#that's why he know of the derogatory nickname that people use for him

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Omae Part 2 Electric Boogaloo

Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my post Omae: Complexity of Self-Expression and Intimacy in the Japanese “You.” In honor of it, I’m doing a follow-up post.

Why? Because I made two claims in that post:

“as far as I can tell, Izuku is the only person Katsuki has ever used the pronoun omae (おまえ) towards in-canon”

“Furthermore, he has only used omae towards Izuku on three occasions.”

I prefaced both with “as far as I can tell” because I had some doubts that Katsuki’s use of omae was exactly that exclusive, but I knew it was pretty damn exclusive, so I went ahead and wrote the meta anyway. And I still stand by my assessments of how he uses it and what those moments mean.

But I was wrong on both counts.

Katsuki has used omae towards people other than Izuku.

He has used omae towards Izuku on five occassions, as of chapter 409.

Of course, chapter 409 wasn’t released until months after I wrote my pronoun meta, but at the time of my post, I had in fact missed one pivotal omae directed at Izuku that occurs much earlier in the series.

I wanna talk about those two extra omae towards Izuku and who else he has used omae towards. Much like Katsuki, I am a perfectionist, so if I'm gonna revisit this topic, I'm gonna go all the way.

So, I went through 409 chapters and catalogued every single time Katsuki uses a second-person pronoun.

STRAP IN, BUCKOS.

An Exhaustive Analysis of Bakugou Katsuki’s Second-Person Pronoun Usage

These are all the “you” pronouns Katsuki has used in the manga. We’ll go over them one-by-one and talk about who he uses them for, when, and my thoughts on why.

First, a note about rudeness: In many languages, and certainly in Japanese, familiarity and rudeness go hand-in-hand. In dictionaries and on grammar websites, you’ll see advice about using a term only with “people above you” or “people equal to or below you.” In general, you are either talking up to someone (polite speech) or you are talking down to them (casual speech). Excluding outright derogatory language, talking down to someone is the same as treating them as your equal.

Talking up creates or maintains distance between parties. Casual speech, familiar terms, and directness are nuances that generally get introduced into relationships as they deepen. Basically, being close to someone gives you the “right to be rude” to them. To speak this way with a stranger or people who are your hierarchical “social superiors” is considered rude in part because you lack an established (or equal) relationship with them.

I mention this because I think some people are under the misapprehension that for Katsuki to show someone he cares, he would have to speak respectfully towards them—that is, talk up to them. That simply isn’t the case, and in fact such behavior might convey callous indifference instead, because switching from casual speech to formal speech with someone you have history with puts distance between you, pushing them away.

Instead, there are more nuanced ways to connect and affirm bonds. Katsuki using omae rather than temee, for example, is not him being more polite, he's just being less insulting. He is still talking down, and one could argue that by refusing to talk up to anyone, Katsuki treats everyone equally. I mean he is still a foul-mouthed little monster, but you know, at least he’s consistent about it.

Anyway, keep this “right to be rude” in mind.

As mentioned in my first post, temee is basically Katsuki’s default second-person pronoun. If he’s addressing someone directly and he isn’t using one of his mean nicknames, it is almost guaranteed to be this word. This graphic is the only one that is not exhaustive, featuring just the top three.

Temee is derogatory; it is often translated as “you bastard,” and even when it’s not, its presence encourages translators to slather a veneer of rudeness across the sentence as a whole. Unlike the other pronouns we’re going to talk about, there is basically no scenario where you could use temee and not come across like an asshole. You could use it with friends or family to joke around, but you’re still being an asshole, just a funny one.

And... can we just acknowledge the vast gulf between Izuku’s 62 and runner-up Todoroki’s 14? Obviously Izuku is the protagonist, so it makes sense that much of the dialogue we are shown from any character is about him or directed at him. But it’s also just really funny.

No single use of temee is particularly notable since it's so common, but it is obvious why these two are at the top of the list: Katsuki has a lot of scenes with them, and he considers them his rivals. As a result, they tend to throw him into a tizzy often.

Anta is a contraction of anata. If avoiding a “you” pronoun entirely is the most polite way to refer to someone, anata is arguably the next most polite way. It is considered polite towards someone of “equal or lower status,” but can seem distant—you hear it in commercials when the narrator has to address the audience, “you, the customer.”

Anta strips away that distance and expresses either familiarity or contempt, depending on how you want to read it, which makes it pretty fucking funny that Katsuki uses it for his mentor figures. It is worth noting that anta is significantly less offensive than his typical temee and arguably even omae. A normal person would never use anta towards their boss or teacher—or their lifelong idol, for that matter—because it is talking down, which puts them on your level. But Katsuki’s whole persona is built around rebellious superiority, so out of all the options, he affords All Might and Best Jeanist the least offensive pronoun he can stomach using. Essentially, “I’m not gonna be fuckin’ polite but god, fine, I’ll be LESS rude, I guess” while still maintaining plausible deniability.

I also wanna note that there are instances where Katsuki technically uses temee towards All Might and anta towards Izuku, because he uses them in the plural form to refer to both of them at once. It’s actually pretty interesting to see who is framed as the “primary subject” of his scolding based on which pronoun he uses.

Chapter 257

All Might is the one droning on and on, so Katsuki’s response pluralizes his All Might pronoun anta into antara, lumping Izuku in with him. Basically: “stop wasting my time and get to the point (and that goes for you, too, Deku).”

Here we’ve got him pluralizing temee and, between All Might and Izuku, it’s definitely more the Izuku pronoun. So this reads a little like “dammit Deku you kept this secret so badly I found out and then you swore me to secrecy but you’re STILL UTTER SHIT AT HIDING IT so you are MAKING MY LIFE EVEN HARDER (and you, All Might, don’t you fucking know better??)”

Aaaand now we’re at the good shit. Okay, let’s break it down.

Ochako

Chapter 36

Katsuki addresses Ochako with omae at the very start of their Sports Festival battle, and this is in fact the first time he addresses her personally with a second-person pronoun. It’s a great writing choice: unlike every other fight we’ve seen Katsuki in so far, he isn’t busting out his typical boisterous insults. Rather, what he says reads as a measured assessment of her as a threat, and omae contributes to this. Had he used temee, he might still have come across this way on the whole, but the use of omae as the first word out of his mouth—when the audience knows he uses temee—sets this moment apart even more.

The text of Uraraka vs. Bakugou isn't ambiguous: Katsuki takes Ochako seriously, immediately, when no one else does. This is of course a rejection of sexist assumptions about girls, but it is also because Katsuki is smart. Kaminari’s battle is the foil to this fight. Where Bakugou succeeds, Kaminari failed, having been too sexist, cocky, and just plain dumb to properly assess his opponent and the danger they pose to him.

I said in my first post that Katsuki’s omae towards Izuku immediately after Deku vs. Kacchan 2 reads as him addressing Izuku as an equal, and I would say the same is true here.

After Ochako tries to execute her plan and Katsuki accuses her of colluding with Izuku, he uses temee towards her. It’s his standard choice, of course, but the change feels a little loaded in hindsight. She might have been afforded a different pronoun once, but she quickly gets lumped into the temee pile at least partly due to Proximity To Deku.

Katsuki talks the most shit when he’s on the ropes—a strategic, cocky camouflage for his vulnerability. We know from his thoughts watching Todoroki vs. Midoriya that at this moment, he was pretty worried he was at his limit. But Katsuki also likes a good challenge, and he respects people who can give it to him, so in gearing up for the climax of this fight, he calls her by her surname.

The progression: omae + mean nickname → temee → surname.

In later scenes, he addresses her with his typical temee, which just goes to show you that Katsuki really picks and chooses his moments.

Or, as All Might put it:

Speaking of picking and choosing his moments, this next one was a delight to discover.

Jirou

Chapter 182

As with Ochako, this is the first time Katsuki uses a "you" towards Jirou personally. To be precise, what he uses is a sound-shifted variant of omae pronounced omee (written variously as おめえ, おめー, and おめぇ). We’ll talk about whether that means anything later.

This occurs during the school festival when Jirou belts her heart out suddenly. Katsuki thinks back to how the band had criticized his improvisation and her specifically telling him not to do it during the show. So he says out loud, to himself, “omee ga surun kai,” for which I think the funniest translation would be, “OH BUT YOU CAN DO IT, HUH??”

The official English translation is “hypocrite!” which isn’t bad, but yeah, he is being such a grumpy little sarcastic baby about it, it’s very funny. Just muttering complaints under his breath, with no actual ill-will attached. The fact that he uses omee reinforces the sense that this is not a serious complaint; it’s good-natured ribbing and contributes to the reader’s awareness that Katsuki likes and respects Jirou.

While Kaminari and Sero mischievously try to trick him into participating in the festival, Jirou earnestly asks for his help while acknowledging his skill.

Chapter 171

On top of outright asking "onegai" (please, but literally: "a request"), the verb construction she uses (やってくれたら, yatte kuretara) frames his participation as a favor; kureru is basically “to do for the benefit of someone else [often to your disadvantage or inconvenience].” And then she personally works her ass off to make their performance the very best it can be.

Later during the Joint Training Battle, Katsuki relies on her, uses a nickname for her (to her annoyance), and saves her. Kirishima and Kaminari both astutely comment that the festival band reinforced Katsuki’s trust in his classmates and his willingness to work with them towards success.

In this moment during the festival, Katsuki is letting Jirou shine, because each of them doing what they do best is what makes the performance a triumph in the first place.

But the boy’s still gonna be a bossy little tsundere about it.

4th Grade Bullies

Chapter 62

In Izuku’s flashback, little Katsuki uses omaera (plural form) towards the 4th graders who pick a fight with him.

You might be thinking, “Hang on, haven’t all the omae uses so far been for people Katsuki likes or at least respects? So why is he using it for these two?” And you’d be right, at least when it comes to present-day, teenage Katsuki using omae, because it’s no longer his default.

Flashbacks to Katsuki and Izuku’s childhood tell us that Katsuki’s default peer address as a kid was most likely omae, and that he switched to temee as he got older and became more of an obnoxious little shit. I emphasized in my first post that omae seems softer coming from Katsuki because it’s a departure from his normal way of speaking. The flashbacks show us a time when he was... kinda just a regular kid using language common among boys his age.

Still, there is a “cool tough guy” air to this moment, because omae can also come across as contemptuous—which is how Izuku uses it towards villains in present-day. Izuku uses boku for himself and kimi for peers, the combination of which tend to be seen as kind of soft and boyish, rather than macho and cool. Little Katsuki uses the boastful pronoun ore for himself and omae towards the bullies, who are both older and therefore technically "above" him.

So Izuku marvels at Kacchan, who talks big and tough like a grownup. Kacchan who can do anything, who stands his ground, fights to win, and invokes the heroic ideals of All Might.

Izuku

Chapter 9

The first time we see Katsuki call Izuku by his name is when we learn the origins of the nickname Deku. It also happens to be the first time we see Katsuki address someone with something other than temee. This scene shows us a glimpse of what their relationship looked like before it totally fell apart: before Katsuki nicknamed him Deku, he called him Izuku. And before Katsuki started hurling insults and screaming “you bastard” (temee!) at Izuku all the time, he used a different “you” word for him, too. Little Katsuki addressed him as a little boy would address a peer or a friend.

It made me wonder… is the aftermath of Deku vs Kacchan 2 the first time Katsuki has addressed him as an equal since they were little kids?

And, furthermore, little Katsuki uses the sound shifted variant, omee.

You might be surprised to learn that temee itself is a sound shifted variant of temae (手前, てまえ). Temae literally means “before the hand” and historically, it was a humble first-person pronoun, meaning “me, who stands before you.” Omae (お前) literally means “the one before [me],” it was historically very polite and only used for extremely high-class people. Somewhere along the way, temae became a second-person pronoun like omae, and both started to be perceived as quite rude.

Tough guy Japanese speech patterns are epitomized by sound shifts and bitten off words. Supposedly, this dialect originates in Tokyo’s historic Shitamachi area, which is characterized as rough and working class in sharp contrast to the wealthy, high class Yamanote area.

So, does omee mean something different than omae? Maybe, but not always. Does it mean something different when someone says “Thank ya” rather than “Thank you”? Or when someone says “y’all” rather than “you all”? Not exactly, but… does it feel different? It can.

Little Katsuki’s sound shift links this moment to our last example:

Chapter 409

As you acquire language, you develop a personal relationship with it informed by your experiences. More than just dictionary definitions, you gain cultural and emotional associations, and that impacts how you interpret media and other people. I don’t think anyone can say that omee definitively conveys something different than omae, but I do know that when I personally read Katsuki use it in 409, the shift feels like casual fondness. Like letting down your guard. A reassurance spoken softly. It somehow feels just a bit softer than if he had enunciated omae.

Years ago, Katsuki used it to tease Izuku about how he can’t do anything. And four hundred chapters later, he uses it to say “I won’t get in your way anymore.”

You should read pikahlua's really, really good meta about what this line means.

Whether it was intentional on Horikoshi’s part or not, I think it is a meaningful callback. These are the only two times Katsuki has ever used omee towards Izuku. It emphasizes how he has changed, yes, but it also ties in the context of his own past "uselessness" and how he has surpassed it, that he won't ever again be "a weakness others can exploit" to get to Izuku. But also, as pika says:

(And I read that he’s ready to let Izuku be the main character.)

The only other time Katsuki has used omee is towards Jirou, when he affectionately teased her for being a hypocrite while also making sure she got her time in the limelight.

And what does Katsuki think in the next chapter?

“Izuku, do your best.”

Izuku gets his time in the limelight. They each brought their own strengths to this final battle, and Katsuki has held up his end. He wasn’t a burden, he didn’t hold Izuku back—he came back from the dead, saved their hero, and took out All For One. Now Izuku has to do what he does best.

A lot of the things I said in this post simply reiterate the meaning of the text itself, and that's because the nuances in Katsuki’s dialogue support the narrative. They reinforce what the story tells us about him and his relationships, and I think that's pretty amazing.

#bkdk #translations #meta #mha 9 #mha 36 #mha 62 #mha 171 #mha 182 #mha 202 #mha 257 #mha 409 #mha manga spoilers

[zahri-melitor]

I think there’s a discussion to be had about how the lack of current consistent character bibles affects comics in terms of characterisation.

Because I think there actually is a lot more consistent characterisation than people sometimes want to realise when they’re complaining about appearances being out of character. There tends to be a background set of character notes writers who DON'T follow a character obsessively know about them when writing them, and they're often based in their early or most prominent stories. Even if people are willing to look, they’re mostly going to dip in to a couple of recced stories to refresh their memory of what their characterisation is like. Which is part of why character growth has trouble sticking (if what a less-frequent writer is referencing is not the most recent run) but also is frustrating when you're having the 'is this in character' debate because if 8 writers over 10 years all pull this trait out and use it again, there's a level of consistency that's hard to overlook, even if the main writer for the character isn't using it anymore.

It’s particularly noticeable in characterisations in crossovers and events. Because when a writer is juggling half a dozen characters they don’t usually write, they’re going to draw on their memories rather than do deep dive reads for the ones they’re less familiar with. So you get the ‘everyone knows’ character traits and beats.

And this leads to people who love a character vs people who are fine about the character but don't specifically read their runs having differing views on their personalities if these things clash.

Let’s use Damian for an example, because it’s really really obvious by comparing what I’m reading at the moment: Batman & Robin Eternal, Robin War, and Robin: Son of Batman. Two events (one with a crossover issue) and his main title in 2015.

Because if you only encounter Damian in crossovers and events, Damian being a little turd who uses insulting nicknames and proclaims his superiority to everyone is…a lot of what you’ve seen in previous crossovers and events. And he’s doing it again in Robin War and Batman & Robin Eternal. Now there are specifically different beats to this – Damian’s fully ready to sacrifice himself for Dick when he realises Dick’s in trouble. But he’s using frankly derogatory nicknames to Jason and Tim and insulting their abilities, and is even nastier to the We Are Robin kids. And he shows up in Eternal and out of the gate tells everyone they’ve been an idiot.

While if you’re a Damian fan reading his own titles, some of this characterisation rings as backsliding, as he doesn’t really use nicknames anymore in his own titles and has been soul searching about his own past and actions, so it’s not congruent with what you expect to see him doing.

Because if you're fully enmeshed in a character's lore and all their appearances, you obviously centre their protagonist stories and discount the crossover appearances that don't match. But if people only read those crossover appearances… that’s the character they know. And see. And it’s pretty consistent BETWEEN those appearances, so telling those people they’re wrong about a character they’ve encountered in multiple storylines is only going to get backs up on both sides. When actually these are two different completely valid views on a character, sourced from comics. It’s just that those personalities are particularly out of sync between “how they appear as a protagonist/regular” and “how they appear as a side character”.

And that can be incredibly frustrating to hear, when that’s your blorbo. But also, people who are treating repeated characterisation they encounter with a character over many years, across many titles and writers as ‘this is who the character is’ are not deliberately out to be mean to your blorbo. That’s the character they know!

And I think we should all think about that a bit more and take a deep breath.

#dc meta #people can have completely valid comics-sourced opinions on characters that differ from each other! #and I think this element often drives a lot of characterisation complaints #if you're claiming a whole swathe of writing someone has read about a character 'doesn't really count' you're going to have an uphill battl #to convince them that your opinion should be listened to

[lunaroserites]

Art and Ice

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: This might a 2 or 3 parter. College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that troupe and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing I think, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Derogatory use of the word puck bunny. Bucky is a playboy. There is not interaction be MC and Bucky quite yet.

Word Court: 1935

Likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

“I don’t know what to do,” you groaned as you threw your head back against the worn couch. 

“I want the project to focus on movement, but lifelike movement. Human movement.” You mocked your professor. It not being nature themed had to be a jab just for you. All your projects were nature related or still motion. 

“Professor Grace wasn’t targeting you,” Wanda said, letting out a chuckle at your dramatics. 

“Are you sure you’re not a drama major?” Pietro laughed as he threw a butter packet at you. 

“You two are the worst,” you sighed as you threw your arm over your eyes. Twins, why did my best friends have to be twins. The world is cruel, your thoughts drift.

“Why don’t you come to the track and draw me?” Pietro wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes in response.  

“Eh,” you sighed. You didn’t want a solution at the moment. You just wanted to complain. 

“She just wants to vent guys,” Natasha said as she came through the door holding a couple bags of takeout and a box of wine. “And I doubt she wants to see you and the rest of the track team in those tiny little running shorts you call clothing,” she sassed at Pietro. He just laughed, and stuck a pose with his leg up on the bar stool next to the island counter causing you all to laugh with him. 

“Thank you,” you exclaimed as she handed you your food. You threw a 10 at her and settled back down into the couch. 

“You know, you could come by the rink and draw a couple of the guys,” Nat mentioned. Her long term boyfriend was on the hockey team, Clint, a sharpshooting winger nicknamed Hawkeye. 

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “I’m not going to have them think I’m one of those, puck kitties, or whatever they’re called.” 

“Puck bunny,” Wanda chimed in, you pointed your chopstick at her and smiled. 

Natasha let out a loud laugh, one of those full bodied ones, “god they won’t think that.” You raised your eyebrow at her and gave her an incredulous look. 

“I can’t have them showing off because I’m there. I need to get them in their element. Not focused on what I’m doing,” you groaned again. “Biggest issue is I will need permission from the person or people. So they’ll have to know.” 

“Like I said Princessa, draw me. You have my permission,” Pietro winked, you rolled your eyes at him. 

“You’re too obvious of a choice. And as much as Wanda insists that Professor Grace doesn’t have a personal vendetta against me, she’ll love pointing out I picked the safe option,” you whined. 

“Wanda, you haven’t seen Grace in class. She will take any chance to criticize her pieces. Nitpicking to the extreme.” Natasha chimed in, “if it wasn’t for Dr. Rain I think our resident artist would've failed out of this course by now.” Dr. Rain was the head of the art department and after a wholly undergraded piece you submitted last semester Prof. Grace was on thin ice. So she graded you fairly but took every chance to tear you apart in front of the class. 

“I’ll think about the hockey team. It would be the least expected from me anyway,” you signed and got up from the couch taking everyone’s garbage and throwing it out. Football season was over, but the hockey season was in full swing right now and our team was top of the league. 

“They have practice tomorrow night, you should come by and look at it,” Nat said, giving you a knowing look. 

~The Next Day~

That's how you ended up in the rink. Underdressed because you didn’t realize how cold an ice rink would be in the stands. You were right though, about the type of girls that hung out there, they were scantily dressed and leaning over the tunnel that the players exited and entered from. How they weren’t frozen baffled you. 

Nat was sitting reading a chemistry book across from you near the bench, as you didn’t want the team knowing you knew her. Well everyone but Clint. You’ve hung out quite a few times over the past couple years. You took a seat a few rows up opposite the bench near what Nat called the Sin bin (penalty box.) It gave an excellent undisrupted view of the rink and the players as they practiced. 

The sounds of skates gliding over fresh ice and sticks bouncing off it was an almost soothing sound. The puck skittered across the ice as it was passed between teammates and shot toward the empty net. The goalie, a guy named Quill, was performing some kind of ritual at the opposite end of the rink. Nat mentioned he was a bit of an odd duck. But according to her all goalies were odd in their own ways. 

The movement was fluid and easy to follow. How these giant men moved so weightlessly across the ice left you in awe. The Captain of the team was a blonde center named Steve Rogers, better known as Cap. Most of the school knew him, he was in a few of your art classes over the semesters. His girlfriend Peggy, was the student union president. 

The star of the team was his blurry best friend James “Bucky” Barnes. He was a “winger,” with good prospects for the NHL according to Nat as she gave you a lowdown of the team as you guys went there just after practice started. He was nicknamed the White Wolf. How a man of his size moved that easily was mesmerizing, he almost floated over the ice and it looked like he was dancing. He was sinfully handsome as well. Every other week he had a new girl hanging off his arm. Undoubtedly one of those puck bunnies as they were called. He was the talk of the school after the football season concluded. 

It made you dislike him on principle. The sports were definitely more priority in the school and the art department lacked thanks to these overgrown toddlers on skates. But you couldn’t deny his natural handsomeness, he looked effortlessly handsome and it was almost unfair. 

You looked down at your sketch pad that you had been absently scratching at. Bucky seemed to be your muse because you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly skated around the rink. You were in danger and you knew it. You gulped and closed the book before quickly gathering your things and leaving. 

It didn’t take Nat long to text you and ask where you went. You sent her a quick message back saying you were cold. Not that Bucky, the school's playboy, had quickly become the muse of your piece. 

“Nat, I thought you said your friend was coming by,” Clint asked as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“She did, she left because she was cold,” Nat chuckled. 

“Anyone know the pretty one watching by the sin bin?” She overheard Wilson ask. “And what she was doing?” 

“I think I was in a couple art classes with her,” Steve mentioned missing your name. 

“I won’t complain if she comes by again,” Barnes said. Wilson raised a brow at him. 

“What, so you can break her heart well?” 

