answer The Colonel wants.

“Used to, but made a improved deal which is why I stay in Vegas.”

“Do you remember me?”

His throat closes and the ball in his throat rolls. Threading his fingers through his fluffy hair to push it back. He remembers walking around with you on his hip; he was more worried that you wouldn’t remember him. Which is why his feelings for you are conflicted. You’re just a girl. A girl who grew into a very attractive young lady. He nods his head, answering your question with a mumble. You nearly go to heaven with the way you’re jumping out of your skin with brightness. It’s blinding. The little blouse and skirt you’re wearing is thin, he can easily imagine your chest. He looked away and gazed at some artwork on the wall.

“Should move back here, daddy and everyone misses you.”

You whisper, he shouldn’t feel a shockwave of blood at the murmured daddy. It wasn’t even referred to him. It was about your actual father, but lord is he burning.

“I would if I could, honey.”

You huff moodily, rolling your eyes in synchronicity. He’s noticing that nasty habit that you’ve picked up after he left. He’ll sort it out of you before he leaves.

“You can, just move back! What’s stopping you?”

His heart plummets and his soul breaks. If he knew how much you missed him, he would’ve never left, what has been done can’t be undone. He wished he could explain it to you, but your stubborn mind wouldn’t understand. Besides, he can’t even speak of it without getting in trouble. He clenches his jaw. Patting your bare thigh that’s closest to him, he gives you an assuring smile.

“Why don’t we help your mama?”

You nod begrudgingly as you stand. You walk in front of him, sticking your small hand out for him to take. He scoffs at your proposal.

“Hell, sweetheart. I’m not that old.”

Your face burns with embarrassment, hand dropping to your side as you stare at your feet. His legs are spread open wide, a habit he’s picked up. You’re so close to standing between them. He lifts from the couch, standing a few feet taller. Splaying his hand across your lower back, cold rings touching you send prickles up your spine.

“You’re not as little as I remember.”

He purrs like it’s not the most obvious thing. He sticks his hand that’s not on your back out by his hip.

“Just a lil’ sprout, ‘bout yay high. Used to cling to my leg like one of ‘em damn koalas.”

You snort a loud laugh.

“I did not!”

He shakes his head, black frizzy hair swaying on his forehead.

“I think I know more than you.”

You tilt your head down in submission as his voice dips into an authoritarian monotone. Your stomach churns at the low octave. You break from his stare. He refuses that his little girl has turned into such a seductress. He bites his tongue as he walks you into the kitchen, pulling out your wooden chair at the table. You sit with a thank you and he smiles at the pristine manners. Smoothing out your skirt you place a napkin over the clothing. Your father sits at the head of the table, reading the news. Elvis at the other end. Mom is slaving away at something that smells so delicious that it’s sickening. There’s a radio somewhere in the room playing music, a little portable one in a cabinet always playing background noise. There are a few plates with small appetizers on them, sliced peaches with cream, potatoes, and almost every vegetable imaginable. Cutlery and dinner mats are already in position. A large glass pitcher full of lemonade is in the middle of the table. Flashing a smile your way he gets rosy cheeks and an eye roll in return. He raises a brow at the behavior. He’s staring at you with no hesitation. More than interested to know why you’ve become such a brat.

“How are things going in Sin City?”

Your dad asks not looking up from the article he’s reading. Elvis’ posture straightens, he scratches the back of his neck and shrugs.

“It’s goin’.”

He keeps it short and sweet, really wanting to just forget about Vegas. Used to love the city and the excitement fizzled when he learned everything. Hating that it only means work and pain. Dad subtle nods. You’re such a poor little thing, practically vibrating with questions. He doesn’t ask anymore questions so you take it that it’s your turn.

“Do you go to the shows there? I hear that there’s something for everyone.”

You chirp, bursting with curiosity. He feels fuzzy being around you; he doesn’t dare say he’s falling for you. Under long lashes he looks down at you.

“Honey, I am the show.”

He winks at your blush. You feel embarrassed, you should’ve known. Listening to him on every station you turn to he’s playing. He’s the only show that people care about. Mom puts an almost burnt meat loaf by the pitcher. She unties her apron from around her waist, folding it to put onto the counter. She turns off the stove, giving a snarl through ruby-painted lips.

“Nice to see you again, Elvis.”

She seethes through her teeth. Resentment oozing out of her. Elvis knows he has left their family, left their daughter in turmoil for his egotistical ways. Knows that he’s hurt both her and her kid and he’s not about to beg for forgiveness over something he can’t control. Let alone, make her own personal issues with him bother his mind. She sits beside him and her husband, putting a napkin over her lap. Elvis acknowledges her but says nothing. He has nothing to say, other than crude remarks.

“Take that trashy thing off your head, baby.”

You submit, obeying your mothers wishes like a good girl. Mind you, that those TCB glasses were more than your mother’s life, but he lets it go. You put them on your lap. Your father sighs, throwing the paper on the counter with your mom's apron.

“Would you like to say grace?”

You freeze and agree hesitating. Everyone bows their heads, but Elvis has his head tilted to the side to watch you speak.

“Father who art in Heaven, bless this food that we feast on. Thank you for helping me graduate and allowing me to turn eighteen.”

His ears tune out and everything goes quiet, just a straight frequency. His mind runs rampant, little girl isn’t little. Eighteen. Legal. Mine. He almost spontaneously combusts. Thinking like a predator, wondering how they’ll catch the prey. You open your eyes giving him a shy smile, unclasping your hands. Everyone says amen, and he stutters the word. God has cursed him for being infatuated by you.

_______

As dinner winds down. The soft clatter of forks hitting chinaware. Elvis noticed how often your bare leg touches his shin. Thinking about how you’re kicking your feet so absentmindedly like you did when you were a kid. The long spread between his knees can’t be the reason your leg keeps touching his. You’re doing it on purpose. He won’t let himself get caught by your dad so he starts a meaningless conversation.

“What happened to the ranch?”

Dad takes a napkin and wipes the corners of his mouth before answering.

“Sold it.”

He chuckles.

“To get this one a fancy camera.”

He jabs a thumb at you. Elvis nods.

“Takin’ up photography?”

Elvis asks and gets another brush of your foot against his shin.

“Yes, sir.”

You speak with confidence, similar to a woman who has her life figured out.

“Not much around to photograph though.”

Your lips turn down to a deep frown, but you smile brightly back at him and he nearly chokes on the meat he’s eating.

“But now you’re here, I was wondering if I can take your photo?”

He feels your foot stay on his shoe, your calf fully staying in contact with his leg. You ask the proposal with such delicacy, almost a desperate plea that he’d get on his knees doing whatever you wanted. But before he can, your mom interrupts.

“It’s rude to talk about business at the dinner table. We’ve been over this.”

She says sternly, and Elvis wants to murder her from how quickly your light leaves along with the physical contact of your leg. You’ll forget about the idea, but that’s all he’ll think about for the next few days.

“Yes, mama.”

He wonders if you’ll submit to him that easily. Dinner is done after that, mom takes father’s plate and you take yours and Elvis’. You put his glasses on the table and you see him watching you in its reflection. Once you come back to sit down, you scoot your seat closer to him. He moves to the side, swinging an arm over the back to look at how pretty you are.

“I’ve listened to The Wonder of You almost every night. It’s to die for, Elvis!”

He squeezes your hand that’s on the table, you’re mesmerized by how big his hands are.

“Thank you, Little One.”

You smile.

“I remember when you used to play songs on your guitar to help me sleep.”

You say it as if you’re in a dream state. He’s never noticed how pretty your eyes are, or how much he liked the slope of your nose. You furrow your eyebrows before a bulb pops in your head. Squeezing his hand the tightest it’s ever been held.

“We have it up in the attic, I’ll go grab it and you can play me something? I’ll be right back!”

He can’t say anything, you’ve leapt from your chair. Grabbed his glasses and bolted. He kicks his chair slightly back to watch your skirt jump up and down as you run. He shakes his head, feeling the blood already rushing down to his thighs. Pulling down his pant legs to relieve some of the stress.

“She missed you, you know. A lot more than anyone else.”

His friend speaks slowly, his accent pulling through his words. The words were wise that spewed from him. He knows he has to, he can’t do anything about who his daughter loves but just accept and forgive. He understands the circumstances and the consequences of letting you be with him but he'd rather you be happy than hate him.

“I know.”

He lifts from his spot, cleaning up. Kissing your mom on the cheek, tells her where he’s leaving to.

“Let’s take a walk.”

_______

The walk was condensed to a stroll around the supporting area of the house, showing Elvis mother’s garden when she grows the food they eat. A strand that was built like a tree held almost ripe peaches for plucking along with tomatoes. There’s a new porch that wrapped around the entire house. A pond your dad dug out, fish swam and frogs croaked around the circumference. Cattails sprouting from the ground. They stop by the porch, walking up the steps where they sit. Elvis on the rocking chair by the screen door, your dad on the swing chair connected to the roof. Both can hear mothers' awful attempts at singing. Your dad takes out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket with his lighter, offers Elvis one he takes it. Dad lights the both of them, then sits back. Putting them back in his pocket. He huffs as he smokes.

“Ol’ lady don’t like me smoking inside.”

He laughs to himself, coughing at the end. Elvis smiles softly, admiring the mischievous glint he remembers sharing as young ones. It’s nice to see him so relaxed, content with his life to lean back.

“Y/n don’t like it either. It doesn't look like it, but I’m scared by how much they’re alike.”

Taking another drag from his cigarette he wheezes.

“That’s why they bump heads all the time, y/n just doesn’t enjoy fighting anymore.”

Elvis inhales a white gust and pushes it out the side of his mouth, away from his friend. He takes the cigarette between his fingers and drops the dead embers off.

“Makes me scared to think she’s lost that fight.”

He says with a sincere heart. Watching the horizon dip into darkness. The sun is setting and he can hear the cicadas and grasshoppers off in the distance chirping. The only light is from inside through the holes in the screen. Elvis chews on the inside of his cheek, dying to know what he can say without it appearing rash. Rubbing his jaw he finally speaks.

“She’s grown big.”

Slowly with a thick accent he refrains himself from saying yittle. Sometimes he forgets he made the word up, but he keeps it simple. It’s obvious, and he takes another drawl from the slowly ending cigarette.

“That’s the thing. She has, I can’t teach her anything anymore. She already knows everything I offer. Has surpassed her mother in understanding emotions, me intellectually.”

He’s already waving the white flag of surrender. His dignity cripples as he continues.

“She needs work, she needs that fight she’s losing here. She is good at what she does, passionate even. There’s just no work here.”

He coughs once more, flicking his cigarette into the grass.

“I need you to take her to Vegas with you.”

Elvis nearly has a stroke. Heart pumping, his blood rushing. He feels dizzy, his cock is hard between his thighs he doesn’t even know why. Ever since he’s gotten here, he doesn’t know what being flaccid has felt like.

“I can arrange that.”

He answers quickly and his neck hurts from how fast he’s nodding. Assuring himself that this was a very plausible suggestion.

