#Feel free to use this as a prompt and run with it in whatever direction you want

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Thoughts on the Sect Leader Wen Sizhui AU

The Sunshot campaign fails. Meng Yao and Wen Qing together manage to convince Wen Ruohan not to kill the various sect leaders and instead to subjugate them. Some are allowed to keep leading their sects as vassal sects to the Wen. Others are completely absorbed into the Wen. All are forced to share any secret knowledge or techniques they may have.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan marry, but are kept in Qishan to be used as hostages to ensure to good behavior of Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Jin Guangshan.

(Jin Guangshan thinks he has Wen Ruohan’s good graces because he barely took part in the war and immediately surrendered, but actually Wen Ruohan is fond of Meng Yao and, as a result, thinks Jin Guangshan is trash.)

Nie Huiasang is kept to ensure the good behavior of Nie Mingjue. Lan Wangji is kept to ensure the good behavior of Lan Xichen.

With both Wen Chao and Wen Xu dead, Wen Ruohan has only one living heir: His grandson, Wen Xu’s only child, Wen Yuan.

Once again Meng Yao and Wen Qing manage to convince Wen Ruohan that the hostages could be valuable as teachers -- they’re all members of the gentry who are either skilled cultivators or (in Jiang Yangli’s case) talented administrators, and all of them have knowledge that will be useful for the heir of... basically the entire world.

They’re all always being watched by Wen disciples, but nonetheless a-Yuan becomes close to his various teachers. As he grows older, he starts to notice their fear and the way they’re all treated, and decides he doesn’t like that.

It takes years of careful maneuvering, but eventually basically all of the guards around Wen Yuan and the sect leaders are the ones who follow Wen Ning and Wen Qing, which allows everybody to have a little bit more freedom of movement.

When Wen Yuan gets a little bit older, Wen Ruohan demands all of the sect heirs his age be sent to Qishan to be raised as his personal attendants.

Junior Quartet are the main squad obviously but there are other kids too.

Sizhui is still named Sizhui but this time it’s in honor of his father and uncle, since I stan Family Man Wen Ruohan

Sizhui does not want to kill his grandfather! Wen Ruohan is good to him! But.

Wen Sizhui, his teachers, his servants, and the Wen disciples under Wen Ning, all ultimately collaborate to stage a coup. In the process, Wangxian get together, Yunmeng siblings reconcile, Jin brothers become besties, and the Junior Quartet go full poly.

Sizhui works to help the other sects re-establish themselves, but by now there’s so much weirdness that a lot of them just... kind of merge. Lan Wangji is the second young master of the Lan Sect but he’s also an honored teacher and the defacto father figure of the Wen Sect Leader so his Lan robes have little gold fire decals alongside the silver clouds. Wei Wuxian is Jiang but he’s also kind of Wen. The Jin and Ouyang remain vassal sects to the Wen so that Jin Ling and Zizhen can marry Sizhui. Lan Xichen ends up having his own kid (3zun endgame?) so Jingyi isn’t the heir anymore and he can also live with his husbands.

Wen Qing opens an all-sect medical school.

Wen Ning marries Qin Su and they have half a dozen little doe-eyed babies that have their Wei-Shushu and their Lan-Shushu wrapped around their little fingers.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 16

Prompt: Massage  Pairing: Masseuse!Felix x fem!reader WC: 1.8k Summary: First times can be scary, even if its just a massage. But we all have tension that needs to be worked out, right?

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Felix or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: Lightly abusing professional power, nervous reader, pervert Felix, fingering (fem receiving), squirting.

 “You removed everything, correct?” Felix’s voice is deep and gentle, like you hope his caresses will be.  “I actually had a question about that-”  “You do need to remove socks,” he quickly jumps in, “but underwear is up to your comfortability.”  You giggle, embarrassed. “I suppose you get that a lot.”  His eyes crinkle into a friendly soft smile, “I could write a book and use that as my title, yes. Must be your first time.”  You hop onto the terry cloth massage table in the provided robe, eager to relieve the mounted tension in your body. “Yes sir! I’m a virgin. A massage virgin. It’s my first time. Receiving a massage. Professionally. I’ve like, gotten a massage but not, not like this.” You backtrack and loop with embarrassment, looking everywhere but at the pleasant man in front of you.  Thankfully he seems to gloss over your insane babbling, standing with his back to you as he lights a tea light under a bowl of fragrant oils. “Feel free to lay face into the table with your towel loose.”

 Dimly lit, music softly playing in the background, a handsome masseuse, it all feels like heaven. He hums quietly with the music, voice as velvety as his touch, his hands running down your bare back. Oils warming under his palms as he pushes and pulls at your fascia. Your skin shines and glistens as he rubs down your body. Felix can’t help but notice that for a first timer, you easily slip into a soft pliant puddle on his table. So easily moldable, so easily manipulated. You’re just so trusting, and you should trust him, because he’s a professional he gently reminds himself.

 His hands press and catch on a knot, forcing an almost animalistic grunt from your lungs as it snaps back into place. He can feel you tense up below him, cringing and curling down to the tips of your fingers and toes.  “It’s alright, I’ve heard it all before. It a very natural reaction,” his voice is soft and rich, coaxing you gently like a startled cat. “Whatever your body tells you is right, just go with it.” The warmth of his tone matches that of his palms, lulling you back down as you breathe deeply. He’s not exactly lying, he tells himself as his cock twitches in interest. He really had heard every manner of vocalization in reaction to his talented hands. From whines to groans to the occasional expletive, nothing really surprised him anymore. And yet here you were on his table and one little grunt was enough to have him considering risking his career.

 It was his kind response, his strong fingers, the buzz from the fragrant oils dulling your better judgment, blame whatever but once that groan left your lips a dam burst within you. Every press producing an appreciative moan or sigh as he worked your aching muscles. The glide of skin over skin aided by lotion felt almost transcendent. Separating not only your cramped up fascia but your soul from your skin and bones.

 A hand slips deep between your thighs, your sex flooding with heightened awareness. His pinky narrowly missing direct contact with your slit, he’s so tantalizingly close you find yourself wishing he’d slip up. But his hands are practiced, using the towel as a guide to avoid your bare sex.  It wasn’t professional of him, Felix knows this as the side of his hand wanders up. He can almost feel the steam coming from your dripping hole as he grabs a handful of inner thigh. Abs tensing, another throb of interest. Cock pressing to the edge of the table in hopes of concealing his weakness, he gently lifts your thigh to support your lower back and grant him better access to your hamstring. The towel slips up slightly, exposing more of your wetness to him.  Heat flashes in your ears as cool air hits your sex. Folds dripping wet, there’s almost no way he can’t have noticed it. Your body tightens again below his hands, you’re so easy to read it’s almost unfair.  “Just keep breathing into the places that are holding tension, bring your awareness there,” Felix’s voice sounds strained as the heel of his palm circles where your thigh and buttocks connect.  “Sorry,” you squeak. His palms migrate up and up until he’s working the side of your hip, almost fully palming an ass cheek.  Fuck it, Felix thinks as he starts to reposition your leg. “You carry a lot of tension in your hips and quads, I’m going to need to spend a bit of extra time with them if you're okay with that. I’ll need to reposition your towel though.”

 He’s shameless as he pulls your towel lower, revealing the naked globes of your ass. Vision tunneling as he squirts oil directly on them, against all he’d been taught. Proper procedure was to warm the oil in your hands but he couldn’t resist watching the clear liquid drizzle and disappear into your crack. Breaths reedy he starts by pressing his thumbs into the meat of your ass, digging a large indent where they lay, dragging the globes apart as he pulls the tension from your glutes, revealing more and more of your most private areas.  You’d notice he was shameless if you weren’t so deep into the depths of relaxation, unbothered by how horny you’d become. Strangled groans erupt with each pull, covering his own small grunts. The momentary pain morphs into deep pleasure as your brain slowly numbs over. You can’t help arch back begging for more, for harder, for just a bit deeper.

 The tips of his fingers just barely graze your slit, glistening wetness leaving glittering traces of stickyness. Felix gasps, freezing as his cock throbs. Precum drips steadily into his light cotton pants, a not so mysterious dark splotch slowly forming. One of you should have shame or sense, it should be him. His fingers brush past again, your hips wiggling back to meet him. The both of you still in silence, panting, the barrier between client and professional growing thinner by the second.  “Turn to your front,” Felix’s voice is hoarse and choked. Haphazardly he throws the towel over your ass. Normally he’d hold the towel in place as the client rotated under it, preserving their modesty and relaxation.  In a lust filled daze, you don’t bother to cover your torso as you shift, nipples pebbled and aching for his touch. At this point you’re practically praying to whatever god or demon would listen to drag this man down with you.

 This is so much worse, Felix realizes as he tugs down the length of your arm. Yet he can’t look away from your face as it morphs into pained pleasure, brows knitting and mouth falling open. Your lips look soft, too soft. How soft they’d feel wrapping around him. It’s even more difficult for him to hide the now pronounced dark spot near his crotch, clinging to his rock hard erection.  Felix tries to stand at your head to work on your shoulders and to hide himself better. The image of him dropping the head pillow under the table and slamming his cock into your open throat briefly flashes in his mind, weakening his knees as he spurts another bubble of painful precum into his underwear. “Harder,” you mutter.  Felix nearly passes out as blood rushes from his brain. “Sorry?” “Feelsgoodharder,” you slur as his thumbs stretch over your collar bone.  “Harder?”  “Please, I can take it.”  His eyes roll back in his head, something deeply primal activating with a shiver of his spine. Emboldened by your pleas he fully presses his palms into the tight bundle of muscles right below your collar bones, fingertips stretching down to your areolas just barely able to brush the edges.  You keen below him. It’s agonizing. He moves just the bit lower to graze your nipples, slowly as though he’d be struck down from on high for doing so. No, just the manager if she found out how he’d acted.

 Your quick breaths are hypnotizing. Felix can barely comprehend his actions as he falls deeper into the spell, playing with your breasts like putty. He’s doing the opposite of his job, his calling, he can at least see that. Your tension wound so tight your back is nearly levitating from the white sheet.  “You’re so tense,” he mutters.  “Yeah?”  His hands skim over the expanse of your stomach, towards the shifted towel. “I can fix it but you need to trust me.”  “Anything,” your breathy agreement barely registers in your brain. His arms feel strong as the flex to lift you, moving your limbs into another position, sliding an adjustment block beneath your ass. His finger fit so comfortably inside of you, you hardly notice he’s slipped them in at all. Not until the pads hook upwards, small but confident in their target. Well studied in anatomy, taught in school and outside of, he easily targeting the spongy soft tissue along your walls and presses into it. A primordial groan punches upwards from your core, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. His fingers stir in your gut, a mix of erotic and alarming.  “Just relax for me, yeah?” The reassuring low tone floats through the air as his other hand presses just over your mound. “Breathe and let your body do what it wants.”

 Clearly his speech was meant as a warning peptalk more than comfort. His fingers hook up, whole arm jostling as he fucks up into that laser focused spot. Immediately your legs kick and hips attempt to buck, sandwiched to the mat by his other hand. The bridge between pain and pleasure blurs in your mind as a sob wracks your chest. It’s so much. It’s so good.  “Only a little bit more I can feel you squeezing me,” Felix is focused, its almost a point of professional pride to him. He doesn’t even have to know you to know how to please you, how to tease that release from your muscles. This climax belonged to him, given enthusiastically by you and your trusting body.  Spine jolting and curling the opposite way you’re ripped from your spell suddenly, an urge building in your gut and ringing every alarm bell available. A stream of release erupting from you just in time for your eyes to pop open. Coating the table and his wrist with a caught gasp, you look at each other, wild eyed and breathless as his fingers pull from you.  “Oh shit,” you stare agape.  Felix is silent. Ghostly white.  “Your table-”  “It’s fine.”  “Your next client-”  “It’s fine.”

[fandomfucker]

Beach Trip-The Judgment Day X Black!Fem!Reader

Request/Prompt: The Judgment Day with their girl on a cute little beach trip

A/N: Linked a picture of the bathing suit I had in mind, just pretend it comes with a matching headpiece.

Word Count: 2,692

Reader's POV 

Time off with all four of my partners in the Judgment Day was not something that happened often.

Luckily, this week happened to be one where it was planned out that the five of us would be going down to the beach for vacation.

Before we could leave though, we all had some last-minute errands to run. Well, mainly me and Rhea.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Rhea's truck, I happily listened to the booming sounds of her metal music over the speakers as I scrolled through Pinterest.

"What kind of nails are you gonna get, babe?" I asked Rhea, looking over at her as she hummed in thought.

"I'm thinking, like, black scales with like, a purple shimmer," She answered, briefly looking at me before putting her hand on my thigh and stroking her thumb up and down as she drove.

"Ooh, that'll be cute," I replied as I went back to scrolling through Pinterest for my own new nail set. It was vacation, and we liked to look good on vacation. You look good, you feel good.

"Do you know what you're gonna do with your hair yet?" Rhea asked me. Normally, outside of work, I try to wear my natural hair as much as possible, which isn't always the easiest when it's being grabbed by my opponents to throw me around in a ring.

"I'm thinking I'll kinda match with Damian and get bohemian box braids. I think he's getting his done tomorrow, but then I can wear that cute headwrap that my bathing suit came with!" I excitedly explained. Her grip tightened on my thigh as a smile graced her features.

"That'll look so good, sweetness. I can't wait to see."

"Oh!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And then, I can get my nails to match and since I'll be wearing my bathing suit like all week, they'll match everything!" The girl math was mathing and everything was coming together perfectly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the five of us Judgment Day members all sat in Rhea's truck as we drove down to our beach house for the week. It was right on the beach which was going to be perfect.

Rhea sat in the driver's seat as not only was it her truck, but also because she would get us there faster than if anyone else was driving. Dominik sat in the passenger seat, giving Rhea directions in between picking the music for us to listen to. I liked to stare out the window while I listened to my music so I sat behind Dominik's chair, with Damian next to me and Finn on his other side.

Damian scrolled through his TikTok, occasionally showing one of us a video as his free hand rested on my thigh, while Finn read whatever book he was currently obsessed with. He read them so fast I never knew what he was reading at any given moment.

It was only about an hour-long drive so we were pulling up to the beach-house in no time. As soon as I stepped out of the car I noticed it was weirdly secluded. There weren't any other places directly around us and the tall landscape blocked any possible views. 

Damian stepped out behind me, making his way to the back of the truck, and popping open the covered bed to start grabbing suitcases.

