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lowkeychenle · 9 months ago

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HELLO MY DEAR I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A REQUEST PLEASE 🌹 thought abt this classic scenario w chenle and immediately thought of ur writing hehe so like.... a fic where y'all go to your parents' house to visit and you stay the night and chenle's been eyeing you all day and now ofc he's horny as hell and the cliche of fucking when ur parents are right next door and trying not to be heard commences 😈 bonus points when ur jokingly trying to put up a front of "noooo its so wrong" but chenle knowsss you'll fold eventually and melt bc of his kisses and be putty in his hands.... also when his dirty talk is all like "i knew u wanted this" and how ur so dirty for seducing him and doing this when ur parents are right in the next room and can hear u and he has to put his hand over ur mouth to cover the noise (when its literally his fault like 🤨) anyways i know you'll come out w something amazing as always so thank you in advance my love 💓

- mari

oh my god hello this took me thirty freaking years I'm SOOOO sorry but I'm here and I tried to write this so plzzzz let me know if this is awful :D (plz I wrote this in like an hour last night i haven't written chenle smut in so long i was going through withdrawals)

Description: You and Chenle visit your family, and things get frisky idk y'all lol this was a request :D

Genre: Smut *MDNI*

Word Count: 2,165

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader

Content Warnings: Chenle says pretty girl, slut, mentions of the possibility of being caught by parents, orgasm denial, a mirror is involved, teasing, yk the drill LOL it's all here yay

Juliet's Masterlist | thoughts are appreciated loll

smut below the cut!

All you wanted to do was have a seamless visit with your parents. You and Chenle were going to stay there for the weekend since you hadn’t seen your family in a while, so you figured your boyfriend would be on his best behavior. Oh, how wrong you were.

It started off simple—quick smacks on your ass, resting his warm hand on your thigh while his thumb rubs your skin. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing his attempts to turn you on are working, so you opt to ignore him completely.

It doesn’t work. He pushes and pushes your limits until you have to swat him away from you. Your last straw was when his touch trailed over to your inner thigh, up, up, up until his fingertips brushed your clothed core. You jolted so hard, you startled your parents at the dinner table. Chenle, of course, thought it was hilarious. He’d been wanting you bad all day, and it wasn’t his fault you wore a skirt.

What’s worse, is that when he was preparing to finger you under the table, he held a steady and respectful conversation with your dad. As much as you hate to admit it, the two sides of Chenle on display for you drove you crazy.

Your father leaves the table to answer an important call, and your mom chooses then to get up and grab the desert.

“C’mon, babe,” Chenle murmurs, tapping your leg. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Are you crazy? We’re with my parents, Chenle.”

He hums, dropping his head on your shoulder to easily press his lips to your neck. “I know you. You want me.”

“(Y/N), can you help me?” your mom calls from the kitchen.

“Coming!” you yell, quickly pulling yourself from Chenle and glaring at him the whole way out of the room.

You hate how right he is—how damp your panties are at the thought of him taking you here when your parents might hear. It should repulse you, but instead, you feel your entire body heat up at the thought.

Desert drags, and Chenle rubs the top of your leg where it meets your hip, back and forth while you squirm at the contact. If your parents notice how erratic you’ve become, they don’t mention it.

“Mom, did you, um, did you need any help cleaning up?”

“Oh, honey, that’s okay.” Your mother waves you off. “It’s getting late. You two have been traveling all day, we’ll get this and you get some rest.”

Chenle doesn’t even hide the smug look on his face when he intertwines your fingers together. “Thanks, I am exhausted.”

Bullshit. He wants to get you alone as soon as possible.

Next thing you know, you’re leading him upstairs to get him undressed. Although, you didn’t expect for it to lead you to your current predicament.

Chenle’s slender fingers slide into you easily with how wet you are. After teasing you all day, he’s got you dripping down onto the sheets. He moves slowly, staring at you smugly with his other hand covering your mouth. Your eyes roll back, and you fist the sheets as if that’ll stop the overwhelming need.

The walls of your childhood bedroom close in on you like yours close in around Chenle’s fingers, and everything starts to spin. He reaches deep inside, curling to find your spot. With his palm firm on your lips, your moan doesn’t make it past his skin. He chuckles, leaning close to your ear without messing with his pace.

“See, pretty girl? I knew you wanted it. Can’t stay off my cock even with your parents down the hall, huh?”

You mutter incoherently in your best attempt to spur him forward, to get him to fuck you as soon as possible, but it seems his evening of teasing is far from over. He places his thumb on your mouth instead, and you instinctively open up and swirl your tongue around it.

“Little fucking slut,” he tsks. “Can you stay quiet for me while I make you feel good?”

You nod fervently, lifting your hips to match his pace. Desperate to reach your end, you clench the bedspread harder to ground yourself. If you make a sound, you know he won’t continue.

He uses the wetness of your saliva to trail down from your mouth to your collarbone down to your breasts, watching you in a mix of wonder and awe as your nipples harden further beneath his touch. You let out a shaky sigh, but luckily for you, he doesn’t count that against you.

Despite his distraction, his fingers still brush against your spot with every steady thrust, and your mind reels from the pleasure, your orgasm just out of reach. He knows your body like the back of his hand at this point, so he’s well aware of what you need.

As he continues his venture down, the cold air sends chills all over you. He stops at your lower abdomen, rubbing his thumb against your skin.

“Remember,” he whispers. “Keep it down, alright?”

You don’t have time to reassure him before he nudges your clit. Inhaling sharply, you slap your own hand over your mouth.

“No.” He grabs your wrist and pulls your arm away. “Just fucking be good, you brat. Make a noise and you don’t get to cum.”

And he continues his work, rubbing your clit in steady, perfect circles while he pumps his fingers in and out of you. His self-control surprises even you, with the way he hasn’t fucked you yet. The bulge in his boxers strain, and you can practically taste the precum dripping from his tip already. You crave it so fucking badly, you almost forget you’re supposed to be quiet.

When you let out a low curse, the determined look on Chenle’s face turns to stone, and he stops his circles to land a smack on your sensitive bud instead. “Shut the fuck up, slut.”

Your body jerks, tears forming in your eyes, but you nod, so close to the brink it’s like you’re already there. The knot ties in your stomach almost as soon as his thumb is back on your clit, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard.

You’re so close, the warning signs of your orgasm becoming far too real to ignore. Lifting your hips, you’re desperate to match his pace, desperate to cum over and over again solely from his touch.

But just before the band of pleasure snaps, he abruptly removes his touch from you, leaving you to clench around nothing. You want to whine, to cry out for his attention, but you don’t dare when he warned you already.

“Get on the floor,” he tells you.

“The floor?” you ask breathlessly.

“Ass in the air, gonna show you how sluts get fucked when they don’t fucking listen.” He grips your thigh. “Hurry up, we don’t have all night.”

You leap up from your bed, eager to please the man who holds the key to your euphoria. The carpet digs uncomfortably into your knees as you arch your back, putting yourself on display for him. Your bed is much too creaky for anything other than missionary, and sometimes, even that’s enough to cause it to squeak if Chenle has anything to say about it.

His hands squeeze your ass, massaging you while he studies you. A quick smack has you shuddering again. His shuffle to take off the last of the clothing covering him is music to your ears, and you wiggle back against him to try to entice him further.

He grabs a pillow and tosses it to you, and you already know what it’s for. You take it gratefully, but you bite down on it in preparation of what’s to come. The thought of getting caught has wetness leaking down your thighs, and as he rubs his hard cock along your entrance to collect it, you’re already shaking. Being denied an orgasm already has every inch of you craving release. His tip brushes your clit, and you push back with a muffled whine.

“What if I just leave you like this?” he asks, dragging his nails along your back.

You shake your head and repeat over and over, “Please. Please.”

“How disappointed would your parents be if they saw you like this, huh? Just down the hall begging to be fucked like a whore…” He slides his tip in, his breath catching at the sensation.

Your chorus of pleas are muffled by the pillow, but you push yourself back, making him slide another inch inside you. Legs wobbling already, you ignore the burn of the carpet against your knees.

Finally, he gives you some reprieve. As slowly as he can manage, he opens you up with his cock. You whimper, eyes watering as you bury your head in the plush fabric below you, already slick with your saliva.

“You sure you’re ready, baby?” he asks breathlessly, nails digging into your hips. “One sound and we stop, got it?”

You can’t manage a response, not with the way he fills you so completely. Whatever he’s gonna give you, you need it.

The choice to move to the floor makes more sense as he gives you one reassuring squeeze to your waist. He thrusts slowly twice, groaning quietly at the feeling.

And then he really starts. His hips slam into yours, the sound of his skin slapping against yours is obvious and impossible to mask. You can barely breathe while he fucks you, your body jolting and the carpet rubbing against your knees. The pillow is drenched with your spit, and you’re biting down so hard your jaw starts to hurt. He pants behind you, his tip reaching your cervix with every rough thrust.

His cock pulses inside you, like he’s ready to burst at any given second. It’s so overwhelmingly good, tears stream down your face. Next thing you know, he’s wrapping his fingers around your neck and pulling you up until your back is against his chest. He squeezes tight enough to make sure no noises will escape you, but your brain clears long enough to see his motive.

The mirror stands in front of you, displaying your body as Chenle slides in and out of you at a steady pace. He leans forward, tightening his grip on your neck.

“See the mess you made?” He licks the shell of your ear. “You’re taking me so fucking easy right now, slut. Don’t think you’ve earned the right to cum.”

Whatever escapes your lips is muffled gibberish.

“I guess I’ll be nice.” His condescending tone sends a chill down your spine as his hand dips between your legs. All it takes is the slight brush of his fingertips to send you reeling over the edge, your body jerking as your orgasm takes you full-force. He doesn’t stop there, though, applying pressure to your clit and rubbing fast. Your vision blurs as a burst of wetness soaks your thighs.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, breaking his rough facade for the briefest moment while he processes what just happened.

He pulls out of you, much to your protest, and turns you on your back. Propping your legs up on his shoulders, he slides back inside with ease, his own eyes fluttering shut. He leans down and takes your mouth with his, the stretch in your legs almost as delicious as he tastes.

“Need to see that pretty face when I cum.” He nips your ear lobe, rocking his hips hard against yours.

Mind hazy from your orgasm, you stare at him in awe as his face contorts with pleasure with every thrust. When his pace becomes erratic, you know he’s close.

He moans lowly in your ear, pushing himself as deep as possible before he spills his load. Panting, he wastes no time in kissing you sweetly, gently as he releases your legs from their uncomfortable position. He rubs your thigh, humming into your mouth.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “You feeling okay? Was it too much?”

You still can’t speak, so with a smile, you shake your head and place a hand flat on his chest.

He pulls out slowly, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he does. A sheen of sweat covers him, the gentle starlight from the windows illuminating him just enough for you to see. He stands, puts his boxers on, and walks over to grab your towel.

You’re oversensitive, and as he spreads your legs again to clean you up, the rough fabric against your clit makes you jolt.

“I love you.” He kisses your forehead in an attempt to distract you from the mess he made. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

You weakly smack his shoulder. “You did all of this at my parents’ house?”

He grins, scooping you up to help you onto your bed. “Don’t complain. The wet spot on the ground says you liked it.”

#nct dream #chenle #nct #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #chenle smut #nct smut #nct dream chenle #chenle imagine #chenle scenario #chenle x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenario #nct dream imagines #nct hard hours

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tojisbbygworl · 1 year ago

Text

Before I Let Go - Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: A grieving woman comes face to face with her thought to be deceased husband and can't find it in her to care about how wrong this was. She missed him. So much.

WARNINGS: Thoughts of Suicide, Suicide Attempt

Words: 4,994

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Angst, Emotional Smut, Desperation, Grief/Mourning, Yandere, Spying, Kidnapping, Minimal Spanish terms of endearment

author's note: hey y'all. I have another fic for you. I am so glad I finished it it's been sitting in my drafts for a minute. The yandere part of this isn't violent although there is some slight physical pain put on the reader during sex. Just a mention of choking and scratching it's not bad. It's more obsession if anything. Also, I wasn't even gonna try with the Spanish girl. The most he says is carina and hermosa and I know y'all are sick of seeing that atp. I barely even tried with the British for Hobie I'm not about to embarrass myself LMAO

I hope this makes y'all sad honestly I feel like I could have made it sadder but I'm still very happy with it. Anyway, enjoy! 🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

The buzzing sound of a phone call is all that can be heard in the apartment. It has been a week since the funeral, and Y/N O’Hara hasn’t said a single word. She doesn't even remember what her voice sounds like.

Miguel O'Hara was everything to her. He meant the entire world. She would do anything he asked, but he never asked for much. All he wanted was her love. She was the same with him. A perfect partnership. She felt like she was on top of the universe. And then it was taken away from her. In a fucking car crash, no less.

He was the smartest person she knew. He was the head geneticist at Alchemax after all. He wasn't a stupid driver. No. It was the other driver's fault. But what could she do about it? It was just a kid. A teenager that had just gotten their license, but hadn't taken official driving lessons; no one really drilled into them the severity of texting while driving. How could she really blame them? How could she press charges? Miguel always told her that she was too forgiving. Too understanding.

He was right. But...she also couldn't help but to think it wasn't fair. That her beautiful husband had to die from their actions, and all they had to deal with was an insane insurance increase and a fucked up car that their parents were bound to replace. She would give anything to trade consequences. Anything.

Almost two months since his death, she's been wandering around her apartment frequenting the most common places she and Miguel would cuddle in. She always had a shared blanket, one of his shirts, or a pillow that had his hair on it to squeeze and cry into. If she sprayed it with his cologne and shut her eyes really tight, she could almost imagine he really was there. Almost.

These objects could never replace him. She missed his warmth. She missed his chest pushing her head up and down from his breathing. It would rumble when he chuckled. His hands were so large that her entire back would heat up when he held her gently. He was so tall, 6'6 to be exact, he would completely engulf her whenever they embraced. She felt so safe in his arms. She doesn't feel safe anymore.

Nearly two months of hunching over on the floor of her apartment in pain. She wailed into the ground. Coughing and scratching whatever she could hold onto, because the pain was too much to bare. Oh, the pain. She wouldn't wish this kind of heartbreak on anyone or anything.

The apartment was large, courtesy of his checks. He could already afford it on his own, then, the both of them married just a few years ago and he didn't expect her to pay a dime, despite how much she insisted. Instead, she bought food and handled upkeep. If it got too expensive, then he would chip in. She would have to move out eventually, his remaining income and life insurance the only thing keeping her afloat. Just another thing that she can’t fathom.

It was 3 bed, 2 bath. One was their bedroom, the other was his office, she's been going in there a lot as well, and they always wondered what they would do with the last room. For so long, it was empty even before she moved in with him. He never knew what he could use it for. He had hoped that she would turn it into a hobby room, she loved to paint and she played the violin a little, but there was a beautiful terrace attached to the apartment that she opted for instead and she insisted the living room had the best acoustics so the room remained a mystery. Until last year, when he dropped a bomb on her.

It was an extremely average day for the both of them. They were both home from work, nothing interesting to report, and were deciding what to eat for dinner. She suggests something they could cook, and he agrees. As the night goes on, something seems off about Miguel. He's quiet and zoning out a lot. Something has to be on his mind, right?

"Babe," she calls for him snapping him out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"Everything alright?" She puts her hand on his shoulders and gives him a worried look. Miguel swallows his spit then turns towards her grabbing her hand and placing his on her waist.

"I've been thinking..." His voice is small. She starts to grow anxious as she had never seen him look so timid. He was more nervous than when he asked her to marry him.

"W-What is it?" She stutters. He kisses her knuckles.

"It's just something that I've been wanting for a while now. And if you don't, then It's completely fine. I care about your happiness above everything."