“I’ve known you all my life, bud. Treat her good, teach her good. And I swear to God above if I see her in the taglines, like I do with your other women. I’ll gut you and throw you in the pond.”

Elvis smiles, the true crooked big one with sharp teeth poking his lips. The thing about the other women he’s been with is that they weren’t you.

“You’ve got a deal.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette out in the grass. He sticks his hand out, rings shining with the low light from inside. A precise deal with the devil. Your dad shakes his hand.

“Daddy!”

Your voice cries, Elvis’ posture grows tight as his back touches the back of the chair.

“Outside!”

Dad yells back, and in a flash your thundering feet come to the door. An old ‘40s Kay guitar in hand, the one he bought back in Tupelo and left here. When you round his chair, you stick it out in front of him holding on to the neck as an offering. Taking it from you, he lays it down sideways on his lap. Playing with the strings at the top he tunes. The tape is falling off.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You plop onto the porch’s wood flooring, right by his leg. Your knee on the top of his shoe, looking up at him like a little puppy awaiting his command. He doesn’t tell you that you’re a good girl. You already know. Looking deep into your eyes he sees the little girl he left here, he quivers from the strange déjà vu of it.

“Any requests?”

_______

It’s midnight before your parents turn in. Mom is bickering about the noise but you couldn’t care. He’s played about half his songs and then some covers, a free little concert. His voice is raspy with his twang devouring his words. You couldn’t understand what he was saying, replacing words with his own. His legs are straining and tired from how much he shakes them while he sits. You never moved from your spot by his feet, if not anything you’ve moved closer. Your face directly in front of where he wants you the most. Croaking a warm laugh every time you clap after he finishes a song. You don’t ask for another but you greedily take every lyric he gives. Standing, you dust off your backside. Giving him a standing ovation. He pulls the guitar off his lap after saying his line of thank you. Patting his thigh you watch him stare at the end of your skirt.

“C’mere, honey.”

You obey, and his assumption about you submitting to him without question is relieved. He motions for you to sit on the large muscle. You turn around and sit. Ass pressed to his hip, legs over his big thigh. Feet, sooties as he calls them dangle by his calf. He grabs your legs, spreading them farther so you fully sit on one thigh. Your rib is shoved into the armrest but your thumping heart doesn’t allow you to feel the pain. Hot breathing is making the hair on the back of your neck stand. Your mouth parts as you pant. He reaches over, taking the guitar over your lap. Facial hair scratches your cheek as he looks over your shoulder. You can’t breathe, won’t breathe. He takes your soft hands in his calloused ones and places them on the old wood where they needed to be.

“Gon’ teach you somethin’ yittle one.”

You can feel each syllable touch the side of your face.

“Okay.”

You whisper shakily. He pinches your finger lightly to place it into the right position. Making sure your posture is straight, he lifts his leg for you to slip down straight to his chest. It’s warm in Mississippi, the end of the first week of August just now ending. Warm has turned into scorching hot, fire builds under your skin. Heat pooling in your lower back. You want him, need him. Gulping harshly you make the boil in your throat go down. He strums. The beautiful first chord of Are You Lonesome Tonight plays. He sings the lyrics into your ear. Chin pressed firmly on your shoulder, his nose brushing your neck. Lips ghosting a kiss. He smells like cigarettes, lavender and patchouli. His legs are bouncing and so do you. His knee is just shy of rubbing your clit and your jolt up from his lap in a frenzy. Putting the guitar to the side, you stand. Head tilted downwards, staring at your feet with your face burning hot. Looking like a puppy being scolded.

“Going to clean up for tomorrow. Night, Elvis.”

He gives a sly smile. As you scurry back inside like a heated mess. Whistling lowly to fever, he strum’s nonsense late into the night. Watching the stars twinkle, you make him see stars. Each of you know that there’s nothing to clean other than your sinful aching body. You’re going to shed that skirt and that blouse that’s too thin, step into an ice-cold shower to rid your thoughts of him. When that doesn’t work you’ll admit defeat putting on a sheer nightie and get into that gigantic bed of yours desperately trying to sleep. But who are you kidding? Slipping that little hand up and under to touch yourself to the thought of him. He knows all of this because he would do the same thing. He just knows you, always has and always will. The only thing he wishes is that the permanent and prominent tent in his pants would leave. Wondering if crawling into your bed with you would ease this tension.

________

It’s around noon the next day. He’s blinded by the bright light that wakes him. Birds are chirping, the sun is shining through the curtains. He smells the most mouth-watering food imaginable. Biscuits- fried in butter the way he taught you. Sausage, burnt. Scrambled eggs and sliced bacon which was also burnt. Hearing the radio on, playing some honkey tonk music. Opening his eyes fully, he realizes that he’s on the couch passed smooth out. Leg and arm dangling over the side, face smashed into the cushion.

“Daddy and I will go out into town to prepare the horse at the rodeo tonight. You’ll stay and keep Elvis company.”

Mother’s voice chimes and you cave.

“Yes, mama.”

Elvis perks up at the mention of his name, and that you’re going to be alone with him in an empty house for him to play in. The familiar swell of an erection forms. He moans into the cushion. The door closes, the soft hum of your voice lulls him to tranquility. The best part was it being are you lonesome, he smiles a closed lip and eye one. Little bird just flew too soon before he could sink his teeth in. The scraping of a spatula and the clink of a fork makes him lift his head to see you over the armrest. Shoving his head back into the couch, snoring to fake being asleep. Feeling your soft legs brushing against his hand as you perch upon the coffee table. Resisting the urge to grab you, snoring louder as you stare at him. He feels your inquisitive eyes burning into his face. Poor thing, how can he help you when you can’t even admit what you want? Feeling the pads of your fingers touch his forehead to sweep a few stray hairs from his brow bone. Deciding that’s the time to stir he startles you. Jumping with your offending hand to your chest. Those once bright ocean eyes of his turn to a dark storm. Short blue overalls with no bra either? He swallows heard, brain completely shattered. Lifting to wipe his mouth, yawning with a big fake exaggerated stretch. Noticing your eyes looking at his lower stomach when his shirt lifts. You reach out with the plastic tray you fixed his food on; he accepts with gratuitousness.

“That’s awfully nice of you, honey.”

Becoming bashful at his thanks, you observe him taking a bite into a biscuit. The butter almost ran down his hands.

“Holy hell, Little One. You’ve outdone yourself.”

He darkly purrs. You smile wide.

“Why have you always called me that?”

He blinks dumbly at your question.

“What Little One? It’s because you’re small.”

He swallows the biscuit and squeezes your knee with a buttery hand.

“Aint nothin’ wrong with that.”

You shake your head, taking his hand off your knee with absolute kindness to know that you weren’t rejecting him.

“No, I mean, honey. Why do you call me that?”

It could be nothing more than Southern hospitality. Being called darling or sweetheart was common. However, in your entirety of knowing Elvis he had called no one honey other than you. Maybe it was because he knew you were around. It was your nickname from him; you were special enough to him to have a nickname. Or you just read too much into it and it’s nothing. You’ve seen the women. He’s kissed, been with and they weren’t anything close to how you looked or acted. Models and movie stars, women. It’s registered to him. His mouth opens and he mutters a soft ‘oh.’

“When your daddy came to work with you one Mornin’ when you first started walkin’, you shook my hand and it was sticky. You apologized and, was- always been sweet as a little honey bee.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and legs in offense.

“I take good pride in my hygiene, mister!”

He raises an eyebrow, giving a glance at your dirty feet and legs. Knowing you’ve been digging in the garden for more food to grow. You quiet with burning cheeks under his demeaning glare. Digging into his high cholesterol meal like he’s starved. Watching your legs intently, wishing he had a genie to grant him the privilege to devour the space between your thighs.

_______

Changing to a dark red Cuban collared shirt, black slacks. He didn’t tuck the shirt into the waist doing it purposefully to show that he was at ease. It made his body flare since he hated looking relaxed but he tried. He’s showered, smelling like pine and that floral smell of yours. There were only two bathrooms in this house, the one downstairs and yours which was upstairs right next to your room. Not daring to smell like either of your parents he chose yours. He cursed himself for leaving his most essential toiletries at his home. The fury that he packed with has left him in essential dread. None of his signature scents nor his favorite food, and alcohol. He also missed the eager drive of release in the form of sex. The withdrawal from such pleasures is killing him slowly. Agony is beheading him, only being able to imagine you cavorting around in those skimpy overalls. Bare body underneath denim. Running around the garden with bare feet and a little woven basket full of vegetables and flowers. Wildflowers usually grow around this time. Basket nearly overweight by the amount of bulbous buttercups. He did however bring his brut cologne; he sprays it on giving himself that woodsy smell. Might as well smell like a Forest. Ruffling his hair that still is as frizzy when he first got here, he gives up. He bounds down the stairs, just to walk back up them when he realizes he passed a door with a whiteboard on it.

“The Colony.”

Little bees and hearts were drawn around the big marker letters. Demons were teasing him, and he was tempted with huge ambition to know what lies within the combs. Wrapping his hand around the knob he opens the door. Sneaking like a burglar into your room. Pink walls with posters of him plastered everywhere, practically having a shrine of him. Novelties he’s given you sat on your shelves with pride. His glasses are on the table right next to your door. A small black and grey camera lie in the middle of the window with cases and lenses pushed into plush foam. It reminded him of his guns stuffed into a briefcase back home. He’s become more than homesick, wishing to be back in his satin clothes with a cigar and a Pepsi. Running his fingers over the bulk case, becoming uncannily familiar with cameras from the amount of times they’ve been shoved into his face. He wanders over to the right corner of your room. Your gigantic bed that’s still too big for you stands strong. He built that bannister for your bed frame you slept on. Gave you those stuffed animals. His ego gets the best of him and he wonders if some boy has fucked you in the bed he’s made. He wouldn’t put it past you. An aloof girl too stunning for her own good gets taken advantage of by a little kid who found out how to get his rocks off. His cheeks and neck are flushed, rings pinching his palms as they turn into fists. He’s breathing heavily, opening the curtains to ground himself. The pasture, pond and garden are all in view. He finds you walking back from feeding the horses. Fifty feet. He decides in a quick moment that he can make it work. Unbuckling his belt, kicking his feet apart he dips his hand below the waistband of his boxers. Dick already solid as a rock. Shocker. The cold shower and the fervor of his fist did nothing to stop your spell. His hand wraps around the base, tugging roughly and pulling fast. Not having time for pleasure just release. Watching you suddenly break out in a sprint back to the house. Fuck, his heart is skipping. Blood buzzed throughout him. Bursting, his hips punctured the hole of his hand. His rings bite into the sensitive skin of his shaft. Ropes are already pouring from the crown down the length of him, hand getting damp. He uses it as a lubricant to go faster. Imagining a warm, tight, fiery hole of yours to squeeze in. You couldn’t take him, he’s too big but you will and he’ll make you. He’s close, almost criminally. Biting down hard on his lip a lousy attempt to stifle, guttural moans. Only thinking of how you’re such a god sent, innocent, can cook, doesn’t have any responsibilities. Most of all, impressionable. He jumps over the ledge into full ecstasy. In a brief second of clarity his eyes pop open and he slings open drawers. Grabs silk purple panties and milks himself into the middle. They’re coated in thick white waves. Wiping off his cock with them, he tucks them back into the drawer he found them in. Hearing the screen door fly open, followed by the screech of his name. Instantly making him flashback to him trying to not be caught by his prying mother in his youth. Ears burning, he reaches down and pulls up his trousers. Stuffing back his weeping cock into his boxers. Putting back the open drawers and walking down the stairs, refreshed. Although, he’s plagued with the thought that he left evidence in your room. Elvis was a sucker and a fool. Once he hunkers back down the stairs and into the living room. You put down the basket and give him a hug. Not as tight as when he first showed up but still tight. He squeezes you back, kissing your head gently. You grab his hand and pull him into the kitchen.