He handed me my duffle bag as Finn and Dominik joined him in unloading the truck. "How about you girls go ahead and go inside and start getting set up, okay?"

"Okay!" I shouldered my duffel bag, grabbing Rhea's hand on my way over to the stairs that would lead us up to the front door. 

Once at the door, Rhea punched the code into the keypad lock, hearing a small click before she pushed the door open. Stepping inside into a tight hallway, there was a small kitchen to the right with another little hall to the left. Going into the hallway on my right there was a bedroom on the right with a queen bed, right in front was a bathroom, and next to it a washer and dryer. At the end of that hallway was another bedroom, with two separate twin-sized beds.

Going back down that side hallway to get to the main hallway that led past the kitchen, I walked into the living/dining room and called out for Rhea. "Hey, babe? Are we all gonna fit in here?"

I noticed another room off to the side and walked into it, finding another queen-sized bed with its own private bathroom. There was a sliding glass door leading to the balcony on the far wall, with a matching door in the living room.

Noticing that the door was open, I walked out onto the balcony and saw Rhea leaning over the railing as she stared out at the ocean, the small breeze blowing her bangs to the side.

"Rhea?" She turned at the sound of my voice, making me smile as I saw the relaxation already hitting her. "Are we all going to fit in here?" I repeated my question.

"Yeah, we should," She moved away from the railing and gripped my hips as we stood there. "I was thinking that we'd take the master, Dom and Damian take the other queen, and then Finn could take one of the twins. He's the only one other than us that would fit and I booked the condo, so if I want a girls-only room to cuddle you all week I'm gonna have that." She smiled at me, so proud of herself for thinking of this situation.

I threw my head back as I laughed. If she wanted to keep me all to herself all week during the night then I wasn't gonna fight her on it. "Do the boys know about this arrangement?"

She laughed again, giving me that shit-eating grin, "Not yet."

I giggled as I heard the boys walk in the front door with the luggage. "Y/N? Rhea? Where'd you guys go?" We heard Dominik shout out through the condo.

"Let's go," I whisper-giggled as I gripped Rhea's hands and tugged her back through the sliding door, the bedroom, and back into the living room where all three of our boys now stood, surrounded by luggage.

"Where should we put these?" Damian asked, gesturing around him. 

Rhea wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind and hugged me tight to her chest. "You can put me and Y/N's stuff in there," she gestured with her head to the room behind us. "And your guys' stuff between the two rooms down the other hall." She smiled at them, albeit a bit passive-aggressively. 

"Wait, we're in different rooms?" Dominik asked us, his upset puppy-dog eyes appearing.

"Yep," Rhea popped the 'P', her accent unusually strong. 

"I want this one all to myself, "She squeezed me and kissed my cheek as my ears burned.

"Come on, seriously, Rhea?" Damian asked her, his voice seemingly deeper in his annoyance.

I could feel her nod my head against my ear.

Finn rolled his eyes, used to Rhea's antics at this point in the relationship. "Whatever, lads. We'll just have to have boys nights every night."

"Yeah!" Dominik agreed, sticking his tongue out at us mockingly before he grabbed his bag and walked back down the hallway to his room.

I played along with Rhea's wants and just shrugged at the two remaining boys who looked at us in disbelief. Damian scoffed before grabbing his bag and following suit, Finn right on his heels.

"They'll figure it out, right?" I asked Rhea, looking over my shoulder slightly at her.

"Yeah, probably."

"Good. Let's go down to the beach!" I excitedly told her, fully turning around to face her. 

She grinned at the prospect of me in a bathing suit, laid out in the sun, "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boys, having heard we were going down to the beach, decided that while they were still upset, they weren't upset enough to not go down to the beach with us, and now stood sulking outside the bedroom door where I was finishing getting dressed, tying my matching skirt around my waist. 

It was a cute little orange two-piece I had found at a boutique near our house. The top was really just two little triangles of fabric to cover myself but it had come with a matching tied-up skirt and headwrap. And, it was covered in flowers which just made it that much cuter.

I fixed the headwrap, making sure all of my hair was covered without any weird-looking lumps sticking out, and then checked myself over once more in the mirror to make sure I had taken all the tags off and had the suit on correctly. 

Once I was satisfied with how I looked, I opened the door for a mock fashion show for my partners. 

Damian wolf-whistled at me as I did a small spin to show off the flowy skirt. Finn grabbed my hand and had me do another spin, lifting my hand over my head, to the enjoyment of my partners.

"You look so good, mami," Dom practically salivated as he stared at me with heart eyes. 

Rhea looked me up and down, her eyes briefly stopping on my nails before she got back up to my eyes. "You're right, sweetness. Your nails do match your bikini perfectly, good job picking out the color."

I beamed at the compliment and grabbed the edge of my skirt, lifting it slightly as I gave a small curtsey. "Why thank you, baby."

Damian came up to me, gripping my hips as he also checked me out, his eyes eventually landing on mine too, "Can I just say, with this beautiful complexion," he gently stroked his thumb down my cheek, "Orange is definitely your color." He kissed my forehead.

I blushed slightly as I smiled at him in silent thanks. "Okay, guys, let's go. I'm ready for some relaxation!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know who I realized you look like?" Rhea asked me, completely out of the blue.

The two of us were laid out on the towels higher up on the beach while the boys threw each other around in the water, practically waterboarding each other while we watched.

I pulled my gaze from the book I was reading and turned to her, noticing her eyes were still closed underneath her sunglasses as she lay on her back, staring up at the sun. 

"Who?" I asked warily, not sure I would like the comparison.

"Orange Blossom," Rhea cackled.

I stared at her in confusion before it hit me. "From Strawberry Shortcake?!"

Rhea's laugh grew as I sat there in bewilderment before a laugh began to bubble up out of my chest. And then I was bent over laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Rhea herself had to sit up she was laughing so hard to keep herself from choking on her own spit.

The boys, having noticed our laughing fit when they looked up for their periodic check-up on us, began making their way up the beach to where we sat.

"What's so funny over here?" Finn asked us.

"She- she said- she said I-," I was laughing so hard I couldn't get a single sentence out. Rhea managed to sober up before I did and repeated what she had told me.

All three of them were sent into fits of laughter, after having to be shown who she was first.

"Don't get me wrong, you look amazing in orange. But, with the flowers I just couldn't not see it," Rhea cackled. 

I wiped away the tears of laughter that had formed in the corners of my eyes. "No, I totally get it. I don't know how I didn't see it before, oh my God."

"You know what? Just for that..." I trailed off and put my book to the side, hopping up and using all the strength in my body to pick Rhea up bridal style.

Her eyes widened as she startled but I had already fully picked her up and started running towards the water. 

"No, no, no, no, no! Y/N! Don't you dare!" She shrieked as we reached the water. I waded out to where the water reached the bottom of my thighs, about a foot below Rhea.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung onto me as she kicked her feet. "Oh, you want me to put you down?" I asked sweetly.

Rhea's eyes widened behind her sunglasses, "No-" She was interrupted as Damian came up behind the both of us and pushed up over, both of us toppling over into the water.

We both stood up spluttering as we watched him double over laughing at us, Dom and Finn on the cusp of the shore watching us.

Rhea and I shared a look before teaming up and each grabbing one of Damian's arms, dragging him further out into the water, him completely compliant as he laughed too hard to care what we were doing.

With unspoken communication, simultaneously, I jumped on Damian's back, sending him forward while Rhea yanked on his arms, further pulling him forward into the water.

Since we still weren't super far out into the water yet and I was on top of Damian, while I did hit the water, I luckily didn't go all the way under. Plus, Rhea caught me a little bit before I could.

Damian stood up from the water, the laughter now nowhere in sight as his annoyance was displayed clear as day on his face.

Small bursts of laughter exploded from me and Rhea as we tried to contain them, but the look on his face as water dripped down was too much. Any semblance of control went right out the window when Dom and Finn came up behind Damian and pushed him over into the water again.

Rhea and I clung onto each other for dear life as we laughed so hard we couldn't breathe, the boys keeping our laughter going by giving us a little show of performing wrestling moves on each other as they continued to fight and push each other into the water.

Eventually, this led to us playing chicken, another few feet or so deeper into the ocean. I was on Finn's shoulders with Dominik on Damians while Rhea played ref on the side.

"Go for his stomach, remember he's ticklish," Finn whispered up at me. 

"Got it," I responded, determined to win as I leaned down and we did our little handshake. 

Rhea looked at both groups. "Ready?" She asked Finn and me, to which we both nodded in response. She turned to Dom and Damian. "Ready?" They both nodded.

"On your mark, get set, go!" She shouted, waving her hand like a flag.

Finna and Damian began walking towards each other as Dominik and I both held out our hands for each other. As soon as he was within reach, I began tickling his ribs, watching as he began to squirm atop of Damian, who was struggling to hold him up as he moved. 

As a unit, Finn and I moved in for the kill. I pushed Dom backwards as Finn pushed Damian. They both fell back into the water with a large splash.

Dominik immediately came up out of the water shouting for Rhea, saying that we were cheating. I gave the three of them my most innocent look possible as Rhea looked over at us while we were accused of interference.

"Nothing there was against the rules, Dom Dom. Y/N and Finn won fair and square." She announced.

Dominik was clearly affronted as a look of hurt crossed his features. "Okay, fine." He threw his hands up in surrender. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabbed Rhea's arm and dunked her into the water.

And let me tell you, Rhea was not happy when she came back up. The two of them got into a splashing match and continuously dragged each other under the water until Damian inevitably broke it up.

Finn bent down and helped me off of his shoulders, trying to not get my head any wetter than it already was, and the five of us walked back to shore together.

Apart from a day or two spent out shopping, the rest of the week was spent like this. Fighting each other in the water, sunbathing, Rhea and me cuddling long into the night while the boys grumbled and complained and cuddled each other in spite.

It was blissful, and the best week of my life. 

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  dialogue  prompts  taken  from  furiosa: a mad max story  (2024),  directed  by  george  miller.  feel  free  to  edit  and  change  as  you  seem  fit.  ) 

❛ as the world falls around us, how must we brave its cruelties? ❜

❛ we should go back now. ❜

❛ i'll come with you. ❜

❛ the stars be with you. ❜

❛ who's coming for us? ❜

❛ who do we have here? ❜

❛ what do they call you? ❜

❛ now, you have had a hard day, haven't you? you must be exhausted. ❜

❛ there's only one thing i need you to do and that is rest. ❜

❛ you don't have to say a word, i promise. ❜

❛ tomorrow, i'll take you home. ❜

❛ keep an eye on her, keep her safe. ❜

❛ you're bleeding. ❜

❛ i'm not gonna leave you. ❜

❛ whatever you have to do, however long it takes, promise me you’ll find your way home. ❜

❛ no, no, no. don’t look away. we mustn’t look away. ❜

❛ why would you run from me? ❜

❛ you’re gonna have to show me who you are. ❜

❛ you don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. ❜

❛ you may wanna close your eyes. ❜

❛ you will rule with me in the splendor of a new wasteland. ❜

❛ i’m afraid for you, sweetheart. really afraid. ❜

❛ witness me! ❜

❛ you’re all fools for coming here. ❜

❛ when things go bonkers, you have to adapt. ❜

❛ she looks nothing like you. ❜

❛ she has her mother’s perfections, and none of my deficiencies. ❜

❛ she’s perfect. not like the genetic absurdities you have for sons. ❜

❛ would you like to stay here in the citadel? ❜

❛ if i let you stay and you grow to become a strong, healthy woman, you could become one of our wives. ❜

❛ no! she’s not for sale, she’s mine. ❜

❛ you behave, i’ll behave. ❜

❛ where have i seen you before? ❜

❛ we're going to build ourselves a war rig. ❜

❛ he done the most runs on the fury road. and brung back the booty every time. ❜

❛ eyes left. they’re flanking us. ❜

❛ you’re going to pull over and get out. ❜

❛ where did you think you were going? ❜

❛ there is nowhere else. this is the wasteland. wherever you thought you were going does not exist. ❜

❛ i lost my convoy. i lost my crew. i’m gonna have to start again. and i’m driving off thinking i ought to start with you. ❜

❛ you may be raw, but you have about you a purposeful savagery. ❜

❛ you give me time, i’ll teach you everything you need to know about road war. ❜

❛ if you survive everything we take on together, you’ll have all the skills you need to get wherever you wanna go. ❜

❛ keep it. you’ll need it. ❜

❛ for you. for your travels. you’re done here. you’re free to go. ❜

❛ food, water, wheels, whatever you need. i'll help you put it together. give me a couple of days. ❜

❛ i want what you want. a full belly... and a fistful of bullets for a tank of gas. ❜

❛ we’re not leaving without our tankers full of gas. ❜

❛ you wanna get out of here, follow me. ❜

❛ let’s kill him. right now. ❜

❛ this place at the end of your map of secrets... where is it? ❜

❛ i wanna help you find this place. wherever it may be. ❜

❛ come with me. ❜

❛ there is no hope! not for them, not for you! certainly not for me! ❜

❛ it’s the price we all pay to survive in the wasteland. we cannot be soft! ❜

❛ stay! you’ll find peace here. ❜

❛ if you find him, he’s mine. ❜

❛ gentlemans, it’s time. time to do war. ❜

❛ here, no time for long goodbyes. we’ve done some mighty things together. goodbye. ❜

❛ you’ve found me. ❜

❛ you could have necked me in the night, but you didn’t. ❜

❛ i have nothing. i am nothing. ❜

❛ remember me? ❜

❛ you crawled out of a pitiless grave, deeper than hell. and only one thing’s gonna do that for you. and not hope. hate. ❜

❛ no shame in hate. it's one of the great forces of nature. ❜

❛ so... this is the day i die. i’ve always wondered how. ❜

❛ my childhood. my mother. i want them back. ❜

❛ i'm right there, i’m right there with you. i too craved nothing but revenge. ❜

❛ if the shooter goes around the back, the shootee won’t know the precise moment of the execution. ❜

❛ what you want, dear, are my cries of anguish. anguish without end. and if i could give you that, i would. ❜

❛ if you can’t do me quick, you’ll have to do me slow. ❜

❛ i’ve been waiting for someone like you, someone worthy of me. ❜

❛ no honor, no rule of law to sort things out. just two evil bastards out here in the wasteland. ❜

❛ you do this, you do this right, you become me. ❜

❛ i am nothing like you. ❜

❛ you are me. already dead. ❜

❛ to feel alive, we seek sensation. any sensation to wash away the cranky black sorrow. ❜

❛ the question is... do you have it in you to make it epic? ❜

[sixteenth-day-event]

Welcome to the Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event!