"Miguel, stop being so cryptic and tell me what's up," She half jokes.

He nervously bites his lips and looks away. Then, taking a deep breath, he looks into her eyes and says, "I want to have a kid."

She felt it was best to pretend the work-in-progress nursery didn't exist. In her mind, the room is still empty. There wasn’t a crib set up. The walls weren't in the process of being painted. They didn't have arguments about what to put on it because they didn't know the gender. In fact, gender of what? They weren't planning for a baby. The third room is as empty as she is.

The both of them were foolish, deciding to get everything set up before she got pregnant instead of winging it like everyone else. She should have winged it. Then maybe she would still have a piece of him with her.

It was so fucking hard to focus on what mattered. She was hanging on a thread that thinned out every single day. Before the funeral, she wondered what would be her breaking point? The point where she finally got up and decided to keep going.

The weather was very fitting for that day. The sun was gone, and the rain came in waves. Her tears, however, never stopped. It was a stupid decision to make it open casket. She gazed upon his resting face for the first time since he died in the hospital then turned and ran to the nearest bathroom to empty her stomach. She hadn’t even gotten to say her speech; Miguel’s mother read for her instead.

Something inside her snapped. Sometimes the pain is a dull ache in her chest, and she’s numb everywhere else. Other times it’s a sharp twang that she can feel in her back. She has to lay or sit down when that happens. Sometimes it courses through her entire upper body and she can’t even move. But this…this stabbing, twisting, and searing pain that ripples through her heart and travels to the tip of her fingers and toes…she hasn’t felt this before.

This was the breaking point, but it did the opposite. She didn’t talk for the rest of the day, her and his family begging her to stay with them. She didn’t listen.

It was nights like tonight that she felt completely alone. She knew she wasn’t, if she just picked up the phone and texted someone, then maybe she would be okay. She just needed to stop looking at the ceiling, turn to her nightstand, pick up her phone, and call her mother. But it was 1 in the morning, and Miguel looked so happy in her lock screen picture…

Her and Miguel had been up here on the top of the apartment building so many times before. They liked to dance, he would watch her play or paint, they had picnics together, it was perfect when they wanted to get out of the apartment, but still have some privacy.

The view was nice. They could see across the entirety of Nueva York. Central Park in the fall was especially amazing to gaze upon. But now it fills her with grief. As she steps on top of the edge, she decides that if this couldn’t make her feel better, then nothing could.

She’s glad she’s doing this in the middle of the night, where no one could see her and call for help. She was sure that she would traumatize a couple people when morning came, a problem that she couldn’t be bothered by. She was ready to be back in his arms. So she walked off. And closed her eyes as she plummeted through the air.

She’s scared. But excited. She only has to feel excruciating pain for a second and then never again. It’s almost over.

She hits something, or more so, something hits her. She’s still flying through the air, but it’s different now. There’s a warm body holding onto her for dear life, and she’s soaring upwards into the night sky. Opening her eyes to gaze at her savior, she sees a masked silhouette. It-it’s Spider-Man…but he looks completely different. She can barely see him, the only source of light being the moon, but she could swear that this wasn’t his mask.

They land on the rooftop again and he puts her down. She crawls away from him, embarrassed and ashamed at what she’s done. She was still alive and now she was in more pain than ever before. Wailing on the floor, she glared up at him in vitriol.

“Why did you save me?” She yelled, her voice powerful for a woman who hadn’t been verbal for a week. Spider-Man didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her. “I didn’t want to be saved.” Still, he said nothing. So she continued to cry, and she cried harder and harder until she felt a sensation on her back.

He was trying to comfort her, but when she turned he backed off, holding his hands up instead. Her lips quivered, then she threw herself into his arms. His hold on her body was snug and comforting. Her anger for him dissipates immediately as she accepts his affection. For the first time in a while, she felt safe. She didn’t want him to let go.

And he didn’t. He stayed until she fell asleep in his arms. Then, he picked her up, gazing upon her peaceful face with the light from the inter dimensional portal, then walked into it with no intention of coming back.

This wasn’t her room.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. These weren’t her sheets, that wasn’t her wallpaper, the blinds were different, the floor wasn’t carpeted, everything even the floor plan of the room was different. This isn’t her home.

Her heart begins to pound. Where was she? She was still in her clothes, but that’s the only comfort that she had. Immediately, she shoots out of the bed, the comforter tangling in her feet making her fall onto the floor. The large thump that her fall makes scares her. She stays on the floor, still and quiet as a mouse. There's no noise for a couple seconds. Then, the sound of someone walking.

She hyperventilates, quickly removing herself from the blanket and standing up. But she realizes that she has no where to go. There's a small closet in the room, and space under the bed, but those the only hiding spaces she can think of. And the footsteps were getting closer. What can she do, she wonders as she backs into the wall.

The door swings open. And her heart stops.

Miguel stared at his wife's variant in concern and turns on the light. The woman blinks and shields her eyes, but the bewildered look that she sported quickly comes back. "What happened?"

When he spoke, she gasped and took another step back. She smacked her hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with tears, her breath shuddered. "You're alright?" Miguel asked her again. She didn't answer.

For what felt like the longest time, they just stared at each other. He was afraid of approaching her thinking he may scare her away. She was in completely disbelief at what she was seeing. Miguel raised his hands and stayed near the door way. "Please, don't freak out," he began.

She let out a sob, tears escaping her eyes when she did. Placing her hand on her chest, she lifts herself from the wall. Miguel takes this as a sign to keep going.

"I know you must be confused. You're probably upset and angry. I understand." She took a step forward. "But if you would just left me explain..." Another step. Then another. And another. And she held her hand out in front of her. As she approached him, he realized how badly she was trembling, and it only got worse the closer she got. But still, she moved forward.

The speech Miguel had been practicing before she woke up died in his throat. He was speechless as he watched her courageously close the space between them. When she finally stood right in front of him, she hesitated. He could hear her soft gasps and cries. Then finally, she softly touched his chest. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Even though she was crying profusely, she looked upon him in wonder. He just wants to reach out and grab her, but he holds himself back.

She begins to rub his chest and torso, appalled by his presence. He looks back down at her hands. Then, they trail themselves up to his neck, stopping right under his chin. He lifts his head up. They both hold their breath for a second. Then, with a gasp from her, and a sigh from him, she finally touches his cheek. Miguel closes his eyes and leans into her palm. He lifts his arm up, and encases her hand in his, keeping it in place.

Her lips begin to move. With a tiny shaky breath, she whispers, "It's you."

Miguel's face is troubled. He has a small frown and his eyebrows were upturned. He twists his head in her palm to give it a small kiss.

Her eyes flicker all over his body. It is him...but he's different. He's taller now. His build is thicker and he feels tense. Miguel was a gym buff, but this man...this kind of definition is not built in the gym. His frown is deep, and so are his wrinkles. His eyes were more troubled than hers, and had the slightest hint of red. And his teeth...she could feel his sharp canines with her thumb.

"No," she realizes. "It's not you."

Miguel opens his eyes and stares at her. He can see the fear growing on her face, and he starts to panic. He moves his hand to her wrist to hold it gently. But he's prepared to squeeze it if she tries to run. "I'm not him. But-"

"But you look like him." She continues, her voice on the precipice of hysteria. "And you sound like him." She holds both of his cheeks and caresses his face with her thumbs. "And you feel like him..."

Miguel winces as he watches her cry louder and louder with every observation. "Cariña, please," He takes her hands off of his face and kisses her knuckles. She completely breaks down crying. Miguel reaches his arms out, and she throws herself into his chest, sobbing into his neck. "You don't have to cry anymore. I'm here now."

"But who are you?" Her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He gulps. "...I am Miguel, but-"

"But you're not my Miguel, are you?" She lifts her head up to stare at him. She looked anguished, her brain not being able to process what was going on. He doesn't answer. "Did you save me?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I had to, baby. I-"

"Where did you come from?" She pushes herself off of him, and Miguel can't find it in him to hold her there. He let's go of her, knowing that there is no where she can really run where he won't find her. "No, where have you been?"

He furrows his brows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Where the hell have you been?" She screams at him in unbridled rage. Her tears were never ending, and her glare was fierce. "I was in fucking agony when you died. I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't get over you. I didn't want to. I missed you so much." Her anger turned into desperation and she falls to her knees on the floor, weeping into her hands. Miguel looks on in desolation, his eyes filling with tears as well. He walks to her and leans down, trying to get her to stand. She flips her head up at him. "Who are you?"

"Please, let me explain." He sits on the floor with her, holds her face and leans into it. She doesn't pull away, instead, she kisses him first, her cries never ending. Her hands tangle themselves in his hair. Miguel wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into him. He sits back and pulls her into his lap.

The kiss lasts until they run out of breath, then they pull away, panting in each others' faces. "I...am Miguel." He starts. "But not your Miguel. And you are not my Y/N."

She shakes her head and scrunches up her face. "Just listen." Her mouth closes again, and she relaxes preparing herself to take in every word he says...

...Miguel spent a lot of time watching her. His Y/N, across the multiverse. In each one, they are together. It's fate. And in every one...she dies. No matter what that universe's Miguel does, she dies. That must be fate, too. Then he found a universe where that didn't happen. He died instead. He took a chance, and when he replaced himself he was the happiest he had ever been. And then everything was destroyed. An entire universe...gone. He swore to never interfere with fate again. He whispered a soft 'sorry' to every Miguel he found after that.

He saw her, Y/N on Earth - 548. Happy as ever with her devilishly handsome husband. He felt for him. He had no idea the heartbreak he was about to experience. But, for the second time in his studies, he was the one who died. He cried, knowing that he could never do anything about it. When she became a shell of her former self, he focused all of his attention on her. Putting all of his work on Jess and Peter, he monitored her. He watched her cry, she spent all of her time off from work at home rolling around in her bed as if the emotional pain was so strong that it was physical as well. He watched her touch herself at night, whispering his name into the empty air, him joining her from where he was spying groaning her name as well, wishing his cum was dripping from her cunt instead of down his hand. He called for her, hoping that his prayers to keep her safe would reach who ever was listening. They didn't.

He knew that when she sat up like a ghost from her bed that fateful night, she was about to do something rash. He held his hand over his watch, ready to jump as soon as he felt he needed to. When she began to walk to the edge, he decided to not even risk it and hopped into the portal.

He didn't expect her to turn and scream at him the way she did. He hadn't heard her beautiful voice for some time, he missed it so much, and the first thing she did was yell at him. He was stunned. He couldn't believe she was right in front of him. He looked at his watch. No indication of a canon event. There was nothing. Which meant...she was never supposed to die.

He was impulsive, he knows that. But, it worked out in his favor. She was supposed to be alive. He had done right. And now he had a decision to make. Does he leave her here to figure everything out on her own, or does he take her with him...and let her family think she's dead…

“You were watching me?”

Miguel refuses to meet her eyes. She didn’t move, but he tightened his grip around her just in case. Her voice was wavering.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Why didn’t you save him?”

He looked up at her that time. Above everything else, she was melancholy. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t, mi amor. You don’t understand.”

With her face contorted in pain, she released a choked sob. Her mouth was hung open. If she chose to believe this imposter, than hearing that nothing could have been done about the love of her life brought her no comfort. It wasn’t fair.

She gripped Miguel’s shirt letting her head fall forward into his chest. He held her for a long time while her shoulders shook. “Please, believe me.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her cries stopped. He began to worry, but she soon lifted her head up and looked into his eyes. His flicked back and forth between hers, and the both of them dive into another passionate kiss. This time, they don’t let up from each other. It gets more intense. Miguel’s breath picks up as his hands begin to explore her back and waist. She pushes her body up against his, rubbing their chests together.

She’s the one who pulls away opting to kiss down from his cheek to his neck. “Just come to bed with me. Please?” She begs into his skin.

Miguel, in a daze, whispers “Okay.”

He lifts her up and lays her down onto his bed, kissing her sweetly as he climbed on top of her. He felt so much bliss, he never imagined he would be able to do this again.

The way she grabbed his face made him never want to physically leave her side again. This was where he wanted to stay for the rest of their lives. She kissed him with so much despair, so much need, how could he ever leave her mouth? But, the strain in his pants and the grip she had on his back get worse, and he finds a reason to pull away.

She whimpers, missing the way his tongue caressed her mouth, leaving her lips swollen and shiny. Her eyes open, silently asking him where he was going, until he reached under the hem of her shirt and lifts it off of her, exposing her beautiful breasts. She gasps when he begins to rub his hand between them, eventually grabbing one to hold and play with. Miguel grins at her while she watches him rub his thumb across her hardened nipple. Which turned into her watching him dip his head down to her sternum and leave the smallest, lightest kiss.

The restraint he had on himself as he trailed his mouth down her body was unnatural. His claws had long since come out, ripping into the bedsheets as he tried so hard not replace them with her luscious hips. She was responding unbelievably well, making him happy he didn’t listen to Lyla tell him how terrible of an idea this was.

Lyla was wrong, he told himself when he heard her soft cry as his tongue played with her nipple. She began to squirm from frustration, and he just had to push his hips in between her open legs, the heat from his dick making her rub her wet panties along his shaft. Miguel moaned with her nipple fully inside his mouth, her moaning with him from the vibration against her chest.

She’s not scared of me, he thought as he leaves her nipple and kisses down her body. His lips finally met up with her panties, opting to push them to the side instead of taking them off completely. He places a kiss on her sensitive clit, his precum staining his underwear when she yelps. Miguel takes a moment to look at her glistening pussy, then he closes his eyes when he finally licks it.

And she doesn’t hate me. Miguel looks drunk when he starts eating her out. His eyebrows are raised and he gently placed her hand on her spread thigh, caressing the soft skin. Her whines making him even more desperate to please her, he presses his tongue into her center harder. His lips are covered with her fluid. Miguel gives her thigh a nice squeeze, then a slap, then he stands up straight.

When she opens her eyes to look at him, her heart races. His eyelids were low, and he towered over body making her feel smaller than she was. His stare was filled with infatuation, wiping off his lower face with one swipe of his large hand. Without breaking eye contact, he rips his shirt off and swipes his pants and underwear down, his large member bouncing back up. Miguel spit into his palm and started jerking himself off. Then, he climbs onto the bed, aligning his hips with hers.

He drools onto her pussy, her shuddering as his spit meets her clit and runs down her lips. It does well to lube her up with Miguel rubbing his tip in between her folds. “Ngh…fuck,” he mutters, the feeling of her wet cunt on his sensitive head giving him a feeling of euphoria.

She grew impatient, while Miguel was trying to take his time and savor her, she was ready to feel him split her apart. This was something she’s been dreaming about since she lost him. She waited for the day his naked body would engulf hers, his face on her cheek whispering filthy insults and sweet praises into her ear. As she remembers how sex used to be with her love, she starts to tear up.

“Miguel,” she whined making him look at her worriedly. When his eyes open, the red she noticed before is even more prominent. His mouth was opened slightly so she could barely see his fangs. How he could look so similar yet so different from her Miguel, she doesn’t know.

“Yes?” He asks her.

“Please, I can’t wait any longer. I want…” She moves her hips on him again. Miguel looks down at their hips and holds hers still.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes his length into her slowly. He grunts as he sheathes himself inside her warmth, reveling in her cries. “Shit, baby.” She’s tight and squeezing him so nicely, he can’t stop until he's inside of her fully.

She’s breathing heavily with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her back is arched lifting her naked chest into the air. “Look at me,” Miguel commands. She lifts her head up giving him what he wanted. Her eyes are filled with tears. It hurts, but feels so good. She missed him so much, and now they were one again.

Miguel whimpers at her beautiful face. “Hermosa,” he reaches out to her cheek to hold it. “Don’t cry.”

“But I love you,” she tells him.