“Goin’ to make gumbo!”

Elvis was very hesitant. He’s had nothing you made without your mother’s help. Gumbo was a very hit-or-miss dish. He didn’t tell you he was fearful because the way eyes lit up he couldn’t. You’ve pulled him into the kitchen. He stood by the cabinets, putting his hands behind him to lean back. Watching you take the flowers from your basket to walk over to the glass case and pull out the vase. Filling it with water and submerging the stem and soil in the bottom. You put it on the dinner table with a smile, washing your hands from the soot. You’ve tucked your hair behind your ears, and seeing your face makes his throat close up. Wondering what you’d look like with makeup that exaggerated your features made his heart strum.

“When was the last time I cooked you something?”

He doesn’t think you’ve made him a meal without your mother overseeing. You’ve made him banana and peanut butter sandwiches without the crust but that’s too easy. He scratches the back of his neck. Remembering a mud pie you tried to make him eat when you were five, and a cattail you shoved in his face when you were eight. You cooked him authentic food was a meteor shower. Trusting your intuition, it couldn’t be that bad..could it? He shrugs his big shoulders.

“A while.”

You give him a glare, shaking your head. A strand falls down your face and he so desperately wants to sweep it behind your ear. You reach to grab a stock pot, putting flour and oil to start the roux. The radio plays blues music. Soft and twangy. You’re chopping meat now. He tries to keep up but you move too fast. You’re too experienced with your craft. He established that the fastest way to make him fall in love was watching a woman cook. He admires your craftsmanship of tossing little sausages into the cylinder. Your hips sway as you hum to the tune. As you cut, the vegetables he walks behind you. Large hands come around your waist, putting his chiseled jaw on your shoulder. Seeing your hands work from your perspective. His nose brushes along your neck, closing his eyes he breathes you in with a heavy sigh. Heart weighted with fullness. Pressing himself against you, your face is warm.

“Smells good, honey.”

Smooth buttery voice mewls into your ear. He’s half awake as he speaks, so content. Eyes half lidded. You smile.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t know if he was talking about you or the food, but you take the compliment. Your thighs burn and the bottom of your feet are freezing under the cold tile. His muscular arms wrapping around your waist to hug you from behind. Kissing your neck affectionately. Pepper pile on top of pepper. You make a note to leave out the onions. A time when you were younger, you watched as a young server got her behind chewed out for putting it on his burger. Your dad howled with laughter after shaking his head. How pitiful he is to not eat a measly vegetable. Since then, you made a habit of knowing what things he did and didn’t like to get a husky ‘Taste so good, honey.’ Garlic and parsley tops off the mountain. Stirring it with a wooden spoon, he bites down on his tongue. Trying his damndest to not bend you over and spank you with the utensil. He closes his eyes tight, and kisses your cheek tenderly instead. More sausages along with chicken and shrimp pile into the pot. Turning your head to face him, your lips brush his nose. Lashes fluttering on his cheek.

“Can you grab the spice for me, daddy?”

His chest compresses into a ball, he can’t breathe. His cock denting the front of his pants and digging into your back. You can feel his breath stutter on your neck. It’s a name of endearment, nothing more but his heart is beating out of his chest. He nods, keeping a hand on your stomach when he reaches the cabinet above your head. It travels to the underside of your breast. The coldness of his rings leaves a trail of goosebumps. Straightening to his full height to pluck the orange powder with his king fingers. Closing the door and placing the small glass into your hand. Nearly drooling at the scent of the food and you.

“Can you set the table, please?”

He’s a little boy all over again, helping his mother set up for dinner. Even if he is grown, he follows your instruction without a word. He gives your voluptuous hips and squeeze, before grabbing a stack of chinaware from the glass case he pauses.

“Is your Ma and daddy comin’ home tonight?”

Earnestly asking from pure curiosity. If not, he gets to play house with you and he can’t operate fully from the idea. You shrug your shoulders.

“There’s a rodeo tonight, so it’s a flip of a coin, really.”

Only grabbing pairs of two, he places them down where he had dinner with you last night. Opening the fridge only to find it to be filled with wine and liquor. There’s only one Pepsi can. He floats to heaven, but upon further notice he finds it half drunken. He dies. Lord, he wasn’t one to judge since he had his own sins to repent but it looks like your parents were more than a couple of drunks. Taking the lemonade from last night, his eyes settle on something clear but murky. There were at least twenty stacked behind it. Taking one of the mason jars he looks at it closely.

“Honey, what’s this?”

You pivot looking at what he’s referring to while wiping your hands off on a napkin. He doesn’t like it when you frown but you do.

“That’s daddy’s moonshine, he doesn’t like when people take what’s his.”

Elvis stifles a bitter bark of a laugh. He’s been sober for a day and a half now, and the raging desire to have his desires fulfilled either through being drunk or through you is fogging his head. Not a single soul was going to tell him what he could and couldn’t take, he’s a grown man after all. Taking the jar, unscrewing the top, he grabs the lemonade for you. Closing the door with his foot, he puts the lemonade by you. Taking a long swig of sweetness, it’s cold and feels like drinking water after running but hell it’s the bitterness that gets him going. Clenching his jaw as he swirls it around his mouth. You have mittens in and you’re scooping out a serving for him and you. Putting it back in the stove you turn off. Slipping your gloves off on the counter. You sit, beside him putting the napkin in your lap you cannot realize that Elvis had already dug in.

“Elvis!”

You hiss, scolding him. He shoots you a look and you’re cutting daggers into his luxury skin. Dissatisfied at him finding your dad's stash.

“Grace. We have to say grace, silly.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. His mother would think he’s disgraceful and give him a smack for the way he’s been acting. It’s just that there’s something about being here that makes him act up. He takes another sip from the glass, this time it goes down easier. Putting it that it’s your fault he’s like this not his own. Closing his eyes, he puts his hands together.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for blessing this wonderful little girl with the gift of cookin’ I pray the rodeo lasts forever, Amen.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. He’s practically inhaling the food in front of him. You scoff in disgust. You dig your own fork into the food you made. Before you look at the full man, you sip on a cup of lemonade. He has sauce all over his cheeks and lips. Face flushed, cheeks ears and neck a baby pink. Eyes dilated and blurry. He’s becoming drunk, and you didn’t think you were going to have to babysit tonight. He notices your invasive eyes. His cheeks are full with food and he raises a thick brow.

“What?”

You snicker a small laugh as you get up. Taking the napkin from your lap and tuck it into his collar that’s popped. Scooting back from the table he opens his arms, grabbing the backs of your bare thighs to guide you into his lap. He swallows thickly. Your legs on either side of his thighs, his hands spread out on your lower back.

“You missed your mouth, hon.”

You place your thumb and wipe a spot by his jaw like a mother would with a toddler. You kick the seasoning off your thumb, wiping off another spot by the bottom of his lip.

“In multiple places.”

You whisper as you tug the full lip down, showing his lower teeth. Pearly whites. It springs back to pillowy fullness when you let it go. Your eyes are heavy and he looks up at you, fully entranced by you even with a fuzzy head. He’d risk it all, his career, his friendship, everything in this moment just to kiss you. You grace your thumb over his lip and he parts them. Taking the tip of your digit in his mouth, only to betray you. He bites down.

“Ow!”

You cry out, cradling your hand to your chest. You grab onto his broad shoulders to not fall onto him, as he lifts his legs for you to fall down into him. He cups your cheeks, pulling your face to his. He breathes your air for a minute, nose brushing your cheek. Lips touching yours. It’s not until he closes his eyes and you play with the hair at the nape of his neck when he kisses you. It’s not tender or loving. Hasty and lustful. Parting those sinful lips immediately to lick into the cave of your mouth. Eating you alive like he did with your food. You’re stunned, but it quickly goes away. He tasted like gumbo and moonshine and you taste like salt and sugar from the lemonade. It’s so nasty the way his legs are kicked up on the edge of the table so you’re obligated to be perched in his lap. Something heavy like a rock song plays now. He cups the side of your neck. Tightening his hold lightly to tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss. The other drops to your ribs to touch you. He feels your bare side, and that’s enough to drive him wild. Your hands fly into his hair, tugging and pulling the strands. He moans into your mouth wantonly. It sets a fire to your stomach. Running his tongue flat over yours, telling you to let go. He’ll take care of you, just give yourself to him. Your posture is so straight and your body is rigid. It would be perfect under different circumstances. Right now he wants you to be putty he can mold. He released his lips from yours pausing to heave, lips brushing yours, he steals your air from you. His long lashes hide his eyes as he looks up.

“I need you to relax, honey.”

He kisses your cheek right below your eye.

“If your folks come back, that’s okay. Let ‘em know how good I please you.”

Your heart pumps and your lips are swollen, moving your hips on his. Feeling that bulge in his slacks kiss at your clit. Hips rocking in tandem is a good enough answer for him to know you’ve given in. You pull away, head thrown back to heave. He peppers your neck in slobbery kisses. Pressing his lips to your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth making a bright angry bruise when he lets go. Guiding your hips to grind onto his aching hardness. He climbs that mountain with you, almost tossing you up those boulders. Both of you know it’s wrong to be doing this with your dad's best friend who raised you.

But,

You crossed the line by touching him. He crossed it by putting his cream in your panties. He hears your blood rushing. Light heated. Feeling your pulse on his lips. The blood rushing to your head.

“When I fuck you my little girl, I’ll have your thighs shaking. Snatch squeezing me so tight I won’t be able to move.”

He runs his nails along your back with both hands. Head tilted up to look at you.

“Teach you how to take me.”

You yelp as he grabs the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. Staring deeply into your glassy eyes.

“Teach you how to be my own personal whore.”

He kisses you fast. Once, twice, three times in a frenzy.

“Anyone ever touched you the way I do?”

You shake your head, tears forming from how intimate it was too much. You’re overwhelmed from being touched like this, talked to in such a manner.

“Huh? What was that? I won’t kill ‘em honey.”

He sucks his bottom lip in, chewing the skin in thought.

“I’ll just give ‘em a minor example what I can do. Make ‘em forget who he is.”

He shrugs before smiling like the devil incarnate; it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Swear it.”

