#if it kills me (pounds fist on table)

[fisherrprince]

writers block BEGONE wol eats fruit

Ch’ari is awoken to a muffled curse coming from what counts as Dragonhead’s kitchen. 

Well, “awoken” implies he was sleeping beforehand — which he was not. He was, instead, counting every grey fur the past weeks had given him, metaphorically, and sitting in bed counting the stones that make up the walls literally. Two hundred and thirty-odd, he’d lost count due to the “—! …swiving insect…!“ that interrupted him. 

There are only about three voices Ch’ari cares about hearing — the fourth optional voice being the Coerthan scout on Ul’dah’s front — and the string of curses came from the youngest one. Statistically the most likely between his companions, but that doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. Especially not at bloody 2:45 in the morning. 

Ch’ari rolls off the bed sideways, wincing as his paws touch the cold stone and shuffling into the slippers he’s fairly certain Haurchefant made himself for the outpost’s overnight visitors, and he makes his way in near-darkness and near-silence towards the kitchen. 

The kitchen itself is much like a dorm room; functional and simplistic and decorated here and there with furs and cloths and left-behind baubles to make the whole thing seem any measure more homey. Anything to ward off the biting cold nothingness of outside, measures for which Ch’ari is incredibly grateful. It makes his thoughts calm. Like how trees do for wind. 

He finds exactly — or almost exactly — what he thought to find in the little side room. Alphinaud stands at the counter wielding a small string of something, the lamp he brought to illuminate his workspace making him look almost comically gaunt. His tail is completely puffed out in shock, shivering as if he’s about to launch himself at the wall. With little ability to see in the dark, but good enough hearing that his copious blanket shuffling should have alerted him to his presence, Ch’ari somehow manages to sneak up on the kid.

“I didn’t think you were one to swear more’n once at a time,” Ch’ari says, as quiet as he can be to mute the echoes that plague Dragonhead in the silence. 

Alphinaud startles — again, if Ch’ari had to guess — and nearly knocks the lamplight off the counter turning to face him. “W- Master Tia! I didn’t mean to wake you!”

“You didn’t, I wasn’t asleep. What’s with the yelp?”

Alphinaud shakes himself and puts his composure back on as best he can. “I— I was merely fetching some of the provisions we were given, and that thing fell directly in front of me,” he huffs, gesturing forcefully (with a knife! He has some dried fruit on a cutting board. Ch’ari is struck with the sudden and very real possibility that Alphinaud does not know how to use a knife) at the wall. Ch’ari squints. A creature that looks a bit like an egg-sized grey yarzon is slowly creeping its way back up to the altogether too-tall ceiling. 

“Eugh. Do you want me to get it?”

There is a long moment where Alphinaud seriously considers the beast’s demise. He eventually looks away from it, his ears drooping. “No,” he sighs. “It was probably an accident. He didn’t mean to fall.” He fixes the lamp and the cutting board, thankfully putting the knife down as well. The mini yarzon continues its slow crawl up into the darkness. “Asides. Those creatures eat buzzard gnats, and I would much rather deal with the occasional fright if it means I do not have to deal with those pests.”

“What a lovely name for a bug,” Ch’ari grimaces. He carefully pads forward a few more inches and watches Alphinaud set the string of fruit (persimmon) back on the cutting board, a bit too hard and a bit too white-knuckled.

He pauses, looking up at Ch’ari’s lingering intrusion. “I am not in danger, or anything. Pray return to bed. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Would you like me to cut it?” Ch’ari asks, completely ignoring him. 

“I am perfectly capable of cutting fruit.” 

“You are still shaking,” Ch’ari points out. He’s very aware every second word he says further bruises the boy’s pride when the thing has already been battered to shreds, but he’s not about to let some lordling cut himself holding a knife wrong when he clearly hasn’t slept and isn’t holding himself together. 

“I am — I’m just tired. And was not expecting the spider,” Alphinaud protests weakly. 

“You sit,” Ch’ari decides, snatching the fruit and untying the blasted things. “It doesn’t need to be cut anyways.”

Obediently — a new occurrence — Alphinaud turns to sit, and finding no chair, simply sits against the wall on a fur blanket. 

Ch’ari cuts the cold persimmon into pieces. He has a feeling that the lordling won’t take to ripping it apart with his teeth like an animal, like you’re supposed to do.

Probably two of them will do? He chances a look at Alphinaud, who looks like he’s about to become a part of the furs with his same-color cloak. He has darker circles than is strictly necessary, and a dangerous wobble in his eyes that bespeaks having too many other things on his mind at once. Mayhap three, then. 

Ch’ari slides down the wall next to him and offers him his handful of fruit. “Odd time in the morning to get a snack. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Alphinaud whispers. He takes a piece of fruit and stuffs it in his mouth, and rather un-lordly-like keeps talking around it. “I’ve not been able to. It isn’t that it’s cold or, or uncomfortable, I swear, House Fortemps’ hospitality is more than gracious.” The more he speaks, the more he works himself up. “I try and then I just — awaken! With an awful pit in my stomach, and I can’t help but think of — and, not knowing what happened to the Scions or to the Braves who were unaware, if— if any were, if they were all—“ 

His breath hitches. “Oh, Twelve forbid,” he whines, and buries his head completely in his knees. 

“Head up, you’ll dirty the coat, I think.”

Alphinaud’s head slowly pulls out of the fabric, resolutely facing away from him and hiding his face beneath his hair. “I cannot help but perpetuate these thoughts over and over. That it was mine own folly that ruined everything I naively tried to build. And I cannot help but feel-- feel as if, I don’t know. Not sleeping is perhaps punishment for the way I acted, and now they’re…” He breathes shakily, and Ch’ari can see a damp spot forming on his knees that he quickly hides with one hand. 

Ch’ari puts a slice of fruit on it. Alphinaud doesn’t turn to it, but accepts the slice and miserably puts it in his mouth.

“Now I’ve nothing to do but wait and think. I do not know what to make of it. And, and this,” he sniffles, quickly rubbing his face with the heel of his palm. “I know you don’t like me much, so why do you do such things for me now? Is it out of pity?”

Mildly offended, Ch’ari quickly remembers that at one point (out of misplaced frustration, he swears,) he did call the kid pompous and irritating and “a bratling’s role model”, so that’s probably why Alphinaud believes he still doesn’t care for him. He was irritating. But Ch’ari was irritating right back, and then worried and persistent to the point of projecting, so… He taps his claws, then eats another piece of fruit, then adjusts the way he’s sitting, then lets out a big overdramatic sigh. He throws his arms up. “Come here.”

Alphinaud instead makes himself a smaller ball and angles the tips of his ears away in displeasure. Ch’ari, having none of it, scoots directly next to him and drops his chin onto Alphinaud’s head and begins purring as loud as his raspy throat can manage it. 

“-You are vibrating,” Alphinaud says thickly, surprise overriding his distaste at being hugged sideways. 

“It’s purring. Do not call it vibrating.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Ask Azeyma. Now hush, I am to tell you a story. It’s important and also strictly not to be revealed to the public, got that?” Ch’ari feels Alphinaud nod under his chin. “Good. Eat more persimmon.”

Ch’ari gathers himself, adjusting his position so that the embrace is not so awkward. Alphinaud quietly lets himself be moved, having wholly given up on being embarrassed. He simply nibbles on the fruit, sniffing occasionally. 

“When I was much younger,” Ch’ari starts, hesitantly, “my mother called me her little prince. I do not think she called me this full knowing how I would take it to heart.”

He pauses. “To make a long and rather grating story short, I realize now that I was set up to fail. Not to absolve myself of responsibility, but I… was sheltered. I guess.” He shakes his head, interrupting his purr before plopping right back down. “I was the only male kitten in our tribe. My first nunh loved me enough to spoil me, and I liked him well enough. He made me think I was king, and none of them stopped him. My second thought me to be a threat, and it was then that I was old enough to hate back.

“It was also then that we were old enough to bully each other, as kittens. I’m sure it’s not surprising that no one liked being bossed around much. By a child, no less, while they were already being ordered to tasks with no relief. So my orders were suddenly ignored, while his were obeyed. I saw him. I saw what the family thought of him. No one liked him, but they respected him. And so I, a shirked prince, tried to copy his behavior. 

“The more I vied for attention, the worse it got. And the worse it got, the more I hated. My intentions were not good, not like yours. I wanted respect, and power, and to be the most important, most competent hunter anyone knew, and I wanted this all without working a day for it,” Ch’ari growls. “I wanted love, and I reached for it through arrogance.”

“To be loved is not an ignoble intention to have,” Alphinaud mumbles, still nibbling on persimmon. 

“Kind of you to say, but I believe it was less to be loved and more to be lauded. Or maybe I wasn’t sure at the time what love felt like. Ch’leure — my nunh, Goddess let him burn — I doubt he knew either, and I doubt he’ll ever know, no matter how much he takes advantage of his filched status. 

“Is the purring helping?” Ch’ari interrupts. 

“W— What is it supposed to be doing?”

“I’m unsure. I’ve heard it’s relaxing.”