This is an event designed to celebrate the Dream SMP's iconic 16th day of the month! Use a personalized prompt to create piece of art, writing, or something else that can be shared on the 16th!

Sign-up: CLOSED

This event is primarily focused on the DREAM SMP STORYLINE AND CHARACTERS, NOT the content creators. This is mainly because I don't know enough about the content creators to give prompts for them. However, if you can find a way to link the prompt you receive to the content creators instead of their characters, feel free to do so!

This event also TOLERATES ALL DREAM SMP CHARACTERS. Any negativity towards other participants is cause for a block. If you find that the content reblogged here makes you uncomfortable, you're very welcome to unfollow this event blog while still participating yourself!

How to participate:

Fill out the linked sign-up form to identify your Dream SMP interests. This information will determine what kind of prompt you get for creating your own work.

Approximately a week before the 16th, you'll get two asks from this blog in your inbox, each ask containing a brief prompt based on your interests. Choose one of the prompts. The reason there are two prompts is just to give you a choice in case you don't like one of them; you don't have to complete them both! If you strongly dislike both of your prompts, let me know so I can send more.

Use your choice of prompt to create a piece of art, writing, or something else—whatever you like! But remember, don't post it until the 16th of the month.

This is NOT a gift exchange, as all the prompts will come straight from me, the event-runner, NOT from other participants. This means that there is no expectation of quality, nor is there a minimum or maximum amount you can create. Works are only assumed to be small. You could write an entire novel or a single sentence; you could draw a 100-page comic or a 1-minute sketch; it's all welcome! You could even drop out at any time. Filling out the sign-up form only means that you will receive a prompt; it does not mean that you have to participate. This event is supposed to be as stress-free as possible.

On the 16th of the month, post your work! This could be as a direct response to the ask with your chosen prompt, or it could be a separate post. Either way, just remember to @ this blog and use the tag #sixteenthdayevent so I can reblog anything you create!

Event run by @elmhat.

[fuxuannie]

Hi, so feel free to reject this but your choice of HSR characters with either a little sibling or child they are babysitting for that is like Klee from Genshin Impact.

* pairing(s) : various hsr x gender neutral reader

* prompt : request ♡

* authors note : this was rlly cute as someone with younger cousins!! i hope you like it anon ♡ Chunhua, (Dan Heng's little sister that doesnt exist lol) will be the child in all 3!

DAN HENG is ever so embarassed as he holds onto the hand of a small child that stood next to him, hes hanging his head down low in embarrassment as the little girl with black hair and light blue eyes smiles. "Hi there! Big brother has to take care of me today, because he made a promise to me!"

"You.. have a sister?!" March 7th exclaims in surprise, while Welt and Himiko were already aware of her existence. Stelle shrugs before returning to her game, and you giggle a little. "Hello, everyone. I promise she won't bring too much trouble." He says in a mumble, letting her hand go and she looks over at the unfamiliar faces, before seeing you and her face immediately lights up.

"Pretty!" She runs in your direction, and clings onto you. This leaves you surprised and looking at your boyfriend, "Love?" You say with a chuckle, the little girl looks up at you and bounces a little. "I'm Chunhua! Big brother calls you pretty!" She says with an excited expression, "Shhh! Stop blabbering the first thing you think of!" He hissed, pinching her cheek.

"Oooww! Ow ow-"

"You think I'm pretty?" You say with a teasing tone and Dan heng chuckles. "I always do."

"Please, not infront of Chunhua. You two are corny!" She'll cover her eyes and shake her head. Dan Heng feels an uncontrollable shade of red color his cheeks as you look away and clear your throat. "Aaanyways, yeah.. Dearest, please help me take care of her." He asked of you, and you happily nod and pick her up into your arms. She immediately starts to squish your face, in which you giggle at her little antics.

The entire Express crew couldn't help but either be happy (mostly from Himiko and Welt), throw up (mostly from March.) or wish they had a partner (mostly from Stelle.) as Dan Heng looked at you and was just absolutely lovestruck that you got along with his little sister.

"I knew I made the right choice when I chose you."

"You can watch her for a while, can't you? I have to help Herta with something involving Stelle and a few others.. I have no one else to ask." Dan Heng practically pleads MARCH 7TH, who pities him in whatever evil scheme Herta's planning for whoever is involved. "Fine.."

You notice Dan Hang thanking March 7th whos back is turned to you, something like that between those two was a very rare ocassion. "Oh? Did you get him his favorite dish or something? There's no way that he'll be thanking you for anything.." You say with a little chuckle, but she turns around with who seems to be Dan Heng if he were a petite little girl. You squint a little and she gives you a toothy grin, one you immediately recognized. "Chunhua?" You raised a brow, "Thats me!" She answers with a giggle as March 7th seemed surprised that you boh knew each other.

"I was stuck on babysitting duty once too, I can help out with taking care of her."

All you really needed to do was borrow Peppy from Asta, and handed the small little dog to Chunhua who was entertained for the rest of the hours that Dan Heng was probably suffering in Herta's experiments. You and March 7th only used that free time to talk and talk while watching over the little girl, maybe the time together was enough of a payment after all. (Though truly unintentional on Dan Heng's part)

When GEPARD first boarded the Astral Express, he didn't expect that a small visit turned into a babysitting session. Once again, Dan Heng leaves his little sister with you and an unwilling Gepard as he has to run a few errands in Belabog with March and Caeulus.

"Sorry.. he does that a lot.. it's a little funny." You apologize on Dan Hengs behalf, as Chunhua seems to be staring at the unfamiliar blonde in the room. He's staring back down at her, tilting her head and he imitates the action. She tilts it to the other side, and he follows, making her giggle a little.

You notice the gentle smile in Gepards eyes, lifting her up into his arms and letting her rest there comfortably. "I didn't know you were good with kids?" You say with a surprised chuckle, crossing your arms and leaning on the nearest wall. "I mean.. Serval was older, but we had each other. There are a lot of kids who look up to the Silvermane Guards, you know? Sometimes we have to meet kids and.. they're always sweethearts. Most of the time, at least." He says while patting her back, swaying back and fourth as your heart warms at the idea your boyfriend is loved by children and elderly.

He always had such a big heart, and it was always so clear with how loved he was within the city. And he was good with kids? Truly husband material, you couldn't wait for the day your future would be spent every day with him, and you were reassured that if you ever decided to adopt children.. they'd be in good hands with Gepard.

The sound of him clearing his throat snaps you out of his daze, and you make eye contact with his beautiful eyes. "What are you thinking about?" He asked curiously, but you only shake your head and smile. "Nothing," You walk towards him and place a hand on his shoulder, looking at Chunhua who fell asleep in minutes while in his arms. "Just a little jealous."

He scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes. "You get me everyday, and can't handle not being in my arms for a few hours?"

"Exactly. Hours without you is simply devastating!"

[lulublack90]

Prompt 20 - Emotional

@jegulus-microfic March 20 Word count 901

Previous part First part

The second he entered the house, he knew.

“Salazar’s balls!” He muttered under his breath. Remus turned his face to glance at him while still watching the hallway ahead for whatever had upset Regulus. “Be wary of what you say, Lupin. In fact, stay silent.” Remus looked at him questionably but kept his mouth shut. “My parents are here.”

“Regulus!” Orion Black appeared from the kitchen. “We wondered where you had gotten to.” Orion had a huge smile plastered on his face as he strode across the hall and embraced a horrified Regulus. 

“Good—Good evening, Father. I thought Mother was going to send word when you decided to return home.” Orion pulled away but left his large hands on Regulus’s shoulders, a smile still adorning his face. 

“Your mother had some business to take care of in London, so I thought I’d accompany her and see my loving son.” Regulus had to work extremely hard to keep the perplexed look off his face. His father had never been this friendly to him before. His father had always been cold and distant with him, only interacting with his sons if he was forced to by his wife. 

Remus hadn’t moved a muscle since the Black patriarch had appeared, but he still caught Orion’s attention. “And who is this? I don’t think I’ve met your little friend. Introduce us Regulus.” Remus tensed. Regulus looked at him. He would have laughed at the way Orion had called Remus little when the young man towered over the elder Lord Black if the situation hadn’t been so odd. 

“An acquaintance from Hogwarts, Father. Remus Lupin.” Orion narrowed his eyes once Regulus had spoken his name.

“Hmmm,” Orion hummed as he took in Remus’s appearance. “You’re the young werewolf who is in a relationship with my eldest son.” Remus swallowed nervously as Regulus tried to get his father’s attention away from Remus. “Not now, Regulus.” Orion waved him away. “Now, tell me, Remus, how is Sirius? I hope you are treating him well, or else you’ll have me to answer to.” He chuckled as he slapped a hand to Remus’s back. 

Remus turned his head wide-eyed, staring at Regulus. 

“Papa, are you feeling alright?” Regulus asked, looking warily at his father. 

“Of course, why do you ask?” Orion said pleasantly, Turning away from Remus.

“You’re being friendly.” Orion’s face fell. Regulus suddenly felt very guilty. “Sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

“No, no, it’s understandable. Why don’t you and Remus run along, and I’ll call you when dinner is ready.” The smile was back on his face. Regulus looked worriedly at his father before he decided he needed to ensure he didn’t mention what had just been said to Walburga. 

“Papa, you’re not going to tell Maman about what you just said about Remus?” He prayed he hadn’t just made a mistake. 

“So he is a spy then?” Both boys paled. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe don’t mention how you know each other. You know how she reacts when you’re brother is mentioned.” 

The front door burst open as the last words left Orion’s mouth, and Walburga Black stood framed in the doorway. 

“Ah, a welcoming party, how kind.” Her sharp voice was free of any emotional tones. “Regulus, you are well, I presume?” Regulus shook the shock from himself, letting his mask fall back over his features.

“Yes, Maman. May I take your bag?” She thrust her dragon hide travel bag into his hands as she unclasped her cloak and threw it towards the wall, where a narrow cupboard opened and caught it before blending back into the wall again. 

“You appear to have a house guest, Regulus.” She sneered in Remus’s direction.

“Yes, I apologise, Maman. The Dark Lord paired us together for an assignment, and it was easier to keep him and less pungent than having to keep retrieving him from the wolf pack.” Her face turned up even more in disgust. 

“You brought a werewolf into our ancestral home?” She asked, her nostrils flaring. 

“I assure you, Maman, he is housebroken.” Her sneer turned to a smirk. 

“Well, as the Dark Lord has seen fit to pair you, I suppose I can allow it for a time.” Her eyes narrowed again. “Keep a close eye on the wolf. Do not let him wander where he pleases.” She left them in the hallway as she disappeared upstairs to her office. 

Orion smiled at them and patted them both on the shoulder before returning to the kitchen. 

“Well, that was pleasant,” Remus smirked down at Regulus. 

“Oh, shut up, wolf! Come on, let’s go warn the others.” 

They didn’t have long to let James know what had happened before they were called down to dinner. 

“I see you’re ‘friend’ hasn’t dressed for dinner,” Walburga noted as they sat, the three Blacks in their formal wear. Remus, to Regulus’s amusement, had rejected the lending of the dress robes Regulus had offered and didn’t blink at Walburga’s comments. 

The dinner went well. Orion was back to his silent self and barely spared a glance at Regulus. It wasn’t until she excused herself at the end of the meal that Orion opened up again. He cast a silencing charm on the dining room door. 

“So, you’re trying to kill the Dark Lord?”      

Next part

[thelibrarian1895]

A Prompt/idea in Star Wars

Just a little thought

Let's say that to be polite, even if he hates it, Obi Wan, when forced to allow his not even in double digits yet padawan to have meetings with the Chancellor, Obi Wan sends Anakin with a gift. (And also a recording device tucked away in a necklace that he has Anakin wear)

Sometimes the gift is just some flowers or some fruit. But at one point Obi Wan received some cookies from a fellow knight who stress bakes. He was prompted by the Force to send the cookies with Anakin.

Palpatine has a serious allergic reaction to the cookies. Turns out the stress baking knight used honey as an experiment instead of vanilla extract and Palpatine, unbeknownst even to himself, was deathly allergic to honey. Anakin gets regular appointments with a mind healer to deal with witnessing the death of his "friend". There's a lot of nonsense that's going on until finally Mas Amedda is confirmed as the chancellor since he is the vice chancellor and the whole point of a vice chancellor is to step in in case of a dead chancellor. It's early enough that Mas Amedda hasn't been revealed as a sith without the Force.

Dooku, in the meantime, has Fallen. He's commissioned the clones and they're in the process of being developed and trained. Dooku decides that he's the Sith Master now so he's going to take up the plan.

Dooku does not know all of the plan. Palpatine didn't trust like that, of course. (And fortunately since Palpatine was only chancellor for a year, he never got the chance or resources to enact any nonsense plans like his own clones)

Dooku becomes senator for Serenno. Dooku becomes Chancellor of the Republic.

Dooku is the one who's pulling the strings on both sides.

Coin toss as to whether or not Dooku knows or finds out about Order 66. I'm inclined to think that he wouldn't enact it. I like to imagine that if he won, which he wouldn't, he'd just use the war to cut the Jedi down to more reasonable numbers/induce them to Fall and maybe encase in carbonite the ones that live but don't Fall yet and take them out every so often to put them through a cycle of torture or whatever to get them to Fall and join him with Force users as the dominant power in the galaxy.

Dooku certainly would not invite Anakin for tea. Dooku would not care to groom Anakin into an apprentice.

He might, however, reach out to his grandpadawan in the days before the war.

Feel free to take this and run with it in whatever direction you please.

[philtstone]

if i may, prompt-relatedly: you know that great look juliet gives/responds to shawn's freakout in 'scary sherry ...' with? she has to react to molly the same way a ridiculous number of times, right? :D

i THINK i interpreted the correct look here! sorry if u meant something else. also sorry in advance, i didnt expect for it to go in this direction, but it did, and i went with it. shawn pov is perennially impossible and even harder when he's supposedly half asleep. i truly cause myself problems. this ones a little un-pg, folks. enjoy!

