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arc852 · 6 months ago

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29. Sweet Tooth

Definition: a great liking for sweet-tasting foods.

Summary: Joel and Jimmy arrive at Joel's home and Jimmy tries something sweet for the first time.

G/t: Joel is normal-sized, Jimmy is a borrower

Word Count: 2027

AO3 Link

Another installment in the BBBCAU! This pretty much takes place right after Coveted. You might need to read that one or you'll be a bit confused!

Also, I can't believe GtJuly2024 is almost over! But we've got two more stories left! And I'm definietly not going to stop writing after this. There just might be a bit more time between posts after this month lol.

I hope you guys enjoy!

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Joel entered his room after his reunion with his family. He’d normally spend more time talking to them and visiting first thing but he kind of rushed it, knowing Jimmy was in his pocket. He knew the poor borrower wanted out as soon as possible, the chest pocket not being nearly as comfortable as a hoodie pocket, according to Jimmy. So he hurried along the hellos to his family so he could rush to his room.

He closed the door behind him, finally having some privacy. Despite his best efforts to rush, his family still managed to keep him downstairs for an hour. Jimmy was probably suffocating in his pocket by now. The thought made Joel more nervous and he lifted up the lip of his chest pocket. “Hey, everything alright in there?”

Jimmy looked up at him from the pocket, looking more or less okay, if a little ruffled. He sent Joel a thumbs up. “All good but ready to come out now if possible.” Jimmy said with a chuckle and Joel snorted in turn. He then reached in carefully, using only two fingers to snag onto Jimmy’s body and pull him out. As soon as he was out of the pocket, Joel moved his other hand and released his pinched grip on Jimmy, letting him sit on his open palm.

“Well, welcome to my room.” Joel said a bit half-heartedly. He’d be more excited but he did just drive 3 hours. “This is where I’ve spent the last 18 years of my life before going away to University.”

For Jimmy’s part, he did look excited. “Wow! It looks like the dorm but…more you!” Jimmy exclaimed, looking up at Joel with a grin.

Joel snorted. “What does that even mean?” Joel walked farther into his room, setting his suitcase down at the foot of his bed and sitting on top of the bed, reaching over with his free hand to turn on his bedside lamp.

“I don’t know, I can just tell this is your room, is all.” Jimmy tried to explain himself, face heating up a bit.

“Or maybe you know it’s my room because I told you it is.” Joel quipped back and laughed as Jimmy got heated.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jimmy yelled over Joel’s laughter.

Suddenly, there was a brief knock on Joel’s door before it began to open. In a panic, Joel clasped his hands together with Jimmy in the middle to hide him and then placed his hands in his lap to look a bit more normal. His mom peeked in, looking at the odd way Joel was sitting with a confused face but thankfully she didn’t say anything.

“Just wanted to let you know dinner is ready. Wash your hands and come down to eat.” She said and Joel nodded, watching and waiting until the door was fully closed and he heard her footsteps walking away. He let out a sigh of relief and opened his hands up.

He winced as he saw Jimmy looked a bit knocked around. “Sorry Jim, I wasn’t expecting her to suddenly come in here like that.” He supposed dorm life made him used to people not suddenly walking in. “Are you okay?” He raised his hand, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt him with the sudden movement.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just startled me is all.” Jimmy said with a smile. “I’d rather be a bit ruffled than have someone else see me though. So thanks.”

Joel nodded seriously. “Of course. Both me and Grian know how important it is to keep you hidden from everyone else.” He didn’t want to think about someone with ill intentions getting their hands on Jimmy. The very thought made his blood boil. He shook his head. “Anyway, if I don’t start heading down, mom will come up here again.” He set Jimmy down on his nightstand and stood up.

“I’ll bring you up some dinner afterwards but it might be a bit. Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?” Joel asked, a little nervous leaving Jimmy alone. Sure, they left him alone all the time back at the dorm but Jimmy knew that place like the back of his hand. This was all new for the borrower.

Jimmy waved away his worries. “I’ll be fine! I’ll just explore a bit, I’ve got plenty to see after all.” he wouldn’t be bored, that was for sure.

Joel nodded. “Okay, just be careful.” He headed toward the door, glanced at Jimmy one more time before quickly opening and closing the door behind him.

Jimmy listened to Joel’s footsteps fade away as he realized he was now alone for the first time in, well, a while. It was kind of nice if he was being honest. He loved Grian and Joel but even now it could still feel overwhelming being around them at times. Being alone for these little bits gave him some time to reset.

Besides, right now, he was also excited to explore Joel’s room. It had been such a long time since he had explored a new space. Back at the college, a lot of dorm rooms were exactly the same, save the things inside that people brought with them. But this was completely new and Jimmy could feel his instincts kicking in. He wanted to explore and borrow and he wanted to do it now.

Of course, he wouldn’t be doing any actual borrowing. This was Joel’s stuff after all and there wasn’t anything that he actually needed. But acting like he was on the hunt for something settled something in him that he hadn’t realized was still there.

He started his climb down from the nightstand, ready and eager to explore.

***

Joel balanced a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other as he tried to open his door without dropping either of them. He thought about sneaking the food away at first, but there was no way he would be able to with all his family’s attention on him. So instead he lied and said he was still hungry. Thankfully it worked and he was ushered upstairs with an extra plate of food, some dessert, and water. It was honestly too much for Jimmy to eat but at least he had some variety in his options.

He finally managed to open the door, closing it quickly behind him. He then stood there, scared to move when he realized Jimmy said he would be exploring. Which meant the borrower was currently on the ground. And without eyes on him, Joel didn’t want to move a single step. “Jimmy? It’s just me. I brought dinner.”

His eyes scanned the floor until he saw Jimmy coming out from underneath his bed. He relaxed and made his way over to set the food and drink on his nightstand, being careful of where Jimmy was at. After making his hands free, he crouched down and scooped Jimmy up. Jimmy must have been expecting it because he didn’t so much as make a noise. He just settled into Joel’s palms. Joel smiled a bit at that, almost not wanting to put him down. But he knew Jimmy needed to eat, so he set him down on the nightstand as Joel took a seat on his bed.

“Whoa! This looks so good!” Jimmy exclaimed, running over to the plate.

“Yeah, it tastes good too.” Joel forgot how Jimmy survived solely on take-out and dorm food. Which were fine but it didn’t hold a candle to a nice home-cooked meal. Was this Jimmy’s first time eating something home-cooked? “I think the chicken will be easy enough for you to eat but I’m not sure about the mashed potatoes.” Joel tried to explain.

“I think it’ll be fine. It’s solid enough.” Jimmy said as he stuck his finger in it and licked it. He grinned at the taste. He then looked at the other thing on the plate, his eyes going wide. “What’s that?” He pointed to it.

Joel hummed, following his finger. “Oh! My mom made us some dessert. Something special for coming back home. It’s chocolate cake.”

“Chocolate cake?” Jimmy repeated back. He had never heard of it, at least as far as he could remember.

Joel blinked. “Oh, I guess the dorms don’t really have desserts or sweets huh?” Not only has Jimmy been deprived of home-cooked meals but of sweets as well? He really needed to figure out a way to get these things to Jimmy more often. It just wasn’t fair.

“Yeah, some humans bring like, chocolate bars and stuff with them, but those things are coveted. I never even hoped to get my hands on one. It would have been too much of a risk.” Jimmy explained and Joel winced.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that now. Go ahead and eat as much as you want.” Joel said, leaning back on his hands to let Jimmy go at it. Jimmy for his part, nodded and started eating. He started with the actual dinner first, going for some chicken and then grabbing a scoop of mashed potatoes for himself. Joel watched fascinated. He’s seen Jimmy eat multiple times now but it was always so weird. Joel couldn’t help but stare sometimes.

Jimmy was done with the main course pretty quickly. He couldn’t eat too much of it after all. In fact, to Joel it barely looked like he had made a dent out of it. At least it didn’t cost anything extra for Grian and Joel to keep Jimmy fed. Joel watched, excited, as Jimmy made his way to the chocolate cake.

Jimmy himself was also excited. This would be his first time trying anything chocolate, let alone cake. He couldn’t wait to see what all the fuss was about. He grabbed himself a handful, making sure to get a bit of everything in it. It was messy though, way messier than even the mashed potatoes had been. Jimmy ignored that though and went in for a bite.

His eyes widened.

Joel laughed at Jimmy’s expression. “That good huh?”

All Jimmy could do was nod as he went in for another bite. And another. And another.

Joel blinked, laughter dying off and replaced by a bit of awe. “Oh wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat that much.”

Jimmy couldn’t help it, it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Was this what he had been missing out on all this time? If that was the case, maybe the risk would have been worth it after all. This was delicious.

Joel’s awe was soon replaced by concern. “Ah, okay, yeah, I think I gotta cut you off here.” Joel said as he gently grabbed Jimmy and pulled him away from the cake.

“Hey!” Jimmy squirmed in his grip and Joel almost dropped him. He brought his other hand underneath to make sure nothing happened. Jimmy hadn’t squirmed in his grasp in a long time. Not since they had first met. This was different though, of course, as Jimmy very quickly settled down and just huffed at him.

“Sorry Jimmy but if you keep it up, you’re gonna get a stomach ache.” He looked back over at the cake. Unlike the rest of the food, he could very clearly see that it had been eaten off of. “I’ll keep in mind you’ve got quite the sweet tooth though. I promise that won’t be your last chocolate cake.”

Jimmy perked up a bit at that. “Alright. I guess I should stop for now.” Jimmy agreed and Joel laughed. He then took a better look at Jimmy and noticed how much of a mess he was. His laughter turned into playful disgust.

“And you’re a mess. Guess it’s time for a visit to the sink.” Joel said with a shrug, grinning as Jimmy yelled.

“No! Not the sink!”

Joel laughed as he headed toward the bathroom in order to prepare the sink so Jimmy could clean himself up.

The rest of this break was looking like it was going to be a lot of fun.

#g/t #giant/tiny #au #borrowers #mcyt g/t #hermitcraft #hermitcraft g/t #hermitfic #borrower jimmy #tiny jimmy #gtjuly2024 #day 29

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starcrossedxwriter · 2 years ago

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Built for Love Part 8 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Ummm this chapter has a little bit of everything... Family, fluff, a bit of smut, slight angst. It also has a time jump because we gotta keep shit movingggg. And I could write 100 chapters of fluff with these two butttt we're here for the drama! lol Also another gif that has nothing to do with anything LOL But I imagine this is what our girl wakes up to every day and I love that for her

Warnings: brief mentions of DV

“So Charlie, are you excited to be back on the stage?” Michael’s mom asked as they settled around Michael’s dining room table for dinner.

Though it was a small affair, the table was weighed down by Donna’s decadent and delicious cooking, his mom cooking both he and Charlotte’s favorites for their goodbye dinner. Once his father had said grace, initial conversations had given way to the sounds of forks and spoons clinking against china as everyone passed dishes and savored Donna’s cooking. Though Michael’s family was used to it, Charlotte’s were too busy stuffing their faces to be much conversationalists.

Her face had been drawn up in a bright smile since her brother, Lauren, and Jazz arrived. The tone around the table was a bittersweet one, joy for Charlotte and this opportunity everyone knew she deserved and needed, but melancholy at having two staples of their respective communities gone, even if it was only a temporary absence.

Between the press tour and preparing to leave, the time had flown by and the move that once seemed so far away was hurtling toward them like a high speed train. Charlotte still found herself shocked that Michael was willing to move with her. As the date inched closer and closer, she half expected him to find an excuse not to accompany her. But that never materialized. Instead, he took it upon himself to do all of the planning. Time to find an apartment? Already done and vetted by Michael. Furnish the place? Interior decorator was already on it with images of both of their homes to capture their respective styles. All day, every day, he sent her restaurants and places he wanted to try, some Charlotte had been to and some she hadn’t, or asked her about her favorite spots to add to the list. His excitement was contagious, which counteracted the stress, dread, and anxiety Charlotte felt. For him, this was just the first of many adventures with the woman he loved. For her, it was returning home after running away. And that was never easy.

“Yea I really am. It’ll be an adjustment for sure. Next two months’ll be crazy. But I… really missed it. I’m coming in a few weeks behind in rehearsals but it’ll be good to be back.”

Michael’s hand, which had rested on her thigh since they sat down, squeezed gently to reassure her, soothing her anxiety.

“Only on the choreo. This girl could perform the show and songs forward and backwards right now if she wanted.”

Charlotte smiled. “He might be right about that. But the choreo is the harder part for me anyway.”

“Yea the girl was born with every talent but rhythm,” Jackson called down the table causing everyone to laugh, Charlotte leaning behind Michael’s chair to flip him off without everyone seeing.

“He never gives her credit. Charlie is a great dancer,” Lauren chimed in, not allowing her husband to joke at her best friend’s expense. “Remember the spring production of Oklahoma our freshman year??”

Charlotte groaned. “Ugh don’t remind me! Some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“There was a nasty norovirus going around campus and Charlie, one of the only freshmen in Juilliard history to play the coveted lead of a spring production, caught it the second day of rehearsals. Was out for two weeks. The director planned on bumping up her understudy.”

“A senior who despised me and was probably hoping the virus would kill me,” she laughed. “Director said there was noooooo way I could learn the staging and choreo in the two remaining weeks before opening night,” Charlotte interjected, rolling her eyes. “He was just worried he took a chance on a freshman only for her to crash and burn.”

“Since I was dancing in the production, I could record rehearsals. Charlotte watched every rehearsal, learning every move, lyric, and note while she was sick. Sis showed up once she was cleared by the doctor and you wouldn’t have even known she missed two weeks of rehearsals. She looked and sounded better than some folks who’d been to every rehearsal.”

“Messed up one or two steps,” she admitted. “But nothing that couldn’t be fixed in the time we had left.”

“How’d you manage that?”

She shrugged. “I just rehearsed and slept in between trips to the bathroom,” she laughed. “My doctor thought I was completely insane but as they say, ‘the show must go on.’”

“Will you have enough tickets for us all to come to opening night or do we need to come at a different time?” Jackson asked.

“I definitely can get everyone tickets for previews, those start mid February. Not sure how many I can snag for opening night though.”

“What are previews?” Michael’s dad asked.

“Oh, sort of a test run? Just an opportunity to perform the show to audiences before the official opening night. Gives you a chance to work out issues and fix things before critics review it. The show ran off-Broadway first so our previews are only a couple weeks. So we have a month and a half of true rehearsals and then previews and then the show premieres March 1.”

“And how long are you all gonna be there again?”

“In total? 8 months I guess with rehearsals? I only signed on to be on the cast for six months though… March to September.”

“Knowing you, you’ll extend it,” Jackson offered with a knowing smile.

Charlotte shook her head. “I dunno. Chris would love that. But doing 8 shows a week for six months is a lot. And gets old after a while,” she admitted. “Maybe I’d do a different show, but I'll probably come back here. I promised Chris six months so that’s all I’m committing to.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, the conversation drifting away from Charlie and to separate topics. Charlie glanced around the table, a soft content smile on her face as she watched the two groups interact. It was not just each family chatting off to themselves. Lauren and Michael’s mom and sister were deep in a conversation about the struggles of parenting young children; Michael’s brother and Jackson were arguing about the Lakers vs the Clippers; and Jazz and Michael were deeply enthralled in a story told by Michael Sr. And everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there and interact. This was their first time truly combining the groups but she thought it boded well for when they all met the rest of her immediate family on the East Coast. If Jazz, Lauren, and Jackson liked them and fit in, the rest of her family would too.

