#she has been FEEDING ME this whole month MY GOD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freelancearsonist · 3 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise.

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin.

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong.

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded?

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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#cece writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

AITA for outing my sisters (SECOND) pregnancy and causing drama

I (20f) am aware that accidents happen, but she doesn't even know the man to her (22f) first (thusly no child support is involved in this equation). Discovery of this information is due to me being the one that does the bathroom trash. It was... not well hidden, to say the least.

Pure flavor and context, our relationship would be less rocky if she had any sense of responsibility at all. From 15 onwards constantly out of money yet up the ass of every hangout/party in town, constantly trying to make it anyone else's job to keep her entertained. Has very much dropped out of college for #1.

But, actual event wise... I get to the trash can, and I'm thinking... oh god, not again. And so soon? Because baby #1 is about 10 months (male if it matters) at sending. Mom has already bent over backwards to handle this without destroying *my* attempts at college, and there's not a doubt in my mind my sister would have gladly gone "Surprise! Not my problem now🎊! " if I'd given her the space to do so.

Phrasing it like that feels mean, but it's been 98% mom doing it all. Diapers, feedings, you name it. If it's not cute enough for social media my sister has not put her hands on it. In my moms fantasy world this was to give my sister the chance to go back to the local college.

Now at first I didn't actually plan to say much of anything. It just... seemed risky in a way I didn't want the backlash for. But a friend of mine and her girlfriend were moving, and their planned roommate bailed, and I do very much have a job an can pay rent. The nitty gritty is way more complicated than that but I'm trying to not bog this down.

I waffle for a couple of days as I process the whole thing but I commit to thinking later and acting now about moving and by what's month 1.75 I'm planning what posters of mine to take/leave. There's been a second confirming test popping up in the trash.

I have to tell my mom, finally, that in three weeks to a month I'm gone. Slightly unsurprisingly, I get asked "Well, why? Why now?"

I did kind of think through it in advance, but honestly every other small reason just... left me? I choked HARD and y'all know the blank "ohshit" moment where you've got Nothing.

It was a messy conversation and I'm skipping a lot, but thankfully dad and sis were out to not hear it. She didn't fully believe me until I walked out the door to the new appartment, and it didn't end there technically, but I just sorta grey rocked it with the sole give that I think mom is going to collapse over this because she's not twenty some anymore chasing *us*, and I think mom wasn't processing it either until I was out the door.

Final stage, I've packed and am seconds from leaving. Mom asks one final question of "What exactly would you suggest here, if it's real, then" in that tone where it's not about getting real answers, it's about shaming me. She is scathingly told to make my sister homeless about it if she doesn't abort, so that it'll maybe motivate her to at least get child support if not put a stop to the slope of shitting them out like litters.

Roommates are fine thus far, but I'm introverted and don't really leave my room unless I need something so the space for conflicts are minimal. So I'm a week into the new apartment (thusly she's 3 to 3.25 months pregnant) when I get a heated, ranting phone call. I sure hope you can figure out who's calling that's *mad*.

First of all apparently I'm a cunt for taking the joy of announcement away from my, as she tried and got "We know." Because that is so fucking important for a college drop out on kid #2 to have, apparently.

More interestingly I'm apparently a double cunt because mom had been toying with asking me for rent, as my sister doesn't work either and babies are expensive. This was not aired to me by mom herself, but even if I hadn't asked her myself afterwards I wouldn't have doubted that part.

And I'm apparently a mega triple cunt, because (as I turned around to interrogate mom about because. What?) mom had a crystalizing moment where it did very much click to her that my sister had no intentions of stepping up in anyway shape or form. Why she's jumped straight to "you abort or gtfo" like I suggested to be an asshole didn't get cleared up to me beyond "No, no. You're right. Responsibility must be taken."

A different friend has asked where the fucks my dad in this; spinless with no opinion because if he dares to dissent he'll implode. Moving on.

I think that while I might have jumped sharks everyone else is now on a plane of drama that I don't need to follow, and should in fact be kept the fuck out of. I also think I've also hit an anger stage of this whole situation so trust in my own narrative should be cautious.

I'm gonna, like, pause the emotional train here? And mention that I'm not asking about moving out. I'll be guilty about moving out specifically when my sister sucks my dick for forgiveness (note my 20f label). But this has dropped an emotional bomb in the family and my friend groups interconnected enough that they'd've heard about it even if I said nothing, and this is now hotly debated (and most of my friends are on mute on my phone lol), and by now it's no secret the ''make her homeless'' idea first came out of MY mouth, no matter how mortifying it is that it was taken seriously on impulse arguing about it is about seven steps behind where the debate needs to be.

Again, I'm at the point of anger feeling good. She gets irresponsibly knocked up once already, drops out of college and refuses to get a job, and then runs off and does it again after dumping all real work onto other people. I think she's lost the right to have happy fun time pregnancy, and I'm here to get a (late) opinion from people decidedly more objective than anyone I can speak to rn. It's not like the pregnancy won't be here in the time this takes to move through queue.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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natalievoncatte · 6 months

Text

Spookycorp

Kara’s heart was racing as she stepped out of the elevator. She *knew* something was wrong when Lena sent her a single, clipped text message:

Come now. Need to talk.

The elevator opened directly into Lena’s penthouse, into her elegant, minimalist foyer. The room was dark, as was the rest of the penthouse, except for the light of a single candle. Lena sat on the expansive sofa in her living room, a box resting on her lap. Kara didn’t need to use her x-ray vision to know that it was lined with lead. Her heart sank.

“Come in,” said Lena.

Kara walked inside, waiting at a respectful distance. Lena was beautiful in candlelight, her hair so dark it dark it could drink midnight under the table, eyes sparing like chips of emerald and sapphire, chipped with gold. The light caressed her sharp jawline and made her expression severe and smoldering at the same time.

Kara had fantasies like this. Most of them involved more candlelight and more pale skin.

“I know what you are,” said Lena.

Kara’s heart skipped. She fumbled with her hands.

“You can drop the aw shucks, I’m a farm girl from Vaguely Canada routine, Supergirl.”

Kara’s heart dropped through her stomach.

“I can explain,” she began. “If you give me a chance. Lena, please, I’m your best friend.”

Lena’s eyes hardened. Very softly she said, “am I?”

“How did you find out?”

Lena reached over to her side table, swirled a glass of wine, and took a sip.

“Lex told me. After I killed him. For you.”

Kara swallowed, and took a step forward. “Oh my God. Lena, what happened? What did he do?”

“Stop,” said Lena. “No closer.”

Kara stopped, her chest tightening, tears starting to well in her eyes.

Lena looked down, then up.

“He was going to kill you, and I couldn’t let that happen, because I thought I was in love with you. Before I knew what you are.”

The words hit Kara harder than anything she’d felt before, punching through her heart like the Kryptonite stake that was probably resting in that box. No, it wasn’t possible. She’s been so careful, Kal has been so careful.

“Lex had proof, but I didn’t trust it. I had to find corroboration. That’s why I talked you into taking me to the Fortress, so I could download the records I needed and examine them.”

Kara swallowed. “I would have given you what you wanted if you’d asked.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because you cover your tracks. You tell everyone that your powers come from the sun, but you’re lying.”

Kara wrung her hands, looking out at the moon. It hung full, heavy and huge in the National City sky.

“Not exactly. We have our powers here because Sol affects us differently. It doesn’t…”

“It doesn’t destroy Kryptonian vampires like you and your cousin,” Lena finished. “It doesn’t weaken your powers in sunlight or burn your skin, so you have nothing to fear here but Kryptonite.”

Kara licked her lips, feeling her fangs aching in her gums as they often did when Lena Luthor was in the room.

“Have you ever fed on me? I know about the other powers, Kara. The ones you and your cousin haven’t told everyone one about. Like modifying memories.”

Kara started. “What? No. I don’t feed directly on humans. When I was younger, my human family took turns giving me a unit of whole blood a month. That’s all I need. We don’t need as much on Earth. I’ve never bitten anyone on Earth. Kal-El trained me not to when I arrived here. Lena, I promise, I’m not some kind of predator.”

Kara edged closer, and Lena put her hand on the box. Kara froze.

“Liar.”

“Lena, please.”

“Your cousin has been feeding on Lois Lane for years. Lex had proof. Very thorough proof. He’s not as slick as he thinks, your Clark.”

Kara looked down.

“It was her choice. It’s tradition for my people. When one of us falls in love, we…”

“What, start seeing your ‘lover’ as a glorified bag of cheeze-its?”

Kara shifted on her feet. “No, we turn them. Clark is going to turn her after they marry. She’ll be like us.”

Lena’s gaze bored into her.

“I had to know, and now I do.”

“Lena, I would never hurt you, or feed on you against your will. I never feed on anyone against their will.”

“You’re lying.”

“Lena.”

“Lex had proof of that, too,” said Lena. “You do feed. On criminals, on people you think won’t be missed, and on James.”

“James was willing,” said Kara. “The others… it hurts, Lena. Clark’s path is hard. Too hard. I’m not perfect. You can’t imagine what the thirst is like. It’s like a hot railroad spike in my gut. I need it.”

“I thought about this for a long time,” said Lena. “I had to look you in the eye and hear it from you. I didn’t know what to do. You feed on people’s blood, but the city… the world needs Supergirl. So what do I do?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” said Kara. “I can just go, or… I don’t want to go, Lena. I know you’re upset, I know you’re mad, but you asked me here for a reason. I know you want to give me a chance. What we have, our friendship, it’s bigger than this. It can survive this. I want it to.”

Lena sighed. “Kara, I killed my brother for you, in cold blood.”

Kara swallowed. “I know. I know you loved him. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have helped you somehow. Maybe if I’d told you my identity earlier, we could have saved him.”

Lena opened the box.

Kara jolted back, expecting sickly pustulant light to sear the flesh from her bones, but there was no Kryptonite in the box.

Instead there was a pair of silvery bracelets, resting on black velvet.

“I had to make sure you couldn’t see inside,” said Lena. “No peeking.”

Kara swallowed, hard. “Those are binding bracelets. Do you know what those are for?”

Lena nodded slowly.

“You can come closer now. Sit.”

Kara stepped around the coffee table and sat primly near Lena, at a respectful distance, hands folded in her lap.

