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bvbygrl-writes · 1 year ago

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Wash Day (Johnnie Guilbert x Black!Reader)

A/N: I had a dream about this last night so I gotta write it even though this probably will not resonate with a lot of people, idk how much of Johnnie's fanbase is black but if I exist there's gotta be more of us!

Word Count: 1.3k

It was that dreaded day that almost every black girl hated, Wash Day, and (Y/n) was no exception. People thought because she had locs that that made wash day less of a stressful problem due to the frequency she had to wash her hair. And why yes, locs were convenient for day to day life as all she had to do was mist her shit and go, wash day was not any less stressful for her.

After years of growing out her hair and keeping it natural, she had finally taken the steps to loc it and from the beginning, she had been the one in charge of her loc journey. She started them herself, dyed them herself, and did every retwist and style by herself (along with help from youtube of course). But she was tired and what do you do when you’re tired? Get your man to do it for you! Walking down the hallway, her freshly washed hair tossed up into an old and raggedy t-shirt, she busted through the bedroom door.

Johnnie was used to her antics at this point, barely budging from his spot on the bed. His blue eyes peered up to look at her, eyes focusing on the t-shirt on the top of her head. “Ran out of towels?” he asked, confused. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at him, walking over to the drawer (that was formerly for Johnnie’s t-shirts) and started to pull out all the products she needed for her hair. Metal clips, gel, ponytail holders, that ratty black comb for her roots, spray bottle with the combination of oils and conditions that worked for her hair, and oil for her scalp.

“Cotton shirts are better for your hair. You should probably switch to them too since white men tend to bald prematurely.” she quipped, peeking over her shoulder to smile at him. He laughed at her sass, shaking his head as he kicked his legs over to the side of the bed to face her. “You busy?”

“Not necessarily, I already filmed and edited my video for tomorrow. Why?” she hummed at his response, pondering for a moment before dropping all the hair on the bed next to him. Dropping the towel from her body and ignoring the feeling of the long stare on her backside, she grabbed one of Johnnie’s shirts and a pair of gray gym shorts. It didn’t matter to either of them that his shirts clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination, spots of the already dark shirt growing a bit darker from her wet skin.

“If I teach you how to do my hair, will you do it for me?” she asked, removing the soaked shirt from her head and tossing it into a random corner of the room. Johnnie froze, body stiffening up a bit. He had years and years of doing his own hair, dying it and cutting it since he was 13. Hell, he had even helped some of his friends with their own but never had he done anything with hair of (Y/n)’s texture, let alone locs. From what she had told him, locs could handle a lot but they can also be quite tedious and in some cases even be more fragile.And she had lovely ones, they were healthy, shiny, and reached just beyond her shoulders. He had watched his girlfriend style her locs into intricate styles, the hours it’d take her, and how tired she’d be afterwards.She never let anyone do it but herself, saying she didn’t trust anyone to not ‘mess her shit up’. What if he- “You’re not going to fuck it up, don’t worry. Imma walk you through it all, okay?” she said, stroking his cheek gently, the tip of her acrylic thumbnail lightly dragging across his cheek.

“Babe, I don’t know…”

“Pleaseee? Pleaseee? PLEASEEE?”

He sighed, walking behind the chair she had pulled in front of the bed, patting the headrest. “Fine, fine. Only if I can control the music.”

(Y/n) had taken 2ponytail holders, sectioning off the middle and front of her head, leaving the back down. “Okay, you see how my roots are kind of stuck together almost? What Imma need you to do first is gently pull them apart so we can have clean parts.” she instructed, demonstrating herself. Although she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by his silence that he was watching her intensely.

And she was right, with his lip pulled between his teeth, he watched the movements of her skilled hands. He nervously lifted his hands to the back of her head, grabbing two locs like he had seen her do. “Like this?” he asked, pulling a lot softer than she had instructed. She giggled some, leaning her head back to look at him.

“You gone have to pull it a bit harder than that, baby. You’re not gonna hurt me. Trust me, I’ll let you know if you were.” she reassured, readjusting her head. He nodded at her words, pulling and massaging at the connected roots, celebrating silently as the parts formed a clean line. “There ya go! Now, take some of that gel, and put it around the base of the loc and a little on the root. We do that so the retwist will hold and help the roots loc but also so it’ll be neat.” she said, demonstrating what to do. “Then, you’re gonna take the comb and run it through the root a little bit, use the edge to smooth it out, and then roll it in your hands like this.” he made a small noise of amazement as her hands rolled the loc between her palms. He knew she put a lot of work into her hair, but never did he realize exactly how much was going into it. That explains all the times he’d find her passed out on the couch, products scattered all along the floor and table.

“I never realized how much you had to do. I wish you would’ve told me sooner. I would’ve loved to help you out.” he said softly. Her heart soared at his words.

“It’s okay. This is only one row out of a shit ton more so let’s get through this!”

The sun had begun to set as they got to the front of (Y/n)’s head.Johnnie’s nerves had gone down a lot with (Y/n)’s constant encouragement and all of her jokes and by the time he got to the last row of the back, he felt like he was a pro! All the metal clips jingled as she turned the chair to face him, figuring it’d be better that way for him to get the front done. (Y/n) watched her lover’s face, a soft smile on her own at how focused he was. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he misted her hair. Leaning forward, she softly planted a kiss on his lips which he gladly reciprocated. It was short and sweet, full of appreciation for him helping her out. “Thank you, Johnnie.” she said softly.

“It was my pleasure, really. I’m glad you trust me enough to help you out. Plus, I’m a high school drop out. I’ll need another career option after Youtube dies.” he joked, causing them both to laugh at the thought of him as an emo loctician. “Annnd I’m done. What’do you think?” he asked.

Standing up, (Y/n) stretched, groaning as her body snapped, crackled, and popped from how long she had been sitting. Turning around, she looked in the mirror gasping a happy smile taking over her face. Johnnie had done an amazing job despite never doing anything of the sort. He watched happily as his girlfriend twirled around, admiring his work from all the different angles. The clips were still on, but you could still see from the preview that it was going to look great when it dried. Lunging forward, she threw herself into his arms, causing him to fall backward onto the bed. He made an ‘oof’ but reciprocated, wrapping his pale arms around her, burying his face in her neck, heart racing at the scent of shea butter and vanilla.

“You did so good!”

“Put your bonnet on before you mess it up!”

#x black reader #black reader #black!reader #black!fem!reader #poc reader #poc!reader #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert imagine

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paisleypens · 7 months ago

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too cool pt. 2 | spencer agnew x f!reader

the hair i’m crying.