Shawn wakes up with the grit of no sleep behind his eyeballs and his every limb feeling like lead. He hasn’t been a light sleeper since his pre-teens, so having a kid has been the weirdest experience: he’s now conditioned to startle awake at the tiniest little sound, but forty years of molecular training are actively working against him. Consequently, his physical person remains still and leaden as what Jules affectionately once called a potato sac (spelled the French way in Shawn’s mind, for flair and dignity purposes) while his awareness feels like it’s being run over by a small train while free-falling through space.

This time, it takes him a second to realize that it wasn’t Molly who woke him. In her defense, she doesn’t usually wake him up in the middle of the night. Wel, anymore, anyway. Aged five Molly is generally very independent, except for when she is the complete opposite of that, which Shawn supposes blearily is perfectly aligned with the sensibilities of both her parents. In the Hawaiian pizza that is her little personality, Shawn is consistently surprised by how much of the dough and sauce tastes just like him and Jules. 

Emphasis on the usually. On Thursday night at around eight p.m., Molly came down with a mystery horror-flu. Shawn spent all of Friday trying to eke out what it was, specifically, using one of Gus’s handbooks from his fancy San Francisco job, his memory of a half-dozen different children’s hospital flyers from that one case five years ago, and, against his own better judgment, Dr. Google. He spent all of Saturday freaking the hell out because she wasn’t getting any better. Her fever was hot and high and terrifying and every time Jules – who took most of Friday off when Shawn called her in a panic after hearing the worry in his dad’s voice over the phone – tried to coax soup into her, she screamed. 

Two hours ago the fever finally broke, which means Shawn has gotten roughly three hours of sleep in total this whole weekend. He fell asleep having forgotten to brush his teeth. His pajama shirt is stiff from secondhand dried fever sweat. She was tiny and miserable and trembling and he thinks he’ll have nightmares about the hot unnatural flush in her cheeks for months. 

It did indeed feel like his heart spent all weekend swinging around like a friggin’ tetherball.

Or whatever the fuck his dad had said. Shawn hates it when his dad is right. He hates it even more when he realizes his dad is right at four in the morning. It’s not even light out, and Shawn’s awake again, and he doesn’t know why.

read the rest on ao3

[missameliep]

Second Chances - Chapter Twenty Five: It starts with a kiss

Book: Desire and Decorum – Modern AU 

Pairings: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth (OC); Briar Daly x Edmund Marlcaster

Characters: Elizabeth Foredale (OC); Prince Hamid; Briar Daly; Edmund Marlcaster.

Rating: M (see trigger warnings in the notes bellow)

Word count: ~8k

Summary: After the drinking games at Edgewater, before sunrise, someone will reveal their feelings; and fortunately those suffering with a hungover, won't need to deal with it alone.

A/N: 

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except OC. Turkish words are translated in the notes in the end.

Trigger warnings: mentions of past drinking and drug consumption. Reader discretion advised.

This is my submission to @choicesprompts ' Flufftober 2024 Choices - prompts 1 (First Kiss)

September, 2018 – London – Friday night – six weeks before the weekend at Edgewater 

Slumped onto one of the large armchairs settled in the middle of the game room, Edmund used one controller to adjust the lights, a softer blueish hue surrounded them, and the other to select an option, starting the gameplay and its characteristic music blasted. 

Elizabeth sighed and asked, “Are you sure you’re not going? It’ll be fun.” 

“I avoided Theresa’s boring soirée at the Holloways and am finally free to enjoy a quiet night leading an assassin through Ancient Egypt, so unless a raging fire erupts, I’m not leaving this house.” 

“It's Friday night, Ed! I can’t believe you’d rather play video games instead of going out with us… Didn’t you say you and Annabelle were friends?” 

“I’ve said she was Harry’s friend, and we share a few common interests, but pubs crawl or whatever you folks will be doing is not one of them. Could you please move a bit to the left? You’re blocking the screen...” 

Crossing her arms, she huffed and stepped aside.  

“You complained you’re a twenty-four-year-old that lives a seventy-year-old man’s life and yet I’m inviting you to a night out with fun people and you’d rather stay home…” she shook her head slowly at him. 

“Not tonight, Eliza! Maybe next week I can go out and pretend to be young. But give me a few days’ notice to prepare myself...” 

A light tap on the doorframe and Elizabeth’s face darted to the brunette standing with a wide smile framed by flamming red lips.  

“Lizzy, I hope I’m not interrupting… but Annabelle and Luke texted they’re already there.” 

“I was just saying goodbye to my stepbrother. I don’t think you’ve met, have you?” 

The man sighed, before pausing the game. His gaze slowly moved from the screen and when he turned around to face the friend by the door his jaw almost dropped to the floor. The sight of the woman in black skinny trousers and a burgundy blouse waving at him with the most beautiful smile he has ever seen stole his breath away. 

“Hi, Edmund!”  

“Hi. Hello. You... Ah... Hi,” he mumbled, unable to control the increasing racing of his heart. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered, while brushing his clammy hands against his trousers. 

Conscious of the impact she caused, Briar huffed a quiet laugh and shifted to address her friend. 

“Nice to meet you, Edmund,” she said while shaking his hand. “I hope we meet again.” 

“I am going with you!” he blurted out. 

“You are?” Elizabeth’s head whipped in his direction, and she stared in disbelief as he turned off the game and put the controller down at the coffee table. 

“I just need to go to my room,” he said rising from the armchair and brushing past them, “Five minutes. I’ll meet you by the door.” 

Briar’s eyes followed the man almost running down the hallway, and she giggled. 

“Does it run in the family?” 

With a puzzled look, Elizabeth’s eyes darted to the same direction Briar was staring and she caught a glimpse of Edmund sprinting down the hall, “What does?”  

“Being cute and a dork?”  

October 28th, 2018 – Edgewater – Sometime after the drinking game 

It’s hard to tell when Edmund realized it was not the best idea for an engaged man to go knock on the door of a woman who is not his fiancée. It's even worse to do so in the middle of the night while slightly drunk.

He should’ve taken a cold shower to get rid of the idea that wormed its way into his mind, overshadowing every other thought concocted by his brain.

But he didn’t.

Anyways, he hates cold showers.

Staggering out of his room didn’t clear his mind or brought the realization of how bad that idea was. Crossing the few meters that separated his room from Briar’s door didn’t do it for him either. Not even when he tapped lightly with his knuckles, praying she was already sleeping and wouldn’t hear it - however, even then, his heart was clutching at the hope she would. So that was not that enlightenment moment either.

When the door slightly cracked open to allow visual confirmation of the night visitor, Edmund took a deep steadying breath, but it did little to stop his hands from shaking.

A moment later, Briar leaned against the doorframe smiling at him with such warmth that it was impossible not to think she cherished him. Maybe the only woman who ever did. And that was the moment he realised it was either the most brilliant move or his worst idea ever. Still, he once more was torn between the options. 

Playing with a long lock of her hair, her gaze lingered on his face, and she asked with a smile, “Trouble sleeping?” 

“I need to talk. To get this out of my chest. Can I come in?” 

Masking her surprise with another smile, she nodded and moved to the side, no questions asked. 

That was their thing, wasn’t it? Heart to heart conversations in the middle of the night... Only this time, he would also see her face while talking... and maybe he would find the answers he wishes. 

The man zigzagged until his knee bumped in the bed, and he slumped on the mattress. Giggling, she closed the door.

“You’re sloshed, Eddie!” her giggles fanned his face when she sat on the bed beside him and helped him sit up.   

“I’m certainly not. How dare you imply – No, I’m utterly sloshed. I can’t even pretend I’m not.” He let out a heartfelt laughter, and she used a hand to cover his mouth and shush him.  

His clear blue eyes crinkled with a smile. The gentle touch of her hand and the proximity of their bodies made his heart race. It was a shame this blurriness prevented him from seeing her eyes more clearly and the natural form of her lips without any lipstick. But he could tell he loved them nonetheless.

“Quiet or you’ll wake everyone up,” she hissed, but there was no edge on her voice, while her hand slowly retreated. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“You’re beautiful,” he sighed, and a tentative hand reached out to rest on Briar’s cheek, who didn’t flinch. “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Even more, when I’m sober, because I can really see you... You’re a bit blurred now... and I can’t see your eyes... and I adore your eyes… they are so… so… intense… and warm... and kind... But my mind already knows you’re beautiful. Inside too. Not your insides... insides... like your guts... but your mind and your heart –” He stopped talking when she failed to stifle her giggles.  

“You’re laughing at me!” he mumbled, and pulled his hand away. 

Trying to stifle her giggles, she tried to remedy the situation, placing her hand on his bouncing knee when his uneasiness drove him to the edge of the mattress. She wasn’t certain if she wanted him to stay, but she didn’t want him to leave yet.

“Was that the urgent matter you needed to ‘get out of your chest’?” she questioned with a soft voice, matching the proximity shared. His attention immediately returned to her, and a timid smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“No, but your beauty is too distracting…” There was a lilt of laughter in his tone, and his fingers combed his ash blonde hair back and rested at the nape of his neck.  

“I won’t apologise for that,” she huffed a laugh, and her cheeks were noticeable darker from blushing because of his words, and this alone almost sobered him up.  

Edmund leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and his breath carried the scent of mint flavoured toothpaste mixed with a hint of liquor – more than a hint, actually.  

She suspected the liquor fuelled this unexpected audacity, considering how shy and restrained he was during their ride this afternoon; however, if asked, he would say this was all about her, her presence was intoxicating, and his self-control reached its limit tonight. 

Her breath hitched when his hand touched her cheek this time. Closing her eyes, she revelled on the feather light touch of his thumb caressing her velvety skin, following a path towards her mouth. When he traced the curves of her lips, it quietened everything else but her thunderous heartbeats. 

Her tongue was emptied, no flirty or funny words ready to fly away... In fact, every brain cell was screaming for her to shut up and kiss him; and his were probably doing the same, considering the way his hooded eyes fixed on her mouth when he leaned even closer. Without any warning, he bowed until his lips were a hair’s breadth away from hers. Their gazes locked for a second that lasted an eternity, a silent dialogue between their yearnings.  

The pull of her luscious lips became so irresistible.  

Waiting for permission, his lips ghosted hers and they were so close he could almost taste her exhales. 

Briar said nothing, licked her lips and closed the gap.

At first, his lips touched hers delicately, then more insistently when his hand slid to the back of her neck and brought their faces closer. It was awkward for a few seconds, too much tension, noses bumping and eyes wide open staring at the other; until her hands cradled his cheeks and gently tilted his head to adjust his position.  

This was enough to make it more and more enjoyable. Her lips glided over his, and when she captured his lower lip between hers, he let out a barely audible gasp. And she made a mental note about his reaction.  

More confident, one of his hands caressed her knee while the fingers on the one nestled on the nape of her neck delved into her hair, eliciting goosebumps and she let out a sigh.

The moment he parted his lips, allowing their tongues to meet for the first time, it felt as if the sole purposes of their lips and tongues were to kiss one another.  

When she pulled away to try and catch her breath, his lips followed hers, and she smiled to herself satisfied, both hands cradling his face.  

Meanwhile, Edmund’s entire body tingled, and there was a pleasant warmth enveloping him, as if being swaddled by a duvet someone else warmed just for you.

Looking at her, his brain buzzed with a swarm of thoughts. Did he drink too much or was there really something different about kissing Briar? A spark. An energy. A connection. 

“Did you feel it too? Tell me I’m not bloody crazy…” he asked, leaning his forehead to touch hers. 

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Eddie… but I think you lost your mind. I definitely did, too.” 

With a huff, his head tilted back, and before another loud laughter escaped his mouth, she covered it with her hand. This time, he grabbed it and kissed her palm gently, and her eyes fluttered close. 

“We’re both too sloshed for this...” 

“I can’t… I can’t think of anything else. Only you, Briar.” 

Hearing those words was bittersweet. It was exactly what she hoped for, but not like this. Not a drunk confession. And especially not after spending time with Theresa and knowing she’s oblivious to their flirting and growing affection. And now they’re kissing while she sleeps! 

“You shouldn’t say things like that...” she chided, “Your fiancée is asleep somewhere... over there...” Her free hand pointed randomly at the wall beside them, and he grimaced.  

“This has nothing to do with her… let’s pretend for a moment I’m not engaged.”  

Frowning, she pulled her hand from his grasp.  

“What a nasty thing to say!”  

“Briar,” Edmund called her name, his voice softer and more slurred, but she didn’t look back at him and pushed his chest. “I told you, Theresa and I… that is not real… she doesn’t love me either… she loves… loved… somebody else… not me… but you and I… I –”  

“Is she aware of how you feel? Because the engagement seems pretty real to her! She showed me pictures of bloody wedding dresses!” 

Edmund’s hand rubbed his face, and he exhaled loudly.  

“If you’re here for a one nightstand, just... own it! Don’t sweet talk me...” 

“Briar, I think – not think, I know… I fell for you.” 

Slack jawed, she gaped, and it took her a few breaths to find the words again. “Eddie… You shouldn’t say that either. You do have a fiancée and you’re sloshed… I know you’ll regret everything tomorrow... and leave me heartbroken.” 

“Never. You got me head over heels… I’m yours.” 

Briar’s face tilted upwards, and she stared at the ceiling for a long moment and let out a loud frustrated exhale. If cupid was a real thing, she would murder hers slowly and painfully. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” she muttered under her breath. 

“Is it Woods?” 

“Arthur?” Her head whipped to look at him. “What does Arthur have to do with this mess?” 

“Do you love him?” 

“I-” she paused and pressed her lips together. “I could... eventually... but not when... because of this..." Her finger pointed back and forward at them. 

There was too much satisfaction in hearing those words, and he let out a relieved sigh. 

“You feel it too?” he asked, and his voice was barely above a whisper. 

“What if I do? Does it change anything?” 

Edmund tentatively touched her face and guided her eyes to look back at him. “It changes all!”

“How?” she asked, but immediately changed her mind and waved her hands. “Please, don’t tell me... or... I’ll believe you.” 

“Believe me.” 

He pulled her in for another kiss, and all the fight left her when his tongue swirled with hers. He was already leaning to push her down on the mattress, but she pushed him back.

“No more kissing.” Out of breath, Briar placed a hand on his chest to put some distance between them and held her head high. “Talk. Tell me what you’ll do. I won’t be anyone's playtoy.”

Edmund obediently complied. It felt invigorating to make plans for his own future without consulting with his mother first, and especially plans that included Briar. They talked some more and kissed one last time before sleep claimed their eyes sometime before dawn.

Briar's face was the last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered close, and he thought that was heavenly.