Lena leaned back against the arm rest and pulled her inky black hair back from her neck, tilting her chin back. Offering.

Kara could smell her, the scent exploding in her nostrils. She could feel Lena’s pulse and her own began to throb in time with it, the aching in her gums exceeded by the pleasant ache between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Kara murmured.

“Offering.”

“Why?”

Lena reached out and caressed her bare foot along Kara’s calf. Kara couldn’t help it. Her fangs popped out against her will for the first time in ages.

“Does it feel good for Lois? When he feeds on her?”

“So I’m told. Our fangs secret a mild neurotoxin that has some pleasant effects.”

“How long have you been thinking about tasting me?”

Kara shuddered. “It’s not like that. You’re my best friend.”

Lena rolled her eyes. “You know, I used to think you were just oblivious, or very, very closeted. Now I get it.”

“Lena,” Kara said, more urgently.

Lena’s foot slid higher up Kara’s leg. “It must be hard holding back all that hunger. Surrounded by food you can never taste. Is that why you’re always stuffing yourself with potstickers? You’d rather be eating me?”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Maybe. Yes.”

“I’m right here.”

“I won’t. Not unless you say it, Lena. Not unless you offer it. Explicitly.”

“Kara, do it. Take me.”

Kara lunged across the sofa, pulling Lena to her so she lay flat on the cushions, and drove her fangs into Lena’s throat as she ground her thigh between Lena’s legs. She knew what Lena planned and she didn’t care.

Lena yelped in pain from the puncture wounds, but her cry quickly melted into a pleasurable moan as she writhed beneath Kara, driving her nails into Kara’s back.

Kara drank slowly, gently, taking only a trickle and feeling Lena’s pulse in her throat. She’d wanted this for so long, she started to weep from the sheer release of it, tears streaming down her cheeks. Lena’s blood sang with magic, the taste of her more intense than the most exotic spices, more flavorful than the sweetest wine. It was better than sex, although now that she had Lena’s blood on her tongue, she was hoping that was on the menu, too.

She heard the click and felt the cold metal close around her wrist and sighed.

“So that’s your solution,” Kara whispered.

“Lex couldn’t make it work,” said Lena. “I always loved how much it pissed him off that his bastard sister has magic and he doesn’t.”

Lena closed the other bonding bracelet around her own wrist, and Kara instantly felt the weight of the connection, the power in it, and knew she was helpless. She didn’t care.

“Kneel,” said Lena.

Kara slid off of Lena and onto her knees, head bowed.

“There,” said Lena. “Now I know. I know the world gets to keep Supergirl and I know you’re not a threat.”

“I knew what you were going to do,” said Kara. “I let you. If this is what you need to trust me, I’m okay with it.”

Lena took Kara’s chin in her fingers and tilted her head up, leaning forward to meet her gaze.

“I could do whatever I want with you now. With a Kryptonian vampire under my control, I could rule the world.”

“You could,” Kara whispered. “You can make me do it whatever you please. You never needed magic for that. I would do it willingly.”

“I know,” said Lena, “but this is going to be a lot of fun.”

“I was a little worried you’d tell me never to see you again,” said Kara. “Or you’d demand I turn you.”

Lena laughed. “Darling, do you have any idea how much power I’d have to give up to become a vampire?”

Lena ran a hand down Kara’s arm, squeezing her bicep.

“Now, carry me to the bedroom and let’s see what you can do.”

Kara didn’t need to be ordered to do that.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #supercorptober2023 #borderline smut #kryptonians are vampires #lena is a witch #magic kink #kinky magic #kinkycorp #supercorptober

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autisticempathydaemon · 1 year

Text

Hello! Are you hyperfixated on RedactedAudio?

Do you want (need) to know who to follow to cultivate your dashboard and feed your gremlin brain good, good boyfriend roleplay content?

Cool, I’ve got you, and I’ve got hyperlinks. Buckle up.

(Note: This is by no means a comprehensive, objective, or complete list. I've only been in the fandom for six months or so. I have biases and favorites and limited time. I hope to update this list periodically, and if you feel I've missed someone, please feel free to reblog with your additions! I just would have loved a guide like this when I got into the fandom back in August and wanted to spread some positivity~!)

Fanfiction:

@angelnoodlesoup: she/her

Sophie is just one of the sweetest David stans that's ever existed who writes, like, the sweetest things about him. Her posts are just going to make you feel warm, fluffy, soft things in your heart area; give into the sweetness. Highlights: Sophie writes this adorable timestamp series of vignettes exploring Davey and Angel's day, but I'm particularly attacked to their David/Angel neighbors to lovers AU~

@arrowfleur

I was actually going to put Max in the visual content portion of this post, because they post delightful Redacted edits on Tiktok (under the same username, highly recommend~), but then they made a uquiz that gave me an existential crisis, so here we are. Highlights: This quiz sent my whole server for a loop and has made me reconsider my relationship with Lovely as a character and kin; it's a great time.

@batch-of-pengwings: robin/bird, she/her

Robin, an absolute sweetheart who makes all the fun ask games that keep the community interconnected and thinking and talking which is just really sweet and fun in the best way. Highlights: The Winter Wonderland game is the one who went around most recently, and it’s so fun to engage with the fandom and discuss who we think is stupid enough to get their tongues stuck on a telephone poll~

@bicyclepainting: they/them

Clover, the fandom's resident Smartass, doing the lord's work and reminding us all how fucking smoochable Aaron is on a regular basis on top of being the coolest astrology nerd don't give them your birth chart you will be perceived /lh Highlights: No one is doing Aaron/Smartass like they are; like, read and absorb the delicious, domestic delight that is them. I also recommend their deep dives into the Redacted bois signs, if you're into that; they're very thorough and fun to read!

@cashandprizes: she/they

My Lexi, my queerplatonic soulmate… She is on a quest to dissect and critique fandom brick by philosophical brick, and I both love her and fear her in equal measure. (That’s a lie, I love her infinitely, more than anything, but she is in fact incredibly intelligent and intimidating.) Highlights: Come for the scathing insights into gray-morality and DD:DNE’s place in fiction, stay for the stripper!Gavin fic they’re working on and their sequel to Lasko’s SexTember audio because she really wanted to make him cry

@ejunkiet: she/her

EJ, the very first of my Redacted loves~ Not only is EJ an endless well of kindness and positivity, but she also writes fucking bomb ass everything. You get angst, you get smut, you get fluff- We stan a multitalented, ace queen. (She also writes really cute CastleAudios fanfiction and original stuff as a cherry on top.) Highlights: EJ writes just some of my favorite David/Angel smut; she captures Angel's little shit nature perfectly. She's also written the sweetest thing of Damien meeting Huxley's moms that I can't get enough of~

@dominimoonbeam: she/her

Domini, truly one of the pillars of the fandom. I don't know what'd we'd be without her fantastic fics or her original novellas or her fantastic, beautiful, rarepair-creating brain. Highlights: God, there's too many to choose from! There's the Sam/Darlin fake dating AU that has us all gripped by the proverbial balls. There's the David/Darlin tattoo shop AU that has me frothing at the mouth because tattoo artists are stinkin hot. That's not even getting into their Cam/William fic, because god, that is such a good rarepair. We love two immortals finding love with one another, we really do. My personal favorite has got to be their Huxley/Darlin piece though, because Darlin gets to be cute and awkward and so, so loved in it.

@frenchiefitzhere: she/her

Frenchie, the fandom's unofficial (but basically official) Marie Greer, not only a gorgeous writer but also the creator of the most fantastical and unique fansongs (who makes original audio content to boot~) Highlights: We would be nowhere as a fandom without the Marie/Colm greer backstory and saga or her audios as the Greer Matriarch herself, but personally? Her Imperium!Lasko/Adam fic kind of changed my life, I'm kind of obsessed with it.

@friendlyfaded: he/him

Miles, the king and professor of the rarepairs! Beware, you will leave his blog wishing for fics for a ship that doesn’t actually exist yet. It’s unavoidable when you read the careful, creative, thoughtful way he considers seemingly silly pairings and makes them gorgeous. Highlights: I recommend his whole rarepairs with prof tag for a snack and his Sweetheart/Lasko/Milo fic for a whole meal~

@gingerbreadmonsters: she/her

Ginger, literally one of the sweetest, friendliest people in the entire Internet. I cannot adequately describe the absolute magnificent poetry of Ginger's prose, so you just have to read it for yourself. You will not be disappointed. Highlights: Ginger's Milo/Sweetheart series is for if you're feeling sweet, and her Vincent/Lovely/Gavin/Freelancer foursome fic is if you're feeling spicy~ Or if you're like me and are longing for an character we'll never see again, you can read her gorgeous, Doctor Who-inspired look in Marcus's mind.

@glassbearclock: she/her

Beans, also known as the best Milo/Sweetheart writer in the game. Their banter is taken from the mouth of god and first name Erik last name Redacted himself, and you could not convince me otherwise. Highlights: I’m a big fan of her sweet, wholesome, Jewish!Milo sick fic, but aYO her Milo/Sweetheart first date fic is so good y’all like goddamn Sweetheart phases through their door and makes Milo faceplant it on accident man that shit is so good

@horrorscoupes: they/he

My beautiful, darling Lotus, my gloriously deranged brother in arms (affectionate). The way they write each and every d(a)emons is just so -chef kiss-. Highlights: I think about their Regulus/Doll fic, like, literally every day, it's just yummy and depraved. Though, for a true taste of genius, for a galaxy brain treat, you've got to read his Shark!Vega/Pet masterpiece.

@k9rage: he/xi

My beloved Calico, our helpful Image Description fairy. He is just so cool and writes the most glorious smut like the world has ever seen. As of publishing, he's writing a Vega/Lasko street racing AU that's gonna be just smoke ash cinder fire hot. Highlights: You need to read his Damien/Gavin waxplay fic; like, this changed my life, I think about it daily. Ooh, AND his Aaron/SmartAss/Gavin threesome fic, because he didn't do all that thinking and imagining for us to not appreciate it. I'm also reccing @calicostorms, his other blog and spotify, so you can get at his stellar Redacted character playlists!