thank you for the love on the last one!! here’s part 1

i was so busy recently but i love this story so let me know what you think! new part soon trust

~~~

In the days that followed their impromptu trip to the park, Spencer panicked over his feelings for Y/N. He hadn’t felt this close to anyone in a non platonic way in a while. After endless hours of thinking about her and their excursion, Spencer realized something haunting. No way was he cool enough for someone like her. Yes they could nerd out together, but why would she want to be with someone like that? He concluded that Y/N would never choose him as the ideal guy for her.

The next few days passed in a blur of meetings, rehearsals, and editing sessions. Spencer and Y/N maintained their easy rapport, but the unspoken tension simmered beneath the surface, growing more palpable with each passing interaction.

It was during a casual lunch break that the topic of relationships surfaced. They sat at a small table, sandwiches forgotten as they engaged in a lighthearted debate about romantic comedies.

"I've never been a fan of those over-the-top love stories," Spencer commented, taking a sip of his Kickstart.

Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, really? You’re too cool for a good slow-burn romance?"

Spencer chuckled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Well, I suppose there's something nice about the anticipation, the build-up between two people. But maybe I'm just not cool enough to get it."

Their eyes met briefly, a shared misunderstanding of their words passing between them before they both looked away, the moment lingering in the air like an unspoken confession.

As the days passed, their dance of denial continued. They buried their feelings beneath layers of professional camaraderie, exchanging playful banter and supportive gestures while tiptoeing around the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.

It was a delicate balance, a silent agreement to keep their emotions in check for the sake of their work and friendship. But with each passing day, the longing glances and fleeting touches spoke volumes, unspoken desires waiting to be acknowledged.

As the days turned into weeks and the unspoken tension between Spencer and Y/N continued to simmer, Spencer found himself grappling with a realization he couldn't ignore—he was falling for her.

It was an unusually quiet Tuesday afternoon in the office, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by a serene calm. Spencer sat at his desk, fingers tapping absently on the keyboard as he tried to focus. But his mind kept drifting, thoughts consumed by Y/N and the unspoken emotions that had taken root in his heart.

He replayed moments in his mind—the shared laughter, the stolen glances, the way her eyes lit up when they discussed their favorite games. Each memory was like a whispered confession, a testament to the depth of his feelings. Spencer leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't continue denying his feelings, couldn't keep pretending that his heart didn't ache every time Y/N walked away.

“Hey, you good man? You’re looking pretty… gone right now.” Spencer's friend and closest working relationship, Shayne Topp, asked him.

“Yeah… yeah uh what’s up?” Spencer coughed out.

“Well I was going to ask what your dinner plans are but… do you want to talk?” Shayne asked, his eyebrows sewing together in worry.

“No it’s dumb I don’t- I don’t even know what i’d say.” Spencer answered, slumping down in his chair farther.

“Shoot.”

“Well… I really like someone. I- I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t work, I can barely sleep when I could just stay up thinking about her.” Spencer admitted.

“Damn, to be honest I never thought I would see this day. What’s stopping you from getting her?” Shayne questioned, laughing at his school yard confession.

“I don’t man have you seen me?”

“Uh yeah you’re the ideal man.”

“Very funny. But no I'm serious she’s- let’s just say she is way too cool for me. Very far out of my league.”

“Dude have you seen my relationship? If you like her that much it’s dumb to torture yourself like this.”

“Yeah but, we're friends. What if I screw it up?”

“But what if you don’t?”

#smosh #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smoshblr #smosh x reader #smosh fanfiction #fluff #paisleypens

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sturniolo-rat · 8 months ago

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Chapter 1: Cherry Contact

A/N: If this flops, I’m going to cry😢 In loving memory of @newsourceofnonsense, she's not dead; I just like the memory of her.

Contains: smut, oral, fingering , exhibitionism, plot

TW: tell me if you find any

Chris and Y/N are two walking commitment issues that enter into a mutually assured attachment.

Everyone thinks Y/N is a book hoarder, but she considers herself more of a book collector. She has over 700 books that take up damn near her whole apartment. The collection consists primarily of special and first-edition books. It’s probably worth around $50,000, but she doesn’t care because she plans on keeping them forever. To fund her obsession, she works as a waitress at a restaurant that just opened up called “The Copper Kitchen.” her best friend, Dorset, is a freckle-faced white girl with short brown hair, green eyes, and circle glasses. She also happens to be a bartender at “The Copper Kitchen.” Currently, Y/N is outside of her apartment waiting for Dorset so they can carpool to work. When Dorset pulls up in her shitty car, Y/N is ecstatic because she has big news to share.

“Dot, I’ve done it!” she says as she hops into the passenger seat.

“Wh- what have you done?” She’s very concerned that Y/N has done something crazy. It wouldn’t be the first time. The last time something like this happened, she told Dorset that she got her ex’s name tattooed on her left ass cheek.

“I’ve decided to have sex with men again!”

Dorset is relieved. “OMG! Yes! We can finally fight over men again!” They laugh as she merges back onto the road to begin the short trip to work.

“Yep, I’m meeting a guy at the restaurant after my shift,” Y/N says proudly. She's been off men since her break up three years ago, and this new guy is the first not to give her the ick within the first week of talking. She knows meeting up doesn’t automatically mean sex, but she hasn’t had dick in 3 years and feels that she owes it to herself to fuck this man. It’s not like she’s interested in anything else from him. Romance is strictly off the table for her. She prefers to stick to smutty romance books and shitty Tumblr fanfics of perfectly romanticized versions of men.

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear all about your little hookup.” They part as they head to their respective jobs at the restaurant—time to deal with shitty customers who tip like assholes.

Twenty minutes before the end of her shift, the most obnoxious kids walk in. They’re not actually kids; they're about 20, but Y/N considers anyone under 22 a kid, and these guys seem incredibly immature.

“Hey guys!” Says Nick, holding up the camera. “Welcome to today’s Friday vlog where we will be…”

Matt takes the camera, “trying the food at…”

Chris gets into the shot and yells, “The Copper Kitchen!”

Nick hits Chris in the head “Don’t yell in my fucking ear!”

“Don’t hit me, Dickface!” Chris hits him back while Matt holds the camera and laughs to the side.

The Y/N comes up and loudly asks, “Is this your whole party?” She gives them a disapproving look.

Matt is the first to speak, “Yes, ma’am, it’s just the three of us today.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Nick and Chris in unison. Chris is noticeably more embarrassed than Nick is. He’s absolutely mortified to be seen acting like a child in front of such a beautiful woman.

“Thank you. Let me show you to your table.” She picks up three menus before walking them to their seats. Only when they’re all sitting and looking up at her does she realize that the three boys are triplets. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

She points to Matt. “Root beer, thanks.”

She points to Nick. “Water, if you don’t mind.”

She points to Chris. “What’s the best virgin mixed drink you guys have?”

“I’m not sure, but you can never go wrong with a Shirley Temple. Do you want me to go ask the bartender?” She would love to tell Dorset about the sexy triplets that just stumbled in.

“Nope, we’re all good. I’ll take a Shirley Temple and a Pepsi.”

“Great. I’ll be back in a few with your drinks.”

Y/N practically runs to Dorset. Chris can’t help but watch her ass as she walks to the bar to order his drink. When she returns a few minutes later, she hands Chris his drinks last.

“Thank you for the Pepsi, but this…” he lifts the mixed drink and hands it to her. “is for you, miss…” he pauses to look at her name tag. “Y/N. It’s an apology for making a scene in your restaurant.” Nick and Matt are in shock over how forward he’s being. Chris has never really flirted in front of them before. It’s kind of weird, but they can see why he has so many girls in and out of his room.

“Well, thank you…”

“Chris.” he interrupts. “Please, call me Chris.” he gives Y/N a charming smile.

“Thank you very much, Chris. However, my shift is over, and Michelle will serve you for the rest of the night.”

“I’m sorry to see you go, miss Y/N, but I hope you have a good day.”

“Will do, Chris,” says Y/N before she walks away to sit across the room at the bar. She talks to Dorset about her date tonight while she waits for him. His name is Theo. He’s blonde with deep brown eyes, and from what Y/N can tell from sexting, he’s so fucking good at dirty talk. Unfortunately, he is 30 minutes late to meet her.

Chris has been relatively quiet for today’s video. He’s been distracted watching Y/N enjoy his drink and seeing her smile and laugh with her friend. She looks somewhat distressed now, and Chris can't help but think he’s found his opening. He makes the boys wrap up the video and leaves to get Y/N’s number.

He turns on his charm and sits on the stool next to her. “What’s got you so worried, miss Y/N.”

“Pretty sure I’m being stood up. I’m also pretty sure people under 21 can’t sit at the bar.”

“Who says I’m not 21? Maybe I’m here to buy you another drink.”

Y/N cocks her eyebrow as she calls her friend over. “Order me something then.”

Chris tries to think his way out of this. “Listen, you guys are friends, right? She’s just been stood up, and a handsome young man would like to buy your friend a drink. I’m sure if you just forget to card me this one time and let me buy her a Shirley Temple with vodka and extra cherries, it would make her night ten times better.”

“My hands are tied, Y/N. You’re my weakness.” she looks to Chris. “Dirty Shirley coming right up.”

“You’re fuckin’ smooth, aren’t you?” asks Y/N.

Much more confident than he was moments before Chris responds, “Yes, ma’am, I am. Now tell me all about the bad man who hurt you.”

“I’m not really hurt,” she replies, but Chris can tell she’s hiding something.

“No?” he questions.

Dorset comes with her drink, and Y/N takes a nervous sip. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course you can, Miss Y/N.”

“I’m not hurt. I was just really horny, and I got my nails done for this date, and not I can’t even touch myself at home because my nails are so sharp,” she says, completely embarrassed. She doesn’t make eye contact with him and focuses intensely on eating her maraschino cherries.

“I don’t mean to be too forward, but…” he leans in, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “ I think I can help you with that.” She doesn’t miss a beat. She takes his hand and drags him to the large family bathroom. Dorset claps and cheers them on openly as they make their way. Y/N makes a mental note to get her back somehow later.

She palms him through his pants, and Chris grabs her face, pulling her into a rough, hurried kiss. “Oh, fuck. You taste like cherries.” he hikes up her uniform skirt and rubs her over her panties.

“You have yourself to thank for that.”

He spins her around so he can watch her face in the mirror as he touches her. “You’re also soaked. Do I have myself to thank for that, too?” before she can say anything, Chris’s finger is spreading her lips apart and playing at her entrance.

She closes her legs in response. “Nope, not so fast. You gotta eat it first.”

Chris sinks to his knees. “Yes, ma’am.” he wastes no time. He spreads her thighs apart, slides her panties to her knees, and starts lapping at her clit from behind. He’s got to be quick because his brothers are waiting for him.

She bends over the sink, propping herself up on her forearms. “Oh, fuck!” she groans.

“Hush, Cherry. Don’t want to get fired for fucking on the job, do we?.” The vibrations from his laugh makes Y/N’s pussy shiver causing her to wiggle a little. Chris loves watching her ass jiggle. “Has anyone ever eaten your ass?” he parts her cheeks and gives her a playful spank. “You have such a cute little asshole. Do you mind if I try?”

“Yeah, you can try,” she says sheepishly, hiding her face from the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget to give your clit some attention.”

“Oh, yes! Just like that!” Y/N cries out louder than she means to as his tongue explores her ass. He rubs her clit with the pad of his finger, and she lets out a breathy moan. Chris is hard as a fucking rock, and she’s making such pretty sounds. It’s torture not to touch himself, but he came here to help her out and needs to focus on making her cum.

“Yeah. Tell me how you like it.”

“Fingers, please,” she begs.

“Tell me how many you need, Cherry?”

“Two. Just two, please.” Y/N takes his fingers inside of her with ease. He searches for a moment to find that special spot of hers. “Right there!”

Chris is so happy with how open she’s been to him. The girls he’s been with recently have been so meek. She’s such a good girl telling him just where she needs him. He works his fingers into her faster, making sure to hit her G spot every time. Y/N starts pushing herself back on his fingers. Chris feels her pussy begin to tighten like a vice around him. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Cum for me, Cherry. Cum on my fingers.” her legs giveaway as her climax burns through her, and Chris has to hold her up as he tries to work her through it.

When her orgasm subsides and her vision comes back, Chris is on the floor holding her. She rests her head on his chest and says, “Thank you. That was fucking amazing.”

“Anytime, Cherry. I don’t expect any reciprocation today, but I feel I am owed your phone number.” He hands her his phone, and the new contact is already open.

“Of course, here’s my number, Chris.” she hands the phone back to him, gets back onto her feet, and pulls her panties up. She leaves without saying goodbye. Chris looks down at his phone and smiles at her contact name. “Y/N🍒 (Sexy Waitress)”

Masterlist

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missmaywemeetagain · 10 months ago

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Got a Lotta Lovin' to Do (A Scarf Universe Story) ❤️‍🔥

Okay, sooooo...this just came to me in a strange fit of inspiration this week. It's naughty but also a little sweet in concept. It may not be for everyone, so let's say it's currently canon adjacent for the Pink Scarf Universe...