“It’s.. rumbling, for certain.” Alphinaud has sort of un-balled himself, so Ch’ari counts that as it’s helping. 

“Anyroad. I was ‘encouraged’ to leave the tribe at fourteen. I wouldn’t have stayed longer even if I weren’t threatened by nearly every girl my age, to be honest with you. I was determined to find somewhere I would be respected. So obviously I took to scammers and piracy,” Ch’ari snorts. “The most respected of professions. But I was coveted there! I was small and novel, and great at pinching pockets, and very easy to control by my ego. As long as I followed the leader, I would be welcome, and it was closer to princedom than I ever was before.”

He nabs one of the last persimmon slices and pops it in his mouth, thinking. “I don’t remember too much of why it happened. But one of the companies I was with hatched a plot to plunder hundreds of thousands of Gil, and all we needed to do was murder some four Dunesfolk merchants. I had slain innocent men before. I’m not sure what compelled me to stop. But I couldn’t do it.”

Ch’ari can feel his tail twitching in distress behind him, without his consent. He puts a hand over it. The Scions know -- knew, in the past-present sense, of his track record. He’s certain Alphinaud was either informed or investigated, but killing does tend to put most sensible people off, and he’s taken care not to mention it much. 

“I don’t know. I probably thought that maybe if I spoke up the company would see my reasoning, would apply the faux respect they had for my skills to my character. But, no, I was a disposable seventeen-year-old who ruined their plot and deprived them of their coffers, and I learned that pirates don’t forgive so much as they beat what irks them to the ground.” Ch’ari clears his already-tired throat. “S’where this happened,” he says. “Believe it or not, I used to be a bit of a singer. Not a good one, but I could carry a tune well enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Alphinaud speaks up. He sounds unsure, but genuine, and Ch’ari ends up purring harder. 

“Wouldn’t trade it back. In any case, I hear Nanali — I didn’t introduce her earlier, I should have — Nanali Nali, a completely unrelated lalafell nearby at the time, thank the Twelve. I hear Nanali scared them all off herself on account of yelling real loud and firing a years-old magitek gun into the air. Not sure if I believe her, she’s strong, but not intimidating enough to scare off that many pirates. I also hear she dragged my sorry corpse back to her house on her own, but I don’t believe that either. Dudunobe says he helped, he loves to take credit where there isn’t any.”

“They are…?”

“Farmers. Out past the deserts of Thanalan where you can actually grow something. S’also where you can kill a half-grown cat without being seen by the Brass Blades. Not if Nanali has something to say about it, though, she’s a real nosy piece of work. And Duno’s her closest neighbor, he has a right loud laugh and won’t even let me look at his sheep sideways. He thinks I’ll chase ‘em, and I did once just to piss him off. Rough folks. Very blunt.”

Alphinaud considers his fingers very carefully. The fruit is gone, which leaves his hands to fiddle with themselves. “They sound very dear to you.”

“Aye. I'm certain I wouldn’t be alive without them.”

“… Why tell me this?”

“Because,” Ch’ari hums, feeling his purrs slow to a crawl. “The next few months were miserable. Everything I had thought about the world was wrong in a way that made me culpable, and the avenues through which I thought I had control were naught but fabrications to placate me. Nanali did not treat me like a prince, nor did she treat me like a wet rat, she treated me like the hurt, wretched child I was. And in return, I yelled at her to leave me alone. She was too stubborn to let me be, though, and while I was having a crisis in her home she just kept giving me food. And bed. And kindness, cloaked in anger to get it through my skull before I was able to see it for what it was. Imagine my horror when I realized what was happening,” Ch’ari snorts. “She watched me fall apart, and then helped put the pieces back in the right order just because she wanted to. You know I nearly cried myself to sleep when I got an inn for the first time? Momodi paid for me, because I helped her with the most menial task in the world.” He lets go of his tail, and leans back against the wall, his ears trembling. Alphinaud remains very stiff, attentive but carefully unmoving. 

“It’s not that I pity you. It’s that I don’t think I could bear going through those months again. It is different, yes, but Nanali is malms away, and we could not visit her besides. Tataru, I do not think, has ever experienced such betrayal, and I hope she never does. …And I think Lord Haurchefant is rather too sunshiney at all hours of the day,” Ch’ari muses. Alphinaud huffs a little laugh. 

“He is very enthusiastic.”

“And a morning person,” Ch’ari groans. “I know I’m a sun seeker, but I seek the sun when it has risen, not before it has. It’s East, it’s always East.”

Another half-laugh. Alphinaud smiles rather awkwardly, with his eyes first and then about three-fourths of his mouth, but at least it’s not a put-upon face in his presence.

“I am… new at being kind,” Ch’ari admits, looking back at the elezen. “And I am an old hand at learning things the hard way. But as much as I can prevent it, I would have you less of a horrible mess than I was. Which means cutting dried persimmons at balls in the morning, sure.” 

“...Oh,” Alphinaud says, and turns away again, conspicuously rubbing his nose on his knees in lieu of having a handkerchief. “Thank you.”

“It’ll never be a problem.” That sentence broke him when he heard it first. Alphinaud seems to be attempting to regain his posture, failing twice before shaking his head and whiskers. 

“Now. As I’m sure Lord Haurchefant will be awake and cheerful soon,” -- Alphinaud snorts -- “we should attempt to catch some sleep. Without waking Tataru, I should hope.”

[itsbrucey]

The Krampus Glenn bust was accidentally too good so ever since I drew it I've been chasing that perfection.

[ectopuppy]

auuuughhh okay............ omniverse time c:

[honeekyuu]

talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader]

ten. ruin

previous || masterlist || next

a/n. uhm....... yeah.

warnings: swearing, phone sex

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

“No you didn’t-”

“I did!” Suna laughs on the other end, and you giggle into your cup in response, brain fuzzy and warm. “I walked into a room full of fourth years and pulled out my canvas and when I looked up— boom. Naked ass man, dick in my face-”

“Stop!” you wheeze, shaking your head. “How the hell did you not realize-”

“I was nervous! I was so nervous to be there that I didn’t even realize I was in the wrong fucking room.”

“Did you leave?!”

“No! Of course I fucking didn’t!” You hear two sharp thuds on the other end and know just by the sound that Suna’s pounding his fist on the table. “I tunnel-visioned my way into a nude modeling class as a first year — you really think I had the courage to get up and leave after that?” 

You take a long sip of your mixed drink, leaning back against the arm of your couch and sighing deep after you swallow. “So? Then what happened?”

“Uh – I missed syllabus day of Art as Identity and drew a charcoal recreation of some random guy’s penis. Komori has it framed in his kitchen. It’s a talking point for guests and friends alike.” 

“I can’t believe you’re this much of an introvert,” you say, shaking your head with a giddy grin. “You’re so loud with me-”

“Okay, go ahead and add salt to the wound-” he barks sarcastically, snickering when you break into laughter. 

“You’re funny, Suna,” you say openly after a minute, sighing into the admission. “More people should know how funny you are.” 

“Just you’s enough, I think — and maybe your friends, just so they like me,” he responds, quiet filling the space between you for a moment. You chew on your lip while you think.

“What’d you think of them?” you whisper after a moment. “My friends.”

“Your friends?” he repeats, confusion seeping into his voice. “I mean, I always thought Suga was a weird dude, but he’s overall pretty chill and funny. Especially with Alisa – they fight a lot, don’t they?”

You smile fondly. “She likes to make him angry. He’s really easy to rile up.”

“Yeah, I could tell. They seem like good friends. I feel like I got to know you better by meeting them.”

You sigh quietly, the question burned into your mind starting to feel like guilt. You shouldn’t ask, because the truth is that your friends are the perfect friends. They’re both perfect, and you don’t know where you’d be without them. And you’re not in the habit of comparing yourself to your best friend, because you know she’d kill you for doing that.

But still, the question lingers.

“And… Alisa?” you ask, feeling the terrible guilt burn in your throat like bile. “What’d you think of her?” 

You can hear the wheels turning in Suna’s head, the silence on his end growing haunting as the seconds tick by.

“I think she’s beautiful,” he says, and – through the horrible, disappointed swooping in your gut – you realize that him being this honest even when he can tell what’s bothering you only makes you trust him more. He knows what you’re looking for, and he makes no move to sugarcoat his thoughts for you. Your respect for him grows. “But me acknowledging that she’s beautiful and me having feelings for you can both be true. Can’t they?”

You shut your eyes, sighing. You feel like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Just because your best friend is beautiful, that doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“I know.”

“I can think she’s beautiful and also think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen-”

“Oh, my God,” you laugh, embarrassed. “I get it, Suna. It was a stupid question.”

“Yeah, it was,” he says, and you can hear his smile. “Promise not to do it again?”

“No,” you mutter. He laughs.

“Okay. I can live with that.” You feel the conversation end there, and, despite the embarrassment, you feel glad that you asked. “I was thinking about something a minute ago actually,” he says, interrupting your thought. “You call me by my last name.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, the previous conversation forgotten, and purse your lips. “Is it not your name?” 