@lovelylonerliterature:

Lovely, absolute stand-out writer in the fandom! Would you believe they have a whole (as of posting) 95 works for the RedactedASMR fandom on AO3? There’s <2000 fics, which makes Lovely a whole five percent of the fanfiction on their own. That’s wild and so hella cool. Highlights: Literally everything they write. Explore their extremely well done masterlist, it’s beautifully put together, and you’ll find something you love. (I’m particularly fond of the Darlin/Vega fic they wrote based off of one of FriendlyFaded’s posts~)

@romirola: she/her

Dr. Romi, the one and the only and one of the legitimate sweetest goddamn people that has ever existed. You've never met a more polite, darling person in all your days. How did she write all these thousands of words of art while getting a doctorate? God, I wish I knew... if only we could also be so beautiful and wonderful and accomplished. Highlights: You haven't existed until you've read her Milo/Sweetheart Tangled AU; like, what are you doing here? GO. (I also deeply recommend her found family Shaw Pack + Sam fic, if you're looking for something that's still ongoing!)

@sealriously-sealrious: they/them

Chrys who writes- no contest I think we can all agree- the best Huxley that this fandom has ever seen. He is just so well-explored and so multifaceted, just the top-tier himbo content we all need and deserve. Highlights: Huxley and Freelancer at the aquarium, Huxley and Freelancer going camping, sfw, nsfw, whatever you want, we've GOT. (There's even some imperium!Huxley, if you're so inclined >:))

@starlitangels: she/her

Starlit, another absolute powerhouse of the fandom. Just look at this masterlist, I think there’s something here for literally every character. That’s what babes call RANGE. Highlights: The way they explore the Shaw pack is so fun; I’d highly recommend her fic exploring Gabe and his backstory or her fic exploring the Shaw’s future pups~!

@taelonsamada: she/her

A pillar- or should I say fence post?- of the fandom and just an utter peach. Always has a nice word to say and says the best nice words about Sam and Darlin- Highlights: Her nsfw Geordi/Cutie fic holds a special place in my heart (the blindfold? the gag? Be still my beating heart), but you haven’t lived until you’ve read her Shaw-centric Ranch AU~!

@teasandcardigans: she/her

Mads, another lovely creator that could be in either section of this post- that's how talented she is! Not only is she a lovely writer but she also designs the most fun Redacted stickers! Also, she's got the only Redacted fan tiktok that Erik has confirmed seen and liked, can't not mention that it's so cool Highlights: Honestly, there's too many to mention! A really popular of hers is a "What If" echo-esque reimagining of everyone's stories which is so fun, and my personal, biased favorite is her Alexis & Gavin fic hear me OUT-

@the-sugar-crash

Cait, out here doing the most and the best. They’ve run the Redacted Winter Gift Exchange for the past two years, connecting blogs who might have never spoken to each other, inspiring creativity, and spreading holiday cheer~ Highlights: I recommend taking a look-see through the “Redacted 2022 Winter Gift Exchange” tag- much thanks to Cait for making it possible- to consider if you’d like to join next year! Until then, there’s a compilation of their cute headcanon posts to inspire you!

@zozo-01: she/her

Zo, one of the sweetest people in the fandom~ Not only is she a fantastic writer, but she is also one of the friendliest people in the space! Constantly excited and supportive and positive and a joy to follow and befriend. Highlights: Her Sam/Darlin Deity AU is going to change the world and break some hearts, I just know it. (Just like her Alexis and Darlin meeting fic broke mine-) If you're not up to getting your heart broken and just want a friend, I recommend asking her about her Powerpoint of Bollywood scenes that could be Sam/Darlin moments~!

Fanart:

@andr0leda: she/they

Androleda’s art is so gorgeous in that most of them are uncolored or working with a smaller palette, and it just makes those colors stand out and the line work all the more elegant. Highlights: Their wolf!Darlin piece got so popular, and you can see why! It looks like the cover of a really cool YA fantasy novel. Also, her Sam/Darlin art just melts the heart- the gentle hand, the key around the neck-!

@artbykays

Kays, a fantastic artist who plays around with the prettiest, brightest colors and has the prettiest (hottest) fem listeners. They also have super fun Redacted playlists! Highlights: Their Sweetheart, Valentina, is kind of smokin hot, I mean look at her, but also good lord, have you seen their Warden like lock me up anytime hello-

@belovedbow

Bow’s art just makes me so soft and gooey inside I dunno. Their art is so pretty, and they always have the most expressive faces. Not to mention the colors- like, Bow uses the simplest but most emotionally evocative shades of pinks and blues that make me inexplicably feel things, and I love it. Highlights: Literally all their Davey/Angel is the sweetest, but I also have this deep fondness for their imp!FL and Vindemiator pieces, because look at these deep, mournful blues, they’re beautiful!

@cascadiiing: they/them

Atlas creates the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable characters on top of being the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable (platonic) sweetie in existence~ they’re so sweet and friendly on top of being so talented at such a young age, and I would protect them with my life. Highlights: Their Sam kind of makes me so lovesick, I could barf- he’s just that pretty. Their Alexis/Christian art is fanart of my own fic, I’ll grant you, but it’s also so fucking pretty look at the dreamy colors and it MOVES-

@claracatlady

Where would we be without Clara, like honestly- What really stands out about their art is- other than the overwhelming talent- the obvious thought and joy that went into designing the outfits. Only the best from our resident fashion design student! Highlights: literally everything. If I must be specific, the David design pinned to their blog is utterly ahdhkakshdjsk, and I am particularly partial to their Alexis design, because I love my beautiful, possibly complex lady okay-

@fregget-frou : he/they

Mal has the prettiest Listeners; I’m lowkey in love with all of them~ I love the way he does such fluffy, voluminous hair, and I dunno, all their listener OC’s have this fashion model-esque glamour and posture about them that’s really attractive. Highlights: Of their listeners, Mal’s Angel has got to be my favorite. Look at this fluffy-haired cutie! Look at this menace! I would also propose to them, they’re gorgeous!

@gwenifred: she/her

Gwen draws the most gorgeous, swoon-worthy Huxleys and is just a big sweetpea to boot. Her and Pali sharing OC’s and art trades here and on Twitter is a testament to how friendly and sweet the fandom can be! Highlights: Everything she draws is gorgeous, but you haven’t lived until you’ve seen her animation work!

@ice-palace-art: They/It/He/Dae

Darby has some of the most beautiful designs, I can hardly stand it. He creates the most gorgeous, realistically proportioned characters and listeners, and they’re just really smoochable okay let me live- Highlights: It has this one piece of Gavin and Lasko having a sleepover that fills me with the warm fuzzies every time I see it, and their Aaron design fills me with longing I am hopelessly in love with their dad-bodded Aaron.

@itsdaifuku: she/her

Y’all don’t even know the little happy stim storm Fuku’s art sets me on; like, all her art is so cute and joyful and somehow colorful even when it’s in black and white? It just gives the vibe of life and vibrancy constantly? How does she do that? Highlights: Literally, everything she draws is gorgeous and sweet, though her designs for the Shaws and their mates are so S-tier and so cute. (I’m also particularly fond of her designs for Love and Alexis, my favorite characters, I’m biased, sue me)

@mr-laveau: he/they

Laveau, my favorite Milo kinnie~ (Yeah, I said it out loud; I’m callin you out.) Charming, thoughtful, friendly, much more talented than they have any right to be when they’re also so funny and sweet, AND also writing at their other blog @bratty-telepath. You’ve never seen such a double threat. Highlights: Literally, everything he makes. All his designs are colorful and gorgeous and filled to the brim with deliberate, intentional details (though I am incredibly partial to their Alexis and Darlin designs and the parallels he included between them.)

@nais-doodles

Nai is a fucking blessing unto this fandom, and we are not worthy. You haven’t really lived, haven’t experienced all the pure, positive silliness that this hellsite has to offer until you experience Nai’s Redacted Actor AU. It’s pure serotonin, and we’re all here listening to Boyfriend ASMR, I know we could use it. Highlights: Other than said AU posts (which really are so fuckin good), have you seen their drawing of Vincent and Sam’s Monarchal ball? Ooh, and if you go to their tiktok under the same username, you can see some of the really cool dating sim they’re working on!

@nanowatzophina: any pronouns

Na’no is not only a must follow on tumblr, but I also highly recommend their tiktok if you wish to wade through the horrid cesspool of that app (I say with tiktok as one of my top social media sites- we have a codependent relationship) Their art is super cute and expressive, and I get massive gender envy from the way he draws hair and teeth. Highlights: Her aspec Freelancer is just so close to my heart; I adore Avery so deeply. Also, the way they draw imperium!Vega and Pet makes my heart fucking melt and want to jump out my chest- the size difference, my god

@obsessivedino: they/them

Mint’s contribution to the fandom cannot possibly be overstated. Their art style is just so clean and neat and with the cutest expressions, and I love their designs so much, especially for the d(a)emon bois I just ahhhhh Highlights: If you’ve joined the official unofficial Redacted Discord server, you’ve seen their adorable stickers reminding you to kick that ass or hydrate unless you want to die-drate, and you haven’t truly embraced life unless you’ve seen their two-year anniversary masterpiece. Ooh, or pocket caelum!

@palilious: she/her

There is no Redacted fandom or fandom list without Pali, and we’ve all accepted that. Her style is so uniquely and instantaneously recognizable as hers, and everyone adores it, including but not limited to GBA, Nomad, and Cardlin! Highlights: Literally everyone she draws is so pretty, though I have a soft spot for her Vincent or her Nomad drawings if you’re looking for more VAs to listen to!

@pearl-kite: she/they

Kirehn has the most huggable humans and the most awe-inspiring d(a)emons. The way she draws the d(a)emons with constellations worked into the designs and color palettes is just so gorgeous and purposeful and thoughtful. Highlights: Their Vega is so frightening but beautiful, you just can’t look away from him. I’m also particularly in love with their Darlin!

@queendread

Do y’all ever do this thing when you see an ethereally beautiful person and you have no words, all you can do is giggle like a vapid schoolgirl(gn)? That’s me with all of Anna’s paintings: no words, just awe. Highlights: I don’t even really like Gavin, okay, he’s not my type, but lord above, Anna’s Gavin is something else. Their Sam also has those Captain America, boy next door good looks I imagined, it’s like they took him right out of my daydreams.