He sees tears slipping from your eyes and your bottom lip trembling. Panic settles in him, he pulls you off his lap; he puts you where you sat before. You’re utterly confused and frustrated. Your head is tilted down in shame, hair hiding your embarrassment. He smooths back his hair that’s in clumps, grabbing at the front of his pants to adjust himself. You’re full blown crying now, face warm, confused and horny and nothing makes sense.

“I thought you liked me?”

Your feeble voice breaks his heart, he crouched down. His knees on the tile as he scoots to your legs, placing his hands on your knees. Attempting to console you. You won’t look at him, so he takes your jaw in his hand. Making you look at him.

“Honey.”

He laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

“If I keep touchin’ you the way I want to, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

He shuffles closer to kiss your jaw.

“I like you too much, sweetheart.”

You smile softly, forgiving him with a hug over his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he makes you jump to get better leverage on you by holding the bottom of your thighs. You lay your head on his shoulder.

“The last time I did this you were smaller.”

He chuckles to himself at his joke. You smile sleepily as he walks. You don’t care that you left food out and your mom will chew you out later. He steps on the back of his shoes to take them off by the couch. Somehow walking up the stairs with you hanging onto him. Kicking the door open with his foot, he sits you down on your pink bed. You curl up in a ball with a big koala he got you.

“You want pajamas?”

He questions, trailing his fingers over your hip. The bib of your overalls just barely shows him your areola. You mumble an ‘mhm.’ With that he’s up and going through your drawers. (Again.) Finding the underwear he tainted, and a baby blue night dress that matches his eyes and a pair of white socks with pink frills at the top. The combination he chose is nothing but ugly but he doesn’t care. He lays the clothes down beside you. Sitting at the top of the bed his back to the wall right by the shrine of him. He pulls you up to his chest, your head flops to the side and you have a devilish smirk.

“C’mon baby, work with me.”

You moan in reply, still just being dead weight. Deciding to manhandle you, he grabs your hips pulling you to sit on his lap. Using his chin to make sure your head doesn’t fall from his chest. Slipping off the salopettes, the bib falls to show your naked chest. He bites down brutally hard on his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. Your nipples perk up and he should not feel the head of his cock pushing against the middle of his pants. He’s straining against the fabric. His fingers trace the curbs and swell, he wants to bite to suck. Breathing is harder, more constricting. You grab onto his wrist, stopping him from continuing. He kisses your forehead.

“I won't feel honey, I just wanna touch you.”

His words slur, you give him a sloppy smile. He lifts your hips with his hands to shimmy down the shorts; he tosses them in your room. His hands run down the expanse of your thighs, white cotton panties with a little pink bow on the top. Smirking to himself he pulls them down your long legs. They’re soaked in the middle, you’re quivering on him. He leans forward to the clothing he picked out, taking the purple panties he slips them on you.

“I think these are dirty, daddy.”

You mutter, brows furrowed. He shakes his head, stiffening at the thought of being caught.

“Don’ think so Little One.”

You don’t fight him, and you nod off again. He lays you back down to slip the dress over your head, slipping the socks on your dirty feet to keep you warm. He’s not sure if it’s your siren ways that he’s being burnt alive or the house. He swears up and down that this house is stuffy and congested and doesn’t have a conditioning system; he cracks open your window the slightest bit. Crossing his arms on both sides and takes off his shirt. White tank is the only thing covering his chest. You watch him curiously, through blurry eyes. Unbuckling his belt, he steps out of his pants. He hasn’t dressed this down for bed since he was broke. It was unfamiliar but strangely homey. He goes around turning off your lights; he kisses you goodnight. You grab his bevel when he turns to leave.

“Stay the night with me?”

You ask in that tone he can’t refuse; he agrees instantly. He dips under the blanket with you, snuggling up to you. Arms wrapping around your torso, his chin in your head. It’s dead quiet except for heavy breathing, he basks in your warmth. He’s your teddy bear, not the ones he gives you to think he’s there. It feels like a dream come true that he’s there in your bed with you. He thinks that you’re asleep before you spook him with your mumbling.

“You’re not going to make love with me?”

He freezes and has a mental conniption. Did you want him to fuck you in your bed with your parents away? He doesn’t know but he can’t. It’s not right. He shakes his head, kissing you in your hairline.

“No. Not tonight, honey.”

He whispers softly and you nod. Nuzzling your face into his chest, Elvis finally becomes close to slumber around two in the morning. Too enthralled with stroking your hair and showering you in kisses. After, he made out with you is when he felt comfortable enough to sleep. He only got twenty minutes of it when he heard a truck pull up in the yard. A staggering man clamoring into the house. You clutched to him harder and even though confused, his grip on you tightened. Hearing some commotion and a loud mutter about moonshine. Elvis rolled his eyes and his stomach dropped. The fucking liquid courage. Elvis went to sleep at precisely four in the morning, and only because you whispered sweet things about him in your sleep. His dreams were the least bit tame. The primary plot line was him taking Polaroids in his suite while fucking you.

_______

When you wake up the next day, the man who was tucked behind you is gone. As if he was never there. A panic burns in your chest. Could you have dreamt it? No, it was far too real to be fake. You ball up your hands, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Peering over your bed down to the floor to find your clothes along with his vanished. Poof, gone. It can’t be. He was here, right? You’ve had enough. Getting up from your bed you flatten down your hair and spray some perfume on. Taking your night dress over your head and slipping on a white sleeveless dress. It’s about mid-thigh, modest. Smells like fresh linens, it was good enough. As you walk to your door, the space between your thighs grows uncomfortable with each step. You cringed with each stride but you were too stubborn to just change. The radio is off when you walk out, it could only mean one thing. When you get to the living room and turn left around the bannister, your suspicions are correct. Watching him shove more laundry into the washer, and pull out another load. He’s wearing a blue blouse and dark pants. He turns around to toss the enormous bunch of clothes into a clean basket and he’s met with you. He smiles widely, the one that shows his teeth and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Looking down at his watch briefly to catch the time.

“What’re you doin’ up sugar?”

Blinking dumbly at him like he’s not speaking English. You’re confused why he asked that like it’s not past noon. Walking past him to hop up on the dryer to sit. Feet dangling off the side of it. He puts his hands on either side of your lips. Face mere inches away from yours.

“You left.”

You have a pitiful pout plastered on your face. The cherry on top was the puppy dog eyes. Such an onerous thing. He knows and nods.

“Had to get ready to leave for Vegas this evenin’.”

Now why’d he have to say that? Your mood instantly turns sour at the thought of him actually leaving you. His eyes flick across your face as a frown takes over your pout. He takes his thumb and smooths out the lines in your face. You deflate, becoming even more saddened that you’d miss his touch. The dryer rumbles under you. Rocking you like a cradle with a babe in it.

“Oh.”

You whisper, absolutely heartbroken. He dips his head down and you see the necklace he’s wearing.

“You’re comin’ with me.”

Your brows crease together, he smooths that line out too. You’re snarling at what must be a sick joke. There’s no way you’re going with him, not in the wildest dreams.

“What?”

He squeezes your thighs.

“Me and your daddy talked about it the first night I was here. He wants your world to be bigger.”

You take a second to process, but the biggest smile he’s ever seen spreads across your face. He doesn’t smooth it out. You swing your arms around his neck, jumping off the dryer. He laughs into your hair, hugging you back. The reason that he’s doing laundry now makes sense now. His face is covered in your kisses, he can’t hear anything other than you saying thank you excessively. It reminds him of when he first met you, sticky or not. You pout again.

“I don’t have any Vegas-y clothes.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and index, lifting it.

“Honey, I’ll buy you the whole damn world.”

He pecks a kiss to your lips before turning you out of the room, telling you to pack. You bound up the stairs daydreaming of the fabulous adventures of Vegas.

_______

Ma came home tittering to the sides as she walked. You didn’t know what happened at the rodeo, but you knew enough by the way your parents weren’t interacting that things went south. They’ve been fighting more often since you graduated and you couldn’t help but feel like it’s your fault. Dad told you it was just your mothers insecurity of you leaving the nest but surely it wasn’t just that. They fought over the moonshine earlier, dad had drunk half his stock since the time he got home last night. It surprised you and your mother. It didn’t surprise Elvis. Your dad was giving up his only solace forever to live in Hell with your mother. Elvis wasn’t surprised at all. You voiced your troubles to the older man, he told you that your worries would be a thing of the past in just a few hours. In a few hours your life would change forever. His fingers were scratching your scalp as he ran them through your hair calming you. Both of you were on the couch, you were laying down with your head on his lap. He sat up stroking your face lovingly while he tried his best to ease your eager mind. Just a young girl with the world on her shoulders. You played with his hand when he was done touching your face. Tracing over the veins and solid bones. You watched your dad fish outside in the little pond. He never ate them, just always found solitude and serenity during the act. He threw them back in after. You wanted to talk to your dad eventually about the situation, but you didn’t want to make the already tense disaster even worse. Elvis has packed your things since you didn’t know how. He folded the clothes even if he thought it was a woman’s job; he did it. Too wrapped up in leaving this godforsaken house. He just wanted to get out as fast as possible, and if it involved doing a woman’s duties then so be it. You cried like a little baby, rightfully so about leaving your treasured stuffed animals. You had begged him to understand that they have their own feelings too and just can’t be left. He promised to buy you new ones, so you shut your mouth. The sun's yellow is bleeding into orange. Five o’clock couldn’t come sooner. Your mom just sat in her chair watching some game show. She dozed off when her favorite contestant lost a thousand dollars. When your dad comes back in, still walking funny. You determined you were the one going to cook supper tonight. You groaned as you got up from Elvis’ lap to go pick at some more vegetables, not expecting to cook greens two nights in a row. The man follows close behind you, practically on your heels. The radio is on again now that the laundry room is unoccupied. Dad said he would fix the electrical problem but never has. Elvis didn’t like how immature your parents were, how they had shamelessly argued in front of you and a guest without abandon. From that alone, him taking you away was the best decision for your health and everyone else’s. He walks beside you, slipping his hand into yours. He brings the back of your hand to his lips, letting you know he’s thinking about you. You smile at him in return. Making him walk around the pond's circle to pick out flowers. He doesn’t know why you do it, but maybe you distract your mind with beauty. He adores that, he wonders if that’s why you kept so much of the stuff he gave you is because he’s another distraction. He’s okay with that, more than okay. Although most of the flowers you picked were weeds, he didn’t tell you that. When you walk back around to the front you sit down and stick your feet into the water. He lets go of your hand, to slip off his shoes and socks. He rolls up his pants and plops down right next to you. Little ripples pool throughout your feet. You push them back and forth to make a wake.

“Do you ride horses anymore?”

He’s curious to know since your parents showed them at the rodeo and no one has mentioned their practical use. His heart breaks a little at you disregarding him teaching you how to ride them. You shake your head no. He watches the side of your face as you stare off into the distance, wanting to kiss you.

“Their backs are bad from how much they were riding on when they were younger, so they just live in the pastures together.”

You speak nonchalantly with a shrug. His hand reaches over to your lap, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He needs to touch you at all times. If he doesn’t, he might become hysterical. You were just that addictive. He can’t imagine how much of a monster he’ll be when he has all of you. You lay your head on his shoulder.