“Look doll, it’s not you,” 

“It’s me.” Wilson and Stark said together. Barnes shot both men a glare. Then the high pitched whine of Barnes newest fling squealed his name and that was Clint and Nat’s queue to hightail it out of there. The collective groans from the rest of the team matched her thoughts. 

~A couple days later~

“Loki, I don’t know what I’m going to do, this project is worth too much for me to go safe,” you sighed as you laid your head on his lap. He was reading some classic novel for his English class in the student commons. His fingers nimbly moved through your hair as he held the book in the other hand. 

“Darling, just go back to the ice rink,” he knew almost immediately when something was up when you were walking together a couple days later. The perspective bastard. Loki was your best friend since middle school, his brother Thor was the star quarterback for the football team in both high school and here. 

“Why would I do that,” you pouted. 

“Because you clearly want to draw this man, and it will ruin you for months just like that piece you did of Helena,” he said shortly. Helena or Hela was his big sister and she was absolutely stunning. You had pined over drawing her for a piece for months before Loki forced you to ask her. It fixed everything and life back to normal after you painted the piece. 

“I hate when you do that,” you whined, his eyes flicking down to your face. 

“Hate what darling,” he mused. 

“That, being reasonable and knowing what I need before I admit what I need to do.” He laughed and ruffled your hair affectionately. 

“Comes with years of experience,” he sighed and placed his book down next to his leg. “Do bundle up this time will you,” he called as you walked away, you quickly flipped him the bird as you rounded the corner. 

And there you were back at the rink again. Although tonight was a game night and the rink was packed. “20 dollars,” a nasally boy said as he pushed his glasses up, he looked bored out of his mind. 

“Pardon?” You asked, looking at him. 

“It’s 20 dollars to get in the game,” he said in an annoyed tone. 

“Oh, I’m a student,” you showed your ID card, he rolled his eyes, “5 dollars.” You nodded and placed the five down. Only partners of the team got in free. Perk of fucking one of the team members you guessed, that must have outweighed the fear of them cheating or getting bored. You knew that wasn’t fair. At least two of the guys were in committed relationships and one was in an on again off again relationship. The rest though you weren’t sure, you shock your head at the thought. 

You caught the flaming red hair of Nat in her reserved seat next to the bench, Peggy was next to her. There were a few open seats at the top of the rink, not great from getting a good view of what you needed to draw. But it would have to do. Instantly your eyes were drawn to Barnes, number 17, flying up the ice leaving the opposing team in the dust, snow? With a quick flick of his wrist the puck was shot sideways and Barton scored. The crowd stood and cheered loudly. You wished you had ear plugs now. The buzzer was insanely loud and made your ears ring. How Nat enjoyed this you’d never understand. Barton. You thought, Nat wasn’t big on sports, but she was big on her sweet boyfriend. 

You focused on Barnes as he showboated around the rink, celebrating his assist. He moved so fluidly, you were mesmerized. You drew many little pieces focusing on the movement trying to capture the effortlessness of him skating. You were startled from your drawing when the buzzer screeched again the crowd roared in applause. The team scored again and it seemed to be Barnes that scored this time. Hats flew onto the ice as he skated around. That was odd, you squinted at the action. His eyes caught yours for a split second as he rushed past and it felt like eternity. 

Read Chapter 2 here

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[absurdthirst]

The Hierarchy {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Reader is described as having pull-able hair (no other physical descriptions), post apocalyptic setting, mentions of breeding, mentions of burning bodies, derogatory language (whore), sarcasm, hate fucking, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of impregnation, age gap (19 years)

Comments: You hate Joel Miller but he is also fucking sexy. Driving you insane by trading barbs with you while you are being punished for not giving in and becoming a brood mare to repopulate the world. Until things come to a head and Joel does what he wants.

A/N: We just wanted Joel to fuck us in an alley while pulling our hair, okay?

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You huff, standing in line for your ration cards at the end of the day. You are covered in ash and you want to go to your room and cry, too many kids were in today's burn. That's why you are here in the first place. The QZ works like any other QZ. There's a hierarchy. Your father is high up, a big wig that is in charge along with several others. You were seventeen when the outbreak happened and now you've run out the clock of getting married and having a kid. 

"We need to repopulate the earth." Your father lectured you, telling you about Chad, the sweet son of a fellow big wig who you has zero interest in fucking. You don't want to bring a kid into this fucked up world. You don't want a husband to answer to. The world has changed… survival is all that matters. To punish you for not complying, you've been sent to work with the "worker bees of the hive." 

Not that you mind the work, it gives you purpose. The man in front of you grunts when he receives his ration cards, already asking for another job. "You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" You snort and he looks over his shoulder at you. Joel Miller is a miserable bastard but fuck, he's sexy in a rough and ragged way.

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Joel stares you down, unimpressed with your last name even though everyone here knows who you are. Most catering to your pampered ass but he expected you to pull your weight like everyone else. 

“Joel, that’s -“ The agent in charge of passing out the ration cards leans forward, a frantic look on his face.

“I know who it is.” He interrupts the FEDRA agent, knowing he can get away with it because he’s a fucking hard worker and he supplies the bastard with pills. He turns back towards you with a glower on his face. “You got something to say, pussy cat?” He smirks. “Or better yet, kitten?”

You huff, not liking that nickname. You know these people think you’re some kind of princess who gets spoiled but they don’t understand how it is when you’re at the top of the food chain. You long to be normal, to be able to live your life without the obligations expected of you by your father. “Just that you’re an asshole who seeks to love working the shitty jobs no one else wants. Makes me wonder why you wanna shovel shit…unless you have some kind of secret kink.” You spit back and he chuckles, making you clench your jaw to hide your annoyance.

“That’s me, kitten. Shoveling your shit does it for me.” The smirk on his face drops and he leans in, his intense stare fixated on you and it pleases him when you shuffle slightly, giving away your nerves. “Who else would clean up your throne? Some of us have to work to eat.” He sneers. “Unlike you.” Straightening up, Joel tucks his ration cards into his pocket and steps around you, starting to walk away without another word.

You huff, shaking your head as he stalks off and you clock out, grabbing your ration cards. You quickly move to catch up with him, “I have to work to eat just like everyone else. I’m not in my dad’s good books right now. He wanted me to get knocked up so I’m relegated to shoveling shit next to assholes like you.”

“Oh no, kitten has to sharpen her claws.” Joel rolls his eyes, keeping his gait steady as he moves through the city. He needs to conduct some business. “Make sure that you wear gloves so you don’t ruin your pretty little hands.”

“You’re such a dick. It’s not my fault that my dad is a leader of this city and you are - you’re a fucking nobody.” You growl, getting pissed at his complete dismissal of you. You stumble as you follow him down the alleyways you’ve never taken before. The area becomes impossibly more grungy and you see the suspicious characters lingering in doorways.

Joel stops suddenly, pushing you up against the bricks and puts his face a mere inch from yours. “You’re right, I am nobody.” He growls. “Which means I ain’t got shit to lose.” He narrows his eyes on you for a minute before he pushes away from you and turns around. “Go home to your castle and have babies, kitten.” He tosses over his shoulder. “Leave the shit shovelin’ to the ‘nobodies’.”

Exhaling shakily, you hate how your cunt is dripping at the rough way he pushes you against the wall. You watch him stalk off and you huff, shaking your head at the grizzly man stomping away from you. You want to hate him, you want to make him suffer, but he’s so fucking sexy. He’s grungy and coarse but you end up thinking of him every night when your hand is between your legs. “Asshole.” You mutter, knowing you’ll still be thinking of him later. Tomorrow, your punishment continues and you’ll see him again

****

Joel rolls his eyes and scoffs when he sees you standing in the line with the other workers who have shown up for this work. “Didn’t see you yesterday, kitten.” He taunts. “Not interested in shoveling shit? Thought you went back to your ivory tower.”

“And you drug yourself from the depths of hell to grace us all with your presence?” You retort, hating that his eyes seem to burn into your skin, setting you on fire. “I’m here to earn my keep. I don’t want to be a prize mare for some boring prick. I would rather shovel shit than spend another afternoon discussing how much of a stash of champagne they have.”

He respects you for that more than he’s willing to let you know. Scoffing instead and rolling his eyes. “In other words, you want to slum for a little while before you settle down. It’s a tale as old as time, kitten.” He tells you, enjoying the way you fume before the FEDRA supervisor comes over and starts assigning jobs. Burning bodies is shit work, but it was necessary for the safety of the QZ. Joel sighs, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and tying it around his neck.

You follow suit, covering your face with the bandana, and you get to work. This is the harsh reality of the world you live in. Burning the bodies of the infected, ensuring survival for the ones who remain. It’s no world for a child. You watch Joel work methodically, his eyes blank, without emotion, and you are unable to not have grief for the bodies you carry to the pit. Each one was someone’s child, someone’s spouse, perhaps someone’s parent. You aren’t sure how many bodies you carry but soon, the time comes for the end of shift. Joel is a couple of people in front of you this time and the urge to talk to him is intense. “Here you go, princess.” The supervisor jokes and you scowl, snatching the slips from his fingers.

“Joel.” You call out to his retesting form, rushing to catch up with him.

“What do you want?” Joel doesn’t every turn around to face you, ready to get away from the fucking stink of burning flesh. It permeated his skin, hair and nostrils. He wants to drink until he forgets, until he doesn’t care that he just burned people. That he had to carry children’s bodies back to the flames from the truck and remember how he hadn’t even been able to do anything more for Sarah. “Shouldn’t you be counting your ration cards?”

“I want you to have them.” You hold the cards out to him. He stops, turning around, and you think he’s happy until you see his scowl. 

“You think I need fuckin’ charity?” He hisses and your jaw drops.

“Oh no. No. I just - I - I figured - I just wanted to be fucking nice for once, okay? I know you hate me but you work hard and I don’t need these. I just trade them and - just take them.” You demand, waving them towards him.

Joel scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m not takin’ your cards.” His jaw clenches because it would put him that much closer to getting that battery. But he’s not taken ration cards from you. “Go trade them for your champagne.”

“God, why do you have to fight everything? Just take ‘em. I don’t need them. I want you to have them. God knows why when you’re such a fucking asshole who apparently hates me. Yet here I am. I’m the damn glutton for punishment, hey? Trying to give you ration slips when I don’t have to.” You growl, poking him in the chest.

“Am I supposed to kneel at your feet and be thankful?” Joel ignores the finger in his chest, his jaw rocking in answer and he doesn’t know why you get under his skin. You do though, and it pisses him off. You poke him harder and he grabs your hand, twisting it around until your body swings, trying to get away but he shoves your hand behind you and presses you up against the wall. Leveling his mouth next to your ear, he growls out, “next time I won’t be so nice, kitten.” He twists your hand a little more. “Unlike the others. I won’t show you mercy.”

You bite your lip, resisting the urge to moan as he presses up against you. He pulls back way too soon, letting go of your arm. You should be terrified but you stand there, watching him walk off, and you inhale shakily before you shout out. “Fuck you, asshole!” You yell at his back and he has the audacity to chuckle. You manage to suppress the stomp that you want to inflict on the ground and you spin around, ready to go home and think about Joel pushing you up against the wall again.

****

You’re on clean up duty today. Deciding to take the same shift as Joel despite him being a dick. You are drawn to him. You watch him across the way, shoveling the trash from the city, and you pause for a moment, until someone yells for you to keep moving. You roll your eyes, getting back to work. When the shift is over, you don’t see Joel until he’s behind you as you collect your ration sheets.

Joel hears the comments behind him, the grumbling about the ‘Princess’ getting more ration cards, or taking them away from people who need them. “Don’t worry.” He speaks up so the group complaining behind him can hear. “Kitten won’t be doing manual labor much longer,” he chuckles. “She broke two nails today.” He wants them to shut up, doesn’t want to have a fucking fight down here to bring a squad of FEDRA troops down. A fight means a day being fucking beaten in lock up and he has shit to do.

You huff, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, Miller.” You snatch your ration cards, handing them to a woman you know has two children. “Take them.” You demand and you look at Joel, “make sure she keeps them.” 

You stride off, pulling off your gloves and shoving them in your back pocket. You’re sick and tired of people thinking your life is better. Yes, you have access to nicer things, but you don’t have freedom. You don’t get to decide who you associate with. You can never leave the QZ. Your father would never allow it.

Joel huffs to himself, rolling his eyes at how dramatic you are all because he tried to save your ass from getting into a pissing match with the fucking Youngston boys. More brass balls than brains and a chip on their shoulders for anyone in the hierarchy of this fucking place. He collects his own cards and turns around, sighing slightly as he turns in the direction you marched off in.

You hear your name but you don’t turn around, stomping off down the alleyway you know he meets his customers in for the ‘extras’ he sells. You hear him get closer and you spin around, pissed at him for degrading you in front of those assholes. “What the fuck do you want, Joel?” You growl, sick of his bullshit.

Joel arches a brow at your pissy tone and stops a few steps from you, sliding his hands in his pockets and tapping on the front of his jeans. “You didn’t say thank you for saving your ass back there.” He smirks, knowing that you will be pissed. “So I’m guessin’ you wanted to do that privately.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “For saving my ass? My ass was perfectly fine. Those pricks wouldn’t have done shit. They know what would happen…and what exactly do you have in mind?” You snort, shaking your head at his cocky smirk.

Joel snorts and shakes his head. “You obviously don’t know shit about where you are, kitten.” He huffs. “Those boys don’t give a shit who your daddy is. Or what he thinks he can do to them.” He looks you up and down very pointedly. “Your ‘perfectly fine’ ass would have been at the bottom of a dog pile while you were getting it beat and I don’t have time for that shit today.”

“You would’ve helped? Why?” You narrow your eyes at him, “I thought you didn’t want my ration sheets? I thought Joel Miller was independent. I thought Joel Miller didn’t need anyone. I thought Joel Miller was a sarcastic, cynical old man who gets his joy from ruining my damn life.”

Joel blows out a breath, trying to keep hold of his temper. He shuffles, the comments are clearly your opinion and for some reason that enrages him even more. “Met my joy quota for today.” He snarks back at you. “Run home kitten, maybe daddy will let you pick out the stud for your babies.”

“Fuck you!” You spit at him, your entire body shaking. “Fuck you, you - you are just mad because you would never get the chance to be that stud.” You yell, knowing you’re being petty but you’re angry and you can’t stop yourself from blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

Joel stares at you for a second before he starts laughing. A sarcastic, harsh bark where he clearly believes that you are delusional. Has he thought about fucking you? Sure, he’s a man. But you wouldn’t like the way he would do it, probably bitch and complain that he wasn’t kissing your ass enough.

His laughter boils your blood, making you hiss his name, and you step towards him. "You really are an asshole." You huff, "fuck you Joel." You spit and punch his chest. You've had enough of his shit. If he hates you that much, why does he talk to you?

Joel grabs your hand and spins you around, pressing you up against the alley wall, this time his other hand wrapped around your throat to keep you in place. “Daddy never teach you to keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself?” He growls, wondering why you keep pushing him.

You wiggle against him, trying to get free but he's stronger and keeps you pinned against the wall. "Your daddy never teach you that it's wrong to restrain a woman?" You retort, his fingers tight around your neck. 

"Only if she doesn't want me to fuck her brains out." He chuckles and you can't stop the moan that escapes your lips.

There’s a moment where Joel just watches you, smirking as if he’s discovered a box full of ration cards. “There’s the problem.” He coos mockingly. “Daddy doesn’t know his little kitten is really just a cock hungry whore.” He tightens his fingers slightly on your throat and feels your sharp inhaled breath. There’s a decision to be made right now and he’s making it. Letting go of your throat, he spins you around and presses your front into the wall as he wraps his hand into your hair and yanks it back so you look him in the eyes. “Unbutton your fuckin’ pants.”

You couldn't deny him, not with the way your cunt is clenching around nothing, soaked and desperate for the man behind you to just fucking ruin you. Your hands fumble as you unbutton your pants, trying to shove them down while you hear the unbuckling of his belt. "Fuck, Joel. I - fuck me." You beg breathlessly.

He shouldn’t. There’s no way he should put his rough, dirty hands on you. Your daddy would kill him, but he doesn’t care about that right now. He has to unbuckle his pants one handed, the other still holding onto you by the hair and he doesn’t miss how you moan when he tugs on it. “Dirty fucking thing.” He groans in your ear as he spits in his hand and smears it over his cock, “maybe this will shut you up.” With a grunt, Joel lines up and pushes inside you to the hilt. Not stopping until your hips are hitting the brick wall and he is grinding into you as he tries to work himself completely inside your cunt.

"Oh my fucking God." You choke, the words stolen from your throat with how fucking deep he is inside of you. He's so long, he feels like he's in your guts. His fingers tug on your hair and your walls clamp down on his cock. Ashamed to say you're soaking wet because of him, you whine when he pulls out of you until you cry when he pushes deep once more. "Shit. Shit. Shit." You pant, the brick wall scratching your cheek but you don't care.

You’re fucking tight and drenching his cock. The grumble of satisfaction rises from his chest and he can’t help but taunt you with it as he kicks one of your feet wider. “Easier ways to get me to fuck you, kitten.” He grunts into your ear. “But now I’m going to make sure you remember it.” Joel can and will inflict pain, he does what he needs to do in this world but he watches the way that your head scrapes up and down against the bricks in agreement or maybe want, before he moves after that second thrust. Then he makes it brutal.

Joel is fucking you like it's his last day on earth. In reality, it could be. It could be yours. This life is unpredictable. Your cheek is getting scratched up with every deep thrust inside of you but you don't give a fuck. You moan, loud enough for passersby to hear, his cock making you dizzy with every thrust inside of you.

Joel tightens his grip on your hair and yanks it back. “Shut up, do you want everyone to hear?” He hisses in your ear. “Want people to come see me fuck you like the a whore? In a dirty alley?”

You cry out, both from his words and his roughness. "Fuck. I- it just - you feel so good." You pant, knowing your hard exterior has crumbled within minutes because of how good he feels inside of you. He's fucking long, spearing deep to push against your cervix with every thrust and you are shaking against the wall, barely standing up.

Joel growls, hating that you feel so fucking good but he loves the way you are taking him. Absorbing every harsh thrust as the slaps of his hips against your ass seemingly echoes down the alley. “I could do it.” He snarls, fingers nearly white knuckled in your hair. “Right now. Fill your cunt up and ruin you for your little studs.” He wouldn’t. He won’t, not with the world like this. He would never have another kid while survival is shit.

You know he won’t do it but the thought has you close to climaxing. Imagining the look on your father’s face when you take home Joel and announce that he had knocked you up. “Fuck, my dad would hate you.” You giggle breathlessly, reaching behind you to grip his denim shirt, his fingers still gripping your hair. “Fuck Joel, I- I’m gonna cum.” You pant out and he chuckles against your neck. 

“Cum for me, kitten. Cum for me and I’ll make sure your daddy curses the day he sent you down here for punishment.” He smirks, enjoying the moment to pretend. 

You can’t deny him, clamping down on his cock and biting your lip to smother your scream that would undoubtedly echo down the hall. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” You pant against the bricks.

Joel snarls when your cunt clamps down around him, the hot rush of your juices coating his cock and making it so good. Making his hips stutter and his thrusts uneven as he ramps up his intensity. Giving you another half dozen thrusts before he is ripping free of your body and hot spurts of cum splatter against the wall between your legs and onto the ground, some getting onto your jeans at your knees. 

Panting, he immediately lets go of your hair and starts to look over his shoulder at the street as he tucks his cock away. “See you tomorrow, kitten.” Slapping your ass, he steps back, leaving you sagging against the wall with your pants down and his cum painted on the ground.

You pant, body shaking as you try to recover from the intensity of your orgasm, and you turn your head to watch him walk down the alley. Your hands shake as you scramble to pull your jeans up, fingers fumbling as you button them up. He just destroyed you and you know you want him to do it again tomorrow. 

Fuck, when did you stop hating Joel Miller?

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #hbo the last of us spoilers #the last of us hbo #hbo tlou #hbo the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou spoilers

[callsign-rogueone]

mercy - m.s.

Mira Sorrengail x reader Back in your days at Basgiath, you and your friends made up Mercy, a game of spontaneous “assassination attempts”, to prove your strength and skill in single combat. Mira starts a new game, years after the last one ended, and it has unforeseen consequences. 🎧: “I will show no mercy for you, you have no mercy for me, the only thing that I ask: love me mercilessly” - Hatef—k, The Bravery words: 4.5k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers. NSFW, afab reader but no pronouns used, violent homoeroticism, sparring and a teeny bit of blood, childhood friends to college rivals to lovers, mysterious unresolved tension between you, reader is coded as being on the curvy side bc I am, one very brief mention of past abuse from your father, you could be Dain’s sister but I didn’t say that part out loud for inclusivity’s sake, use of the nicknames bunny (derogatory, but also affectionate), sweetheart, and baby. softdom!Mira, mild predator/prey vibes, fingering, overstimulation, biting (once), aftercare, love confession, soft ending, I proofed this with a migraine so pls ignore any grammar/syntax errors lmao

A cold hand closes around your throat. You know it can only belong to one person.

“Hi, bunny,” Mira purrs, confirming your theory. “Did you miss me?”

Your pulse jumps under her fingers as she moves forward, pressing her body up against your back. You don’t know if you’re more relieved or scared -- she’s alive, but she hasn’t changed a bit, still hellbent on making you play her little game of cat and mouse. 

“When did you decide the game was back on?” you ask, finally able to form complete sentences.

“Just now,” she answers, tightening her grip on your neck ever so slightly. “Why? Have you lost your bite? Did those two years in the middle of nowhere make you even softer?”

You burn at the insinuation, bringing a hand up to dig your nails into her wrist -- she hisses in pain, releasing you, and you take the opportunity to slip out from her reach, unsheathing one of the two blades you have left after last night’s events.

You stalk in circles around each other, waiting for someone to strike first. 

“Try not to kill each other before I can say hello,” a familiar voice sighs, and your head snaps up. 

Brennan is standing twenty feet away from you, alive.

“Truce,” you and Mira declare in unison, suspending your fight. 

You rush forward to embrace her brother, hugging him tightly.

He smiles, resting a hand on your back. “It’s good to see you again, kid.”

“Someone knows how to greet people like a normal person,” you say with a glare over your shoulder at Mira, your voice wavering with emotion. You can’t believe Brennan is standing here in front of you, that he’s still alive.

“And someone didn’t punch me straight in the face when they saw me,” he adds dryly.

Your jaw drops. “What the hell, Mir?”

“I don’t regret it,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Brennan’s gaze lands on the reddened bandage around your arm. “Do you want me to…?”

“Oh, no,” you say, looking down at it fondly. “This was a parting gift from the Colonel. I’d like it to scar.”

Both siblings know who you’re referring to, know that the man who sired you and your brother isn’t Dad to you, just his title — he’s never acted like anything other than your commanding officer. 

Brennan doesn’t ask if you’re sure, doesn’t push the issue further. He knows your relationship with your father has always been strained, that the Colonel would’ve had more than just some choice words for you when he found out you were going to desert. 