He gasps. His hand lifts from her face. Freezing, he stares into her eyes in disbelief. “W-What?”

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips, leaving a gentle smooch. Her eyes close and the tears fall. “I love you, Miguel.”

His eyesight gets blurry as well, and soon Miguel is crying profusely. “Oh, baby,” he leans over her and pulls his hips backwards. Then he slams himself back down, making her yelp. She grabs his face and kisses him. “I love you too.”

As Miguel fucks her slowly, neither of them can find it in them to stay quiet. Miguel has to tell her how terribly in love with her he is. She has to let him know how much she missed him. He leans into her neck and whispers how he missed her too, and to stop crying because he’s here now. Even though, he can’t stop crying either.

She’s so happy to hear that he will never leave her side. She decides to believe him, accepting happiness instead of reality. She ignores his red eyes, his sharp fangs that press against her neck, as if he can barely hold himself back from biting her. She ignores how different the rumbling in his chest is from her Miguel. It’s not soft or sweet nor does it make her content. This one is predatory and dangerous, it makes her nervous.

She dismisses the way he grabs her neck; tight, leaving her with no air, whereas her Miguel knew that she didn’t like it rough. Honestly, neither did he. This Miguel went faster and harder. He grunted into her ear. But, she doesn't care.

She completely ignores how different this Miguel was. Her wishes were answered. She got him back. It doesn’t matter that his hold on her hip was so strong that he’s scratching her. That he didn’t stop or slow down when she came making her overstimulated. She let him cum inside her soon after, knowing that she wasn’t on anything.

“I miss you so fucking much,” she wailed when he slipped his dick out of her, his cum following suit and staining the bed beneath her.

Instead of getting a warm towel, Miguel laid down next to her and pulled her into his arms silencing her cries. “I told you baby, I’m right here.” But she doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t calm down. She grips him for dear life and Miguel grows nervous.

Lyla was wrong…right?

“You know she will never love you the way she loved him. It will never be the same. Miguel...are you listening?”

“Lyla…shut down.”

ending a/n: Heyyyyy, did y'all like it? This will definitely not be my only Miguel fic but rn I don't really have any ideas for him. My brain is filled with thoughts of Hobie, and I need to stop neglecting my baby daddy Toji, lmao. So I'll be working on a real quick Hobie imagine and my AO3 stories as well for now. Unless I think of something else. I've been thinking about requests but I will fuck around and make a whole story from it cuz idk how to stop writing so damn much. Y'all I rly dk if I want to make another part to JFTN I rly like how it ended and I can't rly think about how I would continue it. Y'all might just have to deal idk girl. I love ya though! Anyway, I'll see y'all in the next story!🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 smut #yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader

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plussizefantasia · 1 year ago

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Orange Slices

Flufftober Day 19: Sweaters

Aaron Hotchner x Plus Size! reader

Word Count: 1.0k

AN: I know that I always write with bigger bodies in mind, but this one does mention sharing clothes and some body image stuff. If that bothers you, please protect yourself and don't read. It's still really fluffy but I just want to give a heads up.

Anyway, I love a cute little hotchner family moment and this was really fun to write. I'll see y'all tomorrow <3

divider credit @royallaesthetics

Aaron always took care of the people he loved, it was something he was incredibly good at and something you loved to witness. He took care of you, his team, Jack, and Jessica, and he had tried his best to take care of Haley until the two of them split.

One way he cared for Jack was by coaching his soccer team. He spent extra time with his son, running drills in your backyard. And Saturday mornings were pledged to soccer games.

The best way that you could put the weather this Saturday morning was brisk. When you had gotten to the fields Jack had run away immediately after getting out of the car to go join the rest of his team. Aaron had helped you unload the cooler with halftime snacks and drinks, your folding chair, and the bag that Aaron brought when he coached full of cones and two or three extra pairs of socks and shin-pads for kids who might’ve forgotten them.

“It’s a little chilly this morning dontcha think Aaron?” You had asked, walking side by side with him, both of your arms full.

“Too cold? I can run back to the house real quick and grab you a jacket.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine it’s not that bad.”

“You sure hon?” You smiled at his concern.

“Yes, Aaron I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

You were not okay. Well at first you were, the first quarter went by kind of fast and Jack had scored a goal right off the bat so you were pretty pumped. But as time went on and things became a little less exciting you started noticing the crisp air biting at your skin more and more. It wasn’t enough for you to complain, but you did start rubbing your hands up and down your arms while you sat to try and generate some friction heat.

Aaron noticed because of course he did, it’s his job to notice and while he might not get paid to notice things about you, you’re one of the most important things in his life and he likes to keep tabs on you.

So when he sees your leg start bouncing and you beginning to blow into your hands to try and warm them up he makes his way over to you. He lets the other coach know that he’ll be right back and shouts some parting encouragement at the kids while he walks away.

“Cold?” He asks, but it’s not a question. He knows you’re cold. He knows everything about you, like how the pout you’re giving him means that you’re going to say no but you don’t mean it, you just don’t like being wrong.

“I’m fine Aaron, don’t you have a team to coach?” He notes the attempt at deflection but also notes the little puff of air that he sees coming out of your mouth when your hot breath meets the cool air.

“Take my jacket.” He starts unzipping the three-quarter zip that he bought just so that you can share. Aaron’s jackets usually don’t have a problem fitting you in the shoulder area or length but you had hated the way his coat had clung to your stomach the first time he offered it to you.

And he noticed because he always does. So the next day he went to the store and bought himself this sweater, it was a little too big for him. Not baggy enough to be noticeable, but he did have to push the sleeves up when he wore it because the cuffs on the end didn’t hold onto his wrists.

But the extra room in the sweater meant that it was perfect for you, you could share it and in moments like these, that was kind of a lifesaver.

Aaron shucked his sweater off leaving him in just a plain grey long-sleeve shirt and his black sweatpants.

“No Aaron you're gonna get cold.”

“But you already are.” Was his reply. Not even moments later did a small body crash into yours.

“Did you see that goal I scored!?” Jack’s exclamation and excitement put an end to whatever potential back and forth was about to commence and you slowly pulled the sweater over your head while Jack gave you a play-by-play of the game you had just been watching.

“You’re doing good Kiddo, you’ve got one more half think you can do it?” You asked offering him a small red Gatorade from your cooler and an orange.

‘Course’ I can, m’ not even tired.”

“Okay Jack, go kick butt.” He gave you one more hug and took a final swig of his drink before tossing the still-half-full bottle at you and running back out to the field.

Aaron turned to you, “Keep the sweater hon, I’ll be fine. Promise.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead and went to go give the team the halftime pep talk that got them hyped for the last thirty-ish minutes of the game.

You had to admit though, that watching the second half of the game was a lot more enjoyable than previously, where you were more focused on not losing any fingers than what was going on.

Jack played a great second half, scoring two more goals and winning it for his team. And Aaron looked great standing on the sideline, anytime you got to watch your kid have fun and check out your husband at the same time was a win in your book.

When the game ended and Jack helped you and Aaron pack up everything you’d brought, minus a few oranges, you’d all clambered into the minivan and Aaron pulled out of the parking lot. But he had gone the opposite way to your house.

“Where are we going, Dad?” Jack had asked from the back seat.

“To go get another sweater, just to keep in the car.” You had hit his arm at that and started sulking in the passenger seat. Aaron had just cracked a grin and chuckled a little at your reaction and Jack had just called out, “Can we get a hot chocolate too? I’m a little chilly.”

At that, both you and Aaron burst out laughing.

#plus size reader #plus size!reader #fanfic #fluff #x reader #flufftober #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson #criminal minds

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anincompletelist · 8 months ago

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feb + march recs <3

[other rec links below the cut!]

y'all know the drill! as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

I had quite a few recs to catch up on - and am STILL catching up on - as I have been MIA with physical/mental health shenanigans as of late (so please excuse the fact that these are a bit angsty skjdhkjhd). thank you as always to these authors and their beautiful words for being a comfort! I love having a full 'to-read' list! :D

see you again soon, and happy reading! <3

I've Always Loved New York, Since Garlic Aioli | KingCaspianX | E | 12k

Alex would say that this date is going really, really well. It hurts to admit because he now owes Nora a six-pack of beer, but he’ll happily swallow his pride if it means he gets to spend as much time as humanly possible with the cute librarian with the elbow patches who’d asked him out last week. The cute librarian, Henry, is not wearing any elbow patches this evening, but is instead dressed in cream linen pants and a soft blue oversized shirt. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, on his collar bones, down his neck from the balmy New York air but instead of being gross, the way Alex probably is, it’s sinful. He’s glowing. Alex wants to lick his throat. Jesus, he could have sworn he was straight a minute ago. Or, Henry asks Alex on a date. Alex, straight, accepts.

Henry's an Asshole (I Want to Kiss Him) | anarchyat4am | T+ | 7k

At the NYE Gala, Henry starts feeling the hazy edges of anxiety and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It takes him longer than it should to take notice of the feeling, and even longer to realise that the cause is likely the binder he’s been wearing all day. He escapes the party, Alex gets him upstairs to his room to change, and the rest of the night goes far differently than Henry could have expected.

getting good now | Standinginmoonlight | M | 20k

Alex sighs and balls his hands up into fists, digging them into his eye sockets until he sees stars, and then he’s speaking without his brain giving his mouth permission. “I can’t believe I’m going to marry someone British.” Or: the Love is Blind AU that no-one asked for.

cause you're classic and I'm reckless | @firenati0n | T+ | 5k

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

love was just an ocean (I would drown before I float) | srrafoxjournals | NR | 21k

There are moments in Henry’s adolescence, maybe even later, when he feels he doesn't belong to anyone. He is no one’s son. He is no one’s little brother. He is no one’s partner. He isn’t related to anyone at all. He’s just there really, just existing. Just an entity. Though he thinks he’s realistically always felt this, it doesn’t make itself known until he turns thirteen. Or: moments from Henry's pov

It's Not Rotten Work If It's You | a_stray_thief | E | 31k

After years of taking suppressants to hide his omega status, after the email leak and the election, after things finally settle, Henry and Alex spend Henry’s first heat together.

say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) | @coffeecatsme | T+ | 21k

5 times Henry is too scared to come out to Alex and 1 time Alex gives him the courage. Or, 6 times Alex slowly falls in love with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, for exactly who he is.

*I HIGHLY recommend this entire series! check it out here!

What are the chances? | @wordsofhoneydew | E | 2k

Nora helps June achieve her first vaginal orgasm.

Bang a Gong (Get It On) | @cactusdragon517 | E | 11k

AKA ouroBROros, as dubbed by the Brownstone. The long awaited foursome fic. -- It’s late when they end up out in the yard, the fire from the firepit casting all of them in golden syrupy light under a dark sky. It feels like a night for secrets and Liam thinks it’s why he asks, Spencer’s hand a gentle pressure on his thigh.

cut | validvali | E | 12k

Holy fucking eyelashes. He’s all tan skin and bright eyes and charming smile— everything that makes Henry weak in the knees. Pretty brown eyes dart between the lineup and his clipboard, trying to put two and two together, but all Henry can focus on are those arms. Those hands. That arse. “Can I call you up, handsome?” Henry almost blacks out. [or, the five times alex and henry shoot a video together as (not so) strangers, and the one time they do as a couple.]

Silence & Sound | @nocoastposts | E | 2k

Alex tugs at his hair and tries to focus on choosing his next words. He knows that Henry will help him - that he wants to help him. He knows that all he has to do is say the word. Henry stands and steps closer, holding Alex’s chin firmly and tilting his head up so their eyes are forced to meet. “You need me to clear that lovely head of yours, hm?” “Please,” Alex says in barely a whisper. or: Henry helps Alex fill the silence before indulging in the sound.

Through All My Cards | @cactusdragon517 | E | 7k

Alex, preparing for top surgery, gives in when June suggests he not recover alone. Enter her friend, Henry Fox.

I love you (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard) | coffeecatsme | E | 20k

Henry doesn’t doubt that, just as much as he doesn’t doubt now that Alex won’t have a single issue with him being trans. In another life, when Henry whispered it in the quiet hours of the night, he didn’t. In another life, when he kissed Henry anyway, he didn’t. In another life. In this one, when Alex meets his eyes, all there is left behind them is a cold glare that freezes Henry to his soul. One year ago, Henry had a whirlwind of a day with Alex after a chance meeting in a coffee shop, only to leave in the morning to protect his heart. He doesn't expect to see Alex again, until he shows up at June's wedding and finds out her brother is the same Alex he hasn't been able to get out of his mind for a year - and he's pissed.

Can You See Me? (I'm Waiting for the Right Time) | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 7k

“Whose turn was it?” Henry asks while Alex is busy pondering the merits of throwing himself out their fifth-story window and hoping his boner doesn’t take anyone’s eye out on his way down. “Forgive me, but I am a bit tired. Do you think you could take it?” There’s no way that Henry’s not doing this on purpose. He makes words mean things when put in a certain order for a living, for fucks sake. Alex almost quips back depends on how big it is just to see how—or if—Henry would react. “Yeah, um, no problem.” There. Much more normal. He could steal Henry’s job at this rate. “Truth or dare?” [Or, Alex’s world gets flipped on its axis during a game of truth or dare]

At the end of a bar | @hgejfmw-hgejhsf | E | 9k+

Alex has a supremely shitty day at work and finds himself wandering into a bar where a mystery man catches his attention.

What do you have against color? | jumpsuit | E | 11k

Upon opening the hardcover of a found sketchbook to locate the owner's contact details, Alex discovers only this inscription: In case of loss, please return to: Instagram @henryfox.usk He, of fucking course, knows who Henry Fox is. That striking yet humorless, rude, and self-righteous British prick he met on the first day of the symposium. [Or, an AU where Alex and Henry are urban sketchers. A short story of how they get to know each other, fall in love and in bed within one day.]