“It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.”

Elvis had thought about it multiple times. He thought they represented his relationship with you. They were once strong workers and now they’re just show animals. It’s such a sick joke. He scoots closer as you put his hand onto your lap. His thigh touches yours.

“I’ll miss seeing the stars in Vegas.”

You whisper softly and he nods. For the first couple of weeks, he can sense you will be very homesick. He’ll help you get out of it. He removes his hand from your lap, your face wrinkles up in confusion and before you can even mutter why. You feel a pressure at your back and you’re submerged under the murky water. Quickly flailing your limbs like a helpless baby bird you attempt to keep yourself afloat. Water streams out your nose and ears. You take a deep gasp when you break through the liquid barrier. You chew him out as you flap your arms haphazardly. However, you can’t complain as he’s already shedding his clothes. Shirt leaving and he’s unbuckling his pants. Dark red boxers. Slipping off his precious rings from each finger, he puts them in his shoe. He dives in after, almost drowning you in the wave. He comes up with such a boyish smile. One that looks like a kid getting candy. He pushes a hand to his now finally flat hair to slick it back from his face. He tries to grab at you but you splash him. His golden skin shimmers with precipitation. Your dress is soaked and is see-through. You’re kicking your legs to get away from the bad guy.

“There are critters in here, Elvis! Dad was just fishing in here! Are you crazy?!”

You screech, he grabs your arm in a quick motion so you can’t get away. He pulls you to his chest. The fight suddenly leaves when you look into those dark blues staring at you.

“The only critter in here is you, baby.”

He kisses your cheek, wrapping his arms around your torso. He hiked up your legs around his hips. It’s the same way he handled you last night when he took you to bed. Oh, how you wished that night went differently. You don’t know if it’s a fish or some otherworldly thing that’s poking at your leg. He looks down at your chest briefly gazing longingly at your pebbled nipples rubbing at his chest. Your beautifully crafted breasts. It’s almost impossible how silent it is, only frogs and birds chirping. Rooting for you to kiss like in Snow White. That’s how he made you feel, like his very own princess. His breath is hot on your face, his eyes flicking from your breasts to lips to eyes. You wiggle like a fish under his prying eyes.

“Thought I taught you how to swim.”

You snort a laugh.

“You call throwing me into water, and wishing for the best is teaching me how to swim?”

He puts on an offending look. Maybe he was a talented actor from his very fake expressions.

“You’re alive, aren’t ya?”

You give him a curt nod, rolling your eyes. He takes a hand out of the water, grabbing your jaw to look at him straight.

“That’s a nasty thing you keep doin’ Little Girl.”

Your thighs squeeze around his waist and god it’s so wrong. Your eyes are glazed over and pupils shot to hell. Stomach tied to knots as he bends his head down to capture your lips. You melt into him faster than you’d ever admit. He knows you too well to know you’re caught in his web. His hands paw at your ass. Your hands push into his wet hair, yanking to keep him impossibly close. His tongue makes its way into your mouth, his newfound home. It’s a fever and never enough. It’s a tugging war and he could do it all night, miss the flight back home. Get all pruned while kissing you, studying you. Your feet are pushing into his ass, and he’s not sure how he’s keeping either of you safe but he is and that’s enough. Your sweet precious mewls reverberated through his body and he might come in his underwear. Crazy. He’s crazy, but he hears a bell singing in the distance. It rings again, and he hears your mom's roar of your name to call you for dinner. Your mother of course, has a goddamn bell. You pull away with a whimper of his name, cheeks flushed and lips bruised. You can’t even look at him and he did his job perfectly. When he catches his breath, he reaches around to the back of your neck pulling you in for one more long kiss. You whine after about how sensitive your mouth is, but he laughs sinisterly. He bites your bottom lip, just to spite you. After you push him off you, you swim to the bank. Thinking that everything is a game he swims faster than you to hop up in the grass. He offers his hand and you take it. Relieved to find out that you’re not a sore loser. He pulls you up, quick to notice the way droplets run down the curve of your chest and looks away. Putting his rings back on, he pauses. An idea sparks into his mind, he takes the smallest one off. The one that was on his pinky that held three diamonds, and looked at it inquiringly. He balls it up in his hand so you can’t see it and hold his fist out to you.

“What is it?”

You ask, curiously. He smiles pushing it closer to you.

“A gift.”

He says, you open your palm. A 14k yellow and gold ring falls down. You gasp at such a gift. You tell him you can’t because it’s his, but he refuses. Trying to fit it on each finger to make sure it fits, sadly it doesn't. You remember the cheap gold chain your grandma had given you tucked away in some drawer in your room. You smile widely, nearly jumping him to plant a big smooch on his cheek. He smiles and kisses the tip of your nose. He doesn’t bother putting in his clothes; they were just going to be soaked if he did, anyway. He just shoved them under his arm, holding his shoes with two fingers as he walked with you back to the house. You curse to yourself about forgetting your flowers and vegetables. You’ll just make banana and peanut butter sandwiches. You make him wait outside while you run through the house. Wet feet slapping the floor as you do. He laughs at how ridiculous it is. He sits down in the rocking chair; it creaks as he rocks back and forth. Mindless thinking takes over as he waits. You’ve come back about ten minutes later. Freshly showered, smelling like lavender. You’ve changed into little blue shorts with a red shirt tucked into them. For the first time since his stay he sees you wearing shoes. It makes him laugh to see that it’s cowboy boots with little spurs on the back. You’ve found a chain that you put his ring onto, it hangs down your sternum. He takes the clothes you’ve picked out for him with the towel. It’s a blue jacket and jeans. Double denim. But he’s matching with you and his ring is around your neck and his skin burns at that. On that day Elvis knew he was completely and utterly in love with you.

_______

He’s showered again, smelling like you and matching with you. Clamoring down the stairs, arms and hands full of luggage, his duffel is slung around his shoulder. He sets all the items by the door. He hears your mom and dad fighting over him taking you home with him and that one damn jar of moonshine he left out. Swearing to himself that he should’ve been more worried about the alcoholic evidence than your panties. Your mom is the one who’s putting salt into the wound, knowing the right things to poke at your dad. Your dad finally puts his foot down. He asks what you want to do, Elvis stands by the door. Back pushed to the wall, eavesdropping. C’mon, honey he’s already got the bags packed and reservations made.

“Ma I love you, bud if I don’t leave then I’ll be stuck here like you and daddy.”

He can hear how timid your voice is. He chances a peek, and your head is tilted down, hands folded in your lap. He can’t take the anxiety he’s feeling, he feels his heart pumping out of his chest.

“Watch your tongue!”

Your mother shouts, and no one says anything after that. He rounds the corner, and the air is so thick. It’s choking him out. Taking the one plate on the counter that has his sandwich, he sits down. Right across from you. Your parents at the head. He was once at the top and now he’s equal to everyone else. The flowers you put in the middle of the table look droopy, sadder. The world was funny like that. No one says grace as he eats the triangular bread. You give him a pleading stare for him to fix it. He’s tired of it and is sick of it all.

“Should invest in a lock if you want people out of your shit.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide like you’ve seen a ghost. You were a baby deer in headlights. It was calm before the storm. He takes another bite, chews then swallows. Not giving a damn. Your mother had smoke blowing out her ears and eyes burning red. Your dad laughs loudly, if he didn’t he’d cry. Elvis arches his eyebrow, smirking at you.

“What?”

Your mother stands up, her chair shrieking. She stood pointing at him like he was an absolute abomination.

“Out!”

She belts.

“Get out of my house now, you devil!”

She stomps her foot, throwing a complete tantrum. Elvis nods, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He stands walking over to your side to grab your hand. Pulling you up to walk with him. Your mother is getting blue from how much she’s screaming. She’s throwing porcelain plates and glasses. Your flowers are undoubtedly dead from the shatter of glass and wet splash. Your dad says nothing, as he grabs his keys. Elvis tugs you out of the house, trying to get you away from the chaos. He cups your cheeks, caressing them with his thumbs. Your shaky hands find themselves on his waist.

“Gon’ show you my world sweetheart. Goin’ to fit right in.”

His voice is steady and calculated. He can see tears forming in your pretty eyes. He takes his thumbs to wipe them.

“You promise?”

Your voice trembles, and he kisses your forehead.

“You have my word. I’ll take care of you, treat you like a princess.”

He points back to where your parents are still fighting. You can hear them loud and clear through the walls.

“We're never going to fight like that.”

He hugs you to his chest tight, one hand rubbing your achy head. The other wrapped around your shoulders. You sling your arms around his waist, full-blown crying into his chest. You’ve soaked his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He coos to you, telling you how much he loves you. He watches the horses in the pasture gallop as a melancholy goodbye. It stays like that until your dad comes out. He tells you to wait in the car while he and Elvis grab your bags. You do as you’re told, your dad squeezes your shoulder before you leave.

“I’m sorry.”

_______

The ride to the hangar was silent, other than the radio playing. It was absorbent you fell asleep on Elvis’ arm. Your dad hums along with the song, and Elvis kisses your forehead with every turn. You had sobbed for an hour straight after you left, and his heart tore with each wail. Sleeping was the best thing to happen for you.

“I wish you could’ve left on better terms.”

Your dad sighs, knowing the ultimate defeat he’ll admit to when he gets home. There is no hope anymore, and he doesn’t see his marriage lasting any longer. Elvis hums as a response. Seeing the hanger and his beloved jet’s blinking lights in view, he squeezes your thigh to wake you. Your dad turns off the car's ignition, opening the door and walking around to the back to grab your bags. Elvis helps you out into the concrete, you’re weak and tired and he understands. He’ll take you out for a late dinner when they land. He feels like can eat at the golden steer. Maybe he’ll take you out shopping after, who knows. The man was unpredictable. He holds up your sleepy form by your waist, you’ve snuggled into his side. Your dad comes back around, he gives you a hug and a kiss to your cheek.

“Stay safe.”

That’s the last thing you heard from your dad. He watches you walk up the platform with Elvis; you turn to wave goodbye. He waved back with a forced smile. He didn’t dare shed a tear. He turns on the car and honks, making you laugh before walking into the jet. There’s a flight attendant who introduces herself, a very pretty lady and you wonder if Elvis picked her out himself. She escorts you to your seat, all the way in the back where there’s a lounge of seats and a bar. You sit by the window. You’re left alone for a few minutes, eyes welling up with tears you honestly don’t know how you have any left. The lady asks if you want anything and you say no. She leaves after that. Things suddenly felt real when you watched your dad pull out. You’re alone in a big scary world with the biggest most well-known man there is. You’re terrified but strangely excited. Elvis comes to plop in the seat next to you, his once owned sunglasses in hand. He puts them on you to hide your tear-stained face. He squeezes your hand for reassurance. You blink to sleep before the seatbelt alarm even dings and the jet lifts into the sky. Dreaming of a better life with Elvis in Vegas.