He remembers the last time he saw you, a week before you and Mira were to enter the rider’s quadrant — he was in his third year at Basgiath, “home” for an evening. He’d been the one to answer the door when you’d shown up, not knowing where else to go.

You didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps, but you weren’t given a choice; your family are dragon riders, through and through, even if the line of work cost your mother her life. 

The mention of her earned you a bloody nose that Brennan had been able to fix near-instantly. You’d spent the night on the Sorrengails’ couch, the two of you silently agreeing to never speak of it again.

Mira burns with anger, but she stays quiet. “I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“It’s okay,” you say with a sad smile. “At least he’s finally out of my life for good. Are the kids here, too?”

Brennan nods. “Vi and Dain are around here somewhere. But things have gotten… weird between them.”

“That’s an understatement,” someone says quite coldly.

You turn, tensing when you see Xaden Riorson standing ten yards in front of you. 

“I didn’t expect any members of your family to be joining us, Captain,” he drawls, inspecting you. “Why the change of heart?”

Brennan is about to speak, to vouch for you, but Mira beats him to it. “You of all people should know that it isn’t fair to judge someone for the actions of their parents.”

You put up a hand to stop her, speaking for yourself. “I came here because it was the right thing to do. The name on my uniform means nothing to me, but if you cannot see past it, I will take my leave and fight on my own.”

He must realize that you’re serious. He softens ever so slightly, but does not apologize. “Very well. Welcome to the revolution.”

Mira leaves you alone — and therefore, on edge — for two days, a silent statement that it’s your turn to sneak up on her, that she’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Nothing has changed about her, including her workout routine — she’s holed up in the gym before breakfast, when half the fortress is still asleep.

She has her back to the door, settled into a high plank on one of the small stretching mats. A perfect opportunity; she’s already on the floor, unarmed. Easy.

You take a moment to admire the toned muscle of her back and the green rider’s relic spanning her shoulders before you press your boot into her spine.

She yelps, her concentration broken — her sweaty palms slip against the foam, sending her straight to the floor with a soft thud. You lean down to pin an arm behind her back. “Consider yourself dead, Sorrengail.”

Too perfect. Too easy. It’s your turn to squeak as she yanks you down to the floor with her, your back hitting the hard wood with a wet slap. It feels like your skin is on fire. You gasp for air, but you don’t have time to recover before she’s looming over you, that devilish grin on her face that you’ve missed so much.

Your friend rolls her eyes, stopping Garrick from leaping in to pry you and Mira apart. “It’s a game we made up as cadets. The two of them took it farther than anybody else, as you can imagine.”

You manage to gain your bearings, twisting a leg up and over her shoulder, behind her neck and using the other as leverage to squeeze tighter, locking her in place.

She digs into your hips, clawing at you with blunt nails, but you hardly feel it through the thick thermal fabric of your leggings.

“I should make you a little white flag to wave,” you say with a sweet smile, convinced you’ve won.

She hisses at you, some snide remark already prepared, but someone else speaks first.

“I don’t want to know,” Professor Devera says, looking down at the two of you still tangled up on the floor, “but we have work to do.”

You release Mira, letting her pull back and breathe. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she pants in agreement, and you seal the deal with a firm handshake, rising to your feet.

“Does it bother you at all that she could kill you in your sleep?” Garrick asks as you exit the gym and ascend the stairs.

“That’s against the rules,” you say matter-of-factly. 

“Since somebody can’t bear to admit defeat,” she adds, glaring at you.

The two Lieutenants can tell that there’s a story here, and there is. The rule was made during your second game of mercy. After a week of back and forth with no winner and no surrender, she’d taken desperate — or cunning, measures, however you view it — and befriended your bunkmate, Sascha, as a guise to get into your room, where she’d struck unexpectedly. 

You’d nearly had a heart attack when you’d woken up to see her looming over you. Needless to say, Sascha did not take Mira on another date, and at your insistence, the two of you added a new rule to the game.

“Your target has to be awake, and not doing anything directly related to base safety or following orders,” you explain. “The barracks are fair game, but not the flight field.”

“Truce can be called at any time, but it expires in an hour, or whenever you’re off duty for the day,” Mira adds, and you both make a mental note of the time. 

“Anyone can start a game by striking first. Surrenders can last from two days to two years, apparently,” you say dryly.

Mira finishes the set of rules with a narrow glance at you. “And you can’t seriously hurt them. You can act in self-defense, but try not to draw blood.” 

“That was one time,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you shouldn’t have snuck up on me while I had a knife in my hand! It’s a miracle I didn’t kill you.” There’s a note of hurt in your voice as you remember how close of a call it had been.

As soon as you saw the blood dripping down the pale skin of her neck, you had dropped everything to take her to the healers, terrified that you’d hit a vein — you hadn’t, but you still didn’t resume the game for two weeks afterward, until the cut had fully healed. 

Mira smiles. “I’m touched, bun, but I don’t think you could kill me if you tried.”

You only bare your teeth at her in response.

Mira is waiting for you outside the bathroom door, leaning up against the wall looking bored — she must have been here for a while.

She pushes off the wall lazily, smirking at you. “So, bunny, do you want to give up yet? Call it all off?”

You suppress a shiver. “That wouldn’t be any fun,” you say calmly, hatching a plan; you can lose her easily enough, and get back to your room and be safe until breakfast, when you’ll be properly dressed and armed. 

You dry your hands on your towel, dropping it at your feet and putting one leg behind you, bent at the knee as if you’re going to have a proper fight -- then run like hell in the other direction.

You hear her chase after you, the pounding of her footsteps matching up with your racing heart as you make turn after turn.

There are two problems with your plan. 

The first; this place is a damn maze. All these doors look the same, and you’re moving too fast to look at the numbers posted on them. And like any good maze, there are plenty of dead ends. You skid to a stop as you realize there’s no way out of this hallway — or just one way; past Mira.

You quickly find the second problem; you’re running in wet sandals. You trip over an edge of the thick rug that lines the stone floor, headed straight for the ground, but Mira grabs you by the wrist, breaking your fall.

You steady yourself, yanking your arm away.

She lets you go easily, content to stand a few feet back and taunt you. “Just a defenseless little bunny, walking down the hallway in these cute little pajamas, all this skin exposed… I know you don’t have any daggers hidden under that excuse of a shirt,” she says, looking at you with the shine of something predatory in her eyes. “I can see everything.”

You move to cover yourself, crossing your arms — the fortress is cold, and you hadn’t bothered to wrap your chest just to walk back from the showers… you squirm under her gaze, embarrassed. “I am clearly at a disadvantage in these clothes,” you huff, “not fair.”

“That’s on you. You knew this could happen when you got dressed,” she dismisses. “But you’ve also been at a disadvantage this whole time playing against me. We both know I’m a better fighter than you. Maybe I’ve just been faking to let you believe that you’re all big and strong.”

That’s the last straw. You kick off your shoes and lunge at her, not caring that you’re still in your pajamas, cornered and unarmed — you’re going to end this round now, prove to Mira once and for all that you can go toe to toe with her and come out on top, disadvantaged or not.

She grins. “I was wondering when you’d start really trying.”

You knock her to the ground, though she lands more gracefully than you had the other day -- your back is still tender.

“You really need to switch it up, Bun. This whole wrestling-on-the-floor thing is getting old,” she taunts, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back.

“Shut - the fuck - up,” you pant. “You think this game isn’t getting old? You’re the one who’s stuck in the past.”

You struggle, and she loosens her grip enough for you to hook one arm over her head, squeezing your elbow around her neck in an attempt to get her to give up.

You hear her wheeze, running out of air, and you’re about to triumphantly proclaim your victory when you feel a sharp pinch in your bicep. 

She fucking bit you.

You gasp, releasing her and standing upright to cradle your elbow in one hand and inspect the damage. There’s a perfect imprint of her teeth in the muscle, two tiny punctures from her canines. “What the fuck, Mir? That really hurt.”

“Oops.” She rises to her knees and licks up the small beads of blood forming on your skin, making you squirm.

Gross. Well, actually… 

You don’t have much time to think about it before she’s pinning you to the wall. You struggle, but she has you trapped firmly against the cold stone.

“All you have to do is admit that I’m stronger than you. Say the word, and I’ll let you go.”

“No,” you spit, “you cheated and you fucking know it. You were the one who made the no-blood rule.”

“Poor baby. Want me to kiss it better?” she asks, looking down at you with that signature smug expression. You want to slap it right off her face, but she’s currently holding both of your wrists in one hand.

Your stomach flips at the realization of just how strong Mira is, how easily she can pin you down, how she could do anything to you right now if she wanted. 

Okay, now is not the time to be horny. You have a point to prove.

You start to struggle, but she only bears down harder, presses in closer.

“If you wanted this, you could have just asked,” she says quietly, her nose brushing against the side of your neck. 

Your resolve is crumbling. The way she’s talking down to you in that condescending tone and the way her muscles flex as she presses you into the wall have you more turned on than you should be.

You want only one thing more than for her to hold you down and fuck you absolutely stupid, and that one thing is to win, to have Mira Sorrengail beg you for mercy.

You only see one way to get out of this — to cheat, like she did.

You blink up at her, doe-eyed. “Mir, please,” you whimper, pretending to struggle, but all you’re really doing is grinding against the muscled thigh she has wedged between yours.

She takes the bait, loosening her grip and leaning down to nudge her nose against yours, connecting your lips, remarkably gentle.

It feels too good to carry out your plan. You melt right into her, your whole body relaxing, and she drops your wrists to rest her hands on your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt as she steadies you.

She kisses soft and sweet — a stark contrast to the ache in your arm from where she’d sunk her teeth into your skin.

She pulls away after a moment, smiling at the dazed look on your face. “You wanna be a good little bunny and let me have my way with you? Let me play with that pretty body?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe. It’s not an act; you really do want her hands on you, you have for years. You’ve never felt this needy in your life, never craved anyone’s touch this badly.

You should be more careful what you wish for.

You gasp into her mouth as she tugs aside your pajama shorts and brushes her fingertips against the embarrassingly damp fabric of your underwear, right over your clit.

“Not here,” you manage, clinging to your one last shred of rationality — at any moment, someone could walk out of their room and see you here, in the middle of the hallway, half-dressed, with Mira’s hands all over you.

She appears to agree. She pulls you down the hall by your wrist, wasting no time unlocking her door and leading you through it, pushing you right onto her bed. 

Your back hits the mattress and she’s leaning over you in seconds, though the predatory look in her eyes is gone, replaced with something softer.

Your heart pounds. You have no idea what she’s going to do. 

“Such a cute little thing,” she coos, her hands moving to knead at the plush of your hips. “Spread your legs for me.”

You comply instantly, starting to take off your shorts, but she stops you.

“Nuh-uh, bun. Keep them on.”

You whine softly, but she doesn’t budge. Her hand slides over your thigh, settling over the soft fabric. “So warm and wet… did you like me on top of you? Like me holding you down?”

“Yes,” you answer readily, panting even though she’s hardly touched you. “N’ liked… liked kissing you.”

It’s a thinly-veiled plea for her to do it again, but it works.

You whine into her mouth as she starts to circle her fingers over your clit through the two layers of clothing, smearing your wetness into them. Her other hand slides up to your chest, squeezing gently through the thin cotton of your shirt. 

You should have known that this would be good -- it’s Mira. She knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s had plenty of bedmates over the years, and she isn’t shy about it at all.

You burn with jealousy at the thought of anyone else being in your position, laid underneath her, her hands all over them and her lips on their neck.

Well, that’s new, you think. And not at all concerning.

Your inner monologue is interrupted as she pulls back, guiding you to look at her with a gentle hand on your chin, assuaging your worries. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just you and me here right now.”

You push away the thoughts, closing your eyes and focusing on the three soft sensations -- her lips on your neck, her hands on your chest and between your legs, teasing you… 

She hooks her fingers into the thin straps of your tank top, slipping them over your shoulders one at a time and tugging the neckline down until your breasts spill out over it. 

She swears softly. “You’ve always had such a pretty body, bun. Shame you keep it covered up all the time.”

You burn at the praise, feeling exposed, but the embarrassment quickly fades as she kisses her way down your neck and across your collarbones, down… 

You can’t hold back the gasp as she laves her tongue over your nipple, her free hand thumbing at the other.

“Oh, you liked that,” she muses, smug, but quickly returns her mouth to the other, sucking gently.

You did. You really liked that. No partner has ever paid this much attention to your chest before, only some casual groping before they moved things downstairs. Nobody’s paid this much attention to you, period, taken this much time preparing you for the main event. 

You can feel the pressure building between your hips, your muscles tightening. You might actually cum just from the way she’s still circling her fingers over your clit through your underwear, and her mouth…

“Want me to keep going?” She asks, and you can hear the grin in her voice as she continues. “You know what to say. Just one little word.”

You don’t care if this is all an elaborate scheme to get you to admit defeat -- you’d do anything if it meant she’d keep touching you. You’re already addicted to her after one dose; you need her like you need air.

“Mercy,” you beg, “I’ll admit it, you’re— you’re stronger, you’re the better fighter, just please don’t stop, need it so bad,”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she coos, smoothing a hand over your hip. 

You let out a soft whimper as she sucks hard on the side of your throat, undoubtedly going to leave a mark.

There’s that rough edge you were expecting.

She pulls down your shorts and underwear in one quick movement, spreading your thighs apart easily. “Gods, bun, you’re soaked.”

Enough for her to slip two fingers right in. She finds that special spot near instantly, laughing when you squeak in shock. 

“Oh, right there? Does that feel good?” She asks, even though it’s clear as day that you fucking love it.

You give her a soft sound of affirmation, biting your cheek to hold back the slew of whimpers.

“You’re probably used to keeping quiet, hm? Laying in your bunk with a hand over your mouth, wishing someone was there to make you feel good? Do you think of me when you touch yourself, sweetheart?”

“Yes, ah, I do,” you admit, too far gone to care. It’s true; you’ve spent many a night pretending your hand belonged to her, imagining a moment just like this. 

She continues to batter her fingertips against that little soft spot, not letting up for a second. “And does it feel this good when it’s just you alone?”

“No,” you cry, “this is, ah, this is better, oh, fuck, Mira,”

Your fingers flex helplessly, reaching for something, anything to ground you, and she takes pity on you, giving you her hand to hold while you sob into her pillow.

“Shh, bun, it’s okay. Just let yourself feel good. Know you needed this so bad, needed someone to fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty head.”

She strokes her thumb over your clit in time with the movement of her fingers, and that’s all you need; that and her soft voice cooing all those condescending things to you.

You clear your head enough to speak properly, or try to. “Mira, please, gods, fuck, gonna, ah, gonna cum,” 

“Go ahead, bun. Cum for me.”

You’ve always been good at following orders.

On her command, every muscle in your body tightens then releases. You grip her hand for dear life as warmth flows through your body, eyes rolling back and cute little whimpers pouring from your lips.

“Fuck, bun, you get so tight when you cum,” she swears, but she doesn’t stop or slow down at all, continuing to press and rub and kiss, overwhelming your senses.

“Too much,” you whimper, squirming away from her touch, but she doesn’t stop. 

She shushes you softly. “Just relax for me, sweetheart. It’ll feel better in a minute.”

You sob, dropping your head back onto the pillow in defeat -- you aren’t in a headspace to fight it, and you aren’t sure if you even want to; it hurts, but it’s still so fucking good.

She slows for a moment. “You know what to say if it’s truly too much, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you manage, “I know.”

“Good bunny.”

You whine softly at the praise, gasping as the sharp sensitivity turns back into pure pleasure. 

She knows those panicked little whimpers mean you’re close. “It’s okay, bun. Let go for me.”

You unclench your free hand from the sheets, yanking her down by the collar to kiss you as you fall apart beneath her, your soft cries muffled by her lips.

She slows to a stop, letting you ride it out, giving you a few more soft kisses. You whine softly as she withdraws her fingers, feeling empty without them. 

She rests her hand on your shaking thigh, petting the soft skin gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re done,” she soothes. “You did so, so good for me.”

She easily moves you to sit up in her lap, wrapping her arms around you and letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

She hasn't been this tender with you in years. You savor the moment, hiding your face in the curve of her neck as you try to catch your breath.

“Can you look at me?” She asks after a minute.

You lift your head up enough to see her beautiful brown eyes gazing at you with a softness you’ve never seen in them before.

“There’s my pretty baby. Was I too rough with you?” She asks, genuine concern in her voice.

You shake your head. “No,” you promise, nuzzling your face into her neck. “Felt really good.”

You feel great. Your whole body feels fuzzy, your muscles relaxed and your brain completely liquified, all thoughts of the week’s events wiped away save for this moment; Mira holding you so gently, stroking your back — a minute of soft quiet.

You take your chance.

“Do you remember the night we came back from Squad Battle, our second year?” You ask, closing your eyes.

“Of course I remember, bun, that was fucking terrifying. Why…” 

You continue. “I couldn’t even make it upstairs to my room, I was that exhausted. I was planning to sleep in the courtyard, until you found me.”

She looks confused. She knows this story; why are you telling it again? And why now?

“You didn’t leave my side for a full day. You helped me shower, found me clean clothes, let me sleep in your bed until you were convinced I wouldn’t die… You put aside the game, and the fact that we’d spent the last two days on opposite sides of a war, because you were that worried about me. I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since that night, and I have spent every waking moment since graduation regretting how we left things. I missed you so godsdamned much, Mir. I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.”

You can feel her sigh of relief, her whole body relaxing against yours.

“I love you too,” she says quietly, still stroking your back. “I was so relieved when I saw you again, bun. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you, how sorry I am for ending things that way, but I was too scared. It was easier to just go back to the way things were before,” she admits. “You know I’m no good at that stuff. You’ve always been the one who was good with words, not me.”

You smile, leaning forward to brush your nose against hers. “Then let me tell you every morning and night for the rest of our days how much I love you, Mira Sorrengail.”

#mira sorrengail #mira sorrengail x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing smut #18+ #fourth wing x reader #Mira and Bunny #mine

[elvisabutler]

i've had no love like your love

summary: both you and professor presley would like to forget about the incident between you two and you do while still occasionally falling into each other's arms when spending time with one another. the two of you finally reach a breaking point. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader word count: 9487. i got a little carried away. warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone are of legal age ). religious talk. elvis being ill enough to miss class. unrequited love that would be requited if people just opened up their mouths. oral ( f receiving ). use of psalms in inappropriate ways. bunch of tears. mention of physical abuse/hitting/being kicked out of houses. use of the nickname belle for the reader. use of the derogatory name jezebel. mentions and beginning of impersonal sex like in my hearts already sinned. thigh riding. author's note: so i'll warn you ahead of time you've got to get through a lot of words of sadness to get to their happiness in this but it's worth it. i'm honestly super glad this got the reception it did since when i posted the little teaser/trailer as my last kinktober piece i thought this was hella niche and didn't think anyone would like it since it's big daddy elvis and it's a professor au. but y'all have seemed to absolutely adore it and it makes me happy. this is not the end of them since i've got an epilogue ( purely happy, i promise ) and honestly, if anyone ever wants me to write more of them ( case in point, the ask i got about a movie night with him and belle ) or i have an urge to i probably will. and y'all know the drill, pick your elvis poison, this is written with real elvis in mind but you can imagine austin elvis. and previous parts are here to be read in order: 1 and 2.

There's one thought- or a series of thoughts- his mind keeps cycling back to, that keeps rolling over and over in his head as he looks at the door you just left out of. Gossip isn't something he normally cares about but when he heard your name, he couldn't help but listen in properly because when it came to you he couldn't help it, he never has been able to help it. 

"She's going for Presley? That religious- he won't give her the time of day like that. She's too impure for him."  

"I've heard that's why she wants him because come on man, you know he never has gone for a student. Why not have the Tour Guide show him what he's been missing? Besides she's already spending all that time in his office and wearing his jacket half the time. Bet she's gonna fuck him before Thanksgiving break. Then she'll be free."  

"Two in one semester-" The calculus professor whistles. "Next semester she'll be begging for an orgy at this rate." 

He's not dumb, contrary to what his teachers back in the day might have thought. No, he's not dumb but sometimes he prefers to see the best in people, sees the parts that other people might overlook. Maybe it's just from his upbringing or maybe it's from how he was treated in the music industry but he likes to think himself a good judge of the character people might otherwise keep hidden. And with you he had thought- he had thought there was something there. Something you had hidden away amongst your conquests as ill advised as they might have been. You were- you felt like the sort of person who could be taken care of while still taking care of him. You felt like coming home or like God himself had dropped an angel in his lap. The idea that he was just another man- another professor in your long line of them stung. He knows he's not a great catch any more, that he's not nearly as pretty as he was even two years ago, let alone when he used to perform on stage or was in the movie picture business but you didn't seem to mind. You seemed to enjoy him, unless he had read everything wrong, had read your lingering glances wrong. Unless he had read your reactions to his very presence wrong or how you would smile just so in a way he recognizes from some women.

If he hadn't have read this situation wrong and you had actually enjoyed his company and cared about him at least in some small part the way he cared about you, why had you answered yes to his test. Why in God's green Earth had you told him that you just wanted him to be another professor you fucked? The answer should have been that you wanted to fuck him as a person and not just- him because he was your professor. You didn't need to charm him like this- to worm your way so comfortably into his heart in a way Priscilla had and how Linda had as short as their relationship was. It's- you didn't need to play with him like this- you didn't need to be cruel.

Maybe the best thing for both of you would be to pretend none of this happened. Pretend that everything was normal and that he hadn't seen how your pussy looked in underwear that was barely there. Pretend he hadn't seen you arch your back for him. Just pretend he hadn't had you against the desk in a way that was so far from how he planned. That's- that should be what he does. You were still perhaps that good girl, that wonderful woman he thought you were, you just needed to be reminded of it continuously. Maybe he just wants to be selfish and have you in his life in whatever way he can. God, he was getting to be stupid and silly as he got older, wasn't he?

Love makes you do stupid things, you've realized this more than anything with El- Professor Presley. With other men, with other professors your brain and your heart seemed to actually be in line with one another, seemed to remember that these were flings and while their outcomes led so much to be desired you could file them away as business transactions. Business transactions that allowed you to avoid worrying about your grades if you were sick or if you had too much going on at one time. You figure it's your own fault for taking the challenge Noelle had offered you. Figure that you brought this on yourself despite knowing that you had seen the man for years now from afar and thought that he was the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on. Thought his waistline- much as it occasionally fluctuated was perfect at damn near any size but you had a special place in your heart for his size now. You should have known your heart would believe one thing- would feel one thing while your brain would try and remind you that this- this couldn't ever be more than whatever it was. You hadn't even needed to do it, hadn't needed to take the chance on sleeping with him because you were fine when it came to his class, never missing a class or a discussion or anything that had him lowering your grades. Yet, you had to be selfish, had to ruin the relationship- the friendship you and him had with each other. You had to ruin him as a person, didn't you?