This takes place a few months post A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving, in February of 1978. Yes, I know, we make it to '78 and there is something both heart wrenching but also wonderful in that, isn't there?

I wanted something that felt real but also a bit indulgent, and also wanted to bring our spitfire Sandy back into play. In fact, I made it from Sandy's perspective, which was a bit challenging considering the use of second person, but hopefully it makes sense!!

Premise is that Reader is in a fix, desperate to coax a very nervous Elvis back into her bed, and enlists her best friend Sandy to help in an unorthodox way.

Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about this one 😬 and am just sort of testing the waters as a preview, so let me know if you like it and want me to continue it! (Also, the turnaround was fast, so please excuse the semi-rough edit/revision! 🙏🏼)

xoxoxox, Madi 💗

(listen, I know this pic is much earlier than '78, but the vibe is right and the hint of silver at his roots seems applicable and has me in a chokehold, so bear with me here...)

TW: sexy smutty stuff, heading towards a threesome (mff/fmf), mention of medical issues/trauma, sassy Sandy, silver fox Elvis!!🦊

Got a Lotta Lovin’ to Do

February 1978

“Darlin’, you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?” he asks you. Elvis’ eyebrow is halfway to his hairline and he sounds more incredulous than hopeful, but Sandy can see the twinkle in his eyes when they slide over to her. It’s more than a cursory glance, one filled with questions and a latent heat. She wrestles with the urge to fidget under his gaze, clenching and unclenching her fists instead of looking away from his scrutiny.

She’s certainly never been one to back down from a fight, not even with the enigma that is Elvis Presley.

Especially not with him, she thinks.

But Elvis has never looked at her like this before and even knowing him as long as she has, she isn’t unaffected. Despite everything he’s been through this past year, he still has the ability to level a woman with a look, she’ll give him that.

His eyes slide back over to you, and Sandy can breathe again. It’s gonna be a long night, she thinks, if a mere glance has her feeling so exposed.

You nod, biting your lip, and she knows how nervous you are, how desperate you are for this to work. She grabs your hand in solidarity and you squeeze it in return.

If it were anyone but you, she wouldn’t have agreed to this. It is much too messy, but extraordinary people and circumstances call for extraordinary measures, and being in Elvis’ world has always meant living in shades of gray.

Sandy knows she’s the only one you’ll trust with this. For as much shit as she gives Elvis, she loves and cares about you both deeply, more than she might voice in mixed company. And you know she understands why this is so important.

Now the two of you just need to convince Elvis of it, too. Though by the increasing level of tension in the room and the way he adjusts himself in his seat, Sandy doesn’t think it’ll take much persuading.

He cuts quite the figure, sitting there in the plush, golden, velvet chair with his bejeweled fingers tapping a slow and steady rhythm out on the arms. After what happened last summer, he’d finally let his hair grow out to its natural color, the salt-and-pepper combined with glinting silvery streaks. It’s incredibly striking, giving him an even more handsome and regal air than before, if that’s possible. With his new post-recovery regime, he is looking good and, according to you, feeling healthier than he had in years. The result is attractive, to say the least.

But while that side of things improved, the sexual piece apparently has not.

Sandy and you perch on the edge of the bed, sitting so close you are pressed against each other, facing him, waiting for his verdict. Elvis takes in the two of you closely before sliding his eyes back over to her.

“And you, Sandra? You agreed to this?” His voice is laden with curiosity and surprise. She doesn’t blame him.

“Yes, with conditions,” she says, willing her voice to stay steady and calm when she’s feeling anything but.

He chuckles darkly. “Of course. I’d expect nothin’ less from you, honey.”

The endearment, one he’s used with her a million times over the years, now comes out laden and warm, sliding through her veins like liquid heat. She’s not sure how she feels about it, to be honest, but it’s a little late to turn back now.

Sandy looks at you for permission to continue. You nod.

“Okay, first, this is a one-time deal,” she begins, forcing herself to look him straight in those endlessly blue eyes.

His lips curve up with the beginning of a smirk and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking. She thinks it’s funny how he’s posturing, considering the whole reason she is here is to help bolster his confidence, but she supposes over twenty years of adoration from females makes his response a habit.

Honestly, it’s the stipulation she’s the least worried about, it being there more for your sake than hers, and it gives you all an out if this goes south. But boundaries are good for Elvis. So she quirks a brow back at him until he nods.

“Second, no one hears about this. It’s a nonstarter. No bragging to the guys, ever. No one outside this room can ever know…especially not Jerry.”

This is the one she is most worried about. While her marriage to Jerry ended over half a decade ago, on relatively decent terms considering the circumstances, she knows this would cut Jer to the core, and that is not why she’s here. Jerry isn’t in Elvis’ employ anymore, but they are still good friends, brothers even, and she doesn’t want to ruin their relationship.

A cloud of seriousness falls over Elvis’ face, banishing his earlier mirth, and that lets her know they are on the same page with this one, despite his terrible track record of secret keeping. “Done,” he says with finality.

“Good. Third, I reserve the right to bow out at any time,” she adds.

“Honey, I’d never force you to do somethin’ you din’t want to do. Ain’t never been like that and ain’t startin’ now,” he says with surprising gentleness.

She nods, expecting as much. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before the last request, mainly because she can’t believe she’s actually saying it out loud. Might as well just get it done.

“Finally, your dick stays out of my pussy.”

He chuckles at your frankness while you choke, coughing wildly—she hadn’t warned you about this one. It’s more the principle of the thing, really. She is along for the ride, sure, but in the end, she’s mostly here for your wellbeing. And by the way he looks at Sandy with something akin to respect and nods as she rubs his wife’s back, she knows he understands.

You eventually recover from Sandy’s bluntness, turning your attention back to your husband with a hopeful look in your eyes. “So, is this…I mean…do you want to do this, baby?”

For the first time, you see his trepidation, his overwhelm of the situation only barely covered by his mask of humor. This is what you’d been talking about, this reluctance and lack of self-assurance. When you’d come to her about the fact that Elvis hadn’t been intimate with you since the medical crisis that nearly killed him, it made perfect sense. Not only had he gone through something terrifying, but his surgeries also changed his body in ways that must have been uncomfortable. Coupled with extensive recovery and weaning off old medications and starting new ones, it was a recipe for disaster in the bedroom.

Sandy knew you had to be desperate for you to ask her for this kind of help. You knew it wasn’t because Elvis found you unattractive or didn’t love you anymore—he was afraid he couldn’t perform, afraid he couldn’t satisfy you, and you were afraid you’d hurt him somehow. It was obvious your sex life had been amazing in the past, though according to you, it had dwindled the sicker and more in denial about things he’d gotten. But for you to invite her into the bedroom to put the spark back in their marriage wasn’t something Sandy had expected.

Apparently, Elvis loved some girl-on-girl threesome action and had indulged in such things back before you and he had finally gotten together. You were never entirely comfortable with the idea when Elvis brought it up in the past—the idea of sharing him didn’t sit well and knowing Elvis, he’d make some poor woman fall in love with him or someone would talk and you’d be in a fix, so the idea had been nixed before it could take root.

But now you were frantic and willing to try almost anything, which apparently included asking your best friend to fool around with you and your husband.

It’s a matter of trust, you’d said, twiddling your fingers uncomfortably in Sandy’s kitchen, tears pooled in your eyes. You knew she’d never talk, knew she’d never betray you, and most importantly, knew she could separate sex from emotion and would never fall in love with your husband.

It was all true. How could she say no to you when you needed her help so badly? So, here she was, apprehensive but intrigued, waiting for Elvis to decide all of your fates.

“You can just watch, baby, if you want to, or whatever, it’s fine,” you encourage him when he seems frozen and unable to respond. Sandy can see you both floundering in indecision and fear and can’t stand it anymore. She’s never been one for patience or inaction, after all, so without further ado, she silences your pleas for your husband’s attention with her lips.

“Oh!” you exclaim in quiet surprise against her mouth, your hands flailing a bit in resistance.

Talking about something like this and doing it are two different things, Sandy knows, but she persists, kissing you gently, hands cupping your cheeks, until you relax enough to kiss her back. She can’t help but feel a little gratification when you sigh softly and yield to her, your hands flitting to the curve of her hips.

It would be stupid to say she didn’t find both you and Elvis attractive, but never in her wildest dreams had it been in the cards to have either of you, so she’d never dwelled much on it. But now, feeling the weight of his gaze as she laps her tongue between your lips, testing your willingness to do this, her body lights on fire.

She pushes through the foreign feeling of being watched so intimately, knowing this is just as much about putting on a good show than anything else, but she didn’t expect it to be quite so tantalizing. Something about being the one to take charge sends a thrill down her spine. Dragging her lips down your neck to your collarbone, she knows she’s not imagining the rapid fluttering of your pulse under her lips or the way you lean back to give her more access.

You’ve never been with a woman, but she knows it’s been a long time since you’ve had attention of this sort from your man, either so when Sandy trails her fingers down over your breast, she feels the jolt go through you. Her moves are deliberate but slow, allowing you to acclimate, allowing Elvis to take in every movement.

She can’t help the warmth pooling in her belly when she palms the heaviness of your breast, pinching your clothed nipple and you gasp, arching into her with genuine willingness.

“Lord have mercy,” Elvis huffs quietly, and you both know you have him.

It’s much too easy, then, to unbutton your blouse, exposing the white lace bra underneath before pulling hers up over her head to reveal her own. You’d been clear about the white—apparently he gets all kinds of excited about little white underthings—and far be it for her to ignore such a titillating detail.

Sandy takes it upon herself to continue the play, pressing her lips to the soft skin of your décolletage, following the soft rise of your breasts before nuzzling and nipping at the dusky areola peek-a-booing through the lace. Mewling and pawing at her head, you are strung so tight Sandy thinks you’re not acting in the least.

It’s a little strange, this softness of your curves against her own, but pleasant. Moreover is the deep satisfaction in her belly at drawing little whimpers out of you as she kisses and reveals more of your skin. Even more surprising is the gratification of bringing something out of both you and your husband that has been out of reach for much too long.

Your fingers cart through her hair, manicured nails tickling her scalp in a way that makes her vibrate. She arches at the contact and looks up at you with a coy smile, sliding a hand up your smooth leg and under the hem of your skirt.

Elvis clears his throat, interrupting them. “Be good lil’ girls f’me and s-strip down to your panties,” he says in a gravelly voice Sandy has never been privy to hearing. A shiver runs down her spine, melting and churning with all the new feelings the evening is bringing. His tone is halfway between a need and a command and neither of you need to be asked twice.

Her inhibitions fall to the floor in a heap along with pants and skirts and bras. Never once in her life did she expect to feel Elvis’ heavy, heated gaze turned on her nearly naked form but now that it’s happening, she can’t help but squirm a little. She has nothing to prove and is usually confident in her skin, but she’s certainly not a young woman anymore, her body soft and curvy with the changes age brings. Her only consolation is at least the three of you are in relatively the same boat in that regard.

Sneaking a glance at Elvis, she is bit relieved to find his examination admiring rather than turned off. Though, considering he has two naked women ready to do his bidding, it seems the natural response.

“Don’t be shy, Satnin. I’m sure Sandra won’t bite toohard if you touch her,” he muses, those bedroom eyes of his flickering with lust. You giggle nervously and then look to Sandy for permission, which she gives with a nod and a reassuring smile.

Your caress is timid at first, then more exploratory of her body than she expects. Maybe it’s the resounding hum of encouragement from your husband giving you more confidence or just pure sexual energy and curiosity, but whatever it is has Sandy feeling delightful. A tweak of a nipple here. A soft tongue there. Hands and mouths finding a rhythm of pleasure.

Sandy palms your bottom, running her fingertips down along the seam of your white underwear, when Elvis cuts in, his voice thick with desire:

“Play with her an’ make her feel good, Sandra.”

Tingles erupt over her skin. She follows orders, sliding her hand down into your panties and through your soft curls until she reaches your hooded clit. She rubs gently, like she would do to herself, and you gasp in her mouth, body bowing to get more friction.

After a few moments, the unmistakable sound of a zipper clicks through the air. Her body suddenly burns with the scandalous nature of it all, and her excitement surprises her.

“Is she wet?” he asks Sandy.

Sliding her fingers down, she can feel the slick of your arousal on her fingertips.

“Yes,” she says unabashedly.

A pause.

“Are you?” His voice is low and dripping with honey.

A pulse of heat starts throbbing in her core, and for the first time tonight, she stumbles over her words, suddenly breathless. “I…I think so?”

“Honey, see if you’re makin’ Sandra excited,” he commands you, then with humor adds, “She apparently doesn’t know.”

Sandy throws a glare Elvis’ way but then your fingers are cold against the blazing heat of her muff, a sensation which makes her jump as you glide your fingers over sensitive, slick skin.

“She’s soaked,” you relay demurely, and all at once Sandy feels like the tables have turned in this little tableau.