Sunless Dusting Libraries | @itsmaybitheway | T+ | 7k

Henry should leave, he should wait until everyone is asleep and then silently leave, without a trace. As if he never existed in Alex's life, as if he never touched Alex's body, as if he never wanted only exist in his heart and mind. Because that is what Alex deserves. Alex deserves someone who can love him out and proud, someone who is not shamed for his existence, someone as bright as him, not the pale starlight gleam Henry is. But lying there on the pile of mattresses they piled together and called a bed- Henry can not even find it in himself to breathe, let alone get up and go. Betrayed by his own existence, once again. [or: what-If taken by a depressive episode, Henry can not leave the lake house?]

each time we touch / I wanna take too much | firenati0n | M | 1k

Alex keeps his head angled away from the couch, leaning his back against the base for support as he pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Pez on the floor; pretends not to shamelessly eavesdrop on Henry's conversation with some girl on the opposite end of the couch, a classmate in Henry's course on human sexuality and expression. He digs his fingers into the frayed edges of the shaggy rug, feeling the soft strands slip through his hands as he keeps his eyes on Pez. Keeps his ears on Henry, who's sitting behind him, his knee occasionally nudging Alex's back as he talks animatedly, his whole body moving as he gestures; all languid limbs, lithe body, loose lips, lazy smiles.

to repair a hollowed heart | coffeecatsme | E | 28k

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the young ruler of the Underworld, the presider of souls that have passed away, has been banned from Olympus his entire life, on account of bringing death and destruction wherever he goes. His seat in the highest council of gods has been left permanently empty until someone sees all that he is and still falls in love with the man behind. It's been twenty centuries since the curse has been put upon him, and Alex has long since given up on finding the right person. [Or, a Hades and Persephone AU no one asked for]

back with more soon! see my other recs below:

vol i

vol ii

vol iii

vol iv

vol v

emotional hurt/comfort

kid fics

tag for all recs

#my fic recs #rwrb fic rec #red white and royal blue fanfic rec #firstprince fic #Henry x Alex

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joohanisms · 1 year ago

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Thinking about xdh (mostly gaon and jooyeon tbh) with a partner who is into being overstimulated

Like all of them would indulge you but gaon (a menace) and jooyeon (a munch) would be ready to test that out right then and there

OH. OH NOOOOOO WHY WOULD YOU AWAKEN THE JOOYEON THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD

xdh with a partner that is into being overstimulated 💭💫

cw: overstimulation, oral, fingering, mention of penetrative sex, dom/sub dynamics (punishments), edging, toys, mention of safeword, mention of squirting, mention of thigh riding

omg. i'll talk briefly about everyone but i'll leave jiseok and jooyeon for last because i have a lot of thoughts hehe

gunil

you would have to ask him to do it to you.

he's soooo respectful unless you ask him not to be LMAO

so as soon as you cum and ride it out, he'll usually stop.

unlesssssssssss........

you either tell him beforehand, before he even pulls his cock out, that you're in the mood to be overstimulated orrrrr....

you're getting close and between moans and whispers of his name, you tell him not to stop after you cum. to keep going, please, keep going.

jungsu

our polite boy!!

much like gunil, you'd have to ask.

i don't see him much as a punitive dom, but if you tease him enough (which is a LOT. he's really patient, especially when it comes to you), you might get overstimulated as a punishment.

i loveee punishments that are more like a treat because it's so obvious what you wanted it in the first place LMAO

so yeah maybe he has you riding his thigh while he holds a vibrator do your clit... maybe he's drilling into you and his thumb won't leave your clit... maybe he's fingering you nonstop on all fours, while he presses you into the mattress.... who knows!

seungmin

look he's a menace all right

even though overstimulating is not his favorite - seen as he's more of an edging guy - he really enjoys it.

likes to rile you up so badly that you barely need anything to cum, and even less to be overstimulated.

if you like a little pain-pleasure, he might give your clit a little nip after all is said and done. as a treat <3

hyeongjun

hmm jun was a little harder to write tbh... i don't see him being crazy about roughly overstimulating you, even though he DOES really like the red streaks your nails leave on his back

but his favorite form of overstimulating you is by making you cum with his fingers or his cock. letting you catch your breath slightly. and then moving down your body to lick you clean.

like, syrupy, honeyed strokes of his tongue - slow, lazy, tasting.

it's not like the rest of them, where overstimulating is more of an extension, if not a part of, sex. it borders on aftercare, with how soft he is.

it's never stimulation enough to make you cum again. just enough to drive you a little crazy.

(if you want more, though... just ask. he'll eat you out nicely <3)

jiseok

if you're into being overstimulated as much as he is into overstimulating, gaon would have a field day everytime you had sex. be it penetrative, oral, fingering, whatever.

he'd be soooooo delighted to overstimulate you in any way.

i think i've said before that he DEFINITELY has a vibrator.... yeah it would be one of your best friends fr

jiseok sees the vibe as an ally instead of an enemy (as all men should) and is soooooo okay if you ask him to use it on you when you want it a little rougher!!

(but tbh the first time you asked he did get a little pissy. all like oh am i not enough for you???? do you need more???? but that quickly escalated into overstimulating you out of spite

but dw i'm so sure that when you started having sex he would've gone over the Yes And No list of kinks and things you both like + set a safeword so that spite was.. mm.. calculated. and after that it just became a staple in your sex lives,

but anyways!! jiseok is completely fine with the vibe and any other toys he could use in his favor) (also omg have y'all ever thought about double penetration with him...... now you have)

when he's overstimulating you he will keep going until you physically push him away/say STOP or say the safeword (plus with time he'll pick up on your tells to know when it's time to stop so you won't even need to do anything <33).

and again, as much as all the other guys would indulge you, he gets such a kick out of making you give him all you have. he gets impossibly hot and bothered and hard.

if he comes and keeps playing with you, he gets hard again in record time.

the aftercare is always so good after he fingered four orgasms out of you <3 won't have you lift a FINGER!!

jooyeon

now our jooyeon our lovely boy

the first time he overstimulated you was by accident.

he was just sooooo focused on eating you out - and as we know he loves it and gets genuine pleasure out of it - that he barely noticed you had already cum and kept going until the hands tangled in his hair threatened to rip his locks out.

but he's not dumb!!!! he DID notice you came twice more before you pulled him away!!! do not think he'll let that slide!!

and so with playful mutual slutshaming, it became a thing <3

whenever you want to be overstimulated, just... let him be. don't pull him away, don't tell him to stop, just let him have his fill. believe me, he won't stop unless you stop him.

guy loves eating pussy what can i say

has made you squirt before and if he's feeling playful he will try his damn hardest to get you to do that again. well, he's playful until he actually gets his bangs wet. then he's so fucking horny.

does this thing with his tongue on your clit that if he makes you cum and keeps doing that, you're cumming again in the next 30 seconds. he loves it <3

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starstruckmoony · 2 years ago

Text

call it what you want.

masterlist

pairing - remus lupin x fem!reader

summary - pure social media chaos. the whole gang is here. proper romance/fluff starts in the next part!

trope/tags - band/celeb!au, instagram/social media!au, modern!au, fluff, terrible humour

word count - 610

warnings - language

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

maraudersofficial added to their story

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

❤ liked by rjlupin, marymacdonald, bartyyy and 1,999,670 others

yourusername go buy yourself some roses.

23,811 comments

rjlupin lol imagine being that lonely

yourusername says the one who goes on dates with himself

rjlupin it's called being independent

yourusername virgin moment

starmanblack feminism

yourusername exactly

lily_evans maybe i should start doing that

prongsyboy wow thanks a lot

user732188 girlboss 😩

user501170 single gang

user226695 if she's single how am i ever gonna find someone

rjlupin

❤ liked by yourusername, xeno_lovegood, mmmckinnon and 1,998,662 others

rjlupin anyone wanna be my valentine? 🤪

21,706 comments

yourusername i thought you said you were independent

rjlupin people change y/n

yourusername don't make me laugh

rjlupin i did though

starmanblack bf material 😜

marymacdonald meeee

rjlupin don't you have a girlfriend?

marymacdonald no, she went to get milk

vance_emm your mum went to get milk

user637722 ME ME ME ME ME

user388211 pick me choose me love me

user374737 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️

user111002 half of y'all are just forgetting you're famous HELPP

user277642 you and y/n commenting on each other's posts is the highlight of my day 😭😭

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

❤ liked by lily_evans, prongsyboy, pete__ and 2,000,772 others

yourusername a lil throwback to last year - my favourite people ever <3

tagged rjlupin, mmmckinnon

18,885 comments

starmanblack personally i like marlene more

yourusername don't we all?

rjlupin good luck finding a new bassist sirius

marymacdonald you guys should collab

mmmckinnon possibilities

casmeadowes marlene is my favourite people too

mmmckinnon right back at you love <3

bartyyy what about me?

yourusername you're getting there

user966330 marlene is gorgeous fr

user320011 I LOVE THESE FRIENDSHIPS SO MUCH ALL MY FAVOURITE PEOPLE TOGETHER

user153465 babies

user668668 IADIQISIJA THIS IS ADORABLE

rjlupin

❤ liked by vance_emm, ev.rosier, pandorasbox and 1,966,007 others

rjlupin broke into y/n's house today

tagged yourusername

15,045 comments

yourusername that was so naughty of you

rjlupin i learned from the best

yourusername are you calling me a criminal?

rjlupin look at you putting words into my mouth

yourusername not this again smh

maraudersofficial hurry up and write us a song

rjlupin that's your job sirius

maraudersofficial you gotta learn how to multitask

ev.rosier new music?

rjlupin hmmmmmm

mmmckinnon you should have invited me

rjlupin it didn't cross my mind oops

mmmckinnon i wonder why

lily_evans isn't that illegal?

prongsyboy to me, personally, it's cute

lily_evans i did not ask

user076646 that's my boyfriend everyone!

user463550 i can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not

user335545 ok now kiss

user101044 stop shipping them

user335545 no <3

yourusername

❤ liked by starmanblack, prongsyboy, rjlupin and 2,188,332 others

yourusername something is cooking...

23,853 comments

rjlupin and i know what it is 😎

yourusername SHHHH

marymacdonald no one say sike

pete__ SIKE HAHA

casmeadowes no more waiting pls omg

user726362 OGJ MY GOD NEW ALBUM

user300106 UAJDJAJXJQJXJQJSJQHDAIXHAJ

user224737 I WASN'T CLOWNING THIS TIME

user100011 THIS AIN'T A DRILL EVERYONE

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

❤ liked by xeno_lovegood, mmmckinnon, casmeadowes and 2,108,001 others

yourusername my best friend is cooler (and drunker) than yours

tagged rjlupin

25,843 comments

rjlupin cute but you're cooler anyway

yourusername are you flirting with me?

rjlupin depends how you define flirting

prongsyboy damn

starmanblack tell him to give me my jacket back

rjlupin you took my sweaters stfu

marymacdonald okay but lily is the coolest

yourusername lily.

rjlupin lily>

lily_evans i love you

bartyyy 🥵🥵

yourusername facts

maraudersofficial we have the funnest singer ever

rjlupin thanks pete

user675677 two pretty drunk best friends

user157463 is no one gonna talk about them lowkey flirting in the comments?

user224000 god really does have favourites

tagging some of my lovely mutuals <3

@sp1rit-realm @masivechaos @innerloverpainter @forourmoons @sw34terw34ther @withastrangerheart @nyxxxxxxxx @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @laluna0 @incorrectwolfstar

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gamerbearmira · 3 months ago

Text

Now no one gets the apron

This title will make more sense if you read it I SWEAR

Very sad, I'm in the mood for angst today 😛😛 and who doesn't love some Mamabuela. Seriously, it has been a hot MINUTE you know I had to hook y'all up 💪💪💪

Anyway, sadness, mean words that weren't meant to be said. You guys know the drill 🤥

eh ge ie

—————

Isabela and Mirabel tugged at the apron. Their late mothers apron. They were gonna help their abuela in the kitchen, but they both wanted to wear their mothers apron.

"You wore it last time, it's my turn!" Mirabel said, her small hands gripping the blue apron with surprising strength. Isabela, now 14, was pulling it back in her direction.

"You always get to wear it! It's my turn!" Isabela seethed, tugging at the apron. By this point, the commotion had gather some attention from other family members, who peaked into hallway by Julieta's room where they were arguing in front of. Luisa seemed distressed, trting to find ways to break them apart without causing more tension.

"H—Hey, maybe we should calm down, I mean I'm sure you guys can-" Luisa was cut off by Isabela who shot her a look.

"No! She wore it already! I want to wear it this time!" Isabela argued and Miravel stomped her foot, pulling the apron again.

"My gift is closer anyway, that's why I wear it more!" She said. She wasn't really wrong, her gift was essentially Julieta's.

Alma by this point had exited the kitchen and began walking up the stairs. She had knew this was going to happen, it wasn't the first time. Last time Luisa and Mirabel had faught with it. She should've expected it.

"Girls, what is going on?" Alma asked, and the two stopped, though still held the apron, looking towards Alma.

"She won't let me wear the apron this time!" Isabela said, pointing to Mirabel who pouted again.

"It's not like she wanted to wear it anyway! She wasn't even thinking about it until I came out of the room with it!" Mirabel said and Isabela didn't like that answer.

"Give it!" She said yelled, her voice raising and she used her vines to pull back, cacti sprouting in a nearby pot. Mirabel quickly noticed, yanking back. Alma, nor anybody had any time to react before a loud tearing sound ripped through the room. The ribbon that went around the back had tore, now in Mirabel's hands while Isabela held the other, larger part, the two girls having fell to the floor.

There was silence before Isabela stood, her eyes glassy. "Look what you did! You ripped it!"

Mirabel looked offended, stepoing forward. "I ripped it? Your stupid vines pulled too hard!"

Alma decided to finally physically step in. But before she could fully even get a sentence out, Isabela had shoved in finger into Mirabel's chest, not to hurt her, but more out of anger.

"Why do you even care?! You didn't know her!" She screamed and Mirabel blinked. Bruno and Alma had stepped forward at this point, and Dolores took Luisa and Camilo and pulled them back. "You stole her gift!"

"Isabela, that's enough—" Alma had been cut off once more, not that she could formulate any words after Isabela's.

"It's all your fault she's dead anyway! If she wasn't pregnant with you, her and papá would've been able to move out of the way!" Isabela screamed, tears spilling from her eyes.

Casita was quiet. No one spoke a word, and everyone's eyes were on the two girls; mostly Isabela. She finally seemed to process what she said and her hands flew to her mouth and she stepped back, looking at Mirabel, who had begun to cry. Her lip quivered and tears began to spill out of her eyes as Isabela's words hit her like a freight train.

Thunder crashed as Pepa finally processed what her eldest niece said to her youngest and Mirabel threw the ribbon to the ground, running to her room.

"Mirabel, wait, I didn't mean—" Isabela words were drowned out by another crash of thunder and Mirabel's face twisted into one of pure sadness and guilt. Guilt that Isabela had never intended to make Mirabel feel, especially not for their parents death.

"Keep the stupid apron then!" She wailed, slamming the door to her room. There was more silence, aside from the now pouring rain and Isabela's faint crying.

Pepa had quickly taken to running to the other side of the house to Mirabel's room, Luisa and Camilo on her heels. Bruno seemed conflicted, glacing between Isabela and his mamá, Alma, before turning and walking back into his room, clearly in the verge of tears at the reminder of the death of his and Pepa's sister.

Felíx had quickly followed after him, Dolores by his side. That left Alma and Isabela in the hallway, alone. Casita was quiet, not even move a single tile or floorboard. Alma's face was that of disappointment, and maybe even confusion as she looked at Isabela, who was crying, soaking wet from Pepa's storm.

"I...I didn't mean to say that, Abuela, I...I waan't trying to..." Isabela wasn't even focused on the apron anymore, she didn't care. She had hurt Mirabel her youngest sister who was a miracle from God Himself. And she just blamed the death of their parents on her, knowing full well that it wasn't even remotely her fault.

She looked up at Alma, who was just staring at her. Her gaze shifted to Mirabel's room, where loud crying and soft voices could be heard. Alma rubbed her eyes, and Isabela wasn't sure if she was crying or wiping the rain from Pepa's rain away.

"Abuela? Wh—What do I do? I didn't mean to...to say those things, I swear!" Isabela said between her hitched breathing, hiccuping softly. Alma looked up at Isabela, her gaze conflicted, more than Bruno's.

"Just...go to your room, Isabela. We'll talk about this later. It's not a good time for anyone right now," Alma said, her voice low. Isabela opened her mouth to protest, to say she wanted to run into her youngest hermana's room and apologize. But the look in Alma's eyes told her everything, and she quiet nodded.

"Ok Abuela," Isabela said softly, dragging her feet to her room. The door shut quietly and Alma leaned against the railing, doing her best to hold back her tears and control her emotions. She had to. She couldn't break down. Not right now.

—————

OK. Isabela didn’t mean it, I promise she apologizes. She loves Mirabel’s and does not blame her 😭 it’s just one of those moments where you’re arguing and say something you don’t mean.

Everybody was hurt in this situation 🙏

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto alma #encanto isabela #encanto dolores #encanto pepa #encanto bruno #encanto julieta #encanto agustín #encanto Felix #encanto luisa #encanto camilo #mamabuela #mamabuela au #mama abuela au

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cherryxsapphic · 2 months ago

Note

Mother Gooseberry babying/coddling y/n headcanons! Pretty please 🥺 I want to feel tiny

Absolutely!! Love bug ♡

to be honest with you, I've been really obsessed with outlast trials lately and has been playing non stop recently, because I wanna get to the second catalog!!