@ryokoaoi : they/them

Ryo has the absolute cutest, most adorable art style, one can barely handle it! Everything they draw is just so pretty and so colorful and detailed and sweet. (Except the sad things, those are less sweet but gosh they’re still so pretty.) They also have this Magic Swap AU that they design that is so fun to read about! Highlights: Their swapped! Gavin and Avior designs are so fun, I adore them deeply, and if you need something to cheer you up, you can always depend on their DAMN pieces that always include a little invisible Caelum to bring you joy~!

@slushrottweiler: she-they

There is nothing like seeing Slush’s signature blue linework on your dashboard, it’s such a sweet treat- or spicy. There are also very good, very spicy treats. Her blog is a magnificent roulette wheel of blue surprises. Highlights: I love their Sam/Darlin stuff, especially this one because wowee them shoulderblades, but their HuxDami BA piece takes the cake.

@spookybeandoodle

Spooky has my whole heart and wallet and my other heart if I had one I fell in love with their rich color palettes and shading and Alexis right away and had to commission them. Could not recommend enough, they were a treasure to work with~ Highlights: I’m not biased- okay yes I am but not now their Alexis is fuckin smoking hot but also their Cam might be my favorite Cam look at that smile-!

@sri-rachaa: she/her

Rae is such a treasure to this fandom, we hardly deserve her. Her art is so ethereally pretty and delicate? The way she draws hair and noses and silhouettes- her line work is just phenomenal. Everything she creates is just a delight to look at. Highlights: The Southern Siblings AU is a gift, a treasure, a boon that cannot be ignored. I’m also a big fan of her Lovely OC who is ridiculously pretty~

@tankwolf : she/her

June has been posting fanart for only two months, but I’m already absolutely obsessed. I just find her monochrome character portraits so visually engaging and interesting. I would love so badly to be friends with her listener OC’s… Highlights: …or more than friends, because her Sweetheart is something else good lord. I would just love it if June could stop putting the hot people in crop tops please (but also don’t cause whoa)

@terrazaurio

All the fanart Terra creates is so bright and vivid and colorful and expressive, they’re really such a treat to see and experience. I’m a sucker for the colors they use, cause it makes my lizard brain all happy and go “shiny pretty happy.” Highlights: Everything they draw with the Shaw Pack is pure dopamine, like this one of the bois and their mates hanging by the pool. I am particularly attached to this piece from Milo’s HBS, because they’re so fucking in love, your honor, I love them.

@thefablefoxart : she/her

Angelina’s Redacted couple series is one of the truest delights of the fandom; like, they’re so colorful and cute and just adorably designed. I’m also deeply in love with the way she does hair. Everyone just has really fucking good looking hair, and I can’t get over it-Highlights: On top of the aforementioned couple series, I just want to bring attention to this adorable chibi Sam that she drew- it brings me so much serotonin- and their Darlin, Kai who I wish would just give me a shot okay I have a Southern accent too-

If you’re reading all the way here, I hope you found the post helpful and smiled while making your way through it! Or both! The RedactedAudio fandom is truly one of my favorite spaces on the internet; it’s so intimate and creative, and I’ve found some amazing, perfect friends here, so I hope you will too 💖

again playing around with the formatting please stop hurting me tumblr I’m trying to be nice

If you can see this, I love you, and you’re watching me try to format this post so tumblr doesn’t cut off the bottom of it please ignore the Android behind the emerald curtain go about your day

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted

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melanieph321 · 11 months

Note

and more related to the reader being Brazilian and presenting a little about her culture and without the impediment of communication with the reader's parents (Rúben nervous about meeting the reader's parents for the first time)

Thank you for your patience with me. 😅

Ruben Dias x Reader - No Son of Mine

Enjoy!

The first nights in Brazil were spent in hotels. You wanted to show Ruben around the sights, like the beach and other popular tourist attractions. It was his first time visiting your home country so you wanted to make it special.

Eventually you guys arrived in São Paulo, the city where you grew up. The city where all of your family and friends lived.

"She's home!" Your mother shouted as the car you were renting pulled up to your childhood home.

"Finally God has brought you back to us." She rushed down the driveway to give you a rib crushing hug.

"Mamãe." You groaned. Behind her the rest of the family spilled out of the house, your siblings, cousins, aunties and uncles. All had been awaiting your arrival.

"Y/N!"

"Look how skinny she has become."

"What are they feeding you in England?"

"Fish and chips." Your uncle joked.

"Pai! Come here and look how pale your daughter has become."

People were pinching your cheeks, pulling your dress and making you twirl around to get a better look at you.

"Guys, please."

You hadn't even gotten the chance to introduce them to Ruben yet. There was no need however, your family discovered him for themselves as he came up the driveway carrying all of your luggage.

"Oh my." Your mother gasped.

"Look at those arms." One of your aunties commented. "So strong, so full of veins."

Your sisters were no different. "He's cute, no?"

"Stop it." You hushed.

Ruben certainly made a good impression with the females of your family. The men however, perked up their chests like male gorillas.

"Do you need helped with those?" Your dad said, clearing his throat to make his voice sound deeper.

Ruben shook his head. "No sir. But thank you."

"No. Thank you." Your auntie smiled, eyeing Ruben up and down as he went passed them with the bags.

You rolled your eyes, hooking your arm with Rubens. "Guys this is Ruben , my fiance."

"Fiance?" They frowned.

You had yet told them about Rubens proposal last month. This was one reason for your visit to Brazil.

"When did this happen?" Your mother said, taking your hand so she could get a better look at the ring. Your family gathered like chickens, gasping at the sight of the diamond ring.

"Last month." You smiled.

"And you told us nothing?" Your dad pushed through everyone to get to you, displaying a look disapointment.

"Well I wanted it to be a suprise."

"Normally a man asks the father for permission before proposing to his daughter." Your dad turned to Ruben.

"Pai!"

He stepped up to Ruben in a way that made everyone nervous.

"What? It's a holy tradition, no?"

"Yes for us Pai." Your sisters help defend. "Ruben is not from Brazil."

"But he is Portuguese, no?"

"Here we go again." You sighed. Ever since your family found out that Ruben was Portuguese their view of him changed a bit. Especially your dad's view, since he has always been very in touch with his cultural roots and a preacher of how the white man took everything from our ancestors. Even when you were still a young girl he would say, "If you ever marry a Brazilian he better be as black as you."

"Pai?" Your mother came through to stop the commotion. "Stop this. We haven't seen our daughter in three years. This is not how we should welcome her and her beautiful husband to be."

Your dad groaned in response, but quickly came to his senses, seeing the hurt in your eyes.

"Y/N." He sighed. "You're mother is right, forgive me?"

"It's not me you should be apologizing too." You said, cuddling up to Ruben. He held an arm around your shoulders.

The whole family anticipated your father's next words. He still looked skeptically at Ruben.

"Do you have a job, son?"

"Yes sir." Ruben nodded.

"A house?"

"Two actually. One in England and one in Portugal. If you don't count the apprement we live in Manchester and the summerhouse in Spain, then I have four."

Your family nodded impressed, everyone but your father.

"Can you cook?" He said, continuing the live interrogation.

"I know a few dishes."

"Can you clean?"

"Of course."

"Dad stop this." You sighed.

He raised his hand "Just one final question."

"Shoot." Ruben said.

Your dad chuckled. "It's funny you would say that. Can you play football? Because no son in law of mine shall step foot in my house without knowing how to use them."

Ruben shifted to you. His expression unsure.

"I haven't told them." You smiled.

"Told us what?" Your dad hissed.

"Pai, Ruben is a professional football player. He plays for Manchester City in the Premier League."

"My son." Your dad grinned, pulling Ruben in for a hug.

Everyone laughed, including you.

"I guess he's welcome to the family then?" You asked.

"Yes." He said, patting Rubens back. "He is very welcome."

#fanfiction #man city #manchester city #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x black reader #ruben dias #football imagine #footballer x reader #football angst #footballer imagine

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folklorebae · 2 years

Text

𝐔𝐬, 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬

Cast(s)/Genre: Mom!Reader & Dad!Iwaizumi Hajime/Fluff

Wc: 0.3k

Warning(s): A Karen(?), reader is referred as a wife, breastfeeding

Everybody knows, a baby could be handful when they feel uncomfortable. Especially on a plane, with eleven hours of flight. Luckily, for you and your husband, your six months old baby was sleeping during the take off. But still, Iwaizumi could feel a stare from the middle-aged woman who's sitting next to him. The type of look that's judging, because she knows the baby will cry, soon or later.

Iwaizumi doesn't care of course, he continues to play with her daughter, ignoring the woman's whole existence. But if she has the audacity to say something hurtful to you or his baby, he will not hesitate to argue with her or maybe call the flight attendant.

Iwaizumi smiles at her daughter when she makes a sound. "That's my girl!"

"Oh," Iwaizumi follows his daughter's gaze, looking at you who's still asleep. "Mommy is sleeping, but daddy's here."

Your daughter frowns, little hands are trying to reach you. "Are you hungry baby?"

Just like she understands her dad's question, she answers it by whimpering and squirming in his arms. Your eyes snap open when you hear the familiar noises your daughter always makes whenever she's hungry.

"Oh God. I'm sorry, I was sleeping." You say as you try to pull down your blouse.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" Ask the woman when you start to breastfeed your baby.

"Jesus." Iwaizumi murmurs to himself before he turns to look at the woman. "Mam, if you try to stop my wife from feeding our child, I will call the flight attendant and they will kick you out from this plane. So you better shut your mouth and mind your own business."

"Well– well, I just think it's inappropriate to breastfeed in public. You two really have no shame." The woman mutters before walking away to the bathroom.

You look down, hiding the laugh you've been holding. "She looks so scared. If a look could kill, she will definitely die on the spot."

"Shut up." He chuckles. "No one could ever mess with you and our baby."

You pop your head up, pouting. Heart swelling and falling a little more again for your husband. He nudges his nose with yours before giving a quick kiss on your lips. "I love you."

"And our baby?"

He flicks your forehead, earning a small protest from you. "I love you and our baby."

#yes I know Iwa could afford business class tickets but I need to add some spices #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x f!reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq drabbles #hq fluff #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x female reader #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi fluff

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aconflagrationofmyown · 10 months

Text

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

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miyuhpapayuh · 10 months

Text

fourteen

Back in front of the blank canvas, she deeply sighs.