As dinner winded down, Charlotte stood up from the table to bring out dessert. Michael offered a soft peck to the inside of her wrist, which she returned with one to the top of his head, before she grabbed his plate to take into the kitchen. She hummed to herself as she loaded the dishwasher and pulled out the cake his mom prepared earlier that day. It was Michael’s favorite, her rum cake. Charlie could not deny it was one of the best cakes she had ever tasted, hers included.

As she moved the cake to the island, she lost her balance on her heels, almost falling. She was able to sit the cake down quickly, it wobbled slightly in its glass case but remained unharmed despite her clumsiness.

“There you go, tripping over air,” she cursed herself, annoyed and thankful she had not destroyed his mother’s cake. As she moved the holder on the island, a wave of deja vu hit her, a vision of a cake and cake holder smashing to the ground filling her brain. She paused, studying the glass cake stand, her stiletto-shaped nails gliding over it gently. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, the memory too foggy and distant to make sense of. During most of her deja-vu moments or flashbacks, the memories hit her like she was being forced in front of a movie screen. But as much as she racked her brain, she couldn't think of anything related to this moment.

“You ok, dear?” Donna’s soft voice interrupted Charlotte as she zoomed through the Rolodex of memories in her mind.

“Hm? Oh yea, I’m ok,” Charlotte answered, glancing up. she noticed the plates in the woman’s hands before abandoning her thoughts and grabbing them from her. “Let me get those.”

“Thank you, dear. Your family is lovely. They fit right in,” Donna offered as she moved to grab a knife and small plates for dessert.

Charlotte smiled, “Thanks. I’m excited for all of you to meet the rest of them. Everyone else is fairly tame in comparison,” she joked.

As she loaded their dishwasher, she glanced at his mom.

“This was all delicious, thank you. Thank God he picked up your cooking skills or else we’d starve in New York.”

The older woman laughed. “Well anytime you want to learn, you let me know. Though I think you’d give me a run for my money with those desserts of yours.”

Charlotte could not help but beam a bit at her compliment.

Charlotte dried her hands on a dish towel, anxiously twisting the soft fabric in her hands and chewing on her lip as she watched his mom.

“I hope you don’t mind…” she started, pausing as the older woman looked at her with confusion. “M-Me stealing him away for a while. I’m honestly still a bit surprised he wanted to do this at all. But I know it’s probably hard when he’s gone for a long time. I feel kinda bad?” She admitted quietly. “I know he’s gonna miss you guys so much.” She stared at the wall that blocked Michael and everyone at the table from their vision, her face falling a bit as she felt the guilt of pulling him away from his family and community in LA. Even though he offered, she could not help but question whether she should have accepted it, accepted taking him away from his family like this.

“If I may?” Donna’s hands wrapped around Charlotte’s, halting her anxious movements and towel twisting. “I know it hasn’t been that long but I’ve never seen my son as happy as he is with you. One thing you should never doubt is how much that man in there adores you. I dare say he would try to move a mountain if he thought it’d bring you joy. You should never feel bad for accepting the manifestations of his love and commitment. Because I dare say, this is just the beginning.”

Charlotte felt a tear start to fall, not from sadness but from the love, grace, and compassion his mother always showed her. From the moment they first met to today, she never acted like those dreaded mother-in-laws her married friends moaned about. Charlotte’s mother would not be considered a constant presence in her life, a rarity at best. And through everything she had been through, the one thing she had always hoped for but never had was a mom. Michael’s mom did not know about her mom’s absence but she seemed to recognize it was something Charlie still needed, a mother’s love, support, grace, and word of wisdom. And she offered it in droves.

“T-thank you,” she whispered, whisking the tears away just as Michael rounded the corner to check on them.

“Hey, you two alright?”

“Yes of course, baby.” Her face immediately brightened as he entered the room, not even just to hide her and his mom’s emotional moment but just from his presence. “Just hounding your mom for this amazing rum cake recipe so I can make it for you in New York…”

“But… I told her she’s gotta be officially in the family first for me to share it. So get to it,” she whispered to Bakari with a sly smile and a peck on the cheek as she returned to the dining room with the rest of the family.

“Damn, she’s not subtle at all, is she?” he asked as he grabbed the cake while Charlotte grabbed the plates his mom pulled out.

Charlotte laughed, patting him on the chest as she passed him to return to the dining room. “No, definitely not.”

***

Their moans created an orchestra filling his bedroom as Michael kept Charlotte’s eyes trained on his as he fucked her slow and deep.

They rarely had sex in missionary these days, both of them finding other positions far more interesting and fun. However, when they were both in the mood for something slower and more sensual, missionary hit the spot for both of them. It offered them something deeper than pure pleasure. It was an intimacy and comfort they both needed for their last night in Michael’s bed for a while.

Looking into each other’s eyes was a meeting of the minds, beyond merely connecting with their bodies, they connected with their souls. They saw all of each other, all of the excitement, anxiety, joy, and fear of what tomorrow would hold for them. And every moment, every movement and touch between them was an effort to honor those feelings. Every touch and whispered adoration told the other that they were here and they were ready for everything the universe had in store for them.

There would be time for fast and wild later. Tonight, they were just cherishing the moment and each other before their first real adventure as a couple began.

“J-Just li-like that. F-Fuck, I-I love you,” she moaned, having already lost count of her orgasms as Michael pushed her to the edge of another one.

She could tell he was close as he picked up the pace a bit. Her hips rocked slightly to meet his, her core pulsing and tightening around him causing a primitive moan to escape him.

It only took a moment for him to fill her before he rolled off of her.

“You good?” He asked, a question he usually asked when they finished up, whether the session was slow and sensual or had her doing acrobatics. And the answer was always in the same vein: she was more than good.

“Excellent. I could fall asleep j-just like this,” she yawned, knowing that her sleep after sex was always elite, Michael tiring her out to the point where she could not do much else. However, before she did, she got up to go to the bathroom, Michael talking to her as she groped her way through the darkness of his room.

“You ready for tomorrow?” He asked as he found his briefs to slide on and climb back into bed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she called back. “You sure you still wanna come? Not too late to back out. Well, we signed a lease, on a way too expensive apartment, I might add… so it’s a bit late. But you could still do it.”

Though her tone had the intent of a joke, Michael could still hear it, her hesitation and fear that let him know she was still concerned he would abandon her. He knew she would not truly believe him until they were moved in and settled but he was genuinely excited to go with her. Not just to support her and provide her with some sense of safety while she was there, but to witness this next stage in her career. This was her dream and he saw no better use of his time than watching her fulfill it. He knew why she was hesitant, they had only been dating for mere months. However, when he looked at Charlotte, he saw a perfect glittering gold path to a future he had never given much thought to because he had always been too focused on the hustle, a marriage and a family like the one his parents had built. To him, this was one step down that path and he would never regret taking it. Part of him was annoyed he would have to return to LA in June for another project before her time in New York ended but he decided he would savor the initial six months of uninterrupted time together.

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, honey bee. And after living with me in New York, maybe that’ll convince you to move in with me when we get back?” He asked as she washed her hands.

She poked her head out into the room to look at him, finding that his face matched the seriousness of his tone and words.

“What? Y-You want me to move in? Here?”

He continued to surprise her with his level of commitment and dedication overall. However, just as she was about to doubt he truly meant it, his mother’s words floated back to her mind.

"Well, it wouldn't be here forever. Just till we found a new spot… something that's ours," he emphasized. “We’re gonna live together for at least 6 months in New York… if it works out and you don’t absolutely hate me by the end,” he joked, “Why not? What? You don’t think we should?"

She shrugged as she climbed back into his bed. “No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I mean I basically live here as it is,” she admitted. “I g-guess I just didn’t think about what living together in New York would mean for when we got back? Of course, you thought of it though. You think ahead and have a plan for everything.”

Michael was glad she could not see his face as she settled against his chest. She truly had no idea how far ahead his planning went when it came to her.

“Well, I just know what I want and I don’t believe in wasting time. But I’m not sayin’ you gotta decide now or anything. Let’s see how New York goes. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in it.”

“Yea, I’m interested.”

He nodded. “Now are you gonna tell me what you and my momma were talking about earlier? You looked upset?”

Charlotte chuckled, she turned over so her chest was against his, her ear pressed against his chest. The light thumps of his heart filled her ear like a soothing drumbeat. “I should’ve known you weren’t gonna let that go… I wasn’t upset. She j-just said something I needed to hear.”

She felt his lips press against the top of her head, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She appreciated that he did not press any further for information.

“Yea, I don't know how she does that. It's kinda creepy, honestly… that mother's intuition."

“Yea, its like she sees into your soul or something." Her last words turned into a mumble as she yawned and her eyes fell closed.

All Michael could do was chuckle before kissing her forehead and falling asleep himself, her gentle snores filling his ears.

***

Charlotte glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their new apartment on the edge of the Upper West Side. It was as beautiful and pristine as the pictures Michael had shown her. They were high enough to have a great view of the city from their balcony. It was in the perfect location too for work and there was so much around for her and Michael to do. The furnishings were perfect, the exact mix of her and Michael’s individual interior style. She knew he hired a designer but it was clear the person knew their shit. The house already felt warm, cozy, and safe, all the things Charlotte needed, and they had only been in it for an hour.

“What are you thinking?” He asked from the couch as he scrolled through his phone, both of them avoiding the dreaded unpacking they had to do.

“I’m thinking about my crappy little studio apartment when I first graduated… and my two bedroom with one of my college friends for those few months…” she paused, that apartment was a graveyard of bad memories. “Before I moved. I’ve j-just come up in the world, I guess.”

Bakari beckoned her to him, the young woman leaving her perch against the window to join him. The moment she was in arm’s length, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, Charlotte nestling into him with ease.

“This place is insane, Bakari. I mean I love it but I still think it’s too much,” she remarked, she raised her hands as if to surrender, knowing she was bringing up a touchy subject for them both.

“Aht aht. We came to an agreement on that,” he lightly kissed her bare shoulder.

She nodded, neither of them wanting to fall back into their first true argument of their relationship a few months earlier.

“So what do you think?”

Charlotte laughed. “I think I could fit 5 or 6 of my first apartment in that place,” she gestured toward his laptop as he flipped through photos of a high-rise three-bedroom apartment. “I mean it’s gorgeous but I don’t think I can afford it.”

“Yea but I can. It’s perfect. Really solid security, there’s only one apartment on each floor so it’s pretty private. And it's only 15 minutes from the theaters so when you finish up evening shows, it’s not a long drive. It’s perfect for us. Don’t think about the cost. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it but,” she chuckled. “Creed was my first real check in two years, babe. And I still gotta pay for my apartment here. I don’t really have the luxury of not thinking about the cost of things.”

“Ok but I’m sayin’ you don’t have to think about it cause I got it.”

“Well how much do you want me to contribute a month? If we go 50/50, it would be tight but I could swing it then, I guess.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “ I wasn’t expecting you to contribute anything. We ain’t roommates, Els.”

She shook her head, pushing off of the couch to pace in his living room, her annoyance officially rising. Finances continued to be a touchy subject for the pair. However, usually, Charlotte only put up so much of a fight before she gave in. But she could not give in on this, not today.

“It’s one thing for you to always pay for dinners and shit like that but you can’t pay all of our rent while we’re there. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why can’t I?” He asked, his tone signaling that he did not understand the seriousness of the conversation for Charlotte in the slightest. He still did not quite understand her hang up with finances. He knew it was part of the cycle of abuse but he had no problem spending money on her if need be. She had only just stopped fighting him on paying for dates. Though he was not the type of celebrity who blew all of his money on frivolous things, Michael also did not pretend money was a significant consideration in his decisions because it just wasn’t. And he would never apologize for wanting to spend his money on her, for wanting to support her.

“B-Because I…” Charlotte stopped herself from finishing the sentence, Don’t want you to be able to control me that way. But she knew that was not his way.“T-then it’s y-your house a-and not mine. I-I would just feel more comfortable i-if you let me contribute something. L-Let me pay for half? Besides, you’re gonna be in LA sometimes, full time in the summer. You shouldn’t pay the full amount every month like you’re gonna be there the whole time.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Charlotte. I don’t need your money and I don’t want it.” His tone signaled that he hoped to get the final word in and end the discussion.

She could not help but feel frustrated like he was not hearing her. But she understood why he did not see this situation through her eyes. “I-It’s not about you n-needing it!” She cried out, Michael suddenly realizing her unexpected outburst meant more simmered beneath the surface than her just wanting to contribute. She took a deep breath, not wanting to start an argument with him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

He rubbed her shoulders and nodded, “Ok just breath for a second, babe. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would bother you this much. I just.. I wanted you to have a serene, safe place to live and work while you’re there a-and I wasn’t gonna ask you to pay because money wasn’t a factor when I chose it. I just want you to be comfortable while we’re there.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t push him on the finances piece so much. But she refused to ever let a man hold her livelihood over her head again. Where she laid her head was important and even though she stayed at Michael’s most of the time, she could at least retreat to her home if she ever needed it. She did not want the only place she had to lay her head to be not in her control at all.

“Look, I-I appreciate it. That place is beautiful a-and perfect. I love it, truly. But… t-this is the first time I’m living with a guy since Shaun a-and the a-amount of times he held t-the fact that it w-was his h-house instead of mine o-over me…” she exhaled deeply as if she could release the memories into the air with her breath. “I-If I d-don’t contribute something then it’ll be your house and not ours. I k-know you don’t need it o-or want it. But I need it. I need it to feel like I have an equal claim to it. Please.”

At that, Michael decided not to push any further. He understood her triggers were real and legitimate and if it gave her a sense of autonomy and control to pay him, he would not let his ego get in the way of that.

“Understood. I’m sorry,” he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t think about that. This’ll be our home and I want you to feel like it. How about you deal with all the utilities and I get the rent?”

She could not help but laugh a bit at his “compromise.” “Those things aren’t comparable at all, babe,” she muttered.

“Monetarily? Nah. But what’s the point of an apartment without lights, wifi, gas, water?” he listed. “All of those are necessities too and without them, this would be a pretty terrible apartment.”

They squared off for a moment before she nodded, realizing he budged about as far as he was willing to on the subject.

“Deal.”

“We came to an agreement, yes. But don’t think for a second I like it. Anytime you wanna accept that 50/50 split, let me know.”

Michael gave her a peck on the nose.

“Not gonna happen. Let me treat you to this one thing, baby. But what could happen is us christening some of this furniture?” His eyebrow raised suggestively, his intentions clear in his words.

Charlotte smiled slyly. “I like the sound of that… if we start with the counter.”

***

“Charlotte. Baby. Stop eating your breakfast like it’s a drive by. Sit, relax, and eat. You got plenty of time. Don’t have to be there for another hour.”