The man who had sex with you against his desk that day wasn't Elvis Presley, Professor Presley, whatever you wanted to call him. He wasn't the person you had fallen so deeply in love with that your heart ached and twisted and threatened to fall right out of your chest at the mere idea of losing him for good. He was something- someone else entirely, someone who you didn't recognize in the slightest but maybe that's who he always had been, maybe that was the man you had fallen completely in love with over the semester. Your brain hadn't bothered to entertain the idea of a life beyond this semester but you think- no, you know- that your heart had other plans. Your heart dreamed of a life with you at his side at Graceland during the summer and on the breaks at night. It dreamed of a life with you in his lap and his head in yours. You just dreamed of a life with him come whatever may be.

That dream is still in your heart as much as your brain knows it's stupid and silly and a forgone conclusion at this point. Yet, you can't stop yourself from still wanting it from pining for the mere idea of it. You can't stop yourself from taking his jacket you still have and wrapping yourself in it after you come home from that day- that absolute mess of an emotional day because that mere idea of a life with him. A life where he comforts you and wraps his arms around you when you find that life is too much or when he finds that life is too much.

Maybe that's why you don't back away, maybe that's why you let yourself continue on debasing yourself in a way that you're practically mortified to realize. Or maybe it's because after that day things go back to normal. He acts like the man you fell for, acts like the man you could see some form of a future with and could dream of living the rest of his days with. Still, you choose to believe that it's worth it, that this is all you're ever going to have of Elvis. God you wish your brain could just call him Professor Presley or Mr. Presley but when you're in his office talking about what had happened in class or the lesson plans he had for the next one he always insists on you calling him Elvis and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. It feels like it's meant to leave your mouth in sighs as he brings you pleasure and with fondness that you can only have with someone you love to the ends of the Earth.

You should have known better, you should have known better because you might be strong, you might be the sort of person who can hold herself up with or without praise that Elvis sprinkles into your life. You're the sort of person who shouldn't do this, who wouldn't do this for anyone else if it wasn't him. You should break it off, should give yourself a clean break but he's always there and he's right there saying the words you want to hear. He's there acting like he's supposed to and you find you can't even grieve for the loss of him because he's not gone, is he? No, he's right there in front of you, almost mocking you in his actions and how they conflict when you're up against his desk, his cock sliding in and out of you with such obscene squelching and squishing because he knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you groaning against the coolness of the desk. He knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you so aroused you make a mess of whatever you touch. The times you're just on his thigh because he can't get it up- not for lack of want, but because of his body betraying him like everything else seems to- those times always end in him with a suspicious wet spot that makes him glad he's got on black pants to hide the stain you've put there from riding him.

Things feel so impersonal, such a stark contrast to the actions of both of you around the times you do these things. You're adults and yet the concept of talking about what happens- talking about how you two fall into some natural rhythm of companionship only to have it stripped away the moment one of you climbs on top of the other or the moment he pats his thigh for you to straddle- is so alien to either one of you. When you've fooled around with the other professors even when it came to the worst exits you were still able to look at them, still have that element of attachment when you would be with them up until the point where you were kicked out and where you were slapped and yelled at and chased out windows that had you breaking your ankle. With Elvis it should be the same, you want it to be the same because maybe if it was you could- it would be easier for the two of you to talk. It would be easier to not feel like this is a business transaction and that as much as he'll be the man you started to love before and after it, he won't be that man during the act. You'd say you felt used but how can you be used if you're also using him. It's silly and embarrassing and it wears you down after each time even though you always crave it just a little bit because it's all you feel like you can get of him like that. You want more than his companionship, his praise and his subtle touches on your shoulder and his laughter. You want every single bit of him you can have. You're grasping at whatever you feel you can get and you don't realize he's doing much the same thing.

It has to be impersonal because if he looks at you he doesn't trust himself to not fall to your knees and worship you like the angel sent from on high he believes you to be. He calls you Jezebel because that reminds him how you wrenched his heart from his chest and twisted it in your hands. Staying away from you isn't an option because outside of when you two fall into each other's arms you feel like his- feel like third time is truly the charm on women he adores to the ends of the Earth and that you could be the one he spends the rest of his life with- however long that may be.

However long that may be is always on his mind the more his stomach gives him issues or his body feels like it's breaking down more and more. Should try and get everything in check, try and cut out some things maybe but he's never been the most disciplined in anything that isn't religion and even then he knows he falls off that wagon on occasion. He has to miss two more classes and on one of the nights he can't sleep, his stomach contorting in on itself and his bones feeling an ache he can't shake he wishes you were there. Your presence that one night, curled up against him after he had woken up and found you on the couch only to carry you to his bed had been some of the best sleep he'd had in such a long time. You might not have healed all his ills but you served to be a balm he couldn't help but crave on this night.

The thing about him missing is that he can't know- he doesn't know that you notice the second it's Joe up at the front of your class again and you swear you want to throw up. Your stomach drops so far out of your body that it might as well be in the core of the Earth. Elvis wasn't here again which meant something- some part of his body was acting up again. Maybe you shouldn't have been on his thigh after the last class, maybe you should have just let it be one of those times when you just talked and relaxed with one another and not let it turn sexual. No- No, it would have happened regardless, after all, the last time he had missed you and him hadn't even done anything other than talk. That was before- you wouldn't dwell on it, if this was anything like the last time he'd be back come next class a little more worn down and needing perhaps more company and a bit of help but he would be fine. He's always been so larger than life and so strong that there was nothing to worry about.

Except- he doesn't come back after that first class and he misses another one and you had been lulled into a false sense of security thinking he was alright when no one including Joe was there early. No, instead you had Jerry coming in almost five minutes late telling everyone that class was canceled since anyone who would take over for EP was a little occupied and as nice as he's heard everyone was- he's a business professor- an economics one- not a religious studies kind of guy. You don't expect people to be loitering outside of the class, figuring that much like any college students they'd be rushing to the library to study or to their dorms or apartments to sleep. You wish people had done that, wished the two people you come upon would have done that.

"He's gonna be dead in a year if that, man." The student- James you think- says, rolling his eyes. "My brother had him last year and he missed one class, we're on what, our third?"

"Third and the Tour Guide wearing his jacket. Maybe that's why- she's drained him." The other laughs quietly.

"She hasn't worn it since the middle of October, no, she's already moved on. Wouldn't be surprised if he passed her along to his little Mafia." James pauses. "Whatever the case- he's dead next year. If he even gets through the semester. Sucks, man, he wasn't the worst professor."

There's a part of you that wants to hear what they have to say, hear how they want to blame you for Professor- Elvis not being here but you can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears and feel your eyes welling up with tears you can't- you refuse- to shed in front of people and find yourself pushing past them, your boots thumping on floor as both of them laugh just a little realizing you had been listening to them the whole time.

They had to be wrong, they had to be wrong because as sick as maybe Elvis was he wasn't- he couldn't be that sick. No, they were just- joking around, they had to have been. Maybe they knew you were there the whole time and just said it to mock you, after all, you know it's truly no secret that you are his favorite student and were even before- the incident. If they were right though, that meant-that meant after this semester he was gone. You'd never hear a story about how stupid some of your classmates were or about hear him sing like he had that one night again. You'd never share another set of snacks and a drink with him. He'd be gone and you'd be- He'd be gone and the world would feel a little bit dimmer.

The idea of a world without Professor Presley, a world without Elvis swirls in your mind that weekend as you force yourself to do your schoolwork. Ignoring it would be so easy and you could just curl up with his jacket and with your favorite book or in front of the little television and just pretend you hadn't heard any of that. Any time you think of doing that, though, you hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like his with a little backing of a voice that sounds like yours in your mind reminding you that you should do your work. So you do and you eat and you do everything you're supposed to that weekend as you try to avoid thinking of what the other students had said. It's hard but you manage well enough. Monday comes sooner than you'd like and you find yourself dreading entering Elvis's- Professor Presley's class. You sit down in your normal spot though, your eyes shut as you try to relax and burrow yourself into his jacket as you do.

His cane taps against the floor and a breath you hadn't realized that you were holding comes out of your mouth in a rush. He's here, he's alive and he's going to be teaching class today. You bite your lower lip as you hear the taps stop right behind you and feel Elvis's hand grasp your shoulder, just as warm as it always is. You hear his voice rumbling, even with so much exhaustion coloring the tone about how he's glad to see you where you’re supposed to be and you look up at him to see something in his eyes, something that feels like a spark of the man you've fallen for completely this semester. Maybe- no, you don't dare hope fully.

Class feels like a blur and while there is a debate as per his usual it's much more subdued with you barely offering input and him still feeling a little too rough to really force some excitement into it. A part of you wants to just head straight to your other class and not entertain the idea of going to Elvis's office but as you start to leave you hear the tap of his cane following you and hear his voice.

"Y/N." He starts, his eyes roaming your top half and settling on his jacket. "Gonna see ya in five minutes?"

The word no is on the tip of your tongue, you should say no but you've been so worried about him that you nod slowly, adjusting the straps on your bag and it earns a small smile from him as he walks off slower than normal but still seeming just as strong as normal with the tap of the cane. It takes you a little longer than five minutes to reach him, almost as if you're too nervous to really go to his office but when you get there the door is wide open and you see two drinks on the desk and you settle yourself onto the couch.

Talking- even with everything- comes so naturally to the two of you that you hardly realize how you both shift closer to the other as you talk. You hardly realize how you're close enough that you can feel his body heat against your side and that he feels the same thing. This is how it always seems to start since the Incident, with you two moving closer and closer until you're in his lap and today is no exception. Except, maybe it is because you're wearing his jacket and you saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that tell you maybe there's something there. That maybe the person you want to spend all your time with is still there underneath everything. You don't know when you decide to hook your leg over his thigh, thanking every god you know that he has a tendency to spread his legs even if there's no reason to and you hike up your skirt just a hair as you start to grind against his thigh, facing him as you do. Your hands move to try and cup his face, try and pull him closer to you before you feel his hands on your hips manhandling you to face that opposite way.

No. This- no, this isn't- you want him but not like this any more. God you can't- why was it so hard for him to let you just look at him when you do things like this. He was gone for two classes and you were so worried but he won't look at you. You're wearing his jacket and he noticed and he won't let you look at him. Your body can't help itself, still grinding a bit as you try and maneuver yourself back to facing him only to be stopped time and time again by his grip. It's not punishing and it's not going to bruise- you hope- but he won't let you turn. He won't let you turn and his mouth starts to spew words that make you want to curl up in on yourself.

His mouth hisses into your ear. "The Jezebel doesn't want it this way? Doesn't want my thigh today? Too good for me?"

You snarl, tears starting to form in your eyes out of sheer frustration and anguish rolled into one. "I never- I'm not saying that, I just- Elvis, please, let me look at you." Your body starts to contort in positions you didn't think were possible as you continue to try and face him only to be brushed aside.

Words are leaving his mouth, you hear them faintly but you finally just launch yourself off his thigh, chest heaving and eyes fiery as can be. Your legs shake at the sudden loss of his thigh that had supported you up until now but you stand your ground as best as you can. "No, I'm not- We're not doing this, not like this, I- What have I even done to deserve this? This- God, I don't even know what to call it. This joke? This playing with me like this?"

"Playing with ya like this?" He barks, heaving his body off of the couch and moving to stand in front of you, his blue eyes stormy as anything you've ever seen in your life. "That's goddamn rich comin' from ya. Lil Miss Jezebel. The Tour Guide. The Harlot who-"

"Don't!" You shout, not even caring if anyone outside in the hallways can hear you. "Stop calling me that! I'm not- You wouldn't call me a good girl if I was any of those things!"

"They're- They don't hafta be seperate, darlin'!" His emphasis on the nickname is punctuated by him inching even closer to you, his words getting lower as he starts to hiss them. "Because you're most certainly a Jezebel, climbin' on me every chance ya get. Actin' like your God's gift to men wit' the others. Tell me, that new professor, t'one in the math department-"

"What other- Is this about-" Your thoughts jumble as they try to catch up with what he's saying. He's calling you a complete Jezebel and asking about someone who doesn't even exist to you. Your chest heaves as you push yourself into the little bit of space between you, your pointer finger pointing at his chest. "The new professor? The one I had to ask for help for because he's the only math professor who hasn't tried to come onto me?"

"Do- Do I look stupid to you, Jezebel?" He asks, almost as if he's afraid to say your name. "I heard from the other professors-"

"You could have asked me!" The words are spit out of your mouth and you can even see a bit of spittle flying onto his face. It brings you a sick sense of satisfaction to see how his already angry face slides between pure shock and more anger. "I thought we were friendly enough to do that! I've been to your house, Elvis!"

The noise that comes out of him before he can even get words out is truly defined as a snarl and a growl in the truest sense of the words. If you hadn't known any better you'd have thought you were arguing with a wild animal. It startles you to the point where you back away just a bit, not because you're worried he'll hurt you- no he's never been that type even with everything- but just because it's your natural instinct in the face of something like that. Despite that, he follows you, moves closer again even as his voice roars leaving his mouth. "You've been in my bed, Y/N! My goddamn bed! Curled up next t'me like ya belonged there!"

You duck away from him, almost as if to escape feeling very much like a cornered animal. He's not going to hurt you- he won't because he's not like- he's not like the rest of them but you can't defend yourself if he pins you down with his body or his words. His eyes follow you like a predator stalking prey even if you both know you've never truly been prey to him or perhaps anyone else. "That's exactly my point! Why wouldn't you just ask me?"

"'Cuz ya'd have lied!" His answer is slurred, the anger truly getting the better of him as he moves to cage you against the wall, only to have you slide away again.

"Not to you, Elvis!" How could he even think you'd lie to him about something like that? That you'd truly lie to him in general? "I've never lied to you!" You hadn't told him things but you had never lied, not a true and honest lie.

"Haven't ya?" He doesn't move this time, instead choosing to stare you down. "Tell me, Jezebel. Did ya just wanna fuck me so ya could tell everyone ya did? How ya got me when I haven't fooled around with a student in all my years and I haven't fooled around with anyone going on at least a year? Or was this just ya bein' sweet on the fat ol' man?"

The flinch that comes from you is unexpected and you look down at your body wondering if he shot you or slapped you and you didn't realize. There isn't a mark on you, no blood showing, no handprint making a mark on you. There is just you wishing he would have slapped you or injured you in some way because maybe it would hurt less than the words he had just said. It would hurt less than the accusation he's just thrown your way. You do not cry in front of people, you refuse to, knowing tears never make things better when you're caged and yet you feel your lower lip starting to jut and your nose starting to run before you shake your head. It's- he's not- he is wrong and you need to prove that to him.

"Just being sweet on the fat old man." You can't help but laugh, the cacophony of emotions threatening to tear you apart at the seams. "Do you- Do you hear yourself? I- What is it, Elvis? Am I your Jezebel sent to what ruin your little God Fearing self? Or am I just some Jezebel who's sweet on you? Or are you going to tell me I'm both? That I'm not good enough for you? Too used?"

You see his jaw tighten and you worry if you've said the wrong thing. You worry that he's seen how you look like you're about to cry and something is going to go wrong but he just takes a step closer to you, his cane tapping on the floor just once. His head tilts just slightly to the side. "I know what I said, lil Jezebel. I know that you've been actin' all sweet, actin' like you're worthy of the nickname Belle. Worryin' 'bout me. Comin' to my house, gettin' me into bed but when I worry 'bout ya, put ya in my bed next to me, ya leave me alone. Then I hear t'boys. Hear what the lil professors you'll eventually fuck gotta say about ya. Ya just playin' a lil game wit' me, ain't ya?"

You bite your lower lip as an answer before you take a deep breath as you start to head to the door, trying to open it only to realize at some point he's locked it. You could unlock it but you feel the need to turn around and defend yourself. "That's- Elvis. No. No- I- I wouldn't- I honestly like you!" You don't dare say love because if he thinks this low of you he's not going to want to hear it. "I care about you! I- You haven't been here for almost a week in actual days counted and I've been worried. They're making jokes about you dying and that idea terrifies-"

He cuts you off as he takes another step and you hear another tap of that goddamn cane as you find yourself moving up against the wall, realizing you can't move. "Stop. Lyin'."

"I'm not- Elvis- I'm not! Why can't you- I'm I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. I wouldn't lie to anyone like this." You want to be strong, you want to fight more but it's as if he's saying everything exactly to hurt you in just the right way. He's saying everything that just cuts through any defense you have for it.

It finally starts to weigh on you, finally starts to drag you down into the depths you were trying so hard not to fall into. He- he won't understand either because of his own choices and stubbornness or because the idea is foreign to him. The idea that you were terrified- you the girl who is so strong that you've taken something that should be an insult and wear it with a bit of pride or at least wear it in a way that lessens its effect- is so foreign it truly refuses to penetrate his brain. At last that's the only thing that crosses your own mind as you feel cornered. You feel trapped and like- you feel like something is finally breaking within you. That this, out of everything you've had thrown at you is what's broken you. The wall behind you reminds you of his solid form except it's all wrong, it's so cold that it can't be him. He's standing in front of you, blue eyes raging like a hurricane and his body coiled like a tight spring, his cane holding up his leg as he moves forward to cage you in again and that's it. 

Your body sags against the wall, using it to remain somewhat upright as you slunk down to the floor, unshed tears congealing in a hard mass in your throat. You try and swallow only to have something again to a low groan or small whine escape your lips. This- he's broken you, you've been so strong only to let this stupid man who you shouldn't have even gone for in the first place break you. This stupid man who was- who felt so different and like he held every promise for happiness in the words he spoke. In the praise he gave you. In the way his body felt like it was made to hold you and touch you in ways you yearned for.

"Jesus-" His voice sounds crushed above you and for some reason there's a part of you that feels a victorious delight in the fact that you've made him sound like that. Made him sound as anguished as he's made you feel for weeks. As anguished as you feel thinking of him dead. “Y/N- Get up- Ya g-gotta stand up darlin’.” 

No you don’t, hell you don’t even trust that your legs would let you stand up at this point, as much as you feel them minutely shaking. No, you’re quite content to stay on the floor, feeling almost catatonic in the way your mind is focusing on everything about the past semester. You try to close your eyes as if that will make the tears that are threatening to fall go away when all it does is make them slide out the corner of your eyes. That's the final dam bursting as more follow even as you don't want them to. All that’s in your mind is every moment he’s touched you, every moment you’ve walked next to him, every moment when his eyes were like sapphires glittering as he looked at you laughing over a bottle of Pepsi while you waved your hands talking. You remember every hint of praise that had your mind going a little fuzzy and had you shiver for a want of more. 

"Anyone ever tell ya how insightful ya are?" No because even if you paid attention during class and did the readings and made the grades they didn't care. 

"Ya ever thought about teachin'? Though the debate was a goner till ya put it back on track." That was nothing, just you wanting to make sure no one lost the point Elvis was trying to teach.

"You've been makin' this semester a goddamn breeze."

Perhaps you had but for what? For him to be missing class and looking half strung out or exhausted when he came back? In all the time you had spent together he hadn't even hadn't even told you what the problem was- what took him away from you and from a job he loved. Maybe everyone was right, maybe this might be his last semester teaching and look what you’ve done- you’ve made it so his last hurrah is being known as your last fling or just another fling in your series. The thought makes your stomach roil at doing that to him- doing that to a man that God help you- you had fallen head over heels for to the point that you wanted him at any cost and in any way you could get him. 

"You're- darlin'- you shouldn't b-be-" He has to stop himself from talking, feeling an old stutter starting to rear its ugly head. His breath comes out shakily as he tries to focus on you, focus on how your shoulders are shaking with tears and how he did this to you. How he's done something that's irrevocably harmed you. He hadn't wanted this, not even at his most angry has he wanted this. "Don't- don't cry. Goddammit, calm down. God, why'd ya hafta get on the ground."

You look up and for a brief moment there’s a flash of fire in your eyes, a pang of pure annoyance at what he says. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you once again! Make the great Elvis Presley have to get down on the ground. Put him at the Jezebel's level. Leave me down here where I apparently deserve to be."

"Ya know I didn't mean it like that! Goddammit Belle, jus' meant my knees-" He has to take a deep breath, slow and steady and shut his eyes as he gets down to your level before he opens them and cups your cheek, trying to be gentle even as you flinch a little and shake your head. "This- you s-shouldn't be cryin' like this." Not over him and what he's done. Over everything that's been done from the very start. "Ain't worth it."

More accurately he ain't worth it.

"I don't know anything when it comes to you, Mr. Presley." You pull away as your tears start to fall even faster. "I am crying like this over a man who thinks I'm- Don't call me Belle, don't call me that like you did when I was leaving you in your bed. Don't act like you care." After all, he doesn't, he can't because who would care for you and feel the way he does about you. Believe the things he does about you without giving you a chance to explain. "I'm just a harlot. I'm the Tour Guide of the school who now even you get to say you've slept with. You've still got it."

"Darlin'." His voice is pitched lower, almost as if he's trying to talk to a skittish animal. As if he's scared if he talks any louder he'll spook you and that you'll run away for good. "I-I never said I didn't care. W-Wouldn't've put ya in my bed that night if I didn't. Ya looked- ya looked freezin' 'n i couldn't stand it." He pauses, his features darkening for a moment. "Then ya left in the mornin' 'fore I even woke up."

You had left in the morning. You had left that morning because every time you stay at someone's house, some professor's house it's always ended so poorly. The way his face darkens as he tells you that makes your body shiver even as his jacket- that for some ungodly reason you still have, that for some ungodly reason you couldn't get rid of- tries to keep you warm. The anger he has makes you think you were right to avoid him that morning- he- but if he cared, if he meant to put you in there- then you should have stayed. He wanted to wake up to you, wanted to have you burrowed into his side. It makes you freeze.

Elvis looks at you and sees how your body tenses up, sees how you're frozen in place and he frowns as you start to speak. "When I stay in the morning, it's not pretty, Elvis. I- I didn't want you to be the same."

His hand clenches into a fist as he shuts his eyes. His breaths are slow and measured for what feels like an eternity before you see him unclench his fist and look at you. "Ya mean how the Chemistry professor's wife would have beaten ya black and blue if she had gotten a real proper hand on ya? 'Stead of the shiner ya had for a week? Or how ya busted yer ankle hoppin' outta tha' one history professor's window. Ya want me to go on?"

Something blooms in your chest at him telling you about those times. You hadn't even met him when any of those times happened. Sure, you had seen him around campus but he didn't- couldn't have even known your name. You open your mouth, tears still falling but slower as your body tries to calm you down. "You- You shouldn't know about-"

"'ve got eyes don't I?" He responds, as if that explains everything. "Y/N- Belle- I noticed ya before ya ever stepped foot in my class. And they talk, darlin', oh do they talk."