What to paint?

She'd been sitting here for the last hour, wondering the same thing.

Flowers were always a favorite, but she was in the mood to try her hand at something else.

Maybe someone else.

Dipping her paintbrush into the deep brown paint, she sighed again and let her mind wander, while letting it dance across the canvas.

Halfway through, she pulls back and smiles at the outcome, feeling more smitten than she ever has before.

Turning the music up just a bit louder, she continues on, filling the blank space with her newest subject.

Once she was done, she sat and marveled at her work, placing her fingers over the fine detailing and smiling to herself.

Oh, Leon.

She'd painted him in five different ways, each one more strikingly beautiful than the last.

Never had she sat and painted a man in such vivid hues of brown, blue and orange. With such emotion, such thought.

“Wow,” seemed to be her favorite word to describe moments that involved him. This one was no different.

She loved Leon. She was in love with him. No doubt.

He was just as in love with her, if not more.

She clouded his mind just as much. So much, she was his permanent muse for every piece of poetry he'd written over the last month.

Her hair.

Her smile.

Her scent.

Her eyes.

Big and brown,

Full of wonder,

Of love,

Of life!

Her wit,

Her charm,

Her spice,

Her warmth.

All wrapped in mocha,

Kissed by a thousand suns.

Curves that would make a blind man crash.

A sharp tongue that would make the most confident man crumble.

A heart of gold.

Skin made of silk.

A goddess, for real.

Meeting each other back in her love lair, the pair exchange their heartfelt gifts, neither of them ready for how it tugs on their hearts.

“You wrote me a poem??” She gushes, holding the orange envelope to her chest. Her twinkling eyes made him smile extra big.

“I did! You painted something for me??” He asks, staring down at the board, neatly wrapped in deep green paper.

“I did! You wanna open yours first?” She excitedly asks, making him tear right into it.

His surprised gasp, coupled with his shocked expression, does her in. She was hoping to god that he liked it, at least.

“Zora.. wow, this is so… wow!” He stares at the canvas, struggling to find the words that express how breathtaking it is.

“Do you like it?” She asks, shifting her weight.

“I love it, mama. Absolutely. I— I've never been painted before. I don't think anyone's ever even sketched my face! It's so detailed and wow.” He repeats, making her blush.

“I told you, you're my prettiest subject,” she smiles, “I've got a whole sketchbook full of your face.”

The way he looked at her could've melted her right into the ground.

“Read your poem, sweet stuff.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice coming out small.

Pulling the paper out, her eyes linger on every word, her heart beating double-time at his sweet, sweet words.

“Ohh, you just love to make me cry!” She laughs through her small tears, wiping them away with the back of her hand.

“You like it??”

“Hell yeah, boy! This is so sweet! I love the way you talk about me.”

“Like I can talk about anything else,” he says with a shake of his head. “You cloud my brain, woman. I wrote like five different poems about you.”

“Like you're any better! Got me drawing and painting you.” She stares at him wide-eyed.

“You're so talented, baby.” He coos, pulling her into his arms finally, wrapping her up in his warmth, while he feeds on hers.

“So are you, handsome.” She rubs the back of his head, kissing his forehead as he hugs her tightly to him.

“Our anniversary is in a couple days.”

“I know! Six months!” She gushes.

“It's crazy how time flies, huh?”

“Well, when you're having so much fun, it does tend to slip on by.”

“I made reservations, but I cannot tell you where. It's a surprise.” He says, snickering at the look on her face.

“We gettin’ all gussied up?!”

“Hell yeah, baby! Pull out your best dress and we gon paint the town orange.”

“Aw, you are so cute!,” she frowns, pecking his awaiting lips a thousand times.

“I know, lucky me.” He bashfully smiles, hugging her waist tighter.

“Now I'm gonna stress until Friday, tryna figure out what to wear!”

With the chilly air that late October brings hanging in the air, Zora was contemplating on 86’ing the dress idea altogether for something more practical, knowing how much she despises the cold.

“I have faith that we'll be able to pull something together.”

“Yeah, I probably won't be wearing a dress, though. It's a lil too cold for that.” She laughs.

“Yeah, I didn't even think about that,” he chuckles, "I just know that's your go-to. But, I know you're gonna look absolutely stunning! That's a given.”

“If it's possible, I love you even more.”

“Ah, my heart grows ten sizes with every glance your way. Every word you say,” he presses another kiss to her lips, dipping her back into her heap of pillows.

“Such a way with words,” she giggles, halting the wandering hand before it reaches the hem of her t-shirt.

“It's not over yet,” she mumbles, matching the frown he sported.

After summer ended, so did their free time. They were lucky if they got to see each other on the weekends, due to preparation for the holiday season.

The warehouse Leon worked at seemed to have a million pre orders for a variety of the new gift items they advertise, keeping him at work almost overnight, sometimes.

The pub had been jumping still with all the changes Linda made, including a complete renovation of the restaurant, which included an actual dance floor, an ole-timey jukebox, and a larger dining area and bar once she knocked out a wall.

Zora had started pulling longer hours, while Linda was in the process of expanding their team, which she didn't mind, but she'd never been so tired in her life.

At the end of days like that, the pair were lucky if they hit their own beds correctly, before having to jump right back out of them the next day.

And with their impending anniversary right around the corner, on top of it being the first one they were gonna go all out for, Mother Nature paying her a visit couldn't have come at a better time.

But she was on her way out the door!

“I know,” she laughs, “that's how I feel, too! I'll be clear in like a day or so, though.”

Moving his hand back to her knee, he smirks. “Just in time for the festivities, huh?”

“Yeah, I may have an extra surprise for you, too.” She bats her lashes at him.

“Oh?”

“Maybe,” she smirks. “Maybe not.”

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Friday dragged its feet and the couple's nerves along the way, knowing they were ready to detach themselves from their jobs without thought.

As if teleporting to her apartment, he opens the unlocked door like she requested through text, immediately getting an earful from him as he heads down the hall.

“Now, Zora, you know how I feel about unlocked doors.”

“Leon, you were like five seconds away. Nobody was gonna get me.” She says, staring at him through her vanity mirror while she applies her lip gloss.

“Still. I've got a key for a reason. Let me use it.” He says, before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, running his hand over her freshly pressed and still billowy hair.

“You look beautiful, as always. I like your hair.”

“Thank you! I rarely wear it like this ‘cause it's so hard to keep up with, but I was missing it and it's a special occasion, and this qualifies as my something different.”

“Checked it off your own list?”

“Yeah, why not!”

“Why not.” He smiles, agreeing with her.

She smiles back, before standing to her feet to face him, both of them cracking up at the 360 they give each other.

“See? I had faith in you and you did it, Jean.” He pokes, twirling her around. “You look damn good, baby.”

A cropped white top and high-waisted, wide-leg distressed jeans was a pretty basic outfit, which is why god invented cardigans. An orange and pink one did just the job at setting her outfit off.

“I didn't find it until last night, don't be too proud.” She sighs.

“Woman, please. Point still stands, you put it together like only you can.” He flirts, wrapping an arm around her waist, their faces just a few inches apart as they gaze at each other.

“Every chance you get, for real.” She pokes back, making him suck his teeth, planting a kiss on her lips still.

“You already know it, sweet stuff.”

Taking a step away, she looks at him again. An orange beanie pulled over his low-cut and his beard was full and shiny, begging her nails to play with it, which she’d definitely ended up doing.

His green leather jacket, black sweater and jeans combo was doing so many things to her, as was the heavenly scent wafting off of him.

Vanilla? Bergamot??

“Whatever you're wearing, always keep a bottle near.” She speaks, earning a smirk from him.

“Yes ma'am.”

“You look so good, baby.” She compliments, moving back into his hold.

“Thank you, mama.”

“Mhm, and thank you for six bouquets of poppies! That was the cutest thing ever.”

“Anything for you,” he kisses her again, before looking at his watch. Right on time.

“You ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

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The Petal Café was one of the newest, fanciest restaurants in town and Leon made quick with getting reservations, thankfully bypassing the huge waiting list.

“This place is so beautiful!” Zora squealed for the millionth time, making him laugh and squeeze her hand from across the table.

“I'm glad we made it, cause that waiting list is a year out, now.” He says with a shake of his head.

“What?? That is wild! Let's hope the food lives up to its hype!”

“I know, right. Everything looks really good, though.”

The waiter comes over and sits their drinks down, before taking their food orders and leaving them alone again.

“I'm certain we said it already, but happy anniversary, doll face.” He says, going back to squeezing her hands.

“Happy anniversary, baby. Best six months I’ve ever spent with anyone.”

“Same here, you’re one of my best friends.”

“Really??” She asks, squeezing his hands back now.

“Absolutely! It’s been an absolute dream getting to know the world is you, and to experience life with you is just as dreamy.”

She was thankful that she went light on her makeup, cause she knew it would’ve been ruined with him and sweet words.

“Oh, Leon,” she frowns, “you're the epitome of a dreamboat. When I say I love you, I really mean it. I don't think I can say it enough.. but thank you for showing me what actual love feels like,” her voice cracks near the end of her sentence.

A soft smile covers his lips, as he's keeping his own tears back.

“It's my pleasure showing you what you deserve, Jean. That'll never end.”

Knowing she was gonna cry, she beckoned him to her with her pointer finger, pressing her lips to his, giggling against them as her tears fell down her cheeks.

Pulling away to cup her face in one hand and wipe her tears with the other, he laughs as she reaches up to wipe his own tears away.

“Nique was right, we are sappy.” He points out, making her shake her head.

“Don't let her hear you say that, we'll never live it down!” She exclaims, making them fall into a small laughing fit.

“I love you, Jean.”

“I love you too, Avery.”

After indulging in the well worth it cuisine, the pair move their party to the expansive bar, which happens to sit right beside a huge flower garden, a few orange and yellow roses sitting the closest to them.

“How'd you know about this place?” Zora asks, sipping her rum.

“Eryn told me about it, actually. Saw an ad about them opening a location here and gave me the details. As soon as I heard the name, I knew we had to come here.”

“Aw, you know me so well!”

“I better, ‘fore somebody try and take my job.” He cracks, making her laugh and lean into him.

Any opportunity to wrap his arm back around her, he'd take it. Pressing another kiss to her face, he goes back to sipping his own glass of rum.