Charlotte nearly catapulted out of bed that morning, a wrecking ball of nervous energy flitting around their apartment. Michael did not know how she was moving so quickly and chaotically, since all she did was toss and turn the night before. And as soon as the Sun was up, she was out of bed and out on a run through the neighborhood. And when she returned, their bed quickly turned into a wreckage of clothes, the young woman changing her outfit no less than 10 times.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Michael asked as Charlotte forced herself to sit at the island and eat Michael’s apple cinnamon pancakes, her favorite, and a couple pieces of bacon. Though this was her favorite breakfast meal, she found it difficult to eat, believing her time would be better served practicing or running her lines again rather than just sitting there.

She scratched her head as she stuffed her face quickly, her eyes zooming across her sheet music. “Couple hours. Lots of tossing and turning before I just gave up and reviewed the music again.”

Michael laughed, “You know every song by heart, even the ones that aren’t yours. You’re gonna be great today.”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.” She glanced at her watch and bit her lip before abandoning her half eaten breakfast. “Thanks for this, Bakari, but I think I should go practice the songs one more time. The run in the Act I closer is fuckin’ killing me. I can’t get it just right a-and if Chris has us practice that part today, I don’t want to look stupid.” She paused her ranting to practice the chorus and run right there as she paced by the counter. She sounded flawless in Michael’s opinion but he could tell she hated it the way her whole face scrunched up in frustration. “See? Can’t get it. But you know… maybe I should practice my ballad first though… it would make sense he’d want to start there since it’s earlier in the show. Do I have time to do both…” She was no longer talking to Michael, only rambling and muttering to herself as her questions about which song to use her precious last few minutes to practice started to become inter spliced with actual lyrics from the songs as she studied the music while she walked through their home. “Babe! Have you seen my script?? Maybe I should run through all my lines for Act 1?” She checked her watch. “I s-should’ve used the time last night to do that. UGH.”

Her incoherent stream of consciousness and half singing were interrupted by Michael who put himself in the path of Hurricane Charlotte and their bedroom. Her favorite room to practice in was the bathroom because the acoustics were the best in the house. Imagine his confusion and slight amusement when, the first thing she did when they arrived after throwing her bags down, she started singing her ballad in every single room to test the sound quality before deciding the bathroom was the best option.

It had not been 24 hours yet and he already learned one critical thing about her: she was a perfectionist chaotic nutcase. He had never seen this “behind the scenes” look into her process and work ethic. When they worked on Creed, she showed up to set every day the picture of an actor, in the zone, focused, and ready to work. He had never seen what it took to get to that picture and it was a perfect frenzy that he could not hope to understand or follow if he tried.

And still, he found that her perfectionist nature that drove all the practice and ramblings only made him fall deeper in love with her. He imagined this is what he looked like to his friends and family when he was prepping for a role, so much energy and time spent to become someone else and embody their souls and personas. So much attention to detail and time rehearsing to give each moment in front of the camera your all. This was so much like that, and yet so much harder because Charlotte could not just yell cut to redo something. Every night she got on that stage, she had one opportunity to show her talent at its fullest. He could completely understand why she pushed herself as hard as she did.

“Honeybee… you gotta calm down. No more practicing,” he grabbed the sheet music out of her hand, Charlotte offering mild protests as he walked to her bag and slid them inside, secretly adding a little card of his own. “You still have weeks of rehearsals. Keep doing this and you’ll lose your voice,” he warned, his lips twitching from the laugh he forced himself to stifle at the look of objective horror on her face, as if she had never even considered that was a possibility. But he imagined for her, losing her voice was the worst type of illness she could have. “Exactly. Rest the vocals for a bit. Sit, finish your breakfast and we’ll drive to the theater together.”

With his hands on her hips, he steered her back to the island for the third time that morning and watched her sit down to resume eating, this time far slower and more measured.

“You don’t gotta take me like a child headed to kindergarten for the first day, dad,” she bemused with a soft smile. “I’ll be good.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

She nodded, talk of Michael’s plans for the day filled the rest of breakfast before she grabbed her bag, filled with her script, sheet music, and mid-day snack. Michael had to stop her from triple checking her bag before he slid a perfectly made chai in her hands and ushered her out the door.

He kept his hand on hers as their driver took them the short ride to Abernathy Theater. She had not told Michael but she had performed in this very theater in her very first Broadway production out of college. It felt like a full circle moment to be back there.

“Ok, this is it, babe. You got this,” he kissed her on the lips. “Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.”

“Thanks, love. See you tonight.” She took a deep breath before gathering her things and exiting the car.

Charlotte glanced back at the black car before she opened the theater door, the window rolled down, to find Michael giving her a thumbs up as if he knew she would need an extra push to walk through the door. She knew her nerves were somewhat foolish. She had spent the better part of her life in theaters and on the stage. And yet, she still felt like a fish outta water. So much time had passed, so much life had happened. Chris thought she still had what it took but would everyone else? She had given up this dream. And though she had never admitted this out loud, she felt so much shame for how easily she had casted it aside and resigned to leaving it to die behind her. As she walked through the theater, her first time in one in over two years, she questioned whether she even deserved this second chance at it after she had squandered the first one, regardless of her reasoning for doing so.

But now as she walked through the theater, taking in the opulence of the insanely tall ceilings and their perfectly preserved murals, the dazzling gold arches and trims, and the sea of ruby-colored seats, she knew one fact to be true. No one and nothing would tear her away from this dream this time. She had breathed new life into it and she would not lose it again.

“Charlotte!”

Her visual survey was interrupted by Chris who waved at her from the stage. She smiled and made quick work of making her way to the stage where he waited.

“It’s so good to see you,” he mused, pulling her into a tight hug. “The rest of the cast is trickling in. But I wanted to show you around personally and introduce you to everyone. I’ll take you backstage.”

He looped his arm around hers and led her backstage, the two laughing and chatting like old friends as he took her around and introduced her to everyone. He was showing her her dressing room when a familiar man’s voice filled her ears.

“The prodigal daughter of Broadway returns… You know I took bets on when you’d be back.”

Charlotte whipped around to find Malcolm Roberts, one of her costars, leaning against the doorway, his usual sly smirk etched on his face.

She sauntered up to him, a similar smirk falling on her face. “And? Is the Tony award winning Malcolm Roberts poorer or richer these days?”

“Richer…” At her surprised expression, he shrugged. “I learned a long time ago to always bet on you.”

She laughed and immediately pulled him into a tight hug, the man lifting her feet slightly off the ground.

“It’s so good to see you. I owe you dinner so you can catch me up on everything,” he said as they hugged. “You look amazing, still as gorgeous as ever.”

Malcolm had been in her last production before she moved. She followed his career after leaving theater and his star had only risen higher and higher, as he deserved. And now, he would be playing directly alongside her and she couldn’t have been more pleased. If there was one person she trusted undoubtedly to act alongside, besides Michael, it would be Malcolm.

“Thank you! Should’ve known Chris would call in the heavyweight champ,” she laughed.

He merely shrugged. “A friend calls and I answer. That's how he got you outta hibernation too?” He asked as they walked to the practice room for rehearsal, their banter drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the team as they worked to build the set and gathered props around them.

“Naturally. One day you’ll have to tell us how you convince everyone to do whatever you want?” Charlotte told Chris who merely smiled slyly.

“Win me another Tony and I’ll tell all my secrets.”

The two actors glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “As if you need anymore!”

“Does your house even have room for another one and that big head of yours?” Malcolm teased as Charlotte snorted.

“Well, my partner says I can’t convert the kids’ room to a trophy room. So I guess when you two are done sweeping, I’ll have to buy a new house.” He winked at the both of them before grabbing his assistant director to chat, leaving Malcolm and Charlotte alone.

“How was the move?” He asked as he interlaced his arm with Charlotte’s as they walked.

“Oh totally fine. Michael took care of everything, of course. All I did was say yes or no.”

“Ah yes, the new boyfriend, aka my wife and sister’s celebrity crush. Remind me never to invite the two of you over for dinner?” Charlotte let out a deep belly laugh. “But I’m glad to hear it. Looks like you found yourself a good one?”

“Yea… I think I did.”

She raised her eyebrow as he stopped walking to study her for a moment, his face drawn up in a look of pride and something else she could not place. Understanding? Knowing? She could not read it. However, before she could ask him, he merely patted her hand, which rested on his arm and said, “Well no one deserves that more than you.”

Before she could inquire more, they arrived at their rehearsal space, each of them settling into their spots. Chris did quick work of introducing Charlotte to everyone else who she hadn’t met and embarrassing her with his praise. She was thankful when it was all over and everyone started to pull out their scripts and sheet music to run through Act I.

As she pulled out her materials, a small card fell out of the stack and onto the table. She picked it up and examined the card, Honey Bee written out on the front in Michael’s handwriting. She half listened to Chris share notes and information from the last rehearsal as she slid the stationary out of its envelope.

I would say good luck but I know you don’t need it. You’re gonna kill it, as you always do, and remind everyone there today and in this world, who you are. Take a deep breath and remember you, not only deserve this moment but, you were made for it.

Love,

Your biggest fan

If she had not been in a room filled with people, she would have bursted into tears. She slid the note back in her bag after reading it once more and taking the deep breath he instructed her to. She grabbed her phone as the cast started the table read and sent a quick but simple text.

Thank you ♥️♥️

She knew she did not need to elaborate and that he would recognize the meaning. Not a whole minute passed before her phone buzzed with a similar simplistic response.

Anytime.

***

A month later

“Oof, that’s it. That’s the right spot,” Charlotte moaned as Michael massaged her aching limbs. “You got the magic touch, baby.” Her eyes lulled closed as he did the Lord’s work, kneading and massaging the tense spots on her legs and back after another long day of rehearsals. "First show is in two days and I can barely feel my legs.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of her spine before continuing his work.

Though Charlotte did not mind the quiet, the silence that settled over them both as he worked, she found it odd. Most evenings, she and Michael never stopped talking, the pair catching the other up on any and everything from the moment she walked into the door until the moment they fell asleep. However, today, Michael’s head seemed to be elsewhere.

“You ok?” She inquired.

“Y-Yea, yea. I’m good.”

She laughed. “I know you well enough to know when you’re good, Bakari. What’s wrong?” She gestured for him to move so she could sit up. She slid her robe over her nude body and slid into his lap.

“I just had an interesting call with Ryan today.”

“Oh? Got another project for you?”

“Actually, yea.”

She motioned for more details, unsure why he was being so coy and secretive. “Ok… you gotta give me more than that, babe. What’s the role? And why are you acting like he threatened to kill you?”

“It’s a Marvel project.”

Her eyes immediately grew wide. She gracefully tumbled out of his lap and onto her knees, excitement filling her previously lethargic body. While she had only just started to get into anime thanks to Michael, both of them bonded over their love for comics. Growing up with her brother, she and Jackson spent far too much time in the comic book store and she made a point to see every Marvel movie that came out.

“It’s Black Panther, isn’t it??” She squealed, her excitement radiating off of her.

“How’d you guess that so fast??”

She scoffed and smiled. “Marvel’s been talking to Black directors for months for that project. A-and Civil War is coming out soon with Chadwick. Ohh,” she shook his shoulders. “You HAVE to do it, baby.”

He laughed, getting up to go into their in-suite bathroom. “You don’t even know what the role is, love.”

She shrugged, following behind him with an extra pep in her step. She did not understand how he wasn’t more excited about this.

“I mean I could sit here and go through all the Black Panther comic lore if you’d like and guess. But that’ll just make you horny,” she teased, knowing Michael got a little too excited when she put on her nerdy hat and talked comics. “And my legs hurt too much for acrobatics with you today. Why aren’t you excited? You said yes, right?? He wouldn’t’ve called unless the role was yours.”

He pushed himself up to sit on the bathroom counter. “I want to say yes, the role is fantastic a-and his vision is spectacular. I s-spent the whole day reading up on the character and everything. It would be a game changer for sure.”

“Of course it would. But I sense a but coming?” Her hands inched up his warm bare chest and wrapped around his neck as she stood between his legs.

“I’d have to go back to LA for a couple days to screen test with Chad and a couple of the other confirmed actors, meet with the execs… and between Kevin Feige’s schedule, Ryan’s and Chadwick’s… only one week before like June works for everyone.”

At the annoyed and guilty look on his face, Charlotte immediately understood. “Opening weekend of the show?” She prayed she was wrong but at the small nod, she let out a disgruntled sigh.

“Yea. A-and I don’t want to miss that, Els. It’s such a big deal and I moved here to be all in on us and support you. I asked Ryan if we could find a different date or if we could do something out here instead but I dunno yet. I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to disappoint you if it’s not a sure thing.”

“Babe. I so appreciate you and that you even thought to consider me and the show before saying yes. But you can’t put your career on hold for me. This is the MCU, babe, I would miss opening night of my own show for Kevin Feige. You have to go.”

Michael’s jaw almost unhinged at her statement. That was not what he was expecting at all. And when he searched her face for a hint of disappointment or sadness, he failed to find any. Her joy for him was natural and authentic, not the forced type people give when they are trying to hide their own emotions.

“What??”

“I’m joking,” she amended but she quickly shook her head. “Actually I’m not. I would totally ditch schmoozing investors and the nausea of waiting for reviews for Marvel,” she laughed. “Seriously though, I’m gonna be doing 8 shows a week for months. You’ll see me on stage so many times, you’ll get sick of my voice and the show. You don’t have to be there opening night to support me. Honestly, I’d rather have you there the first night of previews in a couple days so you can see me on stage for the first time anyway. Opening night is only a big deal in that critics can finally review the show. And there’s a party for the cast and producers and investors and all that shit. You moved across the country to support me. That’s all I need.”

She walked back into their bedroom and grabbed his phone, her slippers shuffling lightly against the floor as she went.. She held it out to him. “Call Ryan.”

“Babe… I just don’t feel right abandoning you on such a big night.”

She tilted her head to study him. She found that she was not just saying those words because she knew she should not stop him from pursuing an opportunity. She actually meant it. Now that she was back in the swing of things, her anxiety had eased quite a bit. It had only been a few weeks but she had not seen or heard a peep out of Shaun, her promo for the show being reduced to one mention in a Broadway.com article, thankfully. And she knew she would have to handle a few days here and there without him before they got there. It was still early so she was still beyond thankful to have him there, but she could survive a couple days without him if he was needed elsewhere.

“You aren’t abandoning me. You’re following your dreams, you’re moving your career forward. Ryan picked you, the role is yours. Meeting with the execs and a couple screen tests are the only hurdles you gotta clear. And you shouldn't put that off. Would I love to look out into that crowd and see you opening night, sure. But would I prefer to see you snag a killer role in what is already a highly anticipated project, 100%. I know you’ll be there in spirit.”

“You sure you aren’t gonna secretly hate me?”

“I could never hate you. Besides, shit like this is gonna happen… we’re both two busy body ass actors. We aren’t always gonna be able to be there physically but I know you’ll be cheering me on as I will for you.”

His phone still hovered in her hand between them, Charlotte giving him an cocky grin before unlocking it and finding Ryan’s number for him.

“You sure?”

“I’m giving you the push you gave me. Call him and tell him he’s got his Killmonger. Hopefully he doesn’t bust your fuckin’ ear drums like Chris did mine.”

