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trender-official · 1 day ago

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Whiskey Burns My Throat | Part Two

Sevika x Fem!Doctor!Reader | 3.5k

Part One

She looked up and ran her teeth over her lip. She knew he was going to lecture her. The leather coach squeaked as she sat up. “Yeah. A bit.” Her face contorted for a moment, knowing she shouldn’t be disrespectful, but still angry. She could handle hard, fast pains. But dull aches made her irritable.

Silco frowned sharply. “Don’t lie to me. The shimmer isn't helping, is it?” His voice sounded soft, despite the underlying anger. He cared for her, after all, they had been working alongside each other for years now.

She sighed. She didn't know why she tried to deceive him, in a way, when it’s his whole job to deceive other people. She did know why. She didn’t want him to think she’s weak. She didn’t want to think about that. “No. Hasn’t been for awhile.”

“That’s why you’ve been so eager to fight, then. Come.” He beckoned her over. Willingly, she stood. He may irritate her, but she respected him. She’d do almost anything for him. He ran his hands over her metal hand, then looked up at her. “I graced you with the height of Zaun’s technology. Do not disgrace it by refusing its progression.” He stood. “If it is failing you, fix it. Go see The Doctor.” He let go of her and sat back down. “Don’t make me say so twice.”

Sevika closed her eyes and took a breath. He was right. She was being irrational. Fuck, she was being irrational. She turned away, running her human hand across the mahogany desk. She remembers when he got this. He almost didn’t- Thought it may had been a waste of money. But she told him, “You’d impress investors. And scare them.” He listened. He respected her, as much as she did him. She needed to listen.

She let out one last sigh, maybe to make it clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, before taking her leave and making her way to The Doctor’s house. She was supposed to head there soon anyway to escort her to the tent.

Soon enough, she arrived. It was a small place, maybe 800 sqft, made of various scrap metals and sheets. She leaned against it, her eyes closed as she crossed her arms around her chest, enjoying the moment of silence. She usually waited youtside for The Doctor to come out, not caring enough to knock. It felt… too domestic.

She heard some clanging inside, then the “oh so put together”, well, not so much recently, Doctor came out. Her hair wasn’t in her proper place, usually tied back in a careful ponytail or bun. But it hadn’t been in… A week? Two? Sevika couldn’t remember the last time it was. Sevika didn’t care, to be honest. She didn’t say anything to Sevika, she just looked at her and started off in the direction they usually went. Sevika didn’t care about that, either. In fact, she appreciated it. She’s been much less chatty recently.

It took about four minutes to get to the tent, they’d placed it here on purpose to keep her out of the streets as much as possible. Although, the Doctor had been ignoring that recently and going out at night. At least she went to the last drop, staying within Silco’s reach. Sevika had seen her there a few times, only staying long enough to get a bottle of alcohol and leaving after.

When they reached the tent, Sevika finally spoke up. “I’m gonna be the first patient today.” She said, as she sat down on the cot that functioned as an examination table, which was far too small for her and practically screamed as she sat down.

The Doctor paused, a look of shock coming across her face. “Are you sick?” She asked, putting her bag down and slipping on some gloves. She stepped closer, tentatively, eyeing her face to see if there were any signs of sickness.

“No.” She said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Just… The arm. It’s hurting my shoulder.” She said, once again holding the weight of the metal arm with her other hand. “Shimmer isn’t helping anymore. Don’t wanna take too much either. You know why.”

The Doctor nodded. “Can you remove the arm for me?” She asked, getting close enough to make Sevika want to scoot back. Sevika didn’t say anything, but unlatched the arm and laid it down beside her. She unholstered her gun as well. Just in case she didn’t have the arm to defend them with.

The Doctor leaned forwards, analyzing the area, running her hands along it with a furrowed brow. She reached for the arm itself, and almost immediately she could tell the problem. “It’s too heavy,” she said matter of factly. “It’s putting too much strain on your deltoid- your shoulder” she reached back to gently press on the area, nodding. Then she paused, lost in thought, trying to figure out a way to solve the problem.

Sevika frowned heavily as she fiddled with her. She felt like an animal being tested on. She was used to that- With shimmer and all. But she didn’t like it. When The Doctor paused, she raised an eyebrow. The Doctor’s hand didn’t move, to which Sevika glanced at it. She decided to remove it with a light swipe.

The Doctor didn’t react, her brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her first idea was letting Silco deal with it. That would be the easiest and less stressful thing to do for herself. But she didn’t like the idea of not knowing what their plan was for Sevikas pain. The thought frustrated her.

Then it hit her. Jayce. Jayce was a friend she made while she was just starting her schooling. They had become quick friends, despite their separate fields. Jayce was an easy person. He was easy to get along with. She heard news of him working with Heimerdinger now, so maybe he could help them!

“Wait-“ she perked up, slamming her fist down onto her open palm. “I have a friend who lives for this stuff. He’s…”

“A topsider.” Sevika finished for her. The Doctor paused, her face falling as the excitement drained a little from her voice. “Yes.. but he’s talented. Extremely so. Let him take a look at it- it’ll be a few hours max.” She didn’t know why she was trying so hard to get her to agree. Maybe to earn brownie points? But why did she care so much about what she thought?

Sevika thought for a second, her jaw twisting in irritation. Having to go all the way up to Piltover- AND deal with pilties who no doubt were going to gloat in front of her with their arrogance… she hated it. Hated this whole situation, hated feeling weak. In need. And most importantly, hated her. But… she couldn’t deny it any longer. She had people to protect here. Silco to protect. And his kid, that Jinx girl, which she hated to admit she held a smidge of affection for. So with a begrudging sigh, she agreed.

They set off, making their way to Piltover, wanting to do so earlier than later. Sevika had tied the tent up before they left, putting a sign that said, “Closed. Come back tomorrow.”

The Doctor stayed unusually quiet the whole ride. She busied herself thinking about what she was to say to Jayce after not seeing each other for so long. She didn’t know how to say she’d left Piltover and became a citizen of Zaun without explaining why, and he couldn’t know why. Silco made that clear.

As time went on, she grew more anxious, her hands squeezing and messing with the material of her pants as she thought of ways to dodge or distract Jayce from asking any questions relating to her disappearance.

But a part of her rationalized her thoughts. He probably didn’t even notice she was gone. It wasn’t like they were best friends; they just kept each other company during their boring schooling days. Once Jayce started working under Heimerdinger, he had gotten busier, and they didn’t talk much, not unless she came to visit him in his lab. And even then they talked about basic things before Jayce got distracted and pulled back into his work. Hextech, she remembered.

She didn’t even notice they had arrived until a large airship zipped through the Hexgate. It made her realize she hadn’t been here since before the Hexgates were created. She’d heard it was a marvel- But to see it here? Right in front of her? It was… Awe inspiring. This truly is The City of Progress. It made her rethink some things.

Sevike snickered behind her. “Amazed?” She asked, her voice holding that patronizing tone to it. The Doctor blushed and looked away, even though she knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Sevika had been here many times since the Hexgates were created, running shimmer back and forth for Silco, so the sight was just… Normal to her now. It’s strange, how that happens.

As they made their way to the academy, The Doctor couldn’t help the twist of anxiety brewing in her gut. Sevika was unpredictable, she didn’t know what she’d do or say once they got there, and she really didn’t want to break up a fight, or have any physical altercations between her and the guards. Or even worse; Jayce himself. Jayce was kind, and understanding. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a hot-head. Things set him off pretty easily, which also worried her.

And the thing that bothered her the most was the idea of Sevika not accepting Jayce’s help; that she’d be in pain until Silco could find someone in Zaun to fix up her arm. It confused her, and irritated her all the same. Why should she care if Sevika was in pain? She was a grown woman after all. Not a very nice one either.

Finally, they arrived inside. Some people gave them a wary and uneasy look, while others downright glared at them, as if to say “You don’t belong here. Go back to the Undercity”. The Doctor frowned. She had never gotten those looks before. She, unconsciously, moved closer to Sevikas side. It was true that she felt safe with the bigger woman. Who wouldn’t? After all, Sevika didn’t look bothered.

The Doctor asked around, inquiring about Jayce’s whereabouts. She was met with a lot of suspicion, but she eased their concerns with smooth talking, and stories of their college days, proving she had a legitimate tie to the man. Once they had their directions they were off, and in time they found his workshop.

The Doctor raised her fist to knock, when the door opened. A man she didn’t recognize stood there with a tilted head. “Hello?” He said with a strange accent.

“Um- Hello!” The Doctor started, “I’m here for Jayce…” she shifted nervously on her feet.

“I’m sorry, he’s not taking meetings today, would you like to leave your names?” He said monotonously. He seemed to do this often. And he didn’t seem bothered by Sevikas stark presence behind her.

“Oh- but-“

Suddenly the smaller man was nudged, making an irritated sound leave his throat as jayce appeared above him.

“What are you doing here?!” Jayce asked excitedly, pushing past the shorter male, his arms instinctively reaching to hug The Doctor. His hands snaked onto her lower back, squeezing; A familiar, practiced motion.

“Jeez!” The Doctor laughed, her arms returning the hug quickly, her head being shoved into his chest. He was just about the same height as Sevika.

“Careful or you’re gonna kill me before I even tell you why!” The Doctor teased as Jayce pulled back, his eyes bright, excited. He looked good, face bright, but still equipped with the eyebags that came with being a scientist.

“Right, right.” Jayce pulled back, his hands still on the small of her back. “Well come in-! I have much to show you!” he took her hand, pulling her inside the workshop.

The unnamed man stood behind them, a hip popped out to the side with a grumpy looking face. The Doctor couldn’t tell if he was simply leaning on his cane or being sassy…

“Before we start I think introductions are needed.” The Doctor looked happy, a genuine smile on her face as she gestured to the man and Sevika behind them. “I know how you get when you get into things, Jayce.” There it was again, that familiarity.

Sevika wanted to glare at him. She wanted to scare him away- Make him stop asking questions. But she knew how to play this. She wasn’t a stupid woman. She faked a smile, strained and thin, still intimidating despite it, and stayed silent.

In return, Jayce just rolled his eyes playfully at The Doctor, before nodding to Sevika, returning the same smile, it being a little bigger than hers. He turned quickly, and gestured to the man leaning on his cane. “This is Viktor. He’s been my partner while working under Heimerdinger.”

The Doctor nodded in acknowledgment. “Hello, Viktor. I’m a friend of Jayce’s from the academy.” she stuck her hand out to shake.

“Oh!” Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh. Hello.” He said, taking her hand gently. His hands were bony, his fingers long. He didn’t know how to shake a hand well, he simply laid his hand in hers and let her guide it. He sounded uncomfortable, but not negatively. Simply, in a new situation. The Doctor guessed he likely didn’t get much positive attention from topsiders, based on his reaction, so she put in extra effort to lightly cup his hand and smile as she shook it. He must be from the lower city. Or perhaps it’s because of his disability? She didn’t know, but her heart ached just a little for him.