Warnings: blood, gore, injury, basic outlast stuff

→ you were certainly new to the trials pretty much stepping on every trap you could possibly find. Even though you didn't do it on purpose. It's just every time you would run from an enemy a trap would somehow be in front of you and you know what happens next. and also you got bullied a lot by the enemies, especially the giants and Coyle and also Franco. (broskis in his widowmaker era hitting me from across the map😔)

→ but anyways, when it came to Mother gooseberey, she was such a breath of fresh air. There was something about her that generally comforted you, as sick and twisted as that may be considering that she chases you around with a drill that is her father and has a real yapping problem and probably should be locked up for life if he wasn't actually dead rip. (We love him tho) but his daughter adores you and has pretty much made it in her brain that you're her baby, and that when she catches you you won't be able to escape from her grip!!

→ ok, and once she has you, you are literally spoiled with affection, it's everything from smooches, her literally carrying you, which is insane, considering she has only one free hand/arm, Her other arm is amputated and has the drill obviously. So, like, imagine, she's holding you with one arm, ok? both of your hands around her neck and you're just curled up in her side, and she just casually carrying you like its nothing.

→ so basically any affection that you could possibly think of she gives it to you, unless she's not capable of it of course. But she tries and also she has a tendency of hugging you so hard that you have to tell her that you need to breathe but ya know you'll be fine.

→ also, another scenario I'd like to imagine is, ok, imagine you're on that fancy bed that we all first see when we do the tutorial, for the very first part of the game. The exact same fancy bed that we have to hide under because of the psychosis dude. Ok, so Mother Gooseberry is laying down you're on top of her, your face is in her neck or in her shoulder/chest. Her hand on your back, and you're just essentially laying on top of her on your stomach, and you're just curled up, and she's rubbing your back and let me tell you, you had the best sleep you ever had since you made it to this facility.

→ also another thing I'd like to mention she is very over protective and possessive of you obviously your her baby, her little Angel that could do no wrong essentially. if you get injured somehow like really bad, bleeding, gash, basically the most horrendous thing that you could possibly think of or whether someone mess with you or you got hurt while just exploring the orphans/mansion (because who wouldn't) Phyllis thy Futterman will be drilling a bitch and who knows you might be able to watch her put a cute new face on one of her dolls/latest victims 🥰 (if your into that ofc)

→ and if your injured, she would gently bandage you up and if you ask nicely, she might even kiss it better. Also another thing, even Dr. Futterman went off the chain, even though he's been in bag jail alot for insulting you. Phyllis says he cares deep down, but whether that's true we'll never know.

Hi!! so if you made it this far, thank you!! I know I pretty much Yapped the whole entire time but I hope y'all enjoyed it!!

And also whoever requested this, I hope you like it and that it's up to your standards. ♡

#mother gooseberry #phylis futterman #mother gooseberry x reader #mother gooseberry headcannons #outlast #outlast trials #the outlast trials

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stars-n-spice · 8 months ago

Text

Thoughts on s3 ep 07!

fuckin bitchass episode broke my "no crying streak" of fuckin,, one episode, fuck you

anyways,, y'all know the drill,, spoilers and me screaming under the cut!

i love commander wolffe so much

when the clone assassin (who is Tech,, let's just be honest here,,) got out from under the rocks I was like, "Hey what the fuck,, that should've KILLED you" and was also like "ok so that's definitely Tech, why the fuck does he keep coming back??"

wolffe being like "these are clones" gave me so much hope,, baby I hope you come around and join your brothers,, I am BEGGING

something something,, being defective,, not following orders,, the clone assassin operative,, yeah,,

uGH wolffe looks so so so good in TBB animation

Batcher licking Nemec :(

Crosshair does a lot of,,, "I'll handle it",, he wants to feel useful I'm - :(((((

shakey hands,, ughhhh

the "operative" is surviving WAY too much for him not to be important

"we need to go" - "we're waitin on you" :(((

"she only bites half of the time" OH MY GOD,, PLEASE

I love you Batcher, you are the best girl

GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH - IT DON'T BITE - YES IT DO,,

lmao i really thought they were going to get away and then they got fucking shot down,,

Wrecker's groan when Batcher jumped on him to get out of the ship asldkf;a

I'm so happy about Wrecker not getting a lot of screen time but I'm also not,, because to me less screen time means less of a chance of him dying or something but it also means less of me getting to see him

but everything he does on screen is wonderful,, he's amazing and I love him and he could just be standing there in the background just breathing and i'll be acting like he just blew up the death star or something

CROSSHAIR IS SUCH A GIRL DAD

I cannot get over Crosshair and Omega's dynamic oh my GOD

Star wars, you can't give us this good of a dynamic for only ONE season,, PLEASE let them survive

him checking up on her,, making sure she has all her things and sticks close :((( FUCK

I love how it sounds like it's physically hurting Crosshair to ask Omega if she's good and has her things together,, that's so funny to me

"You're just as bad as Hunter" - "Oh, I'm much worse." OH MY GOD.

screaming crying throwing up

i went, "Nemec and Howzer better not die" AND THEN LIKE TWO MINUTES LATER NEMEC GOT FUCKING SNIPED

i was so mad

CMON

Howzer changing his mind about Crosshair :(( wondering if he's thinking about Hera :((((

"Loyalty meant something to me" UGHHHHH, fucking,, AGGUHHH,, the essays that could be written on Crosshair and loyalty,, FUCK

oh the way Crosshair is as open as he is to talk about what happened :(((

godDAAMMNN

when Wrecker did the thing,, where,, he like,,, he um,, y'know,, like the,, move where,, and he,, he bashes,, bashes uh the two,,, bashes two heads together,, and knocks them unconscious,, hmm, yeah,,,

WRECKER PROTECTING BATCHER?!?!

that man is perfect oh my god,, fucking HELL,, I want him so badly,,

"I don't like that idea" - "too bad" AGHHHH YOUR HONOR I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

something something Crosshair doing the most to feel useful and needed UGGHHH

hey is it just me or did the animation for the water with the waterfall look,, like,, weird?? or strange?? idk,, it just seemed off to me

ALSO THAT FIGHT?? fuck that was cool

also if that really is Tech,, Crosshair got his ass handed to him by Tech lmao

BUT ALSO IF THAT WAS TECH,, the fucking angst man,, he seriously almost killed Crosshair,, holy shit

Howzer's new look is so,, MMh,, the,, fuck,, the holster straps on his thighs,,, the pouch on his chest,, ughh

the fact that these operatives like,, KNOW Crosshair,, they KNOW he went through the program and didn't comply the way he should've,, idk,, it's just,,

"you chose the wrong side" FUCKING LEAVE HIM ALONE MAN YOU'RE GOING TO KEEP MAKING HIM QUESTION SHIT AND HIS PLACE IN EVERYTHING FUUUCCCKK

Crosshair looked fucking terrified during that fight and for good reason too he was getting his ASS handed to him (granted he doesn't have much of one but still-)

also,, him being not super great in hand to hand combat got me thinking because,, dude's a sniper,, he keeps his distance,, his thing is long range shit,, and fucking,, boy if that doesn't reflect on his character,, not wanting to get close,, keeping a distance,, MAN

HOWZER TO THE RESCUE <33

for the like,, third time my assurance that this operative is Tech was ruined as he fell down that waterfall but I am a fucking FOOL

Crosshair said "thanks" that's fucking crazy

OH I'M SO HAPPY ABOUT REX AND WOLFFE HAVING A FACE TO FACE TALK (hunter and Cross take notes)

UGGHHH SO HAPPY I GOT TO SEE WOLFFE'S BEAUTIFUL FACE

i was so scared when Wolffe was like "I'm a soldier of the Empire" BABY YOU'RE NOT

PLO KOON COME GET YOUR SON AND FORCE GHOST TALK SOME SENSE INTO HIS FINE ASS

but then he let them go :((

Gregor showed up on the screen and I fucking,,, I fucking swooned

wolffe is going to be in SO much trouble after this,, oh my god,, I'm so scared for him

BUT THAT BETTER NOT BE THE LAST TIME WE SEE HIM FUCKING HELL

did i mention how fucking fine Wolffe looks in TBB animation??

there's so many fucking wide shots of,, characters on opposite ends of each other,, like,, fucking hell,, i get it

WE GOT THE SEELOS TRIO IN A SCENE TOGETHER AGUUHHHH

Gregor you are so fine

his new armor,, ughh

WOLFFE fucking,, mmmh,, shit

fucking knew the operative would survive that shit,, fucking hell

alrighty folk BUCKLE up,, seems like the next episodes we're going to start getting some confirmations about Omega!

cried when Rex and Wolffe were talking to each other

i was so happy the "i thought the end of the war would be the end to losing our brothers" conversation from the trailer was here because I was scared it was going to be a conversation that was going to happen after losing Echo or something,,, for now he's safe

ugh,, i already miss wolffe

#tbb #tbb s3 #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 spoilers #the bad batch #bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #captain rex #captain howzer #commander wolffe

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katiekatdragon27 · 9 months ago

Text

Guys sorry, I am not immune to Hazbin/Helluva propaganda. I am also not immune to criticizing the designs and character motivations.

So! Let’s start with one of the most redesigned characters in the show: Beelzebub^^

So, sorta hot take, I really like the idea behind Beelzebub in the show. Ik "boo tomato tomato," but hear me out. I like how she is meant represent the hellhounds she rules over (ik she actually is a reference to Jay Jay, but let me have this connection PLEASE). However, the source material is very bug-like and compact.

The HB Beelzebub is NOT that bug like. Or compact.

With this redesign, I decided to pick all the stuff I liked about the og, and what I wanted to see more of. I kept her colors and general vibe but made her more built like a bumble bee with more inspo from the fly Beelzebub.

This is what I got.

Progress doodles n stuff below cut (it's gonna be an essay, y'all know the drill):

(She was much sharper in the sketch lol)

DESIGN EXPLANATION:

Anyways, I always imagined Beelzebub to be, y'know, more BEE like. The show did not give me that, so I did it myself. I made her wings bigger, gave her an actual bee tail and face (with the proboscis and stinger too), and more stripes and fluff. I also made her small and slightly chubby. Gotta hone the bumble bee.

I thought the hair made the original design too cluttered, but I wanted to keep the party colors. To compromise, I stuck all the goop in her tail. It sort of works like a firefly's abdomen and a lava lamp. I also nullified her cloths, so they would blend more with the body and help pop the neon colors in her eyes, antenna, and tail.

When she stands at her normal form, she is the smallest of the sins. But when she is in her "true" form (that I have not illustrated yet), she is the biggest of the sins. This is a reference to how gluttony starts small but gets really large over time, both mentally and physically.

As for additional details, I wanted to keep her "foxness". So in a brilliant brainstorm of ideas, I came up with the concept of "Masks". Basically, all the sins I'll redraw will have them. The masks are meant not only to represent their hellborn, but to represent how the sins pretend to be good things at first.

Stuff like "Rest a little more, it won't hurt" and "Be proud and don't care for what others say" are how they present on the surface, but if you continue those mindsets in a toxic way, it turns into sloth and pride and stuff instead of self-care and being proud of things.

For Bee specifically, it's "Have a little more, you deserve it!" and she has a hell-hound/fox mask. This also feeds into her personality change.

PERSONALITY CHANGES:

In the og, she's a party animal who cares for... moderation??? Yeah, I hate this about Helluva Boss. Why is it so hard to write *sshole/negligent people in power and why is it only Mammon who's allowed to be like this? Give me more morally dark grey powerful people!

That's where Bee is different for the redesign. She runs te lowest ring in hell and is in charge of hellhounds, the lowest species in hell. B/c of this, she is much more lenient compared to the higher ranked sins in hell, which is why she is often seen talking and hanging out with lower classes. (She gets slack for this from the other sins). She is also the only sin who has had open relations with lower class citizens all the way down to hellhounds. However, none of them last. Most of her relations outside of the sins are one-night stands and flings.

As for how she sorta sucks: she is still a party animal, yes, but she purposely chooses to be blind and ignore all the suffering that occurs at the parties. People have fun, but they overindulge, and as a result get sick, sad, and violent. However, Bee leaves the parties before they get this way. She does not want to see it. She is negligent. When she comes back to the party aftermaths, she quickly gets her workers to clean everything, so she does not have to discover anything gruesome and sad. She just wants to live, party, and see people "happy". (Sort of like Gatsby's parties minus the pining for a single woman who does not care for her).

... I wonder what would happen if that mental image she had shattered? I guess only the future will tell.

But anyway, if you have any questions or characters you recommend I design or redesign, feel free to ask lol.

I hope this made at least a little sense. Have a lovely day^^

#beelzebub is probably one of my favorite sins in the show aesthetically #but it's so cluttered and looked so painful to animate #also having her be stout and fluffy seemed so novel to me #no more skinny girls with thick thighs give me tiny girls with thick everything #hazbin hotel #hazbin art #helluva boss #helluva fanart #helluva beelzebub #helluva beelzebub redesign #redesign #character redesign #vivziepop #helluva redesign #helluvaboss #also if you don't like this please don't comment that #i don't need that negativity in my life this is just for fun #katiekatdragon27

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bow-of-aros · 17 days ago

Text

Day Twenty-Seven: Non-Human Parts

Summary:

Peter's been neglecting taking care of himself in order to get some schoolwork done and now he has to face the consequences of his actions in Ted's worried mother henning.

Hey folks! I don't care if wingfics are considered cringe (I also don't know if they are) I WROTE ONE ANYWAY! Hope that y'all enjoy my silly little Spankoffski bros because I love them so much <33

Peter was just about ready to throw himself out his bedroom window. He hadn’t preened his wings in weeks because he was busy with schoolwork and upcoming exams in shit. Obviously he knew that it was bad, he’d grown up being told to keep his wings nice and clean and normally he did.

Except he hadn’t been, so Peter had woken up this morning an awful combination of itchy and sore. Normally he would be able to get this sorted on his own, but he also hadn’t been letting them breathe, so he couldn’t quite get at where they’d cramped up on his back.

It sucked.

Peter was right in the middle of trying to yank his fingers through a stubborn tangle of feathers when he was interrupted.

“Hey Petey, I was gonna go to the store do you need—” Ted cut himself off as he took in the scene, “What the actual fuck is that?!”

Ted stood in his doorway wearing his best dad glare which was funny because Ted was not his dad. To be fair, Ted had practically raised him and had constantly been on his ass about proper hygiene.

And Peter had just been caught red-handed completely ignoring everything he’s been told.

“What does it look like? I’m preening and shit.” Ted’s eyebrows shot up and Peter winced internally. He’d basically guaranteed himself a lecture.

“Peter Spankoffski that is not preening!” Ted raked a hand through his hair before gesturing at the litany of feathers scattered across the floor, “If you keep going like this you’re gonna get bald patches dumbass! How long has it even been since you’ve done this?”

The longer Peter didn’t answer, the more unimpressed Ted looked. When it became clear that the answer was too long Ted just sighed and said, “Get your ass on the couch, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He didn’t even give Peter the chance to respond as he turned on his heel and marched down the hall muttering about dumbass little brothers.

Peter briefly considered ignoring Ted and going back to what he was doing, but that idea was quickly discarded when he realized that Ted would just come back up and physically drag him downstairs.

Looks like he’s getting his ass on the couch.

Ted’s grabbing a couple of things when Peter gets downstairs, face a mask of annoyance that the slight puffing of his wings betrays. He immediately feels a little guilty knowing that he’s worried his brother and decides to let Ted do his whole mother hen routine with minimal complaining.

Peter can’t help examining Ted’s wings as he waits, even though he knows exactly what they look like: A tan brown with warm yellow and white undertones. They’re nearly identical to Peter’s own.