“Nobody could ever do such a thing, baby.”

“Touché, sweet stuff. Nobody holds a candle to you.”

Two more drinks and it was time for them to move their party back to the privacy of her apartment.

As if teleporting back to her front door, Zora pulls Leon inside and sits him down on her bed, before disappearing into her bathroom.

“I'll be right back!”

“Whatchu hidin’, baby?” He slurs, a wicked smirk crossing his face at the thought of what it just might be.

“A surprise!” She giggles from inside the bathroom, making sure everything was sitting the way she needed it to— not that she'd have it on long, anyway. But still.

Slipping out into the hallway, she pulls her hair up into a sloppy bun before strutting back into her room, where he sat with his jaw in his lap.

The jade hued lace teddy hugged her figure like a second skin, holding up and framing her voluptuous body in the best way possible.

“Wow.” His eyes traveled up and down her frame, as if he was savoring this moment.

Here she was, standing in front of him in his favorite color, and all he wanted to do was rip it off and take her in every way possible.

“I take it that you like it?” She speaks, pulling him out of his trance, his gaze now on her face.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, girl. I love it.” He responds, reaching out for her hand and pulling her to stand in between his spread legs.

His strategically placed kisses made her giggle and softly push his face away.

Sticking his tongue down her throat, he pulls her flush against him, groping her fat ass with his big hands. Her left leg finds its way over his right one, soon straddling him altogether.

Licking a trail from the corner of his mouth to the sweet spot on his neck, her fingers work to remove his jacket, dying to have full access to his broadness.

Next to go was the sweater, ultimately making her lose her mind. He'd been hitting the gym pretty hard and boy was it doing him some good.

“So damn fine,” she moans, pushing him back onto the soft bed, reaching underneath herself to undo his belt buckle, biting his earlobe as she slides a hand inside his pants.

He grunts in response, assisting her in pulling his clothes away until he's in nothing but a pair of briefs that were already being tugged on.

Pulling them away, she swings over his lap backwards, now facing the rounded mirror on his dresser. She smiles at her reflection and wraps her hand around his dick, softly jerking him.

His groans fill the air, especially when she bends over to stick her ass in his face and drool all over him, sucking him like she had a point to prove.

Mesmerized by the jiggle in her hips and ass, his hands reach out to slap each cheek, eventually slapping the wet spot between her thighs, making her inch away, an audible gasp leaving her full mouth.

“Come back,” he rasps, pulling her hips back in his direction to rub his thumb over the steady-forming spot, his head falling back into the pillows as her tongue swirls around his sensitive tip.

“God dammit, baby,” he moans, sending another fire smack to her ass. Taking him to the hilt, they both groan as he hits the back of her throat.

He wishes she could've seen how wide his eyes were as she holds him there for a few moments, and does it again, and again, moaning all on him and making his toes curl.

“Fuck… I'm cummin’, Zora… fuck,” his hips jerk upward as she milks him for every single drop, giggling once she releases him.

Pulling her back on his face, the seat of her lingerie was pulled to the side and his nimble fingers played in her wetness, making her bite her lip and grind against his hand.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he grunts, sliding his middle fingers into her, reveling in the sweet moans that fill the air as he curls and pumps them into her gspot.

“Shit, right there,” she breathlessly moans, dragging her nails up and down his stomach.

“Right here?”

“Yes, I'm g-gonna cum!” She gasps, throwing her head back once his fingers begin jabbing at her spot, making her gush onto them in no time.

Wasting no flipping her onto her back, he pulls the lace away from her body, kissing every inch of skin he came across on the way.

Hooking her legs around his waist, he glides into her and grunts at how wet, how snug, “fuck I could bury myself here, you feel so fucking good.”

His slurred praise hits her ears, while her eyes are stuck in the back of her head as he thrusts into her so deeply. Her hands find his chest.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers, “so d-deep!”

His lips find her neck, as her body clings to his. Her breathy moans hit his ear.

It had been so long since they'd found themselves in the moment, which made them savor it now for all its worth.

Declarations of love and affection leave their lips, as their peaks get closer and closer to erupting. Sweat blanketing them like a second skin.

“Cum with me,” he groans, as he ground his hips into hers, making them see stars at the same time. The cry that left her lips made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Blissed out, they lay still entangled as the aftershocks pass through their bodies. Dazed smiles cover their lips.

A second wind comes sooner than later, sending them into their next position of the night. Both of them facing the mirror as he hovers over her, spreading her thighs to glide right back into her.

One hand is splayed across her chest to pull her flush against his own, the other planted firmly into the bed as he pumps into her, mumbling shit in her ear that would make her blush if she were able.

Both of her hands were rolled into the sheets, trying her best to throw her ass back onto him, but those lethal strokes are nothing to play with.

“Fuck me,” she helplessly whines.

His breath tickles her skin, his kisses along the back of her neck make her shiver. “Just like this?”

“Yes,” she breathes, “yes!”

Speeding up, he crashes into her sweet spot so precisely it makes her cum in an instant, a heavy sob leaving her mouth as he continues.

Her hands found both of his wrists, as she was desperately needing something to hold onto.

“S-so good, Leon! Please don't stop!”

“Fuckin’ you all night, baby.. all night.” He smirks, pulling his hand back to smack her ass.

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“Ooh, she's being loved properly. Look at that glow!” Nique teases, just as Zora spots their table.

“Hey, y'all.” She greets her sisters with a hug and kiss, before taking her seat beside Nique and kissing her cheek.

“Hey, lover. How's life been?” Neoma pokes fun, making Zora roll her eyes.

Not being one to post much about her relationship on her social media, besides a few pictures here and there, Zora felt compelled to make a dedication post for their anniversary and her sisters, of course, found it and left all types of crying, heart and kissy face emojis in the comments.

“I should be asking y'all that.”

“Let's talk about you first, though.” Lovita redirects just like an older sister does.

“Life's good, lemme lone,” she mumbles, still “mad” at them.

“Oh come on, we went wild in the comments, but we're done now!” Neoma pleads.

“Yeah, promise!” Nique adds.

Zora looks at her oldest sister, raising an eyebrow. Lovita sighs and shrugs. That was as much as Zora was gonna get from her, since sorry is not in her vocabulary.

“Fine. Life is beautiful!” She smiled, making them reciprocate.

“We've seen! You two are too much,” Lovita frowns, over the moon happy for her littlest sister.

“How was your anniversary?!”

“It was the sweetest day. Not like, every day isn't just as sweet, but he sent three bouquets of orange poppies to my job and three more to my apartment. We had already exchanged gifts a few days before, being too excited to hold onto ‘em. He took us to the Petal Café, and y'all! It's the prettiest place I've ever been in! The best food ever! There's a garden next to the bar! It was so me. He's such a hunk.”

The chorus of aw’s commences.

“How much did you cry?” Neoma and Nique ask.

You know what! Too damn much,” she answers, laughing at herself before they could.

“Such a big baby, oh my gosh!”

“I know, ugh. He's just so… wow.” She smiles again, shaking her head.

“Yeah?? We pickin’ out baby names, yet??” Nique squeals.

“Girl, no. I made sure I stocked up on my birth control. No babies… yet.” She purses her lips together for a second, watching their expressions shift, but before they could lay into her again, she re-redirects the focus back onto them.

“But, what about y'all! How's everything?!”

Nique jumps at the chance to tell her best friend just how head over heels she is, to which she outwardly gushes.

“Since we made it official, I met his mama and he met mine— she loves him— he's been showing up to my office with lunch, sometimes it's hand-prepared!! Y'all know I love a man that can cook!”

“Food be good, don't it?!” Zora asks, the smile on her face is too bright.

“Girl, if you see me gain a lil weight, don't say nothing! And if you see him gain a lil weight, you heard me the first time,” she snorts, “cause he's just as fed. Baby got an appetite the size of Texas.”

“You did tell ‘em you loved a man who could eat.” Neoma points out, making her blush.

“And eat, he does.”

“Dominique!” Lovita yells, her jaw dropping.

“What??! He does eat a lot! Sometimes, it's me– hell, most times, it's me.” She covers her own mouth, high-fiving Zora with her free hand.

“I knew it,” she laughs, pointing between Neoma and Lovita, “you two owe me money because what did I say??”

“Y'all bet on me?!”

“No, they bet on you. I knew you'd have him that boy in the palm of your hand before the end of the year and they bet on it taking a little longer.”

“What, y'all ain't think I still had it in me?” She asks in faux outrage.

“Girl, you been celibate for like a year or so, I ain't think he was really gon affect you like that. But, I shoulda known after that phone call I heard.”

“What call??”

“Man, Nique was on the phone with this man, talkin’ his ear off about her job and Ron big stupid ass had done something else that she had to undo, and Darnell was telling her about how he was gon come up there and stomp a hole in his ass if he didn't get it together, cause she was way too important to be doing favors for the incompetent. Nique got to giggling, and I knew it was over. I ain't never heard her sound like that.” She finishes, blinking dryly.

“Yeah, I had nothing better to do, obviously. It was a very funny conversation.” She adds.

“Ne, you've always been so nosy. Maybe you and Nique are related.” Lovita jabs, making Zora laugh.

“Anyway, Nique please record the fight when it happens ‘cause Ron been needed an ass whoopin’. But seriously, you two are adorable! I knew it was coming once he called you his baby. I'm so happy for you.”

“Thank you! I'm so happy for me, too!” She laughs, fanning her red face.

“Neoma, you sharin’ next?”

She smirks. “Craig is a dork, for real. He's so funny, so smart. So stubborn, Jesus. So fine,” she sighs. “He drives me insane, but boy do I love it.”

“Always the one for challenges, lord.” She shakes her head. “But, as long as everything is going good, I love it for you.”

“Thanks, sis. We're not a couple yet, but we're getting closer.”

“Take your time, girl. If it's meant to be, it'll happen.” She assures her older sister.

Their hands join in the middle of the table for a sweet squeeze, before everybody's eyes dart over to Lovita, who's yet to share.

“Do I have to??” She asks.

“Yeah, what the fuck?”

“Okay, okay! But y'all cannot judge me.”

“Girl, what did you do?”

“Remember that night y'all slept over after the game day we had?” She asks, watching them nod in response.

“Well..”