His eyes grew wide. “How’d you do that shit?? I never even said his name.”

She chuckled as she turned to walk back into their room, her shoulders shrugged. “It was a lucky guess… that you just confirmed,” she smirked at him. “Now…” she sexily allowed her robe to open and slide off her shoulders, the silk fabric pooling to the floor around her feet. “Don’t stay on the phone with him too long.”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, his thumb hovering over the call button. “I thought you were too tired?”

She shrugged. “Consider it the last bit of encouragement you need to make that call.” She winked at him before sauntering off to their bed, delighting in the way his eyes followed her perfect ass as she climbed onto their bed.

***

“Well, I think that part could use a bit more emotion from both of us?” Charlotte remarked as she and Malcolm reviewed their notes from earlier in the day.

The stage was filled with chaos as many in the company practiced off to one side while the staging and lighting folks tried to get everything ready for their last rehearsal before previews started the next evening. Rebecca and Jonathan, the supporting actors in the play, were tucked in a corner just like Malcolm and Charlotte reviewing their lines.

“For sure. We shouldn’t hold back. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. All that pent up aggression and anger and hurt… it really should feel like something is simmering beneath the surface and then an explosion on stage before the number.”

Before Charlotte could agree with him and practice a bit more, Chris’s voice grabbed their attention.

“Heads up, everyone! So don’t hate me. But a lot of the investors can’t make previews tomorrow night but they want a peek before opening night so they asked if they could sit in on rehearsal after the producers’ meeting happening upstairs. Should be wrapping up in about 15 minutes. So we will have a small but mighty,” he emphasized, “Audience today. So everyone should give this their all and we’re gonna do it in our costumes. Go get changed. Sorry for the change of plans.”

Light mumbles and grumbles could be heard through the company as everyone filed back into their dressing rooms. Charlotte and Malcolm merely shared a smirk, the actor whispering to Charlotte, “The investors and producers say jump…”

“And we say ‘how high?” she grimaced with an eye roll before shutting the door to her dressing room. This was the only part of her job she hated, schmoozing people whose only credentials for being there was the hefty check they wrote. Charlotte’s outfit was quick work, a simple dress, cardigan, and heels so it did not take long for her to change.

She sang a few chords to herself, warming up her voice, while she waited for the backstage cue to return to the wings of the stage. When the lights flashed, she made her way to the wings, stopping by Malcolm who had his face drawn up in a grimace. She was thankful to find another actor who also hated the politics of it all. She followed his line of sight to the parted curtains, revealing center stage where Chris stood with a group of men in suits. They quickly reminded her of all of the men she met at Shaun's office parties and events, her distaste had not changed. Most of their backs were turned to them until Chris noticed the entire company was assembled and waiting and waved them over.

“Let the jumping begin,” Malcolm moaned lightly as they all started walking toward the group of powerful and wealthy men.

“And these are the stars of our show, Charlotte Bennett, Malcolm Roberts, Rebecca Sloan, and Jonathan Rivers,” Chris gestured toward all of them, the group turning around to greet them.

However, the bright smile that Charlotte put on as she pulled on her dazzling actress persona immediately fell as her eyes locked with one of the men. Her movements halted, her entire body going cold and rigid as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her.

Everything around her went silent as if someone had pressed the mute button, she could not even hear her pounding heart in her ears. But she could feel it, beating against her rib cage as it threatened to burst out of her chest. She forgot where she was, who she was, as he offered her a menacing and knowing smirk.

Instinctively, she took a step back, increasing the distance between them as the rest of the cast continued forward to introduce themselves. Only one person noticed her change in demeanor, her low, shallow breaths that were drowned out by pleasantries and greetings.

Malcolm touched her shoulder, Charlotte almost jumping out of her skin with shock, finally taking her eyes off of a man she never expected to see here of all places, in her safe space.

“You good? Look like you saw a ghost,” he chuckled nervously, though his eyes were filled with concern.

Her mouth felt bone dry, the words caught in her throat but she forced them out anyway.

“No, no. Not a g-ghost. J-just…” she shook her head. “I… um, just need a minute? Tell C-Chris I’m r-running to the b-bathroom. N-not feeling great.”

She turned and rushed out of the theater, her legs carrying her as fast as they could without breaking into an all out run until she found herself near a concession stand in the deserted lobby. She needed as much distance as she could between herself and him. She stopped and leaned against the counter, her hand pressed into her chest as she tried to calm herself. She wondered if she would have rather seen an actual ghost. That would have been less terrifying than what awaited her back in that theater, a different monster haunting her from her past.

Shaun Parker.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh

***

A/N: So good news… we got some fluff!! Bad news… some niggas we don't like have found their way back. Thanks for reading! *drops this off and runs away*

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii #michael b jordan smut #mbj fanfic #mbjedit

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lipglossanon · 1 year ago

Text

Ash and Bone

•_•———— ⚰️ ————•_•

Don’t really know what this is, so reader beware lol

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dark Leon, dark content, murder, body mutilation, stabbing, degrading talk, dead body, corpse burning

this is not sexual at all (for me) but as always, you interpret things as you see fit, not my business 🤷‍♀️

not proofread

•_•———— ⚰️ ————•_•

The knife sinks in easily, like it’s nothing; like a hot knife through butter skitters across his thoughts making him smile. He pulls the blade out and sinks it back in right next to it, certain this one snagged on an organ as more blood gushes from the wound as he pulls the knife out.

Giddiness bubbles up through his blood like nitrogen from a deep sea dive. Unlike the bends, he welcomes the feeling, this all encompassing excitement making his brain sing in pleasure. He sinks the knife into her body again and again.

“Brought this on yourself, stupid cunt,” he mumbles with glee, blue eyes nearly black as his pupils expand.

She doesn’t say anything— can’t say anything. Laying there like trash, something easily discarded once Leon’s gotten his use out of it.

“Didn’t even fuck you, did I?” He laughs down at her still form, “god, should’ve seen how fucking desperate you looked. Like I’d give you the fucking time of day you fucking pig.”

Then he’s off on another spiel of giggles, knife movements more sloppy as his body shakes with the force of his laughter.

“Stupid piggy cunt,” he snorts and laughs harder, “delusional fucking whore. God, what I wouldn’t do to fucking gut you’re little friends, too. Bet it’d be easy to trick them out here. Fucking gagging for attention cause none of you ever get noticed. Do you, sweetheart?”

The body lies there, cooling against the cement floor. He places the tip of his knife along her ribs and sinks it slowly upward into her chest cavity.

“Bet you wished that I’d have sunk my cock in your pussy just like this, huh?” He brings up one bloody hand to flick his bangs away from his face, “all nice and slow, making sure to get as deep as I can.”

He feels it the moment the blade slides into her heart, the muscle tearing like wet tissue paper as blood bubbles from the entrance wound.

“Oh isn’t that nice, honey?” He coos, eyes riveted to the red pooling underneath her body, “my little darling getting exactly what she’s always wanted: my attention.”

After that, Leon takes his time, stabbing the knife into her body over and over just cause he likes the way it punctures the skin.

“I heard you and your stupid slut friends giggling and whispering every time I came around,” he sneers, flecks of blood matching the freckles coating his skin, “like I didn’t feel your ugly piggy eyes on me, your pathetic lips saying those cheap words, like I’m something you could covet. You fucking piece of shit.”

He wrenches the hilt of his knife until he feels something give inside her body that’s not supposed to, a sickening crack of bone that brings a smile to his face.

“Shut you up good, didn’t I? Thought you could follow me outside the bar, trying to flirt your way into my passenger seat,” he brings the hand not wielding the knife down in a slap across her lifeless face, “pathetic fucking trash. I wouldn’t have touched you if you paid me to, just looking at you would make a man sick.”

He grins to no one suddenly, “Is that why you and your little piggy friends were alone at the bar? Only dick you could get in your nasty little snatch is one made of silicone, right? So you thought you’d try me.”

He brings the knife up to her throat and slices across it, blood sluggishly dripping down the torn skin. With a sigh, he sits back on his haunches, blade lying limply in his hand. M

“Well as much fun as this has been, you’re already boring me,” he wipes the knife on her shirt, “which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. I did everyone a favor by getting rid of you, dumb bitch.”

He heaves himself up onto his feet and reaches for the gas canister nearby. Dousing the body thoroughly, he pulls out a box of matches. The strike and hiss of the flame manifesting on the little matchstick makes him smile brightly.

“Best thing to do with trash is to burn it, s’what my daddy always said,” he says aloud, “I would say good riddance but damn if your not even worth that.”

Tossing the little flaming stick onto her body, he watches serenely as she slowly catches fire. He moves far enough away he can’t smell her stink as the gas makes the flame burn hot, crisping her skin and burning off the hair and clothes first. He watches for hours until there’s nothing but ash and bone left behind.

#lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist #leon s kennedy #dark content #dark!leon s kennedy #dark leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy au #au #murderer!leon #murderer!leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #don’t like don’t read #tags and warnings are listed #so don’t be a bitch

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dalchiid · 2 years ago

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Whew wow of all the climaxes we’ve had so far (and there’s been so many!) I think Minjeong’s arrival might be in the top 5. How unexpectedly things are have been heating up. In hindsight, of course y/n’s chance of escape would come through in the form of another vampire. I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around how she’d be able to escape on her own. Although it seems that all the vampires we’ve met so far are pretty fucked up in their own form of hierarchy and loyalty to their own blood/race, but who’s to say there aren’t any truly good ones around? Minjeong just might be the answer.

Hoseok told y/n about his ex but he obviously didn’t go into explicit details. Was in Namjoon or Jimin who gave the tea on how their parents had to intervene to separate Hoseok from Minjeong? I can’t exactly remember but regardless she sure knows how to make an entrance. Which begs the question: why? She went through hell with Hoseok and fought hard to get away from him, so why come back? Is it a coincidence that Minjeong happened to run into the Bangtan clan at the mall or did someone tip her off? Is she really that selfless about y/n’s to the point she’s willing to put her own safety at risk again?

I’m most curious as to what she meant by “He's not who you think he is.“ As in he’s not the loving boyfriend figure/hero everyone thinks he is? Well, we've already established that, however, I can’t help but feel she’s implying something more. The more I think about it who exactly are the Bangtan clan? They're in the business of selling their saliva drug but where does their hierarchy stand when it comes to other vampires? Maybe that’s not too important to this story, or maybe it is. We’ll find out well enough I’m sure. Lastly, y/n’s nausea...she’s not pregnant is she? Because that would really put a wrench in her plans. I know Hoseok doesn’t wrap it up but I also know anxiety can be nausea inducing, so let me not get too ahead of myself. I could be reading too much into things but you have a way of getting the gears in my head turning.

With that said, I’ve been so busy these past few weeks but it was really fun to binge read the latest chapters of Covetous. I’m always so excited to see which direction the story takes. Thank you for writing such an amazing story and doing so consistently at that! You’re amazing and I look forward to chapter 43!

— cloudy anon ☁️

Ah I forgot to add:

Y/n’s letter to Hyun-woo. I’m a little surprised Hoseok sent it like he promised. Then again, I’m not because if there’s one thing we know about Hoseok is that he always keeps his promise. Be it for good or for bad, he’s a man of his word. He’s done such a good job so far of playing the loving boyfriend role while giving his little warnings here and there. So I am surprised he let his mask slip a little. Then again, I’m sure the idea of your lover attempting to keep in contact with their ex-master/lover has the potential to tick anyone off.

I think I feel bad for Sunmi the most though. I hope nothing bad happens to her now that Hyung-won feels like she betrayed him. Speaking of Hyung-won, he’s such a precarious character. In the beginning it really seemed like he had no ill feelings towards y/n. Hoseok basically kidnapped y/n, sure, but from another perspective it feels more like Hyung-won sold her off, or more precisely gave her away. Not that she was ever morally his to give, but the technicalities of the whole master-servant relationship beg to differ.

It’s like Hyung-won was looking for any reason to get rid of y/n, and Hoseok’s arrival was the perfect opportunity. I get that it was out of concern for his brother, but y/n should realize that although she may not like it at Bangtan, returning to the Baek’s is no longer an option either. Even if Hyun-won was out of the picture, her relationship with Hyun-woo is equally strained and fucked up because I doubt he’d ever be content with going back to how they were pre-Hoseok’s arrival. Hyun-woo will always want more from her, probably more than she’ll ever be willing to give.

Minjeong just might be the answer. Or maybe she has a plan that'll benefit her in the long run.

I think it was Jimin who told her what happened with Minjeong. To be honest I don't remember and this is my story 😅 We'll see what her plans are in tonight's chapter!

It's not too important in the story but the Bangtan clan is just very well known because of what their job entails. Their father was already well known and despite knowing what they do people are interested in the vast amount of wealth they've procured. In a way they are in a high position in the hierarchy because people put them there. They want what they have and despite trying not everyone can successfully do what the Bangtan clan can do.

I don't know if Y/N's pregnant. Maybe, maybe not 👀 We shall see!

Hoseok can be loyal. If anything he really is loyal to those he cares about. Unlike some *cough cough* Namjoon. Her wanting to contact Hyun-Woo did set him off because he saw it as "you belong to me and not him anymore." His mind took him two steps ahead and he imagined them being reunited and he couldn't have that. No matter what.

Sunmi is just a gentle soul that wants to help as much as she can and she really fell for Y/N. She really wanted to make more of their blooming friendship.

Hoseok and Seokjin only did a little bit in their plan to take her home with them. Hyung-Won was convinced from the beginning. He didn't like how she had his brother wrapped around her finger and how jealous and possessive he became with her. He saw him acting like a spoiled child with his demands on who could interact with her. His dislike for Y/N began to grow the day Hyun-Woo said he wanted to be the only one to feed from her. He did his best to hide it because he didn't want to hear his brother's mouth. He'd oftentimes complain to Hyun-Sik about it. It's why Hyun-Sik did nothing to help defend Y/N.

Yeah Hyun-Woo wouldn't want things to "go back to normal." He'd want to continue this fantasy relationship with her even if it was against her will. So he's not any better than Hoseok.

And thank you for your kind words! Thank you for reading. Thank you for a lot of things. I really appreciate the support.

#ask #covetous #cloudy anon ☁️

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ignoranxed · 1 year ago

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because i am so done w losing my thoughts over the very chaotic only friends eps imma put them down here and contribute my 0.0002 cents to the OF meta

here are my stray thoughts post ep4

1. the power dynamic between boston & top: the past two eps have been sooooo layered w this but i loveee the ending of the lift scene in ep4 for the very specific reason that top is TERRIFIED of boston. the second boston turns his back to top, you can see top’s face literally melting into a scared, breathless, child-like expression, almost as if he was holding so tightly onto every last bit of courage possible to make boston feel like he could see right through him but he was actually praying ton doesn’t see through himself. like ofc there’s the whole being subjected to non-consensual sexual advances for the umpteenth time by ton and recovering from that experience thingy, but i am not able to shake away the thought that top FEARS boston.

since ep1 we see that top and ton consistently try to assert power over the other in the most petty yet desperate ways, to say the least (case in point: top’s forced eye roll in the ep1 bathroom scene & ton’s tone & choice of words in ep2 shower scene. this scene by itself too, actually. if i’ve missed anything else plss lmk!!). initially, i kinda brushed it off as part of the hookup culture depicted and the whole idea of top being “top-tier” (as in for ton he feels this need to stake claim on the most coveted & for top he feels the need to maintain his “wanted yet unattainable” rep) but post ep3&4 i am so convinced that there is something more sinister about their relationship that gives ton power over top. i just know this man’s so fucked over by boston and is still reeling from it.