He won’t lie and say that he’s not happy that he got the same wings as his brother. It’s definitely not uncommon for family members to develop similar patterns, but Peter likes the extra connection between them.

When they were younger, it had been Ted that helped him learn to preen. He’d shown Peter how to use his oil glands to keep everything moisturized and how to properly set his feathers straight. The whole time was spent alternating between silly games to keep him occupied and trying to drill into him how important it was to keep this up.

They were some of Peter’s fondest memories of him and his brother.

“Alright kid,” Ted’s voice cut through his thoughts, “You know the drill. Lie down and don’t move.”

If he’s surprised when Peter immediately complies, he doesn’t say anything. Peter feels the couch dip under him as Ted hovers over him and gets to work.

Ted works in silence for a little bit, the way he only does when he’s really focused on something. He combs the broken barbs and various shit from where they’ve tangled into his feathers.

That part goes relatively well, the only change being Peter gradually relaxing into the couch as his brother takes care of him just like when he was a little kid.

Then, Ted does his best to very gently remove the broken feathers from his wings and—

“Ah! Shit dude!”

Ted immediately withdrew his hands with a, “Sorry, kid. You doing alright down there?”

The pain has already faded to a muted sting, and Peter knows that this is a necessary part of the process even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, quieter, “You can keep going.”

He heard a snort above him as Ted got back to it, “You know, if I didn’t know you and how you disregard your actual physical health when school shit gets in the way, I’d say that you did this on purpose.”

“Don’t worry. This was 100% pure Spankoffski dumbassery.”

They go back and forth like that for a while, Ted occasionally pausing to work the oil through his wings and ease the kinks that Peter had left alone for too long.

While doing this, Ted brushed a little too close to the underside of Peter’s wings and Peter couldn’t help the small yelp that slipped out as he flinched away.

He could hear the smirk in his brother’s voice when he said, “I told you to hold still, Petey.” Another brush, another half-laugh, “Seriously! If you keep moving I’m going to have to start all over.”

“What?!” Peter shrieked as Ted moved properly to the softer feathers on the underside of his wings, “Wahahahait Ted! Nononono fuhuhuck!”

He struggled to stay still, the threat still looming over him, but Ted was not making this easy on him.

“You’re dohohoing this on puhuhuhurpose! Tehehehed!”

Ted just laughed at him, “Look kid! I wouldn’t be doing this if you had just taken care of yourself in the first place.”

He squeezed along the bone under the guise of working out more kinks, only succeding in drawing out cackling laughter as Peter began to lose the battle against his urge to thrash around.

“TEHEHEHED! Come ohohohohon!” He flailed wildly, trying to smack Ted’s hands away with some very uncoordinated attacks.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as Ted withdrew his hands, patting his still laughing brother on the head as he caught his breath.

“You,” Peter said in between fits of lingering giggles, “Are evil!”

When he craned his neck to look up at Ted, Ted was smiling at him. And not the shit-eating I got you sort of grin either. It looked like the smile Peter could feel resting on his face, one that said You’re my brother and I love you and I love messing around with you.

When Ted caught Peter’s eye he just scoffed, trying to cover it up, “Yeah yeah, maybe try taking care of yourself next time. Because,” Ah. There was the shit-eating grin, “You moved around too much and fucked up my work, so I have to go through it all again.”

“Wait! Wahahait Ted! Nohohohoho!”

Yeah, Peter was definitely going to remember to take care of himself next time.

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inthewindandinthewater · 6 months ago

Text

Sweet

A/n: Hey y'all, it's been a bit but you get the drill at this point, I leave and come back with a new obsession. You had to know the change in theme was there for a reason, so here it is. This is a series but per my usual will be verrrrryy slow to update.

Rhett Abbott (Outer Range) X Reader

Warnings: Cursing

No Use Of Y/n

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Sunlight streams through the open windows of your childhood bedroom, the sheer white curtains doing little to dull the shine and the thin french panes even less to dull the chirps of the swallows just outside. You roll over in a poor attempt to hide your face from the rays and catch just a few more minutes of sleep on this Sunday morning, unfortunately your mother has other ideas.

You hear the door swing open and you can feel her presence, it makes you want to bury your head under the covers and never come out again. She stands in the doorway, hands on her hips impatiently awaiting your recognition.

Eventually she gets tired of waiting, all you hear is heavy footsteps and a loud sigh before the covers are ripped away from you and suddenly you're grateful you opted to throw some shorts under your oversized t-shirt last night.

“Come on now, we’re leaving for church in an hour and I expect you to look halfway decent.” Ever the charmer, your mother.

“Ma..” You groan and try to yank the covers back over yourself, hoping she’d take some pity on you this once.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” she says, tugging the blankets back off. “Should have thought twice before coming in at three am last night, Sugar. Now hop to it!” You sit up in bed, fixing her with a glare which she only returns with raised eyebrows and a look that says ‘you don’t want to argue with me right now’. You let out a huff and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your mother smiles victoriously and turns to head back down the stairs.

You flop back down on your bed for a moment, thinking that maybe if you lock your door and pretend you don’t exist she’d give up on you. Unfortunately she’s been hell bent on saving your soul since you were a little girl and she had no intention of throwing in the towel now. Especially with your being back home unexpectedly.

You decide that this is not a hill you want to die on this morning and stand from your bed, stretching your limbs and running your hands through your hair… or at least you try, the leftover hairspray and unbrushed mess you’d left it in last night had made stubborn knots that likely needed a shower to comb out.

Making your way to the bathroom you pause in front of your full length mirror, the one you’d been so excited to pick out in seventh grade. It once had a bright pink frame that had now been overtaken by stickers and polaroids from middle and high school. Once cherished memories that now only brough reminders of who each of those people had become. Your eyes flit over the images, one of you and your best friend Milly Kinders who had gone off to college for film production and had since moved out to California to try and make it big. She was working as a PA now on some TV show that you hadn’t watched more than a few episodes of, she didn’t call as often anymore so it wasn’t like you had to keep up with the plot anyway.

Moving on to a picture of you and Maria Olivares at her senior night, each girl on the basketball team had picked a junior to present them with their flowers and medal of achievement. You’d felt so special when she’d picked you to be her underclassman, the two of you are smiling in the photo, not a trace of tears that fell later in the night when the realization set in that she was actually leaving. She’d gone off to school to be a veterinarian, the whole town was very proud when she got into one of the best programs in the country and she was sent off with so many well wishes and high hopes. Not unlike yourself five years ago.

You sigh, looking around the frame once more before heading to the shower just before you’re stopped in your tracks by a polaroid with a scrap of paper taped to the bottom. It’s a dimly lit photo, one that hadn’t developed quite right due to the lack of light. Nevertheless the edges of the polaroid are worn and it’s not taped to the frame like the others, instead it's stuck between the frame and the glass for easy removal. The photo shows the silhouette of two teenagers sitting on the open tailgate of an old truck in front of a bonfire. The girl in the photo, yourself, has her head leaned on the shoulder of a much taller boy. Scrawled across the torn paper at the bottom in barely legible writing is ‘have a good summer, Sugar. I’ll see you around- Rhett.’

You stare at it for a while, your hand itches to reach out and snag it from the mirror's edge, to feel the soft age worn edges of the photo between your fingertips once more.

“Sug, I don’t hear you moving!” Your dads shakes you from the thought. “I am!” You yell back, grabbing your towel and stepping into your ensuite bathroom.

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Church wasn’t much of an event in Wabang, but it made your mother happy, or at least content for the time being, that you went. So every sunday morning, give or take a few years, you sat in the middle row and listened to the pastor drone on and on about shit you didn’t believe.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in a god or a higher power of some kind, it was more that you didn’t believe that this old man in bum fuck Wyoming was a expert on an all knowing power. If the Earth was just a blip in time and space then how could we have uncovered the secrets of the universe or did God reveal them to American white men to be his devine mouthpiece? Yeah, right.

It was all you could do to keep your hands clasped over your knees, mouth shut, and your eyes from rolling. Eventually the service would come to a close, the invitational sent and the prayers said on knee at the base of the pulpit and this chore would be over for yet another week.

Part of you wondered how much emotional, or showmanship, brought these people to cry on bended knees every Sunday. How interesting, or boring, does one's life have to be to have a new gut wrenching sin or tragedy each week. You suppose you would never know, life was astoundingly quiet for you Wabang.

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“What did you think about the service, Sug?” Your father spoke around a mouth full of mashed potatoes. One thing that made Sundays more bearable was the spread your mother would slave over after church, her cooking was the thing you missed most about this town while you were away.

“It was good, I thought brother sawyer sounded better today” You say, pushing the food around on your plate and hoping that answer was satisfactory. To be completely honest you couldn’t remember a thing from the sermon, but you did remember that one of the choir singers, brother Sawyer who only held his place in the choir after his cancer diagnosis due to sheer pity and his status as a deacon.

“I think so too, you know he’s had such a hard time of it but I’m glad he seems to be on the up and up, Louanne seems lighter too.” Louanne, his wife, used to teach Sunday school. She’d been your favorite teacher and you couldn’t count the number of pictures you had with the woman before her husband was diagnosed, she was mostly quiet these days.

“I really hope so, she deserves a break” You mumble, pushing the food around on your plate, losing your appetite to the memories, an occurrence that seems more and more common these days.

“Sugarbear, would you mind taking this pie over to the Abbotts today?” Your mother breaks the silence after a while, you hadn’t even noticed her clear the plates from the table and place the pie in a heat bag.

“The Abbotts?” You say back, your voice sounded a little dumb in your own ears.

“You didn’t hear? Joy closed Rebecca’s case today, suppose they aren’t interested in looking for her anymore.

Rebecca Abbott.

You knew she’d been missing for quite a while but you hadn’t realized it had been long enough for them to stop looking. You’d gone out to the ranch to watch Amy while the search parties traversed the expanses of both the Abbott and Tillerson ranches looking for even a scrap of her existence, but nothing ever turned up. Your mother had always been close with Cecelia Abbott, even since they were kids growing up in Wabang, which was an even smaller town then than it is now. When Amy was born you couldn’t get over her, only ever seeing her on Sundays when you visited on weekends. When she was older and you came back after college Rebecca had asked you to sit at Cecilia's recommendation, you adored that little girl and it tore you apart to see her ripped from her mother so young.

“Yeah let me change and I’ll take it over” you say, pushing your chair back.

“Why don’t you wear your dress? You look nice.” She’s smiling at you with that knowing grin, it makes you want to bolt up the stairs as quickly as possible.

“Mama..” you warn. She just smiles back and the stalemate starts while you try to muster the courage to fight her and she firmly stands her ground. Your father sits at the table, shifting his eyes between the two of you and awaiting further action, you swear you can hear maracas and an eagle cry in the background.

“Are the boys still trying to get that fence fixed?” He asks seemingly no one, “I thought they had a tore up stretch. Royal was wanting to get it fixed before they moved pastures.”

You shift your eyes to him hopefully, a beat of silence. Your mother sighs and hands you the bag, you drop your shoulders and take the compromise. You would wear the dress if there was no chance you’d be seen in it by an Abbott other than Cece.

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The drive out to the Abbotts was boring as all hell, but the anxiety of pulling up the drive was even worse. A few familiar trucks sat in the driveway and a dirt path up to the porch almost made you feel like you were back in highschool.

You knock on the door only to be greeted by two things, the last person you felt like seeing and the reality that your father was a dirty rotten liar.

“Hi Su-”

“Rhett”

Well now you feel like a bitch. Rhett’s half grin fades at your greeting and he looks off to the side, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Uh, sorry.” You mumble, shaking your head as if to reset your thought, “Hi Rhett, how ya holding up?” You offer him a little smile.

He looks back at you, his face a little more neutral now, “I’m alright” he smiles back but it doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s cold and unfamiliar enough to set a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You snap out of your thoughts and hold the pie out to him, “My mama wanted to bring this over, I’m sorry about the news on the search for.. Well”

This couldn’t get worse, good god.

He takes the pie from you, staring at the ground. “Thank you” is all he says.

You know you should just go, but you can’t help but ask. “How’s Amy?”

His eyes meet yours again, and it’s almost like some of the warmth of return to them, he knew how much you loved that little girl after all. “You know, better than I expected” He says, and you swear you see him smile a little, real this time.

“She’s a tough kid.” You say, smiling to yourself at the thought. “If y’all ever need anything more than a pie, you got my number” You offer.

He looks back at you

There’s something in the way he looks at you. It’s somewhere between questioning and sincerity but it’s there and you can’t help but hold his gaze for a moment before nodding and turning to go.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sugar”

As you climb up into your truck and close the door you look back at the house, just soon enough to see the door close all the way.

#rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott #outer range #lewis pullman #self insert #inthewindandinthewater

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elvisabutler · 2 years ago

Text

should have worshipped her sooner

summary: you are known around campus as a bit a harlot when it comes to sleeping with professors. it's a title you have earned rightfully but you want to change that. as a last hurrah your friend convinces you to go for professor presley, a man you've admired from afar. things go unexpectedly for both of you. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m overall, but this part is a high t i think. pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader word count: 8420 i don't even know warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. use of a cane to startle people. mild fantasizing about the cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone are of legal age ). religious talk. power kink/title kink? elvis being ill enough to miss class. unrequited love that would be requited if people just opened up their mouths. author's note: so welcome to the beginning part of the my heart's already sinned, there's a final part after this where it has the happy ending that i promise i'm giving these two but i'm not quite done with it so welcome to the thing that started these two being- the way they were in the fic i linked. special thanks everyone who has listened to me scream about these two, y'all know who you are. and i kind of tagged anyone who reblogged this/left a comment on the last one sorry if you didn't want to be tagged but i at least promise the smut for the last part is- a beast and i wrap it up in a nice bow. and y'all know the drill, pick your elvis poison, this is written with real elvis in mind but you can imagine austin elvis.

"I'm just saying it'd be a waste to not try this last time. I get it, I support you and I'm proud of you. But you're- if anyone could sleep with Professor Presley, it would probably be you. I'd bet good money, we could win good money." Noelle says, brandishing her fork at you over dinner. "I could see you and him getting along."

You roll your eyes at her antics before glaring at her with a mouthful of your food. You swallow before shaking head. "Of course, because the religious studies professor who everyone knows goes for women who are not going to our school and who is pretty religious himself would go for me, the "Tour Guide" for the school. I could definitely see it."

Normally your sarcasm would clue Noelle into dropping it but she can't help but continue her line of thought. "That's why, though. You're not his type, though we both know you love taking orders from someone big and strong. And you and both know how big and strong you think he is."

"I told you that with the idea that you wouldn't use it against me." You whine, poking her with your fork. "If I agree to this, if I agree to try, will you never mention it again?"

There's a moment where your friend debates whether or not she wants to agree to the terms before she nods solemnly. "I'll bury my knowledge of you liking Professor Presley and any other professors who are big and strong deep within me. As long as you tell me if you do manage to sleep with him. Just for my own selfish desire."

You can't help the way your lips purse but you nod anyway. "Deal."

Seeing Professor Presley up close, breathing in his scent as he walks by is something entirely different than seeing him from afar, seeing him from across the way, talking to the selected group of other professors from varying different departments that he dubbed his Memphis Mafia. Did it matter that not everyone was from Memphis? No. Did it matter that technically speaking neither was Professor Presley himself? Also no, because they had come to Tennessee and fell right into the lap of someone who from what rumors say is practically a King in Memphis. He was imposing enough from afar, capable of commanding his group like it was nothing but in person? In the same room as you with his eyes flitting around the still empty classroom? That was another thing entirely, that was the universe narrowing its focus to just this room, to just this part of the room where you're sitting in a dress jotting down a note- or ten- in your planner. The tap of his cane gives him away even as you don't look up and it's perhaps for the best because if you had looked up your reaction to Professor Presley might not have been as chaste as it is. After all, how is a woman supposed to react to someone looking at you like you're some priceless religious tome- like you're more beautiful than every angel in heaven or any god or goddess in any religion especially when most people on campus have never seen that look on Professor Presley.