A persistent buzzing noise invaded Elizabeth’s dreamless sleep, almost like the sounds of cicadas in scorching summer nights demanding the world’s attention to their performance. Answering the compelling call, her eyes fluttered open, but it was the same as if they didn’t. Surrounded by darkness, the coldness kissing her feet that escaped from underneath the duvet reminded her it wasn’t summer. She immediately pulled it, rubbing the cold feet against the mattress.  

While her body reluctantly woke up and her brain regained consciousness, she was confronted by confusion and immense discomfort all at once, reminders of the insane amount of alcohol she ingested last night.  

Her head ached as if samba percussionists were beating repeatedly their instruments out of cadence to punish her. The parchedness in her mouth seemed like she had wandered the desert for days. Trying to alleviate it, her lips parted, but her mouth had dried out and it was difficult to swallow and get rid of the disgusting taste sitting on her tongue.  

The buzzing sound echoed again, attacking her ears, and she realized it was probably the mobile vibrating with incoming messages over the nightstand. Even though she wondered what time it was, the identity of the caller or texter and their reasons to be trying to reach her in what she assumed was the middle of the night didn’t pique her interest at all, if anything it riled her up for disturbing her rest. Mustering the strength to reach the nightstand to turn off the phone, she tried to roll over, but something blocked her path and restrained her motion. Not something, but someone. 

In the dark she couldn’t rely on her sight, but her other senses worked perfectly, collecting information of quiet sounds of breathing behind her, the light pressure of a body against her back, and the arm she finally noticed dangling over her waist underneath the covers. And lastly, the fragrance that reached her nostrils was unmistakable. 

“Hamid?” her voice sounded hoarse in the quiet room, almost unrecognisable.  

The body stirred, and he hummed his response. His warm breath fanned her neck, and if she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she would have enjoyed it. 

Why are you in my bed, dude? The question died in her tongue, but not the surprise stirred by his presence. 

“Do you need to go to the toilette again?” his sleepy voice reached her ears.  

Again? When did I even go to the toilet?  

Her mind raced, trying to cling to any memory that could explain Hamid sleeping on her bed. But she found none. Maybe she should take the hint, get up, go to the toilet, wash her face, and drink some water. And definitely get some aspirins before her head explodes, and something for the burning stomach and nausea too. And maybe if she feels better, she will remember. 

“I’m thirsty,” she said fighting the dryness of her mouth. 

His arm retreated, and his hand lightly brushed the skin of her abdomen, and soon was gone, but not the goosebumps on its wakening.   

“The glass is empty, but if you give me a minute, I’ll get you some more…”  

“Don’t worry. I’ll get up…” she said without moving to get off the bed right away.  

His weight shifted in the mattress. Hamid rubbed his eyes and stretched his arm aimlessly until his fingers reached the switch in the wall. The room was flooded by bright light.  

“Turn it off, please!” she squealed scrunching her eyelids. Her hands flew to her eyes, mostly because of the bright lights, and only partially because of the brief sight of his bare torso. “Why are you shirtless? Are you naked?” 

“Don’t you remember?”  

“I-I don’t…” 

“Allah Allah, I thought that was memorable...” 

The pacing of the tiny percussionists inside her brain grew even faster and stronger, and her heart joined the rhythm.  

“What are you talking about?” she dared ask with a strangled voice. 

“The re-enactment of the projectile vomit scene from the Exorcist,” he said very slowly, and realization dawned on her. 

“Oh, my god! I puked? On you?”  

“Fortunately, you had asked me to take you to the toilette, and my t-shirt was the target and not my face.” 

“I puked on you?” she repeated, shocked by the idea. 

What the flying fudge cracker! That's a whole new level of stupidity, isn’t it? Why did I drink this much? 

“I’m so sorry!” she mumbled, hiding her face in her hands. “That’s so gross… I-I… Sorry.”  

She wanted to run away and hide forever, but her body was so tensed it froze. 

“Hey,” he said softly, but she didn’t uncover her eyes. After calling her name, his hand reached one of hers, which she reluctantly let him grab – she couldn’t understand why on earth he was anywhere near her.

“It’s okay, Liz. You did nothing wrong.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s untrue... I’m mortified... What else do I have to apologise for?” 

“Don’t worry, aside from the vomiting and being horny and handsy, drunk Liz makes delightful company...”

The joke did little to lessen her embarrassment. How can he be so chill about it? 

“What do you mean by ‘handsy’?” 

“You tried to kiss me and grab my butt.” 

“What? I would never!” she protested, knowing well enough that she prefers his sculpted torso and arms to his bottom, even though it has a nice round shape... And she's clearly still a bit horny. 

“You also took ‘no’ for an answer, which was remarkably respectful.” 

She let an exasperated huff through her mouth and pressed her hands against her face. “I can’t have this conversation now...” 

“We can revisit it some other time, I’ll gladly share the details.” 

“How about never?” 

Smiling, he sat straighter and lighted the lamp on the nightstand. His eyes, cleared of sleep, stared directly at hers, “Drinking like that is unusual to you, I understand. And you don’t have to feel embarrassed about what happened.” 

“That’s impossible...” she sighed and looked at him, wondering what else she has said and done. “Just to clarify, you’re not naked…” 

“No, I’m not. And I’d never cross that line. You were drunk and asked me to stay, and I did. To keep you company. That’s all.” 

Relief washed over her, and she smiled. “Thanks. For not… you know… and for sticking around.”  

“Don’t mention it. Someone had to hold your hair up, prevent you from dancing and falling on your magnificent bottoms, and bumping your head on the furniture.”  

“Oh, God! It did happen then!” Hamid nodded. “Is that why my head hurts?” Her fingers raked her hair, searching for any sign of a bump.  

“I’m pretty sure that’s the alcohol.” 

“What time is it?” 

He picked his mobile in the nightstand. “7:45.” Stealing a sideway glance at her worried face, his finger caressed the back of her hand, and he asked softly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you something to drink? Annabelle brought a bottle of isotonic drink. And I can get you something to eat…”  

“I – No, I’m fine now. Even thinking about food makes me sick… I’ll go to the... you know… and you... go back to sleep. Excuse me.” 

Hamid let go of her hand, and Elizabeth rolled to the opposite side of the bed, moving away from him, and not looking back even when she felt his stare. She swung her legs touching the carpet and noticed both her socks were gone. Her feet were heavy, just like the rest of her body, and she dragged them on her way to the en-suite. The touch of the frigid floor against the soles of her feet, caused her to shiver, and she mentally cursed not putting on the slippers. 

Closing the door, she barely had the time to turn on the light before her legs started giving away underneath her. Pressing her hands against the cool marble of the sink to support her weight, she avoided stumbling or collapsing to the floor. Performing every little task took too much energy, and she almost gave up on washing her face, but the invigorating cold water gave her the necessary boost to continue. By the time she took the toothbrush to her mouth, she needed to sit down. Flopping down into the wooden bench near the bathtub, she noticed Hamid’s white t-shirt soaked-wet dangling over the rim of the tub, and two pairs of socks hanging on the faucet.  

Suddenly, a panicked Hamid kneeling on the floor in front of her, begging her to keep her eyes open flashed before her eyes; was it a memory or her imagination? 

Her hand barely moved to brush her teeth, and her heavy eyelids were impossible to keep open with all the light around her. She would close them for one second, maybe two.  

The sound of the toothbrush falling and hitting the floor didn’t wake her up, but she couldn’t ignore the soft but persistent rapping on the door. 

“Liz,” Hamid asked softly, “are you alright?” 

Her hand rubbed the foam from her lips and chin, and she picked up the toothbrush from the floor. “I’m fine,” she replied getting up, and the movement made her dizzy. Slowly moving back to the sink, she heard him speaking again.  

“You’ve been in there for a very long time…” 

“I’m brushing my teeth.” 

She washed her mouth, took another gulp of tap water, and tied her hair in a high bun.

When she opened the door, Hamid was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a worried look. It surprised her that he didn’t go back to sleep or to his own room. 

“How are you, really?” he asked, carefully speaking in a low tone that wouldn’t be uncomfortable considering the aftereffects of the alcohol.  

“I brushed my teeth, but my mouth still tastes like a smelly old brolly –” 

Hamid chuckled and it eased the frown of his brows. “That’s very specific. How do you even know what it tastes like?” 

“My mind does,” she sighed. “My head hurts. My stomach is on fire, and I could drink a bucket of water. And mostly I’m feeling incredibly dumb for drinking this much again...” And puking on you. 

“For now, we can take care of the head and stomach.” 

Walking past her, Hamid crouched and opened a door of the cabinet under the sink. With familiarity, he produced a white box with a red cross painted at the top from the first shelf and took a bottle of antacids and another of aspirins, both were placed on the sink in front of her.  

With a grimace she drank the liquid as instructed and the pill sat bitterly on her tongue while she waited for him to come back with the bottle of Gatorade.

Watching her swig half of the content of the bottle without stopping to breath, an amused smile parted his lips. 

“And for the dumbness –” 

“You’ll keep mocking me endlessly and not let me forget it...” her tongue was quicker and sharper than his ever would, and she huffed in frustration, letting her shoulders slump. 

“Why would I do that?” he asked softly, brows knitted together while trying to meet her gaze. 

She pursed her lips and said nothing in return. Shame taking over, her eyes focused on anything else but his face.  

“A word from you and I’ll never speak about tonight. A joke is not worth it, if it causes you pain. You can expect nothing but understanding from me. Like I said before, I truly believe you deserve kindness, hayatım[1], and not more criticism.”  

Her eyes flicked from her folded hands to his eyes, his expression changing from one of concern to a more relaxed one while he reminisced about the night before.  

“Last night, you have laughed, joked and been the most open around a group of people since I met you. You looked happy, truly happy. Relaxed. And that wasn’t just the alcohol. You were in a safe place and let your guard down. I agree drinking this much isn’t good for you... But why shaming yourself? Why not learning from it instead? You can’t change anything that happened, but you can make different choices in the future, if you desire, no? And if you don’t, I’ll hold your hair up again.” 

There was so much empathy in his tone that if she wasn’t so dehydrated, her eyes would be watering. She mouthed a soundless thank you and he inched closer. 

Standing behind her, he gently squeezed her shoulders, and they looked at each other’s reflections in the mirror.  

Instead of the pink plaid PJs, she was sporting a long sleeved green one with no buttons, and she wondered if Hamid was the one who changed it.  

As if reading her mind, he said softly, “Annabelle changed your clothes, after we cleaned you up.” 

“I must thank her later.” 

That was the first time she truly looked at herself.  

The reflection looking back at her was pale, her usual tan had completely vanished these past months; smudged eyeliner and dark stains of mascara accentuated the dark circles under her reddened eyes, which seemed smaller due to the puffy eyelids. She looked spent. The entangled hair had been pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, and a few shorter curls had escaped the imposed restraint, sticking out close to her ears and neck. All in all, she was a complete mess while Hamid looked unfairly handsome with slightly flattened bed hair, the shadow of a beard and a big smile that caused the corners of his eyes to wrinkle; somehow, despite the vomiting, and deprivation of sleep she imposed him, there was so much adoration in his eyes that even in her current state was impossible to miss. 

“Hamid, can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“Why are we all here, Liz? Isn’t that the fundamental Philosophical question?” 

“Silly,” she chided, and his chuckle was so very close to her ear when he leaned forward that raised all the hair in her body and fogged her brain for a while.

“You know what I mean! You could be sleeping tight in your bed right now... instead, you spent the night taking care of my dumb drunk arse... when you had no obligation to.” 

“I like your cute dumb drunk arse...” He winked, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I! I’m a fan.”

Chuckling, Hamid hugged her from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Someone needed to hold your hair, and let’s say I know what it feels to be so utterly sloshed and not having anyone to look after me.” 

“You do?”  

He hummed. His breath fanned the bare skin of her neck.  

“But I won’t bother you with such an inane story. Let’s get you to bed.” 

“I wouldn’t mind listening to it...”  

His lips twitched, possibly surprised by the request, and he looked at her reflection in the mirror for a long moment, the way she hid a yawn against a palm, but still tried to keep her eyes focused on him. 

“Maybe some other time...” he replied while gently turning her around, but keeping her in the circle of his embrace, “You look about ready to fall asleep in my arms... not that I’d ever complain about that….” He winked at her, very flirty, in that Hamid-like fashion that makes her knees weak, and even though it wasn't far from the truth, she recognized the diversion right there in his words.

“I like a good bedtime story...” she said softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze over her shoulder, “And your voice...” She might’ve learned a thing or two about charming someone with him.

“Then how could I not humour you?”

Smiling, Hamid helped her sit on the bed and pulled the covers over her legs, and she remained sitting, looking expectantly.

In the dimly lit room, Hamid sat in front of her, legs crossed, took a deep breath and broke the silence.

“I only got really sloshed a handful of times... My sisters took care of me, helped me hide it from my parents... But one time, it happened during a trip with friends... We went to Amsterdam for the weekend to celebrate my 19th birthday. Most of my memories are fogged... You must have seen what happens to six lads with loads of cash partying at Amsterdam...” 

“I actually never been there...” 

“Haven’t you? I must take you there. It's lovely in the spring.” 

His fingers reached her hand, and his thumb was very distractingly caressing the back of her hand, following the paths of green veins till her wrist and back. Another distraction, she realized. Caressing the back of his hand with her free hand in return, she asked, “What happened to you?” 

He hummed, and she suspected he was carefully choosing the words to continue. 

“Everything went brilliant until the night before our flight... We went clubbing and met these girls, very friendly, seniors at uni, gorgeous… and had us wrapped around their fingers.” He chuckled. “We followed them like puppies to another club and to another... By the time we got to the third one, I was so wasted, I could barely stand on my own, but I didn’t want to admit it and go back to the hotel... So, my friend Lewis stayed with me, but while he was away hitting on one of the girls or whatever… I don’t know… I guess I accepted a pill that was definitely not aspirin…” 

“Someone drugged you?” her voice shrieked, piercing her own brain, and she looked at his face over her shoulder, and he clicked his tongue. 

“Nobody was sober at that point, and I probably said I was cool with it...” Hamid paused at her concerned expression and tried to explain, “The day before, I tried space cake and smoked a little hashishe... anyway... It was a harmless experience. We laughed for hours sitting at the grass...” 