It's then that you look away, almost ashamed at knowing that he's always known about you actions. It is absolutely no wonder that he called you what he did, why he believes you to be what he's called you. You have to pause before you speak, trying to gather your thoughts, rubbing at your eyes as you do. "And that's- that's why you've been- if you've heard all the stories and do know about me then I guess you're not wrong in calling me Jezebel. Just adding you to my long list. But- you- when that's what happens when I don't leave- why do you think-"

His voice takes on an edge of frustration you think, or maybe it's genuine hurt. "Ya really think I'd've done any of that to ya? Ya think I'd do any of that t' someone 've been callin' Belle in my mind 'cause I sometimes look at ya n' I can only think of that damn word in French?" He moves to stand up, his knees and other joints cracking just a bit. "Get up, darlin'. I- just trust me this once and get up."

A stubborn part of you wants to stay on the ground, just sit there and stew in your tears and feelings but when you look up at him with blurry eyes you can't help but heave yourself off the floor and plant yourself just close enough to him that you're looking into each other's eyes if you look up through your lashes. "I- Elvis-" You start to speak only to have him cup your face and the warmth of his hand juxtaposed with the calluses on his fingertips has your eyes fluttering shut against your will. He's not supposed to be this soft, not to someone- not to the person he doesn't care about, the person he's only roughly fucked while pretending it didn't happen afterward. "Don't."

When you say that word he pulls away his hand and you think he's listening to you, think that he's doing what you're asking him to do only to hear the next words that come out of his mouth. "Blow your nose, Belle." His hand that hand left your face, had left your cheeks came back with a handkerchief, monogrammed with a cursive EP. He doesn't necessarily shove it under your nose but it's a near miss even as he kisses your forehead. "I'm not moving it from under here till ya do, Belle."

"I'm not a-" You start before looking up at him and realizing despite his comforting air no part of him is doing this because he thinks you're a kid. No, he knows you're a grown woman- you're a grown woman he wants to be with until his dying breath. "I can hold my own handkerchief."

His lips stop in the middle of attempting to give you another peck on your cheek a slight chuckle escaping him. "Would ya quit bein' stubborn? Tryin' to comfort ya and you're tellin' me ya can hold your own handkerchief. 've been a goddamn asshole let me show ya 'm really a good southern gentleman at heart."

"Southern gentleman don't act the way you did." You shakily exhale, realizing that he's trying to comfort you, trying to place small kisses on your face as if that is solving anything. You shake your head. "Southern gentleman don't play with people like that."

"Darlin', trust me, the older we get, the more every single Southern gentleman does." He pauses to look down at you, his blue eyes narrowed. "I try t'be a gentleman but Lord knows 've got a temper wit' a wrath that rivals God himself. 'N I think I took that out on ya. I- I'm- Ya wounded my pride, alright? Sayin' what you said when I asked if ya wanted me t'fuck ya. I know- I know I can get a woman, but I don't- It's usually more of one night stand or somethin' that's lackin'-" He rubs at his neck. "Care. Doesn't have that tender lovin' care I need nowadays more than I did when I was younger."

Care. Oh, you had been so- you both had been so stupid. Your eyes flit up and you notice how vulnerable he looks just in this moment and you swear it takes your breath away. "Elvis. I didn't- I thought you were trying to make me beg." A pause. "I was trying to what I thought you liked. I didn't- You've never been- No one else has made me feel like you make me feel."

So loved, so proud of, so everything under the sun. There's a reason your heart and your brain had wanted to spend the rest of his life and your life together. Being with him felt right when you stripped away everything that's been happening.

Elvis is silent for a moment, almost as if he's debating his next words or actions even as he still places another kiss to the crown of your head and uses his thumb to wipe away tears that keep falling and holding the handkerchief by your nose. He finally puts the handkerchief away, freeing that hand and using it to cup your chin. He tilts your head up just a hair so that you can see his eyes shining with what you think might be unshed tears as his voice becomes so gentle it twists your heart. "What d'ya want from me?"

"Everything." You choke out your answer, your voice scratching and sounding so raw when you do that you almost want to hide. "I want to be with you after this semester. I want to dance with you like we did that night. I- God- I want to wake up with you every day until one of us dies. I just want to be yours."

At your last words the tears start falling in earnest again and it breaks something in Elvis a little, seeing you cry after that confession. He doesn't waste a second before pulling you into a soft kiss, using his grip on your chin to make it easier. You want more but he's pulling away and placing kisses on your forehead and your cheeks, chasing after the tears in a way that's so gentle you'd think it's fatherly but it's not- it's just him allowing you to be a human again. Allowing you to be more than just the harlot or the Jezebel. Seeing you as the person he's always thought you have been before the Incident and even after the Incident.

"Ya mean it?" There's a small part of him that curses how he sounds asking that but he needs to hear it from you. Hear that you're being honest and truthful with him about what you want. "If ya gonna change ya mind I need t'know right now."

You sniffle and shake your head. "I mean it! I want to be with you and only you. I've only been with you since that day. Haven't flirted or anything. I want to do my work on your desk, want to curl up on your couch with you just- I want you. I want you, my Elvis, my Big Daddy because you're- You're the only one who's ever treated me like more." You pause, taking a deep breath. "Like I'm worth getting to know beyond just my pussy. I can't- I don't want to go back to a world where I don't have you. Where I'm not able to kiss you and be with you in whatever way I can. Where I can't fill your house with-" You stop yourself, because that's too much, that's not something you're admitting to him right now. "I just I want you. I'm not changing my mind, if I was going to I would have the second you didn't give me back my panties, Elvis. When you were so mean and hurtful and-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, this time a little less gentle but still nothing compared to what he wants to do to you. His teeth nip at your lower lip just a bit and you can't help the whimper that escapes you as he pulls away your mouth trying to follow his. Looking in his eyes, you see something different, you see the overwhelming lust, the blown pupils threatening to overwhelm his blue eyes but more than that you see a man who looks so in love with you he might as well keel over with the sheer force of it.

"Feel like an idiot for missin' out on that. Gonna keep kissin you like that for as long as i can. Ya realize that." He pauses as his eyes rake over your form. "Get on the desk, Y/N. My sweet Belle." His emphasis on the nickname, Belle versus Jezebel is the only thing that reassures you he's not planning on doing anything rough. That he has a plan for you to look at him while he does- whatever it is. You take a minute to hop up, sniffling once again as you rub at your eyes. Your emotions are still a mess but you can- this helps, you think.

Elvis grunts, using the cane and a grip on your knee to help ease him onto the ground right in front of your legs, right in between your legs as his hands dance up your thighs. His gaze is on you, full of promise and want as his hands inch further up and up until he reaches between your legs, one hand moving to cup your pussy while the other grabs your hip and pulls you a little closer to the edge of the desk.

"You been payin' attention in class?" He asks as you can't help but whimper a little at the feel of his hand covering you like that. "Specifically this one? What we talked 'bout at the beginning?"

Your head nods slowly as you shiver, feeling the fabric of your underwear being pulled lower and lower down your legs. "You mean psalm 51? What about it, Elvis?"

"Think ya can recite it by memory?" The words of his question are punctuated by kisses up your legs, starting with your calves before moving to knees and then to your thighs. He bites softly causing you to clench them together around his head before he mumbles a no. "While I'm here between your legs."

It feels like a challenge and it causes a curl of arousal to shoot directly between your legs as your vagina clenches around nothing. His hand feels the movement and you can feel the smirk of his lips against your skin before you answer as he puts one singular finger inside of you. "I can." You sigh out your answer as he curls that one finger your arousal making it easy for him to.

Hard doesn't even begin to explain how it is to try and speak- to try and remember the psalm as you feel his tongue flick against your clit once, twice, before moving down to your folds. Another finger has joined the first and you can feel them inside of you, following where his tongue traces. His licks and strokes are leisurely done, almost as if he wants to drag this out, wants to go at the pace that you're speaking when all you want to do is have your orgasm that you can feel brewing but when you stop to take a breath, so does he. It's infuriating right until the midway point when you say "grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me" his mouth wraps around your clit, sucking and even giving you a small nip as his fingers curl against your g-spot. It shouldn't be enough to help you cum, it shouldn't and yet you feel your toes curling and your thighs tightening around his head as he hums in satisfaction. Your body shakes, grinding against his mouth even as his free hand tries to keep your hips from moving. Your thighs don't unclench until he taps at your leg and even then they still shake as he pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as you try and pull him up for a kiss only to have him continue his attack on your cunt.

You keep reciting, feeling as if that's what he wants you to do despite how your voice shakes and how you whimper the more sensitive everything becomes. You cum again by the end of your first full recitation, panting with your chest heaving. There is a thought in your mind to tell Elvis to stop, that you need a break but even though you are starting to feel over stimulated, the way he's looking up at you as his mouth does sinful things to you, as he teases your swollen clit with his fingers and his mouth more and more stops you. His free hand moves to lock fingers with the one of your hands that isn't winding through his hair, yanking and earning growls the more you speak. The intimacy of it all has you nearly sobbing tears of joy this time, not the tears of sadness you had been experiencing. You feel yourself cumming in a way that's unfamiliar as you stutter out the words "my tongue will sing of your righteousness" and Elvis has to pull away, a chuckle escaping him as you see his whole face might as well be covered in your release. It takes him a moment to recover but you swear you hear him talking about squirting when he kisses his way up your thigh and back to his task at hand. When you finally finish the psalm the second time your body is shaking and his tongue and fingers and everything are so overwhelming that when you attempt to start the psalm for a third time you say the first words five times.

"Daddy please, let me cum. Please, I've been good." The words are whimpers when they leave your mouth as you try and grind and get to that edge.

"I know, Belle, been so good, taste even better." He mutters against your clit.

That does it, that has your hand clenching his and your other pulling his hair as you grind on his face, practically smothering him as you cum. The sheer intensity of it has you thumping backward on the desk, trying to catch your breath as your legs shake and you hear him speaking against your thigh. You catch bits of the word holy and jezebel and God and you feel a warmth settle in your body that you can't quite explain. You use your hand to pull him away enough that you can understand him before you ask.

"Are- Are you talking to God- thanking God for me?" The concept boggles your mind but it's so touching at the same time that your heart threatens to burst at the idea.

"Think 've been thankin' God for ya since I first saw ya, but 'specially since I saw ya in my class. My holy- My sweet holy Belle." He winces at the crack his knees make when he gets up and leans both on the cane on the desk when he finally stands up. "None of 'em deserved ya 'n I'm not too sure I do but- 'll try to deserve ya."

Your hands move to cup his face, marveling in how he nuzzles up against your palm before you smile, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Trust me, Elvis, I think you're the only one who ever has." You nuzzle at his nose before pulling away. "How about you let this pretty little sinner, this harlot, this Jezebel take care of you. I don't have a class and-"

Elvis cuts you off with another kiss before he nods. "Only if Big Daddy-" He looks at you, reminding you that yes, your nickname you have for him snuck out. "Gets to take care of his pretty lil sinner, his Belle, and help her wash away all those sins."

The light in the smile you give him could power the whole of the campus for months if you could bottle it up. You slide off the desk a little less gracefully than you mean to before nodding. "Lead the way, Elvis." A pause. "I love you."

"Ain't I the luckiest man for it too." He adjusts himself in his pants, hoping you don't notice that there's a bit of a wet spot on them where his cock should be. "Love ya too. Come on now, never did get to show ya Graceland's shower in my room."

taglist: @elvisgirl35, @butlersluvbott, @lokis-right-femur, @godlypresley, @steph-speaks, @lindszeppelin, @eliseinmemphiss, @thatbanditqueen, @venus-haze, @lrd98, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @notstefaniepresley, @holyastronauts, @vintageshanny, @powerofelvis and @ellie-24 and i think that's it? i don't know and apologies if you got tagged twice, i trusted a copy/paste.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley angst #austin butler elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction #austin butler elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis smut #austin butler elvis smut #big daddy elvis #ally writes #elvis x you #austin elvis x you #austin elvis x y/n

[silverthehedgehoganalysis]

List of Silver The Hedgehog controversies

His quills have a Japanese maple leaf pattern but to westerners it just looked like a pot leaf, hence the derogatory nickname "Pothead The Porcupine"

Pete Capella gave him a high pitched whiny voice which further destroyed the ability to take the character seriously and just made him annoying to many

Debuting in Sonic 06 and at the height of the internet hate machine

Him being introduced by antagonizing the main cast while doing nothing to endear himself to the audience until later(Which was done in 06, Rivals and Archie) 

Him getting tricked by Mephiles(which isn’t supposed to be dumb in universe but seems REALLY dumb on a surface level)

Trying to repeat Shadow by having the new STH hedgehog be a mysterious assailant partnered with a previously established female character and out to get Sonic(It’s like if Trunks had the same introduction as Vegeta) having the opposite intended effect

Sega cannibalizing Blaze’s character to promote his. Reducing Blaze to a satellite character for him in 06, retconning her nemesis to actually be his nemesis and constantly shackling them together

Being a slow character in a Sonic game and staying at that snail speed because the devs could not get his speed upgrade to work

The Infamous “IT’S NO USE” boss fight (which can be beaten easily if you know the pattern and don’t throw yourself at him like an idiot but most don’t know that especially back in 06)

The infamous ball puzzle

Remaining undeveloped and unexplained as a character in game because Sega is still saving everything with him for his own game. Leaving people to question how and why he even still exists

The leaked script literally calling him Trunks causing his character to be dismissed as a pure Trunks clone

Being a time travel based character in a series with wonky and unclear time travel mechanics

Never accomplishing anything or even getting to do anything cool in game (which was a big part of how his inspirations Shadow and Trunks took off)

His character being very esoterically Japanese and hard to grasp for westerners (hence why many still say he has no personality)

Probably more reasons I'm forgetting

#silver the hedgehog #blaze the cat #shadow the hedgehog #sonic 06 #we love him but this is why he was hated back in the day #sonic the hedgehog

[selfawarejester]

Ok hear me out: Spartans with a reader who has nicknames for them that, to outsiders looking in, seem like insults.

Examples: Four-Eyes for Linda, Robocop for Kat, or Tin Man for John.

Oh, love this so much — nicknames are already so cute and intimate, but add insulting nicknames 🥰🥰

lmao, all kidding aside, the Spartans would probably really appreciate the nicknames you give them, especially if they’re kinda rude, because it means you trust and know them well enough to be like “yeah, this shouldn’t upset them” and that makes them feel so seen. Also, these are people who grew up with a ton of other children in a military setting, so anything you’re calling them, they’ve been called worse before they even ate breakfast most days.

It’s a travesty I haven’t written for Kat yet, so thank you @aiitheoutsinfree; hope you enjoy this! If y’all want me to do a part 2 with other Spartans, please REQUEST!

Love your feedback, and also thinking of starting a Halo taglist — would anyone be interested?

John isn’t expecting it when you call him Tin Man — it’s usually something offensive or derogatory, tossed at his face by angry or anxious colleagues or enemies. But the way you say it, with adoration dripping from your tone as you stare at him with hearts in your eyes (and who wouldn’t???), just makes him hide a smile, same as he does when Kelly, Fred or Linda try to rile him up with habits from their shared and cherished childhood.

He doesn’t really care if other people hear you say it: he trusts you to know when the situation is stable or intimate enough for you to use such a nickname. If you do end up using it in a situation where it might undermine his authority (if it’s even possible), he’ll let it slide and will later take you aside, explaining why he doesn’t want you to do that again and asks you not to. He doesn’t really care if it’s bunch of marines because your banter actually humanizes him, and people are a little more at ease with him.

They’re still way too scared to use it though.

Linda actually laughs when you call her Four-Eyes. She’s well aware of the… oddness of her helmet’s design — Kelly has made it vividly and loudly clear, and Fred’s flabbergasted stare when she first donned it was more than she could ask for. But since she’s Linda and it helps her, the Sniper Goddess, no one questions her and she doesn’t care even if they would. And yet, the fact that you would look at arguably the scariest Spartan (John concurs wholeheartedly, unaware of how anyone could confuse him for her birthright and miraculous power in the post), and call her something a child would… it warms her heart.

You can call her this whenever, she will literally not care at all. Other people freak out and like try to chastise you, but they get glared at until they go away like that scene in The Office where Jim yells at Toby, and he’s just like “what did I do??”

Mere mortals will never understand 😼 She will also gently tease you back, nothing too bad or obvious.

Okay, so Kat might be the only one who pushes back at the nickname. As one of the last surviving members of Beta Company, she goes on the defensive easily — this isn’t because she doesn’t trust you, but her initial instinct is always that people are against her. However, she will realise that you’re not trying to belittle or insult her, and will warm up to it. That being said, she will give way better than she gets, so be prepared for that!

She will care if you say it in front of other people, specifically she will glare at everyone who heard it till they scramble away, certain that they’ll never use it or acknowledge it for the rest of their living days. If it’s NOBLE team, she’ll just make fun of you, and if Emile tries to mock her for it, y’all team up against him — but he’s ready. Are you?

Mans carved a skull into his helmet like he was designed by a 12 year old and has the ✨ audacity ✨ to front smh

#halo #master chief x reader #john 117 x reader #linda 058 x reader #kat b320 x reader #halo x reader #halo headcanons #These are for the games and books!! Not TV canon!! #john 117 #master chief #linda 058 #kat b320 #gabiwrites

[wrenniebaby]

witchy woman | eddie munson

fleetwood mac! / witch! fem! reader x eddie munson

summary : the five interaction eddie had with the local light witch, they are both outcasts in similar, yet much different ways

warnings : drug use (weed + mushrooms), cursing, divination mentions and use

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ note from oph : this is a repost off my old account, but it is one of my favorites.

-

the first time eddie had met the light witch, she was barefoot in the woods where he usually sold. she wore a flowy cream colored skirt and a small cropped top, looking like the epitome of the 60s. he was awestruck, she sat atop of the picnic table, a deck of tarot cards spread in front of her. her eyes were peacefully shut as she hovered her hands to pick the next card.

a branch beneath his foot breaking altered her of his presence, he blushed lightly throwing an embarrassed smile her way. “eddieboy!” she greeted, a large smile beaming at him. she always had called him that, neither were sure of why. it always made him feel nice, finally a nickname that wasn't derogatory.

he sat on one of the benches, watching as she did her ritualistic practices. totally enamoured in the complete way she carried herself. a flower crown laid upon her head, slightly crooked from the way she tilted when she got confused.

“whatcha doin?” he asked as he looked at the collection of rocks nearby. “tarot! I could give you a reading if you'd like?” anything to spend more time with you, he thought but just nodded, afraid to say anything revealing. she spread the cards in front of him. “pick as many cards as you want.” she instructed. he just picked up a random card, one that called him to it. he didn't believe in all this witchy stuff but he trusted and believed in her. the ace of cups stared back at the two of them, “means new relationships, emotions and love. seems like you have love coming your way.” she smiled at him, he took note of the meaning, but thinking too good to be true.

-

the second time that the two interacted was when she showed up to his trailer, her bike leaning against his van. a soft knock rasped at his door. he opened it to see her distractedly looking at the stars, he cleared his throat to get her attention. without looking away from the night sky, she commented “big dipper is bigger than normal. hm.” she then turned to him, enveloping him into a hug. the sweet action taking him by surprise, he hugged back instantly, not knowing when this would happen again. “you looked like you need a hug, also i got a surprise for you.” curiosity piqued his interest at the statement. she was always the type to physically affectionate, even with people she didn't necessarily know that well. worry spiked eddie's emotions, if anyone ever took advantage of her…

he thought to himself, before stepping aside to let the girl into his messy trailer, he'd feel ashamed of the mess but he knew she didn't mind one bit. they'd gone to school together as long as the two could remember, her always one grade below him. she lived farther back in the trailer park, so they had seen each other on occasion. she sat cross-legged in front of the couch, pulling out a bag from her bra. “mushrooms!” she excitedly spoke, pouring some of the dried edible into his hand. “i know you like to get high, so I thought I'd share. you don't mind, do you?” worry clouded her features as he sat down next to her on the floor. “not at all, sunshine.” sunshine, what was supposed to be a negative nickname about her optimistic behavior, was something she would never take as an insult. she loved the idea of being the epitome of sunshine, of warmth, able to provide a little light to the darkest days. it was something eddie loved about her, did he love her? he thought to himself, well, how could anyone not? she was sweet, beautiful and the most caring individual anyone had ever met. the way her eyes glistened in the sun, those (y/e/c) orbs making him feel truly seen.

he couldn't think about it much longer or he'd be confessing every emotion he held for the spiritual soul. the two took the mushroom, watching some old cartoon on the television and giggling to each other.

she leaned her head on his shoulder as time passes.it was late when she showed up, the late morning arriving faster than either noticed. they feel asleep on the couch, limbs tangled together, it wasn't supposed to happen, but happy accidents can be celebrated too. when eddie woke, as he never was good at staying asleep. her hair spread all over his chest, soft snores coming from her lips all he could do was admire her. a little bit of drool seeped into the cotton of his shirt, I could get used to this.

-

pain tugged at his heart strings as he watched her from across the cafeteria, she was laughing at something one of her friends said. i want her to laugh at my jokes. jealous pulled at him, and distracted him for the campaign talk, his party was talking about. he watched as she gave some crystals to some friends, buttercup flowers tucked into the bun sported by her. he thought what it would be like to help her brush and braid her hair. what is wrong with me? why am I so hung up on this girl? he felt like if the pair didn't start dating soon, he might implode.

and that's how he ended back in the girl's usual spot of the forest, he found her sat in the center of fairy circle, humming ‘leather and lace’ by stevie nicks. he thought it fit the two of you perfectly, your soft voice singly lightly, “give to me your leather, and take from me, my lace.”

once again, a branch breaking under his boots alerted the fairy-tale like princess in front of him, turning quickly she saw the boy of your dreams. “hey sunshine, I got a question to ask you?” he said it as a question, nerves obviously getting the best of him. she gave him her undivided attention, “yes, eds?” it wasn't often that people used that version of his name, it left him feeling like he was in a movie, something that he couldn't find the words to describe.

“can I be your boyfriend?” the question blurted out before he could find a better way to word it. a soft smile lit up sunshine's features, as if he'd just told her he got tickets to fleetwood mac. i have to take her to one of their concerts, he mentally noted. he needed to see her completely in her element. “i’d love that, to be honest, I've been crushing on you awhile, but anxieties can get the best of anyone.” she giggled lightly at the end, and he swore that's what heaven sounded like. his heaven. his girlfriend. never in a million years, did he think he'd find the love of his life at hawkins high. especially not one so nice.

-

their first kiss gave eddie the same emotions as when he listened to black sabbath for the first time. something about it was so sweet, and full of love, and he swore he'd never be able to find a love like this again. this was a once in a lifetime spark and eddie would do anything under the sun to keep her. he was the moon to her sun, the leather to her lace.

they sat in eddie's van, on their way to lovers lake. sunshine vowed that it had the best view of the stars, she wants to point out all the constellations, all she wanted was to share everything with him. that's what relationships were all about, finding that person that you could spill your darkest secrets to.

they sat upon the big rock, their backs slightly aching from the points digging into their soft flesh. she stared at the sky, and he stared at her. the way she got absolutely ecstatic when there was another constellation that she recognized, telling eddie every fact and fable she knew about the balls of light.

she had finally stopped rambling, turning to look at the man next to her. she could see stars in his eyes, everything about their dynamic was picture perfect to her. “you’re so pretty.” she commented to him, dragging a couple fingers through his tangled locks. “babe, I'm absolutely positive you're the pretty one in our relationship.” he pushed forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, which she easily reciprocated. their lips fitting together like molds made for one another. she sighed dreamily into the kiss, barely believing that this was her reality, and not just another daydream she had come up with.