After she pulled her hand away she turned towards Sevika. “This is Sevika. A…” she paused, not really sure what to call her. She decided on the simpler method. “A friend of mine. We met at a bar a few months ago.” She introduced.

Jayce took no time in raising an eyebrow, his mouth turned into a teasing smile. “Right.. a friend” He said, his voice dipping low. He knew The Doctors type, they did go to the academy together after all. Nights of parties and bar hopping, they had learned each-others type in people. And Sevika? She was definitely her type. Not to mention, The Doctor never brought people to meet Jayce. It was all too suspicious.

Sevika recoiled, looking The Doctor up and down. “Her?” She snorted. “No. Just friends.” Even that felt strange in her mouth. Referring to this woman as anything but a nuisance was wrong. Although, Sevika wouldn’t be surprised if The Doctor was into her. Honestly, a night or two with her wouldn’t be terrible. Sevika wasn’t new to hate sex- But anything else? Pure insanity.

The Doctor herself sputtered, caught off guard. Sevika and her? The thought made her cheeks warm, her heartbeat increasing.

Jayce’s other eyebrow shot up, with his hands as he backed away. “Sure, sure… Sure.” He said with a shrug. “I won’t push.” He said, with a wink. He turned away, his neck straining to look at them behind him. “Come on! I’ll show you the lab. You can tell me why you’re here.”

They made their way inside, Jayce showing off his recent discoveries, though not going into too much detail. He would stop and move on whenever Viktor gave him that warning look- the look of they don’t need to know this.

Finally they settled, taking seats at one of the bigger desks near the back. “So, not that I mind you visiting, but why are you here?” Jayce asked, absentmindedly helping Viktor into the chair next to him, like he’d done it a million times. He didn’t even take his eyes off of hers as he did it.

That had The Doctor raising an eyebrow, but she stored it away for later. She wasn’t one to ask those types of questions in front of others.

“Sevika’s arm has been giving her some trouble. It’s too heavy for her muscles to handle for such a long period of time. Do you think you could take a look and see if there’s anything you can do to remove some of the strain?” She asked them, her voice now poised and Doctor-like.

Jayce blinked, “… that’s it?” He asked, almost shocked. “I thought it’d be something way more complicated. Sure, put it here.” He patted the spot in front of him.

“Show off…” She muttered, and looked back to Sevika expectantly. Sevika wanted to sigh heavily but she restrained herself. She waddled over to the area, gripping her arm and lifting the weight off.

“Just… be careful.” She said grumpily before allowing Jayce to touch her. “It’s delicate.”

“I will be.” Jayce smiled, gentle but large fingers gracing her skin. He looked back to her for approval, receiving it hesitantly, before lifting her arm. He ran his hands over the seam, and her harness. “There seems to be some pressure points here, probably causing some pinching.” He ran his hand over her arm, examining the mechanisms. “How is this powered? There’s no way you could charge something like this in the undercity with basic power lines.”

The Doctor stiffened, honestly unsure if they should tell Jayce. On one hand, being honest would make sure they got everything fixed. On the other hand… she wasn’t sure how he’d react to Sevika using shimmer. It didn’t exactly have the best reputation…

But before she could speak Sevika did for her. “What do you think?” She asked gruffly. She looked down at the floor, her gaze slowly trekking up his body.

His eyes widened, backing away. He looked to The Doctor as if she’d have a different answer. She simply stumbled over her words, then looked down and bit her lip. “I…” He said. “Shimmer? You have me working on shimmer tech?” He said with a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t- You’re against shimmer! You know what it does!” He stood up, his chair flying out from under him, screeching as it slid back.

Viktor tried to quickly stand, but fumbled, falling back into the seat. “Jayce-“ He started.

“No. Viktor, I can’t work on something running on that.” He pointed a finger at him, then at Sevika. “And I want her out of my lab.” He frowned, looked her up and down, then turned and made his exit.

“That went as well as I thought it would.” Sevika mumbled with a scoff. The Doctor sighed, seeming used to it.

“Can’t tell you how many doors we had to replace in his dorm room.” She grumbled.

Then she turned her focus to Viktor. “I’m sorry we caused a stir. I hope he’s not like that often with you. Let me know if I need to have a discussion with him about minding his temper.” she seemed.. pissed, her eyes narrowing. It was, admittedly, hot, Sevika thought. But that thought was quickly squashed.

Viktor huffed a laugh. “You know him. He’s… Passionate.” He stood slowly, balancing on his crutch. “But… You should know, I am as talented as Jayce.” He placed a hand on The Doctor’s shoulder. “Meet me here. Tonight. We will talk.” He smiled at her and continued on, hobbling out the door. Presumably to follow Jayce.

The doctor grinned to herself. It seems as if Jayce found someone that could keep up with him and then some. Good. He needed someone like that. She watched him leave, her hip cocked a bit.

She turned to Sevika, “Well, that solves that.” She said, offering a pleasant smile to her, hoping to receive back… well, praise, if she was being honest with herself. It’s what she thrived off of, what kept her working so hard, being noticed and appreciated by others. Well, that and improving people’s lives of course.

“Damn. I didn’t expect the little guy to go against him.” She said with a laugh. “Good for him.” She stood up, giving The Doctor a pat on the head. “Good job not entirely fucking up.” She said with a slight smirk. That was the best she was gonna give.

The walk back to the undercity was distinctly not in silence, unlike before. The Doctor seemed rejuvenated, and Sevika couldn’t tell if it was because she got to see Jayce, or if it was due to herself. Part of her wished for the later, which irritated her.

When they parted ways, Sevika made her way to the brothel again. Distinctly looking for a woman, Clara, who may look distinctly similar to The Doctor.

#arcane #no arcane spoilers #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika #arcane sevika #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane fic #x reader #reader #aarons-fics #cowritten with migi

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pascalispretty · 20 hours ago

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mirage on sand

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: age gap like woah, 1970s AU, Rockstar Joel, drinking while driving (it's the 70s, standards are different), fingering, oral sex, car sex, daddy kink

Summary: You and Joel entertain yourselves as you drive through the desert to his next concert.

A/N: written for @iamasaddie's 24 hour writing challenge! This was such a good idea and desperately needed to help me get over my writer's block. I was listening to the Daisy Jones and the Six soundtrack, so I blame that for what happened here. Title from Let Me Down Easy by Daisy Jones and the Six. (ao3).

The gas station attendant watches you unabashedly as you lean down to scoop up a copy of Texas Tattle. He’s been staring at you since you came in really, his eyes roaming freely over your bare legs as you wandered down the aisles of the little gas station store. You don’t mind the looking. Men look at you all the time; they have done for years.

You drop the magazine onto the counter, along with a six pack of Coors and two packs of cigarettes. No menthols, you note with irritation, though you shouldn’t have expected much choice in such a tiny store. The cashier smirks at you as he rings you up. His eyes dip down to where your breasts press against the fabric of your dress, the bodice just slightly too small for you.

“You find everything you needed, ma’am?” He asks, packing your purchases with exaggerated care into a paper bag.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You’re not from around here are you? Reckon I’d remember seein’ a girl as pretty as you around,” he says with a wink. “You here on a trip with your dad?” The poor attempt at flirting makes you wince. You’re even a little annoyed on Joel’s behalf that the attendant hasn’t recognised him, though you suppose he’d have to take his eyes off your tits for more than a second to realise he has a rockstar roaming his forecourt.

“Something like that,” you say noncommittally. You hand him the bills Joel had given you before you came inside. “That should cover the gas too. Keep the change.” You grab the paper bag, eager to leave, to set off with Joel again.

Joel’s already back in the car when you step outside. The heels of your boots click on the asphalt as you cross to the car and open the passenger door.

“You get everything you wanted?” Joel asks, looking at you over the top of his sunglasses. He looks so handsome, the teal of his shirt a gorgeous contrast to the golden tan he’s sporting after weeks of Texas summer.

“And more,” you tell him, shoving the paper bag into the footwell. Before you get into the car, you bring one leg up to take off your boots. Joel had insisted that you should get a pair of real cowboy boots if you were gonna stay in Texas with him. That had been fine in Austin, but once you’d hit desert your feet had gotten way too hot.

With everything stowed in the footwell, there’s just you left to get back in the car. Rather than sitting down in the passenger seat, you crawl over it and straight into Joel’s lap.

“The cashier asked me if I was on a trip with my daddy,” you giggle as you straddle Joel’s hips. Your pretty white sundress rucks up at the top of your thighs and Joel’s hands push the hem higher as his hands slide up to cup your ass over the fabric. The passenger door is still hanging open; you know perfectly well the cashier has a perfect view into the car right now.

“I hope you told him yes.” Joel kisses you then, his stubble scraping your skin as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. It’s messy and desperate and entirely deliberate in showing the cashier exactly who you belong to. He doesn’t let you linger long on his lap; he has a concert tomorrow, and he’s supposed to be in El Paso by tonight.

You’re settled back in your own seat when the car pulls away, the desert opening back up before you like a vast orange ocean, only bisected by the ribbon of asphalt. You try bickering with Joel over control of the radio, but you’re fighting a losing battle. You content yourself with the way his hand feels resting on your thigh, his large palm warm against your skin.

Instead, you amuse yourself by pulling the magazine out of the bag by your feet.

“Whatcha got there?” Joel asks, his thumb tracing idle circles on your thigh.

“Saw you were mentioned on the cover and got curious.” You start flipping through pages to find whatever they’ve said about him, pausing on some salacious story about the Governor’s wife and a bodyguard.

“If you’re gonna read that trash, you can make yourself useful and open a beer up for me.” You’re reluctant to lose his hand on your leg, but reluctantly you do as you’re told. You hand him a beer, admiring the flex of his forearm as he brings it up to take a sip.

The two of you drive in companionable silence for a while, the desert flying by in a faded golden blur and Fleetwood Mac playing on the radio. You find the article about Joel in the magazine and read him the highlights.

“Apparently half the country is brokenhearted you’ve taken up with some young hussy,” you tease. He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“That so?” He puts the now-empty can back in the paper bag and, blessedly, puts his hand back on your thigh. “I don’t think they’re allowed to use words like that, baby.”

“It’s heavily implied. This gossip columnist says it’s like watching a Triple Crown Winner try and enter the Derby with a filly.”

“I got no complaints about the ride.” Joel’s hand slides a little higher up your leg, just beneath the hem of your dress. You let your legs fall open a little. It’s pathetic, really, how easily you respond to Joel. Sometimes he’ll just look at you right and set you to squirming.

“And I’m much more fun to whip.” That gets another chuckle out of Joel, another slide of his hand up your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him that you want to whine, or to beg, or to shimmy your hips down to meet his fingers.

“That you are, baby,” he says fondly, squeezing your thigh. “You gonna tell me what the whole thing said? Apart from callin’ you my pretty little filly.”

“Oh, they started with talking about the new album. How well it’s doing, the guitar auction, who you wrote ‘Please Hold to My Hand’ abou-” You cut yourself off abruptly as Joel’s pinkie finger finally brushes against your cunt.

“Are you not wearin’ panties?” He asks. You turn to look at him with a contrite look on your face.