“Show me. Both of you.”

His demand makes her stomach drop, like she’s on a roller coaster.

She feels disappointed when you pull your hand away, and the sentiment feels mutual. Both of you display your shining fingers in the dim light.

Elvis crooks his finger and beckons you both closer.

There’s no helping the curious way her eyes drift down and land on his dusky pink cock, the head peeking out from his foreskin, dripping and standing at full attention now he’s been released from the confines of his black pants. Sandy’s mouth goes dry when she realizes just how much nature has blessed him in ways other than his talent.

Is it wrong that she wants to touch it, to feel the heavy heat of him in her palm? To make him shudder underneath her touch? Perhaps so. The itch to torture him with her body just a little for every cunning remark and every dumbass selfish move he’s made in the last 15 years is strong and it makes her tingle just to think of.

He must read the look on her face because his eyes go a bit wide with something unreadable before narrowing with laser focus.

Her heart starts thudding against her ribcage, all the blood rushing out of her head when he wraps his large hand around her wrist, dwarfing it, and pulls her between his spread muscular thighs. Then he draws those glistening fingers of hers right into his mouth.

She gasps. Every nerve in her body is set alight with fireworks as he sucks her fingers clean of his wife’s arousal, his tongue warm and soft and oh-so thorough.

It’s her whimpering now as he pins her with his flaming eyes. Her breath catches. His mouth pops off her digits.

“Mmm…sweet as a sundae. You’ll see, Sandra Dee.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his handsome face as he releases her wrist.

Being on the other end of that devastating smile, especially in a situation like this, has her trembling. It pisses her off a little, actually, that he’s having this effect, and by the glint in his eye, he knows it.

Like he’s saying, Game on.

Then, he looks to you, pulling you close. His mischievousness softens slightly. Sandy is glad to see under the red flush of pleasure on your cheeks there is also a look of relief on your face, as if you are thinking, “Oh, thank heavens, it’s working.”

Sandy steps back, happy to give the couple space, but Elvis’ hand shoots out, latching onto her arm.

“Nuh uh, now where d’ya think you’re goin’?” It’s husky and playful but also fraught with an undercurrent of tension, as though he’s not quite ready and maybe a little nervous about being alone with his wife. He keeps his hand on her arm but turns his attention to you.

“Haven’t sampled another pussy in a loooong time, lil’ mama,” he drawls up at you, “Ya sure you wanna give daddy a taste?” His brow quirks, asking for permission, making sure you’re still comfortable with this arrangement you’ve surprised him with. The words are confident, but Sandy can hear the gravity behind them.

You nod encouragingly. “Yes.”

“Mm’kay then,” and then he sucks your fingers right into his mouth.

Sandy can’t help but blush wildly as she watches him savor her off his wife’s hand. And it’s positively obscene the way he opens his eyes and stares into hers brazenly as he does it.

Never has she felt quite so exposed. Arousal swirls in her core, betraying all her sensibilities.

Elvis runs his tongue under his upper lip after he’s done, where he lets it peek out at the corner of his mouth with a smirk. “Now ain’t that jus’ the cherry on top,” he purrs, eyes sparkling.

Sandy hates how she goes a bit weak in the knees at that. God, this man infuriates her, always has in that loving way of his, but this is a whole different level of understanding and intimacy she’s not accustomed to with him.

But whether she likes it or not, her body is absolutely buzzing with anticipation for the both of you, as evidenced by the way she clenches her thighs and the way her panties get just a little bit more ruined.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Elvis, and his gaze darkens.

Oh, it’s gonna be a long night, alright.

A long night, indeed.

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

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#got a lotta lovin' to do #a scarf universe story #pink scarf #pink scarf universe #elvis presley #elvis #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presely smut

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canofwyrmz · 2 months ago

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My Tourette's recently came back from "remission" (unsure if that's the right term in context, but alas) and i am so pissed off thinking about fake claiming again.

To anyone out there discrediting me off the bat, yes, I have been officially diagnosed by medical professionals. I meet as many of your bullshit little criteria as your heart could desire for who "really" has Tourette's.

The truth of the matter is that you will never conclusively know if someone is "faking" any disability, but Tourette's is a good example here. There are so many things about Tourette's that make it a perfect disorder for fake claimers to sink their little teeth into. I've been perusing the fakedisordercringe subreddit, kinda trying to bait myself into getting angry, and I've been particularly looking at the traits they claim are telltale signs of a faker.

The catch: almost all of these traits are normal parts of the spectrum disorder that is Tourette's, or very easily explained in context.

For instance:

"In this video they're ticcing every few seconds, but in their old videos they never tic."

1. Tics vary from minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day, etc. I had a year and a half where my Tourette's was almost non-existent. I very occasionally had minor facial tics, but that was it! Waxing and waning of symptoms is incredibly normal for tic disorders, in face, tic disorders very often go away with age, or at least get better. Some people's tics get worse with age though.

This isn't even to mention medication! Some people take medication for Tourette's, and this may heavily impact the severity/frequency of tics. It's rude asf to ask a stranger their medication status, but personally, I was prescribed Guanfacine for my tics. It made me sleep so much that it was a worse experience than having my full force tics. I went off the medication, and started ticcing more! It's also true that other medications not specifically prescribed in the aim of reducing tics can also have an impact on them. I have a hunch that the Abilify I was taking the last couple years is what might've put my Tourette's nigh fully into remission during that period. How medication intersects with someone's experience is very complicated and individual. You know what they say about assuming.

Another piece worth mentioning is the fact that Tourette's is a syndrome, as opposed to a disease. A disease has a known, single root cause for the condition, i.e. a bacterium, a virus, a known mutation. Syndromes are names for clusters of symptoms that occur together often enough to be recognized as their own things, but without a shared or known root cause. People have Tourette's (or any tic disorder really) for many different reasons! This is why no two people who tic do so in the same way, there are many root neurological/biological causes that are all producing the same general symptoms.

2. Tic disorders can have a very rapid onset, and they can appear at any age (although before late teens is most common). Mine started over a few days, from absolutely no tics, to uncontrollable and severe attacks.

3. Tics can be very dependent on environmental triggers. Stress, excitement, level of focus, repetitive noises (including other people ticcing!), energy level, et cetera are all common triggers for tics. One person's trigger might be another person's tic relaxant. It varies for each individual; I personally tic much more frequently at work as of late, because the environment is very stressful, loud, and repetitive.

4. If you're watching a video, you're seeing someone's curated public image. They might suppress tics for the camera. They might film on mild tic days. They might edit out tics. They might be ticcing just as often, but invisibly (e.g. right now I have several tics that involve my tongue, totally invisible to everyone else!).

"Their tics look forced though."

Lots of tics do look forced, especially complex tics (tics involving multiple muscle groups), but they are still unvoluntary or involuntary. You have absolutely zero ways to tell apart a tic that looks forced from a tic that is forced. "They tic too much."

Discussing tics is a very, very common trigger for said tics. Filming yourself talking about your tics is likely to trigger them. Some people tic a lot, or very violently, all the time! Some people only tic severely occasionally! See above for the variability of tics, even within a single person.

"They don't tic enough."

Focusing on something, i.e. speaking to the camera, will reduce tic frequency or severity for some people. For some it makes it worse. Again, see above for the variability of tics!

"They have too many common/cute tics."

You can catch tics. If someone's involved with a lot of disability spaces or spends time around other people with a tic disorder, they'll likely pick up some of those common tics. Not everyone gets contagious tics, but most people seem to.

"Their tics are too convenient."

Many people with tics are able to redirect the premonitory urge toward a different, sometimes milder tic (e.g. one of my current tics is clenching my face, and shutting my eyes hard for several seconds. Driving seems to let me focus enough to not be too encumbered by tics, but when I do feel like I'm going to do an eye-shutting tic, I'll usually redirect it to a different body part, or sometimes just one eye instead of both). Not all people w/ tics are able to redirect tics and have absolutely no control over them. For those who can, though, this may cause their tics to look "convenient" in that they're keeping the reigns on the more inconvenient tics. See above for why someone might (or might not!) tic more on camera.

(Assuming they're faking already): "If they really understood Tourette's they wouldn't fake it because it's just so awful and horrible and impossible to live with, it's a curse that ruins people's lives!"

Most disabled people don't want your half-hearted pity. For the love of GOD, do not use the severity of some people's tic disorders as a weapon against that same community. Yes, some people are significantly impaired by their tic disorder; it's a disability. That doesn't mean you should treat the few disabled people you believe like sick little wet kittens with terminal cancer, and the rest of us like we're attention seeking fakers who are an acceptable target for absolutely vile harassment and dehumanization.

And some broader ones that are often used against many other disabled people:

"They're not diagnosed."

You do not become disabled upon diagnosis. Diagnosis is descriptive, not prescriptive; your disability is no more or less real due to dx status.

"They already have sooo many disabilities though."

Disabilities are more common than you think, and tend to occur together. For example, Tourette's is heavily associated with Autism, ADHD, Anxiety, Depression, and especially OCD. Please don't give me your amateur statistics work that assumes occurrence of disability is an entirely isolated variable.

"They have blue hair and pronouns."

Queer people are more likely to be disabled, disabled people are more likely to be Queer. For instance, Queer people are especially prone to Autism, among other disabilities, which puts one at a significantly higher predisposition to tic disorders.

"They talk about their disability/disabilities too much."

Disabilities affect people's daily lives, and if they want to talk about how that impacts them, stfu and listen! If someone wants to spread awareness or acceptance of their disability, stfu and listen! If you don't want to listen, stfu and go away.

There's more. There's a lot more. I could continue writing this for the rest of the afternoon, and I'd still have more to talk about. I've been thinking about Tourette's a lot more since mine came back just recently, and I think a well organized post like this is a good thing to put out there. The takeaway is really that you can never look inside someone else's head. The convolutions of others' minds are a lockbox to which they themselves are the lone key-owners.

I feel like the least we can do for each other is give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

Yes, I'm aware that some people do in fact fake disabilities. My point is not to refute the mere existence of people faking their disability, but to say we cannot know who they are. We must treat everyone as though they are being honest, because everyone is deserving of that kind of dignity by default. This paranoia about who is and is not "really disabled" does us absolutely no good, it hurts innocent people in the process, likely many, many more than any "actual" fakers (by whatever standard you even truly measure that).

As an aside, even if someone is honest to god faking, they're probably not doing just peachy. Someone desperate for that kind of attention probably needs that attention. Something is wrong, and this is their way to express their need for help. When has it ever done any good to shame and mock people who are unwell? Some people really truly do just want to feel justified in mistreating the most vulnerable members of society.

#the seriouses #posting #Tourettes #Tourette syndrome #disability #seriousposting

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http-paprika · 1 year ago

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All American Bitch / Alex Keller

my submission for @glitterypirateduck ‘s Alex Keller Challenge, with the prompts I don’t care what they say, you can do better than that, are you flirting or starting a fight, and is this what you wanted

wc 1260 / pairing alex keller x f!reader / warnings swearing, suggestive content but nothing graphic / reader's digression advised

summary after being snubbed countless times by your supervisor, alex decides to help you alleviate your rage.

notes yes the title and fic are inspired by the olivia rodrigo song. alex refers to reader as boss but she's not his boss. he still works with the CIA in this fic and i have no idea how the CIA works, so, inaccuracies. also, i wrote this on my phone while i had nothing to do at work, so it’s not edited.

It had been a long day, nauseatingly long as you finally managed to escape meeting after meeting, brutal briefings and overall snubbing you received from your supervisor. Your case, the one you’d spent months meticulously gathering intel, fighting tooth and nail to be given the resources needed to get off the ground, had been snatched right from under you. And all in favor of your supervisor’s asshole of a son who had spent the day gloating over the fact that it was now his case, and you would have to answer to him.

You fumed with rage, having forced yourself to hold it all in, you didn’t need to be punished further. The CIA had already beat you up enough, denying you promotions and undermining your work. And were it not for Laswell convincing you to stay, and your pretty boyfriend, you tell yourself you’d leave. It was clear enough that you were replaceable, they might not say it out loud, but your employers make it known. It didn’t matter how long you’d been there or how hard you worked, it was never enough for them.