-

the two laid on eddie's bed, softly singing to the mixtape eddie had made with a combination of both of their tastes. dreams played lowly in the background, while eddie told her about all of his dreams, how he wanted to someday be one of the most popular rock musicians ever. she talked about how she wants to do art for the rest of her life, hundreds of portraits of eddie living in her sketchbook.

her nails raked softly against his scalp, soft approving hums coming from his throat, his eyes closed. he finally felt safe. he never thought this would be a feeling, he'd get the pleasure of experiencing. with her right by his side, he knew no matter what happened it would all be okay. his guardian angel here to give him the optimism, he often forgot. she admiringly stared at the boy on her chest. the way soft breathes left his mouth, how his thumb softly grazed circles on her, how he was always so gentle with her. as he couldn't believe she was his, she couldn't believe he was hers. her protector.

“i love you, eds.” she poke so calmly, as if it wasn't the first time either of them had said the big word. she was ever eager to display her emotions, they basically were painted on her face. or maybe he could just read her like a book. he looked at her in shock, he had deemed himself unlovable a long time ago. hell, his parents weren't even around, the only person to ever be there for him was his uncle. so they fact that an angel I'm human skin would love him so unabashedly amazed him. “i love you, sunshine.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem! reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #wrennie.fic #eddie munson x witch!reader

[thousand-winters]

Coven head nicknames for hunter

I'm assuming this is in the normal canonical universe, so I'm going to go with that.

Easy one is obviously Darius and the "little prince" nickname that started very much in a derogatory manner, but which I very much believe ended up becoming one of the affectionate petnames Darius has for him. I know this in my soul. Assuming this is in EC times, I think that would be the only nickname he would really have for Hunter before their relationship became better, and then in private I think he would make a point of getting to know Hunter and as such, calling him by his name as well.

With Eberwolf I'm forever fond of them calling Hunter "cub" or "pup", though at times of the castle he either wouldn't acknowledge Hunter much or call him simply the Golden Guard. "Darius' cub" specifically once the sewing lessons are happening and if they know about it. I like to think there might also be some specific demon term of endearment that they might take to calling Hunter once they bond more with him specifically, but I'm going to have to wait for an strike of inspiration for that one.

Raine I think mostly would call Hunter... Hunter, at the castle, yes, but also most of the time after everything has happened and they got more of a chance of talking normally. Though since it's Raine, and they're very much the kind of person who probably went along with calling Eda "lord Calamity" back at Hexside, not to mention a theater kid, I feel like at some point either Hunter is going to come up with a dramatic and embarrassing nickname for himself that Raine will NOT let him live down, or Raine themself is going to come up with something extra that Hunter thinks it's silly but also fun enough to let it pass. Raine just has that mischievous energy.

Terra would definitely play with the "technically I'm not doing anything wrong but I'm going to make you feel very unsettled regardless with the creepiness" line. I made her call Hunter "little blossom" on a fic, so I'll stick with that one because I feel like "sprout" was a Raine exclusive since she's creepy like that. She strikes me as the type to also call Hunter "dear" or any terms of endearment, really, but in that way of hers that would make Hunter go "oh, that's not affection not anything I want something to do with."

Adrian is definitely pulling things like "brat" and other things that aren't exactly nicknames but judgments of character, very much like the "runaway" but in the form of making fun of him for presumably being bad at his missions or at training. Since it's Adrian, he probably would resort to calling him things like "amateur" and such, since he seems to be so focused on his little films and all and I feel like he's the kind of person to make everything about that.

I feel like Vitimir doesn't talk much in general unless he thinks it's really necessary or wants to, which he generally doesn't, so I think his way of being insulting would be not acknowledging Hunter at all, which would incluse of course not speaking to him even to mock him, but in his head he probably would be agreeing with the "brat" assessment. No nicknames there in truth because he has more important things to do like little messed up experiments with his potions and poisons.

Osran could either not care at all or go the passive aggressive route of simply pretending he isn't aware of Hunter's status because he has been in the EC for so long, you see, and he was used to a far more competent Golden Guard, so this child? What is he even doing, why does he think he gets to be in charge of people who know better than him. I don't think he would come up with any nicknames either, mostly he wouldn't call him by his name or by Golden Guard either, he's just like "boy" and "kid" if he has to, but not in a particularly gentle way. Hunter was probably a bit touchy at the idea of being considered a kid, and being treated that way condescendingly at the coven by people like Osran would definitely contribute to that.

I still like thinking Hettie would be particularly pissed off mostly because of her wounded pride here. I think she also wouldn't dignify Hunter by acknowledging how much he annoys her and wouldn't come up with mocking nicknames, but she would come up with the most mocking way one can possibly say "Golden Guard" with. At times not mocking as much as threatening. Everyone is well aware they have to steer clear from Hettie, especially if she doesn't like you, so that would be more than enough, particularly since Hunter could tell she's not calling him that out of respect.

Mason as always strikes me as a little bit clueless, and if we follow the idea that he has children, I think he would be a bit put off at first like "oh, well, that's a teenager" and kinda consider asking for his name before realizing that's not how the dynamic goes here and going "well, that's the Golden Guard, I guess" and then not thinking any further abour it.

There was a desperate lack of actual nicknames in this list. That is because, you see, I love nicknames and petnames, yet I took like two years to find one for my closest friend. The situation is dire over here.

#hunter deamonne #darius deamonne #eberwolf the huntsman #raine whispers #terra snapdragon #adrian graye #toh vitimir #toh osran #hettie cutburn #toh mason #the owl house #toh #once again apologies for this very late answer. i've been drowning in ocupations lately

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 1-Dynamite

Summary: Growing up in Chicago, you haven’t seen much outside the city limits, except maybe Wisconsin or Indiana. After the Pearl Harbor attacks, WWII was announced across the country. Not long after you find yourself with your brothers resisting temptations after you stumble upon two military recruiters encouraging you to join the Army or Marines to make a difference. 

A/N: Mature audience, BillHoosierSmithx!FemMedic, WW2, OCIntroduction/Kate Danaher, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO The Pacific References, Mentions of Weaponry, Smoking.

Story takes begins Episode 1/Chapters 1-4 Guadalcanal/Leckie

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real Marines the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~ 

December 7th, 1941 

Chicago, IL 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am speaking to you tonight at a very serious moment in our history. The Cabinet is convening and the leaders in Congress are meeting with the President-”  

Kate listens intensely to the radio one evening with her family in the parlor. 

“-In fact, the Japanese ambassador was talking to the president at the very time that Japan's airships were bombing our citizens in Hawaii and the Philippines and sinking one of our transports loaded with lumber on its way to Hawaii.” 

Kate's mother obviously in shock sitting next to her father on the loveseat, reached for his hand as her other hand slowly rests over her mouth. 

“In the meantime, we the people are already prepared for action....Preparation to meet an enemy no matter where he struck. That is all over now and there is no more uncertainty. We know what we have to face and we know that we are ready to face it.” 

When the announcement ended and the regular scheduled program continued, her father walked over to the radio and turned the volume dial down. Kate, her two brothers and mother waited for him to speak. 

“Well, all we can do is wait.” he said with finality.  

The following day, newspapers all over the U.S. had “WAR DECLARED!!” across every headline. 

So, this was it. World War II has begun. 

~~~~~~~ 

Kate and her two older brothers, Peter and Tommy, walk through Sears, Roebuck & Co retail store trying to find Christmas gift ideas for their mother. 

“I heard they’re sending guys all over! Britian, Australia, Philippine's, Italy, Germany-” Tommy said excitedly. 

“Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.” Peter confirmed. 

Her brothers walking ahead gossiped about war details between them, not bothering to even look around for a gift.  

Kate huffed irritably, “Why did you guys even come with me if you’re not going to help me find something for mom?”  

They looked back and chuckled, “Ah come on, Ace, ma will love anything we get her.” Pete dissolved with a wave of his hand. 

Kate rolled her eyes then continued to search for something worthwhile. 

As her eyes scan the decorated windows of each shop, two uniformed men were standing in a storefront entrance each next to a military recruiting poster. One bearing “I WANT YOU FOR THE US ARMY” and another “WANT ACTION? JOIN THE U.S. MARINE CORPS!” 

“Hey, get a load of this!” Pete nudged Tommy when he saw the two posters. 

The uniformed men saw that your brothers’ interests were peaked. 

“What do you think, gents, wanna do your part for your country?” The Marine asked. 

Pete and Tommy shot eager glances at each other while walking closer to the two men. 

“Your country needs you, boys, we’re always looking for good, strong men.” The soldier added. 

“See the world and get paid for it!”  

“-an extra $50 if you join the 101st Airborne!”  

Kate's brothers’ eyes lit up, so she decided to intervene. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I think these two-” she began. 

Each recruiter redirected their attention to her as she approached. 

“Ma’am, we’re looking for abled women as well.” the soldier interrupted. 

All of Kate's thoughts dissipated at this statement, stopping her dead in her tracks. 

“Ever thought about becoming a nurse?” the Marine asked. 

“That’s actually what she’s always wanted to do!” Tommy verified for you.  

“Shut up, Tommy!” she snapped. 

“Well then-” the soldier began, “-sounds to me we have three new U.S. Army recruits!” 

“More like three Marine Corps recruits.” the Marine countered with a sly grin. 

~~~~~~~ 

Kate convinced her brothers to revisit the idea later when more was known about where the war was heading. It’s only been a week since the start of the war was announced, and they were already jumping into the snake pit feet first without looking.  

But she had internally thought about it herself. Was it really such a hasty idea? The military would pay for all her training to become a nurse. And it’s not like she’d be on the front lines, right? So, she’d be safe. 

Kate wasn’t sure who she would be trying to sell the idea to more: herself or her parents. They’d be more against the idea of her joining than Pete and Tommy. The more she considered it, the more she was inclined to join. But which branch?  

Tommy and Pete were already dead set on becoming paratroopers for the Army. The idea of $50 more per check was more than enough to motivate them. 

Kate discussed your idea with her best friend, Blanche. 

“I mean, financially it makes sense.” Blanche agreed. 

“They’d pay for me to become a nurse AND pay me while I go. Other than being away from my family, I can’t see why I shouldn’t do it.” Kate reasoned. 

“Well, you would be without your best friend.” Blanche eluded. 

Kate laughed, “That’s right.” she agreed with a slight look of disappointment. 

“You know what, I’ll do it with you!”  

A look of surprise appeared across Kate's face. 

“Do what?” she queried. 

��I’ll join with you and we’ll both become nurses in the military.”  

She studied her best friend, “Really? You'd join because I’m going to?”  

“Of course! We made a pact, remember?” Blanche reminded. 

They each had promised eachother as children they’d always stick together and be best friends forever. 

Kate smiled, “Ok! But let’s wait til after the holidays to go see a recruiter. I don’t want to ruin my parents’ Christmas and New Years.” 

“Good call.” Blanche concurred.  

~~~~~~~ 

The holidays came and went, and before Kate knew it, her, her brothers, and Blanche had enlisted as service members of the U.S. military. Tommy and Pete signed up as paratroopers for the Army, while Kate and Blanche decided on the U.S. Marine Corps. Needless to say, this news didn’t go over well with any of the parents. Especially for Kate and Blanche being women. 

Kate and her brothers sat at the kitchen table across from their mother, Elaine, who was weeping, while their father, Mortimer, paced behind her. 

“So,” Mortimer began, “-all three of you signed your lives away.”  

They all remained silent with only the muffled bawls of their mother filling the room. 

“You see what you’re doing to your mother!?” their father scolded, gesturing towards his wife. 

“Pops, we just-” Pete began. 

“Do you understand what you just did? The government owns you now. You’re just a number to them. They don’t care if you live or die over there. Who know what will happen to you!” their dad continued as he ran his hand through his disheveled hair. 

Tommy, Pete, and Kate looked towards the floor with the weight of guilt weighing upon their backs. 

Their mother finally straightened up and composed herself. 

“Mortimer, what’s done is done. Shaming the children won’t do any good. Only thing we can do is support them now.” she defended. 

Their children exchanged confused glances. Their father turned to her with a look of shock painted across his face. 

“Elaine?” he questioned. 

“Mortimer, they’re grown enough to make their own decisions. The least we can do is be there for them every step of the way.” she responded. 

Their mother looked each of them over with a weak yet genuine smile.  

“You will all be outstanding. I am proud of you all.” she added. 

~~~~~~~ 

August 7th, 1942 

After Kate and Blanche completed basic training, they surprisingly found themselves aboard a battle cruiser heading for Guadalcanal with well over 1,000 some male Marines. The Corps decided to assign two medics to each platoon, regardless of gender. When they ran out of men to assign, they resorted to placing females.

Kate was just thankful to be paired with Blanche, so she wasn't alone with all these unfamiliar faces. She wasn't one to enjoy too much attention in big crowds. Blanche, however, relished the spotlight. Especially when most of the attention were from men. 

“Just look at them! So many handsome ones.” Blanche whispered as she nudged Kate. 

“Mmhm.” Kate hummed unamused, looking around the mess hall below the main deck of the ship. 

The kitchen prepared a special meal for the Marines today, so the men were buzzing, quite eager to eat something tasty for once. Kate and Blanche (being the only women within hundreds of miles) were usually allowed to get their meals beforehand to avoid unnecessary interactions with the males. Usually, they were able to finish their meals and leave before the guys would get there, but today seats filled up rather quickly upon hearing about the exclusive meal that was prepared. 

The only encounters they usually had with the men were when they visited the aid station in one's and two's within the ship to receive medical attention as needed. So, to see them all at once in the chow hall was very overwhelming...specifically for Kate since most of them watched her and Blanche’s every move. 

They were pushing through the crowd, trying to get back to their sleeping quarters when a Marine accidentally bumped into Kate with his arms cradling a bunch of oranges, causing him to drop a few. 

“Oh! I’m sorry ma’am!” the boyish blonde Marine offered. 

Kate crouched down and picked up the two oranges that fell to the ground. 

“It’s ok, Private, no harm done.” she assured trying to place the two oranges strategically back on the pile in his arms. 

“Oh no, please take them. A gift for two pretty ladies.” he added winking at Blanche. 

“Why thank you, Private..?” Blanche began waiting for him to introduce himself. 

“-Phillips. But call me Sid.” he insisted. 

Blanche and Sid shared a brief moment of staring until it became too painful for Kate. 

“Thank you again, Private Phillips. Try not to drop anymore, it would be a shame to waste those.” Kate said as she pulled Blanche in the opposite direction. 

“See you around, Sid!” Blanche called out as she waved at him. 

Sid made it to his table with the rest of the fruit unscathed. 

“Dessert!” he announced to the guys seated as he distributed the oranges onto the table in front of them, “Make sure you save one of those for me!” he added. 

“I just wanna get off this goddam rust bucket, I can’t hear myself think!” PFC Wilbur Runner complained. 

“Yeah, at least they give you a good meal before your send-off" PFC Lew Chuckler justified. 

“Yeah, like the electric chair.” PFC Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith interjected sarcastically before continuing, “But you, Runner,” placing a hand on the seated man’s shoulder, “-you have won a trip to a tropical paradise called Guadal-Kenel...Guada...ken...I still can’t pronounce it.” He dismissed with a laugh. 

The table laughed collectively. 

“Hey Sid, who was that doll you were chattin’ up?” Chuckler asked. 

“Her name is Blanche.” Sid replied. 

“Weren’t there two of ‘em?” Runner questioned. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t get the other one’s name. She was a looker, too. She didn’t seem interested, though.” Sid proclaimed. 

“Maybe you ain’t her type, Phillips.” Hoosier teased. 

“Oh yeah, and you think you are?” Sid shot back with a snicker. 

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Hoosier returned with a confident smile. 

“Not if I get to her first!” Chuckler chimed in. 

“Ok, you’re on.” Hoosier said shaking Chuckler’s hand officiating the bet. 

~~~~~~~ 

You sit on your bunk trying to concentrate on reading your anatomy and physiology research journal while Blanche drummed on and on about Sid Phillips. 

“Blanche, please. That was an hour ago.” Kate resounded. 

Blanche rolled her eyes at her, “You’re such a book bug!”  

“Excuse me?” Kate chuckled back at her. 

“We’re surrounded by strapping handsome Marines and you got your nose stuck in that book.” Blanche teased as she snatched Kate's book from her hands. 

“Blanche! Be careful with that! It’s old-”  

“Please, quit being sucha crumb. You’re always reading or studying.” 

“Well, my brothers don’t call me ‘Ace’ for nothin’.” Kate explained. 

“Just live a little, ok!? Look beyond the hard covers and enjoy the boys.” Blanche insisted. 

“I’d say you’re a little slack happy, Blanche. I’m here to make sure these boys make it through the war alive. Not to find a boyfriend.” Kate clarified. 

Blanche laughed, “Well, some things are out of your control. Because let me tell you something, you may not have been noticing all the hot bodies on this ship, but they absolutely been noticing you.”  

Kate flashed her a bored and surly glance then snapped the book back from Blanche's hands. 

“I’m not the least bit interested.” Kate finalized, flipping back to the page she was previously on. 

“Not yet,” Blanche purred, “but you will.”  

Kate ignored her comment and continue reading. 

~~~~~~~ 

“Wrap it up now! Get your gear! Everybody topside for the pre-landing briefing! Let’s move!”  

Kate heard the officers calling out in the slim hallways of the ship. 

Kate and Blanche began collecting their medical supplies and duffels. 

“Don’t forget your brassard.” Kate reminded her best friend as she pinned her own white armband donning the red cross to her left arm of her own uniform. 

Soon, they stood on the deck with the rest of the Marines as an officer projected his voice as far as he can to brief everyone. 

“Forget all the horseshit you’ve heard about the Japs. They had their turn, now it’s our turn!”  

Kate and Blanche side eye each other with wide eyes. 

He proceeded, “They may have started this war, but I promise you, we will finish it!” 

“YES SIR.” The men responded outloud in unison. 

“Hit the beach. Keep moving to your rendevous and primary objectives. When you see the enemy, kill ‘em all!” he ended. 

“YEAH!” the men collectively roared together. 

“Go! Let’s go get ‘em!” 

All the men started to stir, each either tightening their helmet straps or adjusting their web belts. 

Kate looked to Blanche to ask her if she has everything but discovered she had wandered off somewhere leaving her alone. Kate tried to look over the swarm of Marines then saw her talking to Sid. Kate shook your head and started to push through the crowd to get to her. 

It was like swimming against a current walking through the sea of men. 

“Excuse me.” Kate called out to no avail.  

She suddenly felt a shoulder deliberately check her, knocking the strap of her duffel off her own shoulder. 

“Hey, asshole, watch it!” Kate snapped. 

A rather tall and broad Marine turned around staring her down. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he dared. 

“I said watch it.” She repeated emphasizing the last two words without flinching. 

He started to approach her as a devilish grin started to stretch across his face. 

“I like ‘em feisty.” he whispered inches from Kate's face. 

She stood her ground, not giving him the satisfaction he can intimidate her. 

“You’re not getting anyone with that breath.” she replied with a grimace. 

The large man fisted the front of her uniform practically lifting her off the ground. 

“Hey, Bennetti! That’s enough!” a voice barked out from the crowd. 

He doesn’t let Kate go but does allow her feet to touch the ground again. She looked to the side and saw another Marine pushing past the others with a few members of his squad close behind him. 

“What’s it to you, Hoosier?” Bennetti retaliated. 

“Well, that there is our medic, so get your meat hooks off her. Do you not know how to treat a lady?” Hoosier asked smoothly.

“I can think of a few ways to treat her.” Bennetti stated winking at Kate. She strained to get out of his grip as anger started to boil over from within her. 

“Let her go. Now.” Hoosier warned as Chuckler, Runner, Sid, and Private Bob Leckie line up ready to square off in case Bennetti decided not to comply. 

Bennetti sized up his competition, then let her blouse top go with a bit of a shove, slightly projecting her into opposite direction. With her chest heaving, Kate spat at Bennetti’s boots, then turned on her heel to walk away. 

Hoosier and the rest of the boys “oooo-ed” then laughed impressed by her gumption.

“She is feisty, isn’t she?” Leckie acknowledged. 

“Yeah, like a firecracker.” Chuckler added. 

“More like a stick of dynamite...I think I’m in love.” Hoosier confessed while his eyes were glued on Kate disappearing into the mass of men. 

~~~~~~~ 

Kate and Blanche boarded a Higgins boat with H Company. Almost forty people were packed like sardines in the floating metal box, not allowing for much personal space. Blanche conveniently sat herself next to Sid for the ride to the island, once again leaving you to fend for yourself. Fortunately, Kate found herself in better company next to the Marine that defended her earlier from the brute, Bennetti. 

She side-eyed him awkwardly, knowing she hadn’t properly thanked him for helping her yet. Hoosier sensed her apprehension to speak first so he took initiative. 

“You alright?” Hoosier asked. 

Kate's breath caught in her throat before she spoke, “Oh, uh, yes. I’m fine.”  

He smiled, “That’s good.”  

She looked down at her boots, swallowing hard before she spoke again, “Thank you. You know, from before.” she muttered. 

Hoosier’s smile increased, “Don’t mention it.” he replied admiring her shyness. 

Another moment of silence passed. 

“I’m Bill Smith. But my friends call me Hoosier.” he said extending his right hand. 

Kate coyly smiled at him then grab his hand to shake, “Mary Kate Danaher. Call me Kate.”  

Hoosier raised his eyebrows, “Irish?”  

“How did you know?” she asked mockingly. 

He chuckled, “Just a hunch, I guess.”  

They remained quiet for the rest of the journey to shore while explosions tore through the air, as hundreds of C47’s soared over them in flocks. The water was choppy and rough, causing a lot of the men seasickness and lose the meals they had just eaten. Kate wished she could help them, but they could only just push through until they all reached land. 

She began to hear indistinct shouting. 

“Standby!” The driver shouted. 

“Hoof it up to the beach! Spread out! GO! GO! GO!”  

The hatch of the boat drops and Marines hit the beach running forward each yelling profanities as they find themselves knee deep in water trudging to get through the sandbar. Many suddenly slow down to take in the scene before them.  

“What took you so long?” a random Marine called from the beach, leaning against a palm tree relaxing in front of what can only be described as a campfire. 

“Welcome to Guadalcanal.” another added sarcastically seeing the confused looks on the new arrival’s faces. 

Leckie, Chuckler, Hoosier, Sid, and Runner collectively laugh, amused by the laid-back atmosphere that they weren’t expecting to experience. 

~~~~~~~ 

Kate sat close to where H Company settled on the beach. Blanche checked in with her before rejoining Sid on a makeshift bench made from beached driftwood. Kate decided to make use of this time by reorganizing her medical supplies. 