Smirks decorate their faces as she gets ready to spill what they'd already seen coming.

“Clyde and I had sex, that night and I swear I've been in love with that man ever since.” She sighs.

“In love?” Neoma repeats.

“Yes. In love. I love him.” She spells it out for her younger sister, while she slowly blinks back at her.

“Girl, I know that feeling. That's how I felt the morning after me and Leon had sex.” Zora says, shaking her head. “I was done for.”

“Really? I felt like I was going crazy, at first. Like I woke up a little before he did and just kinda stared at him like, “you have fucked up, cause now I love you.” It was wild!”

“Literally such a wild feeling, I agree.”

“Wow, y'all makin’ me miss my man.” Nique snorts, internally giddy as hell that she gets to call him that.

“Aw, her man.” Neoma coos.

“Stop it,” she laughs.

“But, ‘vita,” Nique starts, “we would never judge you for how you feel. Sex is such an intimate experience, I'd be afraid if you didn't feel more than you already had about him.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs, “I know.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she smiles, picturing his face in her head. “Nothing’s wrong. He's perfect. Realistically, of course.”

“Yeah?” Zora asks, beaming for her sister.

“I can't stress it enough. He's sweet, funny, well-rounded.. he's a hard worker, might be a lil rough around the edges, but so am I. We don't clash at all, it's always so refreshing to be around him. And my goodness, that man is so damn fine.”

“He is very handsome. I believe we all lucked out like I said we were gonna! Sounds like I'm owed some thank you’s.”

“Zora, do not ruin this sweet ass moment.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs the champagne flute from the table and tipping it toward her lips for a sip.

“Wait. What kinda gifts did y'all get each other??”

“Oh, he wrote me a poem and I painted him.”

Their eyes widened.

“What??”

“Aw, you painted Leon!?”

“You painted?!”

She smiles wide at their reactions, shaking away the urge to burst into tears.

“Y-yeah, I painted. It's been a few months since I've painted, but really, it's been so long since I've actually been motivated to do so. Y'all know that relationship of mine just drained the life out of me and everything I loved to do just vanished. And, I'm finding the purpose for it again. In something and someone else. Y'all should've seen his face when he unwrapped it,” she smiles like he's right in front of her, “it was priceless.”

“Wow, I'm so proud of you, Zora.”

“Aw, thanks,” she frowns, wiping the lone tear that fell.

“Oh, don't start crying. We’ll be here all night!”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Having a few more days of freedom, Zora and Leon get back together for another sip and paint, with another spin to it.

Nique had given her the idea to make Leon the subject for Zora to paint. And of course, this sounded like some fun and some trouble. Well worth both, she already knew.

“Okay, so you're actually my model, today.” She says, taking in his raised brow.

“Really? That's cool! You need me to pose?” He asks, beginning to flex his muscles and make her laugh.

“Yeah, actually! Hold on,” she stands up from the couch and heads towards her dining area for a chair, pulling towards the middle of the floor.

“Okay, come sit.” She says, patting the chair.

He strides across the floor in a show for her, which she appreciates, more giggles leaving her and he kisses her forehead before sitting down.

“The cutest man, ever.”

“I know,” he replies.

Sauntering into the kitchen for a stool, she pulls hers up to her easel and sits, looking to her left to make sure she's got all the supplies she'll need.

Peeking out behind the canvas, she eyes him but keeps the request on the tip of her tongue.

“What you keepin’ from me?” He asks, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Uh… don't think I'm crazy..”

“Who's sane?”

“Leon,” she says, sighing to herself.

“Zora, come on. What is it? You want me to pose like The Thinker? Huh? Something more interesting, perhaps?”

“Yeah, way more interesting.”

“Okay, throw it at me, baby.”

Pulling her head back behind the easel, she swirls her paintbrush in the clear water, letting the request fall from her lips.

“Strip.”

A few moments go by with nothing but silence, and just as she's about to poke her head back out, she catches sight of his shirt being flung over her head.

Pants next.

“These too?” He asks, making her peek back out, staring at the hand that's hooked in his briefs. She deeply sighs and shakes her head.

“You can keep those on.. for now.”

Enjoyyy!

Ch 15

@thegifstories @sheabuttahwrites @honestpreference @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @blackerthings @abeautifulmindexposed @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mauvecherie-writes @cecereads209 @blowmymbackout

#mochaff #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #yahya abdul mateen ii #zora x leon

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heyitschartic · 9 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Ughhhhhhh, I took so long to reply to this, but thank you for the ask!!! I'm always happy to get the chance to talk about my stories. God, I've written so much shit that it's hard to pick, but like a kid with a scab, pick I shall.

5. Memoirs

Memoirs is just a silly little thing my girlfriend and I have been working on for the past few months about post-gm Taylor in Kennet. This story gets the number five spot not because I think it's bad, but because my beautiful girlfriend does a lot of the heavy lifting with plotting and characterization because I haven't read Pale. I'm simply there to add where I can. Lovely story, though, and I can't wait for it to reach its ending. I love stories exploring how Taylor deals with everything after it all ends, and K8 really is the queen of that genre.

4. High School Abusical

Alright, this was one of the first stories I wrote on my own that I was really proud of. This whole story spawned from a conversation with the absolute genius user Foxtail about how clusters are always so boring because people usually gen random characters that have no relation to each other when those existing relationships being twisted up into a trigger can lead to so much more fun. The main premise is that Taylor is in a cluster with the Trio. I really would like to get back to this fic someday. I had a lot of fun ideas I wanted to implement, and the way all these girls play off each other is so delightful. I was informed after the fact I got the way clusters work wrong when making the powers, which has really been the only thing holding me from continuing. I can't convince myself to write when such an integral part of the story is off. Maybe I'll redo those someday...

3. Self Implant

Self Implant, my beloved. Fun fact, this was a gift to K8 for her birthday. Bonesaw gets a person in her head, trying to take a crack at playing her conscience. Now, this might surprise some of you, but I really like Bonesaw. I love playing around with her, and this story is just an excuse to do that for one million words. Like a little bug in a jar that I'm feeding enrichment to. This story really just gets me excited. I really, really need to put some more out there, for my own sake if no one else's

2. Severed

Severed!!!!!!! A story about Taylor joining the nine and the consequences there of. Also, the only story I wrote that has the dubious honor of actually driving someone crazy in real life. This story means a lot to me. Severed was the reason that I first started talking to my girlfriend (she wrote the amazing AU of it, Soliloquy), and for that alone, it will always be near the top for me. I think this story is where I really kind of took off as a writer, started getting past a lot of the mistakes that plagued my earlier stuff. It still has tons of grammatical errors, hard to get those right when youre inebriated most of the time, but this story has a lot of my feelings wrapped up in it, a lot of myself wrapped up into it, which will always boost it towards the top.

1. Felix Fortuna

Felix Fortuna is the best story I think I've ever written, and it's not even close. A story about Contessa going to Hogwarts that was originally written because of how much I disliked what Ward decided to do with her character. I feel like you can actually see me get better in real time as the story goes on. This was a collaborative effort with three other amazing authors (Pericardium, Maroon_Sweater, and Poe), and I think it really shows with all the care put into it. It lands at number one for a lot of reasons. It's got some of the best prose of anything I've written, it's the most well constructed of my stories, I love every character from Fortuna to Flavia to Jessica and Angelique. But mostly I like it best because I, at my heart, am a massive softy. When it comes to it, more than anything, I want a story where a character I really love finally gets a happy ending.

#parahumans #wormblr #worm fanfic

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fireemblems24 · 4 months

Text

Golden Wildfire Ch 14

Almost done guys. I can stick with it.

STORY

Oh no, The Empire is in danger. Anyways . . .

They're all shocked Edelgard is asking for help because she's putting her in debt to them.

Haha, they're considering just leaving her there and letting the Empire die. Lorenz came up with it. Based.

I know Claude will go bail her out, which is really stupid for a guy who claims he wants to end the war.

So . . . how does killing Rhea and sparing Edelgard cause the least amount of bloodshed? I knew that's what was going to happen, but it makes no sense. Claude even admitted he knows that Edelgard doesn't give a shit, she wants to conquer Rhea or no Rhea.

I really fail to see how on earth this is ending in 2 chapters. Unless Edelgard is so grateful to Claude she just gives up her ambitions? And Dimitri is equally OOC also suddenly gives a shit about what Claude thinks??

I've actually LOVED how they're written Edelgard and Dimitri in Hopes so far, and if GW ruins that with its shit writing I'm gonna be pissed.

Edelgard better not turn into some soft sissy who is all "oh, you saved me, Claude, now I'm going to play nice and make big eyes at you! Now that Rhea's dead and you did something nice, I'm going to give up the most core part of my character." Double gross if it's implied that she's flustered by his good looks.

And Dimitri better not not be pissed off that Claude invaded him for no reason and be like "You were so right, I wanted Rhea gone this whole time, thank you for saving me from her, please ignore Sylvain stewing in the corner, he'll just get over that you murdered his dad, just like I suddenly don't care how you murdered my citizens!"

If that happens, I'm calling this Claude's bizarre fanfic where he thinks his masterminded Edelgard and Dimitri so hard that now they're both hard for him no matter how OOC that makes them or how stupid Claude's been this whole time.

CAMP/SIDE MAPS

Haha, Shamir doesn't want to help the Empire. She wants revenge against them for the war with Dagda lol.

I don't think Holst has had an interesting thing to say in this entire game.

Oh yeah, I forgot. In GW and SB we're saving Bernie's father and helping him maintain religious power. Only in AG is he the enemy we're replacing. I swear, did nobody look at this and wonder if they made the Blue Lions unambiguously the only good guys?

Haha, right after I wrote this, some NPC was like wtf are we doing putting an Imperial noble in charge of the Monastery and religion?

Meanwhile, Lorenz is like, if we just let Edelgard die, the war ends right. But they must go save her because they're former classmates! For, like, a month! And Claude's like, Dimitri is too. And then crickets. I swear to God GW is borderline self-aware of how reaching and desperate the writing is to have Claude want to join the "I want to suck Edelgard's toes" gang for no logical reason.

Ouch, someone just compared Claude to Hubert. Like, I love Hubert, but he is NOT someone I want to be compared to.