To be continued…

#elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader smut #austin!elvis x reader smut #austin!elvis x reader #xreader #mature

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sanctus-ingenium · 1 year

Text

answering your asks in one big post because you sent so many of them (update: added 2 more that just got sent)

hi guys. what the fuck

in plain text so i don't have to type out a million image IDs

Anonymous asked: "I am obsessed with your metal beasts and lore!! The designs are *chef's kiss* gorgeous and inspired and if you were to ever make print versions of the kinda diagram-like side view pieces of them I'd slap that stuff all over my walls ❤️❤️"

Answer: I'd have to pretty them up a LOT to get them print ready. But I think it would be cool to do a blueprint style version kind of like old diagrams of machinery with additional embellishments

like this (source)

Anonymous asked: "have you ever posted any art of the dragons you've mentioned before? im really curious ab them"

Answer: I've posted sketches. I have trouble drawing diagrams because I am STILL torn between radial and bilateral symmetry... i know it should be radial but in my heart I prefer bilateral. So I'm thinking maybe it is radial but with a pseudo-bilateral look. It's definitely on my to-draw list

Anonymous asked: "just wanna pop in and say i love all your worldbuilding its so creative and fun, but as a dragon lover i ESPECIALLY adore your weird and funky dragons. i think its so cool when people push the boundaries on what a dragon can be (that versatility is a big part of their appeal to me in the first place) and your take is one of the most fun ive seen in a while"

Answer: as a marine biologist, I-

the dragons came after the beasts. I wanted to give them a reason for existing and 'knights fighting dragons' evokes such a great retro fantasy vibe that i loved it. The reason Pantera is a leopard (and not any other kind of big cat) is because in medieval bestiaries, leopards were said to fight dragons using their 'sweet breath'. You can see where I went with it. But dragons in these bestiaries have such variable appearances and can be virtually anything, like you said they're so versatile. For the people in this setting, the most they ever really see of dragons are the legs, tendrils, and the massive beak (which is mineralised like the pen of a squid). It's a creature really too big to comprehend, so they depict it in their diagrams as a bird-headed creature with wings and a back end made of serpents. but you can always tell in these illustrations whether the artist has actually seen a dragon in person.. because they won't draw it like this:

@our-tiny-hotel asked: "where did you get the idea/inspiration for these stories?"

Answer: for mez, i like zoids, retro fantasy, speculative biology, and stories which explore themes of religion and its role in highly gendered systems of oppression (lbr it is fantasy catholicism. that's right... this is also a story about gender)

for inver: fairies man

Anonymous asked: "is nosewyse a dog? i cant find anything about it on your blog"

Answer: You can find Nosewyse here. He's the smallest Holy Beast and by far the most pathetic

@raskies456 asked: "Re: your tags on the Taurus art, how DO the smiths manufacture such massive single plates of metal?"

Answer: I'm going to draw some diagrams to explain but basically the theocratic empire sits on a massive wealth of iron ore so there's no shortage of it. Smiths can manipulate metallic elements using the dialogue tattoos on their palms - Mercury and Mars are the titles for enginesmiths and armoursmiths respectively. Enginesmiths use mercury because it doesn't interact with incandescent dragonsblood, and it's a liquid metal which in alchemical theory is Pure and extremely close to gold (free of sin u might say). The quicksilver is used to manipulate the insides of a working engine without having to physically touch it. Armoursmiths work on iron, but here's the issue: solid metal won't budge. It needs to be softened or liquid for the dialogues to have any effect. So the armoursmith teams are blacksmiths who heat up these mass amounts of iron using dragonsblood furnaces until the iron is malleable, and then in teams of 50 or more they slowly and painstakingly stretch and shape it into the desired form. that's how they make armour plating for Holy Beasts. The use of dialogue tattoos isn't like psychic telekinesis, but more like playing an instrument where the position of each finger has to be perfectly accurate in 3D space to produce the desired effect. it's a very physical job and incredibly skilled. Taurus's barge took decades to construct and thousands of workers.

Anonymous asked: "are you ever going to publish the book are you are writing"

Answer: maybe. the idea of traditional publishing doesn't appeal to me. might just be a "buy this pdf on itch.io" sort of deal

Anonymous asked: "Hi, im new here. I hope this isn't rude, but from what i can tell the gist here is that medieval people dug up what i can only assume are the still-living skeletons of otherworldly beings or perhaps demons and went "Wouldn't it be cool if we put flamethrowers in these guys and rode them to war" and then they do that thanks to jellyfish ooze from giant violent sky jellyfish?"

Answer: I can neither confirm nor deny (yes but also nooot quite ;))

Anonymous asked: "Jowd you learn how to draw machines? Is it hard to draw all the Bits on those mechazords in the correct place when theyre like jumping and run ing and shit?"

Answer: I learned a lot from building zoids, putting them together, watching them move etc etc. At the same time, it's also sort of basic anatomy too? Your hinged elbow joint is a mechanism and if you just made the same joint in metal it would work the same way. But ALSO when i draw them, I follow the ref sheets for big parts but mostly bullshit the details because who give a shit at the end of the day if I put a screw wrong, no one's going to care

Anonymous asked: "Idk if this helps you at all but on r/zoids on the Dreaded Reddit people talk about 3d printed zoids so maybe you can get your zoids that way"

Answer: I am a member of r/zoids lol... that sounds really cool though. I've never seen a 3D printer in real life before tho. But I can't be out here getting more zoids when I have had my HMM command wolf half-constructed for literally over a year because I keep procrastinating on it

Anonymous asked: "A lot of libraries have 3d printers and some people will like. Hire theirs out so people can print stuff"

Answer: Not in Ireland they don't

Anonymous asked: "Is it illegal to make beaft ocs".

Answer: I'm not a cop and my main stance is: do what you want, I can't stop you. If you would like to design a mech animal using medieval bestiary aesthetics - go for it, it's fun. However, why does it have to play by my setting rules? Wouldn't you prefer to make something wholly belonging to yourself? You can invent a million new ways to use this sort of mech design in a story with a whole new setting, all yours. It just won't be one of mine or in my setting.

Anyway you couldn't make a beaft oc in my setting anyway because you don't even know what they are or how they work

#you are all so thirsty for beafts #info asks #setting: mez #anon is now off over xmas

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ro-is-struggling · 1 year

Text

Existential Crisis || Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: After Wong sent you and Stephen to investigate the multiverse you begin to worry about the idea that there are thousands of versions of you. Unluckily for Stephen, he is the one who has to endure your existential crisis.

Warnings: this is kind of a crack fic so humor, Stephen being annoyed by the reader, chaotic and dumb gn!reader (I think I didn’t use any pronouns or anything like that but if I did let me know so I can change that!), a supernatural reference (if you get it you get a virtual cookie)

English is not my first language

Word count: 1700

Notes: I don’t have a lot of time to write because of school and stuff, but the other day I had this stupid weird dream that inspired this fic so I’m sorry if it doesn’t make much sense. Also I think I’m developing a crush on Dr Strange so I may be open to take request for him

"Why are we doing this again?" you asked for the hundredth time, your head emerging from the piles of books on the table in search of Stephen. Your mentor looked at you wearily, letting out a tired sigh as he closed the book he was reading with more force than necessary.

"The multiverse is a concept we know frighteningly little. Wong sent us here to do research so we'll be ready if something bad happens again." He explained to you for the hundredth time, cursing Wong for putting the most annoying apprentice under his supervision. Stephen recognized that you had great potential, but to his bad luck it was buried under layers and layers of clumsiness and hyperactivity that made you an unbearable companion for this kind of task.

"Why can't he do it?" you complained once again, flipping disinterestedly through the ancient book in front of you. "Why do we have to do all the boring tasks?"

"Because he's the sorcerer supreme." Stephen spoke without even looking up at you, choosing to focus his energy on what he was reading and not on the urge he had to use his magic to shut you up for a while. You were getting on his nerves and he didn't know how much more of this he could take. Usually he had no problem with spending long periods of time researching, reading alone in the Sanctum Sanctorum library late into the night. But this time he wasn't alone, and your constant nonsensical comments did nothing but break his concentration.

You let out a grunt in protest, but said nothing more for a while. The graphics on a page of the book you were reading distracted you. It described an intricate magic that even though it had nothing to do with the multiverse caught your attention anyway. You didn't quite understand what it was about and you were sure you wouldn't be able to conjure something like that in a million years, but you read it anyway. It was clear that it was not intended for the eyes of a simple apprentice like you and that only increased your desire to continue reading, feeling like a little kid stealing cookies from a jar when you knew you shouldn't have.

"Am I even authorized to be reading all this stuff?" you finally asked, curious as to why they had let a mere apprentice have access to such information.

"Normally, no," Stephen said without looking up from his book. "I guess Wong wanted to get rid of you for a while. Or torture me. Or both." He added with a mocking tone, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You rolled your eyes, knowing he wasn't serious. You had that kind of relationship where you teased him and he pretended to hate you, but you knew deep down that wasn't the case. In fact, you were convinced that Stephen Strange was a big softie on the inside and was just using that bitter, sarcastic personality as a shield. So far, though, you were the only person who supported that theory.

"Aren't you guys afraid of what I could do with all this information?" you insisted, finding that his answer did not satisfy your curiosity. "Like, I could easily steal all this knowledge and turn to the dark side or sell it to bad guys.... I could be your next big threat."

"You?" Stephen spoke with an amused tone, looking up and down at you as if he found your words ridiculous. "Yeah, no. I think we're good."

"What is that supposed to mean?" you asked with annoyance. "You don't think I'm threatening?" You didn't even know why you were getting angry. What Stephen was saying about you wasn't a bad thing. There was nothing wrong with not having a threatening side to you, but for some reason it bothered you. Maybe it was the tone in which he said it. Or maybe your bored brain was looking for anything to distract itself. Probably both.

"You're too kind and clueless to be a threat," Stephen replied to you, finally looking up from his book to face you. "To sell information you first have to successfully steal it and you can't hide anything from me."

"Yeah, maybe… But what if there's an evil version of me out there in the multiverse that kidnaps me in order to take my place and steal from you, huh?"

"I'll say that if they can travel through the multiverse without America then there's probably not much they can take from us."

"No but seriously what if evil versions of us kidnap us to take our place? We should have a code word that only we know so we can be sure it's us and not one of them."

This time it was Stephen who rolled his eyes, letting out a tired sigh as he gathered his patience to deal with you. You looked at him with big eyes full of pride in yourself for having thought of that potential danger. Stephen admitted that there might be a possibility of something like this happening—after all, there was a lot they didn't know about the multiverse—, but he didn't think it was an imminent danger. Besides, he wasn't willing to acknowledge that you might be right about something after the time you'd spent bothering him, so he ignored your concerns for the time being.

"What about ‘Y/N please shut up and keep reading’?" teased Stephen, but you didn't care.

"No, it has to be something organic, something that'll flow naturally in a conversation so as to not cause any suspicions."

"Y/N stop that?"

"No, you say that way to often I would never know what you mean. C'mon Stephen, take this seriously!" you complained at his lack of creativity, the sarcasm in his voice going over your head.