“But you were already drunk! You couldn’t consent!” Elizabeth snapped, head racing with all the legal issues this story poses. This was the sort of thing she worried about whenever going our to clubs and parties and one of the reasons she was vigilant with her and her friends’ drinks, and to hear something like that happened to Hamid not in theory made her chest tight, even though he sounded so nonchalant about it.

Hamid’s shoulders raised almost to his ears, and he let out a deep breath; the smile faltered a little and his expression transformed entirely.

Was he regretting telling me?

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m doing it again...” 

“It’s alright.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe I should stop, so you can sleep.” 

She shook her head, widening her eyes to fight the sleep.

“I woke up at the hospital. Someone had found me lying on a bench at Oosterpark and called emergency. I had no documents, no coat, and no shoes... It was winter. My clothes were drenched from the rain…” 

“Wow... that's... you could have died...” Elizabeth pointed out the obvious, and instantly regretted it.

“Trust me, I know. The doctor gave me a long and detailed speech about hypothermia. And drugs. And unprotected sex, even though I don’t remember even kissing anybody… They poked me with needles, ran tests and gave me some pills just in case…”  

“Dude…” Elizabeth muttered but stopped before any of the concerns bubbling in her brain escaped again.  

He looked expectantly, but she didn’t know what to say. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to shut down that voice in her mind whispering judgmental and useless advice about something that happenend to him years ago, and listened to her heart. Pushing the covers aside, she moved on the bed and sat on the balls of her feet right in front of him.

“I – I’m sorry this happened to you,” she said softly and genuinely, and his expression eased when no chiding came out of her mouth.  

“I’m not,” he said, and the smile was back on his face. “Almost dying in such a stupid way had positive outcomes.” 

She gaped. “How can you see a bright side in this story, Hamid?” 

“There is always a silver lining,” he said with a familiar cheerful tone, but still soft enough not to bring her discomfort. “First, I realized I didn’t like drinking that much or getting hungover… I dance better, and my jokes are funnier when I’m sober. And from that day on, I’m an advocate of remembering the things I do and not losing my passport. So, I decided not to drink. Unless it is raki with babam and dedem[2]. Second, I don’t know if I’ll live a short or long life; but I can choose how to live my best life, with no regrets, appreciating the beauties, welcoming the joys... and obviously, adrenaline rushing through my veins fuels me!” He looked pointedly at her, and she remembered the incident with the horse. 

“Not with disregard to my safety,” he let out the words with a chuckle, holding her hands in his. “And, when my time comes, hopefully it won’t be blacked out drunk in a park bench...”

She held his hands tighter, as if possible to shield him from such a fate with sheer will. 

“I hope your learning process included finding a better group of friends,” she mumbled, and he chuckled.  

“Don’t be so hard, güzelim[3]. They are good people. At the time, we were too young and sheltered… mortality was not part of our vocabulary.”  

How incredible it must be to be so careless and not have this sort of concern!  

That was never the case for her.  

Death and sickness have been her companions in life for so long that her identity is linked to those grim subjects. In the past five years, no decision in her life has been made without considering either of them. Letting out a long and loud sigh, she pondered how different they were in so many more ways than she first assumed.  

“Gosh, if it were me… I’d…” she trailed off, and he jumped in to complete her sentence, “You wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

Lowering her gaze, but unable to control the blush that bloomed in her cheeks, she admitted he was right and that she wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“However,” she added, “I was going to say that if I were you, I’d never want to see those people again! How could they leave you like that? What sort of friend does that?” Her indignation transpired in her tone and disgusted face. 

“I don’t blame them. It wasn’t their responsibility to take care of me... I’m responsible for my choices, good or bad.”  

Meeting his eyes, there was no shame in them, on the contrary, Hamid’s countenance expressed relief. Noticing the attentive gaze studying him, he smiled. 

“I never spoke about any of this; not even to my sisters.” 

“Why not?” 

“They would gang up on me, obviously… and everything turned out alright. My friend Burak found my coat at the club, my passport and mobile were in the pocket... A happy ending.” 

She watched his face and the wide and bright smile directed at her. 

“You didn’t need to tell me either, so, why did you?” 

“There’s a simple explanation for that,” he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “In case you haven’t noticed, you are very special to me, Elizabeth Foredale, and I want you to know me. The real me. Isn’t this what people do? To get to know each other?” 

Even in the low light, his eyes were shining. His gaze could be described with many words, none of which was a synonym for friendly.

Touched by his words and without giving herself time to change her mind, Elizabeth’s hand cradled his jaw, and her lips touched his dimpled cheek in a gentle but lingering kiss.

After a fraction of a second to overcome the surprise, Hamid revelled on it, letting his eyes flutter closed to fully appreciate the gentleness of her touch, and his lips stretched into a wide grin.

It was nothing like the fleeting air kisses they often share. 

Before she considered ending the kiss, his hand covered hers, keeping it in place.

The alchool had drained her body, but right now every nerve was suddenly alight by his presence, by the warm touch of his hand on top of hers.

His eyes fluttered open to meet hers in a sidelong glance. They knew. They had crossed the line. They were no longer in friends’ territory. And, for the first time, she let herself want more, ignoring the boundary she herself tried to place between them.

She got greedy. 

When her lips slowly but steadily glided over the roughness of the slight growth of beard of his unshaved face to the turned corner of his smile, Hamid let out a soft exhale through his nose. The warmth of the air travelled over the skin of her hand and wrist inflaming her entirely, and her heartbeats sped up.

Taking a deep breath, her lungs were filled with Hamid's fancy perfume. It was intoxicating in an unexpected way: it quietened the entire world. Actually it quietened her mind. For once, her brain was entirely focused on this moment and all the overwhelming feelings Hamid stirred on her.

Any hesitancy slipped away at the sight of his tongue moistening his lips. And that was the last thing her eyes registered. Her brain could no longer focus on anything that was not Hamid's lips smoothly moving over hers.

His lips were very soft, incredibly so against her own. They brushed against hers for a brief quiet moment, but it was enough to irradiate a heat, an electricity throughtout her body. It was like a dam breaking, and she was flooded with so much want. The second time her lips brushed against his, she was certain this wasn't like any kiss she had before.

She pulled away enough to gaze into his eyes, the corners crinkled by an adoringly smile; even such a diminute distance seemed unbearable to Hamid, and his hand cupped her cheek to close the distance between their mouths almost entirely.

The tip of his long curved nose brushed against the tip of hers, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said her name in awe, even with her eyes closed. His thumb brushed her lips, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

In her mind, Elizabeth envisioned more than once where and when their first kiss could happen. It always envolved a perfect romantic scenario, careful planning, fancy dinners and Hamid probably literally sweeping her off her feet. However, the reality was unplanned, and her brain might have short-circuited at some point... There's not even a carefully selected soundtrack playing in the background, just the sounds of their breathing and the pitter-patter of rain.

Yet, nothing could be more perfect than the way his lips welcomed hers. Her fantasies couldn’t compete with the reality of the tenderness of every gesture of his, the pressure of his lips, the light touch of his tongue over her lower lip, or the hand cupping her cheek so very gently.

When Elizabeth pulled back, his nose nuzzled her jaw and down her neck, and she gasped. The sound pleased Hamid, who hummed against her jaw and captured her lips one last time.

Her eyes met his briefly, but she quickly lowered her face, overcame by embarrassment and doubts of what to do or say.

The backs of his fingers caressed her cheek, and he whispered, “I could kiss you forever, Liz.”  

When her eyes raised to meet his, Hamid was already staring at her. His gaze could be described with many words, none amongst them was a synonym for friendly, and she rolled her lips inside her mouth.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

She shook her head, and took a deep calming breath.

“You make me feel many things,” -- happy, giddy, confused, excited... and several other she'd be mortified to admit even to herself... -- “’Uncomfortable’ is not one of them.” 

His lips split into the widest grin she’s ever seen, before he swallowed and asked in a low and husky voice, “Care to tell me how I make you feel now?”  

“Right now?” Her lips rolled inside her mouth, and she focused on the feeling of being in his arms earlier. Except for her dear father, she can’t remember feeling safer around a man nor willing to spend a lifetime in an embrace. “Happy. Safe.” 

“I am glad you do. I want you to trust me.” 

She met his stare again, and he was flashing a broad unabashed smile. They didn’t move an inch, staring into each other's eyes. Was she even breathing? She couldn’t be certain she was. 

“Aren’t you curious about how you make me feel?”  

His question startled her. Of course, she wanted to know that, but how could she speak over the thunderous beating of her heart and risking dozens of butterflies flying away if she opened her mouth, like in the Brazilian soap operas with magical realism she used to watch with her mother as a kid. She pursed her lips and nodded, which was enough for him to carry on. 

“You also make me feel many emotions, Liz. The most frequent is happiness. A complete, perfect and unwavering bliss whenever I am around you. And even when we’re not together… My days are more vibrant since you are in my life…” 

“Even after tonight?”  

“Why would tonight change anything?” 

“Aren’t you even a little upset? Tired?” 

“Tired?” He clicked his tongue. Leaning impossibly closer, he whispered into her ear, “Inşallah[4], someday you’ll see how long I can keep going without any sleep...” When Elizabeth shivered, the pleased smirk in his lips indicated that was the intended effect, and he rubbed his hands against her arms. “However, you, my dear, seriously need to rest.” 

“Actually, father wanted to have breakfast with me and after brunch I promised to go with Annabelle and Briar to this spa at Moorfield and –” 

“As much as I believe you to be an overachiever, you need to rest, Liz,” he cut off the flood of words. “Besides, the last Annabelle checked on you was around 4am... So, trust me on this, go back to bed, we won’t see any of them before lunch. And message your father, tell him you have a minor headache and will be staying in your room until you feel better…”  

Elizabeth listened to his reasoning and bit one thumbnail. Judging by the way she looked, no amount of coffee would keep her functional long enough to perform any social activity. Finally, she gave in to the irresistible call of the bed.  

Hamid went to the en-suite, while she typed the message to her father, ignoring the stinging feeling in her stomach, that could be guilty from skipping breakfast with him or due to the hole the alcohol probably burnt there. But Hamid was right, it was past the time to prioritize her needs, even if it meant disappointing others. 

After texting her friends, she was about to go through the several notifications in the screen, when the en-suite door opened and closed. Hamid’s silhouette strolling toward the soft light of the bedroom was all broad shoulders and strong arms. Over the screen of the mobile, her gaze fixed at him, admiring his confident swagger towards her.  

The blue light from the screen denounced her attempt of appreciating the sight inconspicuously, and Hamid grinned at the attention but for once chose to say nothing about it. 

When he turned around to settle the medicines and a glass of water over the nightstand, Elizabeth admired his taut muscles, and noticed the dimples on his lower back right above the waist band of his jeans. Her fingers craved to map every inch of his uncovered skin, and the thought alone sent a flow of heat all over her body. She forced her eyes back to the screen and turned the airplane mode on before putting the mobile away.  

Leaning forward, he touched the side of her face gently and kissed the top of her head. 

“I think you’re all set,” he whispered against her hair, “I’ll let you sleep now.” 

“You’re leaving?” her tone didn’t conceal the surprise and disappointment. 

“Don’t you want me to go?” 

“I-I wouldn’t mind… If you wanted to... stay... it’s a big bed…” She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt, without raising her gaze to meet his, and couldn't find the right words to speak, and stuttered the ones she found, even if they didn't make sense, “It doesn’t... mean that we... anything... I guess... but you don’t have to go. If you don’t want to.” 

“I understand," he said, smiling to himself. "If I stay, do we get to cuddle like before?” 

She swallowed and couldn’t prevent the smile from curling her lips whem she nodded.  

Without another word, he sat on the bed.

She moved aside to give him space, and went under the covers, lying on her back. The fragrance of his perfume on the pillows was inebriating.

When the mattress shifted with his weight, she took a deep breath. The lights were dimmed to their softest glow and a moment later, Hamid was lying beside her on his back, stirring the flutter of thousands of butterflies in her stomach. 

He stretched one arm, adjusted the pillow over it, and, with a nod of his head, invited her to rest her head.

Elizabeth obliged, moving closer and let her head rest in the pillow. Hamid's arm encircled her waist, he kissed her temple and whispered in her ear, “Sleep tight, Liz!”

Her answer was an almost inaudible “You too, Hamid.”

In Hamid's embrace, Morpheus visited Elizabeth unsurprisingly fast, not giving her any time for second guessing her decisions.  

A familiar melody invaded his dreamless sleep and Edmund stirred in the bed, failing to recognize his whereabouts.  

The mattress shifted when the woman sleeping beside him turned around, facing the other way. Flashes from their conversation and kisses invaded his mind, but were soon chased away by the persistent melody getting louder.

His hand patted his pants first, and then the space between them until he found the mobile that slipped from his pocket.  

It was dark and he could barely open his sleepy eyes, but he would recognize the caller’s picture anywhere.  

His gaze flicked to the black hair sprawled over the duvet, and he jumped out of the bed, instinctively shying away from the incriminating scene. Moving closer to the wall, he coughed twice, clearing his throat, before accepting the call, and prayed for silence. 

“Hello, mother,” he spoke in the lowest but clearest tone possible trying not to wake the woman in bed. 

“Let me talk to Theresa,” the woman barked the order, forgetting any rule of politeness – not that she reserved that kind of curtesy to her eldest son, especially not after he became the only one. 

“She’s currently not...” Edmund stuttered and considered what to answer. “We’re not together... at the moment. I was sleeping.” 

“She’s not with you!” The woman muttered something under her breath he could only assume were not compliments about his fiancée’s competence to follow orders. “Find her. And have her call me. Immediately.” 

“Alright, mother. I’ll let her know you –” 

Before he could finish the sentence, the call ended.  

The conscience of where he was standing and with whom and the possibility of a scandal was enough to force out of his body any sleep. A last longingly gaze focused on the woman sleeping before he cautiously sneaked out of the bedroom. This was just the beginning.

Notes:

[1] Hayatım – Turkish – term of endearment that means “my life” or “my dear or darling” in this context. 

[2] Babam and dedem – Turkish – father and grandfather. 

[3] Güzelim – Turkish – mean “my beautiful”. 

[4] Inşallah – In Turkish, the word inşallah or inşaallah means "If God wishes and grants" 

[leiflitter]

about our saltburn boys, idk in what universe/timeline but i'd like to hear about their first proper date from you 🖤

So I am doing a minor bend on this prompt because at this point it's always the YAH!canon but look. Can you blame me? And if you want to read their INTERRUPTED first actual romantic date in YAHcanon, then behold:

Also, to the assorted Saltburnites out there... Feel free to send me art prompts, ficlet prompts, headcanon prompts, YAH questions... Whatever you want, I love answering em!