“Yeah, but…” He swallows audibly and then laughs to himself. “Your friends also call me Suna.”

You warm, seeing where this is going. “Would you rather me call you Rintarou?” His name feels foreign in your mouth, as if your tongue is just as nervous as you are, but you kind of like the taste of it.

His name feels important.

The other end of the line goes completely silent, long enough that you pull your phone away from your face to check that the call’s still connected. 

“Shit,” he breathes finally. “I dunno anymore. I was gonna suggest it, but I dunno if I can handle that, Y/n.”

Your name sounds important on his tongue, too.

Your chest starts to flutter with nerves, but the alcohol wants you to push it. “What about Rin?” It tastes intimate and presumptuous, that cut of his name from three syllables to one. You want him to taste it, too.

“Christ,” he laughs. “God, Y/n. You tryna kill me? You sent your friends to wound me critically and now this?”

“I think I like that one, actually,” you breathe. “Rin.”

“Stop it,” he laughs weakly.

“Rin.” You roll it around in your mouth, sinking deeper into your couch while you consider it.

“Cut it out,” he whispers, soft and breathy.

“Rinnie.” You like the way your lips wrap around it. You like the space it takes up and the way your voice cradles it, round and warm.

“Y/n.” His voice isn’t round and warm. It’s sharp. Thick with warning. Dragging your own name down your back like the back of a blade, leaving your skin pebbled with goosebumps and the base of your spine tugging at a knot under your navel dangerously. “Cut it out.”

You shiver and press your thighs together. “Okay,” you breathe, a soft whine coating the sound. The alcohol wants you to push your luck, and it’s so wonderfully easy to listen. “Sorry, Rinnie.”

“Shit,” he groans quietly. “Don’t do this to me, Y/n. Please.”

“Do what?”

“You know exactly fucking what.”

Your stomach flips at his tone, and there’s a pulse of desire between your thighs that has you biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your head is warm and staticky and desperately likes the sound of Suna’s voice, especially when he talks to you like that. 

“So?” you whisper, the courage there but incredibly small and entirely driven the liquor in your cup. “Are you hard?” 

Suna’s exhale is sharp, surprised. “W-What?” 

“You said over text.” Your face burns, but the idea of Suna Rintarou getting turned on by a combination of your voice and the way you say his name has you pushing out of your comfort zone. You want him too much. “That if I called you, you’d get hard. Are you?” 

He breathes hard for a beat, the sound shaky. And then he whispers, the sound soft and right in your ear in the most delicious way. 

“You know I am, pretty girl.” 

“How long?”

“Since you said my name.”

You shiver, pressing your thighs together hard. The flip of your nerves, low in your gut, is sharpened and heightened by the buzz of vodka in your veins, and you gasp quietly, trying to bring your heart rate back to normal.

“You should do something about that,” you whisper, skin vibrating when you do. You’d never be this confident sober.

He whines in response.

Suna Rintarou whines in your ear, desperate and impossible to deny. 

You feel your body become addicted to a man you’ve never met. 

“‘re you sure?” he breathes. “I don’t wanna do anything that you don’t-“

“Want you to do it,” you whisper, pulse racing and legs damn near going numb from how nervous you are. “Wanna hear you touch yourself.”

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and laced with frustration. “Fuck, Y/n — how am I supposed to say no to that?”

“You’re not,” you try. “Unless you really don’t want t-“

“I do. Fuck, I do.” He sounds the most sober he’s sounded all night, direct and honest and making your heart feel like it’s going to rip out of your chest. “Will-I…” You hear him swallow. “Will you do it, too? Are you turned on?” 

Your heart jumps into your throat, hope and desire mixing dangerously with the vodka. “Yes.” 

“What’s that an answer to?” he laughs, weak and nervous. 

“Both.” 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Will you? Want you to feel good, too.”

“Really?” Your voice sounds insecure, even in your own ears. You still aren’t used to that — to him. 

“Yes,” he urges. “God, yes. I want to make you feel good so badly, baby.” He swallows. “Can I talk to you? Make you feel good like that?” Your shaky exhale must speak for you, because he just gives another weak laugh. “Yeah? Is that okay?”

You’ve never been so full of want that it makes you cry, but you’re pretty damn close at this singular moment in time. 

“Okay,” you say, voice wavering. Suna’s exhale on the other line is just as shaky. 

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Shit-Uhm. C-Can I have a picture, baby? If that’s okay?” 

You whine in protest, already embarrassed, but you can hear how nervous he is. How unused to this he is. That this is just as terrifying and embarrassing for him, that he’s putting himself out there for you. 

It would be rude not to reciprocate. 

You take a steeling breath and pull the phone away from your face, setting it on the coffee table and putting it on speakerphone. “I look kind of messy,” you say. You start to adjust your clothes, grimacing at the frumpy shirt and shorts you’re wearing.

“I like messy,” he says, and you laugh pathetically. 

“It’s not very sexy.” You pull your hair down and ruffle it to be as attractive as possible, and then you consider your shorts for a full two seconds before throwing caution to the wind and getting rid of them. They land on the floor with an audible fwip, and Suna’s silent on the other end.

“Please tell me you didn’t just take all your clothes off,” he breathes finally. “I don’t know if I’m in a state to emotionally handle that right now.” 

You giggle, face burning and heart pounding in your ears as you open your camera and angle it favorably. ”Not all my clothes.”

“Shit.” 

You cross one arm over your torso and use it to push your breasts up, watching them swell in the camera. A rush of heat burns at your ears and neck, and your lip wobbles while you take the picture. 

Lifting the phone close, you examine the photo. You can see all the flaws that you’ve always seen, and it makes you freeze with insecurity. Makes you want to delete it and back out.

But then you hear him, his quiet ‘baby?’ on the other end, and you remember who you’re talking to. 

You hope he won’t see all the flaws you do — but there’s a piece of you that knows he will see them, but not as flaws. Because that’s who he is. 

Breath held tight in your lungs, you send off the photo, and then your head starts to pound with anxiety. 

Will he like it? Will he think it’s awkward? Will he realize that maybe he thinks you’re pretty, but he’s not sexually attracted to you the way he thought he would be—

“Oh, holy shit-” Suna’s voice is tight, thick with an emotion that’s so clearly lust that even you can’t deny it. ”Holy shit, Y/n. You’re so fucking-” He cuts off, taking a shuddering breath. “Fuck, I might start drooling.” 

You laugh, the tension breaking a little. “You’re funny-”

“I’m not joking.” Your breath catches at the sharp snap of his voice — your heart lurches, and desire swirls violently in your gut, because Suna Rintarou’s voice is starting to do that to you. “I’m not fucking joking, Y/n — you’re the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

You blink, sinking low on the couch. “What?” 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Y/n, you turn me on so much. I’m so fucking-” He laughs. “God, it’s embarrassing.” 

Your fingers shake as you press the phone desperately to your ear. “You’re so fucking what?” you ask meekly, nervous but craving more with every second that passes. 

He laughs again, self-deprecating. “I’m so fucking hard right now. Because of you. Because of this one photo.”

Your free hand drops between your thighs before you can think too long about it. “And you haven’t done anything about it yet?” 

“Oh, my God,” he groans, and you can hear the want in his voice. The strain in his tone as he tries to keep himself in line. “God, I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna last with you, Y/n.” 

The pads of your fingers press to your clothed clit when he says your name — important, full — and it makes your desire curl and snap. You moan quietly, pursing your lips together to stop the sound — just a moment too late. 

“Fuuuck-” he says, reacting immediately to your voice. You hear shuffling, and then a burning, brutal exhale of relief, and you know he’s touching himself. The low whine trapped in his throat tells you as much. Tells you how badly he’s trying to keep his head on straight for you.  

You don’t want him to do that. You want him as lost as you are.

So you shut your eyes and lean your head back and let the alcohol take control. Let the fuzzy static in your head grow louder, let the desire throbbing in your core grow stronger. Let the choked whine in Suna’s throat take over, pulling you that much closer to the edge.

“Rin,” you breathe, yielding control to your limbs and smothering all hesitation in favor of slipping your hand past the band of your underwear. When your fingers touch down to your core, cold fingertips to searing hot skin, you moan louder. Loud enough to be heard and not caring enough to stop it. “Fuck, Rin— Can I have a picture, too?” He groans on the other line, shaky and uneven, and you whine in response. “Please? It’s only fair…”

He doesn’t say a single word back — just gives a trembling breath when you beg — but your phone buzzes against your face a moment later.

He’s got his hand down his sweats, the outline of his cock clear and the outline of his hand wrapped around it even clearer. His face is flushed a deep, searing red, and his parted lips are swollen and pink, eyes hooded with desire as he looks up into the camera. 

He’s in bed. He’s in bed, drunk and touching himself while thinking about you — the you in the photo, the you on your couch, touching yourself while you think about him, too. 

“Christ,” you whisper, eyes flying across the screen while your fingers dip low and slip with terrible ease past your entrance — two fingers in, the stretch heavenly, when your eyes land on the outline of his cock. “I don’t know if I can take you, Rinnie.” 