“Oops. Must’ve forgot,” you say, faux-innocence seeping into your words like syrup. Joel rotates his hand and grunts when he feels just how wet you are.

“Bad girl. When you were crawling around on the seats before, do you think you flashed that teenager a glimpse of this pretty little pussy? Really give him something to think about?” He slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion. The swiftness of it makes you gasp, his thick digits a stretch even though you’d literally woken up to him pressing his cock inside you this morning.

You don’t ever want to get used to Joel. You like that it feels like a challenge every time, Joel pushing against your limits because he knows them better than you know them yourself. Your walls flutter around the intrusion of his fingers, the ache quickly outweighed by pleasure.

“You happy now, baby? Did I ride my pretty filly too hard this morning and put her away wet?” His tone is condescending, but somehow that only makes you wetter.

Your hands clutch at the gauzy white fabric of your dress as he slowly fucks you with his fingers.

Joel steals glances at you when he can; the road is empty, but he mustn’t want to risk taking his eyes off it completely in case he drives you into a ditch.

It’s hard to sit still, your back arching away from the leather seat as his fingertips bump up against that spot inside you, that secret hidden place he’d found. Your own fingers were too small to reach it; it had been further proof of how Joel just knew you, on the inside as much as the outside.

“Oh daddy,” you moan, clutching your dress so tightly you’re worried it might tear. “Feels so fucking good.”

“I know, baby. You know I only work you hard because you need it, don’t you? Little fillies like you need a firm hand.”

Your hips arch up in presentation, sweat beading on your skin in the too-hot car. It’s the middle of a heatwave and you’re in the desert, you didn’t think it was possible to feel any hotter. And yet Joel does, sending so much heat pouring through your veins you think you might combust.

“Joel,” you pant in between moans. “Daddy, am I allowed to come?”

“You’re allowed to come, baby,” he says magnanimously. “As long as you show me how grateful you are by puttin’ that pretty mouth of yours to work. Been too long since I fucked your throat.”

“Blew you last night,” you remind him, with a flash of indignation. You’d both been drunk, but surely you hadn’t been so forgettable as that.

“Exactly, baby, it’s been hours. I nearly put you on your knees back at the gas station,” he tells you, as nonchalantly as if he’s talking about the weather. You nearly choke on your own tongue at the mental image, and Joel takes that as his cue to work his fingers faster.

“Oh Joel, please,” you whine. Between the tension building in your body and the oppressive heat, you feel like you can barely even breathe anymore. You throw your head back against the headrest, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Your orgasm crashes over you abruptly, all that tension letting to at once until the pleasure of release reaches all the way down to your toes.

A sharp sound of dismay wrenches its way from your throat when Joel removes his fingers from your cunt. Without turning to look at you, he absently wipes his hand on his jeans.

“Good girl. You gonna keep being good for me?” He’s already hard, his cock straining against his tight jeans. You watch, a little mesmerised, as he undoes his belt one-handed.

“I’m always a good girl,” you protest, leaning over to unfasten his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear either, making it easy work to get his cock out. You wrap your fingers around the base, enjoying the weight of it against your palm.

“Careful now, baby. Lie to me and I’ll tan your hide.” Joel says, voice low. You shift in your seat, finding the least uncomfortable way to lean down into Joel’s lap. “Were you bein’ a good girl when you flashed your pussy at that boy?”

“….no,” you admit reluctantly. “Sorry.” Joel’s free hand finds a fistful of your hair.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry, baby. Next time I catch you misbehavin’ like that, it’ll take more than a blowjob to make it up to me.” He says it fondly, even as he pushes your head down. It’s all you can do to open your mouth, the first few inches of him heavy against your tongue.

“I want it messy. Be a good girl an’ get to it.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @totallynotastanacc

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader

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malk1ns · 15 hours ago

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november 22 vs jets, 4-1 loss

someone was in a mood.

this is omegaverse. it's also not entirely what i set out to write, but i got a little lost in in the setup at the start and then sid got a little less feral-alpha and more i've-been-pining at the end there so...here we are. also not nearly as long of a sex scene as i'd planned but sometimes i don't actually decide what gets written! hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Zhenya doesn’t trust the team’s new dynamic specialist.

He’s an omega—they often are, omegas tend to get funneled into career paths that involve heightened sensitivity to smell and emotions young, just like alphas are encouraged towards sports—but that’s not why Zhenya doesn’t trust him, not at all.

Kris had laughed at him when he first brought it up, patted his shoulder and said that Zhenya had no reason to be jealous, he was still everyone’s favorite omega no matter how many specialists the team brings in. Zhenya had socked him on the arm hard enough to bruise.

He’s never been that kind of omega. Most omegas he knows aren’t, actually—the stereotype that they’re all fawning after alphas, tripping over themselves for attention and picking fights with other omegas at the drop of a hat, isn’t based in any sort of reality that Zhenya’s experienced. He’s been surrounded by ‘traditional’ omegas his whole life, been treated by them and trained by them and gone to them for help regulating his cycle, and they’ve all been fiercely protective of him, gone out of their way to make sure that he’s taken care of and safe.

So, no, it’s not that Zhenya distrusts this guy because he’s an omega. Zhenya doesn’t trust him because he’s a fan.

The Penguins are usually pretty good at weeding out people who are going to be weird about working with the players from their employee pool. Fans are inevitable, especially with the emphasis the team puts on hiring local, but there’s a difference between being a fan and a fan.

Zhenya’s not sure how this one got through. And to be fair, the guy hasn’t done anything egregious—he’s not touchy, he’s not flirting, nobody’s said anything about feeling uncomfortable with him—but Zhenya can see the stars in his eyes when he looks at Sid, and when Zhenya had his own check-in, the kid barely even pushed back on Zhenya’s treatment plan, just accepted when Zhenya said he was fine and didn’t need any adjustments made.

Zhneya reported the official severance of his mate-bond over the summer. Their last specialist would have subjected him to hours of questions and testing to verify that he truly didn’t need his hormone-balancers changed, but this kid had taken him at his word so quickly that Zhenya was uneasy. If Sid’s checkup went any differently, Zhenya will eat his hat.

Even with that type of deference, though, Zhenya would expect him to have noticed that Sid’s heading towards early rut.

Omegas are always the first to notice when alphas enter pre-rut. It’s less a difference in smell than it is a difference in intensity, in presence. Sid already looms large enough in Zhenya’s subconscious, but when he’s nearing rut it becomes almost unbearable, especially if he doesn’t notice in time to take the pills that suppress the worst of it.

Zhenya can’t believe nobody else has noticed. Then again, he’s been hyper-sensitive to Sid for the last year and a half, ever since he and Anna first separated.

An omega fixating on an alpha like that is something a competent dynamics specialist should have been able to suss out, demand information on, and put together a treatment plan to rectify. This new guy hasn’t noticed a thing, and it’s embarrassing enough that Zhenya certainly isn’t going to bring it up on his own.

Sid’s also normally more on top of his cycle, but he’s stressed this season, fielding calls left and right from guys he hasn’t spoken to in years trying to get info on if he’s planning on jumping ship and being the public face of a team that’s underperforming so drastically it’s a national story every night, so Zhenya isn’t all that surprised.

Sully gives them the day after the Lightning game off, and only half the guys get scheduled for on-ice work the day before the Jets come to town. By the time the special teams units are done with extra video review, Zhenya’s practically dizzy with Sid’s pheromones, and even Kris is starting to wrinkle his nose and cast sidelong looks of concern Sid’s way.

Sid books it for the gym before anyone can corner him, though, which means Zhenya has no choice but to track down the specialist with his concerns.

Kris comes with as back-up, like he always does. One too many instances of Zhenya slinking out of offices with his tail between his legs and rage written on his face after being written off for being overly-emotional their rookie year has made it a habit for them; Zhenya takes point on laying out any problems they have, but Kris is there to lend support and legitimacy.

The specialist—Ben, his nametag says—listens as Zhenya stumbles through what he’s noticing, face getting paler and paler as Zhenya makes it perfectly, unavoidably clear how badly he’s dropped the ball.

“I’ll have to run his bloodwork, but…” Ben hesitates, but Zhenya’s glare gets him babbling. “It’s only, I don’t think—the service doesn’t have any omegas available this week. They send the list every Monday, you know, which of their contractors are around for breakthroughs, but we got a note Sunday night that there weren’t going to be any omegas until next week—some scheduling problem, I don’t know, but there’s nobody they can send for Sid.” He looks between Zhenya and Kris in desperation. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not just thinking because you—”

Kris growls under his breath, and Ben shuts his mouth. “G knows Sid better than anyone,” Kris says, crossing his arms and managing to loom even from where he’s leaning against the wall across the room. “If he says Sid’s going into rut, he’s going into rut. Not his job to tell people, but we have each other’s backs.”

Zhenya will be surprised if Ben is still employed with the team when 2025 starts.

Ben’s fretting over his computer when Kris and Zhenya leave, muttering to himself as he types out different search queries, trying to find an emergency agency that has a hope of getting approved by the team on such short notice.

He won’t. They only go through one service provider for a reason.

“We’re fucked,” Kris mutters. “That kid doesn’t know anything, Sid’s gonna end up missing a whole week. He’s going to be furious.”

Zhenya doesn’t reply. He has a really, really bad idea.

—

It wouldn’t be the first time Zhenya helped Sid through rut. Zhenya’s own heat is as regular as clockwork and meticulously controlled, has been since he turned 14 and presented for the first time, but Sid spent his teenage years and first few seasons in the league going from medication to medication until his cycle stabilized on its own. There had been a few times when there was no one else available, and they were young and dumb and, as those times proved, painfully compatible.

He’s done it before. No reason he can’t do it again. He was always able to get Sid’s rut to break overnight; if Sid can make it through the Jets game without losing it completely, they might not even miss the second half of this week’s back-to-back.

Convincing Sid will be the hardest part, Zhenya thinks as he goes through his pre-game routine. Sid’s always been respectful to the point of insult about Zhenya’s status as an omega, shutting down locker room talk and off-color jokes firmly and skirting the reality of Zhenya’s heats with a level of avoidance that would make Zhenya think he were a virgin if it weren’t for Zhenya’s hands-on experience. Sid had shut down their hookups Zhenya’s second year so politely that Zhenya hadn’t even realized what was happening at first, but when he’d picked through the conversation later he’d realized that Sid had been concerned he was taking advantage of Zhenya.

He hadn’t been. Zhenya can take care of himself. He thought about getting offended by the implication, about challenging Sid on it and forcing the issue, but then he got back together with Oksana, and after that fizzled out for the final time he met Anna, and it just never felt worth putting a wedge in their friendship just to prove a point.

Zhenya’s prepared to wedge it wide open now. When Sid picks a fight with some Winnipeg forward three minutes into the third, though, he’s shamefully relieved that it probably won’t take much arguing to get Sid to come home with him. Sid’s usually so logical that any arguments they have end with Zhenya losing before they even truly get going.