He stops in front of you, tapping his cane once on the ground and clears his throat. "Pretty early for class, aren't ya? One of those overachievers?"

Your first instinct, the one that you have to tamp down on when you look up is to roll your eyes and try and say something cute. Something charming to rope him in like you've done with so many other professors. What you do instead is look up at him with a small smile. "Something like that." Not at all like that, if he asked anyone else. "And I wanted to get a good seat. I know in classes like this a lot of people take al the good ones if you don't stake your claim first. Is it a problem, Mr. Presley?"

Elvis lets out a short whistle that sounds more like him saying whew than anything else before he starts to laugh, shaking his head. "Now I know ya ain't calling me Mr. Presley like ya talkin' to my daddy. Know I ain't a spring chicken no more, but ya gotta way of takin' a man down a peg wit' that."

Almost as if you can't control your body, your head tilts a little as you raise an eyebrow. "What do you want me to call you, then? Professor Presley?"

Elvis's leg and cock twitches at his title slipping from your lips as if you're just casually reading off a menu or a list of ingredients. Never in his life has he thought being referred to as his title was arousing and yet there you were having him react like that. He shakes his head and licks at his lips before answering. "Elvis." He pauses to exhale quietly. "Call me Elvis."

You blink once and a slow gentle smile crosses your lips. "Elvis." It feels surprisingly right leaving your mouth, feels surprisingly right being on your tongue. "In that case, is me choosing a seat a problem, Elvis?"

It was a mistake to have you call him by his God given name, oh it was a mistake because now he knows how it sounds rolling off your tongue. Knows how the angel standing in front of him, this sweet girl that he knows isn't what she seems, sounds saying his name. He wants to hear it more, he is- he knows he shouldn't but there is something about the way the syllables fall from her lips that sound like a hymn, the musicality he only ever hears in them falling from her lips. He'd call you a siren if he didn't know any better but no, no you're something else entirely. A moment passes before he answers, trying to tamp down on the arousal he feels in his veins at your use of his name, innocent as it may have been.

"It is, darlin', because that's not where I planned on ya sittin'. A girl like ya in the middle of my class? Tryin' to hide from me? That won't do at all." He lifts up his cane and uses it to rap against the chair two rows in front of you. It's a seat in a spot you hate, at the end of the row and smack dab right in front of the podium. Even though you were planning on trying to charm him throughout the semester and you planned on paying attention in class the idea of being right there in front of everyone made you feel a little self conscious for some reason. "Front row, right there. Up n'at 'em."

You look up at him through your eyelashes and pout just a little bit before you gather your items and your bag, standing up and walking to the aforementioned seat. There's a part of you that wants to turn around, wants to be a little childish and stick your tongue out at him but while you've heard that Professor Presley- Elvis was a bit of a child at heart, something tells you he'd prefer the show of respect and so you resist. Instead you choose to just go back to what you were doing originally, thinking that perhaps he was done talking to you. You hardly register the tap of his cane on the floor approaching you yet again, and what part of your brain does assumes he's heading to the front of the classroom before you feel the warmth of his hand against your shoulder. On top of your shoulder, really, the sheer size of his hand making it so that the heat emanating from it feels like a fire licking at your skin. You swear you hear your heartbeat roaring in your ears and feel it rushing through your body and your head. Despite this or perhaps because of it, your brain narrows to just you and Elvis and your ears that aren't hearing a single other thing in the room at the present time can hear the words leaving his mouth.

"That's a good girl." His voice practically rumbles against you and you know he's not pressed up against you, there's no reason you should swear that you can feel the vibration of his words and yet here you were. "Doin' what you're told." He pauses. "Be prepared f'me to call on ya today."

You don't realize when your eyes shut of their own volition until you have to force them to open at his question. Part of the reason you had chosen your seat was to really study Elvis in his class setting properly without him being able to really study you back or accuse you of being distracted, but here you were being thrust into his view and under his constant attention. You swallow slowly and exhale. "I-Are you prepared to hear my answers to what you ask?"

There's a moment where you swear you see or maybe you feel Elvis bending closer to you, to maybe brush his mouth against your ear. You know you're imagining it though, knowing he wouldn't be that close to your neck and the shell of your ear. "Darlin', don't think 've ever been more prepared for somethin' in m'life. 'sides, curious what's inside that head of yours."

A smile crosses your lips, small but still ever present before you respond. "Careful what you wish for, Elvis. Might live to regret giving me a challenge."

"Regret giving ya a challenge?" He moves to be in front of you, trying to walk to the front of the room before he looks back at you his eyes dancing with something you'd like to call amusement before he shakes his head. "Doubt it, if anything you might become my favorite student because of it."

There's a rush of heat that runs through your body at those words and you find yourself biting your lower lip and looking down, bashful and yet thoroughly delighted. You open your mouth to say something only to realize he's not paying attention any more, that he's already moved to the bottom where his podium is and you take that to be a sign you should get back to your other notes. The moment you bury yourself into them, looking down instead of looking up at him, he allows himself to stare at you, thanking God you had to take his class this semester.

Your class goes by faster than you'd like and you find yourself marveling at how he's commanding the room with everyone actually paying full attention even as they take notes. True to his word he calls on you multiple times and you find that seeing how his mouth splits into a grin and how he seems to have a bit more of a pep in his step as he moves to the next point after you provide a bit of debate with him. Elvis has always supposedly had a way of making a mildly boring subject to most be a rather boisterous and entertaining class but if anyone who had his class before were to see him today- hell- if any of the Mafia had seen this class today they'd wonder what he took to have all the energy he has.

The next class is a few days later and you remember what Elvis had said, that he assigns his seats and that he had specifically picked out your seat for you. A thought crosses your head to sit in a different seat but after that first class you find you enjoy where he put you, find that it fits your plans for the semester but it also makes you feel watched by him versus watched by everyone else, which was the reason you had avoided it in the first place. Elvis is running a bit late to class that day, he's still there before it starts but there's more people in the room and you barely hear the tap of his cane before you feel his warm hand on your shoulder and you swear you feel the heat from the rest of his body against your back as he leans over to you, his voice pitched low and rumbling in a way that has you shivering just slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as images of him speaking to you like that as you roll together among his sheets before you open your eyes.

"Glad to see you where you're supposed to be, Y/N." He murmurs and you swear you can hear the hint of a smile in his tone before you shake your head in an attempt to clear it. "Better than everyone else around here."

"You assigned the seat and I'm good at following directions when I want to." You answer, clenching your pen just a little bit tighter in an effort to keep yourself from doing anything stupid. You had a plan forming in your head for how you wanted this to go and falling for him- falling immediately into his arms wasn't how you wanted it to go in the slightest. "I wanted to for you, Elvis."

You swear you feel or maybe you hear Elvis growl a little at your words and it has your toes curling in your boots just a little. Against your will you shiver just a bit and when Elvis speaks you can definitely hear a smile in his tone as he squeezes your shoulder. "Oughta get a jacket, darlin'." He removes his hand and you bite your lower lip to keep a noise from escaping, knowing you're around people before you hear the rustle of fabric and then feel the the warmth of fabric and the scent of Elvis- at least you think it's his scent- envelop you as you look down and see a jacket that is not your own around your shoulders. You open your mouth, turning around to say something before he shakes his head, motioning for you to put it on properly, not just have it draped around your shoulders "Use it for right now. Just gotta give it back after class. Hate to have you distracted because you're cold."

There's words on the tip of your tongue but they're jumbled up the second you look at Elvis and see him without the jacket, his shirt tailored enough that the buttons don't rebel against any part of his waist or chest and you merely nod, swallowing your spit as to not drool. You had already found Professor Presley attractive from afar and you had already planned on trying to sleep with him but this- oh this might be a genuine problem. You're not used to this, you're used to the men being sweet maybe but not- like this and not after such a short period of time. By the time Elvis has turned around, ready to start the class you find yourself burrowing into his jacket, hugging it tightly to your chest. You don't bother to look up at him until he calls on you, unsure if you want to see just how he feels about you wearing his jacket but when you do look, you find yourself relieved and a little put out that he doesn't seem to care about you wearing it. Almost as if he had offered it to you with the intention of just keeping you warm with no strings attached and nothing behind the action. It's not an unwelcome concept just entirely new. By the end of class you find that his jacket around you has relaxed you, made you a little more bolder than you already are and it appears to be lighting a fire in Elvis's eyes that spurs you on even more. You wait until the class has dispersed other than the two of you before you make your way down to the podium, your books in your bag. You've made no motion to actually take off Elvis's jacket and when he notices his heart stops in his chest. He thinks you look good in his jacket, thinks you look like you belong wearing his clothes and he has to look away for a moment, leaning on his cane before he exhales.

"Do ya want to come to my office?" He starts, allowing one of his hands to play with the lapel of the jacket. "We had to cut our debate short so everyone else could have a chance but-"

"I'd love to." Your answer comes so quickly out of your mouth and so eagerly that both of you look a little startled by it before you both start to laugh. "Sorry- I meant-"

He shakes his head, moving to smooth out the shoulder of his jacket. "Don't apologize. Not for bein' excited like that. It's- People like my class, darlin' but not usually like this. It's nice to see. Helps me- I enjoy it, alright? Don't even dream of being sorry 'bout it. Just walk with me to the office, alr'ght?"

You nod and start to follow him. Maybe it's because he usually takes his time when he heads into class but you're prepared for one speed as far as walking goes only to realize you're more behind than you mean to be before you've even crossed the threshold of the classroom. It's easy to catch up though and you find yourself just talking to Elvis about the debate you had been having with him, keeping your passion in check as to not alarm anyone passing by but still proving to be enough of a spitfire that Elvis can't help but have a huge grin on his face as he fires back his own responses. More than once his eyes drift to his jacket, not that you notice too busy hugging it just a little closer to your body for the warmth but the surprising comfort you find it brings. The pair of you reach his office quicker than either of you expect as he unlocks the door and ushers you in. A part of you wonders if this is it, if this is him just bringing you in here like every professor ever has after you've charmed them only to have sex and be done with it. He motions to the couch for you to sit on as he moves the chair out from behind his desk to relax in it across from you, his eyes glinting with unashamed delight. "Lay it on me, Y/N. Tell me what ya were really thinkin' in class."

The grin that breaks out on your face is one of unabashed joy that has Elvis's heart stuttering in his chest for a moment before you launch into a tirade that has him laughing loud enough that the professors in the rooms beside him take note and the members of his mafia who are about to come see him stop at the door before turning around, figuring interrupting whatever that is can wait. it's not that Elvis hasn't laughed like that in a while but- they forgot what it was like to hear him laugh like that when he wasn't with them and hearing your laugh follow suit as he talks they realize it's best to not interrupt. You're a bit late for your next class as you lose track of time but when you finally do leave the room you make move to take off the jacket only to have Elvis's hand stop you.

"Keep it. Got a dozen like it at my house. Won't miss that one." He pauses before he shrugs. "'Sides, you look good in blue."

Your breath catches in your throat as you try and speak, try and tell him that you can't keep his jacket before a baser part of you, a part of you in the back of your mind wants to let him lay the claim on you. That's what you want, right? To have him want you enough to fall into bed with him and maybe you get to keep a trophy for once to go along with the one you'd leave him. His eyes rake over you for a second before he opens the door and motions you out. "Go on, out ya go, just tell 'em I kept ya real late. They'll understand, I can talk an ear off."

A nod is the only thing you manage as you leave, risking a glance back at him and seeing nothing but him closing the door. You think you hear him say something like "lord have mercy" but you figure you imagined it.

And so it goes throughout the semester, you wearing his jacket on certain days you see him, finding yourself in his office practically every day after class with the only exception being the occasional days you had plans in between his class and your other one. It becomes an integral part of your life, arguing with him in class as you take notes and arguing with him in his office in between sips of Pepsi and coffee and finding out more and more about him as a person. Noelle tries to press about how things are going- noting how you seem happier than she's ever seen you in an attempt to sleep with a professor. There's a thought you have to tell her, to pick her brain on if this is what a normal progression to something more as an adult is supposed to be but you find yourself wanting to keep whatever it is you're nurturing with Elvis a secret even if half of his Memphis Mafia has come in to see you grinning on his desk or him laughing with you on the couch. Their knowing looks say it all but you don't pay any mind for once and Elvis- well he does command them for a reason. Both of you are so used to each other's company that when you leave his office one day you can't help but notice he's looking a little more tired than normal and you find yourself frowning before you leave, your hand moving to cup his face with the sleeve of his suit jacket just covering your hand.

"Are you feeling alright? You look-" Worn out, tired, sick are all the words that come to mind before you settle on a single word. "Exhausted."

Unbidden, Elvis nuzzles into your hand, his eyes shutting momentarily before pulling away, realizing what he's doing. "'m fine. See ya after m'next class?"

Your frown deepens before you exhale as you nod. "Always. Get some rest, though, Elvis. Can't have you letting me win because you're tired."

"Never." His chuckle is soft before he shuts the door, leaning on it for a second before he moves to the couch to just take a nap. What you don't know is that Jerry and Joe find him after he misses his next class to teach and that they take him home, setting him up to rest before leaving.

Finding out that Elvis isn't there for the next class feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you. Sure it's a little chillier outside now, but that has nothing to do with the cold that seeps into your bones and has you hugging his jacket closer to you. You're not- You shouldn't be worried about him the way you are, you think. He's just your professor and while he's proven to be the nicest person and has proven to be so much more in general this isn't what you're supposed to do with a professor. This isn't- you know better, because they've always got a wife or a girlfriend or you're just the fling for the semester but it feels- you feel different with Elvis. Sometimes in his office you just do your work for other classes, enjoying the company of someone who you can talk to so easily after an invigorating time in his actual class. He never seems to mind, never makes a move to kick you out, instead choosing to kick back on his couch and read some text for the lesson plan for next week, occasionally asking you if you think he should tweak the plan. You had told him to tweak this week's plan about two weeks ago and you had been excited to see what he was going to do with it only to find him not here, instead a substitute- you think it might be Joe from the Memphis Mafia stepping in. You know this isn't his area of expertise, but you figure maybe he's one of the few people Elvis trusts to teach his class.

It goes by fine enough with a paper being assigned to make up for the fact that Elvis wasn't there. You find yourself wondering if he's alright, worrying if he's sick as you hear whispers from your classmates about the status of his health because "he had this problem last semester didn't he" and "not surprised, we've all seen how he is coming into class". You feel like you should have noticed something was up and done more to help before you realize you couldn't have because there's some things Elvis keeps close to his chest. The thoughts that run through your mind and envelop it to the point where before you realize it you find yourself at his office door, completely forgetting that he's not there- that he's not here for you to talk to. Once again you hug his jacket closer to you, sniffling as you head to your apartment before your next class. He- He'll have to be there for the class after this one. You just had to wait a couple of days to see him.

Those two days feel like some of the longest ones in your life, Noelle notices the change in your mood and asks if it has anything to do with the lack of Professor Presley today. Your answer- or lack thereof give her the only confirmation she needs before pulling you into a hug. She doesn't press beyond that, choosing to distract you with tales of how stupid everyone else is as the hours tick by until that Friday. You've got on one of your own jackets, choosing to leave behind his at your apartment just in case he isn't there again. As you put on the finishing touches to your paper you hear the tap of his cane and a tension you didn't realize was within your shoulders dissipates, causing them to droop down just a little before you feel his warm hand against your shoulder and his breath against your ear.