2. we’re most definitely going to get a mewray: call me delulu but my man went from “it’s your life. not my concern” & “isn’t it already good for you if you quit” to “if you quit using drugs, i’ll sleep with you” in under 10 seconds. this mew bitch is gonna lose his shit and make everyone else lose their own at some point and all of the evidence i have for this could be a whole other post.

3. friend-group dynamic: this has been a nagging question for me and i saw a few other posts on this (hidden agenda has taken over my tumblr the past couple weeks so OF took a sad backseat ://) but my point basically being, why have ray, mew, cheum & ton remained friends? what’s keeping their friendship going? we know it’s a min of 2 years that they’ve all been friends for i think, but i just can’t wrap my head around why do 3 people who very often can barely stand each other, choose to do everything together? saving cheum on this cause she’s just the token lesbian who loves everyone so far. they study together, they work together, they party together, they don’t seem to have any other actual friends they hang out with so what’s keeping them tied? and why?

this ep def gave a lot more clarity on mew and ray’s friendship but my question is still not answered.

4. the SKAM colours are back!! i’m sorry but this just makes me super excited :))))))

that’s it for now and more stray thoughts will be updated as and when convenient upon arrival.

i haven’t read enough of the recent OF meta so if any of my thoughts seem repetitive or overdone, pls be kind :))

as a baby bl fan, reading meta makes my whole bl watching experience exponentially better and this is me contributing to that in my little way. okay that’s it thx xx bye

#ignorants #baby bl fan writes meta #losing my mind truly #ofts top #ofts boston #ofts mew #ofts ray #only friends the series #ofts #forcebook #firstkhao #neomark

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

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Pink Scarf - PART 8! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Mentions of sex. Nudity. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: PG-13 (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4994

A/N: Our Reader is feeling it, y'all! I am, too! Getting into the right headspace for this part was tricky for whatever reason, and it's a bit long, so thanks for your patience. I wanted to get a bit more backstory in there, so hopefully the flashback scene works well. And a little Young!Elvis doesn't hurt anyone, right? I also couldn't help myself and HAD to include the detail about his stutter because I just keep finding all these deliciously real and human parts of him that make him such a rich, full person/character, so forgive me my indulgence!

To all the babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments mean the absolute WORLD to me. Finding out that some of y'all are liking it enough to be reading it MULTIPLE times blows my freakin' mind. Like whaat?! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this 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.

1957

“So, I hear you’re gonna make an honest man out of our Jacky Boy.”

You look up from your seated spot on the cool grass, Elvis’ tall frame lording over you in the dark of this humid midsummer night and you smile.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you blush happily, playing with the small, simple diamond that now adorns the ring finger of your left hand. It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can barely stop staring at it, you are so excited.

Elvis folds himself down next to you on the lawn, his long limbs a little less lanky than they used to be. A couple of years of being well-fed after a lifetime of poverty has done him well. He looks good, albeit tired. Hollywood and fame have certainly made him more beautiful, his resting face now always looking like it’s ready for a close-up, but the lightness that used to surround him is a little heavier, a little darker now, like he has the world resting on his shoulders.

He turns his head to really look at you, taking you in. It’s a look that might’ve made you self-conscious at any other time, but it’s dark and you’re too distracted by your engagement ring to really notice. “You happy, doll?” he asks, but answers it himself, “You look happy.”

You can’t stop smiling. “Yes, I’m most certainly happy,” you reassure him.

“Good,” he nods as if this has satisfied him in some way. Then he leans back, laying down in the grass, and stares up at the stars. That look comes over him again, the heavy one. It worries you a little. He’s been gone so much lately, and things have been moving so quickly for him, you’ve barely had a moment to talk in what feels like forever.

“How ‘bout you, E, are you happy?” you ask quietly, looking down at him.

He is silent at first, and you almost don’t catch the sigh he lets out before speaking, “I ain’t got nothing to be unhappy about, baby. All my dreams are coming true.” He says it almost as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing all his attention on the sky.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” you say gently.

He finally looks over at you, those big blue eyes of his exhausted, rimmed with dark circles. “It’s all been moving so fast, I barely got time to catch my breath. I’m constantly around people, but sometimes I feel so lonely, y/n…and Hollywood ain’t all it’s cracked up to b-be,” he says quickly, but in a whisper, as though he’s terrified to be overheard.

You open your mouth to speak, but he rushes to continue: “And I don’t w-w-wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’ b-b-b-because I-I-I am gettin’ to do what I love to do and I’m supportin’ my family and it makes lots of folks happy, and God’s b-b-blessed me with that…b-b-but so many people hate me, makin’ it their mission to misunderstand me and they don’t even know me.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, frustrated and trying to get the words out.

You know he’s emotional and tired because his stutter keeps getting in his way as he tries to speak. Most people don’t even know he has one because it doesn’t happen when he sings, and he sure as hell doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, but you’ve heard it pop up now and again in conversation over the years, usually with nerves or when he’s “excited,” as he calls it. He told you how he thought he’d blown his initial screen test in Hollywood because of it, because he was so nervous that he couldn’t get the words to come out like he needed them to. Luckily, he said the director liked it and even said it made his acting seem more genuine. You find it endearing because it’s a very real part of him and his humanity, which you think is something much needed when the world is striving to make him a commodity. It still makes him a little self-conscious, though, so you don’t rush him or react, you just wait for him to continue.

“Sometimes I-I feel like I’m b-b-being pulled in a dozen different directions, all at o-once. I-I-I constantly feel like I’m tryin’ to prove myself. Sometimes it just gets to me, is all. So, to answer your question, yes, I am happy, but it sure comes with a price,” he pauses. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t’ve unloaded on you like that, today of all days,” he says, eyes now downcast and concerned.

“Don’t you feel sorry. I asked, and I’m glad you answered me truthfully. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest,” you say kindly, with a small smile. You hate to see him so weighed down. But you are pleased and surprised by him being so vulnerable with you. It makes you feel like you’ve got your friend back.

“You won’t go tellin’ no one, will ‘ya? Not even Jack,” he pleads, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Of course not, Elvis. I swear it,” you say seriously. You wouldn’t dream of betraying his trust.

He nods, relieved, and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m real proud of you, E, all of us are. It takes a special person to do what you do with the grace you do it with. God knows I couldn’t do it,” you say, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. “Thanks, y/n, that means a lot comin’ from you,” he says and the way his pretty eyes search your face sends a strange feeling through your body.

You don’t know what to say to that, so silence sits heavy, but not uncomfortably, between you.

Playing with your engagement ring, knees pulled into your chest, you look into the night sky.

“How’d ya know? That Jack’s the one?” he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.

The question both surprises and delights you. “Hmmm, well, let’s see,” you ponder. “He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be,” you rattle off. “That may seem silly and saccharine and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. So, I suppose that’s how I know I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him,” you say, a giddy excitement running through you.

Elvis is quiet, his face unreadable. You’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve said something to upset him.

“Why? You got a special girl or three, Mr. Presley?” you ask, in a faux-reporter voice, holding a pretend mic to his mouth to try and lighten the mood.

“Ha!” he scoffs with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, it must be so hard for you, to have thousands of beautiful girls to choose from, all clamoring for a piece of you,” you tease. You know he is dating quite a bit because he brings some of them home, whether from Hollywood or somewhere on the road. He always seems to be falling hard and fast for a new girl, but they never seem to last.

“No, there’s no one special I’m datin’,” he says, sitting up, intently playing with a blade of grass. “I mean, I’m seein’ lots of nice girls, great girls, even. It’s just…none of them’s the one.”

You are a little taken aback by his honest answer. “Well, you can’t force it, E. You’ll know when it’s right,” you say, patting his hand.

Elvis looks down sharply at your hand on his, almost like it’s burned him. “Yeah, I reckon I will,” he says, looking back up at you, his face unreadable once more. He’s gotten too good at that in Hollywood, you think, shutting the vulnerable parts of himself off from an untrustworthy world.

For the second time this night, silence hangs over you. This time it feels charged, but by what you do not know. You can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

“You gettin’ enough sleep, E?” His moodiness has always been worse when he’s tired.

“Oh, you know me, doll. I was barely sleeping before all this and now I sleep even less,” he replies. “There’s too much to do and I got all this-this crazy energy, ya know?” He wiggles his limbs, exaggerating. You can’t help but laugh.

But your laughter dies out quickly. “Seriously, Elvis, promise me you’ll at least try to get some rest while you’re home. It worries me to think you’re running yourself ragged.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, as if he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject.

“C-c-congratulations, y/n. Jack’s a lucky guy and I-I’m glad you’re happy. You—you both—deserve all the happiness,” Elvis says, his gaze kind but guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long. Your breath catches and you can feel heat blossom through your body and into your cheeks in a way that surprises you.

Then, just like that, he pulls away, getting up and brushing himself off, like nothing happened. He holds his hand out to you to help you up off the ground. “We should get back,” he says.

You blink rapidly, trying to process the last few moments. You are glad the darkness hides the red on your cheeks. Elvis seems unaffected, so you take his hand and let him help you up. You chalk whatever strangeness that has happened up to Elvis being exhausted, pushing whatever silly, fleeting thoughts you have far, far away.

The long-buried memory hits you hard as you stand at the door to Elvis’ bedroom, poised to knock. You’ve spent all night in anticipation of this moment, excited and nervous about whatever comes next, but this memory shakes you, knocking something loose in your brain. Something you had forgotten until just now.

You are trying to grasp it, the thing that is niggling at the corners of your mind, but before you can lock on to whatever it is, the door swings open, startling you. You didn’t remember knocking—it’s like Elvis just knew you were there.

And immediately everything else is forgotten because the tantalizing smell of him wafts over you, and your heart starts to pitter patter in your chest because he’s just so beautiful, and the brilliance of his light blue, dark-rimmed eyes nearly knocks you over.

Elvis pulls you in to the room quickly, trying to avoid any possible prying eyes, shutting the door quietly. The light is much dimmer in here and it’s silent, save for the sound of your breathing. He is so, so close, his eyes travelling over your body approvingly. His eyes ignite flames within you wherever they linger.

“I knew you’d be a showstopper in this, baby. And the tan is a nice touch,” he says, smiling coyly, running a finger down your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Words get lost in your throat because all you know is that you need him. So instead of words, you grasp his face and kiss him as if your life depends on it. You sense his surprise at your boldness in the way he tenses at first, but it takes only a second before his arms wrap around you, and those soft, pliant lips open to yours.

But the butterflies happening in your stomach now are different than the heat you’ve experienced when kissing him before and that surprises you. Scares you, even, because the heat and the sex make a certain kind of sense. It’s biological, you think, natural to be drawn to him. Everyone is drawn to him. What you’ve already shared physically, what he is teaching you about pleasure, is addicting—you want more. Of course, you do. But what’s happening to you now is more than that, as much as you want to push it away and deny it.

You pull back from him slowly, his lips chasing yours with another gentle kiss. Your eyes raise, meeting the endless blue of his, and you are caught there, drowning, as you try to understand the man he is now. You can’t help but think that these are the same eyes that looked upon you on the lawn of Graceland so many years ago. Reconciling that Elvis with this Elvis feels so utterly strange. So much life has happened between then and now, yet under it all, you can still see that sensitive young man, striving and eager for everything life has to offer.

“Well, hello to you, too, honey,” he says softly, searching your face, trying to gauge what is going on with you.

“Hi,” you breathe out, “I missed you.” It just falls out of your mouth, a truth you aren’t sure you should reveal, but it’s too late now. It feels silly—you saw him less than 24 hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

This pleases him, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I missed you, too,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss.

This invokes your own smile, a shy one. Your stomach continues to flutter like a schoolgirl’s.

He pulls you into the room, your hand small in his, the Vegas skyline bright outside the huge windows. To think, just a few nights ago, you stood in this very spot, furious and ripping him a new one for ruining your life. Feels like a million years ago now.

Elvis is barefoot, wearing a set of satiny deep blue pajamas, which somehow, even though they are sleepwear, still flatter him. You suddenly feel quite overdressed. You’re not sure what he has in store for you because his countenance doesn’t quite match the sexual fire from when he dominated you on the couch and sent you to the stars last night, but he is somehow no less intense.

His fingers brush through the pink fringe of your top, feathering over the bare skin of your back as he moves around you to a box on top of the piano. Curious, you move with him, stopping as he lifts out a slip of a nightgown that matches his pajamas exactly. Your eyebrow quirks.

Setting it back down, he glides towards you, wrapping his arms around your back. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, unzipping your top slowly, removing it, throwing it to the side. You shiver under his gaze, exposed in the lacy petal pink bra he bought you. He looks delighted that you are wearing it, though his gaze is still light and controlled, even though he is undressing you.

“Shoes,” he tuts, and you slip out of your heels, kicking them to the side. Your eagerness builds, the fluttering in your stomach wild and catching fire, but you let him guide you, as he seems wont to do.

He reaches around and unzips your skirt, pulling it gently over your hips and it falls in a heap at your feet. He hums and looks over you approvingly in your matching underwear, and the look alone has you weak in the knees. It’s criminal how handsome he is and what it does to you. Based on your previous encounters, you half expect him to take you right there, but he makes no move to do so. Your breath is shallow, your body on alert, waiting on pins and needles.

Next, moves in close, his fingers brushing up your spine. A shudder courses through you. He unhooks your bra, sliding it off you and placing it on top of the piano. You think for sure he will now devour you, but he waits.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Elvis whispers, taking in your figure and you suddenly feel shy under his adoring gaze. You resist the urge to cover yourself, your nipples standing at attention in the cool air. He doesn’t touch you (you desperately want him to), though you can see by the smoldering in his eyes he wants to, too. Instead, he hands you the nightie. “Put it on,” he requests, and while you are confused, you do as he asks. The expensive, silky softness drapes over you, hanging perfectly off your frame.

Nodding as though some requirement that is unknown to you has been fulfilled, he pulls you into him, kissing your forehead. His embrace is warm and comforting against the cold of the air conditioning and you wind your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his fine hair. While there is heat growing in your belly for him, it is like glowing embers rather than an engulfing flame.

This feels different. And then you realize, it all feels so domestic.

The thought is jarring, yet not unwanted. You had assumed (rightly so) that he wanted you here so you could fuck all night long. But this, this is a decidedly different vibe to your uninterrupted night together. And while you are a bit confused and surprised by it, you are curious.

“Elvis,” you say quietly, without expectation, “what is this?”

A boyish grin spreads across his face, reminding you of the memory that blindsided you before, the one you still need to dissect. “I want all of you, not just a part of you,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his. It sends tingles down your arms. You’re not quite sure exactly what it means, but you get the gist that he wants more than sex from you and that is surprising.

Is it, though?