Stephen enjoyed the moment of silence that formed while you thought, amused at the way you mumbled under your breath, scratching your brain for a word you could use as code. You were taking this thing too seriously, but he let you continue because at least you weren't bothering him. He preferred your brain to entertain itself imagining hypothetical scenarios and not at his expense.

However, he was starting to get bored too. He had spent hours locked in the library and was no closer to understanding the multiverse than when he started. He was tired and looking at the pile of books he had yet to read it was clear that he would not get out of there any time soon without your help. As much as he valued peace and quiet, he valued his sleep more so he decided to pull you out of the little trance you had been in for the last 20 minutes to ask for your help.

"C'mon Y/N this is stupid."

"You also say that a lot" you complained again at his lack of creativity. At this point you were sure he was just repeating phrases he said to you on a daily basis. "God, it's like you're not even trying!"

"I mean this is stupid and you should get back to work" Stephen explained more clearly. "We're never going to get out of here if you-" he tried to put you back to work, but was interrupted by your shout of joy.

"I got it!" you exclaimed with a smile of triumph. "Poughkeepsie!" you revealed with pride in your creativity, certain it was the perfect code.

Stephen looked at you with a dead stare, his eyes fixed on you as if you were a camera and he was Jim Halpert on The Office, waiting for you to realize how ridiculous your words sounded. But the seconds ticked by and your smile of triumph didn't wipe off your face.

"Poughkeepsie?" he repeated, trying to awaken some sense in you. It was the most absurd word you could have come up with and he couldn't think of a single context in which it would come up naturally in conversation in case he suspected something was wrong with you. There was no way you were serious.

"Yeah! Isn't it perfect?"

"Y/N..." Stephen was going to tell you what he really thought, but then he realized that if he did, you'd be distracted by another code word and he'd never get out of there. So he swallowed his opinions and gave you a fake smile. "Yes, it's great But you know what would be even greater? Finish the research Wong asked us to do."

"Oh I finished reading my pile of books like half an hour ago" you explained with an innocent smile and Stephen looked at you in disbelief.

"And...?" he insisted when he saw that you didn't say anything. "Did you find anything?"

"No" you denied with certainty. "Well, there was this old book that made a reference to a secret diary that supposedly belonged to some weird wizard that dedicated his life to investigate the multiverse, but it sounded like a made up legend so I didn't bring it up. Do you think it's useful?"

The way you asked that question as if they weren't desperate for any kind of information that would allow them to understand the logic of the multiverse a little more made Stephen want to bang his head against the table repeatedly until he lost consciousness. Sometimes he couldn't believe that someone with so much talent and such a bright future in the mystic arts was so clueless and clumsy. He swore it was harder to teach you to have a minimal amount of common sense than it was to teach you magic. Even though you barely listened to him on both fronts, you seemed to have a natural gift for magic. But thinking critically and paying attention to the important things, that was a whole separate issue.

"Where did you read about this secret diary?" Stephen asked, letting out a long sigh of frustration.

"Oh in like the first book that I opened."

Stephen looked at you with tired eyes, taking a moment to imagine all the ways he could make you pay for wasting his time before answering you. Taking a long breath to calm his nerves, he said, "Next time you're letting me decide what's important and what isn't."

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x gn!reader #doctor strange x gn!reader #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction #stephen strange x fem reader #stephen strange x female reader #doctor strange x fem reader #crack fic

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howlingday · 9 months

Text

The Better Luthor

I'm having trouble deciding which RWBY villain would make for a better Lex Luthor. Should it be the CEO, Jacques Schnee, or the general, James Ironwood?

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Jacques Schnee

Jacques: (Walks into his office)

Ren: (Spins around in his chair)

Jacques: (Smirks) Lie Ren, isn't it? I believe you have something that belongs to me.

Ren: Have you seen the latest polls? It's really starting to look like you'll be Atlas' next Councilman. Just like in that other world.

Jacques: (Chuckles) Well, I wouldn't bet against me.

Ren: No, that wouldn't be smart. But I want you to understand something, Mr. Schnee. You need to understand that while I despise you as a human being, what I'm about to do isn't personal.

Jacques: What are you babbling about?

Ren: In every universe, there is a constant, a pattern that cannot be broken. A is A. Apples are apples. And no matter what reality he calls home, Jacques Schnee is, was, and always will be Jacques Schnee. (Stands up) If I'm to save all of Remnant, you need to stop existing. Before you take office.

Jacques: You intend to kill me so your leader can't?

Ren: I may be a crackpot conspiracy nut, but I'm confident my team will long outlive me. (Levels Storm Flower against Jacques' head) And the Atlas Knight will stay the hero.

Jacques: Interesting theory. Unfortunately, though, it's not an option. (Punches Ren)

Ren: (Flies across the room, Hits the wall)

Jacques: (Flexes fist, Walks closer to Ren) Councilman? Foolish, insignificant huntsman. My campaign is a farce. A small part of a much grander scheme.

Ren: (Stands up, Swipes with Storm Flower)

Jacques: (Dodges, Knocks guns away, Chokes him) Councilman? (Slaps Ren twice) Do you realize how much power I'd have to give up to become Councilman? (Tosses him)

Ren: (Crashes into Jacques' desk)

Jacques: (Grabs Ren, Lifts him by his collar) That's right "conspiracy nut". I spent over seventy-five million lien on a fake political campaign. All just to piss the Atlas Knight off. (Smashes Ren into the desk)

Ren: (Groans)

Jacques: (Looms over him, Leans down) Now... About those files you stole from me...

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James Ironwood

Ironwood: No one has been more loyal to me than your father, Penny. That's why I made the decision, following his tragic loss, to give you this gift.

Penny: This... This doesn't feel like a gift, Mist- I mean, General Ironwood.

Ironwood: No, but it will save your life. That's why I strongly urge you to do it. Don't worry, though, because I promise you be as good as new.

Penny: But... I'll be metal inside.

Ironwood: Better than metal; Metal Alloy Nobium Tin Lawrencium Engineering, or MANTLE for short. Virtually indestructible.

Penny: Lawrencium... It's radioactive, isn't it?

Ironwood: And it is the source of your power. And The Knight's destruction. You want that, don't you? After what he did to your father?

Penny: (Sniffles) Mhm...

Ironwood: (Chuckles) Perfect.

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#rwby #dc #lex luthor #rwby poll #jacques schnee #james ironwood #justice league #lie ren #penny polendina #superman tas #superman the animated series #rwby polls #rwby superhero au #rwby au

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ohthatstragic · 2 years

Text

It's Been a Long Time - p.m

a/n: ahhhhh dilf mav. my favourite < 3 thank you to the anon who requested this cute ass one-shot, omg. i loved it c: i kept this gender neutral as the request didn't use specific pronouns!

i didn't have time to proofread this so if i used a non-gender neutral pronoun somewhere pls let me know!!

also pls don’t repost or translate any of my work.. i don’t give you permission to do that.

pairings: maverick x reader

warnings: age gap, fluff, sweet mav

wc: 3,096

the request: 'maverick x younger reader (maybe reader is in their 30s or up to you) and since it has been so long for mav to take someone out on a first date, he seeks help to penny/rooster (or whoever you want) because he's been feeling jittery and on edge about where he's going to take the reader as he wants to make their 1st date to be special and memorable bcs you know it's been long too since he's this giddy.' read it in full here

Maverick drummed his long fingers against the bar top, the soft thuds echoing gently in the empty bar. The pilot had come early to visit his good friend Penny, seeking friendly advice on his upcoming date with you. He was currently waiting on the barmaid to return through the kitchen doors, his eyes anxiously darting between the double swing doors and the hard, wooden top beneath his fidgeting fingers. Impatiently, he blew out a short breath of air through his mouth, quickly glancing at the digital watch that rested on his right wrist.

"Need to be somewhere, Pete?" Penny's amused voice called out from behind him, making the older pilot jump in his seat. A grin reached his lips as he chuckled at her question, turning to face the woman in question.

"Sorry," He sighed. "It's.. it's just been a long time." Maverick shrugged, his tongue coming to poke at the inside of his bottom lip in mild frustration. Penny couldn't help the smirk that came to rest on her lips as she strutted behind the bar, placing her palms down on the top of it, leaning against it.

"Pete, I've known you long enough and I know you well enough to know that you shouldn't be fretting over a first date. You must've had what, like... a million of them?" Penny teased, a quiet laugh leaving her lips. Maverick joined her in laughing and let his head fall back as he sighed.

He shook his head and swallowed. "I know, but, Y/N... they're different." Maverick's brows knotted together, shrugging. In all honesty, he was nervous - a complete and utter wreck. He had no idea where to take you or what to do. The man was desperate for it to be the best date you've been on - because that's what you deserved. The last time he really went on a first date was definitely more than a few years ago, so he wasn't really up to date with what the current... 'trends' were.

"Is it because... they're younger?" Penny quietly asked, her curious eyes trained on the experienced pilot that sat anxiously in front of her. She knew he was worrying about making a good first impression with you, and she also knew how he felt about you. It wasn't anything like his previous flames. Maverick didn't answer her, fearful of what she might think. "Alright," Penny smiled kindly, her straight and white teeth poking out from beneath her pink lips. "What do they love to do? Or what's one of their favourite things?" She questioned and cocked her head at the pilot as he cast his gaze downwards in an attempt to rattle his brain for an answer.

"They love sunrises and sunsets." He replied, a faint smile crossing his features as he reminisced on a warm summer morning where you had woken up extra early to watch the sun rise and called him, eager to make sure he had also witnessed it at the same time.

a month ago

Your phone buzzed to life, the theme song to The Big Bang Theory blaring out into your bedroom. With a heavy groan, you flung your hand down onto your bedside table, half-asleep, your fingers fumbling against your phone screen in a weak attempt to silence the headache inducing music. Despite it being your favourite show, the theme song soon got old and it made you want to get up - hence why you had made it your alarm clock sound.

You raised your phone to your eyes, squinting at the bright screen as you glanced away for a moment, giving yourself time to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. Five fifty-two in the morning. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with heavy hands, you swiftly slipped out of your dishevelled bed; the cold, brisk morning air hugging your half-dressed figure. A brief shiver plagued your body and you turned around quickly, grabbing the duvet and cocooning yourself within it like a caterpillar. You rushed to your bedroom window, a goofy smile reaching your lips as you eagerly ripped open the curtains, eyes falling on the red and orange hue that was slowly growing over the horizon.

"Mav," You mumbled to yourself, reaching to the side of your now-naked bed for your phone. Feeling the cool, glass material against your fingertips you pulled it close to you, opening it quickly. You scrolled through your contacts before you found his, and dialled it, your smile widening.

The shrill trill of Maverick's phone rang out in his bedroom and he stirred awake, a frustrated groan reverberating from his bare chest. "Who.. the fu.." He grumbled, clumsily turning over in his bed as he grabbed his phone with an exasperated huff. This better be important, he thought. "Hello?" He answered with a husky voice.

"Mav?" Your sweet voice squeaked quietly, and Maverick felt his previous frustration melt away instantly. A content smile spread across his cheeks.