“Hey! I finally got that report you asked for, was a little difficult, had to use some of my Keller charm but I—“ Alex enters your office— the one you shared with a co-worker who never showed up but still had his job— freezing and dropping his signature grin when he spotted the hot, red anger that painted your face.

“Give the report to Aarons.” You snap back at him, a little too harshly. Quickly, you reel yourself in, apologizing profusely to Alex. Because a girl like you always had to be forgiving and kind, even if you were angry at everything around you.

“Why’d I give it to Aarons? It’s not his case, you’re the leader, he’s just a glorified desk jockey.” Your boyfriend chuckles, dropping the manilla folder down on your desk while he leans against it. “Can’t even speak Arabic, the only reason he’s got a passport is so he can vacation in the Bahamas. The hell would he do in Urzikstan?”

Alex’s points only added fuel to your growing flame, reminding you that it was by name alone at Aarons had been handed over the job. The man was inexperienced, prideful, and would throw anyone under the bus to save his own ass, and with your horrid luck, it would be you if the mission went south.

“What’s wrong, boss? Why do you look like a firecracker that can’t explode?” He sobers up, wanting to find the root of the problem, like always. You’d compared him once to a loyal golden retriever and the image stuck in your mind since. It was almost endearing how eager Alex was to help you and keep you happy.

“Aarons is in charge of the mission from now on, they didn’t even say anything to me until this morning when they announced it to the whole team. I got fucking blindsided!” You exclaim, letting the anger seep into your words before recollecting yourself. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear my complaining.”

If anyone else heard the complaining or the loud, violent anger, you knew you’d get written up. Giving your supervisor even more of a reason to take what you’d fought for and give to his trust fund son. And that pissed you off, you couldn’t have anything anymore it seemed, you couldn’t do anything without it being seen as wrong. Even your relationship with Alex had been criticized by your employers for being unprofessional, despite how many of your other co-workers dated around the office.

“Aren’t you the one who tells me I shouldn’t be making assumptions? So how do you know I don’t want to hear it? Come on, boss. Hit me with it, give me your best shot. I can handle a bit of anger, I’ve seen worse.” The last sentence made you raise an eyebrow, coming to realize that he was purposefully riling you up. Alex wanted to get under your skin, make you kick and scream until you’d blown off enough steam.

“I’m not doing this,” You state, annoyed by his proposition. The antics he could get away with, you didn’t have the luxury of. Alex was the star operative, he could do no wrong in the eyes of your supervisors. And sometimes, it rubbed you wrong.

“Aren’t you sick of being the better man, boss? Letting them walk all over you, taking away your credit? Come on, where’s your backbone? You can do better than that.” Taking deep breaths, you try to ignore him as he starts impersonating Aarons, waiting to see how long it would take you to finally let loose and scream. Alex knows you too well, knows how you swallow back your words and attempt to stay the picture perfect operator. Knows that despite your countless attempts, they wouldn’t see how talented and wonderful you were, not like he would.

“I told you, I’m not doing this.” Still though, you held back even as your anger ebbed away at you. He shook his head, amazed by your stubbornness and moved around the desk so that he was now behind you. His large hands resting on your shoulders, messaging them and loosening your tightened muscles.

“One way or another, I’m gonna get that frustration out of you boss. You’re just gonna decide how you want it.” His voice is like honey, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear before he moves his mouth down, peppering kisses underneath the collar of your shirt, leaving small marks where no one else but him would see.

“Alex—“ You groan, knowing the problems that could arise because of his behavior. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“So? Let them, boss, I don’t care what they say. They’re jealous of you anyway, how smart you are—“ He says, sucking on your tender skin, causing you to reach up and grab onto his hair. “—How talented you are, how fucking gorgeous you look when you’re working. You make me the luckiest man in this whole goddamn place.”

His instant praises continue as he moves his hands to the hem of your shirt, squeezing and running his hands over your soft skin. You can feel the tension easing, your head spinning as he kisses along your jaw. “Feeling better yet, boss? Or do you need more?”

You bite back a moan as his hands grip at the sensitive skin, moving them up under your bra and kneading. His mouth never lets up, staying attached to your neck, alternating from biting and kissing. After you squeeze your eyes shut, you think you’re seeing stars right there in your office, and when he abruptly stops you let out an annoyed huff.

“Is this what you wanted?” You ask him, having come completely undone and turning into a panting, shivering mess. Your body aching for the warmth of his hands.

Cupping your chin, Alex makes you look up at him, his pale blue eyes gleaming along with a smirk on his face. “I don’t know. Did I instill enough confidence in you to go get what’s yours?”

“Is this an attempt at flirting with me, or getting me to start a fight with Aarons?” His smirk manages to grow bigger at your question, and he bends down pressing a kiss on your lips.

“I support women’s rights. And wrongs, boss. Give him fucking hell if you want.”

#alexkellerchallange #alex keller #alex keller cod #alex keller call of duty #oh the things he could do to me #gpd challenge #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mw #alex keller x reader #alex keller x y/n #alex keller x you #i’m a mess #song inspired fanfic #all american bitch #olivia rodrigo inspired

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sevsbestfriend · 3 months ago

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Severus could still feel his Occlumency slipping away. Heaven was a place for souls, and since there were no bodies, there was nothing physical for his magic to interact with. This meant there was no Occlumency in the afterlife. For now, he could still hold on, keep 'Sev' locked away, keep Sev safe.

Lily looked pained. "You didn’t love me, Severus," she said. "If you did, you would have loved all of me. You would have tried to save my husband and my child, but you didn’t—you only wanted me."

She pressed on. "What did you think would happen if Voldemort spared me? That I would be tied up and thrown into your bed as a gift?"

Severus flinched, his mind whirling as he tried to regain control of his emotions. His Occlumency was failing him.

"That is most likely what would have happened, yes." Severus didn’t bother addressing that any further.

""What... what do you suppose I should have done then?" Severus's voice grew louder. "Asked the Dark Lord to spare the life of the boy destined to kill him? How do you reckon that would have gone?" He could feel his control slipping further. He needed to leave before he lost it completely, but the need to be understood by the one person who had once been his light kept him rooted to the spot..

Edit: If anyone actually reads this, this is actually the continuation of other posts under the tag #lily and sev afterlife talk.

Sev was speaking before, now it's Severus

#lily and sev afterlife talk #pro snape #severus snape #lily evans #hp fandom #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #snily

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manygeese · 1 month ago

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Chapter three guys 💅 Leo’s Gay Little Crisis edition!!!

Tag list AND tumblr version under the cut :)

The afternoon sun turned the wheat a pretty shade of amber, warming the air just enough to make for a nice bike ride home.

Luckily, Leo’s bike wasn’t harmed in the crash that morning. Honestly, it was dramatic of him to even call it a crash. He hadn’t even made contact with the other guy. It was more like he had lost momentum trying to not hit the man and forgot he had to keep the front wheel spinning in order to keep going.

It had been a normal day- Tina had finished painting her birdhouse, which looked gorgeous, Dave and Layla had played patty cake instead of doing their projects, and Annabeth had yet again commandeered him after school to help with the theater sets.

Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a normal day was ruined by the urge he had to keep staring at the new farmhand. What did Piper say his name was? Jason? Huh. What a coincidence- didn’t the bike crash guy have the same name?

His bike involuntarily skidded to a halt once he caught a glance of the man walking in the wheat field. The guy- definitely the same Jason from that morning- was blond, wearing a shirt with rolled-up sleeves and jeans, carrying a sheaf of wheat on each shoulder. Even from a distance, Leo could tell the man had muscles, probably good ones. Amazing ones, even. Jason probably could carry Leo if he tried (who was he kidding, Jason wouldn’t even have to try).

Leo’s first thought? Goddamn, he’s hot.

Leo’s second thought? Oh. Oh, shit. Am I gay?

For a good several minutes, Leo was rooted to the pavement, having something of a crisis. All of his past relationships were put in a new, suspiciously homosexual, light.

There was Percy, a friend of Leo’s who lived a few streets over, closer to Town Center. They had been near inseparable in middle school. He recalled all the gym classes he spent fully gawking at Percy, turning various shades of red in the dressing room, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone. He remembered all the times he spent following Percy around Town Center on Fridays, just because Percy wanted to go to the library or get some candy at the gas station. It dawned on Leo that perhaps feeling butterflies whenever his best friend clapped him on the back, ruffled his hair, or hugged him wasn’t entirely straight.

Then there was Reyna, a childhood friend from back before his mom died. She was out in California for university now, though. His mom and Reyna’s had been best friends, which led to many play dates between the two of them. At one point, Leo told his mom that he had a crush on Reyna just to make her happy. At least, he thought it made her happy. He never got to ask.

And Nico- Nico was a biology teacher over at the high school where Leo worked. They were best friends (they ate lunch together). Thing was, Nico was openly gay and in a relationship with Will, who worked at the McLean farm. Before… he had seen Jason in the field, yeah, let’s go with that, Leo supposed he was jealous of the fact that Nico had a relationship in general. But was he jealous of Percy for having Annabeth as a girlfriend? No. Was he jealous of Frank for having Hazel as a fiancée? No. Was he jealous of Nico for having a boyfriend? A voice deep down told him yes, and it was about damn time to admit that.

And, oh, Calypso. Oh, god, Calypso. Leo got nauseous with guilt just at the thought of her.

They’d known each other for a good chunk of their lives, though now she was studying abroad and they didn’t keep in touch. They had gotten together in 7th grade after her father suggested that they’d make a cute couple. Calypso had asked him out to the spring dance, he’d said yes, and the rest was history.

High school came and went, and they’d stayed something resembling strong. They had even lasted until they graduated college, certainly a feat for a first relationship.

Everything had changed when they finished college, though. Calypso’s father perpetually seemed to be asking when they would get married, if Leo was looking at rings yet, if they wanted a spring or fall wedding, things like that. Calypso had always gotten a pained look when it was brought up, masking it with a laugh and a “oh, who knows, he likes to keep me on the edge of my seat”. Leo had just sat there with Calypso’s father’s eyes burning into him and a feeling the man would never be satisfied with the answer.

Ultimately, they had broken up, managing to make it both mutual and the messiest thing ever. The months before the break up had been filled with nights of yelling, accusations of apathy, and building frustration. “We just weren’t right for each other,” they both said to questioning friends, but this… situation made Leo realize just how right that statement was.

With a shudder, Leo wheeled his bike the rest of the way to the farmhouse and walked into the greenhouse where Piper was waiting. There were no thoughts behind his eyes besides one: he’d been lying to everyone. For twenty seven years, he’d been lying to everyone.

Oh, good lord, he’d lied to Calypso. She’d wasted ten years on him. He should have known he didn’t deserve Calypso in the first place. If he had just said no to that stupid invitation to that stupid dance, she’d be happy. She certainly wasn’t happy with him- never was. How could anybody be happy with Leo?

Worse, he had lied to his mother. If she was up in heaven still thinking he had a crush on Reyna, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Was the smile and “that’s great, mijo” worth leading on a girl for a decade? Even with how stupid he felt, Leo could realize it wasn’t.

Percy still thought they had never been anything but friends. Hell, Leo had thought they had never been anything but friends until ten minutes ago. How the fuck was he gonna tell Percy about this?

Nico, in all honesty, wouldn’t care, but Leo’s mind had worked itself into a panic, so that thought wasn’t doing much good.

Piper shook him out of his trance quite literally. She’d been shaking him for a solid ten seconds before he finally put a hand to where hers was on his shoulder and snapped, “what?”

Piper’s brow furrowed. Leo flinched when he realized how abrasive he’d sounded. Instead of being angry at him, like he thought she would be (which was completely untethered from reality, but he didn’t care about reality right now), her face just softened. “Are you okay, Leo?”

He maintained eye contact, a rare thing. Piper’s eyes were nice to look into. They were just like home. The brown parts of her hazel irises were the exact shade of wheat swaying at night, the pale greens were just like the wallpaper in the farmhouse living room. Piper’s face blurred in front of Leo as tears started to form.

Tell her, he thought. She’s your sister, after all.

She isn’t, he thought. You’re just your mother’s son, not her father’s.

Tell her. When has she ever made you feel inadequate?

Keep quiet. This could be her final straw. She’s sick and tired of your whining, just like how Dad is, just like how Nico is, like Percy, like Annabeth, like Will, like-

“I think I’m gay,” he whispered, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. His thoughts kept yelling in the background. They wouldn’t shut off, no matter how hard he tried to calm down, and soon he was a blubbering mess.