Kate was startled when she heard Chuckler repeatedly beating a coconut against a stone. She laughed to herself imagining him as a caveman. As he successfully breaks through the shell of the coconut, he becomes disgruntled to find there’s another solid layer.  

He shows Leckie, “Hey, now what do I do?” he asked. 

“I think the islanders us a machete or a rock.” Leckie responded with a smile. 

“Try using your head, Chuckler, it’s big and rocklike.” Runner added. 

Chuckler grabbed his machete.  

“If you do get that open, you might not want to drink too much of the juice right away.” Kate advised Chuckler. 

He looked over at her and smirked, “Oh yeah? Why's that?” he asked flirtatiously. 

“Coconut water has mild laxative effects if you consume too much at once.” she clarified. 

Chuckler tilted his head eyebrows drawn together confused. 

“You’ll get the shits if you drink too much of the stuff inside.” Leckie simplified. 

“Ah ok...” Chuckler comprehended while looking disappointedly at the fruit on his lap.

“But the coconut meat is very good for you, so you can eat that.” Kate expanded to cheer him up. 

Chuckler smiled at her, “When I get in this son of a bitch, I’ll bring you some.” he offered with a wink. 

She only smiled and return to packing her supplies. 

Leckie walked over to Kate, “Yeah, you kinda have to dumb it down for him. He’s a great guy. Great Marine, just not that bright when it comes to big words.” 

She looked at Leckie and snickered. 

“Bob Leckie.” he offered his right hand. 

“Kate Danaher.” she took his hand firmly. 

“Strong Irish name! Good to meet you. So, your assigned to H Company?”  

“I am. And I already have a good feeling about it.” she stated. 

“Yeah? How’s that?”  

“Well, you all came to my rescue when that bum had me dangling a foot from the ground. You guys didn’t even know me, and you stood up for me anyway. Speaks volumes about you guys.” she illustrated. 

“Oh, we knew you long before that happened.” Leckie confessed. 

Kate looked at him befuddled. 

“Yeah! You and your friend, um, Blanche, is it? Yeah, you two have had these guys’ heads spinning since you boarded that carrier to get here. Of course, we all had to asked around about you.” he explained with a dismissive shrug. 

Kate's eyes widened, “Weren’t there more important things to worry about?” she questioned. 

“Uh, like?” Leckie returned. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Battle plans perhaps? Maps of the beach and the rest of the areas we’re about to trek through?” she listed. 

“I don’t know about the rest of these guys, but I write more than I read. Would’ve brought my typewriter if I could.” 

“Leckie, you’re going to bore her to death.” Hoosier teased sitting on a fallen palm tree right next to Kate. 

She beamed at Bill. 

“Well, Bob Leckie, since I love to read, and you love to write, perhaps we can exchange some literature sometime. I’m always looking for new material to read.”  

Leckie looked at Hoosier with a cocky, triumphant smile. 

“Absolutely, Kate Danaher.” Leckie replied with a slight bow. 

She nodded and occupied herself with the project at hand. 

Leckie raised his eyebrows at Hoosier. 

Bill presented Leckie his middle finger then waved him away mouthing, “Get lost.”  

Leckie trotted off laughing to himself. 

“So, what do you like to read?” Hoosier started. 

“Mostly medical journals. Medicinal studies, anatomy and physiology, physician dissertations-” Kate glanced at Hoosier noticing his furrowed eyebrows, “-um, sorry, I’m what Blanche refers to as a ‘book bug.’”

She winced looking down at her medic satchel embarrassed. 

Hoosier chuckled as he scooted closer to her, “No need to be sorry. Only thing I read is the newspaper or Dick Tracy comics. Not exactly a disser-uh-dissrat-” 

“Dissertations.” Kate corrected him with a nervous giggle. 

He laughed, “Yeah, that.” He started to rub the back of his neck. 

Chuckler abruptly walked over to Kate handing her a half-gutted coconut filled with sliced coconut meat. 

“As promised, doll.”  

“Oh my, thanks Chuckler.” she praised as she accepted the coconut. 

“Anything for you. And call me Lew.” he implored with a proud grin. 

Hoosier rolled his eyes at Chuckler’s intrusion and sickening attempt to seduce her. The moment was short lived as the meek voice of Pharmacist’s Mate Third Class Lewis chimed in. 

“Hey, for what it’s worth, Col Dobson said the Japs might’ve poisoned the coconuts.” he announced nervously. 

The group looked at him perplexed. 

“They poisoned…a billion coconuts?” Runner asked him. 

Lewis shrugged his shoulders, taking a second to think about how silly that sounded until he heard a man cry out in pain behind him. 

“Excuse me!” Lewis pardoned himself from the conversation to run towards the injured man. 

The group exchanged amused glances, enjoying a good laugh together. 

Lieutenant Corrigan appeared, stomping through the camp. 

“Intelligence has it the Japs moved back into the jungle. Clean the sand out of your weapons. We move in three minutes. Let’s go find some Japs.” he bellowed. 

Hoosier stood up and walked past Kate to where his gear was.

“See you around, Bill.” she called after him. 

Hoosier met Kate's gaze with a gleam of excitement behind his own. 

“You bet you will.” he called back. 

She smiled then redirect her attention to packing up. 

Blanche came skipping over. 

“See?? I told you!” 

“Ugh! Told me what, Blanche?”  

“You got yourself a beau!” she tittered poking Kate's ribs. 

“Unlikely. I was just gettin’ to know the guys we’ll be taking care of, that’s it.” 

“I saw how you looked at him. You can’t fool me.” 

“Can we focus on getting our gear and supplies together before the LT snaps his cap?” Kate warned. 

“Sure thing, Ace.” Blanche squeaked as she walked off. 