OXFORD, 2007.

Felix had a suspicion. It was one of those little niggly ones that you couldn't quite put your finger squarely on; a hunch, that was the word, and he'd been tossing it around in his head for long enough to want to act on it.

Oliver was, clearly, inexperienced.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Olls had clearly spent too much time studying, and had neglected his social education. Felix couldn't blame him- after all the stories about his parents, Ollie not being a Casanova was pretty much par for the course. If he had gotten a girlfriend back up in Liverpool, then where could he have taken her? Welcome to my house, it's full of rats and used needles would send any decent lass running in the opposite direction.

Ollie probably needed a girlfriend, too, just for a little bit. It'd be a learning experience. Even better, he and Oliver could go on double-dates with whoever his flavour of the week was. Felix's code of ethics regarding relationships was fairly... Lackadaisical, true, but he had morals. So, yes, he'd shag a girl and be her boyfriend until she got boring, but really... What did they expect? He wasn't about to look for a Future Lady Blabla Catton until at least third year, but this was groundwork. He wanted to find out which girls were the most bearable- and if he didn't go out with them, then how would he know? Besides, there were some right nutters out there. The ones who said I love you after a week, or went all doolally when he called it quits. Or ended up, well... Felix didn’t dwell on that, though. It wasn't his fault; if he blamed himself for everything other people did, then he'd never get out of bed in the morning.

Back to the matter at hand. Oliver Quick's love life, or lack thereof.

Oliver, inexperienced with the fairer sex; happy enough to shag 'em but not confident enough to bag 'em. Besides, he had it on good authority that Ollie wasn't shagging properly. He'd been eavesdropping, yes, but that meant it was far more likely to be true.

Oliver Quick? We hooked up... Well, sort of, he went down on me for ages, I think he was too drunk to get it up, but...

Why else would you do that, other than avoiding the main event? There was nothing in it for Oliver; Felix was a devotee to the snog, finger, fuck pipeline for a reason, and it was mostly because if he had his hand up a girl's skirt, she'd be giving him a little action through his jeans. Quid pro quo- and if she blew him, well, that was her choice, wasn't it? Didn't mean he had to venture down south and get his face all slimy.

Felix didn’t want to ask Ollie if he was a virgin, but he definitely wasn't fucking before Felix took him under his wing. Again, it wasn't bad, just... The first time was always a big deal, and Olls probably wanted to have an actual connection or something girly like that. Farleigh had agreed, slyly, smirking all over his face when Felix had asked for a second opinion. Farls seemed to think of it as somehow insulting; Felix almost thought it oddly nice. Ollie took things seriously, that was all. He probably wanted to do it for the first time with someone he loved.

That made Felix feel a little nauseous, but why wouldn't it? All that mushy stuff triggered his gag reflex. Besides, Felix didn’t want Olls to get all long term committed. He just wanted Oliver to get his dick wet, because he was a good friend and hated anyone missing out. Oxford was heaving with skirt; he didn't want Olls to have a reputation as an overly-licky limp noodle.

Said noodle was trying to focus on an essay while Felix lay on his bed and slowly deconstructed his crisp packet in the hope of finding some more crumbs of salt hidden in the creases. He jammed a finger into his mouth; nothing, more's the pity, and Felix let the packet fall to the floor as he wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Olls."

Ollie was ignoring him, but he was sitting a little straighter. Felix rolled over, resting his chin on his hands. "Ollie-Ollie-Oliver, earth to Oliver, s'terrible manners to ignore your host, mate..."

"Just lemme finish this sentence, Felix, then I'm all yours." Oliver lowered his head determinedly, pen scratching against his notebook.

"Oliver Quick, I know how long your sentences can be. You'll get semi-bloody-colons involved, and I want to ask you something."

Oliver sighed, put the pen down, then gave a cursory glance behind him before flopping to Felix's grubby carpet. From this angle his weird eyes looked awfully big; Felix smiled down at him, the plan firm in his mind. Train Ollie up, turn him into a proper Romeo by the start of second year, and then they'd have loads of fun. "Would you like to go on a date, Oliver?"

Ollie's face screwed up. "Y'wha?"

"Fuck off, not like that, mate, I'm not bent. But I bet you've never ever been on a date before, yeah?" Felix was using his most reasonable voice. "It's like Rocky. A training montage."

"I don't want to date, Felix. Got enough on my plate as is." Oliver was still all scrunched-looking. "I'm fine as I am. No montage needed."

"And that attitude is exactly why you need my help." Felix pushed himself up, crawling off the bed to jab Oliver's ribs with one bare foot. "C'mon. Off you trot, put on something nice. I'll pay- fucking starving, up for Chinese?"

Oliver went all floppy, like a recalcitrant toddler, before nodding, slowly hauling himself upright. "Fine. But only for free food. Don't get any ideas."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Felix thought that Ollie might only have one nice shirt. It wasn't even a decent nice shirt, that blue plaid thing, but Felix had excellent manners. He'd smiled as Oliver begrudgingly opened his dorm room door. Now, seated across from each other at a two-person table, Felix was going to teach Oliver how to carry on a polite dinner conversation.

"I have to say, Ollie, the colour of that shirt really brings out your eyes." Felix shoved another complimentary prawn cracker into his mouth, giving Oliver his most attentive smile. Ollie took a swig of his beer, nodding slowly.

"Thank you, Felix. You look... You look lovely, too." That was coupled with a very grim little smile, and Felix shook his head.

"I told you, Olls, you've got to pretend I'm, y'know, a fit bird. Not me. Try it again, mate, with feeling this time."

Oliver sighed, loudly, before reaching over and putting his hand on Felix's wrist. The eye contact went from fleeting to intense so quickly Felix felt as if he'd been pinned to some metaphysical wall; Oliver smiled at him, dimples puckering his cheeks, going all squinty and bright. "You look lovely tonight, Felix."

"Oh." Felix blinked, and the glow faded from Ollie as he withdrew his hand, returning to his usual, friendly little self. "Christ. No, you- you've got that down, mate. Good job."

It was a good thing Felix wasn't a girl, else he'd have gone all giggly and flustered; a result which meant there was nothing Felix could teach. A shame, really, but after that it definitely felt a lot safer having dinner as mates.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[nightghoul381]

OH MY GOD GHOUL CONGRATS ON THIS MILESTONE! Fuck you deserve it and so much more! Looking forward to the next one already <3 And all the ones after that!

Going to jump and ask for Ellis and Jealousy (him being jealous) FEEL FREE TO MAKE THIS ANGSTY, FLUFFY, SMUTTY, WHATEVER YOUR HEART DESIRES!

I love you and am so happy for you! <3

Whew finally got a chance to knock this one out!!! I had a draft that disappeared on me so I had to start it over but it's finally (pretty much) finished! It could definitely be added to if anyone is interested.

Make the Pain Stop

Pairing: Ellis Twilight x Reader Prompt: Jealousy Genre: A little bit of everything, nothing explicit though WC: 1.8k

“You’re going with Liam and Harrison again?”

Ellis’s hand grabbed yours as you walked down one of halls in the castle. You jump at the sudden contact and whirl around. Something about Ellis’s expression seems off, but he looks down at you expectantly.

“Yeah, Liam invited me along.” You reply, trying to mask the confusion you know is likely showing clearly on your face.

“Does that make you happy? Spending time with Liam?”

“Well, he is my friend, so yes… Spending time with Liam makes me happy.”

A look of pain twists Ellis’s face and he shakes his head, fixing his normal pleasant smile on his face.

“Have a good time then,” he whispers, releasing your hand and making his way down the hall in the opposite direction.

Glancing at your hand you try to understand why he looked so hurt when you answered. He usually just smiled when he asked if something made you happy and you answered positively.

Just as you were about to go after him Liam struts out of a nearby room, filling the hall with the scent of vanilla as he approaches.

“Ah! There you are! Harry’s waiting, are you ready?” He asks, happily looping an arm around your shoulders and walking you down the hallway.

Soon you’re out on the mission, watching Harry and Liam interrogating a shady looking businessman. While your eyes are taking in the whole scene, your mind is consumed with concern for Ellis. He looked so hurt, and you can’t recall the last time he had looked so upset. Had something happened? Had he received bad news, or had something terrible happened on the last mission he had been on?

You jump when you feel Liam’s arm drape around your shoulders again, his face split with a huge grin. Harry walked up on the other side of you and gave you a noncommittal shrug when you glanced at him.

“We broke that guy! He told us everything. Poor man is going to have a hard time dealing with his suppliers when they find out he exposed them.” Liam continues to chatter happily in your ear, while your mind once again wanders to Ellis. The look that was in his eyes is haunting your thoughts.

By the time you’re back in your room, sat at your desk to record the nights events, you find yourself unable to begin typing. You’re feeling so restless you decide to head to Ellis’s room to check on him and make sure he’s okay.

You knock on his door, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as you wait for a response. You hear nothing and find yourself praying that he hadn’t gone out on a mission. Hesitantly, you try the door knob and it’s not locked. You poke your face through the door, glancing around the mostly dark room.

“Ellis? Are you here? I’d really like to talk if you had a moment…” You are trying to swallow back your shame from sneaking into his room uninvited, but still you approach his bed, hoping to see if he was tucked into the sheets.

As your eyes adjust to the gloom you notice that the sheets are neatly tucked around the pillows and your heart sinks. He’s not here.

What you didn’t notice was the shadowy figure approaching you from behind. By the time you go to turn around, you end up running into a lean, bare chest.

You let out a startled squeak, leaping backward.

“Ellis! I…. um, sorry… I just wanted to see if you had a moment to talk.” Your face is hot and your eyes keep flitting around the room, not stopping to rest on anything lest they travel back to Ellis. The sight of his toned abs is enough to make your heart race, in such a different way than it had been from the fear you had felt just a moment ago.

You hear a soft chuckle and then a soft finger hooks under your chin. Your gaze is met with the twilight irises of Ellis, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Why won’t you look at me? If you want to talk, normally you look at the person you’re talking to,” He whispers, thumb brushing over the skin below your lip. You swallow hard, hoping that he isn’t able to feel the hammering of your heart under his gentle touch.

Your eyes drop to his lips, his face is so close now, only inches away from yours as he peers down at you. You can see a small rivulet of water drip down his face from his damp, dark curls.

His tongue darts out, swiping the drop of water from the corner of his mouth and you feel your eyes widen.  The way his lips curl up at your expression has you holding your breath.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, releasing your chin and taking a step back.

“Ah…yes, um. You seemed kind of upset earlier so I wanted to see what was wrong. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I honestly was trying to figure out what had made you so sad earlier that I was having a hard time focusing.”

Ellis had begun to move toward his armoire on the far side of his room but he froze as your admission met his ears. He turned his head back to you, looking over his shoulder and you felt your chest tighten at the sight of his toned muscles contracting from the movement.

“You were thinking about me the whole time you were gone? You weren’t thinking about Liam?” He asks, turning fully around and striding back toward you.

“I… I, yeah I guess I was thinking more about you than Liam, he was busy with Harry on the mission, so I didn’t really interact with him much.”

“Thank goodness.”

Ellis’s sigh of relief startles you a bit. Your breath hitches as he once again leans his face in close to yours.

“Will it make you happy to know why I was upset earlier?” He asks, his voice low and quiet.

You can barely manage a slight nod, your head is spinning with anticipation. Ellis’s eyes narrow and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I was jealous.”

The sound is so faint but the words unmistakable as his lips graze your ear, breath stirring your hair.

“I honestly was hoping you would say that hanging out with Liam didn’t make you happy. I want to be the one to make you happy. I want to be the one to make you smile to yourself when a random thought of me pops into your head. I want to be the one who’s running around your mind at all hours of the night.”

His fingers come up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the slight pressure sends shivers through your body. Before his hand drops off, he lets it settle on your jaw, his head leaning back just enough to be able to look you in the eye.

You’re not really sure what comes over you, but some kind of magnetic attraction pulls your lips to meet his and you melt into his touch. His lips are soft, surprisingly soft as they return your kiss, pressing firmly against your own. His other hand slips behind your head, deepening the kiss and tilting your head up toward him.

He gingerly slips the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips and the sensation is electrifying. You gasp and Ellis takes the opportunity to delve into your mouth, tongue tracing every inch thoroughly. The kiss is delicate and demanding, gentle yet aggressive and every stroke of his tongue against yours sends white hot desire shooting to your core.

You’re not sure when you grabbed onto his arms but you feel the muscles of his biceps flex as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed where you’re gently laid back on the sheets. Your lips don’t separate for a moment, his body covering yours as his hands joining his tongue in exploration.

The blazing trail his fingers are creating as they trace over your skin has every nerve screaming for attention. The soft moans bubbling from your throat have you embarrassed but feeling very needy at the same time.

Ellis halts the kisses momentarily, his nose brushing lightly against your cheek as he moves toward your ear once again. His voice is so soft, you can hardly hear what he says but it’s enough to make you squeeze your thighs together.

“You taste so good. You have no idea how badly I want to taste every part of you. I bet you’re even sweeter between your legs.”

His nose nudges under your jaw, prompting you to turn your head and leaving your neck exposed.

“I want you to only think of me. I want you to be mine,” He murmurs, pressing kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers make quick work of your blouse.

“I can’t stand the thought of you falling for someone else. I hate how it makes me feel. The deep black anger and sadness that fills my heart when I think about Liam with his arm across your shoulders, or that bright smile you always give to Will. I don’t want to feel this way. I want you to be happy. But I really, desperately want you to be happy with me.”

You don’t know how to respond to the admissions he keeps firing off; between the passion of his words and the delectable sensations of his lips massaging against the skin over your collar bones, your head is swimming.

His hands pull your hips down to the edge of the bed, and his leg slips between yours, providing that blissful pressure you were craving and you try to bite back the groan of euphoria that explodes from your throat. Ellis slips his fingers into your hair, carding through it so gently it’s at war with the sinfully aggressive movements of his leg between yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your shoulders and down along your arm. You almost want to grab his head and pull it back toward your lips, but the tender attention he’s paying you is so endearing. It’s a matter of moments before his mouth is on yours once again, whispers of desperation falling against your lips between each kiss.

“Will you please let me have you? I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” Ellis sighs finally, lifting his eyes to meet yours.