His inhale is shocked and laced with a moan, and then he’s coming undone in your ear. 

“You can take it, baby. I know you can take me so well.”

“Oh, God,” you gasp, back arching off the couch and fingers curling hard against your walls. “You would make me-”

“Gonna make you take it,” he finishes in a voice so rough and broken that you know he’s stopped trying to keep control, too. “Wanna make you take it, wanna show you how good you are for me. How much you’re made for me-”

“Oh, my God, I’m-”

“Wanna make you come around me. Wanna make you fall apart on my cock, pretty girl.”

“Rin,” you squeak in warning, your gut curling hard with desire, tension so close to snapping. “Rinnie, I-”

“Want my name on your tongue when I come inside you.” His voice is pitching up, breath stuttering and syllables twisting short in his mouth. “Want my name in your mouth when I ruin you for anyone else.”

It’s only right, then, that you cry his name when your orgasm slams into you full-force, pulsing and crashing down over you without warning.

By the time you come back to yourself, your walls are twitching with aftershocks around your fingers, and your breath is loud and heavy in your ears. 

Suna’s own breath is shaky in your ears, too. He whispers your name, tired and drained but still full. Still important.

You might have ruined him for anyone else, too.

[irisposts]

Embers of Us

summary | you plot to kill your uncle aemond and avenge your fallen brother.

paring: aemond x neice!reader

warning: kissing, p n v, very smutty oh and some angst, spoilers for s1e10

note: i haven't written smut in like a year. bare with me cus it's pretty ass.

word count: 2.8k

not edited

Gold coins fall into the rat catcher’s palm, his fingers quiver as you release the last two. The cold steel of your gaze pierces through him.

“Now leave,” you command, your voice sharp and hushed.

He nods hurriedly, retreating into the shadows from which he came. Your eyes lift to the second floor—the royal floor.

You ascend the stairs silently, each step filled with the weight of your purpose. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, as memories flood your mind—of Luke, of the war, of what was taken from your mother. The dagger beneath your cloak feels heavier with each breath.

When you reach Aemond’s door, your fingers shake as they graze the frame. Taking a sharp breath, you push it open just enough to peek inside. And there he is—Aemond Targaryen, your estranged uncle. The man that would meet his fate by the end of your dagger.

The room is bathed in the warm glow of scattered candles, their flames flickering against the stone walls. Aemond sits at a table, his back to you, his silver hair catching the light. He doesn’t turn when you slowly close the door behind you and seal the space between you.

Each step you take is measured, deliberate, as you approach. As you reach him, your hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of his silver hair. You yank his head back sharply and raise your dagger to his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin. He hisses a breath through his teeth, unfazed.

“Niece,” Aemond murmurs, a low, cruel chuckle rumbling from his throat.

You tighten your grip on his hair, your voice taut with fury. “Uncle.”

Aemond raises his hands, a gesture of surrender. “Easy.”

Your wrist moves to swipe across his neck and then, with a swift move, he disarms you effortlessly–your blade goes clattering to the floor.

Before you can react, he’s on his feet, facing you with your own weapon pointed at your chest. You unsheathe another dagger, stepping back, trying to create distance.

His gaze locks onto yours, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Did Rhaenyra send you to do this, or are you foolish enough to act on your own?”

“My mother—your rightful queen—” you spit, your eyes burning with rage. Aemond scoffs at the words, but you press on. “—has nothing to do with this. I came for Luke.”

Something flickers in Aemond’s expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. His face hardens, cold and controlled. He steps slowly around the chair, voice lowering but steady.

“Luke was... a casualty of war,” he says, his tone almost detached. “War does not care for innocence. I am a soldier, and soldiers do what must be done. Blood is spilled, and it claims whoever stands in its path.”

“Casualty of war?” you seethe, your voice a mix of anguish and fury. “He was just a messenger! He wasn’t a threat to you, and yet you—” Your voice cracks, your chest tightening. 

Aemond’s face hardens further, his hand drifting toward his eyepatch as if by reflex. “The war,” he snaps, “began the day I lost my eye to your brother’s blade. A debt was owed.”

Your heart pounds in your ears, your hands shaking as anger courses through you. “But his life?” you choke, your voice faltering as tears well in your eyes. “He was just a boy!” You place a hand on your chest and spit through gritted teeth. “…We had nothing to burn.”

Aemond’s gaze softens for a brief moment, the flicker of guilt in his eye is buried beneath layers of pride, but it’s there.

You steady yourself, swallowing the sob threatening to escape. With trembling hands, you tilt your chin high and raise the dagger once more, whispering, "Se iā daor." (And now, you must die.)

You plant your feet firmly and charge towards him. Aemond catches your wrist midair, but you’re ready. With your free hand, you unsheathe another hidden dagger and swipe it across his side, the blade cutting through the fabric of his clothes and into his skin. A grunt escapes his lips as he staggers back, and the two of you tumble to the ground in a fierce struggle. The cold stone presses against your bodies as you grapple, breaths heavy and ragged, hands clawing and striking.

Aemond throws a punch, but you block it just in time, your arm bracing against the blow. In the chaos of tangled limbs, your fingernails catch his face, tearing away the eyepatch.

Everything stills.

Aemond freezes, his breath hitching as your gaze falls to the scarred, hollow space where his eye once was. But instead of a void, a sapphire gleams in its place, glowing faintly in the candlelight.

For the first time in years, you see the familiar tremor that runs through him. Fractured memories of child Aemond floods your mind, the Aemond you had once comforted when no one else dared to look at him.

Your heart slows as you reach your hand out to trace the scar and the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. But just as your fingers near him, Aemond’s hand shoots out, grasping your wrist.

His grip is firm, but not harsh. He holds your hand there, inches from his face, and the tension in the air thickens, the crackling candles the only sound between you.

The memory returns again—the quiet moments after Aemond had lost his eye. When you had been the only one to ask if he was in pain. The only one to sneak past your mother and Alicent to see to him—to offer him kindness when others turned away. That boy still exists, somewhere beneath the man who hovers before you now.

Aemond’s remaining eye flickers with something unreadable. Guilt, sorrow—perhaps, buried beneath his pride. “I’m letting you live,” he murmurs. “I won’t give you or your mother the satisfaction of my death. Nor will I give my brother the pleasure of yours.”

He loosens his grip, gently releasing your wrist. The violence that once filled the room moments ago now dissipates like smoke.

You continue to lay on the cold stone floor as grief overwhelms you, your body withers as bitter tears stream down your face. Damn him. Damn him for not giving you the chance to avenge Luke.

“No,” you sob, weakly striking his chest, the blows are soft and ineffective. Aemond doesn’t stop you. “No!” you cry again, your words spilling out in a broken mantra. “No.”

Aemond watches you, his expression unreadable. But something shifts in his gaze, something softer, more fragile than before. For a fleeting moment, you think you see unshed tears glistening in his eye, but the moment passes quickly.

In an unexpected gesture, Aemond reaches down and brushes a silver strand of hair from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. His thumb then swipes at the wetness beneath your eyes, lingering a moment too long. His fingers ghost against your skin.

His eye lowers, tracing the curve of your lips. His thumb brushes softly across your bottom lip. You taste the faint salt from your tears. He pauses, his eye searching yours, waiting—asking without words.

More tears threaten to spill, your heart torn between bitter betrayal and the love you had buried deep within.

But agaisnt your better judgement, you allow yourself to relax.

And then his lips meet yours, soft and careful, as if there’s a possibility you’d reject him. But you won't. You exhale a quiet sigh, melting into the warmth of his touch.

The kiss holds a thousand unspoken truths. It’s not just born of passion, but of release—of grief, regret, and love. For all the war, all the bloodshed and losses, the love between you had always lingered, hidden beneath layers of denial. Now, at this moment, it rises to the surface, undeniable.

Your fingers slip into his hair, pulling gently at the roots. Aemond’s hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss with quiet desperation.

For this fleeting moment, the storm outside the walls, the weight of the crown, and the shattered bonds of family fade into nothing. It is just the two of you, suspended in this moment where the war; your mother’s throne, and the blood between you are now distant echoes.

Aemond breaks away from the kiss and leans back. You watch carefully as he strips his top half bare. Your eyes roam over every inch of his chiseled form, taking in the smooth curve of his waist and the firm lines that make up his frame. Your gaze lingers on the wound of your doing. It sits right above his pelvis, off to the side.  It's not a deep cut, but it left specks of blood on his pale skin. 

Your fingers tremble as they reach for the strings of your top. Taking a shallow breath, you begin to remove your outer clothing. Aemond senses your anticipation and helps you out of your trousers. His touch sends shivers down your bare skin, as your naked form is fully revealed for his eyes to bare. 

Aemond slots himself between your legs and peppers kisses across your face, neck, chest, and abdomen. His silver hair tickling your skin as he continues downward. He slides his face in between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on either side.

He glances up at you for approval once more. Your cheeks flush and you give a quick nod before laying back down completely.