Zhenya shifts on the bench. They’re losing again, and Sid’s angry and half out of his mind with rut-haze, but seeing him throw punches and snarl his dominance in someone else’s face will never not be hot, no matter the circumstances.

Kris elbows him hard enough to feel it through his pads. “You’re going to do something stupid, huh,” he hisses, and Zhenya nods, watching as Sid barks at the ref on his way to the box. No point pretending, Sid’s going to zero in on him the second he realizes Zhenya’s interested after the game. “Fuck,” Kris sighs, elbowing Zhenya again. “I’ll try to cover for you. Get him out of here as soon as you can, he’s going to cause a riot with the crowd if he hangs around for too long.”

��

Sid’s the first one down the tunnel after the final horn goes off. Zhenya had kept his distance at the end of the game, not wanting to push Sid even further into rut, but even with space between them he could tell that Sid was quickly losing coherency, his big eyes all pupil and his nostrils flaring, snapping at Ricky and Rusty whenever either of them try to talk through a play with him. He spent the last few minutes of the game shoving off the training staff who tried to talk to him, and it took Kris frantically whispering to Sully to get everyone to back off.

Zhenya barely makes it through his shower before Sid gets a whiff of his scent. Kris runs interference, blocking the rest of the team from the change room as Zhenya somehow manages to dress them both while fending off Sid’s advances and keeping his own instinctual fawn response in check.

He’d vaguely thought about having someone from the car service drive them home, but the idea of sharing space with anyone other than Sid is intolerable, so he white-knuckles the drive home, Sid’s scent rising in the close air of his car. It’s suffocating.

“How did you know?” Sid asks suddenly as they turn into Zhenya’s neighborhood. He sounds perfectly lucid, like they’re just having a casual everyday conversation and not like Zhenya’s driving them home so he can sit on Sid’s dick for the next six hours. “I barely even noticed, and you…how?”

Zhenya glances to his left and immediately regrets it, because Sid’s got one hand down his own pants and is stroking himself off. His other hand is braced against the dashboard, almost like he’s stopping himself from reaching for Zhenya.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Zhenya focuses back on the road. Just a few more turns and they’re home. “Since last year I’m notice you more,” he says plainly. “You know, when Anna and I break up, like, you’re smell so much more to me than before.”

Sid groans in response, and Zhenya skids up his driveway so fast he scatters gravel everywhere when he brakes.

“I never stopped noticing you,” Sid gasps in his ear when they finally make it to Zhenya’s bedroom and Sid’s got him pinned down to the mattress, frantically ripping at his clothes to get them skin-on-skin. “I shouldn’t have told you we had to stop, you were mine and—fuck, god, you should have been mine this whole time.”

“Shh,” Zhenya soothes, arching his back to rub along Sid’s body and tilting his head to one side to expose his neck. He gets to watch in real-time the way Sid fixates on his scent gland, the way his pupils dilate even more and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Zhenya was happy in his relationships. Perfectly satisfied, genuinely in love. He doesn’t regret them. But there had been a part of him that never let go of Sid.

It’s all instinct the way he spreads his legs, purring enticements as Sid clumsily lines up and moaning as Sid sinks into him too fast, the stretch painful and so good. Sid was always a little careless during his ruts, always a little more selfish than he’d probably care to admit to being with his lovers, and Zhenya missed the rough treatment, missed the way Sid took what he wanted.

He’s going to be sore tomorrow. He won’t skate well, won’t score again, and he’ll have to listen to Sully scold him for yet another disappointing performance in front of their home crowd.

But Sid’s teeth are scraping over his scent gland, and Sid’s knot is swelling inside him, and Zhenya can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #24-25 series

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shaiprsly · 17 hours ago

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𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - PT.3

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Elvis Presley x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 1972. Fame, wealth, and the haunting allure of Elvis Presley—everything Y/N could ever want, except the one thing that really matters: a simple, normal life. Hired as the nanny for Lisa Marie Presley, Y/N is thrown into the heart of the Presley world, where she quickly becomes more than just a caretaker for Elvis's daughter. As Priscilla remains distant, Y/N steps in, offering Lisa Marie the affection and attention she craves. But it’s Elvis, cold and aloof at first, who soon becomes captivated by her. With 15 years between them, Elvis begins to blur the lines between professional and personal, showering Y/N with gifts and flirting dangerously. He may be married, but that doesn't stop him from wanting Y/N. Torn between duty and desire, Y/N must face the growing tension, knowing that giving in could shatter everything she’s worked for. Will she resist the King of Rock and Roll, or will his love prove impossible to escape?

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬/𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Cussing, cheating, age gap (Elvis is 37, reader is 22), emotional manipulation. I guess that all !!

It’s 1 AM when Elvis stumbles through the front door, his movements a little unsteady, the weight of the night’s argument still hanging over him. He’s a bit drunk, the pills he took earlier working their way through his system, dulling his senses. The fight with Priscilla echoes in his head, her voice ringing in his ears after he kissed that fan for a photo. Every damn time he makes a move, she throws a tantrum, and he’s had enough of it.

He mutters under his breath, irritated, kicking off his shoes as he drags himself through the hallway. All he wants now is to see Lisa Marie. After the tension with Priscilla, she’s the only thing that brings him any peace. She’s the only one who hasn’t been a damn problem today, she's never been.

As he walks toward her room, his steps slow and careless, he’s barely thinking straight. When he pushes the door open, expecting to find his daughter asleep, he freezes in the doorway.

There you are, curled up beside Lisa Marie in her bed, both of you sound asleep. You’re still in your clothes, looking peaceful despite the chaos of the night. Your arms are wrapped around Lisa Marie protectively, and he can’t help but feel a wave of something unfamiliar when he sees you both like this.

He hadn’t realized you’d stayed the night, Priscilla didn't tell him, but seeing you there with his daughter—so calm, so natural—it stirs something in him. He’s always been guarded, always kept his distance from the people who work for him or his wife, but right now, looking at you, he feels something shift inside him.

He steps closer to the bed, careful not to wake you, and leans down to kiss Lisa Marie’s forehead. His lips brush against her skin, and for a moment, everything feels right. But then his eyes flick to you, and that strange feeling intensifies. You’re lying there so quietly, looking so peaceful, and something in him softens. He reaches out before he even realizes what he’s doing, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek.

The contact is brief but electric, and he quickly pulls his hand back, his heart racing. He doesn’t know why it affects him so much. You’re just the nanny, after all. But seeing you with his daughter... something about it makes him feel vulnerable. It makes him feel like maybe he’s been too hard on you yesterday, too violant.

He stands there for a long moment, watching you both, his chest tight with emotion. He’s not sure what to make of it, but he knows he can’t stand there any longer. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the room, his thoughts heavy as he heads toward the living room.

Once there, he sits down on the couch, grabs the bottle of pills in the pocket of his jacket, and takes a few, washing them down with only his saliva. His mind drifts back to Priscilla. Damn her. She’s always making things harder than they need to be, throwing fits every time he does something she doesn’t like. And now, she’s throwing a fit because he kissed a fan for a picture.

He leans back on the couch, rubbing his temples. She can’t even take care of their daughter without losing her cool. He doesn’t even know how to make her happy anymore. All he ever does is try, and it never seems to be enough. He thinks about the way she’d treated Lisa Marie earlier in the morning before they left—like she couldn’t even be bothered to be a real mother. It frustrates him more than he cares to admit.

Another pill, another pill, and another one, the frustration won’t go away. But for some reason, when he thinks about you again—how you were there for Lisa Marie, how you held her without hesitation—it doesn’t make him feel anger. Instead, it makes him feel... something else. Something softer. He doesn’t want to feel soft. He doesn’t want to feel vulnerable.

But damn it, here he is.

____

You wake up with a jolt, the quiet darkness of the house making you feel disoriented for a moment. The soft moonlight peeks through the curtains, and you glance at the clock on the wall. It's 3 AM. You look at Lisa Marie, still peacefully asleep beside you, her tiny body curled up in her blankets.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you slip out of the bed, careful not to disturb her. You pull your shoes on quietly, trying not to wake her up, and head out of the room. You’re still exhausted, but your thoughts are buzzing, wondering where her parents are. Are they home yet ?

You move down the hall and toward the stairs, the house still as quiet as a ghost. You can hear the distant sound of a low hum from the living room, and as you reach the bottom of the staircase, you stop in your tracks. There, slouched on the couch in the dim light of the room, is Elvis. He’s still wearing his clothes, the collar of his shirt slightly open. A cigar hangs loosely between his fingers, the tip glowing red as he takes another drag, and there’s an air of recklessness about him that makes you hesitate. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of whiskey.

You take a deep breath, your nerves on edge. He’s high, his eyes half-lidded, but he’s still awake.

“Mr. Presley?” you call softly, not wanting to startle him.

His eyes flick over to you, and he lets out a quiet sigh, but doesn't say anything at first. The way he stares at you sends a small shiver down your spine. Something in his gaze feels off, like a storm brewing behind his tired eyes.

“I should go,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “It’s really late, and you're back, so…”

“No,” he cuts you off, his voice hoarse. “It’s too late for you to be goin’ back home now. You stayin’ here.”

You can feel the tension building in the room, a mix of confusion and frustration. “But it’s so late. I don’t wanna—”

“No,” he repeats more forcefully, sitting up straighter on the couch, his hand tightening around the cigar. “You’re stayin’. Ain’t no point in goin’ home alone. just stay.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he interrupts again, his tone sharp now.

“Why the hell you gotta make everything so difficult, huh? It’s not safe out there, especially not now!” He stands up suddenly, his words slurring slightly, the alcohol and pills still clouding his thoughts.

The anger in his voice escalates, and before you can even register what’s happening, the room grows tense, the walls almost vibrating with the force of his frustration.

“No, I have to go home,” you insist, your own voice shaking now, but you stand firm, trying to make him understand. “Mr. Presley..”

He doesn’t listen. His patience is wearing thin, and in a sudden outburst, he shouts, his voice reverberating in the stillness of the house.

“Goddamn it, will you just stop?!” he yells, stepping toward you. “You stay right here, do you hear me? It's too late for you to go home alone, I'm not letting you leave at two in the fucking morning.”

The force of his words fills the room, and your heart pounds in your chest, a mixture of fear and disbelief rushing through you. It’s all happening so quickly. Before you can even react, you hear the soft sound of sniffling behind you.

You turn to see Lisa Marie standing just behind you, at the end of the stairs, crying and clutching her teddy bear.

“Daddy…?” she says in a tiny, quivering voice. Her lip trembles, and her eyes dart between you and Elvis, the fear clear in her gaze.

The sight of her breaks something inside you. You feel a wave of guilt wash over you as the tension hangs in the air. You know that this isn’t what she should be waking up to.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” you rush to her, your voice soft and soothing as you kneel down in front of her, trying to comfort her. But she’s too scared to listen, the tears flowing freely now as she trembles in your arms.

“I-I’m sowy,” she sobs, her tiny body shaking. “don’t like it when you yell, daddy…”

You glance up at Elvis, who is standing there, looking furious, his face twisted with frustration. His anger flickers for a moment as he sees his daughter upset, but it’s quickly replaced by a quiet, bitter remorse. His eyes soften for a brief second, and he runs a hand through his hair.