He pulls you up and onto the huge bed with him. You lean back against the pillows, the ornate headboard, and he turns to you, brushing flyaway hairs off your face. His crystalline eyes have an openness you haven’t seen in a long time, as though all the glitz and glamour of “Elvis” is stripped away and it’s truly just the man here in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s such a simple question, yet the fact that he asks it of you almost has you in tears. Perhaps it’s because until this moment you haven’t realized that it feels like no one has asked you that, or truly cared to, in a very long time. And the fact that it is coming from him, of all people, makes your heart simultaneously break and leap at the same time.

You clear your throat, pushing the emotion away. “I…uh, well, I went to the pool with Sandy. Hence the tan. She happened to be in the room when your gift arrived, though, so that was interesting to try and explain,” you say.

“And what did you tell her?” he asks, resting his head on his hand, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You are distracted by them and almost forget what he asked.

“Um, I basically told her I couldn’t tell her anything. How could I? I mean, we haven’t really talked about…” you motion between you two, “us, this. I couldn’t very well talk to her about it before I talked to you.”

He smiles that crooked smile of his, the one that melts your heart. “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, she was disappointed but didn’t pry. As soon as she saw the underwear, though, she’s made it her mission to figure out who the mystery man is. She’s been my shadow all night. It’s gonna be hard to keep this from her for very long,” you say dismally.

He laughs. “You can tell her, honey,” he says.

This floors you. “What? But aren’t you afraid…I mean...?” you worry.

Elvis puts his hand on your cheek. “Baby, I wanna keep seein’ you, and I think you wanna keep seein’ me.” The way he says it sends warmth radiating through your chest. But that warmth is quickly chased by cold, pragmatic fear.

He continues, “And I know she’s your best friend and y’need someone y’can talk to. Jerry knows already, anyway. I’ll make sure she knows to be discreet.”

Your mouth opens then closes. To say you are flabbergasted by this response doesn’t quite describe what you are feeling. It’s a mixture of relief, surprise, elation, confusion, and terror, and what seems like a hundred other things, all at once.

If Sandy knows, it makes this all real. Too real. This was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to stick it to Jack. A way to take some power back. A way to quell the unbridled sexual tension that had grown between you and Elvis.

But now you feel wildly out of control. Mind-blowing sex with the ethereal man in front of you has morphed so quickly into a passion you didn’t expect that you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. The more you think about it and the more you remember, no matter how much you are shoving it away, you know that this was never going to be a one-time thing for Elvis. He knew it, too. The fact that you are here right now, like this, is proof. And you are not sure if that makes you elated or angry. Maybe it’s both.

This is too dangerous. Go back to Memphis and forget this ever happened.

Maybe that would have worked two nights ago, but the thought of leaving him now fills you with more despair than the anxiety of staying.

What happens if this all blows up in our faces? Because you think it will. You can feel the pressure building even now, though you aren’t sure to what end.

Elvis seems so utterly calm, so sure. You don’t know if this is because he lives in a world so above everyone that everything seems possible, like a strange naivety, or if he is just an optimist, but either way, you don’t know how to respond. You know you have to say something, though, because of the way he is looking at you, his eyes expectant and watchful.

“How? How are we gonna keep seeing each other, E? I go home tomorrow. And what about Jack?” you say in a whisper, all your emotions caving in on you at once. Tears spring to your eyes, which is not at all what you want or expect, and you are mad at yourself for ruining the mood.

“Hey, hey now, darlin’,” Elvis says with concern, sitting up and taking your face in his hands. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry. I got it all figured out. I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reassures you. He kisses your tears as they fall down your cheeks, his lips soft and warm.

Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long.

The memory flashes back to you, startling you as the past and present meld together.

He kissed you then much like he’s kissing you now. You pull back and look at him with wide eyes.

“Baby, y’look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks, eyes searching your face.

So many seeds have taken root, blossoming in your mind. (Or maybe they’ve always been fully bloomed, and I just never saw them.) You shake your head. Your heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the time to dive into this.

But when? you wonder.

How long has he…?

No, absolutely not. You won’t let yourself go there, you can’t, not now, not when he’s looking at you like this.

“I’m sorry, E, I just got caught off guard and got overwhelmed,” you finally respond, wiping your cheeks. “You—you said you have it all figured out?”

Throwing it back to him is the right call because now he’s excited. “You’re stayin’ in Vegas, honey.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you want to believe him, but you don’t understand.

Your heart drops into your stomach, as if you are plummeting down a roller coaster, the feeling where fear and excitement meet. “Elvis, you’re not making any sense. If I stay in Vegas, Jack is gonna want to know why, and I certainly can’t say I’m here for you. And I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t particularly want me here, anyways,” you say with distain.

“Jack’s got his fuckin’ head wedged so far up his ass, he can’t see straight,” Elvis says, blatantly annoyed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him.”

Don’t worry about him? He’s my husband! You almost say it, then think better of it, not wanting to get into that right now. Plus, you are curious as to this solution Elvis has miraculously come up with.

“Baby, remember the other night when you’s was tellin’ me you’re unhappy, that you don’t know where you belong, what your purpose is?” he says, practically bouncing.

You nod. How could you forget? That’s what started this all in the first place.

“Well, I figured it out. You belong here, with me, with us,” he says, beaming, taking your hand in both of his. You can feel him vibrating with energy.

“Wait, what…? Us? Who’s us?” you say, utterly confused.

“Us, the show. We’ve been talkin’ about needin’ someone to sing the high voice parts, along with the Sweet Inspirations. And it just came to me, after you were singin’ in the shower. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. Now you have a reason to stay. We get to be together, and the show will have a new member. It’s perfect.” His excitement is palpable, he’s nearly glowing with it.

Oh, this man is outta his goddamned mind. You shake your head, shock and fear like ice in your veins. “Elvis, do you not remember me telling you how terrified I am of singing in front of people? I could barely sing in front of you without having a meltdown!” you practically shriek, dousing his elation.

“Hey, there’ll be none of that!” Elvis raises his voice at you, eyes darkening. It’s not a yell, but it’s stern as hell, and you realize that Elvis probably doesn’t like having his “good idea” shot down before it’s barely out of his mouth. His change in demeanor shakes you enough to calm down a little. You know him well enough to know his mood can change on a dime, and you don’t think you can handle that on top of your own panic right now. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gettin’ up on stage with me tomorrow, honey, but I am sayin’ that maybe you need a little trainin’ to prepare you for the possibility that it could happen. And that trainin’ needs to happen here, in Vegas, with a vocal coach I already got comin’ in,” he explains more gently.

You are starting to understand what he’s getting at, and your fear abates a little. He’s not saying you’re joining the band (yet), but if you are training for it, whether it happens or not, you have a reason to stay.

“Now, I know you love music, baby, I know it in my bones cuz I see it in you, always have, plain as day. Maybe this is that purpose you’ve been lookin’ for. It’s kismet, I’m tellin’ you, honey, all this happenin’, here at once. You and me. Us needin’ another singer. Even Jack bein’ a dipshit. Can’t you see, baby? It’s meant to be,” he says fervently, holding onto your shoulders, his eyes wild with passion. He’s so enthusiastic, it’s hard to not be swept up with him.

It's meant to be…

You nod, letting him pull you along down this road. You do love music. You have been searching for something, a purpose. And you’d get to be here with him, not thousands of miles away, being sad and lonely in Memphis. What do you have to lose?

A lot, a voice counters. This is a bad idea.

You quash that voice, wanting to believe in this as much as Elvis does. As scared as you are of how out of control he makes you feel, how your feelings for him (and his for you) terrify you, you know that the stifling sadness of your old routine is slowly draining the life out of you.

If nothing else, Elvis makes you feel alive.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Elvis beams. “Really? Okay?” he asks.

“Okay, I’ll try it. I’ll work with your coach. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good or even be able to get up there,” you add pointedly.

You have to give him credit, though, because the more you think about it, the more genius the idea becomes. It could actually work in terms of your relationship, whatever it may be. But more importantly, the thought of doing something with music, something outside yourself, is enticing.

“That’s okay, we’ll just take it one step atta time,” he says, ecstatic. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

God, he says it with such fervor, such sincerity, that you can’t help but be enveloped in it with him. The fact that anyone out there has your happiness at the forefront of their mind is amazing to you, much less it being Elvis Presley. And he seems to believe in you in a way you haven’t even believed in yourself in a very long time.

And that does make you happy.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @rainydayz101

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#elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #Pink Scarf #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #austin butler #elvis presley smut #elvis presley imagine #elvis smut #elvis imagine #austin!elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis presley fic

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quaranmine · 3 years ago

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Grian doesn't know how not to be loyal. He thinks it's sneaking off, seeing another. Yet there he stays, by Scar's side. He claims it's for self preservation, nothing more. Yet he builds them a home, where they covet sand and sugarcane. It's sand that haunts his dreams. Unable to get rid of it, coarse and uncomfortable memories.

The thing about sand is that you keep finding it where you don’t expect it. Have you ever been to the beach, only to find sand still in your shoes weeks later?

Sometimes Grian feels like he never left the sand in that old desert behind.

It seeps into the cracks of his memories where he doesn’t expect it. He thinks he’s the only one here who remembers it all properly; he’s not sure why, but all the others seem fuzzy on the details of the past games. He doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t like it when Scar looks at him and doesn’t remember bloody knuckles and desert cactus, but he hates it even more on those rare occasions where Scar looks at him and does.

But Grian is nothing if not stubborn, and despite all of the universe’s efforts to link him with Scar, he says No. I’m not going back to the desert.

So he goes to BigB instead. He builds a heart, leaves a note, whispers secret soulmates? and hands over valuable, valuable sugar cane. It’s fine. He’s only cheating, but maybe Grian’s never been good at accepting things that are picked out for him by otherworldly forces. Maybe he wants to choose for once.

BigB’s always been one of his closest friends. They have less painful memories together. Not all good ones, of course–they haven’t always been on the same side in these death games. Grian knows he’s hurt BigB before too. He’s hurt everyone, even himself. But it’s nothing like Scar, and that’s exciting, and Grian feels a little thrill at sidestepping fate.

If only fate didn’t have a way of sneaking around, too.

Sand in his boots. Scar behind him, laughing. Those stupid Jellie pandas.

Grian wishes he didn’t turn around every time, but he does. He wishes he didn’t scream after Scar and grip his shoulders after every near death experience, but he does. He wishes he doesn’t build them a nice safe base, and nice hidden farms. He wishes he didn’t genuinely care about Scar’s safety, despite all his efforts to claim it’s just for his own self-preservation. He wishes he doesn’t glide into that painfully familiar habit of being the wingman to Scar’s scamming tendencies.

Sometime later Grian finds himself with sand in his shoes again. It’s not the same as last time. This time, most of the sand is in the river, and Grian’s hair is drenched wet and plastered to his face. This time, the sand is finite. He can actually achieve a monopoly this time. For the first time, maybe.

It’s only natural to bring Scar in on it. This is, afterall, the natural state of things. And as soon as Scar is finished yelling at Grian for taking so much drowning damage, Grian reveals his sand monopoly plans, and then suddenly the mischievous glint is back in Scar’s eyes, and Grian definitely didn’t miss that at all.

Grian dances behind Scar’s back and meets with his secret soulmate more. BigB is on red now, but that’s okay, Grian has experience with being a green to someone else’s red.

Scar finds out about the secret soulmates. Grian’s not sure how much he heard, but he knows. And yet, whenever Grian turns around, Scar is still there. He’s there when Grian’s fishing rod game gets a little out of hand and ends in Joel and Etho’s deaths. He’s there in the panda sanctuary trying to calm Grian’s nerves. He’s there on the platform above their base when they’re being surrounded.

Maybe he’s still there because Grian is still there, too.

The small patch of sand and cactus by their new base–their fleeing-secret-carved-out-of-a-hill new base–seems fitting for the two of them. Grian reaches out and brushes the spines with his finger. It pricks him lightly.

Grian knows Scar feels the pain too, just like the sand in their boots.

#double life smp #double life spoilers #grian #goodtimeswithscar #bigbst4tz2 #desert duo #double life fanfic #quara fanfic #had to get ahead of the anakin meme on this boys dont pay it no mind #GOES INSANE OVER DESERT DUO. THIS FIC WAS NOT WRITTEN BY SOMEONE EXPERIENCING NORMAL FEELINGS #long post #double life smp spoilers #dlsmp #bigb #bigbstatz #sorry idk how to tag for him. also this is primarily a desert duo fic but like. i tried not shy away from grian's thing with bigb #shipping wise this is ambiguous #quara asks

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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

Text

Nap, Interrupted

Sergeant Hunter x Reader

Summary: Hunter retires to his room for his usual nap, but is surprised to see you already in his bed.

Word Count: 1,595

Warnings: None!

Author’s Note: This definitely takes place in a timeline where they rescue Omega and Crosshair isn’t being used by the Empire. I hope you enjoy!

Here’s a link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

You heard from the doorway of Hunter’s room onboard the Havoc Marauder and you jumped, almost dropping the datapad you held above your head onto your face.

The lights were clicked on without warning, and you flinched again, eyes squeezing shut as you finally dropped the datapad onto the bed beside you. Keeping your eyes closed, you let out a playful groan, draping your arm across your forehead as if you were in distress before letting out another groan.

“You’re getting good at that. Keep it up and you can take it on the road, charge good money for a show.”

You laughed quietly as you moved your arms and opened your eyes, shifting to sit up and against the wall behind Hunter’s bed.

You finally looked over to the doorway, smiling at Hunter as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest and dressed in his blacks. It was obvious that he had come to his room to get some much needed rest as the Havoc Marauder travelled through hyperspace, but it was less obvious that he was surprised to find you, not only in his room, but in his bed.

Hunter was good at many things, but hiding his emotions was at the top of that list.

After a brief moment of the two of you staring at each other in silence, he smiled and moved away from the door frame, allowing the door to close with a soft whoosh. He clicked the lights back off as you reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand, and as you returned to your spot he stopped at the foot of his bed.

“Wrecker was looking for you.” He offered, and you nodded, still not offering an answer to his earlier question.

“Okay kid seriously. What are you doing in here?”

It was an honest question, a good question, with multiple answers that each held their own repercussions.

“Umm…” You started, hands idly lacing and unlacing themselves together in your lap. Hunter smiled and laughed softly as he moved again, this time to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Well, your room is the furthest away from everyone else’s on the ship,” you started, and Hunter nodded, arms crossing over his chest and his eyebrows furrowing.

He looked like he was conducting an investigation into something much more serious than finding you in his bed, with his back straight and arms crossed, mouth set in a serious line.

But maybe finding you in his bed was serious, if the longing glances on missions and soft touches as wounds were cared for were any indication to the answer for his questions.

“I’m aware. S’why I picked it.” He countered, and you nodded.

“And I needed some place quiet to read over the notes for my mission report.” He considered this briefly, and you could see him thinking it over.

“Could have done that in your nook.”

The boys knew how much you coveted quiet time, and had cleaned out a random supply closet for you to use as a work area.

You considered his answer as well before countering with: “Tech was already in it.”

Unfortunately, the boys also sought out any chance for a moment of peace and silence to work, and you were rarely able to actually use the nook they had created for you.