Aemond delicately parts your legs, his rough calloused hands gently brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. A low moan escapes your lips as his skilled fingers spread you apart. He begins to massage and tease at your bud. Your back arches in pleasure as Aemond flattens his tongue and slowly licks you up in a long, sensual strip. 

"Gods," you mutter breathlessly.

Both of your hands are in his hair now, tight and pushing him deeper into your heat.

Aemond is undoubtedly skilled. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy as you wonder if some woman from his past, maybe someone from his court, had taught him these tricks. He moans against you and a rush heat of heat glides up your body. Your eyes roll back, as he continues to devou you like you’re the last meal on earth.

You move a peice of silver out of his face—you want to see everything.

Your fingers tangle in Aemond's hair once more as waves of pleasure course through your body.

His tongue moves with expert precision, alternating between teasing flicks and long, languid strokes. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing yourself closer to his eager mouth.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he increases his pace. The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing and muffled moans. You feel the familiar tension building deep within your belly, threatening to overflow at any moment.

Aemond reaches towards your breast, his hand massaging the mound. His fingers pinching and twisting at your hardened nipple. His tongue swirls and darts in and out of your wet heat, in perfect unison with his fingers. “Aemond.”

Just as you approach the precipice, Aemond pulls away, leaving you gasping and desperate for release. His mismatched eyes, one sapphire gem and one his familiar ocean blue, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

His lips glisten in the light with your slit.

You watch as he stands tall and wrangles himself out of his trouser. Now, completely baring himself to you as you do him. Aemond's manhood is long and thick, standing with attention and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. You note the thick veins along his shaft. Your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him.

You chew on your lips in anticipation as Aemond brings himself back down to your level and hovers above your face. You both don’t pay any mind to your centers brushing against one another as he situates himself between your legs.  Both of you are too caught in each other’s gaze.

Instinctively, your fingers reach up again to trace the scar across his eye—the one that defines so much of who he is now. 

This time, he allows it. His face melts into your outstretched palm, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb brushes the sensitive area near the socket of his lost eye.

His hair falls like a sheer veil, cloaking the two of you. “iksā gevie” You say the words so softly it’s a mere whisper. (You’re beautiful.) 

Aemond's eye soften and he gently removes your hand from his face. 

But instead of letting go, he lifts your wrist to his lips and kisses the thin skin there. His lips linger for a moment before he lowers your hand back down to rest at your side. Aemond grabs himself between you both and positions himself at your entrance. 

You mentally and physically prepare yourself for what is about to happen, knowing it is an act of betrayal. Not only to your family, but to yourself.

Slowly, he enters you with the tip of his cock, causing a simultaneous moan from the both of you. Him from feeling the warmth of your walls and you from the pleasurable intrusion. You watch as his hips move, his skin glistening with sweat as he sinks deeper into you. You watch the intensity in his gaze as he looks down at where you both meet, his face contorted with raw desire.

Your legs spread wider when your body’s are fully flushed. The sensation of being so full and heavy of Aemond is heavenly.

You cry out in bliss as he begins to move inside you. His hips rolling out and snapping into your cunt.

The rhythm of Aemond's thrusts are deliberate and powerful, each one rolling and snapping with increasing force. You feel the tension building within you, a fire that is threatening to consume you both. Your chest bounces as he growls into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Your legs and hands cling around him, trying to hold on as his pace quickens. Your fingers claw into his back, leaving red marks in their wake. Aemond sucks at the salty flesh on the curve of your neck, biting down hard before meekly replacing his tongue and lips to ease the pain.

"sīr vok," he whispers into the shell of your ear in between thrusts, his voice low and rough. “se mirre syt nyke.” (So perfect, all mines)

You moan in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure overtakes your senses. The world around you fades away as Aemond continues to assault your inside, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aemond reaches a certain depth inside you–hitting that one spot of nerves. A wave of pleasure washes over you and you cry out his name. Your back arches off the floor as you shake in ecstasy and gasp for air.

But Aemond doesn't slow down. He continues to fuck into you, through your orgasm, his grunts becoming more guttural and primal. He leans down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue dancing with yours . Your hands roam over his body, feeling every ripple and muscle as he brings both of you closer to the brink.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, urging him on as he pounds into you with an urgency that matches your own. Aemond buries himself between the curve of your neck, his moans loud and desperate. The familiar coil in your stomach begins to tighten once more as Aemond relentlessly drives into you.

“ivestragī ñuha—ah” You gasp at the sensitivity between your thighs. “laesi jurnegon jemome.” (let me see you). You beckon him to remove himself from your shoulder blade. 

Aemond obliges and turns his face towards yours. You stare as his features twist with pleasure. How his body tenses as he reaches his own peak, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills himself inside you. You feel the warmth of his seed filling you to the brim. You let out a sigh of satisfaction. He nearly collapses on top of you, but manages to gather the strength to withdraw from your body. You both watch as your essence coats him and his own drips between your thighs.

He falls down beside you in exhaustion.

You miss the warmth of him inside you, the feeling of him being close to you. 

The silence stretches, only your breathing echoing in the vast emptiness of the room, both of you lost in your own thoughts. 

After what feels like an eternity, you glance over at Aemond. He lies still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Without shifting your gaze from him, you say the words slowly, each syllable deliberate. “I’m going to kill you one day.”

It was a promise.

You expect a reaction—a sudden turn of his head, a flash of anger, perhaps even the feeling of his hand reaching for the dagger beside him, and driving it into your throat. But none of that comes.

Instead, Aemond remains as he is, his face serene, his eyes still locked on the ceiling as if it held all the answers. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.

“I know.” His words are soft and matter a fact. 

You slowly turn your head, your eyes tracing the same path his do and stare at the ceiling above. The silence settles again, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it lies a quiet understanding– one neither of you are yet ready to confront.

[siren-141]

part two to this angsty beauty - enjoy 🖤

Your head pounded when you woke up, sunlight filtering through the curtains in your shared bedroom. Well, in your bedroom now. Who knows if you’d even be able to keep the apartment – would he want to stay here or would you? He said he’d be here today to pick up his things, so maybe he was letting you keep it. Maybe you’d surprise him with an empty apartment when he came to collect his things, and you’d be long gone.

Gone, that’s where you wished you could go. What did that even mean..?

It didn’t matter.

You got up and cleaned your face, throwing on some workout clothes and stepping out into the cold air. It was winter in New York City, and everyone else was bundled up with long coats and scarves, boots and their fuzzy socks peeking up at the top. You walked the five miles to the Avengers tower in some leggings, running shoes, and a light hoodie, not even bothering to put the hood on.

You slipped into the meeting just as it was starting, taking a spot next to Natasha this time instead of your usual one. There was an empty chair next to your ex-fiancé, everyone taking notice of it but not mentioning it more than a quiet glance amongst each other. Bucky listened with intent as if nothing had happened – you stared at the small scratch in the glass table until your eyes went fuzzy.

“I know we just finished one mission up – seriously, great job, you two-” he gestured to you and Bucky. Clearly not reading the room, he continued. “Truly a dream team, you two work great together.”

You could hear Bucky huff out a sarcastic laugh and you just rolled your eyes. How he had the audacity to sit there and act like he hadn’t just shattered your entire world last night, you would never know. It’s always been fucking hard to be with you. His harsh voice rang in your ears, flashbacks from last night hitting you like a train.

“Tony, could you..?” Natasha motioned for Tony to continue with his agenda and stop lingering.

“Right.” His voice was drowned out by the blood rushing through your ears, and you could barely hear what he was saying anymore, starting to zone out again.

Natasha nudged you, and everything came back into focus.

“Solo mission, Canada. Rumlow’s back.” She whispered it over to you as indiscreetly as possible, the details that Tony had just gone over, but without all of his theatrics.

You looked over at her. Rumlow? You mouthed. She nodded her head grimly.

“I can do it. I have the most experience dealing with him-” Bucky piped up finally, acting as some sort of martyr.

“I’ll go.”

All heads turn to you, finally having spoken up and looked up from the scratch on the table.

“Are you out of your mind?” Bucky’s words sliced through the silence. You locked eyes with him and there was nothing but fury and heartbreak in yours. You could see where his hands were in fists below the table, balled up and trying to keep his composure.

You looked at Tony. “I’ll go. Rumlow doesn’t know me. Even if he had files on each of us, you know mine is sealed. I’ve only been on covert missions that didn’t deal with the public-”

“Tony, you can’t let her go on this mission!” Bucky tried to speak over you. You could tell he was getting mad.

“-and because of that, my identity has never been known. To him, I’m just a random girl. Send me. I’ll get it done.”

It was silent in the room, and you could cut the tension with a knife. But Tony had made up his mind.

“Those are all…excellent points. Meet me in 20 in my office and we’ll go over it. You leave tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes, a feeling of relief washing over you. The meeting ended and you got up to leave, managing to round the corner before you felt a grip on your arm, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“You can’t go on that mission alone, he will kill you,” Bucky said through his gritted teeth. You tried to keep walking but his grasp on your arm was too strong. You knew you could never overpower him. “I’m going instead.”