I forget how boring GW is to play. Lorenz takes no damage from anything, so I just mash buttons. He isn't particularly strong either, so he's not nearly as fun to play as Dimitri and Hubert are with their ridiculous strength and magic stats, respectively.

So if I ever replay GW (lol, sure /s), I would def not pick Lorenz again. Lysithea seems like a way more fun character more suited for my play style but she's too far behind with class unlocks and etc . . .

Haha, Shez is like "if I ended up on another side, they would've been suspicious of my powers and thought I was an enemy" - side-eyeing Edelgard and SB.

Lamo, where did Claude get the idea that the church doesn't like people from other places or that aren't religious? Last time I checked, they didn't care?

Lamo, Shez is saying she might just leave Claude when the war ends. Same, Shez, same.

I had to fight Gustave :( And after that Sylvain :(

Guys, I'm feeding Claude recipes he dislikes. I've run out of supports to grind this round so . . .

I did the same to Holst too, because fuck you too, Holst

I'm giving my merc whistle to Lorenz. He basically did everything this route. And ohhhhh, he's right in front of Claude and Hilda too, haha. That means they're going to watch me give Lorenz a present and none for them.

And now to dump every stat boost on Lorenz too. I literally use no one else unless I absolutely have too. Hubert and Dimitri will get the same treatment. Probably also the 2 getting my merc whistle too. Which is hilarious since Hubert is pretty openly hostile to Shez.

SHEZ & CLAUDE A

It's funny. In SB, no one trusts Shez. In GW, Shez doesn't trust Claude. In AG, Shez . . . yep.

Wait, whut? Shez is like "we need to end the church to end the war." And Claude is like "right, because they they can try something again." My brother in Sothis, what the fuck? Did he just forget that Edelgard started the war? Rhea didn't do shit.

Also, didn't Claude say earlier he knows the church is just an excuse for Edelgard to make a land grab? Did he magically forget that?

SHEZ & BALTHUS B

Don't remember if I saw this yet.

Balthus wants to make a bet on battle. Shez doesn't want to.

Balthus likes to live on the edge and adding a bet makes battle more fun. Shez disagrees.

SHEZ & HAPI B

Still don't remember if I saw this or not. But it's another support about Shez's mysterious origins that go absolutely no where.

And I have a strong suspicion that we won't actually learn anything about who Shez really is unless her mom is like Arundel or something.

I think I may have seen this before. But Shez has more than one support like this so . . .

CLAUDE & MARIANNE A

Weird. They only have 1 support and its A.

Marianne gets a letter that implies that he wants Marianne to rule House Edmund and she's intimidated by it.

Claude shares that he worries too.

Claude says Marianne needs more resolve.

Sorry, that was boring as fuck.

CLAUDE & LYSITHEA A

Lysithea has a message from her father, who's taken maybe the worst beating in this game.

Her father doesn't want to complain, but to thank him for ending TWSITD chaos.

Poor House Ordelia really does get the shit end of the stick.

Claude is worry that Lysithea works too hard.

Lysithea doesn't really listen.

CLAUDE & LEONIE B

Their only support.

The crops of the territories that are at war are suffering because armies are trampling fields.

Common people are mad at Claude because of the battle making them starve.

Glad this game is acknowledging, even a little, how it's poor people who get screwed over the most when nobles bicker.

Leonie admits she could care less about this war. Which just make her not being in AG (so far) weirder. Since she's probably one of the one who cares the least.

This is more interesting than I thought it was going to be, because it's about how the commoners suffer in war, and how Claude needs a common born perspective. So that makes Edelgard the only one who never asks common born people what they want - and the one thinking she has the right to decide everything for them.

CLAUDE & CONSTANCE C

Claude is interested in Constance's experiments

Constance invented a spell that can change hair color and style, which Claude wants to use to escape but not to be her first test subject

She gives him a hard and sharp style, like literally - he complains, she's not happy

I don't know if she turned it back or not, if she didn't I'm tempted to not view their B so Claude is stuck with silly, awful hair for his final chapters because then his looks will match his clown behavior

HILDA & IGNATZ B

Hilda doesn't recognize Ignatz without his glasses on. So . . . she's an idiot?

Ignatz is basically blind without glasses, yet forgot where he put them. So . . . he's an idiot too?

Hilda thinks he's hot without his glasses. I . . . question her taste.

IGNATZ & HAPI C

Hapi finds his sketch book and there's a picture of her with cats in there, and she's disturbed that someone drew her without telling her

She figured out that it's him

She's mad he lied, but liked the picture

And . . . the Chicago Carolina game is more entertaining than that was (who may be the 2 worst teams in the NFL, for those who don't know)

SHEZ & IGNATZ A

Aw, that's sweet of Ignatz. He's like, we talk too much about me, talk about you!

And Shez teases him about a crush, lamo.

Shez only has 2 dream options: I don't know or easy going mercenary life

Ignatz asks Shez to be a bodyguard ones he's done being a knight and going after his dreams

Shez says she'll charge a lot lamo

Claude & Constance B

Oh, right, the hair magic stuff.

Constance doesn't appreciate his lack of enthusiasm

She turned his hair frizzy and uneven, lamo - like a bird's nest, and honestly, deserved Claude, you've sucked this route

He has a beard too

LORENZ & IGNATZ A

Their only support, weird.

Lorenz didn't make much of Ignatz when they meant, but now is impressed.

The improvement it because Ignatz is painting in his free time, helping his mental health

Lorenz feels bad because he realizes Ignatz wants to be an artist, not a knight, like he assumed

Ingatz is still grateful towards Lorenz for giving him a purpose after the school closed and he felt directionless

RAPHAEL & MARIANNE B

Bummed they only have 1 support. I like their chain in Houses.

Marianne can't get a horse to the stable bc it's sick (the horse told her, Raphael doesn't seem to care that a horse talked to Marianne)

Raphael offers to get the horse to the stable by putting it in a cart

He lifted it, Marianne is impressed, but now her horse can get the medicine and rest needed

Dumb horse ate bad fruit, honestly, accurate, they're all secretly pigs in horse-shaped bodies

Raphael . . . also eats rotten food. So, I guess Dimitri has competition for who has the most iron stomach

See, this was cute too. Marianne just feels naturally open with him

RAPHAEL & LEONIE A

They're out of arrows and surrounded by wolves

I think Raphael beat them back with her bow

He credits her for making such a strong bow (it didn't break)

So now Leonie will keep making bows until there's one Raphael can't break, and Raphael will keep working on muscles so he can keep breaking them

MARIANNE & YURI B

Oh, God, Yuri's always so mean to people in the beginning of support chains. I wonder how on earth this is going to go . . .

Yuri takes her off guard and asks questions, which just makes her more guarded and feel judged.

Marianne assumes he hates animals and herself. Because she saw Yuri glaring at her once. Girl, you have issues, but I love you.

Understandably, Yuri's a bit confused.

Marianne keeps assuming things are her fault and apologizing, and Yuri keeps getting more and more annoyed until she runs off.

A lot of this support felt pretty random, but let's see where A goes.

MAIN BATTLE

This battle is titled . . . salvation. You know, that may be the most clever bit of writing in GW so far (as in the ONLY clever writing)

Haha, Edelgard is surrounded by the Kingdom and Rhea.

Even Holst is like, are you sure about this Claude?

I really don't understand the logic of rescuing Edelgard if Claud doesn't want war. Like, Claude acknowledged that Edelgard only used Rhea as an excuse for expansionism. He knows she's just going to find another excuse for war, so all he's doing is making her enemies weaker.

Ok, that's enough. I forget that applying any sort of logic to this plot line is pointless.

Cut scene is cool though. Lamo, is this like the 5th time Edelgard needed someone to rescue her in this game? She looked really pathetic in cut scenes in this game. Like, I don't even like her, and I'm annoyed because one of the things I did like was her being a bit of a badass, not always needing saving from Shez, Byleth, from assassins all the time, etc . . .

Guys, there's a save Monica side quest. Should I just . . . not? You know what? I'm going to have fun with this. I want to see what happens.

Fuck, Ingrid appeared :(

And now they want me to save Bernie's dad. This chapter is really "rescue the most fucking annoying characters" and "kill the best ones."

Thank FUCK, she retreated this time. I wouldn't been livid if they made me kill her twice for no reason.

OMG, again, lamo, Edelgard is useless this chapter. She keeps getting caught. That's the 3rd time in 1 chapter she's needed to get her ass saved by Claude and co.

Now I have to fight Dedue :( He's better not fucking die. This route isn't worth it. Edelgard called him Dimitri's most loyal retainer though.

Oh, thank God, he retreated.

Now I'm going to have to fight Dimitri, I'm sure :( I'm really fucking glad Lorenz can't take damage. I'd be shitting myself otherwise. He better retreat too.

Why can't we let Edelgard die, Claude? Wouldn't that fix all the problems?

Oh, Rhea! Fighting Rhea will actually be a little cool, since you never get to see her or use her.

Dimitri retreated at least.

WTF Claude? "I'm just determined to see what the world would look like without you." Idk, maybe Almyra??? The writers really gave Claude nothing with that line lamo.

Took Rhea out. She retreated too.

Now Byleth is here and I think she's dying for good this time. Feel a bit bad about not recruiting her. Claude doesn't deserve Byleth's support on this route, but she doesn't deserve to die either.

Cut scene time. I wonder what's considered more cannon, recruiting Byleth or not?

Also, isn't it thematic that you kill Sothis on routes where you oppose Rhea and side with Edelgard?

Arval's way too happy about this, lamo. Shez is bummed. Honestly, I think I ship Shez with Byleth the most.

Edelgard was so lame this chapter.

Claude tries rubbing it in Edelgard's face that she owes him, and she threatens not to honor the debt. Like, Claude, my boy, if this person is willing to turn on you because you teased her . . . that isn't an ally you want, but whatever.

Claude is like, can we not destroy Faergus. Edelgard's like, no.

"We never spared a thought for Dimitri's motivation." Uh, how about "stop killing my people you bloodthirsty idiots." Also, not surprised. These two really are idiots. They can't fathom why Dimitri's . . . defending himself.

Claude sounds so pathetic in this chapter. He's like, sooooo desperate to be like, remember I did you a favor, Edelgard, remember! Like she gives a single shit, lamo.

#golden wildfire #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #three hopes #three hopes spoilers #golden wildfire spoilers

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