Another beat of silence passed.

“Still not a good answer,” Hunter prodded once more, and you sighed loudly again.

“Oh here we go,” he mumbled, eyes rolling playfully as he uncrossed his arms to lean back on them, still sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Fine, fine. I know this is right around the time you like to take naps on the days we can afford to do so, and I’m sure you’ve noticed but I haven’t been sleeping very well lately. So I was hoping that sleeping with you would solve that problem.” You rushed out the last part of your explanation in a whisper, but Hunter heard it all the same.

“I have noticed. Was actually getting worried about you.” Hunter offered in response to your declaration, and you felt your heart rate pick up.

There was something between you and Hunter, you weren’t blind to it and the effects it had on the both of you, but it was never addressed, left to fleeting glances and lingering touches, and one stolen kiss when you’d challenged Wrecker to a drinking game.

Again, these instances were left untouched, small memories that harbored large pieces of your daily thought process.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt the bed shifting, watching as Hunter moved to sit next to you, grabbing the datapad and placing it on the nightstand beside his bed, turning off the lamp there and enveloping the room in a deep blue darkness, save for the small light emitting from blue stars speeding by outside the window.

He lifted up the covers and slid down onto his pillow, which you were partially resting against. You looked down at him, frozen in place as you waited to follow his lead.

You felt electric having him so close, feeling his arm brushing against your leg as he got comfortable. When he finally stilled, he let out a quick laugh before looking up at you.

“Are you gonna nap or what?” His words jerked you into action, and you were scrambling to get under the covers, as if you were an excited loth cat who couldn’t quite sit still.

“Maker,” Hunter huffed as you finally settled, a face-splitting grin that he couldn’t see resting on your lips. You felt the bed shift once more, and froze completely when you felt his right arm wrap around your waist before pulling you to him. He was warm, and he smelled clean, as if he’d just had his turn in the refresher.

“Is this-”

“Yes,” you cut him off before he could finish the question, and he let out a breath of air that you took as a laugh.

It was your turn to surprise him now, and you turned in his grasp to face his chest before planting a small kiss to the area where his shirt met the skin of his neck.

His breathing faltered for a second, his chest freezing as you moved your head to rest in the crook of his left shoulder.

A moment passed before you felt his warm lips against your forehead. The kiss lingered, and you felt his right arm moving from your waist to grab your chin and tilt it up to look at him.

He kissed your nose this time, a quick peck that made you giggle.

You both spent another moment quietly staring into each other’s eyes, his hand still grasping your chin, your hands enclosed between the two of you, resting against his chest.

You nodded slowly, urging him to do what you both wanted to, what you’d wanted to do since you’d met him, since he’d met you.

His eyes darted to your lips before looking into your own once more, and you let out a small groan as your patience began to wear thin. He smirked and pulled your chin closer to him, his lips meeting yours, finally.

They ghosted over your own, not fully meeting as he peppered feather-light kisses to your lips. An ache settled in your stomach and it took everything in you to restrain yourself from kissing him with everything in you, from straddling him and finally having your way with him.

He continued to press small kisses to your lips as you felt his legs tangle with your own, and just as you were taking matters into your own hands, the door to his room opened with a whoosh, and the two of you froze. Hunter slowly pulled the blankets up, trying unsuccessfully to hide you from the intruder.

“Hunter! I’ve been looking for- oh. Nevermind.” Omega stood in the doorway now, adorned in one of Wrecker’s shirts, which stopped at her ankles.

“For me?” You called, and she nodded, her cheeks turning a sweet shade of red. You laughed quietly and beckoned for her to enter.

“I won’t tell anyone okay? I mean, it’s pretty obvious how you two feel about each other anyways, but I won’t tell the others.” She started to ramble and you and Hunter shared a warm look of fondness before you sat up, opening your arms in her direction.

She stopped as she saw the movement, analyzing the gesture.

“C’mon kiddo, offers not gonna last forever,” you teased, and she didn’t hesitate to crawl onto the bed and into your arms.

She was attached to each of the boys in her own way, but when it came to you, she was always by your side, never far from you, never long without you. You had teased her one time, calling her your shadow for an entire day.

You slid back under the covers with her in your arms as she wrapped her own around your torso, her head coming to rest on your chest.

When you had settled and stilled, Hunter caught your eye and you both shared a small smile before he was moving too, wrapping his arms around the both of you and pulling you into him. Your legs tangled with his, and you sighed as an overwhelming feeling of contentment washed over you.

Silence filled the room before Hunter spoke in a whisper: “No one mention this to Cross.”

#hunter x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #omega #star wars x reader #star wars #em writes

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 4 years ago

Text

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :)

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends.

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier.

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier.

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off.

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go.

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach.

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure.

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.”

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.”

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side.

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated.

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?”

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip.

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?”

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.”

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].”

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously.

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape.

#hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #tw religion #tw christianity #long form #tw customer service #tw blood #tw violence

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

After all, Moon is just a rock without Sun.

Trigger warning: Mentions of failed attempt suicide, blood and hospital, Angst.

It’s a chirpy day. Though, there are grey murky clouds in Y/N's apartment and she doesn’t know from where all of it came from, but this is the end.

She badly wants this to be an end.

She stares the brown envelope sitting at her nightstand and all of it comes crashing upon her tiny head and drowning her into depths and sorrows and guilt and agony of her past and present, reminiscing the cracks of happiness she got here and there.

Her breath shudders. The excitement of valentines day glittery outside and she smiles, happy for everyone out there getting to be loved and cherished and pampered.

She gets all of that too – with Harry she gets to pool into all of the giddiness but —- there always buts with Harry because she isn’t his person, she never was.

He’s always gonna be her true bezzy as he describes in true Harry fashion.

She’s grateful for that.

But, she thinks it’s enough for her. She has reached where everyone human wants to – getting to feel loved after many hardships and now when she has enjoyed it and got to know what it feels like to have it all -- she thinks it’s time for her to go.

To get rid of the loneliness that resides inside her, she was never able to overcome and she pinches the blade in between her fingertips and bunches Harry’s hoodie towards her nose smelling it and it warms her heart, it warms every part of her and she really really thinks that the apology in that letter will be enough for him to move on.

She whimpers. Staring blankly as the blade inches into the thin skin of her wrist slowly and painfully and to make it less painfully she tears her delicate skin apart in one swipe and bites down a cry, putting the blood coated life taking thing on the couch and stands up a bit wobbly letting the thick dark droplets fall on the carpet.

She walks towards her bed and flumps into white sheets. Eyelids fluttering and lips parted shallow and they snap open upon the beep of her notifications and when she looks at it – a sad sob tugs out of her lungs.

She lays on her side not focusing the way blood seeps into white sheets and spreads like roots, making a horrific past of her tragedy. Instead, she keeps on watching the video Harry sent to her with hooded tired eyes and a beautiful peaceful smile.

Snuggles into sheets that smells like sunnies and peonies and the cinnamon musk he wears.

His skin soft and curls bouncy and everywhere, his gorgeous face on display and his dimples coveting adorably as he tries to hover the camera at the tray of red velvet cupcakes just as she likes, “Look ducky made cupcakes f'you – two batch in total —--,” She really wants to know for whom the other batch is for but she just shakes her head and giggles wetly, letting her tear tickle her nose when he pouts and shows her the frosting, “Ruined the tops – tried to make frogs on it —-- remember you asked me to? I still’ve some naked ones we could try some froggies on it later —---- .....” His words spins soothingly in her brain and her blurry gaze fills with panicked tears; because she just realised that this isn’t what she wants.

What did she do?

Oh my goodness what did I do?

It’s late and I can’t go back and I’m really gonna miss Sparkly and he'll be so sad to see me like this, but it’s too late Y/N – her heart thumped and it jumps when something pounded loudly and it’s her head maybe.

Harry waits at the door. His grin big and gleeful. He jumps on his toes a bit and he couldn’t believe he's about to do it today, but no matter what happens he’s gonna confess to her and he frowns a tad when no response comes from inside – not even the hum of her sweetness and the prattle of her steps --- there's eerie silence and Harry doesn’t like that.

He waits and ponders over. Then sighs and was about to retreat back but he knows that he’s too lazy to walk all the way back and come back again, so he shimmies her door's key from under her lavender pot.

When he stumbles inside he grins seeing his sleepy head –-- snoring in broad daylight, his ears perking at his own voice echoing through the speaker of her phone and it makes his heart flutter and he has this evil plan to bounce on her mattress and annoy the shit out of her.

But.

When he comes to stand over her and his eyes falls over the bloody sheets and her wrist cut open, her body limp and lifeless – her cheeks soaked with tears and her mouth gasping for oxygen his grin falls drastically into a frown as he went blank for a moment.

Nothing.

Just pitch darkness.

His heartbeat drops.

His breath getting sucked out of his lungs and he feels like fainting.

The white noise that stings his ears and the heart that stopped working a second ago revives back and he wished it didn’t – the tray falls from his trembling hand onto the floor and he’s turning her over and his tears are falling from his throat down to her skin and he’s tripping on his knees and cradling her face trying to jostle her unconscious body.

“Baby ---.. wake up please ....” He weeps and tries to shake her with all the frailness he was left with and he's despising how her usual glowy skin is getting paler by every moment.

She isn’t his Y/N. She'd never do it without giving a second thought for him because she cares about him and he screams hoarsely trying to lift her up and into his chest to hug her – but everything has got so heavy for him.

He's feeling so small.

So helpless and vulnerable.

“Baby!!! I said wake up, pet --- s'not fair ---... y’ve to —- y've t'.... brought – brought you yer favourites .. now don’t be mean and open yer eyes, I know you’re teasin’ me.” He has officially lost it. He thinks he’s going crazy and hallucinating things – trying to avoid the reality.

He cries patting her cheek and his breath hitches in his throat when he plants his ear to her chest and there’s feeble thump of her heart.

He’s lunging quick and picking her up in his arms and squeezing her protectively to himself, slipping outside through her door in rush and panic – her head bobs and her wrist dangles from his forearm as he doesn’t wait for elevator and flies down the stairs with shouts for people to fuck themselves away and breaking every speed limit to reach hospital.

His grip on her hoodie loosens with each step they take towards the ER and he pleads them to let him in but the doctors pushes him out of the flapping doors and he’s tumbling back and onto the tiled floor, almost straining his ankle in attempt.

They told him she’s okay. But, needs a good rest since she lost alot of blood and visitors aren’t allowed –-- before five hours so he waits – he waits alone and with dire pain just to get a single glimpse of her and asking the doctors again and again if she’s okay.

Next he knows the sun is leaving him and he’s left in company of darkness before his friends are surrounding him – comforting and consoling him.

He doesn’t need it. Because, he isn’t feeling anything. He’s numb to his stomach and when they look down at him in sympathy – everything comes churning in his throat and he’s pushing everyone away and tumbling towards the washroom sliding against the floor knees first and throwing inside the bidet with loud groany noises.

He feels like all of his organs will come out and spurt infront of him at this point.

He tries to grab onto something and almost falls back, walks on his wobbly legs towards the sink and splashes water harshly on his face that it hurts.

His eyes struck at himself in the mirror and he can’t recognize himself ... his eyes hollow and his skin crumbled and his flimsy shirt sticking to his chest from dried blood and he doesn’t give a fuck unless his baby is alright and he’s griping the edges of the sink hunching forward as more cries squelches out of him.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away and when walks outside Sarah is rushing to help him but he’s gesturing her to stop and falling on the bench. Throwing his head against the wall and his chest heaves as he mutters gaining everyone's attention, “She almost died ...”

“She’s okay now, H.” Luna tells him but he kisses his teeth and grunts angrily.

“No. No, you don't get it!! She. Is. Not.” He pushes the heels of his palms against his sockets and rubs them in frustration, “I was the only one she got ‘n –-- I wanted to make her feel loved not — fuck, I failed her. I failed the only person that matters to me, ‘course I lacked somethin’ s'why she didn’t tell me what was goin' on with her.” Fresh tears brims at his lashes and Sarah squeezes his shoulder.

“When I saw her all blue ‘n bloody, was so scared to even touch her ---... thought I died at that mo' ‘s worse than dyin' Sarah ... watchin' ye’loved one slip from yer life ‘n – ‘n that you’ll never have ‘em again —--...” He stutters and runs his palms down his face.

“I’m in so much pain watchin' her suffer on that ventilator ...” His bottom lip wobbles and he rocks back and forth on the bench, hair falling in his eyes but he doesn’t do anything to push them back.

Luna doesn’t have a heart to give him that letter. Not knowing how he’ll take it considering he’s already broken to pieces and dust, lingering on bit of a hope.

But, when the nurse comes and tells them their time is over and only one person could stay with Y/N, Luna's handing the letter to Harry leaving him confused and frowning.

Though, he’s glad when they let him inside the room and a shiver runs down his spine upon seeing thick tubes pricking and poking the delicate skin of his ducky.

Her unconscious body looks peaceful and halo like and it’s scary.

He doesn’t make a noise. Tries to be as quite as possible and bites down at his lip to avoid from tearing up but he ends up so, caressing her flushed cheek and kisses her temple feeling her light breath hit his neck.

“’M so sorry, ducklin'. I’m baby. Fo' being late in everythin’ ....---” He sniffles. Wiping at his nose and sits beside her as close as he could – feathering his finger pads at her knuckles and flinches back when the finger she has a heart rate monitor on twitches and he’s afraid that he hurt her.

He keeps on watching her not blinking an eye and when he couldn’t sleep he takes a look at the letter sitting in his lap.

He shakes his head and ignores it. Then his trembly fingers are opening it and raising it infront of his eyes and he recognizes the writing right away and it makes him whimper pathetically.

He recites the words. Not able to feel the moisture ticking down his throat, the pet name she used to call him rattling in his brain and he remember the night they met – he can never forget that night.

Dear Sparkly, I know you’ll be very grumpy and angry with me when you’ll get this letter -- but, it’s okay. Yeah? I’ll be looking at you from above don’t worry —-- so you better not be silly with yourself.

And he could imagine her sweet eyes getting all big and concerned.

I just wanted to let you know that I love you. I’ve loved you .... since that night when you were sitting at those steel stairs opposite to the rooftop of the vacant building I was sitting at and you eyed me peculiarly when I stood at the edge waving at you – just because you had your earphones plugged but you weren't wearing them --- it was cute because you were too engulfed, staring at the moon.

He’s baffled that she remembers the smallest detail. Harry wasn’t feeling very well and came to that empty rooftop to relax, only to get interrupted by a cute girl.

She trailed behind him like a ducklin' after that -- as if she got the cute orange beak to chatter his anxiousness away.

I want you to be careless and free and never feel like you’re struck inside your own body and I want you to love -– to make sure you feel loved.

I hope that you’ll have someone with whom you could gaze at moon for hours, listening to Beatles together sharing one headphone (I hated them by the way) and when they sit beside you, it feels like they’re the moon -– like they glimmer your insides, when you touch them it’s all heavenly and pretty and it makes you feel loved and jittery.

His heart clenches into fist and clots at that and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Heartbroken.

Sad.

Terribly sick.