"Glad to see you where you're supposed to be." His voice is tired and tight but you can still hear the warmth and the rumble you like to think he only reserves for you.

"Always. Even when you're not here." You answer, turning a little try and look up at him before he shakes his head and mouths the word later to you as he slowly makes his way to the podium. He sits on the chair, a true rarity that has a few gasps including your own erupt from the class before he waves you all off.

"Stomach bug, still feeling a little off. Don't get used to it." He says before launching into the lesson plan a little more subdued than normal but still with enough vigor that the class barely misses a beat.

When it ends you see him still just sitting on the stool before he moves to get up with a grunt as you stand in front of him. "I owe you a meetin' don't I? Last class of the day, right?"

You nod, smiling softly. "You know my schedule too well, Elvis. Last class. So I can be in the office as long as I'd like. If you're not too-"

"Don't ya accuse me of being too tired, Y/N." He starts to walk to the door and motions for you to follow him. "'m older than you all. Can't always bounce back as quick. 'll be fine come Monday. Provided I can get through all these papers Joe decided on assigning y'all."

There's a response at the tip of your tongue that you swallow until you reach his office, watching as he flops onto the couch, his bag falling next to him and his cane following suit. You make sure to not startle him and sit on the coffee table in front of him, your hands moving to touch his knees as you speak. "I could help you with them. The papers I mean. I've- I'm pretty light on my classwork this weekend so I don't mind."

His eyes dart around your face, trying to find a lie in what you've said only to come up with nothing. You're being genuine in wanting to help him and that has a rush of fire traveling from his chest to every part of his body. He's gotten used to women he dates not necessarily caring the way you are right now. Not for the first time since his first class with you he finds himself falling more for you than he already was. It almost makes him feel like a younger man again, makes him feel like that young man tripping over his words with girls while also making him feel like that young man who had girls falling all over themselves for him because of his hips. He sees your face morphing into one of regret before he nods. "If- If you don't mind spendin' a while wit' me 'll definitely take the help."

A smile crosses your features as you grab his bag and start to pull out the papers, splitting the first pile out between the two of you and leaving the room to grab you both Pepsis. He watches you leave and exhales slowly rubbing his face with his hand, praying to every god he knew that he could keep himself in check with you acting so helpful near him like this. When you come back there's a moment where he's about to say something before he stops himself, allowing himself to just focus on the papers, kicking up his feet on the couch while you take his desk. His door is locked as to prevent interruptions and you both find that time passes by quicker than it does when you have conversations. He yawns, looking at the time to see that it's about 5PM and curses to himself. You had been there for five hours with him with no real break. Sparing a glance at you he sees that you're leaning your head on one hand and chewing a red pen with the other. The image of the pen entering your mouth has his cock showing a slight bit of interest before he shifts in his seat and coughs to get your attention.

"Y/N. It's gettin' late you- I'm plannin' on headin' home, 'less you wanna come wit' me, why don't ya just-"

You wave him away with a flap of your hand. "I'll come with you, just let me finish this one. I'm almost done." You pause and look up. "I- I don't have to come home with you."

He should tell you that you shouldn't come home with him and that if you did he didn't trust himself to not do something stupid but something about the way you sounded so earnest made him stop. He was a grown man, he could stop himself from being stupid with you. He could stop himself from pulling you in for a kiss and taking you to bed. He could resist the urge to do all those things, after all, wasn't he already? "I offered, darlin'. Just hurry up."

It takes you longer than you admit to finish looking over the paper as you keep getting distracted by looking at Elvis off and on. Watching him clean up his office just a bit before you finally finish and he whisks you away to his car a black cadillac that you feel fits him surprisingly well. The car ride is quiet and you both don't dare to look at the other for fear of saying something you might regret later. There's a thought in the back of your mind to make a move- that this would be the perfect time to make a move but you stomp down on that thought, knowing that this isn't right. This can't be the right time, not right after he's come back sick and looking haggard. No, you can wait just a little longer. Especially once you see just how big his house is. Honestly, you'd define it as a mansion if you're being one thousand percent honest but it's his as he casually reminds you as he opens the door for you to exit the car.

"Home sweet home." He pauses. "I have a lot of guests over and- the rooms help for them."

"I wasn't going to ask." You whisper, taking in the sights of everything as you enter the house.

Elvis tells you to get settled in the living room where you find a record player and a sea of records nearby. You know that sometimes Elvis like to incorporate gospel into his classes but these records aren't just gospel. In fact some of them are his records. Your ears hear Elvis's cane even as it's muffled by his carpet in the room and you can't help but ask the first question that comes to mind the longer you stare at the records.

"You used to do music?" You ask innocently enough as you flick through the records, stopping on one whose cover makes you chuckle a little to yourself as you pull it out. The man in front of you and the man on this cover are the same person- you can tell in the eyes but physically they're two very different people and as you glance back at Elvis setting down two Pepsi's and some you find this one is the one you prefer over the one on the cover.

His eyes flick up to you as you fiddle with his record player and place the record on it. He looks down at the floor, a rare show of bashfulness that you find yourself smiling at as he finally speaks. "Aw hell, yeah. Back before everythin', back before I got drafted I did. Stopped- right 'bout '60? Made my manager mad as hell but I couldn't do it no more. Constantly gettin' told I was doin' things wrong, being a bad impression on the youth. I wasn't that old ya know? Wasn't that much older than the youth they wanted to say I was corrupting. Like everythin' I did wasn't t'make sure my mama- god rest her soul- and my daddy and my grandma were taken care of." Elvis pauses when he realizes just what record you put on and he has to hold back the urge to just stare at you. Of all his songs. Now or Never?

He runs his tongue across the front of his mouth and just looks at you before crossing the room in a few short strides. A short exhale leaves your mouth, almost a reverse gasp as you find yourself a bit startled by the way a switch appeared to be flipped with him. You’ve never been the most demure but you find yourself looking down for a moment before you feel his hand underneath your chin. You find that your brain seems to shut down looking at Elvis. There’s something in his eyes as he looks at you, something that you can’t quite put your finger on but it’s heady and has your body shivering just slightly at the intensity of whatever emotion is hidden his blue eyes.

“Can I hear you sing?” You ask before scrunching up your face. In all the times you’ve been talking about class and occasionally about things outside of it, he had never mentioned a music career. This had to be something he didn’t like to talk about and here you were asking him to sing. Even though you want to hear it- you’re starting to- you have been caring about him too much to put him in too much discomfort. Your mouth opens to tell him he doesn’t have to before you hear it as he pulls you closer to him.

His voice is deeper than in the recording, fuller you suppose but it sounds no less beautiful, no less rich and inviting than it does on the recording. The vibrations of the song, of his lungs and of his throat and chest as he sings settle something you didn’t know was giving you a problem. It’s then that you take a chance, a stupid chance you feel like you might regret, of just leaning your head on his chest. He doesn’t push you away and he’s thankful you can’t see him looking at you, can’t see inside his head and realize that he wants to just stroke your hair. He wants to feel you this close to him more often than not, he wants to have you be this gentle and comfortable with him. It’s easy enough to tamp down on the urge though, to tamp down on even telling you this instead choosing to start to sway along with the music. You pick up quickly, swaying back and forth as you listen to him sing, noting that some lines seem to be getting more attention than others.

Maybe you're just imagining it, maybe it's just the natural cadence of the song but you shut your eyes as you sway, allowing yourself to pretend he's saying things like "my soul surrendered" and "I spent a lifetime waiting for the right time" to you. That he's singing those to you while in your bedroom, or maybe in another life while he's on stage, telling everyone that he loves his- girlfriend more than anything. You look up to try and meet his eyes only to realize that he's not looking at you so you sigh remembering it's only a fantasy but one you're willing to indulge in, perhaps one you can make a reality if you just took the plunge, if you just finally admitted to him that you wanted to be with him intimately and more. His heartbeat feels fast but you've never been close enough to listen, close enough to hear how his heart beats a strange percussion just for you. The song is reaching its end you think and you feel Elvis's lips- you think- on top of your head, kissing it softly as he practically whispers a line of "kiss me my darling, be mine tonight" against your hair.

He's asking you, he's begging you he thinks but you don't notice. You don't realize as you hum along as the song ends, his heart threatening to twist at how it feels so goddamn natural to have you like this- to have you in his arms. It's silly, what he does next and he's ready to play it off if you hear him but he places another kiss at the crown of your head and whispers soft as a church mouse "my love won't wait".

You can hear him just barely but your mind knows better, it knows that he can't be meaning that. This is just him trying to charm you like other professors have. Your heart though, your heart beats faster, threatening to escape from your chest after hearing it. Maybe- maybe you're not wrong, maybe you're not wrong when you think this is different. Maybe Elvis actually is different than the others. Still- you're not- you want to be the one to make the first move but not here, not in some place as intimate as his home. It's with a heavy heart that you pull back from him, looking up at him with a smile that you hope doesn't betray how delighted you are to hear what he's said to you.

"We should eat." You whisper, not trusting your voice to go any higher but figuring he can hear you even as the record flips to play some song with the words make me know it in it.

He pulls away fully from you and moves to sit down where he set the food and nods. "Course. Then we'll get back t'work."

As it turns out you only get about three more hours of work in before you hear him snoring lightly next to you in his lounge clothes. You don't know when he fell asleep but you see how his body is contorted into something that you figure is him trying to get comfortable and realize that maybe he might feel more comfortable sleeping in his own bed. Shaking him awake isn't the easiest thing but after about a minute he looks at you blearily, his eyes blinking to try and focus on you.

"Come on, big boy, to bed with you." You try and wiggle yourself under his arm, forcing him off the couch a little before he grumbles something and moves into a proper sitting position. He's still not standing up but it's progress, especially when he follows suit as you stand up from the couch, leaning just a bit on you as he tries to get his legs to work to move in the way you need him to.

Elvis is surprisingly easy to maneuver for someone who you'd think once he starts to doze off would practically be dead weight, but you still find that he leans on you a little more than you'd like, than you feel you can handle in the moment. Not for the first time tonight you find yourself looking at his face, seeing the little wrinkles by his eyes, seeing the stubble growing on his chin and realizing he looks exhausted and just at least mildly like he's seen better days. You feel your heart twist at the knowledge that even with you coming here tonight, he's likely in for less rest than you think he needs in the coming weeks trying to catch up. A part of you is thankful that Elvis had changed into his lounging clothes when the two of you had gotten to his house, after all if he hadn't have you might have had to help him change in his state right now and- you truly don't trust that you would have been able to keep your touches helpful and chaste.

As it stands you get him to the bed after pulling down the sheets and lightly push him to give him the hint to lay down. In a moment of clarity, he looks at you as if to voice his displeasure at the idea before he frowns and doesn't argue. Once he's settled himself in with your assistance when he gets his legs tangled in the sheet a little you pull the sheets up, almost tucking him in before placing a soft kiss upon his forehead. You're about to pull away before you feel his hand moving to grab your wrist and hear his sleep addled voice speaking.

"Stay 'ere, Belle. Stay wit'me."

You freeze, unable to move between his grip on your wrist and the shock of what he said just now coursing through your veins and bouncing in your brain. This has got to be a dream, you both fell asleep on the couch and you're dreaming. This is not real. His grip loosens as his eyes flutter shut and his head lolls to the side. You manage to pull away but not before you place yet another kiss to his forehead and walk over to the bedroom door. The words that leave your mouth are barely audible but you know what you say. "Not tonight, Elvis. Not tonight, my Big Daddy. Maybe another night."

The walk back to the couch is lonely and a bit cold if you're being honest, despite the heat in the house. Elvis's jacket is sitting on the couch in plain view of you as you hug your own jacket closer to you. Your eyes drift to the plates that you had left on the table before you head to clean them, setting them where they need to go. A thought crosses your mind to head home but you realize you don't have your car and you're not about to try and drive his home. The couch isn't an ideal place to sleep but you figure it'll do for tonight, at least until Elvis wakes up. There's no blankets around but there is his jacket and you allow yourself to cover yourself with it, inhaling the unique scent of cigars and old spice and everything else that makes up Elvis. The warmth of the jacket has your eyes falling shut quicker than you think is possible.

It's warm when you wake up, warm enough that you take more time than is perhaps necessary to actually open your eyes and register your surroundings. You shift just a little only to realize that where you are at the present moment and where you fell asleep are two completely different places. You had been on the couch alone covered in a mix of your jacket and Elvis's, inhaling the unique musk that was him. It made you feel as if you had taken him up on his offer and joined him in bed, his arms enveloping you and keeping you warm despite the slight chill in the house. You still can smell that unique musk and you can still feel the warmth that accompanied it but your eyes flit down to your waist where even in the dim early morning light you can see the outline of Elvis's arm, you can feel his arm wrapped around you pulling you close. You shift again, trying to see if there's any give to his arm only to have him tighten it as his head moves down to the back of your neck and nuzzles, growling ever so softly.

"Too early, darlin'. Stayin' right 'ere." He mumbles against your neck, placing soft kiss there. "No early bird this mornin'"

You can feel his arousal against your backside and you tamp down on the urge to grind against it, knowing that as much as you want to that's not what- you can't do that when he's still asleep like this. Still, a sigh erupts from your mouth as you feel him shift causing it to thrust up against you just a bit. How had you even gotten in here, last thing you had remembered was being on the couch. Had you walked back here in your sleep? Had you been craving his warmth and his embrace so much that you had done something as silly as this in your sleep? No, you- maybe you had. You needed to leave- you could stay here not for him to see you when you woke up. He had gone to bed alone even if he might not have fully realized it so he needed to wake up alone just the same. If he didn't maybe he'd- no Elvis wouldn't hurt you. He was different but you didn't want to risk the anger, risk seeing his face contort into something you didn't recognize because you let yourself be greedy before you had properly planned. You needed to talk to him before something like this happened. Every card needed to be on the table before you allowed yourself this guilty pleasure of waking up in his arms enveloped by a heat and what feels like maybe the first smatterings of an honest love.

It takes you twenty minutes to detangle yourself from Elvis's arms as you struggle not to wake him and as his arms tighten around you every time you so much as think of moving but you finally manage to grab a pillow that you use to replace your body slowly but surely as you move out of his grasp.

A pillow is a poor substitute for you, and you’re aware of it, knowing fully well that at best it’ll buy you maybe ten or twenty minutes before he’ll wake up and realize you’re not there. Even now you can hear him mumbling your name in his sleep interspersed with Belle, it makes your heart jump into your throat, seeing him clutch the pillow as if it’s the only thing allowing him happiness. He’s- even if he’s meaning you he doesn’t know you probably crawled in here after having a hard time falling asleep or that you slept walked into there. He wouldn’t have reacted well to seeing you in the bed with him, let alone as curled up together as you were. Even as he clutches the pillow he looks so happy, the smile playing on his face as he holds the pillow close. You knew you were doing the right thing, knew that if you didn’t he might regret letting you come to his house and everything up to this moment would be for naught and truthfully you’re not entirely sure your heart would be able to take the rejection that you figure would come when he awoke.

The overwhelming desire to stay there, to crawl back into bed with him chokes you the longer you look at him, look at the empty space beside him before you remind yourself why you’re leaving. Elvis won’t- he won’t do anything to you, you don’t think and yet. You allow yourself the pleasure of placing your hand in his hair, running it through the strands and hearing a relaxed sigh leave his mouth as any tension he had in his shoulders leave them. Before you go you place a kiss to his forehead, mirroring what you had done earlier that night and without much noise you sneak out of his bedroom, grabbing your jacket on the couch before you sneak out the front door as well.

Elvis wakes up about an hour later, his brain not catching on immediately to the fact that you had become a pillow, allowing himself to grind against it for a moment before his eyes shoot open and realize you’re gone. His brain blanks on anything but this one thought.

“Now you’ve gone and left me alone too?”

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