But the damage is done. Lisa Marie is crying in your arms, and you feel helpless. You don’t know what to say, how to make things right in this moment.

“Mr. Presley…” you begin, your voice small. “Please, you’re scaring her.”

He stands there for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in, and for the first time tonight, he seems to realize what he’s done. But he says nothing, just lowers his head, and walks past you two, going upstairs to his bedroom without saying anything.

You scoop Lisa Marie up into your arms, her small hands clutching at your shirt as her tears dampen your shoulder. Her sobs are soft now, but they still tug painfully at your heart. You carry her back to her bedroom, whispering gentle reassurances as you go.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here,” you murmur, stroking her hair as you settle her down onto the bed. “Daddy didn’t mean to scare you. Sometimes grown-ups get upset, but it’s not your fault, okay?”

Lisa sniffles, rubbing her eyes with her fists as she looks up at you, her voice trembling. “Why was Daddy yelling? he mad at me?”

Your heart aches at the fear and confusion in her voice. You sit beside her on the bed and pull her into a tight hug, rocking her gently. “No, baby, Daddy’s not mad at you. He’s just… having a tough night. But you don’t have to worry about that. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

She nods hesitantly, her head resting against your chest. You rub soothing circles on her back, humming softly to calm her down. After a few minutes, her breathing steadies, and the tears finally stop.

“Do you want hot chocolate ?” you ask gently, brushing her hair away from her face.

Lisa shakes her head, her voice barely a whisper. “No… want you to stay wif me.”

You nod, giving her a small smile. “Of course, I’ll stay. Let’s lie down, and I’ll tell you a story, hmm? How about that?”

She nods again, a hint of a smile peeking through her sadness. You help her settle under the blankets, tucking her in snugly before lying down beside her. She clings to your arm, her grip tight, like she’s afraid to let go.

“What kind of story do you want?” you ask, your voice low and soothing. “Something about princesses? Or maybe animals?”

Lisa looks up at you, her big eyes still glassy from crying. “you sing again? Like you did before?”

You hesitate for a moment, “Alright,” you say softly. “But only if you promise to close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“I pwomise,” she whispers, snuggling closer to you.

You take a deep breath, your voice soft and steady as you start singing “La Foule” by Edith Piaf. The gentle melody fills the room, and you notice her eyelids growing heavier with each verse. Her grip on your arm loosens, but her hand is still on it, and soon, her breaths even out into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

You sit beside Lisa Marie as her soft breaths even out, her little hand still loosely holding onto your arm. Sleep doesn’t come for you, though. The events of the night weigh heavily on your mind—the yelling, the crying, the tension. You glance at the clock. It’s barely past 4 a.m., and the hours crawl by as you stare at the ceiling, trying to push away your thoughts.

By the time the soft morning light filters through the curtains, it’s nearly 7 a.m. You carefully got up from the bed, making sure not to wake Lisa Marie, and sit by the window, letting the quiet of the early morning ground you.

A little over an hour later, you hear her stirring behind you.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you say softly, turning to see Lisa rubbing her eyes.

She yawns, sitting up and clutching her stuffed animal. “Gwood mornin’. Did Daddy stop bein’ mad?”

You kneel beside her, brushing her hair back gently. “I think so, sweetie. And I have an idea, how about we do something nice for him this morning?”

Lisa’s face lights up, her curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

You smile, an idea forming. “Well, how about we make him some breakfast? Do you know what your daddy likes to eat in the morning?”

Lisa’s excitement grows as she claps her hands. “He looooves bacon! And pancakes! And coffee—he drinks it all time.”

“Bacon and pancakes it is,” you say with a grin. “You’ll be my little helper, okay?”

She nods eagerly, and the two of you head downstairs. In the kitchen, you let her stand on a stool beside you as you pull out the ingredients. Lisa insists on cracking the eggs for the pancake batter, giggling every time a bit of shell falls in, and you patiently show her how to scoop it out.

“Good job, chef,” you say, handing her a whisk. She beams with pride, stirring the batter as you fry the bacon. The kitchen fills with the warm, delicious smell of breakfast, and Lisa sneaks a piece of bacon when she thinks you’re not looking.

Once everything is ready, you set the food carefully on a tray—pancakes, bacon, a small dish of syrup, and a steaming cup of coffee. Lisa carries a napkin, beaming with excitement as you both head upstairs.

“Shhh, let’s surprise him,” you whisper as you gently push open Elvis’s bedroom door. The room is quiet, and Elvis is sitting up in bed, looking groggy but much calmer than the night before. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of the two of you.

“What’s all this?” he asks, his voice still rough with sleep but noticeably softer than the night before.

Lisa Marie bounces over to him, holding up the napkin. “made you breakfast, Daddy! Look, pancakes! And bacon! And coffee too!”

You step forward with the tray, offering him a small smile.

Elvis’s gaze shifts to the tray in your hands, his brow raising slightly. He looks... different—calm, almost like nothing happened last night. “Well, ain’t this somethin’. My girls takin’ care of me now, huh?”

“We thought you could use a good start to the day.” you say softly, watching for any sign of recognition about last night.

But Elvis doesn’t even flinch. He acts as if nothing happened, as if the yelling, the pills, the cigar, all of it, didn’t exist.

Lisa giggles, climbing onto the bed beside him, while you stand awkwardly by the door. Elvis notices and gestures toward the chair by the window. “You can sit down, y’know. You don’t gotta run off.”

You hesitate but nod, taking the seat. As Elvis takes a bite of the pancakes, Lisa watches him expectantly.

“Good?” she asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Best damn pancakes I ever had,” he says with a small smile, making Lisa beam with pride.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the air in the room feels light—like things might just be okay.

____

Lisa Marie fidgets beside her father, suddenly pulling at his sleeve. “Daddy, I gotta go pee pee!” she announces loudly, hopping off the bed before either of you can respond.

“Alright, go on then,” Elvis says with a small chuckle, waving her off as she darts out of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind her, the air in the room grows still. You glance at Elvis hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of your top. His attention is on the tray in front of him, lazily stabbing at a piece of pancake with his fork.

Clearing your throat, you muster the courage to ask, “So... uh, is Mrs. Presley back yet? I wasn’t sure if I needed to stay again today.”

Elvis’s hand freezes for a moment before he sets the fork down. His expression hardens slightly, though his voice remains calm. “No, she ain’t back.”

You nod slowly, unsure if you should press further. But the way he avoids looking at you makes you curious—and worried. “Do you... know when she’ll be back?”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “Probably not today. Maybe tomorrow. She’s stayin’ over at Sonny’s place.”

“Oh,” you murmur, his words settling heavily in your mind. “Is everything okay?”

Elvis leans back against the headboard, rubbing his temple as if the conversation is giving him a headache. “We had a little... disagreement last night. She’ll cool off. Always does.”

You hesitate, wondering if you should leave it at that. But his tone, combined with the tired look on his face, pulls another question from you. “Did it have something to do with why she didn’t come home last night?”

He snorts bitterly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Somethin’ like that.” His gaze shifts to the window, distant now. “Priscilla’s got a knack for blowin’ things outta proportion. I kissed some fan for a damn picture, and she acted like it was the end of the world.”

You blink, unsure how to respond to that. The frustration in his voice is clear, but so is the exhaustion.

“Guess she thought makin’ a scene and stormin’ off would make her point,” he adds with a sarcastic edge, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, not knowing what else to offer.

Elvis looks back at you then, his expression softening just a fraction. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to be sorry about. You just doin’ your job.”

You hesitate for a moment before adding, “So… does that mean I can go home? Do I have the day off?”

Elvis’s gaze flickers over you, his expression guarded. “If ya really gotta go, then yeah, you can. But…” He stops himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Before you can respond, Lisa Marie comes bounding back into the room, her little hands clasped in front of her. “I’m back!” she chirps, smiling brightly.

You kneel down to her level, smoothing her dress. “Lisa, I need to tell you something,” you begin gently.

Her smile falters slightly, and her head tilts in curiosity. “What?”

“I have to go home now, sweetie,” you say softly, brushing a stray curl from her face.

Her face immediately falls, her big brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “No…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“I know, baby, but I’ll come back soon,” you reassure her, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

Lisa’s little hands ball into fists at her sides, but she doesn’t say anything at first. When you stand up, she suddenly lets out a loud wail, throwing herself onto the floor.

“ NOOO ! Don’t go, Y/N!” she cries, her tiny body shaking with sobs. “Don’t leave me!”

You drop to your knees beside her, pulling her into a tight hug as she clings to you desperately. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” you murmur, your own heart breaking at her tears.

But Lisa doesn’t stop crying. Her little fists pound against your chest as she buries her face in your shoulder. “I don’t want you to go!” she sobs.

Elvis steps forward, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. “Lisa Marie, that’s enough,” he says firmly, but not unkindly.

She looks up at him, tears streaming down her face. “But Daddy—”

“No buts,” he says, crouching down to her level. “Y/N’s gotta go, but you’ll see her again real soon, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”

Lisa sniffles, her lip trembling, but she doesn’t argue further. Instead, she wraps her little arms around your neck one last time, clinging to you as if letting go would break her.

You hug her tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Lisa. Be good for your daddy, alright?”

She nods reluctantly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

Elvis places a hand on her shoulder, giving you a brief nod. “I’ll take it from here,” he says, his voice softer now.

You stand, giving Lisa one last smile before turning to leave. As you step out of the room, her quiet sniffles echo behind you, and the weight of her tiny heartbreak lingers with you.

____

You drive home from Graceland, the quiet of the empty streets mirroring the exhaustion you feel in your bones. Everything seems blurry—the night, the arguments, Lisa Marie’s tearful goodbye, and Elvis’s unreadable gaze. Your mind is racing, but your body just wants rest.

When you finally pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you don’t linger in your car. You’re eager to get inside, to shed the heaviness of the night. The moment you step inside, the quiet of your apartment welcomes you, but it feels different now—more like an escape, a refuge from everything that’s been happening.

You head straight to the bathroom, shedding your clothes from the day before. The water in the shower feels like a cleansing ritual. You scrub away the tension, the makeup, and the exhaustion, but your mind is still consumed by thoughts of Elvis. You think about his smiles, the way he looked at you when you brought him breakfast, the gentleness in his voice earlier. Even though he had his moments of coldness and frustration, there was something about him that was hard to ignore.

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and stare at your reflection. You didn’t expect this—feeling this drawn to someone like Elvis. But you can't help it. His presence lingers in your mind, even when you try to push him out.

After getting dressed in something comfortable, you flop onto your bed, the quiet of the apartment enveloping you. Despite the bright sunlight creeping in through the window, you can’t fight the pull of sleep. It’s only 10 AM, but you haven’t had any proper rest after the emotional rollercoaster of last night and this morning. Your body, sore and exhausted, finally gives in, and you close your eyes, hoping to escape into the peaceful silence of sleep.