“You know what you can fucking do-” you turned around in his arms and managed to shake out of his hold. By this time, the people who were left after the meeting were all silent and watching. You barely took note of them as you felt your vision cloud with rage.

“Hey, guys-” Steve tried to step in, tapping Bucky on the shoulder. It was no use. Your eyes brimmed with tears of rage.

“No, you go back to wherever the fuck you went last night and leave me ALONE!” you yelled at him, whipping around and starting to storm off. Before you got too far though, you turned back around and threw your engagement ring at his feet and let it clatter around the tile floors for everyone to see. “Sorry if I’m too hard for you to deal with right now, but I’m going on that mission alone and I hope that when I’m done, I can fucking stay up there away from you.”

He watched as you walked down the hallway and turned into Tony’s office, the door shutting behind you. He stood there in silence, the audience behind him in utter shock. They all began to dissipate, going in their own directions, until it was just him left.

I'll probably turn this into a multi-part fic, what do y'all think? part 3

[jemiswumbo]

she’s out of her mind

luke castellan x daughter of hades!reader

anon prompt: Hey babes! I saw your post about wanting prompts and I was wondering you could write Luke Castellan x Daughter of Hades! Reader where it's like sunshine (Luke) x grumpy (Reader) trope?

authors note: hello i am back with a small drabble for the cute prompt above! i got drunk off of applebees dollaritas and wrote this in 15mins so do with that information what you will. hope you enjoy! :)

title is from she’s out of her mind by blink-182. lyrics are a lil fitting.

warnings: none? i think? it’s just fluff, i think. sort of.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

You groaned low and deep, releasing a guttural sound full of pure agony. Rolling over on your (extremely warm, cozy, sleep inducing) bed, you came face to face with your boyfriend, Luke Castellan, who was currently opening up the curtains in your cabin.

Being the only child of Hades at the camp, the entire cabin was sparse and empty, save for the corner you called home. There was a bed with black sheets and blanket, a side table full of the few memorabilia you had to your name, and a dresser beside that which held your extensive collection of black clothing. The walls resembled the inner workings of a cavern; slick rock prodded with small bones and beautiful jewels encapsulated the bedroom areas. Sconces held lit torches burning bright with turquoise Greek fire.

Your favourite part of the cabin, though, was the specially-crafted blackout curtains that were typically drawn tight over the windows. Not even a sliver of light could penetrate the thick, black, velvet drapes. That was, until, your idiot boyfriend took it upon himself to draw them open. The harsh blades of sunlight violated your eyes, illiciting your pained groan. You hated it when people interrupted your sleep.

“Luke,” You whined, shoving your face into your pillow, hoping to evade the blinding light. “Let me sleep, please, for the love of the gods.”

“Fuck the gods,” Luke said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice without needing to see his (cute, devilishly handsome) face. “Anyways, it’s 9am! You’ve slept in long enough and I wanna have breakfast with you and your pretty face.” Luke flopped down on the bed beside you and flipped your body back over with ease, in a foolish attempt to force you into the world of the living.

Typical for a child of Death, you kept your eyes squeezed shut and pounded the bedsheet with your fist. “I will literally, genuinely, actually murder you without hesitation if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.” Luke said, pressed a small kiss to your nose. You swatted him away with anger.

Any other (normal, rational, smart) kid at camp would’ve soiled their pants and fled in terror from such a threat uttered by the one and only daughter of Hades. You were capable of a simple killing — you were graciously bestowed the gift of sucking out the souls of mortals with a mere flick of the wrist — and so it was only logical to fear such a ghastly claim. Luke, however, had realized early on in your Camp days that you were full of shit and would never hurt a fly. He took an opportunity to befriend you and you’d been dating for a few years now. You were (truly, madly, deeply) in love with him and yes, despite your immense hatred for morning sunlight, you would never actually hurt him.

“Come on,” he prodded again, cuddling up beside you and tapping your forehead mischievously. You mustered the courage to crack open one eye (barely) and saw him grinning down at you. “Wake up, baby. Let’s get breakfast and then spend the day at the docks. We can swim and sun bathe and have a picnic—“

“Gods, you’re ambitious today,” you grumbled, rolling back over to face the opposite direction of Luke (and, the open windows), allowing him to grab your waist and pull you up against his chest. “I hate being in the sun. You know this.”

“Yeah, but I like to try new things with you,” Luke said, peppering a few kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, squeezing his taut arm around your torso. “And I’m dying to see you in a bikini.”

“Perv,” you mumbled, but deep down you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing a crimson blush to bloom over your chest. “Give me another hour to sleep.”

“No,” Luke said, and now it was his turn to groan impatiently. “Please, now, for me? I love you and want to spend time with you.”

“I hate you and want you to leave me alone,” you replied, pulling your fluffy duvet back up over your shoulders. “Bed time.”

“Beach time,” Luke decided. He sat up slightly and ripped the blankets entirely off your form, exposing your body to the cold air of the morning.

You shrieked. “Luke, you asshole—“

Luke jumped out of the bed, smiling wide. He gathered up all the blankets up into his arms, much to your dismay, and held them away from you. You only wore shorts and a tank top to sleep last night, and the chill in the room froze you right to your bones. Luke bundled up the bedding into a ball and fired it across the room. “There, now you’re acclimated.”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

“You are a grouchy, sleepy demon who needs breakfast and vitamin D.”

“Ugh!” You exploded, finally shoving yourself out of bed in a fit of exasperation. Luke had the audacity to applaud you. “Okay, there, I’m up!”

“So proud of you, my sleeping beauty,” Luke remarked. He crossed the room to you and placed a tender kiss to your lips, making sure to nip at your pouty bottom lip.

“Sorry for being rude,” You murmured, after having kissed him back. “I love you. I just don’t love being woken up.”

“I know,” Luke said with a grin. “I actually think you’re cute when your grumpy, so I do it on purpose to bug you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smirk from appearing on your cheeks. “Whatever. You promised breakfast and I’m starving, so let’s go.”

Luke mimicked your playful eyeroll. He took your hand, leading you out the door and towards the dining pavilion.

note 2: hi hi! if you read this and enjoyed it and maybe want to read more from me, i would super appreciate prompts and requests sent to my inbox! can’t guarantee i’ll write them all but i will for sure try my best! thanks for reading! :)

[gojosprettyprincess]

Tw- Gun play, Rough sex, not proofread

"Yk i could pull the trigger and kill you right fucking now? Or are you just a little slut that only cares about getting your greedy little cunt stuffed to even give a shit?".He giggled, landing a harsh slap on your ass causing you to whimper unexpectedly while pounding you so fucking hard from behind, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. he had a silver pistol gun placed against your temple, the cold metal pressing so deeply against your bare skin that'll be sure to leave a mark. His cock was so big, stretching and ruining your poor cunt while you're gripping onto the edge of the table for dear life. He had you fucking sobbing and leaking tears ruining all his important documents on the table.

"Fuckkk princess need you to cum on me and make a mess on my cock right fucking now or I might just have to pull the trigger" He groans and smirks when he felt your cunt clenching around him due to his words, he started increasing his pace, slamming into your cunt harder while grabbing a fistful of your hair to bring your head closer to his chest so he can wrap his hand around his neck, your back now in an uncomfortable position.

"Open your mouth f'me" he demanded, you did what he said just for him to push half of the gun into your mouth which made you choke but he couldn't care less, he started ramming his cock into you harder, his balls were slapping against your clit with each hard thrust, the noise filling the room along with your loud muffled moans and his grunts.

His cock was impossibly deep inside you, the thick vein that ran along it creating friction against your g-spot as you felt your climax building inside of you. It was so rough but felt so good at the same time, your mind became all fuzzy while your eyes are rolling back, feeling yourself getting closer and closer as your cunt throbs around his cock.

"Cum f'me baby do it, cream on my cock you can do it" he hisses, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock, gripping around him like you never wanna let go, after a few more of his hard thrusts, you cried out as came all over his cock, he continues fucking you through your orgasm looking down at where the two of you are connected, rings of creamy cum appearing at the base of his cock.

"Fuckkk yes that's my good girl" he groans, feeling your cunt squeezing his cock so fucking tight, milking him for his own release, he removes his hand from your neck and took the gun from your mouth, that's now all covered with spit and drool, he placed your head onto the table once again, now aiming the gun to the back of your head, and he grips on both of your arms behind your back, while drilling his cock in your creamy cunny deeper. He gritted his teeth, feeling himself getting closer and closer, "fuckfuckfuck I'm gonna cum, gonna fill you so full of my cum baby".

He eventually released his seed into your cunt, painting your tight walls white as he kept fucking it deeper and deeper into you, before stilling himself inside of you, you felt his cock twitching inside of you. He pulled his cock out and watched how the mixture of your cum and his cum drips out of your poor cunt, dripping onto the wooden floor.

"Go clean up this mess and I'll let you know when i need you again"

Eren, Toji, Itachi, Gojo, Erwin, Geto, Sukuna, Bakugou, Dabi, Vegeta, Inosuke, Light.

[tinietaehyun]

A Cup of Madness, Please!