Kate shook her head, “She’s going to kill me.” she huffed to herself. 

~~~~~~~ 

#the pacific #hbo war #bill hoosier smith #Hoosier #jacob pitts #bob leckie #chuckler juergens #sid phillips #wilbur runner conley #james badge dale #josh helman #ashton holmes #keith nobbs #ww2 #us marines

[astra-galaxie]

"I don't see why I should say guilty, your honour. After all, I was just ridding the world of these vermin!" - Thomas Smith

Biographical information

Full Name: Thomas Smith

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Status: Incarcerated

Age: 60 (season 1)

Birth: 1953

Race: Human

Nationality: American

Origin: Grimsborough

Residence: Grimsborough

Profession(s): Ice cream vendor

Past profession(s): Detective

Family: Noah Smith (son) (deceased)

Affiliation(s): Grimsborough Police Department (formerly)

Profile

Height: 5'11" Age: 60 (season 1) Weight: 200lbs Eyes: blue Blood: AB-

An ex-detective, Thomas is a tall, blond-haired man with harsh wrinkles, cold blue eyes, and a bushy mustache. He wore a white shirt and pants under a red apron and a red hat with an ice cream pin attached to it.

As per his suspect appearance in The Ways of Death, it is known that Thomas eats ice cream, has read Animal Farm, and uses hair dye.

Synopsis

Thomas Smith was the killer of his son Noah in The Ways of Death. He is an ex-detective of the GBPD and was fired by Chief King on the grounds of discrimination, assault, and abuse of authority towards coworkers and criminals. After being fired from the police force, Thomas struggled to find work and eventually opened his ice cream cart.

As a detective, Thomas was openly racist and homophobic towards his coworkers, criminals, and even victims. He thought that anyone different from him was wrong and that they were condemned to hell. Everyone knew how horrible he was, but sadly, they never had any physical evidence to terminate him. But King was always keeping an eye and ear out for anything he could use to get rid of Thomas. And one day, his vigilance paid off.

About a year after Nathan had joined the station, a frantic Ramirez came running into the Chief’s office, babbling about how Jones was attacking Thomas in the morgue. King rushed to the station's basement and found Thomas on the floor as Jones punched him in the face while Nathan sat at his desk with Grace and Alex, the former holding an ice pack to the coroner's eye. After pulling Jones off of Thomas, King demanded an explanation.

Nathan admitted that Thomas had been verbally harassing him about his ethnicity since his first day. He told the Chief he never spoke up because Thomas had convinced him that no one would believe him. Nathan believed the lies because he was new and didn't know about Thomas's history yet. But by the time he found out Thomas was a well-known racist, he thought people would be mad at him for not saying anything sooner. So he kept quiet and endured the verbal abuse until it turned physical.

After the people at the station learned about Avi's existence and later that Nathan was transgender, Thomas's hatred doubled. If there was one thing he hated more than other ethnicities, it was people who identified as a gender other than the one God made them. He was disgusted by what Nathan had done to his body and that his child was the offspring of two "fathers." So he started referring to Nathan as a woman and used derogatory nicknames for the coroner, refusing to call him Nathan since it was a "man's name and you're not a man."

And then, one day, his hatred boiled up, and he exploded. He stormed into the morgue and punched Nathan in the eye before kicking him to the ground to continue his assault. Thankfully, Jones arrived before Thomas could hurt Nathan too badly and wrestled the detective off before beginning his own assault. Nathan called Grace, Alex, and Ramirez for help, and the first two arrived to help him while the third went to get King.

King was outraged by the revelation and fired Thomas right then and there. Nathan's testimony and Jones's witness report allowed him to have Thomas blocklisted from serving as a police officer ever again. He escorted the man out of the station and ripped the badge off Thomas's chest, stating that he did not deserve to wear it. Thomas tried to sue the station for unlawful termination, but no lawyer or judge would even look at the lawsuit, let alone support it.

Thomas hated the GBPD for tossing him out like a piece of trash. He taught his son Noah to hate the police and all those who were different from them. Noah listened to his father's teaching to make him proud, but the call to love another man was too strong to ignore. Noah fell in love with Danyon and slowly began changing his ways behind his father's back and apologizing to those he hurt.

But Thomas caught Noah and his boyfriend together on the day of the culture fair. He couldn't believe that his son was a fag and confronted him. Noah didn't deny the accusations and even showed his father a photo of him and Danyon kissing. Noah declared that he would live his life how he wanted to, and nothing his father said or did would stop him.

But Noah never imagined his own father would kill him for being gay…

Thomas poisoned some of his son's favourite ice cream and left the container on his cart for Noah to find. Noah ate the deadly treat, and Thomas followed him so that he could watch his son die. By the time Noah realized something was wrong, it was too late for him to be saved, and he died near the police station while on his way to get help. With Noah now dead, Thomas dragged the corpse to the police station rooftop and waited until the crowd had gathered for the unveiling of the new mural to throw the body off the roof, ruining the joyous occasion.

During the course of the investigation, Thomas pretended to play the grieving father. But behind the scenes, he planned to poison more people to "cleanse" the world. Thankfully he was arrested before he could mass distribute his deadly ice cream, but he still managed to poison one more person: Avi Douglas.

Attempting to get revenge on Nathan and the GBPD for humiliating him, he gave Avi some ice cream while Fili was distracted in case the florist recognized him. He wanted to make them watch the little boy fade away and die, helpless to save him. He wanted them to suffer as punishment for who they were and what they did to him.

But Avi was saved after Adalet and Fili found the antidote. Thomas was furious when he found out he had failed to eliminate the little vermin and swore he would one day get his revenge. But some of his fellow prisoners didn't take too kindly to hearing that Thomas had killed his son, tried to kill a five-year-old child, and was a racist, homophobic ex-cop who had helped put them away. So they paid him a little visit when the guards weren't looking…

Thomas was in the infirmary for weeks following that visit, and while it did put fear into him, sadly, the prisons couldn't knock any sense into his thick head.

Organization(s)

GBPD (formerly)

Rank: Detective

Story Information

First appeared: The Ways of Death

Trivia

I tried to give him the most stereotypical American name I could imagine. Hence the last name Smith because if you asked me for an American surname, Smith is the first to come to mind for some reason

I would have given him the first name John, but I already had John Savage, and Thomas didn’t deserve to share a name with him!

He is EXTREMELY anti-LGBTQ+

He's the type of man who would go to a pride parade to yell insults and curses at the participants. He would also throw rocks at them

No one would hire him because of his discriminatory beliefs, so he started selling ice cream from a cart to make money

The last thing he said to Noah was, "I no longer have a son"

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames Mega Anime Avatar Creator! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad) Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad) Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad)

#criminal case #astra's ocs #my ocs #criminal case grimsborough #grimsborough

[swamplatibule]

Okay you know Me I gotta know why Austin is called The Magician lmao

but also....some info about Colin & Tobias pwease 👉👈 ?

OF COURSE MY FRIEND ABSOLUTELY

Austin is called the Magician because street magic is his whole deal. Much like Sylvie, he is 100% human and does not have any real magic shit, but given that he is a) a really good liar and b) incredibly skilled at slight of hand, he is perfectly capable of convincing people that he has funky magic powers. “Magician” is also just what Tobias called him as a sort of friendly-teasing nickname when they first met several years before all the Moonstone stuff. They have also pulled off several heists together and Austin has enthusiastically helped Tobias with a LOT of arson.

Colin… the loml he’s such a strange little creechur. The number one thing to. Remember about Colin is that he is not human. Or a person, as he’ll tell you himself. The face he uses does not belong to him, and neither does his name. He’s a shapeshifter capable of turning into anyone in the world, as well as people he just makes up - which is why he actually has six different identities! “Colin” is just what he uses the most. If you ask why he chooses to present himself as a crust punk teenage boy he will not give you a straight answer. He also does not have anything close to a “true form,” unless you count the shapeless glitching void. Fun fact about Colin: he has existed for thousands, maybe millions of years. He spent a lot of his early life hiding and watching humans, and he only started actually interacting with people in Ancient Greece. He witnessed the first Olympics in person.

TOBIAS. The fucking guy ever (derogatory) (affectionate). Serial killer. Arsonist. Thief. Self-proclaimed janitor. Obvious theatre kid. Tobias made a name (lol) for himself by committing a LOT of very violent murders under the alias of “Nameless” and wearing a smiling Venetian mask (i have a pic for reference heehee)

he very specifically targets the rich and wealthy, especially those who bring harm to people with less. He refers to himself as a “janitor,” cleaning up the messes that nobody else is willing to deal with, and is all kinds of fucked up if you hadn’t previously guessed. After having a run in with a big bad guy and getting kidnapped aggressively hired by Moonstone, he got to be the main character for the first few months I had this paracosm, until eventually it stopped being an angsty violent drama and started being more like a sitcom where everyone is the main character at different points. He’s also british because of course he is (jack is as well but shhh)

#ty for the ask <3 #paraportal #para: colin moritz #para: tobias crofton #para: austin suo #Paracosm: nameless

[dark-twist-fairytales]

Keegan Moore

Here is the information on Keegan!

Tw!: Implied child abuse. Scarring (visualized).

NSFW warning: Tattoo placement is on the front of thighs, and while it isn't explicit or detailed, just a pre-emptive warning.

~Name information~

Name: Keegan Sage Moore

Nicknames + Origin: Kee- Shortened verision of his name due to not being able to say it fully. Sagey- Derived of his middle name, but only used by family. Tic-Tock- A nickname given by bullies, and while used in a derogatory way, uses it in pride in the bully's face.

Pronouns: He/HIm/His/Himself, but also accepts They/Them/Theirs/Themself

Meaning behind name: 'Keegan', a name pre-picked by his father, no matter if they were a boy or girl. 'Sage', a name picked by his mother for the nature match amongst her children. 'Moore', lost to history for him

~Base Information~

Age: 27

Birthday: July 8th (07/08)

Height: 6 foot 6 inches (198.12 cm)

Weight: 217 lbs (98.43 kg)

Sexuality: Asexual, Demi-Romantic

Meaning: Asexual means he doesn't feel a strong sexual attraction to people. Demi-romatic means he feels a romantic attraction to people ONLY after he developes a strong friendship/gets to know them for a while.

~Physical Information~

Scars: 

Explanation: Burns (Cigs) - Kee's stims has always happened, even while a child. His mother, not pleased with it, would place lit cigarettes against his shoulders. | Cluster Burn Scars, Hypertrophic - These are raised scars from multiple burn scars being placed in the same spot. | Knife #2 - This is the reason his father is in prison. An attack towards his siblings with a knife. He took the hit on his hand, and stalled his father enough for the police to come and take him away. This happened when they were 15 | Knife #1 - A bully attacked at school at age 17, while in high school. It looks less like the 2nd cut, since his sister was nearby and was taking first aid classes.

Hair Type: Medium brown, thick, fluffy, and cut a certain way for sentimental reasons.

Eyes: A dark blue with purple-ish undertones. Some reports spot stars of red in them when angry and speaking full sentences, others report golden specks when actively talking.

Distinguishing Features: Uneven haircut. Large scars on palm of left hand. Large patch of burns on top of both shoulders.

Piercings: None

Jewelry: Sometimes wears a red and white, mushroom patterned ring on right hand, but only a few days out of the year.

Tattoos: One on lower back that a needle and thread running though 'MOORE' with the thread connected to a spool, and another on both thighs that is the solar system connected like a puzzle

~Medical Information~

Physical Disabilities: Speech disabability, unable to say the letter/sound 'n' or too complex of words.

Gained?: Had since birth (mother smoked during pregnancy)

Allergies: None that he's aware of.

Dietary Specifications: No special need.

Mental Disabilities: Seperation Anxiety (minor form, but can get intense at certain moments). Night Terrors (not reported nightly, may be connected to anxiety). Learning disablity (origin unknown, only seemed to be in English/Language Arts/Reading, but only ever in English)

~Family Information~

Mother: Anabell Lily Moore (maiden name: Kindle). Deceased.

Father: Nicholas Morsal Moore. Alive, in prison

Siblings: 4

Older Brother: Nicholas Morsal Moore II. Alive, ex-Toppat member, currently house-husband

Older Sister: Natalia Lilith Moore. Dead.

Triplet Sibling (Younger): Conner Rose Moore. Alive, tattoo artist

Triplet Sister (Younger): Laurn Rosemary Moore. Alive, doctor

Distant Realatives Relevant?: Yes

Uncles: Rhett Hamlet & Flynn Jameson Kindle

Why: Cared for triplets after they turned 16

Life Before The Clan:

It was complicated. He couldn't get a job when he was old enough to move out, and he had to move out once he turned 18 for legal reasons. Unlike his siblings, he didn't have anything set for him academically, and took to crime to get money to pay for anything. He did get paid for a few things, like his tattoo was paid for and he got money for it for being a test for a new ink gun and ink (courtesy of Conner). He still in contact with his siblings, being the eldest triplet, but they aren't often seen around each other.

Powers?: There is an odd occurance, typically seen the strongest around his siblings, but the only thing people can explain it as.. 'Stars within the void, both so bright and so dark, that it's impossible to see'.. Whatever that means.

Joining the clan

Roommates with Ezhno

#henry stickmin oc #my art! #information plotting #tw scars #scars #keegan moore #edit: ON HIS OWN POST I SPELT HIS NAME WRONG IN THE TAGS #IM SO SORRY KEE

[darkangel0410]

Ooooh for Cali OT3 (for those not lurking in our chats, that's Trevor/Turcs/Jamie): 🌈 🍭 🐀 👉

For McEichel: ⭐️ 🌙 ✈️ 🔥 👉

For OT3 (Jack/Quinn/Chuckie Mac): 🐇 🕸 🥀

For Heguin (im in mourning): 🐬 🌹😒🍁

(People wish they could get a peek at the insanity that's our chats, lbr 😂😂😂)

under a cut because this got super long, lmao

Cali ot3:

🌈 - What were their first impressions of each other? 

I think Trevor and Alex's first impression of Jamie was along the lines of 'wow, he's cute but boring' because lbr we all know Jamie was the quietest guy on that Canadian WJC team. Jamie's impression of Trevor was definitely 'arrogant asshole' because - well, we've all seen/heard the quote, right? I think his first one of Alex was a little softer, probably more 'he's cute, but with Zegras, ugh' type of thing. Trevor and Alex's first impressions of each other so long ago, but it was probably 'W O W HE'S HOT'

🍭  -What are their nicknames for each other? 

Alex is usually 'sweetheart' or 'baby' because I think they're softer with him than they are with each other (it's the dimples, shhhh). Trevor's usually 'babe', unless Jamie's in a mean mood and trying to get him wound up (horny), then it's 'princess'(derogatory). Jamie's 'Jamison', 'babe', 'stud' or, when he's being mean, 'sir'.

If we're talking a bottom Jamie verse 😈😈 then it's flipped a little, Jamie gets called 'slut' (derogatory and sexy), 'baby girl' (affectionate when he's being good). Jamie calls them mostly by their names in bed, and then 'babe' (Trevor) and 'sweetheart' (Alex) outside of it

🐀 - Who steals the covers? 

Trevor, 100% - Alex sleeps in the middle so he always gets some, too, but Jamie gets left without any - which is why he has an extra blanket stashed by the bed in case it's cold out

👉 - Who is better at giving directions?

Oh, all three of them suck at it - they're so, so bad that no one bothers asking them anymore and just use gps

McEichel:

⭐️ - Who is a morning person? 

Oh, Jack for sure - he gets up early to run/workout, depending on the day. Connor's usually up by 8 in the off-season, but Jack's up at 5:30am no matter what time of year it is

🌙 - Who is a night person? 

Connor, probably - they'll both stay up if there's friends over, they're out, etc etc, but Jack's usually out by 11pm if there's no extenuating circumstances (hockey games)

✈️ - How do they celebrate anniversaries? 

Their anniversary is at the very tail end of the season (June 26) so I think they have a small thing at home, just them and their families, then go somewhere in July for a week, maybe to Cancun, Greece - anywhere that's warm and sunny and there's a beach nearby.

🔥 - Who realized they were interested in who first? 

Connor for sure - he fell in love with Jack the first time they played each other at U16s and Jack knocked him on his ass (by the time they finally got together, Dylan and Mitch were both ready to throw a party, they were so tired of hearing about it) - and he also made the first move on Jack draft night.

He had to play the long game because it took Jack a little bit to admit that he loved Connor, too (feelings make him grumpy!!!)

👉 - Who is better at giving directions?

It depends where they're at!!! In the States, Jack is, and in Canada Connor is

Ot3:

🐇 - Who wants to cuddle the other longer in the morning? 

Jack and Quinn definitely get more chances to cuddle together, especially in the off-season, but they double-team Charlie and make him stay and cuddle them when he's there

🕸 - What does one do that scares the other?

Watching horror movies, for sure - Jack gets scared SO easily that sometimes Quinn will tell him he thinks he heard something just Jack will crawl in his lap

Charlie tried to scare them one (1) time, and he just thought it'd be funny to sneak into the lakehouse and tap Jack on the shoulder when he didn't know Charlie was there yet, and Jack screamed loud enough to bring Quinn running downstairs buck ass naked and soaking wet from the shower with a baseball bat, and Jack punched him in the nose before he realized who it was

So, you know, they all agreed to never do that again 😂😂😂

🥀 - Do they both get jealous?

Hmm, I don't think, like, it's jealous jealous - not in the sense that one of them's going to cheat, or that one of them love the other more, but I do think Quinn gets sad sometimes that Jack and Charlie get to see each other so much during the season

Heguin:

🐬 - Who made the first move? 

They both got tipsy and kissed each other the night before the draft and then refused to talk about for a decade until they got drunk and kissed again at Worlds, then Tyler was like 'want to fuck' and they just sort of fell together after that

🌹 - Who initiated the first kiss? 

Oppps, see the last answer lol

😒 - Do they get jealous easily?

Hmmm, I think by the time they get together - mid 20s - they're both more secure in themselves and each other, so not really

🍁 - How was their first kiss?

Sloppy mostly! They were tipsy and seventeen and just not really sure what they were doing

*

Thanks for the ask, babe!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ (otp asks)

#q & a #cokehead zeroed #meme #cali ot3 #ot3 #mceichel #tyler/taylor #that's hockey baby #it's really light but: #sibling incest

[cyberslam]

Heartbreak Hotel AU, Part 3 (technically 4!)

Shawn Michaels/Marty Janetty (NSFW)

I WILL push my Marty/Shawn agenda soooo hard you don't even get it.

Anyway, this is meant taking place perhaps a little before Xentex's fic with Diesel! (Although to keep in mind his is meant to be read as a spin-off, he's given me permission to incorporate his writing into my created canon as I see fit.

Anyway...

Marty's come across the Heartbreak Hotel when running from trouble, and he recognizes Shawn. Shawn is a bit taken aback, but shortly after finds himself very comfortable around Marty and never wants him to leave.

Ao3 link

Marty Janetty was a man who was always on the move. He never needed to stop moving, and mostly he didn’t want to. Or…he probably shouldn’t. Someway or another, he’d get into trouble. Which meant someway or another, he’d have to run away from it. It wasn’t much of a problem for him. Wrestling wasn’t really bringing in any money for him anyway. It always felt like something was missing, but for the life of him (and his trainers and managers), they couldn’t figure out what it was.

Either way, bad habits die hard and in Marty’s case, they hadn’t died at all. This latest little bit of trouble had cut it a bit close and he had been booking it out of the state for a while. 

The road he was on looked beat-up enough, thankfully. He’d been avoiding patrol cars for a while, and it didn’t seem like he was in any local town anymore.

Something bright and buzzy caught his attention. “Heartbreak Hotel” read the large neon sign. The heart with the arrow was encouraging. It must’ve been enough of a cheap honeymoon spot, that he doubted anyone would find him there. He pulled his old beat up Volvo into a parking spot, killing the engine. No other cars. That could bode either well or poorly, but Marty was tired and he wanted a quick nap before he picked up and left again.

He made his way up to the office, wooden steps creaking under his boots. He pushed the door open, finding a gaudy looking office lifted right out of the 70s. He was surprised the walls weren’t covered in velvet, but the wooden panels were a good substitute for the style that the motel office seemed to be going for.

“Well hello, handsome. What can I do for you? Lookin’ for a room?” A deep voice got his attention, Marty’s eyes landing on a familiar looking blonde. He was chewing some gum, blowing a bubble and popping it.

Marty stood stunned, and the blonde looked around before pointing at Marty. “I’m talking to you, y’know.”

“Shawn?”

The man stopped, staring him down, confirming his suspicions.

“Shawn!” Marty grinned, moving closer to the counter, only to stop as Shawn moved back.

“How do you know my name?” He sounded upset, leaving Shawn confused. More importantly, he didn’t seem to recognize him which left Marty feeling a little dejected.

With a gentler smile, Marty backed up. “We were friends. Growin’ up, I mean. Well not grownin’ up but as teens, we got into trouble a bunch. But you went and vanished on us one day.”

Shawn only frowned in response. "What are you…what are you talking about? You got me mixed up with someone else, guy."

Marty felt the mood of the room drop, an uneasy anxiety washing over him. He took his own steps back, unsure of how to proceed.

"Alright. Sorry. My bad. You just…I mean, Shawn is your name right?" He decided to push a little more.

“...It…it is. I think so, at least.” Shawn responded slowly and carefully, as if saying the wrong thing would cause the world to end. Shawn tapped the small, red plate pinned to his shirt. “It’s what’s on the nametag.”

Marty nodded, looking at said nametag. It definitely was ‘Shawn.’ He wondered why his old friend looked so confused, and like he didn’t recognize him. Shawn wasn’t the type to pull a fib this big. Hell, he practically fought people to make them call him by his name and not any of the derogatory nicknames and downright slurs people would toss his way.

“I’m Marty. I don’t think you remember me, but I mean it happens. We did get into a lot of trouble, took a lot of things we shouldn’t have…” Marty trailed off, deciding being ambiguous about certain details was fine here. Yeah they drank a lot and did drugs just about every night, but he didn’t think it was so bad it’d fry Shawn’s brains. Hell, he expected it to cause Shawn to be dead more than anything else. But he clearly wasn’t. Instead, he was standing here in front of him, looking like someone asked him to solve a math problem with a few too many numbers and signs.

“We used to do stuff together? You and I? Not…not in this motel but somewhere else?” Shawn’s apprehension seemed to be easing up into genuine curiosity. Marty let out a silent sigh of relief, feeling the tension in the room begin to dissolve.

“Yea. Down in Texas. We were training to be wrestlers together, actually. You and I, and sometimes some other guys, we’d go out and party and go to bars and meet girls and take ‘em back to motels like…well, like this one I guess. But one day you just kinda vanished. I looked for a while, filed a report, but no one could find you anywhere. Not even a body. So I figured you just got sick of barely getting by and wasting all your money so you ran off.” Marty explained, taking a small step forward again. He wanted to do nothing more than fuss at Shawn, telling him that he didn’t need to be so scared.

Shawn seemed fascinated by all this. He looked like a kid who just saw a rainbow for the first time. His pretty lips were parted just slightly in disbelief as he processed what Marty had told him. Shawn looked to the side, clearly lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

“...So, you’re saying I wasn’t always running this hotel? Or, I guess, you never knew me when I was? That we were friends?”

“Sums it all up pretty neatly, yeah.” Marty nodded in response, his lazy smile returning to his face.

“And you said you’re Marty? What was you– never mind. Here, just…sign in. Your room will be on me. I have so many questions.” Shawn was excited, opening the guest book that laid on the counter and pushing it towards Marty.

Marty picked up the pen, raising an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. The pen was…a velvet covered ballpoint. Tacky, but definitely Shawn’s style. He signed his name in, before sliding the book back to the blonde who happily took the book to read his name. Marty noted that no other name seemed to have been listed on the page, but he said nothing about it. 

“Marty Oates…?” Shawn gave a quizzical look at the book, before shrugging and closing it. If he suspected Marty of using a fake name, he didn’t say anything, but Marty made a mental note about Shawn's acceptance. He felt his heart sink, just a little bit. He really wasn’t lying about not remembering.

Thankfully, Shawn didn’t even notice how bothered Marty was. Instead, he decided to turn around and grab a set of keys off the wall, before handing them off to Marty. “Get yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some drinks.” The hotel proprieter’s smile was sweet but scheming as he handed the key off, a familiar look for Marty.

“You got it hotshot.” He winked, before turning his back to head out. He stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder again only to find Shawn was already gone. Unbothered, Marty headed out of the office and down the wooden walkway. Every room on the way to his was essentially boarded up or had the curtains drawn. It was pretty weird that no one else was there, but it meant he got to enjoy his time with Shawn properly.

His motel room was…tacky, to say the least, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like in. In fact, Marty was enamored by the draperies over the mirrors, the plush red carpet, the red velvet heart shaped bed with overstuffed pillows thrown about. Hell, even a hot tub all the way to the left of the room, next to two French doors leading out to what seemed like a patio. It was odd that the hot tub wasn’t outside, but Marty didn’t question it. A free room was a free room, after all.

His boots were kicked off to the side of the entrance, as he strolled in further to the room. It seemed like there was a plush blanket with a zebra print trim tucked into half the bed. He couldn’t help but grin at the stack of sleazy porn mags next to the bed. Not that he wasn’t used to motels like this, but there were plenty of rumors about shady motel owners who’d leave toys and mags around and then spy on their guests. It would be right up Shawn’s alley to go snooping like that. He remembered when they first met, how hesitant the (slightly) younger man was to even enter the XXX section of a video store, let alone enter a sex shop. Although it wasn’t too long into their friendship before Shawn started begging Marty to take him to some sleazy little theater he heard about. He was to blame for introducing Shawn to all that stuff, but he didn’t think the guy would take to it so quickly. His enthusiasm and insistence that Marty tag along was what charmed Marty so much anyway.

A knock before the door opened, and Marty turned around to Shawn walking in with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne chilling in it, and two wine glasses. The man was dressed in what was clearly just a short white satin robe and red boxers. Marty grinned wide, taking a few steps towards Shawn to grab the ice bucket and place it down on the nightstand next to the bed that wasn’t occupied by a leg lamp. 

“No Dom Perignon?” He teased, looking at the bottle’s label. It had the hotel’s branding all over it, but claimed to be authentically from France. Not that Marty cared. He’d never buy a bottle for more than ten bucks if he could avoid it.

“I promise this is just as good.” Shawn pouted playfully, setting the wine glasses down.

“And aren’t there special glasses for champagne?”

“We can drink more out of these.” Shawn tsk’d, shaking his head. 

“I’m only teasin’ Shawn. You k– I mean, I don’t even need a glass. I can drink straight out of the bottle. Normally I do.” 

Shawn rolled his eyes before Marty opened the bottle, taking a swig just as he said he would.

“Damn this really is good stuff. Here baby, take a sip.” Marty stepped forward, holding the bottle up to Shawn’s lips gently, his other hand finding their way into the curls of his hair.

Shawn’s breath hitched for a moment, before he let the champagne flow between his lips and drinking it down. Marty’s actions felt more intoxicating than the alcohol they were sharing. He wanted nothing more than to trade the bottle for the brown haired man’s lips. He couldn’t tell if it was Marty’s claimed familiarity, or just himself that felt something so familiar about Marty. He felt comfortable around him in a way he never had with anyone else before.

"You alright?" Marty asked, a twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes as he pulled the bottle away. "Don't tell me you're suddenly a lightweight, Shawnie."

Shawn could only pout in response. "I am not a lightweight." He snatched the bottle away, taking another swig from it before handing it back. Marty did just the same.

The blonde haired man closed the distance between them, his hands running across Marty's chest. He pushed his palms against the pecs under his hands, eliciting a small moan from the taller man. His hands continued rubbing as Marty set the bottle down, his fingers brushing against his nipples over the shirt he was wearing. Teasingly, he began punching at them over the fabric, wide eyes looking up at Marty through his eyelashes.

Marty looked pretty flushed, his lidded eyes looking down at Shawn. "You still know how to work a guy up, that's for sure." His hands settled on Shawn's hips before his arms snaked around so he could get a handful of Shawn's ass. Shawn gasped, before playfully hitting Marty, getting a laugh out of the man.

"Oh so you can grope me all you want, but if I do it back it's rude?" Marty asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly." Shawn huffed, pouting playfully.

"Alright. That's it." Marty huffed back. Before Shawn could ask what he meant by that, he was being lifted up by the other man over the shoulder. A firm hand slapped him on his ass in that position, causing him to yell out. "Brats gotta be punished Shawn. Thems the rules."

"Punished! I don't know who you think you are mister–OOF." Shawn was cut off as he was thrown onto the bed. Before he could protest more, Marty flipped him onto his stomach and was working on pulling his boxers down. Shawn fruitlessly squirmed against the other man's arm that was holding him down, yelling when another firm hand spanked him.

"Shawn. I can do this all night but I ain't gonna stop until you apologize." Marty threatened.

"I don't have anything to apologize for!" Shawn protested, before yelling as his ass was spanked a few more times. Marty definitely didn't hold back. Shawn could feel the sting well after his hand was gone, and the way his ass started getting hot. He shifted, feeling his dick harden against the bed more.

Even when he was bottoming (which was pretty often with men), Shawn still felt completely in control of the situation. He was the one calling the shots and getting what he wanted. He was the one seducing the people who came by, taunting and teasing them.

It wasn't that way with Marty. Shawn couldn't recall when he last felt like this. Marty was taking control and hell, Shawn didn't feel the rise of panic he normally did. He'd be more than happy to let Marty tease him to the point of tears tonight. He wouldn't even need anyone else if he had Marty here forever.

Another slap on his ass brought him back to his reality. 

"C'mon Shawn." Marty's drawl made him drool as he said his name. He could listen to Marty say his name like that forever. "Say you're sorry for being such a brat. I'd hate to make you start sobbing." Something about the tone of his voice made Shawn think he wouldn't be all that sorry, actually.

"I'm not saying sorry! It's not my fault you can't take some teasing." Shawn tried to twist his body to see Marty, only to be met with a hand in his hair that pushed his face down.

"You never really learned manners, did you…" Marty chided. "I think you really only ever got ruder. Mostly my fault though." He mumbled, before crawling on top of Shawn to straddle his thighs. His rough hands rubbed at Shawn's sore ass, massaging them before he dug his nails in, getting a hiss in response.

Shawn tried to buck his hips up to no avail. Marty was firmly planted on him, and he wasn't going anywhere. His hands spread Shawn out, causing him to squirm more.

"So pretty Shawnie…" He massaged Shawn's lower back, before digging his nails in, dragging them down and across Shawn's ass.

"Martyyyyy…" Shawn whined, his erection painful as it was pinned between him and the bed.

"Shawwwwn. What's wrong baby?" Marty asked, spreading him out again and spitting against his entrance. Shawn moaned in response, his face pressed firmly into the mattress.

Marty didn't even let him respond, instead driving Shawn wild as he pulled his own dick out and began to rub it between Shawn's cheeks.

Shawn wondered who the hell Marty thought he was teasing him like this, but he didn't actually care that he was. He wanted Marty to tease him forever. 

"Fuck Marty…please."

"'Sorry' first." Marty let him know, reaching over him and for the drawer. It was like he knew exactly where everything was as he pulled out the bottle of lube that was stored there. The brunette pulled back, spreading Shawn out again. He pressed the cold tip of the bottle right against his asshole, nudging it in a little before squirting the contents of the bottle inside him. Shawn gasped at the cold sensation filling him up, before whining as he felt two of Marty's thick fingers enter him.

"Let's see… 's been a while but…" Marty's fingers curled, hitting what felt like the perfect spot.

"Marty! Oh! Fuck–ah, mm… fuck. Marty…" Shawn was unwinding under him just like that as Marty's fingers fucked him and curled into him and spread him out. He felt himself coming closer and closer to orgasming, not even caring that it barely took any effort from the man sitting on him to undo him.

Unfortunately, he stopped, eliciting a long whine from Shawn.

"Maaaarty, pleaaase…" Shawn whined, his hands clawing at the sheets. He was panting from how worked up he felt.

"Baby, you know what you gotta say." Marty only chided him, returning to grabbing Shawn's hips as he rutted himself against Shawn's ass.

Shawn felt his eyes prick with tears. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted from the people he'd be sleeping with. Still…Marty was making it pretty clear what he had to do to get what he'd want.

"F-Fine! Fine! I'm sorry for–for being such a brat." Shawn huffed, his breath hitching between some of his words. He felt utterly humiliated and he loved it.

"Oh Shawnie, you're so sweet. I forgive you darling." Marty leaned over, kissing sweetly against his shoulder blades and his back and his neck and his hair and…

Shawn sighed contently, the sweet intimacy placating something inside him. He felt Marty lining himself up, before slowly entering into him. Marty lifted Shawn's hips as he began fucking him. Each pump of his hips drove himself further into Shawn, driving the blonde crazy. He loved it so much. The way his dick fit inside him felt beyond perfect.

It didn't take long for his orgasm to build up again. Shawn felt himself coming closer and closer to his release and–

"Oh fuck Shawn, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck…" It seemed like Marty was just as close. Shawn let himself be fucked until he felt Marty reach over and pulled him close, chest to back, unleashing his load inside of him.

Shawn was gasping, speechless, as he came hard, his cum streaking himself and the mattress under him.

Marty collapsed heavily on top of him, the two of them sweaty, hot bodies sticking together like they were one.

They spent some moments like that. Shawn felt his eyelids getting heavy. They never did, normally, but he felt thoroughly, utterly exhausted and like he could sleep forever.

Somewhere in that sleepy, sweaty haze, Marty got off of him. And picked him up, and carried him over to the hot tub, which was filled already with perfectly warm water. Marty gently laid Shawn against his chest as he stepped into the water and settled in. Strong hands carefully scrubbed at his sore body as soft lips kissed the base of his neck and his ears and his face.

Shawn woke up on the bed. He was startled, sitting up and taking in his surroundings. It was still the Honeymoon Suite, still the hotel. His eyes focused on the figure on the leather sofa. Marty. He was lacing up his boots.

Shawn scrambled out of bed, practically running to close the distance. "Marty! What…what are you doing?" Shawn asked, biting his lip. Was he leaving? Why would he leave?

"I figured I'd get ready to get going. I'm…in a spot of trouble Shawn, can't let myself sit in one place too long." Marty explained, scooting over and patting the spot next to him.

Shawn only stood and stared. Marty couldn't just leave. He couldn't. He wouldn't let him.

The air pressure in the room dropped, a chill over taking the suite.

"Why…why? Why don't you stay…a little longer?" Shawn asked, his fists clenched at his sides. Marty looked up at him, a sad smile on his face. "I'm– the Hotel is out of the way! No one will find you if you don't want them to!" He pleaded, falling to his knees as he draped himself over the arm of the chair.

"Shawnie…" Marty sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked at the coffee table for a bit, clearly thinking of something before speaking. "That's now how that works baby…but…I'll stay another night, okay? So cheer up. I can't stand seeing you look so sad."

Shawn practically threw himself on Marty, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his face over and over and over again. Relief washed over him as the room warmed up, the heavy air dissipating.

Marty smiled, patting his back. He couldn't help but feel that something was wrong with all of this.

—

Some time passed. Marty wasn't too sure, but if the note keeping he did on the Heartbreak Hotel branded notepad in his room was any indication, he was coming up on about a week. The motel seemed to have grown in that time somehow, but Marty never saw any maintenance crews or builders come in. The pool outside was functional but Marty swore there was never a pool when he even came in. The Honeymoon Suite definitely expanded but Shawn denied it. Same with the front office. Hell, even the porn selection was more diverse.

Marty couldn't help but feel off. Shawn's outfits evolved beyond the simple motel worker's vest and shirt combo he wore the first time Marty checked in. He was wearing more colorful prints. More jewelry. Even his robes and undergarments got more playful and more luxurious. Marty swore Shawn never left. And that no deliveries were ever made.

But Shawn kept denying it.

The weather was perpetually perfect too. Anytime Marty tried to ask about what state they were in or anything like that, Shawn just shrugged it off and said it didn't matter.

Marty felt himself almost falling for it. Almost. But he knew Shawn was a big fibber. A liar. Usually they were small lies, but it was clear that he'd become comfortable outright obscuring the truth for his own.

Shawn always seemed to live in his own little world, but this practically WAS his own world for real.

Marty loved Shawn, with all his heart. He'd offered to take Shawn away from here but Shawn would only hesitate and then say he had no interest in leaving.

So despite all the love he had for Shawn, he'd go. He'd leave Shawn. He had to. Marty didn't want to spend his days in someone else's dream world. Yeah his own life wasn't perfect, but at least it was his. And he had people to get back to. Friends who cared about him and that he cared about. He thought about the kid he'd taken in under his wing, who was only just starting out with them after flying solo for most of his life and how much he needed Marty to protect him from worse people.

So in the dead of night, Shawn peacefully asleep in bed, left Marty no other choice but to pack up and go during that moment. He'd packed his car up when Shawn was busy on his little red phone – the one Marty wasn't allowed to use – so leaving would be easier.

Unfortunately, Shawn started stirring as he heard the door creaking open.

"Just getting some fresh air baby, go back to sleep." Marty cooed at him. Thankfully it seemed to work as Shawn settled back down.

As quietly as he could, Marty stepped down the stairs to the asphalt of the parking lot. He looked around, before stepping towards the driver's side door of his car and inserting the key to open it.

"What are you doing?"

Marty nearly jumped out of his skin. Up on the wooden deck outside the Honeymoon Suite's door was Shawn. He looked wide awake, the wind picking up and swaying his bright red satin robe against him. His hair billowed with it, making him look like one big silhouette with the moonlight at his back. Still, Marty could see his baby blue eyes perfectly.

"I really gotta get going Shawn. I can't stay here forever." Marty explained, staying calm. "There's other people who need me."

"I NEED YOU!" Shawn was screaming, his voice echoing throughout the woods around them, but no birds emerged from the trees at the disturbance.

"Shawn… I want to help you. But I ain't the guy who can." Marty kept his voice level as he spoke. His heart felt like it would break out of his chest but he refused to show that. "I love you but I know I can't, and I'm so sorry."

"No. No. No! You have to stay Marty. You have to. You CAN'T LEAVE ME." Shawn's voice was raw, broken as he screamed again. Marty could see the way his body was racking with sobs, but he couldn't see a single tear running down his face.

The trees seemed to close in on them. Marty had a feeling he really wouldn't be able to leave if he didn't book it now. And it was clear that trying to reason with Shawn wasn't possible.

He pulled the door open, getting in the seat and trying to get the engine to go. But it stalled. It stalled, and Shawn was approaching. Marty locked the door.

The engine stalled.

Shawn was crawling onto his hood and–

The engine roared to life.

In a flash, Marty reversed his car, pulling out of the parking lot. He didn't look back. He couldn't.

His heart wrenched and his eyes were filled with tears as he drove away.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Marty drove

And drove

And he passed the motel again but he drove

He drove off the path. Through the trees, not caring for the car or damages, just desperate to get out and

He finally hit asphalt. He was driving off the entry ramp onto some highway and that's all he could care about. It didn't take long for him to realize he was on the I-10, heading towards San Antonio. Shawn's hometown.

Marty's heart raced as he merged into traffic, some passersby honking at him. Last he checked, he had been up in Pennsylvania before he went on the run.

He took a deep breath. He felt guilty.

Awfully guilty. He didn't want to leave Shawn behind. But Shawn didn't want to leave. He couldn't. Marry knew that. He only hoped that he would be able to get Shawn out of there. If…if Shawn was even alive to get out.

Marty grasped there was something beyond his own understanding happening, but hell if he knew what. But he wasn't going to give up on Shawn. Not yet, at least.

Driving into the city, Marty prioritized two things: finding a real motel and calling Kid. Shawn…he'd just have to wait.

—

Shawn was a wreck. He laid on the floor of the office. He'd been laying there ever since Marty fled.

The Hotel was mad, and so was he. He finally had it. He had someone who made him human. The Hotel felt whole. It was able to grow.

This couldn't happen again. The next person to fill the empty void inside of them wouldn't get away. 

They were both so, so mad.

Never again.

#d is writing #marty jannetty #shawn michaels #heartbreak hotel au #wwf #wwf fic #fanfics