As you drift off, you wonder if Elvis thinks about you too, if he’s feeling the same pull. But for now, all you can do is let sleep take over, hoping for a few hours of respite before the day truly begins again.

To be continued...

tags : @pxpresley 🤍

#elvis presley x reader #elvis fans #elvis photos #elvis presley #elvis the king #elvis the pelvis #elvis x reader #elvis history #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x y/n

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foxesscramble · 1 day ago

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in honor of the holidays here's some foxes and co going home for the holidays (set sometime in the future)

Somewhere in Wisconsin:

Matt Boyd just won his last game before their winter break.

Dan and Matt make their rounds to say goodbye to everyone as they disperse for the break.

They head out and grab a taxi, making a quick stop by their house to grab their luggage.

They’re headed home for the holidays.

Back to where their families were collecting for the holidays.

Back to South Carolina.

They were unbelievably excited to see everyone.

They had a secret that they were finally telling the foxes when they got them all together.

Dan cradled her growing belly

Somewhere in Colorado:

Renee compiled a list of care advice for her neighbor who is petsitting for her while she’s in South Carolina.

It’s a hefty list and Renee is once again grateful for her kind, elderly neighbor who had volunteered herself immediately after hearing Renee was going to be traveling.

She made her rounds saying goodbye to all her pets before grabbing her suitcase and keys and heading to the door.

She sent a text to Allison to let her know she was about to hit the road.

Text sent she said one last goodbye at the door before locking up behind her.

South Carolina, here we come.

Somewhere in New York:

Allison carefully packed her clothes into her bag.

Had she possibly packed too much for her two-week trip? Probably, but she hasn’t seen anyone in a while, and she likes to look good.

Allison checked her phone for the time before grabbing her suitcases and putting them by the door.

She did one last walk-through to make sure she didn’t forget anything before turning all her lights off and grabbing her luggage.

She closed the door and locked it before making her way out of her apartment.

She sent a text to Renee to let her know she was leaving and got in her car.

Somewhere in Germany:

“Nicky, Liebling, if you don’t get your ass down here we’re going to miss our flight!”

Nicky swears as he collects his bags in a hurry, his feet pounding down the stairs of his and Erik’s apartment.

Germany had done Nicky a lot of good but he was undeniably excited to head back to the States.

Back to his family.

“I’m ready! I swear!”

Erik laughed and herded him out the door.

They made it through the security check with 15 minutes to get to their boarding area.

They laughed as they ran through the airport, their luggage flipping and bumping into the back of their legs.

They were the last people on the plane, but they made it.

Nicky was going home.

Somewhere in California:

Kevin lugs both suitcases into the trunk of his car before he helps Amalia into the back seat and gets her buckled into her car seat.

They were driving all the way to South Carolina because Amalia had recently become deathly afraid of planes.

Settling in for the two-day drive, they'd barely made it 30 minutes into the trip before Amalia determined it had been a long time and it was time for snacks.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer to all things holy, Kevin pulled into a gas station to get snacks and have a bathroom break.

He knew the drive would be rough but 'Grandpa Coach' and 'Gran Abby', as Amalia had taken to calling her grandparents (maybe Kevin should have stopped calling them by name), would be more than willing to take Amalia when they got home.

Amalia spent the rest of the 36 hour drive rotating between excitably talking about seeing her aunts and uncles, singing the entire Frozen soundtrack at the top of her little 4 year old lungs, and sleeping.

Somewhere between Kansas and South Carolina:

"If you touch the stereo one more time, Josten, you're losing your hand."

Hands held over the console.

Hand kisses.

Smoke breaks.

Lots of snack breaks.

Neil gets fruit cups and Andrew gets candy.

Their cats joined them for the trip.

Sir sits in Neil's lap the entire ride but King gets the zoomies every 30 miles.

Andrew has to repeatedly remove him from his feet so he stops getting close to the pedals.

They call Bee halfway through the drive to make sure she’ll be there when they get there. She and Andrew chat while Neil takes a bathroom break.

When Neil comes back Andrew’s frame has relaxed a bit further.

They were both excited to see everyone but that didn’t take away the anxiety of having that big of a group together again.

But the foxes were family and they couldn’t wait to see their family.

Somewhere in North Carolina:

"Okay, and you packing the girls' blankets?"

Katelyn and Aaron may resemble headless chickens trying to get their 13 month old twins together and ready.

Katelyn has been tasked with the girls' things and Aaron has been tasked with actually getting the girls in the car.

One of the twins is passed out in their car seat and the other is sobbing and throwing a fit.

Aaron is trying to calm her down and Katelyn is driving.

It took about an hour to get her to stop crying and when she did Aaron took a deep breath and fell back in his seat.

He rested his head back and closed his eyes, letting the quiet sounds of the road soothe him.

That calmness lasts for a good minute before Katelyn lets out a loud, FUCK!

"I forgot our suitcase!"

Somewhere in South Carolina:

Abby fluffs the decorative pillow for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes.

She’s already vacuumed and swept every room in their house. She’s gotten all the spare bedrooms ready and taken out all of the blowup mattresses. Most of the kids were staying with them with the exception of those that had kids.

They hadn’t all been together in so long and it felt imperative that the house looked good for everyone.

Wymack came up behind her and gently took the pillow from her hands before setting it back on the couch.

“The place looks amazing, Abby.”

Abby turned around and shot him a doubtful look.

Wymack laughed roughly and leaned forward to place a careful kiss to her forehead.

“They’re just going to be happy to be here. I don’t think they’d care if it looked like a pigsty in here. Everything is okay, and you know why?”

Abby leaned her weight against Wymack’s chest. “Why?”

Wymack pulled back slightly so he could send her a fond smile.

“Our kids are coming home."

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camillomea · 2 days ago

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Child of crime alley episode 7:camera records

helluuuu. here is the new episode. thank you for your support with comments. please state your thoughts in the comments. enjoy reading -cami

Jason had returned to the cave after dropping Tim off at the cafe. There was no one there at this hour. He went to the main computer. He sent a message to Barbara

j- Hey Barbara, I have a favor to ask you. Of course, if you are not awake, I will write to you tomorrow

I-I am awake. But I will sleep. What happened at this hour?

j- About Tim

There was no answer but his phone started to ring. It was Barbara. She answered. Jason said “Hey I can ask you later”. He said to Barbara “I am awake, talk”. Jason asked “Do you know where he lives?” Barbara asked “I have no idea. Why are you trying to find him?” Jason said “I am not trying to find him, I already found the area where he lives. He lives in the Alley”. Barbara said “WHAT” in shock. Jason said “Yes. I met him in the evening”. Barbara asked “Did you find out exactly where he lives?” Jason remained silent. Barbara said “Jason”. Jason said “I don’t think he lives anywhere”. He asked Barbara “What”. Jason said “I’m having one of my men investigate but I think he’s homeless.” There was a boom from the other end. Jason said “Barbara.” Barbara said “Please tell me you’re exaggerating or lying.” Jason said “I’m sorry Babs but I don’t think it’s an exaggeration.” He cursed Barbara “Okay what can I do for you?” he said after taking deep breaths to calm himself down for a while. Jason said “I want to access the old camera footage of the cave. I want to know what the hell is going on.” Barbara said “Okay I’ll give you access.” Jason said “Thanks” and turned on the computer. Barbara said “But I want to know every detail.” Jason said “Okay.” They started investigating. The two of them spent the next hours looking at the security footage. They went all the way back to the first footage, they had seen Bruce’s handling of Jason’s death, how crazy he was, how suicidal he was. Then they saw how Tim had dragged himself into this incident, how he became Robin. Jason had stopped the recordings when he first saw Tim. “It’s too small,” he said in a low voice. Barbara remained silent. Jason said, “Babs, how did you not notice this, he is so young,” in hushed tones. His eyes were glowing green. Barbara remained silent. Jason cursed angrily. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then continued to watch. Then, when he saw Tim training with Bruce, Jason was going crazy, he was going crazy. When it was finally over, Jason had to work really hard to calm himself. Every time Tim got hurt, he used the infirmary after every training session to take care of his own wounds, and he had to dress his own wounds, over and over again. Barbara couldn’t say a word either. Jason tried to calm himself for a while, and then he calmed down and said, “Babs, do me a favor and reach Cass, she’s been in town for a while, hasn’t she? Send these to her.” Barbara asked, “Okay, what are you going to do?” His tone was full of anger. Jason said, “I’m going to find Bird and take him to Dr. Leslie. I don’t think he’s even been to a doctor in years. I’m going to make sure everything is okay. Even though I want to beat Bruce to death right now, my priority is Bird,” he said. Barbara said, “Okay, let me know what the doctor says,” and hung up. Jasom got up and took out his phone

J-hey bird. Did you get off work, are you awake?

T- my shift just finished, I’m going to eat something and go to sleep. Why?

J- oh well

He wrote and paused. *How will I convince you? How will I convince you* he thought. Then *I’d better get straight to the point* he thought.

J- hey Timmy well… I’m going to see Dr. Leslie for a check-up. Would you like to come with me? You know Dr. Leslie likes to check all the bats regularly

T- I’ve never been there before

Jason slammed his fist on the table. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. then

J: but you should go, it’s very important for your health, Bird. How about I come get Semi. Then we'll go to Dr. Leslie's and have a nice meal when we get out of there

T-…

t- okay

Jason was relieved

J – okay then I'm coming there bird. See you

He wrote. There was a message from Barbara.

B- I told Dr. Leslie that you were coming. He'll pick you up right away

J- thank you Babs.

He wrote. He closed the screen, got on his motorcycle and left the cave

Notes:

rip bruce. he completly deserve it

#batman #tim drake #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #dc batman #bruce wayne #batman comics #alfred pennyworth #barbara gordon #ao3 #ao3fic #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #child of crime alley fic #child of crime alley

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winter-hoof · 4 months ago

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We had to stop by my boyfriend’s parents house today to drop something off & it’s just so sad to see his mom’s garden so overgrown and messy ☹️

#you can’t be upset about it b/c his dad was spending all day every day at the nursing home w/ her #for over a year so he hasn’t had the time to take care of it #but it’s just sad to see b/c she LOVED that garden & was out there every day taking care of it ☹️#once I get my own messy overgrown yard cleaned up I want to take some flowers from her garden & plant them at my house #p

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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago

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Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.

It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.

Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.

He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.

Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.

Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.

Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.

And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.

——

Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-

He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.

He’s there to protect.

Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.

Batman and Robin? They are his.

He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.

Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.

“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.

“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.

“Goth’m?”

“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”

When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-

Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.

“You-”

“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”

“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.

“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”

He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”

Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”

“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”

“Thank you… Gotham.”

Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.

Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.