[MadHatter!Beomgyu x lost!Reader] [Wondrous Tales] [Series] [One-shot]

Pairing: MadHatter!Beomgyu x Lost!Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy, dark fantasy, action, dark romance, supernatural.

Contains: Profanity, mentions/implications of drug use/sedative, complex themes of time, obsessive behaviour, mental breakdowns, binding, violence, gaslighting, manipulation and dialogue-heavy.

Note: thanks for such a patient wait guys! Had t rework this one a lot, and I hope the end result is good! <3

Links: Wondrous Tales Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: Having managed to elude the tea party and trick Kai into thinking you’ll stay, you scramble for your life by bargaining with a strange caterpillar hanging from the trees to escape.

Being barely lucid, you stumble into what seems to be another secluded grove, another tea party. Oh, you were definitely mad by this point. Not again! You see exuberant host with his feet up on the table with a grin, “Welcome, welcome, do come and join me, little love. I have lots of tea or are you sick of it from the March Hare?”

Panicked you rush off past him, he makes no move to chase after you. How strange. “Toodles, love!” Grimacing you rush off through the tangled foliage….only to arrive back to where you were facing the man again. A loop…?

“Time’s prisoner I am, and so you will be too. I’m awfully lonely and the hare’s fed up of my games. You’ll play with me and keep this Hatter company won’t you?”

Your feet drag along the muddy path. Everything seemed utterly weird here (which was saying a lot considering how much you had experienced and seen beforehand!) but this- this was truly weird!

You gaze at the floating leaves, the wind-blown trees of vibrant hues stuck in position, the birds in the sky forming floating statues with the way they hovered in place. Your mind itself felt fuzzy, your movements slow. This entire area felt absent of time. Despite having walked for what seemed to be ages, you felt as if you progressed nowhere at all.

Was this a sign that you were getting closer to the Hatter? Was this the consequence of killing time? Was he also perpetually stuck in this place with no way out? Surely you’d be safe right, you had heeded the caterpillar’s words of not following the path! Then why was everything getting even worse, you felt as though you were walking right into that madman’s hands!

Instinct bubbles uneasily within you as you sluggishly walk. Something didn’t feel right at all, in fact, it made you feel nervous. From what you had heard about the man, nothing good was bound to occur if you met face to face with that lunatic.

You shudder at the thought. Now your main objective was to somehow make it to the Cheshire Cat’s Woods. Your gaze lifts to the horizon, in the distance you see a murky, foggy space, the ominous silhouette of jagged trees. That’s where you were heading to. It made you feel uneasy, even just from the sight of it from afar. That would be your ticket out of here!

With a renewed vigor, you clench your fists and continue walking ahead. You had to make it out of here, no matter what. You clutch your head, a pounding pain pulsating in your forehead; your perception of time is warped and fatigue strains upon your bones. Everything felt overwhelming and all you wanted to do was go home and take an extraordinarily long nap. To think, you’d have called yourself insane before this, to miss your monotonous and stressful life!

The muddy path seems to curve off away from all the frozen in time chaos and floating objects and your shoulders slouch in relief. Anything further from the Hatter was good news in your eyes. You continue trudging along the path. How much more would you have to walk, to endure? Your mind felt weak, your sanity crumbling by every encounter you had. You really didn’t want to go insane here.

The foliage begins to morph and change, monochromatic bushes of black and white, the path ahead of you seems to change with every blink causing you to become disoriented. What the fuck was happening here? You wobble slightly and your mind feels fuzzy. That same unsettling feeling from before - it was nauseating. As though you had no grasp on anything. White noise fills your ears and you groan covering your ears, you begin running along the path in desperation.

What the hell was this place? You had to get out! After a while running; barely barely lucid, you stumble into what seems to be another secluded grove, another tea party. Oh, you were definitely mad by this point. Not again!

Your legs tremble and you attempt to steady yourself as the white static in your eardrums fades. The tea cups and saucers were mismatched, and numerous were shattered to smithereens on the floor. The table cloth was a colourful mismatch of fabrics, colours and patterns. The chairs all pristinely aligned along the sides and the food seemed untouched - varying from cupcakes, cakes, biscuits, scones and croissants perfectly baked to perfection, sweet and alluring in aroma, making your mouth water ever so slightly.

You couldn’t have wandered in a big circle back to the Hare, could you? No…it couldn’t be. The worst place to be in Wonderland. This couldn’t be the Hatter’s Tea Party? Oh you so desperately wanted to deny it, but you knew. You had indeed fucked up terribly.

“Welcome, welcome, do come and join me, little love. I have lots of tea or are you sick of it from the March Hare?” A rich, husky voice startles you and you whip your head to the side. Another small table of delights and treats arranged in pristine fashion. There, you see the exuberant host with his feet up on the table with a grin.

You look around mortified, it was! It was the Hatter’s Party! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fear courses through your system, you don’t think your mind could handle another insane encounter! You realise nothing is fenced off in this grove, you were free to roam. Why did you have to indulge him anyway? What if you made a run for it now?

Panicked, you rush off past him, he makes no move to chase after you. How strange? No…this felt wrong. Did he simply not care? Were you running into another trap? He calls out grinning, “Toodles, love!” Oh shit. This wasn’t good.

Why couldn’t you think straight at all? You felt so weird, so disoriented? Where did all your logic fly off too? You keep running, adrenaline coursing through your vessels. Perhaps it was foolish to do so, but you didn’t seem to have any idea, you just wanted to avoid the Hatter at all costs. But now, you feel as though you had walked right into the palm of his hand.

Grimacing, you rush off through the tangled foliage, twigs and leaves brush your face. Heavy pants leave your lips, all you wanted to do was escape. You keep running…only to arrive back to where you were, facing the peculiar man again.

Fuck. What was this? A loop?

The eccentric male tilts his head, a wide grin on his lips and mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he gleams, “Time’s prisoner I am, and so you will be too. I’m awfully lonely and the hare’s fed up with my games. You’ll play with me and keep this Hatter company won’t you?”

Your heart slams against your sternum. Was there truly no way out? Or were you simply going insane? He swings his feet off the table enthusiastically and stands abruptly adjusting his tailcoat, a seductive shade of dark blue with vibrant patterned patches here and there and blood red corsage in his chest pocket. If it weren’t for this place, you’d have thought he was a prince out of some fairytale.

Who would have thought the epitome of madness would have such a pretty face? Chiseled features, pouty lips, raven locks which fall in a wolf cut framing his face perfectly; a few strands over his piercing murky eyes. A sharp jaw and pointed nose, truly a beauty with brimming insanity beneath his skin.

With his hands behind his back, he skips over with an ominously delightful tune. Instinctively, you step back, “I-I just want to get to the woods is all, please, I-I- I’ve had enough.”

He tilts his head with a delighted expression and coos, “Oh? You beg so pretty. You’ve had enough? But we’ve just met, love? My darling little love, I’ve been waiting for you! Oh! You mean the others!” The man throws his head back laughing and tosses his top hat off with a flair. Running his hand through his hair, he giggles, “You don’t like our hospitality?”

Hospitality? Glaring, you take another step back, warily keeping your gaze locked onto him. He walks forward, “It’s been ever so long since I’ve had a guest. It’s so, so, so unfair y’know? That pesky king takes the ones that do show up and kills them when he’s bored? Tell me love, then what am I supposed to do? I also want a pretty little guest. And well, well, well, if you made it this far, you truly must be very special!”

You open your mouth to speak. “Ah, ah, ah, shush, shush! Let me introduce myself, love. I,” he exclaims, with an extravagant spin with outstretched arms, “…am the Mad Hatter, tea party extraordinaire, the most fun person in this dreary place called Wonderland...” he hops over and you yelp as his face is millimetres from yours. His voice drops to a whisper, “But, you can also call me Beomgyu.” Like a gentleman, he bows down taking your hand delicately and bringing it up to his lips as he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze. It looked like he was going to devour you whole.

Once again, you open your mouth to speak but you’re halted by his index finger on your lips, “Ah, ah, let me finish. Now…” You stiffen. “Say it, say my name. Let's see how it sounds coming from those pretty lips of yours,” he coos. Your eyes widen - goodness, he was impressively tall. All of the wacky figures of Wonderland were terribly good looking too! Almost as if the divine were cursing you!

You remain silent and Beomgyu tilts his head, and your breath hitches as he suddenly grasps your jaw tilting your head up, his lips inches from your own, as he murmurs, “I said,” his tone darkens, “Say my name. Don’t hesitate for long, if you want to stay alive, play along.”

With great reluctance, you utter, “…Beomgyu.” He releases your chin with a sudden bright smile, “Wonderful, beautiful, how lovely indeed! Now, was that so hard, love?” You glare remaining silent and he chuckles leaning down, “Oh you are terribly cute aren’t you? How did the others let you escape, hm? Goodness, who wouldn’t want to keep you to themselves with such an adorable pouty expression? Now your name.”

You remain quiet and he leans closer making you blurt out, “Y/n.” Beomgyu muses, “Oh a lovely name indeed for my pretty little guest.”