The pain you see reflected in his gaze is so jarring. The intense pleasure you were feeling just a moment ago is washed away, replaced with an overwhelming need to comfort him.

You place your hands on either side of his face, peering deeply into his eyes as you finally find the words to say.

“Ellis, I want to be yours.”

Taglist: @aquagirl1978, @themiscarnival @abundance-pathchooser @ominousjangling @candied-boys

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

[nikoniclove]

Hey! So i have kind of a maybe odd request, but I loved your last update on Emily getting jealous of JJ and it got me thinking.

So if it’s possible I’d like something like Jj and Ace getting both so turned on at Emily. Like Emily just does something absentmindedly that could be whatever, maybe take down an unsub or just a simple house chore, or she does any kind of exercise (we know she doesn’t like running at all or pilates but anything else?) and both JJ and Ace love it so so much and get incredibly turned on at their girlfriend and yk, just both of them being all over Emily since it’s not something we get see very much in this direction, i like when the attention is specially directed at her every once in a while.

Anyway, just a thought, I’m sorry if this is too vague, feel free to just ignore me if it is!!!

Just posted a new chapter to “Yours, Mine, and Ours” called “Emily’s Stockings” that fills this prompt! Thanks for sharing!

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

One to five

Thanks to @willtheweaver here, @drchenquill here, and here, @leahnardo-da-veggie here, and @mk-writes-stuff here!

Rules: follow the prompts about your WIP

Gonna use TSP here:

One word to describe your WIP:

Chaotic

Two lines that are your favorite:

[After Liam has ranted about how Muenster cheese is "objectively" the best cheese]

“Well, Mr. Canadian,” said Robbie, “how come you’re super passionate about an American cheese?” “You lost your rights to call anything American cheese after your processed product that has the same texture as the plastic-wrap single it comes in that you have the gall to call cheese!” ***

“Have you ever thought about how cereal is like the skeleton of milk?”

Three times you cried while writing:

I don't cry while writing, actually. But I'll just pick sad moments--

1) the penultimate chapter of Part One >:)

2) the last two chapters of Part Two >:)

3) this scene in Part Three where I'm giving myself the challenge to make Parker cry (which is difficult) >:)

Oh yeah and I want to avoid spoilers >:)

Four feelings from your characters:

#1- (Maddie POV)

“Oh, by the way—” she reached into her backpack and pulled out a crochet tiger. “Ahaha!” I laughed excitedly as I snatched the tiger from her. “—as requested, I made you that.” “Thanks! Amigurumi, right?” Kelsey beamed when I remembered the term for the stuffed animal. “So you like it?” “He’s adorable. His name is Wilfredo.”

#2- (Lexi POV)

“Ash?” I said, standing abruptly. I looked around in all directions. “Ash?!” I said louder. No response. I wrung my hands through my hair, my eyes burning, as they did when stressed. I had no idea what was happening, and frankly, if whatever was happening even was happening. I had to be dreaming. This didn’t make any sense otherwise.

#3- (Gwen POV)

Yet I’d do anything for them. All of them. They were my best friends. Even if they didn’t view me the same. Thinking about them filled a deep, righteous fury as Dr. Asghar reached for the door. She let go of my left arm, so I jabbed my elbow into her gut. She yelped and I broke free. The time I spent running paid off when I shot down the hall, the balls of my feet carrying me across the gray tiled floor.

#4- (Kelsey POV)

I worried that Aunt Kamryn would forget that Roni would want to read a book aloud before brushing her teeth. She usually practiced her reading with me. Hopefully Mom or Aunt Kamryn were a good replacement. I was worried about Maddie still. How could mere boredom cause me to not worry? God, I was terrified.

Five tropes featured:

1. Found family

2. Cool gateway/portal

3. Magic and powers

4. Coming of age

5. Everyone is super (with exceptions)

Tagging @awritingcaitlin @cherrybombfangirlwrites @chauceryfairytales @talesofsorrowandofruin @frostedlemonwriter

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

[inglourious-imagines]

I love your writing so much so I wanted to request number 26 “In a fight, they’re lethal. Around each other, they melt.” for Brad Colbert

“Watch out, Iceman, you might melt.” (Brad Colbert x Female!Reader)

Requested by: anon

Summary: Pretty much the prompt.

Prompt: 26 – In a fight, they’re lethal. Around each other, they melt. (used it, again, as a setting for the one-shot, not as a direct speech; hope that’s okay)

Warnings: swearing, made-up enemy contact that isn’t in the show, (very bad!) description of combat, female pronouns (hope that’s okay, it just fitted the story – if it is a trouble, I deeply apologize and if you want, request a new one with a gender neutral reader please <3)

A/N: I love this man to my bones. Also i might have fucked up the military jargon, so apologies if i did haha. I added GenKill to my taglist, so feel free to add yourself if u feel like it :).

.

.

.

Brad Colbert isn’t necessarily a complicated person, at least to Ray Person. Having spent many hours together in their precious Humvee, during training, in combat, one person gets to know the other, without even realizing it. Ray Person has realized it, and even though Brad always discards Ray’s observations about his behaviour, personality, or quirks, with a simple “fuck off, you blabbering, coffee-high motherfucker”, Ray knows that most of the time he is right. And he enjoys it. On the other hand, this works both ways – and to Brad’s dislike, he’s started to notice his fellow soldier’s traits, likes and dislikes, how he works more efficiently, and Ray has always been okay with someone knowing him, but with Brad? He’s long had a suspicion that the combat-hardened man is downright terrified of being close to someone to the point of vulnerability.

Bravo Company is still on that airfield they invaded couple of minutes ago in quite a “pretty fucking ninja” way as Brad Colbert put it, when the men of Team 1 of Victor 1 hear the news of Trombley being reassigned to Team 3 into the Victor 5 and they’ll be getting a newbie. Lt. Fick mentions it to the five of the men standing around their Humvee in a quick manner, as other orders are more pressing to the young officer than just the change-up of two soldiers. Plus, he doesn’t particularly feel the need to be anywhere near Brad when the reassignment happens because the man already has a reporter in his vehicle and dealing with another person, even though a soldier, but a new one, someone with whom Brad Colbert is not familiar and does not know their strengths and weaknesses, can be potentially catastrophic (as Ray put it).

Trombley just shakes his head at the news and goes to pack his things; it doesn’t really matter to him from which vehicle he’ll get to kill the Iraqis. War is war and hell is hell and a soldier has to deal with whatever the army throws at him.

They are about to move out, wanting to stay in the open area as little as possible, and Trombley’s seat is still empty.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Brad mutters, while looking out his window. It’s not like the whole Company is waiting for one person, Brad knows other officer stuff must be taken care of still, there are some soldiers running around from Humvee to Humvee, but he’s already pissed off enough and the need to pin the blame on someone is eventually stronger than him.

“Maybe the bad guys killed him on the way here,” Ray says, turning his head to his team leader, his lips formed into a cheeky grin.

Brad shakes his head and glances at his driver. “Glad you’re having fun.”

Ray winks at him. “I can always sing you a country song, honey-boo."

“I swear, Ray, I will–“

“–Shut the fuck up, Colbert.” Ray interrupts him, as he stares at something, or rather someone, outside, to the right of their Humvee.

Brad is ready to pull up rank, but he will never get the chance to do so. He’s cut off by enthusiastic hollering that’s getting louder with each second. He turns his head and then he sees why. The shouting lasts for about ten seconds, although it feels like a lot more, then Godfather puts a stop to it by just a wave of his hand and urges the soldier by his side to hurry up. The soldier meant for Brad’s Humvee.

“I’ll be fucking damned,” Ray is the first to talk and practically drooling, “this might just be the best day of my fucking life. The Marines can do something right after all.”

And then, with surprise, certain admiration, and most definitely attraction (although he doesn’t know that yet), Brad says without even realizing he’s saying something: “You bet your ass, Person, God bless the US Army.”

Ray looks at his team leader, eyes squinting, and then he bursts out laughing. “Watch out, Iceman, you might melt.”

Now Reporter is laughing in the back, as he scribbles down something quickly in his small black notepad, Brad’s face is suddenly cold and unreadable again. Cold and unreadable to a stranger, yes, but Ray Person knows his better than they both know, and the facial expression makes only Ray laugh more.

“Don’t even try that Iceman shit on me, fucker,” the Humvee driver grins, “I can see how much you’re blushing now. Hell, I bet Fick can see your big red face from that distance.”

At this point, the Reporter is leaning from back to front to see, his eyes watering from all the laughter, but it only infuriates Brad more.

“I’ll fucking cut off both of your motherfucking heads and throw-“

“Sargeant Colbert.”

Brad coughs and has to take a millisecond to compose himself before he turns to Godfather himself and the new addition to his Humvee. “Yes, sir?”

“I believe Lt. Fick has already given you the orders from above. I trust you that you, as a team leader, will take care of your new soldier. This is Corporal Y/L/N.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Godfather nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Brad’s answer with no signs of protest or sarcasm.

Ray giggles behind the steering wheel and as Corporal is getting into the vehicle, he leans to Brad and whispers into his ear quickly before he can smack him away, “You’re gonna take care of her alright.”

***

“You got everything back there?” Brad asks for about the fourth time in ten minutes, his head turned slightly to his left in an attempt to steal a glance at her, his lips formed into a soft smile.

She laughs, but doesn’t tear her gaze away from her sector, the need to prove herself to these men stronger than anything, “Nothing has changed from that one minute ago when you asked me the last time, sir.”

She calls him sir and Brad just knows that if some Iraqi won’t kill him, this will. He envies Reporter the spot in the back next to her, he is fully aware that Reporter is also writing it all down in his little notebook and that Ray is closely watching his every move, but for the first time he doesn’t really care. And that terrifies him.

“I told you to just call me Brad,” he tries to convince her.

“I’m afraid that is not possible, Sargeant,” she replies, and he needs to take deep breath to live it down.

It takes everything in Ray’s power not to burst out laughing because this kind of behaviour in his team leader he has never seen during the entire time they have known each other. The blush hasn’t really left Brad’s cheeks and from what he sees, the attentiveness is only flattering to their beautiful new addition.

Ray leans to Brad once more with a cheeky remark, “Keep it in your pants and hold your sector, sir, or you’re gonna get us killed.”

“All Victors, this is Hitman Two Actual, from now on we’re supposed to treat this territory as hostile. I repeat, as hostile.”

As if there was a switch, the giggling stops and the soldiers straighten up, adjusting their rifles to a better position. The atmosphere in the Humvee has changed in a matter of seconds, from light to combat-hardened. It takes Reporter several more moments and turns of head from Y/N to Brad to wrap his head around the situation. But it is really the first fired shots that wake him up from the confused limbo, his whole body instinctively jerking down a bit.

“I got muzzle flashes,” she says, and Reporter is surprised how different her voice now sounds, “my ten o’clock. Permission to engage.”

“We have orders,” Brad responds immediately, “light ‘em the fuck up.”

Reporter watches her closely, as she takes a deep breath, aims at her target, then there are more enemy shots fired at them and he jerks back again but she doesn’t even flinch and right after the enemy fires, she presses the trigger. Then again, and again, and again.

They keep moving and from the spot Y/N discovered there is no more incoming enemy fire and Reporter realizes that she took them down with frightening precision in one take. He wants to say some words of praise immediately, but he’s cut off again, not by bullets this time but by words.

“Hitman Two Actual, this is Hitman Two One, we have two big trucks heading directly our way, approximately 500 meters on our 12 o’clock. Permission to stop the convoy,” Brad strictly says.

“Hitman Two one, interrogative."

Reporter jerks his head to see what Brad Colbert is talking about and there they were, moving too fast to Reporter’s liking. He feels like his heartbeat must be heart through the entire vehicle and even on the comms.

They keep on going, the white trucks keep on going, directly against each other, Reporter watches it all, but keeps quiet but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t form a sensible sentence even if he tried. Those few second it takes Lt. Fick to answer are the longest seconds Reporter has yet experienced.

“Hitman Two One, permission granted. First warning shots, then light ‘em up if need be.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ray stops the Humvee perpendicularly to the convoy and Y/N and Brad hop out in synchronisation, positioning themselves behind the vehicle next to each other. The trucks are getting closer with each second and despite the growing fear in Reporter’s veins, he gets out of the Humvee too and crouches behind the duo.

Brad fires a warning shot. Nothing happens. Lt. Fick is already behind them but doesn’t say anything to disturb their work.

“Left,” she says and leans against the hood of the vehicle to strengthen her grip on her rifle. Brad nods, although due to the angle she’s not able to see it, and answers, “Right then.”

She fires first, one shot, then Brad Cobert also one shot, but both of the trucks don’t go immediately off the road; Reporter is so fixated on the cars still getting so close to them he’s so surprised when he hears two more shots. This time the trucks overturn and end up on their sides.

For a few seconds there’s absolute silence. Then Iraqis start to get out of the trucks and accurate fire from the Marines lights up the air.

***

When they stop for the night, many men come to her to express their admiration for her shooting skills, and she can’t help it but feel genuinely flattered. Even Lt. Fick comes by to say, “Good work,” and even offers her a small smile. But eventually she decides to go hide in their Humvee from all the attention; they killed people today after all, and the vehicle hugs her in its dark embrace without questions.

“Don’t know if anybody told you this, but what you did today? Pretty fucking ninja. And I reserve this term for special occasions only,” Brad’s voice fills the space around her, and she just has to sincerely laugh at his joke.

“Thanks,” she smiles and gestures for him to get in, and he, without a hint of hesitation or thought, climbs into the Humvee. A stupid grin appears on his face, as if he was a teenage boy climbing into a girl’s room in the middle of the night while her parents were downstairs.

Brad goes on telling her some random funny story about what happened that one time with Ray, and she keeps laughing, and he gets drunk on the sound, wanting more and more, to be drunk forever.

Neither of them knows this, but Reporter goes by the Humvee and hears the quiet talking and occasional laughing and simply has to stop to find out what it is. And then he sees them, and he is both surprised and not. He is not the least surprised because they look so beautiful together, like they have always been destined to be together and share their lifetimes; but he is surprised at the fact that only a few hours ago, during combat, they were two different people, cold, distant, lethal, efficient, and now around one other warm, close, loving.

Reporter stands there for a few more seconds, jotting down some notes about the duo, when Ray appears next to him out of nowhere and says, “You’re not the only one perplexed, but it’s kinda the only possible way how to fucking live in a place and time like this.”

It must have been the smartest thing Reporter has heard him say so far.