#Danny is Gotham #danny phantom #Jason Todd #Jason Todd as Robin #joker is about to get haunted #bruce wayne #Gotham’s knight #batman #bamf danny phantom #ghost king danny #dc x dp #Danny is Tim Drake #he’s like nine #Jason Todd lives #joker? probably not #the bats: hmmm suspicious #also the bats: Gotham loves me! I’m doing the right thing!#dp x dc

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champagnefountains · 10 months ago

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LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Genre: Angst and hurt; somewhat fluffy (but only for a brief while). Warnings: Swearing. Unhealthy relationship/coping mechanisms (?). Word count: 2.2k+

Lucifer had been courting you for a couple of months already, the King of Hell finally deciding it was time to make the two of you official. The tension was so incredibly thick, that even the hotel’s patrons were growing sick of having to watch the two of you dance aimlessly around each other. Charlie included.

The past couple of months were more than delightful – Lucifer treated you like a Queen, taking you out almost every other night, having nice candle-lit dinners, and dancing the night away. And if you weren’t really feeling the glamour, the both of you would stay cuddled up against one another whilst watching some cliche rom-com. It was like a dream. It was perfect…well, almost.

The very source of your concerns was the golden band that remained in Lucifer’s ring-finger.

You knew about the heart-break and torment that Lucifer underwent following his separation with Lilith. Understandably, having been together for many decades and centuries, the King had a difficult time trying to move on. Even in the earlier stages of your relationship, when he had been comfortable confiding in you, it was evident that he still deeply cared for Lilith, despite her absence.

You tried to be understanding – you really, really did. But every time you held his hand, the cold metal feeling against your fingers set a painful reminder that maybe he still hasn’t moved on completely.

It filled you to the brim with self-doubt. Perhaps he was just keeping you around just to fill in the void she had left. And if that were the case, were you even doing a good enough job in that? Hypothetically, if Lilith were to waltz in front of the hotel’s doors one day, was he going to throw you off to the side and run away with her? What if he’d grow bored of you all of a sudden?

Questions such as these would linger at the back of your head constantly, and as they did, you would cast a longing gaze in his direction. When he catches your eye, he would automatically send a smile your way, pearly-whites in full display. It would make you smile without fail, because how could it not? You loved that dashing smile of his. But everyday, you wondered if you could continue to maintain that smile in your life.

One night in particular, during dinner at one of Hell’s finest establishments, Lucifer noticed that something was off. Your smile hasn’t been reaching your eyes, and you seemed like you were anywhere but here. Your eyes had a distant look to them and whenever he’d ask if something was wrong, you would become dismissive. It concerned him a lot.

“Darling, are you alright?” Lucifer carefully asked once you both made it to the front porch of the hotel. “Was it the food? Was it not to your liking? Because the chicken was a bit off to be honest, it could’ve been a bit more seasoned–”

“Luci,” you intervened and grabbed his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The food was great, really. It’s just…” As your voice trailed off, you were quick to feel that damn ring around his finger. Because, of course you did, and it didn’t help your mood at all. You force out a huff and pull away, causing the demon’s frown to deepen, “I’m feeling a little under the weather tonight – probably just lacking a bit of sleep.”

Lucifer scanned your face all over, his brows furrowed in worry. “Well…I guess you have been working harder for the hotel recently.” There had been some truth in that – after all, there had been an influx of sinners in the hotel since the cancellation of this year’s extermination. But he didn’t seem to stop there, not fully convinced by your reasoning, “...But are you sure that’s all, my dear?”

You looked at him, surprised, as if suddenly caught red-handed. He was quick to pick up on that too, confirming his suspicions and making him all the more nervous.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask.

“Well, i-it’s just that I noticed that you’ve been acting a bit off recently,” he splutters. “And not only tonight. You’ve become a bit more…I don’t know, distant with me. And it worries me, y’know? I just…I really, really care about you. A lot.” He almost looks defeated as he rubs anxiously at his nape, “And if I’m being honest, it scares the absolute shit out of me that what I’m doing now isn't right."

Your brows crease in confusion, “...What are you talking about?”

Lucifer closed his eyes, dragging a palm against his face as an exaggerated groan leaves his lips. “Look, I’m not exactly experienced with all…all this – the one woman I’ve ever been in a committed relationship with left me. Just like that!” He lets out a humourless snort. “A-And I don’t know what I did to make her leave and I for sure don’t want to make that same mistake again. I…I want to be assured that I’m making you happy.”

Lucifer looks up at you, eyes filled with warmth, as he places a gentle hand against your cheek. He breaks the distance between you to press his forehead against yours. You automatically lean against him out of habit. “I don’t want to lose you. And if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads, his voice almost falling into a whisper. The unexpected confession left you speechless, your chest feeling all the more tight. It was making you feel worse than you already did.

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to keep the pending tears at bay. “Luci, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Trust me when I say that you’ve been nothing more than a gentleman, and every moment we’ve spent together has been magical. I appreciate you so, so much, and I could never, ever ask for anything more.”

You shut your eyes tight, shame filling your very core. “I’m just being a little silly–”

“No, no. Don’t say that, darling. Please tell me what’s going on. It’s okay,” Lucifer encourages softly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against your cheek.

You grab his wrist and gently pull your face away from him. With the hand on his arm, you slide it down to grab at his own, bringing it up into view and in-between the both of you. Almost instantaneously, both your eyes lie on the golden band on his finger – to Lucifer, it suddenly clicks. But he couldn’t help but feel an internal conflict brew within him.

“I-I know how much that ring and Lilith means to you. I really do and I feel awful having to feel this way, but I just…I can’t help it,” you mutter, finally allowing the first couple of tears to fall, “I-I often find myself counting the days and hours when you’ll suddenly realise that I will never be good enough for you. It feels like I’m constantly having to compete with her–heck, what am I even saying? I know I’ll never be able to compete – because, I mean, come on. I'm a nobody!” You chuckle tearfully whilst gesturing to yourself with a free hand.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you’d ever settle for someone like me. I’m not nearly as important, nor am I the best-looking demon out there. I’m just me.”

“But Lucifer, whenever I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I smile more. Laugh more. I even enjoy the little things more. And I don’t want that to go away. And I’m just hoping– Satan, I’m fucking hoping that it’s the same for you. And if it is, then how long is that going to last with me?”

Completely shocked, Lucifer watched in silence as his love sobbed their heart out in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to go and wrap you in his warm embrace, and whisper reassurances and hush down your cries. Because, you were right – you did make him happy. So unbelievably happy. You had been the light that casted away the shadows in his darkest times. And yet, why? Why did he remain where he stood, unmoving as tears pathetically poured from his eyes? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

There was a brief, stagnant moment of contemplation where the both of you just stood there. It was the realisation that Lucifer didn’t make any effort to formulate some form of response, that disappointed you even further. It only made the doubtful voice in your head louder.

It was you who ultimately decided to make the first move, wiping tiredly at your reddened face as you glanced at the hotel’s door. “I’ll be heading off first. I’ll be in the guest room tonight – it’s been a long day,” you raspily say, hiccuping as you pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Lucifer alone outside.

As you entered the hotel, you immediately noticed Husk’s presence by the bar, who had been polishing some glasses by the counter. In front of him was Angel, who was making some sweet, small talk with him. They were both alerted by your entrance as the doors flew open, and as Angel was about to greet you in his usual playful fashion, his voice fell flat when he saw the depressed state you were in.

“Woah, there. What the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Angel asked, standing to meet you half-way, “I thought you and Short-King were out on a date. Did something happen?”

“We were but we had a fight or something,” you tiredly shrugged as you walked past the arachnid and plopped yourself down on one of the bar stools. You swirled yourself on the seat to face Husk. “Give me the strongest shit you have. And make it double,” you waved absently at the feline-demon, who raised an incredulous brow at your bluntness. “Damn, it must be that serious considering you don’t even drink,” he grumbles as he turns to start brewing a glass of something, “...do you wanna talk about it?"

You contemplated his offer for a second and realised that you did. For the next five or so minutes, you ended up recounting everything that happened earlier tonight, all the while shedding even more tears. Angel was kind enough to supply you with a mountain of tissues to cry into.

“Well, it sounds to me that your man’s got a whole lot of thinking to do,” Husk clicks his tongue. “But what you’re feeling is completely valid.” “Yeah, who the fuck wears their ol’ wedding ring while dating someone else? What an asshole,” Angel hisses.

“S-So you guys think there’s a possibility that he might consider ending things with me?” You question dejectedly. Husk and Angel share a look of uncertainty, suddenly feeling the need to be careful of their words. Because they genuinely weren’t sure.

“I–Look, that’s not something we should be focusing on at the moment– I mean, of course, let’s hope that that’s not where this is going. I just think he needs some space to think things through properly,” Husk says.

“And I know I was talking a whole lot of shit before but let’s take the benefit of the doubt and look at things from his point of view. He was in that boat for more than a couple thousand years. And shit, that’s a lot of fucking years.” Angel points out. “It might take him a while longer to adjust to that, y’know?” Angel places a hand on your shoulder, grinning at you reassuringly, “But there’s one thing for sure that myself and everyone else knows: the guy loves yah, toots. Anyone with eyes can see it, and you guys are really fucking disgusting about it too–ow!”

Angel suddenly lunges forward against the counter as one of Husk’s wings swipes down to slap the back of his head. “‘The fuck was that for?! It’s true, ain’t it?!” Husk rolled his eyes at his dramatics, before turning back to you. “He’s right, though. Just…just give him a bit more time. I’m sure in the end, the both of you will be fine.”

Meanwhile, Lucifer decided to head back to his own castle, wanting to be alone to sort through his cluttered thoughts. He was beyond upset with himself for making you cry like that, because it was the last thing he wanted. But he was more upset at the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate through his emotions, despising that he found himself second guessing his feelings.

As you explicitly implied, was he really still unconsciously longing for Lilith? Was that why he kept wearing his ring? Why was he still wearing it? Was it just for his own comfort? But why would he need it anyways? You were there, weren’t you? All he had said to you tonight, he was contradicting himself, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s scared. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. But, why would he be with you if he didn’t think so? What exactly were you to him? And what exactly was Lilith to him now?

Lucifer was a complete mess, and that night he couldn’t find a single blink of sleep as these thoughts plagued him. And neither could you, as you scrutinised every aspect of your relationship, thinking of what this could mean for the both of you, moving forward.

Yeah…perhaps you both needed some time.

Chapter II [x]

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

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kissitbttr · 2 months ago

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frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

he rolls his eyes each time you confront him about his alcohol consumption and weekend parties. demanded you to stay out of his way because he doesn’t belong to you and vice versa. so he’s free to do whatever he wants

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who goes to classes whenever he pleases, ignoring your advice about taking care of his grades because you want to see him excel in everything. not just football. he refuses to have you mentor him because he doesn’t want to be babied

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who throws or give away every cookie and home cooked meals you make for him for lunch. he hates the little notes you give him, so he crumples the papers and put it in a bin. he hates how you smile each time you see him on hallways or campus park, calling by his nickname ‘kuna!’ it’s so embarrassing. jesus, can you shut the fuck up?!