He sobbed louder when Piper got up, even if it was just to turn off the cassette player. She came back with a quilt, probably stored in some cranny he hadn’t even spotted yet, which she draped over his shoulders.

Every time he managed to calm down a bit, he pictured Calypso’s quiet anguish when her father asked those damned questions. The sobs got a little louder after that.

Finally, he sniffled to a stop, partially due to Piper rubbing his back soothingly, partially due to pure exhaustion, physical and emotional. When the silence got too long, Piper asked cautiously, “Do you mind telling me what brought this on?”

Leo took a deep breath, which was ruined halfway through by a series of wet coughs. He rubbed at his eyes. “Jason,” he mumbled.

“Jason,” she repeated, seemingly tossing the idea around in her head. Then she got up, offered him a hand, and pulled him up when he took it. “You’re gonna go back to the house.”

“What? Why do I-” was all he could get out before he was led to the door.

“You need to rest.”

“Uh, I think I can weed the garden, Piper. It’s not like I’m sick or anything.”

“Are you telling me you’re passing up the opportunity to take a nap? Who are you and what have you done to my brother?”

That earned a pathetic chuckle from Leo. He relented, ambling towards the farmhouse porch.

Which is, of course, when no one other than Jason, causer of crises, divisor of doubts, stumbled into his path.

The man was hot, as Leo had noted before. Somehow, it made him even hotter when Leo noticed the sweat glistening on his arms and forehead. His suspicions from before were correct: Jason had amazing muscles. Leo kind of wanted to reach out and caress them, but he kept his head down when Jason approached him to avoid the questions he might ask about the tear stains.

“Leo!” Jason greeted, probably with a stunningly nice smile. “I didn’t know you lived here! Sorry again about the crash this morning.”

Leo made a sound resembling a laugh. “You don’t need to worry about it man. No harm, no foul.”

“That fall didn’t exactly look like ‘no harm’,” Jason argued.

“I’ve taken worse tumbles. One time, I fell out of a treehouse. Ended up breaking a leg.”

Jason’s eyes widened. Leo cursed himself inwardly, Jason was probably going to think he was weird now because he went around leaking his medical history to strangers. But instead, Jason just asked with childlike wonder, “you had a treehouse?”

Leo looked up a little, just to gauge Jason’s reaction. “My friend Percy did. Does, actually. See, there’s this forest behind his mom’s apartment building, and he got his stepdad Paul to help him build it when we were like, 10. Me and Piper basically lived in that thing for a period of two weeks in fifth grade. Best two weeks of my life.” He giggled nervously.

Jason looked stoked. “Damn, I wish I had a treehouse.”

Awkward silence followed.

“Your hair is really pretty. It looks like it’d feel nice,” Jason stated abruptly, starting off again for the greenhouse. Leo stared after him, equally confused as he was totally, undeniably gay.

@katiefromcabin7 @iwannascreameurekaa @froglyberrys @justlikearat @existential-life-crisis @jasonisntboring @poppitron360 @erosjournal

#leo valdez #jason grace #valgrace #piper mclean #caleo #kind of? caleo likers don’t read this #it’s not because I don’t like you it’s just because you won’t like this lol #percy jackson #reyna avila ramirez arellano #nico di angelo #calypso pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #small town affair valgrace au

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hangmanbradshaw · 11 months ago

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So when I knew I wanted to write a sports AU, IWTBY and this idea had both been rattling around my brain for a long time. I ended up going with IWTBY (it had been something I'd wanted to write for a long time), but here's the other that almost was? It's clunky, un-edited and half thought out (literally just pulled from the quick bit I wrote all those months ago), but this is what we're going with for day 9! Enjoy

Jake sighed as he stepped off the plane. He knew this was a bad idea, had no clue what he was thinking taking this meeting. He scoffed at himself- Philadelphia of all places. If his old man could see him now, he’d be rolling in his grave, cursing about Cowboys having no place playing for Eagles. Not that Jake had ever even been a Cowboy, but being raised in Texas made that fact irrelevant.

He was brought out of his musings by a call of his name. He glanced around and found Javy standing and waving to the side near the arrivals door. He smiled as he walked over to him, wrapping his arm around him in a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here, man. I thought for sure there was no chance in hell you’d even consider this.”

“You and me both, Javy.”

“Come on. I know Nat is waiting. I’ll drop you at her office.” He guided Jake towards the exit and out to his car. As they drove downtown, Jake looked out the window and watched the buildings pass by in a blur. He’d never actually spent serious time in Philadelphia, had only played there once or twice since the Eagles weren’t a team usually on his schedule when he was with the Chargers.

They parked in a garage near a tall office building, and Javy guided Jake into the building, hitting the button for the 50th floor once in the elevator.

“So, are you really thinking about saying yes?” Javy asked as he peered over at him.

He had no clue how to answer that so he merely shrugged. Part of him still didn’t believe this was happening. He thought his career was over, and now here he was standing in an elevator in a new city, discussing potential contract options.

“I know you’re worried. Hell, I would be too if I was you, but man- you are way too talented to not give this a shot.” Javy continued. He tried to catch Jake’s eyes, and held eye contact once he did. “I’m saying this as your best friend and also a fan. What could it hurt?”

Before Jake could answer, the elevator doors opened with a ding. He stepped out and took a deep breath, turning to Javy. “I’ll call you when it’s over, we can grab dinner.”

“Sure thing. Remember, I’m rooting for you. And for the love of god, at least try to fake a smile. I’d really like to play on a team with my best friend, and I can’t do that if you scowl your way out of this option.”

Javy stepped back into the elevator as Jake lazily saluted him. With that, he turned on his heel and headed towards Nat’s office. Her assistant was sitting at a desk outside her door, and she looked up when Jake approached.

“Hi, how may I help you?”

“I’m here to meet with Nat, uh, Miss Trace. I’m Jake…Seresin. She asked me to come in today.”

“Oh yes, she let me know to expect you. She had to step out for a moment, but you’re welcome to wait in her office.”

Jake nodded and moved towards the door, slipping inside. He had expected the room to be empty so he really couldn’t be blamed for the minor heart attack he had when he saw a man sitting in the office, lazily scrolling through his phone. The man looked up when he heard Jake let out a totally dignified “Shit!”

“You okay?” The guy asked, looking like he was trying to hold in a laugh.

“Yeah, just wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” He stopped, raised an eyebrow as he looked at him. “Who are you?”

The man raised an eyebrow back. “I’m Bradley.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same. What exactly is Jake Seresin doing here, in a sports agent’s office in Philadelphia?”

Jake blinked. “You know who I am?”

The man, Bradley, Jake reminded himself, didn’t answer. Instead, he seemed to be thinking through something, and his eyes sparked as he asked “the Eagles?”

“I’m sorry, can we go back to who are you?”

Bradley looked confused. “I already told you.”

“You know what I mean. Why are you here, in Nat’s office when I’m supposed to be meeting with her?”

“Well, I conveniently had a meeting with her too at the same time that she also still hasn’t shown up for. Imagine that.”

He had a look in his eyes like he knew something Jake didn’t. Before Jake could muster up a reply at this bizarre conversation, the door opened, and Nat came flurrying in, coffee in one hand and her cell in the other. She immediately spotted Jake, and smiled.

“Jake! Hi!” She pulled him into a hug then hit him in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell, Nat?”

“That’s what you get for not visiting sooner.”

“I was busy.”

“You were sulking. And that’s no excuse.”

“Sorry if I didn’t want to see my agent and be reminded of everything.”

She leveled him with a softer look. “I get that, but I’m also your friend, and you can’t disappear like that.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.”

She took that as the closest apology she knew she’d get, and nodded. He looked over at Bradley, who was watching the whole thing with a curious quirk of a smile, then back to Nat.

“Oh, sorry.” Nat said, not looking sorry in the slightest. A grin curled at her lips as she said, “Jake, this is Bradley. Bradley, Jake. Although I’m guessing you all got acquainted while waiting.”

“Oh yeah, while you conveniently double scheduled us without even being here?” Bradley leveled her with a look. She gave him a smirk back and Bradley raised his eyebrows at her. Jake could tell they were having some kind of silent conversation, but he was totally lost as to what it was.

“Mmm, scheduling issue, my bad. Total accident.” She smiled a shit eating grin.

Jake looked between the two and slowly interrupted. “Right…so can we talk about this offer?”

That got her to spring into action. She walked over to her laptop and tapped away, pulling up some files.

“Okay, I’ve been working with the Eagles office on this for a few weeks now. They want you- it would start at a one year deal, but it’s a solid offer. A decent guarantee, lots of potential bonus opportunities.”

“Nat, I don’t know. Is it worth it to go through all this to sit on a bench all year playing backup?”

She grinned. “Who said anything about a bench?”

That momentarily stopped him. He opened and closed his mouth. “Starter? No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.”

He slowly backed up and reached behind him to find a seat. When he did, he sat down. He genuinely couldn’t believe this. He blinked out of his daze and saw Nat grinning still, and to the side, Bradley was smiling softly.

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes, obviously. Then say thank you Nat, you’re the best agent and a friend a guy can ask for.”

“I need to think about it. This…I just didn’t expect this to even be a possibility.” He stopped, furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand- why me? What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t a catch. You’re a hell of a player, and this is a great deal for them.”

“But…the accident.”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, but they can see what we see- that you’re just as valuable now as you were before. And they want to cash in on that potential. They believe in you, Jake. It’s as simple as that.”

He momentarily was brought back to a flashback of sirens, red and blue lights, radiating pain in his leg, a doctor telling him he wouldn’t play again, his career up in smoke after only two years. He shook his head, tried to remove himself from the memories.

“Let me think about it. Can you email me the contract to look over?”

“Of course. But I really think this is the right move for you. A fresh start, new city. You’d be playing with Javy. I’m here. You’d have a support system already, and a team that actually believes in you.”

Jake hesitated, bit his lip. “I don’t know, Nat. Philadelphia?”

“I had a feeling you’d need some extra convincing. It’s a good fit for you, trust me, but if anyone can show you some Philly magic, it’s our dear Rooster here.” She nodded towards Bradley.

“Rooster?”

Bradley gave Nat a look then smiled back over at Jake. “Nickname. Don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m definitely asking.”

Bradley hummed and said, “I’ll make you a deal. Let me show you around Philly. If you still hate it at the end and I don’t manage to change your opinion, I’ll tell you.”

“And if you do happen to succeed? I gotta say, you’re not giving me any incentive to like it.”

“I’ll still tell you. But you have to sign the contract.”

Jake tapped his arm as he thought it over before asking, “And why do you want me to sign the contract? What are you, a secret Eagles employee or something?”

Bradley quirked an eyebrow at Nat. She sighed and said, “I wasn’t kidding when I told you he doesn’t know baseball.” She directed her gaze back his way and explained, “This is Bradley Bradshaw, star outfielder and hitter for the Phillies. You may remember him as the MVP for the conference last year?”

“And long time Philly resident. At your service.” He smiled.

Well, Jake felt dumb. “Uh…sorry? My bad. I really don’t follow baseball.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, maybe that’s something else we can fix.” He smirked.

“Yeah, or maybe you just need to play a more interesting sport.”

“Ouch. And here I was, going to show you the best secrets of this city.”

“Which, speaking of- why?”

Bradley shrugged, but Jake could swear he looked like he was blushing, except that made no damn sense at all.

“I’m an Eagles fan, and also a fan of yours. So yeah, I have ulterior motives. Sue me for wanting us to get a great player.”

Jake caught Nat roll her eyes in his periphery. He thought he heard her mutter about sure, that’s all it is, but he wasn’t sure.

“Alright. You’re on then. Wow me, Bradshaw.”

Bradley grinned brightly. It was on.

#steph's 10 days of ficmas #my fics #steph's stuff

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goddessofroyalty · 14 days ago

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Fandom: Arcane

Verse: Zaun Family

Oh this brainrot is such a fun one. Sorry this isn’t any of the prompts people have previously sent me but apparently I wanted to write Singed finding Silco after the attack and the immediate follow on from that.

Will probably edit/re-tweak this once I watch Season 2 and re-grab Singed’s voice.

Tags: omegaverse, past-mpreg, mild-body horror and medical stuff

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There’s a splash of something big falling down into the corner of the caves Singed has taken as his own where the Pilt sometimes drains through when the weather conditions are right. A body most likely by the sound. Either dumped or drowned, it doesn’t change much for whoever it was.

The timing is in his favor though – he could use a new cadaver.

The body, as it turns out, isn’t a stranger to him like they almost always are.

While it has been a few years since the omega stood in the caves and his eye not a gaping wound like it now is, he still is definitively the same one. He was rather memorable at the time, heavily pregnant and yet still threatening Singed should he approach his son again. A son who had returned barely a month later with a cautious smile and they are distracted with my brother given as explanation despite Singed not even asking only to end up not having the stomach for Singed’s work anyway.

It is a shame that the omega ended up as just another body in the Pilt. But that is the way of Zaun and the omega clearly hadn’t cared much about making enemies with how brazenly he threatened a stranger living in the caves.