"Hey, Y/N, everything okay?" Maverick asked, quickly checking the time. Five fifty-six in the morning. His brows furrowed and his concern grew slightly.

"Yes," You bit down on your lip, nibbling anxiously. "Go and look out your window." You quickly said, earning a confused grunt from the man on the other end of the line. "Mav, just do it." You laughed.

"Alright." He sighed, unable to hide the amused smile playing on his lips. The older pilot stood up slowly, a hand coming up to rub his face to try and wake himself up a bit more. He pulled open his curtains, the bright morning blinding him momentarily. "What am I looking at?" Maverick asked, quite obviously confused. He expected you to be standing there with a boombox like John Cusack in the film Say Anything, but instead he was only greeted with nothing.

"The sunrise, isn't it beautiful?" You gushed, letting your head rest against your fisted hand, which was leaning against the windowsill. Maverick, still being half-asleep, stared confusedly before he realised what you were talking about. His gaze lifted to the coral sky, watching the clouds part like the Red Sea as the sun gradually rose from it's resting place, below the horizon.

"Oh, yeah, it's stunning, Y/N," Maverick agreed, his heart feeling full. He had just realised that you had called him so he could enjoy the beautiful sunrise with you, and it made him ecstatic. "I've seen something better, though." He admitted, a gentle laugh escaping his grinning mouth.

"Really?" You asked obliviously.

"Yeah, you." He replied smoothly, making you blush. You let out a shy giggle at his words.

"That was cheesy, Mav."

"You need some cheesiness in your life, otherwise it's boring, trust me." He said, still staring out at the rising sun. He hoped you were doing the same.

Your lips had twisted into another bashful smile. "If you're the one saying it, then I think I can tolerate it." You giggled.

"Pete?" Penny called out to her old friend, an amused grin on her lips.

"What?" Maverick blinked.

"I said why don't you take them to see the sunrise or sunset in your plane?" She laughed, clearly amused by the fact that the older pilot had just totally and completely zoned out by thinking about you. Maybe you were special after all.

"Oh yeah, that's a great idea, Pen." He was pleased at Penny's suggestion - for one it included flying, and two, it involved flying with you. "You think they'd like that?" Maverick asked, just needing a little bit more reassurance.

"Definitely. They're always beaming whenever they talk about you flying. I think Y/N'd love it." Penny grinned, tapping the bar top with her palm as if she was securing the deal. Maverick thought it over for a moment, his gaze falling to his fidgeting fingers.

"Alright, I'll give it go." He shrugged, standing up from his seat. "Thanks again, Penny. I'll let you know how it goes." Maverick threw the barmaid a grateful smile, and she returned it, waving him off.

****

Right Down The Line by Gerry Rafferty was playing out in Maverick's hangar as he was making some last-minute adjustments to his plane before you arrived. "You know I need your love," He mumbled to himself, his foot tapping rhythmically against the concrete floor. "You've got that hold over me." He quietly sang to himself as his skilful fingers worked in the engine of his P-51 Mustang.

"Long as I got your love, you know that I'll never leave." You sang back, poking your head over the wing of the 1945 plane, and Maverick almost lost his footing from your sudden presence. The man stumbled backwards as he sucked in a sharp breath. "Sorry," You giggled as you watched his shocked face twist back into a happy smile.

"Jesus," He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about it, I'll get you back once we're in the sky." Maverick teased with a wink as he stepped forwards again, finishing up on the engine.

"Once we're where?" You repeated, utterly surprised.

"In the sky." He said, grinning. You couldn't hide your excitement.

Your mouth fell agape, eyes lighting up with elation. "You're telling me, that I, Y/N L/N, get to fly with the Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell?" You gasped quietly, glancing between the old model plane and it's owner.

"I suppose so, yeah," He laughed lightly at your reaction and he couldn't disguise the happiness that was currently shooting through his body. Maverick was thrilled that you had a positive reaction to his suggestion - deep down he was worried that you'd be terrified and you'd refuse to fly with him. "Have you ever been in a plane before?" Maverick asked, honestly a little curious and nervous.

"Um," You swallowed. "Once or twice, but commercially, not like this." A nervous giggle escaped you and it warmed Maverick's heart.

"I think you'll love it."

****

You and Maverick spoke for a little while, and he was even kind enough to teach you a little about his P-51 Mustang, which you were - of course - delighted to listen to. The two of you now sat inside his plane as he taxied it to the runway, and you felt your heart begin to race at the anticipation. "Ready?" You heard Maverick call from in front of you, the reflection of his grinning face mirrored in the acrylic canopy. An eager smile reached your lips as your hands flew up to adjust the headset atop your head that he had given you.

"Yes!" You replied back, voice full of enthusiasm. Maverick smiled to himself as he pushed the throttle forwards, the plane beginning to race towards the end of the runway. As it caught enough speed, Maverick pulled back on the centre stick, the plane beginning to lift off from the ground. You sucked in a breath as you felt your stomach drop slightly from the sudden change in altitude.

"Talk to me, Y/N," Maverick said from the front seat with a small smile on his lips. You were absolutely stunned by how gorgeous the world looks from up here, that you almost didn't hear him.

"Wow," You breathed out, pressing your hands against the canopy like a child at a candy shop. "It's beautiful up here!" You gushed, eyes darting all over the Earth below you. Bright, luscious green trees dotted the ground, sandwiched between small and big white houses, the red roofs creating a stark contrast.

"Yeah, it really is." Maverick smiled, his hand coming up to push his aviators back up onto the bridge of his nose. He angled the plane at a sharp, almost vertical slant, and you squeaked at the instantaneous action.

"Mav!" You laughed, squeezing your eyes shut, your hands flying up to grab a hold of the headset that was slipping off of you.

"I told you I'd get you back," He laughed at you, returning the plane to a horizontal position. As you reopened your eyes, slowly, the sky was painted a beautiful shade of peach and pink, with a mix of lavender smothered above it. "You seen it yet?" He asked quietly, looking out of the window to admire the natural phenomenon.

"Holy shit..." You breathed out as your eyes widened like a doe, staring at the breath-taking sunset taking place in front of you. Maverick grinned at your reaction, holding back the happy laugh that was scratching at his throat to escape him. "Mav, this is beautiful!" You gushed, mouth falling agape as he turned the plane once more, and another squeak left your lips. "Mav!" You exclaimed.

"I'll stop now, I promise." His chest bounced from the hearty laugh that escaped him, his cheeks beginning to feel a little sore from the constant grin stuck on his face.

****

Maverick had landed the plane and was currently taxiing it into the hangar. As he parked the plane in it's spot, he shut off the engine and glanced behind his shoulder to look at you, who currently had the world's biggest smile on your face. "We have to do that again, please!" You demanded, your smile growing into a toothy grin. Maverick chuckled at your enthusiasm, and he nodded at you.

"Of course." Maverick assured you, his hands clicking open the canopy with a soft thud. He climbed out onto the wing, shuffling the front seat forwards so you could slip out of it as well. As you crawled forwards and out of the cockpit, he offered you a hand and you gratefully accepted it, gripping it tightly. If anything, you were afraid you'd slip and fall off of the wing of the plane. "Careful," He mumbled, watching your feet. You felt your cheeks burn as you stared at his face, a little awe-struck if you were honest with yourself.

"Thanks," You choked out as Maverick kept your hand in his, his feet stepping back to the edge of the wing. As he let go of your hand for a split second, he hopped down and held out both of his hands this time to encourage you to jump down. "Please don't drop me." You giggled nervously as you bent down to plop your bum on the wing, legs dangling off of it.

"I've got you, I promise." Maverick assured you, a kind smile reaching his lips. You blushed at his handsome face, biting down on the inside of your lip as he moved toward you, his hands landing on your waist. "One, two, three!" He counted, slipping you off of the wing on the last number, his grip tightening around your waist as he pulled you flush against his body.

"Thank you," You said quietly, utterly breathless at the close proximity between the two of you. You let your eyes fall to his parted lips, quickly flicking back up to meet his curious blue eyes. Maverick noticed your timidity and he smiled at you, releasing you gently from his grasp. You felt sad at the loss of contact from him, but you pushed the feeling aside, smiling back at Maverick. As much as you wanted to kiss the man in that very moment, you didn't want to be too forward.

"I hope you're hungry." Maverick suddenly said with a shy smile, and you quickly frowned, quite obviously confused at his words. Before you could ask what he meant, he lead you round the corner of the plane, your surprised eyes falling onto a candlelit dinner set up on a makeshift table.

"Oh my gosh," You gasped. He had placed a classic red and white gingham cloth atop the table and adorned it with white china plates; a simple, long and slender white candle sat lit in between the two dishes. Steam billowed up from the spaghetti that was neatly arranged in a spiral-like fashion with a piece of basil placed nimbly atop of the Italian staple food. "Oh, Mav, this is just..." You trailed off with a shaky voice, feeling a little emotional at the set up. Nobody had ever gone to these lengths before for a first date, and you were definitely feeling special. Turning your body toward him, you felt tears begin to bubble against your waterline. Maverick's once-smiling face fell at your sad one, and he rushed to you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. A small smile instantly warmed your face as he touched you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know-" He shook his head softly as he watched a tear spill from your glossy eyes. Oh god, he did too much.

"No, Mav, I love it. It's just- no one has ever done this for me before." You laughed through your tears, a weak grin growing on your lips. His sad look faded and he smiled at you, his large hands sliding from your now-tear-stained cheek to your hands, the soft pad of his thumbs caressing the back of your palms gently. "Thank you so much." You whispered, unable to meet his eyes. God, what a mess you were.

"You're welcome, Y/N, I just wanted our first date to be special... I was worried that you'd be disappointed." He admitted with a sheepish smile, leading you to the table. You shook your head at him, completely in shock that he thought such a thing. How could you be disappointed to go on a date with the 'Maverick'?

"You're joking, right, Mav?" A soft, incredulous laugh left your lips and he stared at you, obviously serious. "Well, first, I would never be disappointed to go on a date with you. If the date was to sit in a field and stare at each other, I'd be thrilled." You giggled at him. "And second, I'm honoured to have even been offered an opportunity like this." You teased him as you sat down opposite him, the soft, amber glow of the candle illuminating his smiling face. "Thirdly, how the hell did you set this up when you've been flying a plane with me?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets." He replied cryptically, unable to hide the smirk that was picking at the corners of his lips. You rolled your eyes at him with a bashful smile, your hand reaching forward to grasp the glass of wine that sat to the right of your plate of spaghetti.

"A pilot and a comedian, boy am I lucky." You joked, grinning as you took sip of the refreshing red vino; a satisfied hum leaving your pursed lips as you savoured the sweet taste. "Thank you again Mav, for all of this, it was a dream come true, honestly." You said with a soft voice, gazing at the man in question. He shook his head at your words.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N, I wanted to make you feel special." Maverick stared at you with a besotted smile.

"Well, you definitely did just that!" You laughed, feeling the tears return to your eyes.

i hope this was okay anon!! if not, i can re-work it to your wants :)

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