He isn’t liking it reading it. He’s hating it infact. He was about to stop. Tear it in pieces and dump it in trash. But, then again he couldn’t.

Because Harry. I’m not your moon. I’m the sun. That’d irritate you and you’d never be able to look at it with full heart eyes –-- I’m too hot for you, pun right there. My touch will burn you instead of filling you with jitteriness. You’d wait for me to go and yearn for the moon to come back --- Always on your toes because everything becomes too much of a heat for you and I don’t want that –- I love you but that doesn’t mean I’ll take you down with me.

I’m not that selfish, Harry.

I love you and I was too embarrassed to tell you this in person.

I hope you forgive me.

Yours Sun.

He’s cornered up and sobbing into his elbow, as the paper written with her whole soul hangs from the tips of his fingers and he takes a look at her with cloudy eyes and digs his nails into his knees.

He hiccups jumping forward and towering her when she stirs with a whine and Harry’s cupping her cheeks, “Oh my ...,” He’s pressing the button to call the nurses and doctors and gives her an eskimo kiss before pulling away and examining her closely.

Her eyes are pink floods of tears and humiliation. Even though they’re unaware of her presence and exhausted.

Her lips chapped as she rolls her tongue to mumble some words, “’m sorry ...” She whimpers as her arm shoots with pain and Harry’s shaking his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Shhh. Shh. Baby ducky, ‘s okay. Tell me you’re okay, please tell me you’re not leavin’ me again.” She slip shuts her eyes and nods. She’s weak and frail. Even if the doctors checked her and made her drink some fluids she’s still not able to move without Harry’s assistance.

She has her eyes closed. Head sunk into pillow and they flutter when Harry speaks, in the most softest voice and draws circles on her knee while doing so.

“I love you.” He croaks out. Gulping down the bulk choking him alive and she stares him, her heart pausing for a bit and his eyes widen seeing the monitor going weird and it makes her cheeks heat up.

Embarrassed she looks away and Harry takes her chin between his fingers and gazes her with profound intensity and fondness.

“You’re my sun. You’re. I bask in yer warmth and y’make me feel warm everywhere, it oozes from me every pore in adoration and love. Even when you don’t appear I feel your presence and the clouds could never be pink without ye' ‘n my skies would never be cherubic if it’s not you my darling —... I gaze moon only for Sun to peek from the hues and I always wait fo’ ye’ —-- always gonna be there on that rooftop counting the seconds you shine up my world.” His fingers shaky as he slips it between her palms lingering to get relief from her touch and she sniffs, blinking the tears away accepting him and kissing the inside of his palm.

“After all, Moon is just a rock without Sun.” He whispers and that was enough for her to close the distance between them and place her cold lips against his and he embraces her tenderly -- pecking her upper lip twice then kissing her whole mouth to whisk out all his love into it and her fingers brushes over his jaw muttering against his taffy lips.

“I love you. Even when I was dying all I could think about was ye'sparkly -- but it was too late and I was aware of how much pain you were in but it felt like I was struck inside a cage —---...” She rambles. Coughing when it hurts her throat and Harry shushes her kissing her hair gently and mutters against them – smoothing his palm down her back to calm her down.

“You’re ‘ere. In me arms is what matters.” He keeps her face tucked under his chin and keeps on pecking her skin.

“’M g'na take care of you, baby.”

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lokislastlove · 4 years ago

Text

Come One, Come All (dark!Loki x reader)

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, knife play, oral (m&f), smut, bondage, kidnapping.

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: I wrote another one! No idea where this came from, but it was fun to write. Still working on improving my smut, huge thanks to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for some tips and editing the shit out of it. 😘 also I know there is a creepy clown in the pic but I feel like I have to say there aren’t any clowns in the fic. I hate clowns.

Chapter 1:

It was the kind of summer night you dream about, warm enough to keep you comfortable in your shorts and peasant top, but with a light breeze that keeps you cool enough to fight the flush of alcohol in your veins. You look forward to these moments when you are able to go out with your girlfriends and let loose, forgetting about all life’s responsibilities, if just for a single night.

“Come on!” Ash calls over her shoulder, her hand tight around your wrist pulling you impatiently.

“Aww but that looks so good” you groan as you press your face longingly against the glass barrier of the hand dipped corn dog cart.

The sweet scent of the frying corn dough wafts tantalizingly through the air making your mouth water. You friends laugh at your theatrics, having just helped you scarf down a large sugary funnel cake and a platter of nachos, the evidence of which still stains the corner of your mouth. Really, it was their fault for getting you tipsy before taking you to the county fair, everything just smelled heavenly and if you could you would try one of everything.

“Just a slushee?!” You beg as Jen steps behind you and pushes you out of the food court, giggling the entire time.

“Come on, fight the drunchies! You promised you would try that new funhouse,” Jen whines, looping her arm through yours, Ash doing the same on the other side.

“Oh yeah,” you grumble.

“Oh stop it” Ash scolds playfully. “Everyone at work keeps talking about it - it’s like a mini escape room! And I’ve always wanted to do one, please.” She rants excitedly before giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh that’s cheating. No one can resist those big brown eyes” you pout, but yield as easily as they knew you would.

“I know” Ash smirks, tossing back her long silky black hair over her slender shoulder.

“This is gonna be so much fun, I promise” Jen bumps your hip, giving you a wide encouraging smile.

You manage a strained grin as you let them lead you through the crowd. It’s not that you don’t like funhouses or the idea of doing an escape room, having always loved solving riddles and doing puzzles. It’s just you don’t like clowns, and every funhouse in your experience has at least one.

“Oh damn there’s a line!” Jen moans as you all stop in front of a large structure covered in flashing lights, the ominous ‘Tricksters Trap’ bathing your face in a violent red glow.

Garish contrasting colors somehow both attract your eye and make it hard to look at. Your pupils dilate with the lines of fluorescent bulbs burning into your retinas. The stereotypical circus music blares through the cheap speakers, reminding you of one of those old Jack in the box toys. And of course, without fail, was the obligatory clown statue hanging over the entrance, like some creepy sentinel there to guide you to your inevitable demise.

“Ugh fucking clowns” you grimace as you pass by the entrance, heading toward the end of the line.

“Yeah they definitely nailed the creep factor,” Jen agrees, her eyes shining with nervous excitement.

“I know isn’t it great?!” Ash squeals.

You stand there taking in the horrific detailing painted on the side of the metal structure. You are thankful when Ash explains there is a time limit, only ten minutes to complete the puzzle or else they kick you out and you have to try again. If you figure out the puzzle you get to leave through the mirror maze and you earn the coveted “I tricked the Trickster” sticker.

“Gotta get that sticker, or else that bitch Katie at work will never let me forget that she got one and I didn’t” Ash complains, causing you and Jen to share a look and snicker.

“Hey! Don’t laugh, this is serious! We gotta be smart and figure this out, failure is not an option” she urges dramatically before collapsing into drunken giggles with you and Jen.

“You ladies seem eager to prove yourselves,” slithers a low voice.

Startled you gasp and spin around quickly. The three of you look up at the tall lean figure standing behind you. He wears a perfectly tailored black ensemble, that matches the color of his slicked back hair. His eyes practically glow green against his alabaster complexion. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw make your breath hitch, causing his thin lips to curve into a sinister smirk. He is stunning.

“Um, yeah. Well this place has the whole town buzzin’. Seems like everyone is talking about it” Jen is the first to speak.

“Ah I see. Wouldn’t want to miss your chance to take a stab at it” the mysterious man surmised, eyes focused on you.

“We got this shit. Right guys?” Ash assures him as she playfully smacks you and Jen.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out. Good luck,” he challenges with a raise of a brow.

You stare after him as he saunters away without another word. His hips and shoulders sway smoothly, his soft footsteps giving him a dangerous almost feline vibe, like he could rival even the most deadly of predators. As he turns to round the corner of the ride he takes one last look over his shoulder at you. Your eyes lock for only a fraction of a second but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

“That was weird, right?” You mutter, eyes still transfixed where he disappeared.

“Eh, just another creepy dude. If I had a nickel for every weirdo who tries to chat me up…” Jen jokes.

“You’d have like a whole 50 cents,” sasses Ash.

You are finally broken from your daze when Ash is pushed into you. You laugh and try to brush off the lingering effect of the handsome stranger, shifting your focus back to your friends. The line goes by quicker than expected, with only one group out of the three ahead of you making it out with stickers. The losing groups return to the line from a back door, bickering about where they went wrong.

Finally it is your turn. Ash claps her hands excitedly, dancing up the metal stairs to the costumed man at the entrance. His red and white stripped suit is expertly torn and painted with fake blood to make him look as intimidating as possible. With a tip of his top hat he welcomes the three of you and begins to explain the rules in his well practiced accent.

“Come one come all to the Tricksters Trap, if you’re feeling lost, just go find the map.” He sings with flair and a perfectly timed bow, directing you to the inauspicious black door.

Taking a deep breath you follow your squealing friends into the darkened hallway. Pausing to look back as the door creaks shut, cutting off the jovial sounds of laughter and chatter with a sudden slam. You flinch at the loud noise and turn back to the dim hallway. The short corridor is lined with wall to wall green velvet curtains barely visible with the green rope lights running along the ceiling.

“Guys?” You whisper when you don’t see them next to you, causing your heart rate to quicken

You call for them again, this time louder, your feet unwilling to move from the spot. It has only been thirty seconds and you are already about to call it quits. Get a grip. You take a hesitant step forward.

“You guys?!” You call shakily.

“Hey! Come on we found the map!” Jen pokes her head from around the corner at the end of the hall.

She disappears just as quickly, waving her arm for you to follow. You breathe a sigh of relief and rush after her. You enter a large room filled with all sorts of random objects. It’s as if it is designed to overload your senses. The green from the hall carried on into the room, more velvet green curtains hung on the walls that were not obstructed by shelves of books or other oddities. You saw everything from perfectly aligned glass jars filled with alien looking creatures, grandfather clocks, to treasure chests overflowing with grizzled toys.

Jen and Ash are hunched over a table with a map spread out smoothly. It was easy enough to see it was a map of the room and hallway, with what appeared to be three small rooms hidden along the wall behind the heavy green drapery. You go over and pull back a curtain and find a locked door, the other two also hiding a locked door.

“Ok so it looks like we gotta find a way to open these doors” you offer, your anxiety calming a bit as you focus on the mystery at hand.

“Hey look there is some sort of code over here by the lock on the door.” Ash hollers excitedly.

You each pick a door code and frantically search the room. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out you need to use the books on the large shelf along one wall. The first number tells you the book the second refers to a specific page. You find a slip of paper in the book with a riddle written in a blood red ink.

“I make two people out of one” You read aloud.

“You can hold me in one hand, but I’m used to fill the room” Ash reads hers, her face twisting in concentration.

You both look to Jen, “I have two hands, but I can’t clap.”

“Damn no wonder so many people failed, definitely wish I wasn’t drunk right now” Ash laughs.

“No no we can do this, it’s probably items in the room so let’s just focus. We’ll do one at a time.” You assert, pacing the room and trying to take in all the random objects.

“Two hands…” you mutter as you stop in front of a large grandfather clock. “Clocks have hands!” You yell excitedly and open the narrow door.

The heavy pendulums swing inside and you see a shining silver glint off the rounded golden end. You pull off the small silver key, stuck on by a tiny magnet, and jump in excitement.

“Holy crap! You’re a genius!” Jen exclaims running over to take the key and try it in the door.

The key slides in smoothly and the door opens with a gratifying click.

“Woo! Keep going, you are on a roll!” Ash claps as she cheers you on.

“Ok, ok” you giggle before taking a deep breath. “Two people out of one… maybe a camera? Or wait…” you realize as you stare at Ash currently checking her makeup in an antique mirror hung between two curtains.

“Ash! Try pulling on that mirror!” You yell pointing frantically at the mirror in front of her.

Her brows knit together briefly before understanding, grabbing the frame and tugging gently until it swings open, revealing a key hung on the wall.

“Yes!” You all shriek together.

Suddenly, the lights flicker and a loud maniacal cackle reverberates through the surround sound speaker, turning your elation into yelps of surprise.

“Two minutes left” a familiar polished voice echoes forebodingly throughout the room.

“Shit, that scared the crap out of me” Jen laughs clutching at her chest.

The warning gives you pause, managing to shift the spirit of the whole room. Ash giggles nervously as she watches the lights of the room transition from their previous dim yellow light to a menacing red hue. The mood lighting in addition to the increasing volume of the horror soundtrack playing over the speaker helps to put you back into your initial anxious state.

“Seriously? Is this fucking necessary?” You curse, shaking your head.

“Ok let’s get the last one guys! We can still do this!” Jen yells through the cacophony of sound effects.

“Yeah what can we fit in our hand but somehow also fills the room?” Ash reiterated the final riddle.

“These red lights make it so much harder to see” Jen complains bitterly as she rummages through the items inside a large chest.

“Lights… Jen that’s it! A lightbulb!” A smile breaks out on your face as you figure out the final clue.

“Look up there!” Ash points to a solitary darkened light bulb screwed into the ceiling.

“I got it.” Jen jumps onto the table and reaches up, unscrewing it quickly. “There is a key inside!” She shouts.

She unscrews the bottom of the fake lightbulb and received the key before handing it to Ash. Each of you run over to the corresponding doors and turn the key, squealing in delight when they all slide open.

“Is that it?” Jen asks looking into the cramped dark space behind the door.

It was little more than a closet. Barely enough room for each of you to stand in. You were at a loss. You could have sworn that would be the end.

“Guys there is a lever here on the back wall of mine, how about yours?” Ash’s muffled voice calls from inside her closet.

“Oh yeah mine too!” Jen replies.

“Do you think we have to pull them at the same time? ‘Cus mine did nothing when I tried it” Ash says poking her head out to look at you.

“Thirty seconds!” That haunting voice booms again as a tick clock sounds through the speakers, counting down your final moments.

“Ok let’s try it together!” You nod at both of them, before stepping into the tight dark space.

“THREE! TWO! ONE!” You shout, mirroring your friends calls, pulling down your lever with a snap.

There is a moment of silence as the lights of the room behind you suddenly go dark, the music and sound effects cutting off instantly.

“Did we get it?!” You yell.

You don’t get the chance to hear your friends response as the wood door slams behind you, locking you into the small space.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

#dark fic #dark Loki #dark loki x reader #tom hiddleston #come one come all

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cyoc49 · 4 years ago

Text

HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

#gaytf #preppy #gay #preppy tf #preppytf #stepfordization #nerd #suittf #bowtie #the flash #barry allen #the flash tf #grant gustin

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tennessoui · 3 years ago

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i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

#asks #squick tag: a/b/o #squick tag: mpreg #prompt fill #roadtrip au #oh?? its somehow MORE angsty now that obi-wan's POV is being explored???#is ANYONE surprised??? lmao #(no)#also yes at the end obi-wan is listening to anakin recite the general prologue of the canterbury tales with the original english #that anakin learned how to pronounce correctly so he could make obi-wan the best christmas present ever #was it going to be a love confession too but he chickened out at the last second??? yah #will anakin get jealous obi-wan's always lsitening to something on his phone and demand to know what it is??? yah #poor dumb men

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