There is nothing to be done now and no use just letting the body rot when some gain can be made for it.

The body is still warm to the touch as Singed moves it to the table in the center of his lab. The gash to his eye unlikely enough to kill him but enough for him to drown in the waters before arriving here.

It is as Singed reaches for his scalpel that the body proves less deceased as he initially assessed. A rattling, choking sound echoing through the caves as muscles twitch in the fight against death.

It is not far off though. The Pilt-waters have spread deep into his eye and his lungs mostly full with the water. If Singed gave it an hour at most he could return to his dissection of an incredibly fresh corpse.

There is the Shimmer though.

He hasn’t had the chance to even begin the animal trials. But he has created the first of the formula and when else will he get the opportunity of a subject so perfectly near death without creating the conditions himself?

If it fails it is not as if anyone has been lost – the omega will die without it and the formula clearly not correct.

Yes. He will at least try.

“Lanes,” the omega manages to gasp out as Singed moves to restrain him. He doubts this will be pleasant for him. Perhaps he may not consider living worth the agony he will endure. He isn’t conscious enough to be asked. “Vander.”

“Save your strength,” Singed advises him as he fills a syringe with the concoction that may just save the omegas’s life.

The omega goes still as the liquid disappears into his veins. Perhaps the experiment is a failure and an autopsy once again what Singed will be doing today.

A minute later the omega screams. Fighting against the restraints.

He is in terrible pain that is clear but his lungs sound stronger and clearer. The Shimmer helping fight off the infection as the cut around his eye tries to knit itself back together.

Shimmer alone will not save him and the point of this experiment is to prove it works at all. So Singed gets to work cleaning the rivers rot out of where it has taken root. Ignoring the screams as he works.

It takes three days to get the omega into a condition where Singed does not fear he will slip away the moment he is no longer actively monitored. The omega’s breathing consistent even if it is weak. His eye is clearly ruined by the infection but it seems to be stabilizing to something that can be contained even if it will never be defeated.

There is still no promise that the experiment will prove a success but Singed can contemplate things other than keeping the omega alive every moment.

Can contemplate what the omega said in the brief moment of consciousness when he first arrived.

A location and a name.

It is not a lot to go off of but it is also not nothing. And Singed knows the omega has at least two children, likely a mate as well. Assuming they were alive and had not been also part of the attack that led to the omega ending up in Singed’s care.

If they were alive they would likely be worried.

While he cannot provide reassurances to them that the omega is fine or will survive. He can at least inform them where the omega is.

The two pieces of information he has proves ample. Nearly all in the Undercity know of the Vander who build the Lanes. They point Singed in the direction of a pub in the center of it as they tell him that Vander ain’t that interested in business talk with his mate missing.

The door to the pub swings open when Singed knocks and the man who greets him is impressive if for his size alone. Singed supposes the omega’s bravado that day makes sense if this is who he has to enforce his will.

“You must be the alpha,” Singed says as the alpha’s gaze hardens.

Singed can see Viktor a bit further in the building. The boy’s expression as if he has seen a ghost. He no doubt hadn’t expected Singed to ever visit him, and with his mother missing fear making the worst options fill in the information blanks.

“What do you want?” the alpha demands, moving to block Viktor from view. The father just as protective as the mother. Which makes sense – Viktor is an impressive child.

“I know of your missing mate,” Singed informs. He would tell the alpha then and there the status of the omega’s condition but the fact Viktor will no doubt be listening in gives him pause. It would likely be distressing for him to hear what happened to his mother so bluntly and Singed not interested in or talented at gentle words. Better to let the father tell him later. “We should discuss privately.”

The alpha opens his mouth, likely to demand Singed tell him immediately. He freezes mid-action though, glancing behind himself not just to Viktor but to four other small-child faces that have been summoned by their curiosity. A proper undercity brood.

Singed briefly wonders which of them the omega was pregnant with when he had come and threated Singed.

“We can talk in his office,” the alpha says with a sharp nod to a small room off the bar.

It is intriguing that the alpha refers to it as his office and not theirs. The way he moves around it more evidence that he doesn’t consider it his own space. The seat at the paperwork-covered desk left empty while the alpha instead chooses to stand in a corner.

Singed notices the academy seal on a few of the scattered pages. Even the Dean’s personal signature on at least one.

It appears the omega and alpha are more important that Singed assumed. It may be useful to keep aware of them if only to know whether the divide between the two city halves may be even slightly closing and Singed’s secrecy under threat.

“What did you do to Silco?” the alpha demands. Looming over Singed with his full height and bulk.

It is a display that certainly would send a lot cowering in submission.

Singed long ago stopped bothering to be afraid of common intimidation tactics.

“I kept him alive.”

“What?” the alpha’s brow furrows and some of the aggressive tension in his body drops.

“He was near death when he came into my care thanks to the acts of someone else. I gave him something that gave him the strength to not perish. He is stable for now.” And his survival, while not guaranteed, seems a little more likely.

“Then bring him here!” the alpha demands.

“Unless you want him to die I would not suggest that. I said he was stable. But his condition could quickly deteriorate especially if moved.”

The alpha seems to finally be understanding the situation. Holding himself up by the desk and stress and grief take over his frame.

“Where is he? Can I see him?” he asks, desperation now heavy in his tone.

“He is at my lab.” Singed never labored under the delusion he would be trusted at his word when he decided to seek out the omega’s family. As much as he would prefer his location known only to him it would be inevitable he would have to allow at least one in to prove what he has said. “So long as you behave I will take you to him.”

“So long as I can see him,” the alpha agrees because he doesn’t have any other choice. “Lead the way.”

The children are all waiting outside the door to the office. Viktor and the four younger ones. They look either worried or scared. The younger ones all looking to the alpha for protection and reassurance the way children always will with their parents. Viktor however watched Singed, his mind clearly trying to understand how the pieces of information he has fits together. He is still remarkably bright for his age.

“I’m heading out, Viktor you’re in charge.” The alpha’s words seem well rehearsed and none of the children look at all surprised by them. “If I’m not back by morning-“

“Go to Benzo and tell him where to start looking,” Viktor finishes with a quick glance towards Singed. He knows there is a slight threat under those words should his father not be returned to him. Perhaps life in the Undercity is started to harden him to the things that must be done.

“That’s my boy,” the alpha says, ruffling at Viktor’s hair. He dwarfs his son when he presses against him in a one-arm hug. Viktor clearly having inherited the slighter frame of his omega mother. Whether he will gain more of his alpha father’s size as he grows will be interesting. Assuming Singed manages to save the omega the continued care and treatments that will be required will mean he will likely get to find out.

The walk back to the lab is silent. Not that Singed minds – unnecessary conversation not something he cares for. Nor does he care to try and help the stress the alpha clearly is under. Words will not change the outcome.

The alpha possesses surprising speed despite his size. Crossing the distance of the lab as soon as the omega is in sight. His hulking form leaning over the pale broken one of the omega laid out on the table as if he could protect him from further harm.

“Who did this to you Sil?” he asks, touch also surprisingly delicate as he brushes the hair from the omega’s face to reveal the likely ruined eye.

“He will not answer you,” Singed informs as he moves closer to ensure the alpha will not damage his experiments in his distress. “He is sedated to keep him unaware of the pain for now.”

“What happened?” the alpha asks again, and it takes a moment for Singed to realize he is talking to him and not the unconscious body of his mate.

“I do not know.” Nor did Singed particularly care to know. It was convenient for him that the omega was at the exact precipice of death for Singed to use as a subject of his first Shimmer trial and that is all he needs. “That is how I found him.”

“He’ll be okay though?” the alpha asks.

“Perhaps,” Singed replies as he prepares another dose of Shimmer. The alpha eyes him warily as he approaches but doesn’t attempt to impede his work. They will see if that changes once the omega’s body starts to convulse again. So long as he wakes before morning the alpha can be sedated as well if necessary. “I have done what I can. Now it is up to him.”

“He’ll be fine then,” the alpha says as he takes hold of the omega’s unresponsive hand. “He’s a tough bastard. No way he’d give up now when we are so close. He’ll pull through.”

The alpha isn’t actually looking for input. He’s just reassuring himself as he gently pets at the omega. Perhaps Singed should have waited until the omega’s survival was certain before seeking out the family. But he isn’t sure it ever truly will be.

“We shall see.” Singed does hope the omega survives. Only because it would mean the formula a success of course.

#Zaun Family #Arcane omegaverse #omegaverse #singed arcane #Vander Arcane #Silco Arcane #Ramblings of the Goddess #I accidently a ficlet #Arcane

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doomzday-zone · 3 months ago

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waitrr sorry kind of william ask I guess but I need to know more about also vanessa and the scary nightmare bunker What r they doing🙏🙏🙏

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE 😈 *rubs my little paws together evilly*

this specific bit takes insp from a few places but the main one being Amnesia: The Bunker, for the obviously reasons(bunker) but also !!!!! THERES A GIANT PREDATORY RABBIT THERE HUNTING THEM BOTH💖💖💖💖 ill get to what this and other shit means from a thematic n whatever standpoint later but just know its awesome and immm insane<33

also side note i say bunker but its not even The scary bunker its more like a basement/cellar-ish thing connected to a shed he has somewhere in the woods. nawt to be confused w the actual Evil Bunker dw abt it 😁

ANYWAYS, initially william takes vanessa there to, dispose of her so to speak slash keep her there until he can find a good use for her or until he decides to straight up kill her. heart<3 smth smth vanessa ended up seeing smth she wasnt supposed to LOL(you can imagine) anyways while hes throwing her down there one thing leads to another and they both end up getting trapped in there, at the beginning theres this like slow creeping dread when they both notice smth is not.... right..... here. like the place is WAYYY larger than its supposed to be and theres strange holes in the walls n shit (😳) which eventually turns into full on monster horror once they realize theyre both being Hunted 😈 and theyre in what is basically a maze of rabbit tunnels and burrows, HERE IS WHERE THE INTO THE PIT AND IN THE FLESH INSPS COME INNNNN<333333 obv the maze is a kinda reference to the game in the in the flesh story, and the time loop/warping is a reference to both in the flesh and in the pit<33 speaking of which is a really important element, neither of them can die Down There and yes they both die at least once and not just at the dreaded claws of The Rabbit😏 once they both die tho the loop officially 'resets' and they end up in the middle of the burrow again, their main goal is to obv get Out lol. the ending of which is kinda sad and takes insp from fazbears frights in general w a classic cliffhanger conclusion, they eventually find the exit but william isnt just gonna let vanessa leave even after all that ..... he closes and locks the door w vanessa still down there</3 the last scene being her crying and sobbing for him to let her out as faint sounds of scratching and growling is heard from behind.............

OKAYYYYY HEEHEE now onto the MEANINGS and THEMES<3333333 The Bunker and Rabbit kind of represent the same things as The Rabbit and The Pit do in into a pit, its a representation of all of wills sins n shit festering and creating smth monstrous. that darkness only growing and further rooting itself further into william and others around him, being shown here in the form of a huge predatory rabbit digging maze-like tunnels seemingly endlessly. all this eventually coming back to (literally) bite William in the ass lmao, and vanessa...... ouuuuuu vanessa😫 williams obv in here as a form of punishment (even if he does eventually get off scott free AS USUAL smh) but so is vanessa in a way</3 she didnt physically KILL anyone but like he does with michael(albeit in a different way) he forces 'the gloves' so to speak onto them (think about in sister loctaion how the animatronics think mike is william, onv in universe theyd probably look fairly similar but thematically speaking... you know</3 the fct ues down there because his dad told him too😭) so while vanessa didnt do anything herself her hands are bloodied by proxy...... :((((( SOBS /

anyways..... i thunk thats it yea. explodes**

Edit: OH ALSO . SMTH I DIDNT MENTION BEFORE BUT IS ALSO IMPORTANT IS THAT IT LIKE. THE ENVIRONMENT IS A MIX BETWEEN DIRT RABBIT TUNNELS N BURROWS AND FREDDYS THEMED HALLWAYS N ROOMS N SHIT <33 SO LIKE THEYLL BE IM A DURT TUNNEL AND END UP IN A FREDDYS ROOM N WHATEVER Y GET IT. GRINS 😁😁😁😁

and and im this case by 'forcing the gloves' onto vanessa i mean he . william literally forced her to help dispose of a Body 💔💔💔

#asks #bunnie #willie fnafton #vanessa fnafton #finally a unique tag for her<3 (kinda) should be known also that my vanessa here isnt a one to one of a certain canon of her. shes a bit of #mix of game and movie vanesaa and everything else is mostly just my own stuff :3 shes williams adopted daughter here. theres a little bit #more to it than that but for simplicities sake<333 heehee<33 #also obv feel free to send additional asks r smth if smth isnt clear id looooove to answer everything. anything :3c lol

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years ago

Text

The Silver Dragon (37/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2666