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who flirts with girls during parties and classes, inviting them over to have sex despite knowing how you feel about him. what the two of you have is a casual thing, he’s not your boyfriend! so why should he gives a shit about you crying when you see him holding a girl’s hand, guiding her upstairs.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who promises that he’ll change as long as you stay the night after a fuck session. he break down your walls by giving you an aftercare and a glass of water. he lets you cuddle into his chest and kisses the top of your head… only to kick you out the next morning because he’s seeing yorozu and he doesn’t want you around.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who pretends like he doesn’t know you exist except when he’s hitting you up late at night. smirking to himself at just how easy it is for you to respond immediately. god, it’s too easy.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who’s expression remains stoic when you pour your heart out to him… telling him how much you want to be his despite everything that he did to you. all because you are certain that he cares about you. but he denies it. telling you to fuck off because he doesn’t want you beyond sex. so either you stay as his fuck buddy or leave.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who throws a party thirty minutes after you left crying from his room. shrugging it off and decides he’s going to fuck different girls that night by the help of his friends. gojo and geto.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who feels like something is wrong not having you by his side. it has been weeks that you left and he hasn’t seen you a lot on campus. discreetly trying to find you through your friends, the classes you’re taking, even stalk through your social medias. only to find you have already blocked him out of your life.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who sees you at the campus park after going missing from his life. you were wearing a smile that he finds so pretty annoying and a look of glow that he has never seen before. you were laughing with your friends and your hand was… wait a minute…

gojo satoru?!

frat!sukuna is an asshole

who marches to gojo after practice and punch him straight into his jaw until he tumbles. yelling at the white haired man for stealing you away when he was supposed to be sukuna’s best friend. how long has its been going on? when did you guys meet? are you two dating already?

gojo doesn’t care. he doesn’t care about being sukuna’s best friend. all he cares about is you. the sweet gorgeous girl who he had his eyes on throughout junior year. even during the times you were hooking up with sukuna… he still has his eyes on you.

and gojo loves you. dear god, he loves you. there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t give.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who quiets down when gojo admits his feelings about you. because he could treat you better than that pink haired bastard who doesn’t care about you. because gojo notices everything. he notices the food that you cooked, the notes, the nickname, the coddling, the sweet cheery voice when you see sukuna… what kind of man would give that up?

you have so many flowers to receive and gojo is not going to miss out on that chance to hand them to you.

and sukuna releases his grip around gojo’s collar, backing away from the man without another word and out of the locker room. frustrated with himself and curses himself in the head for being this way.

frat!sukuna is an asshole…

…who’s too late to say he actually fucking loves you

#frat!sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna angst #jjk #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna blurbs #ryomen sukuna angst

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soaps-mohawk · 10 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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doll-face222 · 3 months ago

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Had this idea about Rafe’s best friend! Reader who hasn’t been with anyone in like a year and is getting really worked up. Maybe she had a terrible week and there was a last straw and she’s yelling and yanking on her hair and throwing things and Rafe is kind of realizing she just needs to be totally dominated and taken care of so he does

rafe x bsf!reader

a/n: i totally love that idea anon !! first time writing ever i just didnt want to let sweet nonnie down, so apologies if its not that good !

cw: smut, swearing, drool.

rafe knew you haven’t had a hookup in ages. you would vaguely mention it, when it would be just the two of you in either one’s rooms. if he was being honest, he pitied you. he even wanted to be the one to help you…

you were pissed off the whole week. maybe it was your hormones, with the way you would get annoyed at everything.

whether it be traffic making you late to events, or people at the country club being rude, steam was coming out of your ears.

you were like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode anytime now. good thing your bestfriend kept you grounded whenever you were feeling overstimulated.

so there you were, in your room getting ready for dinner with your family and the camerons. rafe on your bed scrolling on his phone, patiently waiting for you.

you were quiet while doing your makeup on your vanity table, not your usual chatty self. normally you would go on and on about anything and everything under the sun, yapping for hours on end.

rafe knew something was up.

“something wrong bunny?” he asked, using the nickname he gave you referring to the time you dressed up as a bunny for halloween when you two were little.

“no,” you replied with a pout, voice barely above a whisper.

rafe knew better than to push you, so he just sighed and kept quiet.

a few moments have passed, and rafe hears a soft ‘oh fuck’, a thud, and heavy breathing from your vanity. he looks up from his phone and sees your head down, soft sobs coming from the table.

when he got up to come closer, you shot up. screaming, crying, wailing even. rafe could see your problem now: you smudged your mascara. you started yanking out your hair curlers, figuring they were useless if your makeup was ruined anyway.

“woah woah- hey bun!” he yelled, pulling you by your waist. he placed you on your bed, rubbing up and down your arms to soothe you.

rafe guided you gently so you were laying your head on your pillows. he was in between your legs, arms caging your frame.

“shh calm down baby,” he whispered, wiping your mascara stained eyes with his thumbs.

he petted your hair, large hands slowly making their way to your cheeks.

“i’m here, i’m here.” he cooed as your cries hushed, turning into soft hiccups.

in this position he could feel you wet through your bloomers. he looked at your eyes as if to ask for permission silently, before he cupped your mound through the frilly fabric.

“what d’you need bunny?”

“need you rafey,” you whined. he carefully pulled down your bloomers, a string of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric.

rafe grew hard at the sight, taking his thumb to run across your slit. his other thumb trailing to play with your nipples through your top.

you mewl at the simultaneous sensations, given you haven’t experienced them in a long while. he took that as a sign to circle your clit, causing your eyes to shut and your legs to close, only to be blocked by rafe’s broad figure.

he then plunged two fingers in and out of you, thick digits stretching your tight hole. rafe’s hand that was previously playing with your tits find their way to your mouth, muffling your lewd moans.

“let’s be quiet bunny. your parents might be downstairs” he shushed, deep voice making your pussy clamp down on his fingers.

fingers curling up to hit your sweet spot, rafe could feel you getting close.

“you can cum baby, go ‘head,” he signals, feeling you gush all over his hand. eyes rolling to the back of your head, you felt euphoria rush through you.

as you rode out your high, rafe removes his hand from your mouth, drool dripping from your mouth and his hand.

“sorry,” you squeaked. he didn’t mind anyway, just happy you probably had your first orgasm not from your own fingers in months.

it never occured to you that this was an option, to be touched by your own bestfriend. this wouldn’t be the last time it happens, you could tell.

“thank you rafey.” you smiled weakly at him, looking through your lashes. he didn’t say anything, just kissed your forehead.

“are we late to dinner?” you asked, suddenly remembering why you were getting ready.

“i drive fast, we’ll make it,” he smirks, grabbing your small hand to cup the bulge through his pants.

dinner could wait.

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated !! love, scarlet.

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mohamedjshamia · 3 months ago

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Help My Family Escape the War in Gaza: A Cry for Safety and Survival

Dear Friends and Supporters,

I write to you with a heart heavy with pain and urgency. My name is Mohammad Jamal Shamia, and I reside in Sweden. I am raising funds to help my family and loved ones, who are trapped in Gaza, escape the unimaginable horrors of war. Their lives have been turned upside down, and now they stand on the brink of despair, with no place to call home and no future in sight. We are fighting for their survival.

A Family Torn Apart by War

My family consists of eight members: my father, my mother, my four sisters, and my two brothers. Each one of them has a story of pain and loss, but I will start with my father, Jamal Shamia, who is still in Gaza. His home was destroyed in the very first days of the war. A single rocket shattered not just his home, but also our hopes and dreams. The life he had worked so hard to build was reduced to rubble in a heartbeat. He now stands without a roof over his head, in a place where there is no security, no peace, and no hope for the future.

My mother, who left Gaza for surgery in Egypt before the war started, is now stranded on the Egyptian side, unable to return and without any support. She worries every day about my father, her children, and grandchildren who remain in Gaza, not knowing if they will survive another day.

Sisters in Crisis: Homes Lost, Lives Disrupted

My sister Rasha Jamal Shamia and her husband, Khalil Abu Samaan, have two children, Mira and Omar. They have been forced to flee their home in Gaza City and are now living in a tent in Rafah, far from everything they once knew. Their home, their children’s education, and their future—everything is gone. Their days are filled with fear, and their nights bring no rest. The constant sound of bombs haunts them, and they have no way to provide their children with the life they deserve.

My sister Rana Jamal Shamia and her husband, Mohammed Salama, are in a similarly desperate situation. Their two children, Amir and Taim, witnessed the destruction of their home firsthand. The bomb that took away their shelter also left Rana and her family with deep physical and emotional scars. They are now displaced in Rafah, struggling every day to survive. The trauma they have endured is unimaginable.

My sister Maram Jamal Shamia and her husband, Mareed Al-Suwirki, were able to leave Gaza with their children, but they carry with them the scars of war. Their home in Gaza was destroyed, and they lost everything. Mareed, a dentist, lost his job, and they are now trying to rebuild their lives outside the war zone, but they need your help.

My youngest sister, Reem, has been living outside Gaza for some time, but she hasn’t been able to reunite with the family. The pain of separation and worry for her loved ones has been unbearable.

A Brother’s Dreams Shattered

My brother Ahmad Jamal Shamia is a bright, ambitious student who was in his third year of dental school at Al-Azhar University in Gaza. The war took everything from him—his education, his home, his dreams. Ahmad was ranked first in his class, always striving to be the best and help others. Now, he is left with nothing. He moves from one temporary shelter to another, hoping for a chance to continue his studies in Egypt. But without financial support, this dream too will be lost.

The Desperate Situation

The situation in Gaza is beyond dire. Every day, my family faces unimaginable hardships. They live in constant fear, with bombings happening around them day and night. They are without basic necessities—no reliable access to food, water, or medical care. The trauma of living through this horror has left deep emotional wounds that will take years to heal, if ever.

We are desperate to get them out. We want to transport them to Egypt, where they can begin to rebuild their lives and find safety. But this escape comes at a high cost. It will take $5,000 per adult and $2,500 per child to cross the border and start anew in Egypt. My family is counting on this fundraising effort to save their lives.

How You Can Help

Your support can make a life-saving difference. Every contribution, no matter the size, brings us closer to rescuing my family from this nightmare. With your help, we can reunite them with safety and security on the other side of the border. Time is running out, and the risks increase with every passing day.

Please consider donating to our campaign. Your generosity will not only provide my family with the means to escape the immediate danger but also offer them hope for a future where they can begin to heal and rebuild their lives. I cannot thank you enough for your support.

Together, We Can Save Lives

My family is relying on the kindness of strangers and friends alike to help them escape the ongoing violence. Your donation is not just financial assistance—it is a lifeline, a chance at survival. We need you now more than ever. Please, stand with us and help bring my family to safety.

Thank you for your kindness, your compassion, and your support. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can save lives.

@pcktknife @palestinegenocide @plomegranate @punkitt-is-here @northgazaupdates2 @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @sar-soor @sayruq @helpingg @horrorhorizon @heydreamchild @terezbian @tamamita @everydaylouie @palipunk @queerstudiesnatural @onedollopofsourcream @relelvance @itslucyhenley @jackrackhams @just-browsing1222 @junosaccount @what-even-is-thiss @wildandmoody @walaaibrahim @arabian-batboy @soon-palestine @gazafunds

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kookslastbutton · 9 months ago

Text

what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

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