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Chaos erupts at the coronation and Princess Rhaenys, mounted on her dragon, Meleys, bursts from beneath the floor of the Dragonpit.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Author's Note: I know this one was a little bit short, but I hope y'all enjoyed it still!

And I forgot to mention this on the last chapter, and although I edited it in later, I'll still mention it again: The first Daemon POV is up! It's posted under the title "Silver Dragon Stories." That unfortunately won't be updated as often as this, but I am trying to keep it in chronological order. Please let me know if there are any POVs y'all are really interested in!

The Beast Beneath the Boards

Arianwyn had never seen anyone move so fast as Aemond did to protect her from the eruption of dust and stone that came from within the Dragonpit itself. He pulled her back with the hand he still held, away from the wave of debris as he turned to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head into his chest as he shielded her with his body.

Even still, the dust made its way through, and she began to cough. Just as she had in the tunnel at Driftmark.

The sound sent Aemond into a panic. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. He pulled away and took her face in his hands. “Aria!” he called, brushing her hair from her brow. “Aria, you have to breathe. Please!”

She took a shaky breath, coughing again as she exhaled. His blood boiled with fury, but before he could react, her eyes grew wide, and she pointed over his shoulder. “Aemond, look!”

Then he turned, and he saw.

The floor of the Dragonpit had been broken from below, scattering great hunks of stone into the helpless crowd. Light streamed through the dust that still hung in the air like a storm, casting a gleaming gold around the shape of the great red beast before them.

Meleys.

The dragon roared, the sound drowning out all the screams – from the onlookers in the stands who could do nothing but watch to the poor, helpless souls trapped in the arena with the ‘Red Queen.’

A gasp came from their left, and a hand wrapped around Arianwyn’s arm.

It was Helaena, leaning in to take shelter behind her brother. Her violet eyes were wide but not with terror. No, the familiar fog that Arianwyn was beginning to find even more terrifying than what was before them had once more taken root.

She opened her mouth to speak some frightening new prophecy. Yes, Arianwyn thought, that’s what they were – prophecies. But a new roar filled the Dragonpit, scattering the dust and sending Helaena’s hands flying to cover her ears.

Aemond’s hand shifted around Arianwyn’s waist as he held her in place while he turned to face the beast before them. “Stay back, my love,” he whispered, his voice somehow cutting through the din as he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

They both watched in horror as Meleys swept her tail through the crowd, throwing some men dozens of feet through the air while others fell into the dragon dens below. Those that had thus far evaded the dragon ran anywhere they could – to the walls of the arena, the dozens of alcoves surrounding it, or to the only open door on the eastern wall, the same one they had been forced through not long before.

Arianwyn prayed the dust would never settle, so she would not have to see the bodies that now doubtlessly lay strewn across the sand of this place she loved so dearly.

And though it was hopeless, she prayed that the figure atop the dragon was somehow not its sworn rider.

But there she emerged from the settling sand. Princess Rhaenys.

Arianwyn pressed her forehead into Aemond’s back as she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps when she opened them again, she would wake from this nightmare.

She had seen her cousin only the day before. Though their conversation had not been pleasant, by any definition of the word, she thought they had come to an understanding.

“Daemon could not be King.”

Surely Rhaenys agreed. She knew Daemon had killed Rhea. That he had all but killed Laena by denying her the home she so desperately wanted. That he had conspired with that soldier to kill Laenor and free himself to marry Rhaenyra.

It had been Rhaenys who showed Arianwyn the secret passages of the Red Keep. Who begged her to use them, to run as far as she could from her father. And it was she who had been glad when she disobeyed and married Aemond.

Yet Arianwyn could not deny what was before her eyes.

Otto began bellowing for the gold cloaks to open the bronze doors of the Dragonpit, though whether they could hear him over the screams of the fleeing crowd was doubtful.

Meleys took a lumbering step toward the dais. Rhaenys sat proudly astride her dragon, clad in armor the same blood red as Meleys’ scales. With cold eyes, she surveyed all those atop the dais.

The Septons and Septas cowered, clutching their holy relics.

The Hand stood tall. But, for the first time that Arianwyn had ever seen, he had fear in his eyes.

Ser Criston Cole stared in awe as he was pushed toward Helaena. All his training and discipline disappeared as he stared into the face of an enemy he could not fight.

Alicent, the now Dowager Queen. Who did not cower but ran forward to stand in front of her son, shielding him even when she knew it would do nothing to protect him from dragonfire.

Aegon clung to her as if the thought of dying in his mother’s arms was a comfort, not a tragedy.

The new Queen, Helaena, was not afraid. Instead, she smiled slightly, holding out a hand to calm Meleys as if she were a startled horse who simply needed to hear soothing words, and all would be well.

Rhaenys’ look of detached contemplation only wavered when she turned to Aemond and Arianwyn.

His right hand was on his sword, ready to draw, while his left held her pressed against his back. It was nearly the same stance he had taken only a few days prior, when he held her in his arms in that secluded courtyard after Vaemond Velaryon’s murder.

Just as then, Arianwyn held onto him with all her strength, one hand clutching the side of his waist and the other on his atop the hilt of his blade.

She knew if she removed her hand from his, there would be very little to stop him from attacking. He loved her so much that he would face a dragon armed only with his sword to defend her.

“Aemond…” she whispered, wresting his fingers from his blade and lacing them through her own. He instantly squeezed her hand so hard her breath faltered. She didn’t know what to say. Would these be her last words? The last thing she would ever say, and the last thing he would ever hear?

There was nothing to say. They had already said it all. Their souls were as one, and always would be. As she buried her face in his shoulder with a whimper, she prayed that wherever the gods sent them next, they would be together.

She heard the great intake of breath that always preceded dragonfire and braced herself for what would come next.

Nothing.

No fire. No great jaws closing around them. Not even a roar.

Arianwyn looked back up and locked eyes with her cousin.

Rhaenys did not look like a prisoner or a conqueror. And certainly not like a kinslayer. Rather, she looked sadly upon Arianwyn, then Alicent, the look almost an apology.

Then the Queen Who Never Was turned her dragon away and took flight.

The last thing they saw before the doors slammed shut was Meleys tucking in her wings and emerging into the sunlight.

“Aria? Aria, please open your eyes,” Aemond begged.

To his great relief, she did. It took a moment for her to adjust to the low light, and he watched every movement of her pupils as she did. At least there, he found nothing of concern.

But he was not yet satisfied. He ran his hands over her hair, clearing it of as much dust and sand as he could, feeling for injuries along the way. Nothing there either.

Carefully, he pulled aside her cloak, examining the bruises on her neck. Though the sight still sparked a murderous rage within him, he was comforted that there were no new wounds.

Arianwyn finally seemed to realize what he was doing and held his hands to prevent him from continuing his examination. “I’m fine, Aemond.”

“You couldn’t breathe.”

“What are… of course, I could.”

“You were coughing.”

“There was dust, my love,” she almost laughed as she smiled at him, running her thumb across the back of his hand to calm him. “It was only dust.”

He sighed and nodded, pulling her into his chest. Of course, it had only been dust. He was panicking needlessly, his mind again betraying him as it brought him back to his worst memories.

Arianwyn was safe. She was safe. She was safe.

“Aemond?” she asked quietly.

“Yes?”

She hesitated, then asked tremblingly, “Is it very bad?”

He did not have to ask what she meant.

Helaena still stood with her hands covering her ears, while everyone else on the dais gathered together before the altar. The Hand, the members of the Small Council, the Dowager Queen, and even the new King himself all argued with raised voices about what to do next. Only Cole had abandoned the debate to direct the guards within the Dragonpit.

The Dragonkeepers were already running about the arena as if possessed. Acolytes hurried to light the lanterns lining the walls while the Elders hurried to the dragon dens below. The few guards – gold cloaks and Targaryen house guards alike – slowly began making their way through the rubble, their torches illuminating the broken bodies of the dead and wounded.

Far worse than the sight of the devastation were the sounds that echoed through the Dragonpit. Shrieks of terror. Screams of pain. Cries of grief. Desperate shouts for the doors to be reopened. Even the dragons below had started to stir, disturbed by the frantic emotions that roiled from within their home.

Aemond turned back to his wife, kissing her still dusty hair. “I don’t think you want to look.”

She seemed to agree, until there came a sound he could not identify. A wordless, bleating wail. Arianwyn’s head shot up, looking out into the arena for its source. She moved as soon as she seemed to see it, leaving Aemond to chase after her.

Thankfully, her Runestone guards also spotted her movement and raced from where they had scattered within the Dragonpit to come to her side.

Aemond was nearly entranced. She was singularly focused on whatever had made that sound, stepping over the wounded and dead without ever looking down. He knew her heart must ache with the desire to help every person she passed, but whatever this sound was, it was somehow more important than even that.

She finally stopped before the arena wall, in one of the few places the Acolytes had not yet lit the lanterns. But each of her guards carried a torch, their flames revealing the source of the pitiful sound.

It was the sheep. The same one she had pointed out to him before the coronation began.

Its white wool was covered with dust and spattered with blood. The short fur on its face was entirely red, the stain growing deeper and darker as it continued to push into the bleeding side of the man who had been protecting it earlier.

It was trying to wake him. But there was no hope.

Oh gods, the poor man. A piece of the shattered floor had embedded itself in his chest with such force that he was thrown against the wall, cracking his skull. Aemond prayed that whichever blow had killed him had done so quickly.

Arianwyn fell at the shepherd’s feet, lurching forward as she vomited at the gruesome sight. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, over and over and over again as she was wracked with sobs.

Aemond could not tell whether she was speaking to the shepherd or the sheep. He knelt beside her, guiding her back into his arms. “We can’t stay here, Aria. It’s not safe.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “They didn’t want to be here,” she choked out through her tears. “They were forced to come. And now they’re dead. Now he’s alone.”

Her hand was extended towards the sheep, who backed away further into the wall, the rejection causing another sob to pulse through her.

One of her guards – one of the new ones that Aemond did not know – also knelt between them and the sheep on the sand. He had a long, gaunt face and deep-set brown eyes. Had he not been wearing the bronze armor of Runestone, Aemond would have been reluctant to trust him.

The guard looked pensively at Arianwyn’s face, then the sheep. “It is not a ‘he,’ Princess,” he said, his voice softer than his appearance would suggest. “She is a ewe, a female.”

He leaned toward the creature, which did not cower at his outstretched hand. On the contrary, it seemed to calm at his touch, allowing him to run his hand over her ears until he found a small iron stud. He examined it carefully before turning back to the small crowd around him. But his focus was entirely on the Princess.

“She is from a wool herd,” he explained. “A small one, I expect. I would know its brand otherwise.”

“How do you know?” Aemond asked, curious even as he was grateful that the guard had helped to calm Arianwyn.

He seemed surprised the Prince would address him. Lowborn, then. But if Ser Gerold had assigned him to Arianwyn, he had to be good.

“My father has one of the largest herds in the Vale,” he said. “That is, among those not owned by a noble house. I grew up with sheep. They are fine creatures. I actually–”

“Where is the rest of her herd?” Arianwyn asked, still holding her hand out to the sheep. “I don’t want it to be alone, Conin.”

The guard – Ser Conin of the Sheep, apparently – smiled sadly as he turned back the ewe. “That, I cannot say, Princess. I can try to find them, but if this is their shepherd…” he looked again to the corpse of the man before them.

Aemond said a prayer for the shepherd’s soul. He did not know his name or anything about him other than that he had valiantly protected his sheep from the surging crown. Still, that was enough to admire him.

He finished his prayer and pulled Arianwyn closer. She did not fight him this time.

“Please find them,” she commanded with a whisper. “Find out who he was and if he has any family. Make sure they are compensated for this loss. Generously.”

“Yes, Princess,” Conin said before standing to speak in hushed tones with another Runestone knight.

Arianwyn stood, with Aemond’s hand to keep her steady, and began walking back to the dais. This time, she saw the devastation before them and leaned heavily into him as they made their way through the bodies. He knew if he pulled his arms from around her, she would be unable to stop herself from trying to help each person she saw.

He never let go of her. Not as he led her up the stairs, nor as he embraced Helaena as they passed her by, nor as they took their place within the debate that was still raging. Even when they returned to their carriage – the Kingsguard had insisted the discussion continue in the safety of the Red Keep’s walls – he held onto her, sitting by her side rather than across from her.

Yesterday, she had stayed with him even as his mind carried him far away. He knew he would never be able to do the same for her – she was stronger than he was, she would never be so broken as him. But whenever she did need him, whether it be to dry her tears or hold her when she cried, he would be there.

Even if it meant fighting a dragon, or kneeling in the sand with her while she cried over a bloody sheep.

Next Chapter

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