Infuriated, you snap, “Stop. This- look. I just want to leave. I’m tired. I…I’m- I don’t know what to do anymore!” Beomgyu shakes his head, “Tsk, oh dear, you must be so tired. So fatigued. I always knew the others never knew how to treat their guests well. So incompetent.”

With a flourish of his wrist, he leans over and grabs a dark purple rose out of one of the vases. A sudden fit of giggles escapes him as he covers his mouth abruptly, “Sorry love, you have to get used to that. I just… find a lot of things amusing.” Another set of giggles leaves his lips and a terrible feel of unease permeates your very being. Oh, he was insane, alright.

Beomgyu raises the rose to your line of sight making you flinch back as you eye the thorns on the stem. His lips twitch and his eyes widen, sparkling with fervour, with…hunger. “Take it love, an introductory gift from me. It’s my most favourite flower here.”

Stammering, you respond, “N-No thanks I-“ He suddenly snaps, “No? You’re saying no?” You feel your hands go cold at his tone before his expression morphs into a pleasant smile and then into manic laughter sending a jolt of fear through you.

“Goodness! You look terrified! How amusing! Were you scared?” Beomgyu asks, chuckling. “You’ve looked more scared than the moment you first saw me? Why? Did the others tell you bad things about me?” He pouts, reaching over to cup to your cheek, “I’m not scary, I just know how to have fun? Is that so bad? Tell me love, is that so bad?”

You stay quiet, hands trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye. Beomgyu suddenly tilts your head upwards again, his lips twisting into a smirk, “Oh love, feeling shy? Oh why? Come now, keep those pretty eyes on me, hm?” You quiver, “What do you want from me?

“Oh, oh, oh! What a great question!” He exclaims before scoffing with a roll of his eyes, “If it weren’t so abhorrently boring. But to answer your curiosity, I don’t know.”

You deadpan, “You don’t know?” He grins a little too widely, “Mhm, I don’t know. You don’t know either. We both don’t know. The possibilities are endless. Isn’t that glorious?”

Beomgyu gazes at the rose in his left hand, “What a thing of beauty,” he holds it up to your face, “Almost as gorgeous as you, love.” You roll your eyes. He drags the soft petal down your forehead slowly, along the bridge of your nose and rests it on your lips, “Doesn’t it smell divine?” Before you can muster a reply, a wonderfully sweet aroma emits from the rose. You inhale deeper, never have you smelt such an enticing scent. What the hell?…

“Inhale it deeply, love,” he lets out a breathy chuckle and you pale. What did you just breathe in? He takes the rose giving it a big inhale and sighs deliriously happy, “Oh, wait for it to kick in. You said you were tired right?”

Your legs buckle and your sight blurs. What drugs was this rose made from? Wacky and vibrant colours fill your gaze and the surroundings distort and stretch making you feel delirious.

“Isn’t it marvellous? Are you having fun?” He cackles watching you clutch your forehead and stumble and clumsily waver. “You can see the world, the way I do!” He laughs loudly, “Its a little hard you see, when time doesn’t move. Makes you go a little cuckoo, but hey on the bright side, you’re never late, or never early, or, or, never really on time at all!” Beomgyu guffaws clutching his stomach as if he had uttered the funniest phrase in existence.

Meanwhile, you were struggling to keep your ground feeling even the ground below you give way. You felt as though you were floating. Beomgyu hums amused, “Ah, look at your eyes blissed out, such a dazed expression, ah, I could never grow weary of such a sight.”

Knees buckling, you clutch your head as your eyelids feel weighty, drowsiness overwhelms your senses - with which you feel yourself hurtling to the ground and your vision snaps to black.

The Hatter muses crouching down, whether he’s amused by the thousands of colours he’s seeing or the fact you fell down with about as much grace as a sack of potatoes spilling, he himself didn’t know. Either way, he was utterly delighted to have someone after so, so long to be stuck in time with him!

Time was overrated. The future is bleak, unpredictable. Change is far too outdone. It’s not about the what ifs, but the what nows. He had killed time with his bare hands for that very reason, tore the fabric of existence here into shreds. He didn’t want Wonderland to progress forward, how preposterous would that be? What if one day everything faded into obscurity? What if…what if he were to be forgotten? The sheer horror of the thought sends a shudder down hus spine.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, he shakes his head, distraught laughs tumble from his lips, “We can’t have that.” Beomgyu gazes at you, his pupils dilated manically, “You poor thing, oh love, wanting to leave. You don’t know a thing about enjoying the present, not being tainted by the future. Eroded by the ravages of time.” He runs his thumb delicately over your cheek, “It’s okay, I’ll teach you, and I’ll make sure I don’t let you escape like I did with Alice, oh so long ago.”

After what seems like hours, you feel a terrible migraine. Your ears feel numb and you feel as though all the blood was rushing to your head. What the fuck did he do to you? You pry your eyes open and flinch at the light coming in. To your horror, everything was upside down. The same scene, but upside down. Your arms hang below your hand, fingertips grazing the vibrant grass below.

No wonder the blood was rushing to your head! You crane your neck to see your legs and see them tied up. You were hanging like a pendulum off one of the branches of this massive tree! Holy shit! Panic surges through your system, he was a a maniac! With every writhe of your body and deep breath, you swing pathetically.

Footsteps resound and you spot the familiar shoes in your line of sight. A low laugh escapes his lips, “You’re awake. I was beginning to think that my scent-of-sleep-rose had killed you or something.” You glare seething at him - him and stupid fucking smile.

“To make you aware, it is you, who is upside down, not me. Then again, to you, I must look upside down. Perception is a funny thing isn’t it?” He rambles with a grin. You snarl, “What’s wrong with you? I’ve done nothing to deserve this!”

Beomgyu snickers, “Oh hush, hush. Why so angry love? I just wanted to play a game. Believe me, we could talk forever, and I mean that literally by the way,” he giggles before abruptly covering his mouth and composing himself, “But I thought, we could make things a little more fun? I like fun. You like fun. Everyone does. So…why so cranky?”

This piece of…your jaw tightens. His gaze sharpens and he leans down, his hand giving your body a little push and you feel nausea hit you unceremoniously. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Glare into me till I what? Turn to ashes, quiver and blubber away,” he mocks, raising his tone of voice. Beomgyu coos, “Love, you’re in my territory, my grove now. My rules, my games, my…my everything.” He dramatically bends down plucking a bright blade of grass between his index and thumb, “Even this blade of grass,” he blows it in your face with a chuckle.

Anger and fear amalgamate within you into an uncomfortable mixture. Beomgyu’s voice darkens, a crazed expression in his widening eyes as he leans down; his face inches from yours, “Even…you.” Beomgyu stands brightly spinning around with a bright demeanour and a clap of his hands, “So! Suck it up, buttercup!”

Your restraint snaps, all your deliria, patience, fatigue building until it bursts like a geyser as you release a shrill scream piercing the air. It takes Beomgyu aback, the sound rattling his eardrums and momentarily making him stiffen.

You scream hoarsely, “Suck it up? Suck it up!? You’re fucking deplorable! You insane maniac! You- you- do you even know how hard it has been to get here? It’s all just a fucking game to all of you!” Your gaze burns into his as he quietly observes your apparent mental breakdown. You snarl, as you swing pitifully, your hands digging into the dirt to steady yourself. “I’d wish you hell! But this place is already worse than hell itself,” you seethe.

“Is it so fucking hard to get a break here?” You shout, tears running back into your eyes with how you were upside down. “And this! Being fucking hung up like meat at a butcher’s shop, icing on the cake really!” You continue rambling and cursing for another minute as Beomgyu stares almost entranced by you.

You snap catching his stare, “What? What now?” For a moment, he doesn’t reply before stepping forward and dropping to his knees. The expression you see next sends a chill through your body. Wide-eyed, he cups your face, “That was beautiful, what a performance. So much pent up emotion,” another set of tittering laughs leaves him.

“Are you…” he laughs again, “are you losing your mind already, love?”

Your heart flies to your throat. No. No you couldn’t be. No way. That was just…a little pent up anger. No, no, no. You? You going mad? That was ludicrous to even suggest. The Mad Hatter of all people to suggest such a thing?

He coos, fingers pressing into your cheeks, “That look in your eyes, it’s like mine. So chaotic, so panicked, so fiery, so delirious. I can see it, this place has taken its toll on you, as it has done on me. We’re the same. Not willing to die, but to endure, to afraid to never wake up again, but tormented to live!”

Beomgyu rambles as you blankly regard him, your mind spinning. Maybe it was the fact that you were hanging upside down or were you genuinely losing your mind? You couldn’t tell anymore.

You attempt to compose yourself as you splutter, “Beomgyu…I- I can’t be stuck like this forever.” He cuts you off, “Oh don’t worry about that, I’ve killed time! So you can? See,” he gestures wildly around him, “I have..,I’ve been stuck here, even if I want to leave I can’t! I just get brought back here,” he throws his head back laughing maniacally.

You feel even more nauseous than before. How were you going to get out of this one? You tremble, “Stuck? You…can’t leave? Why? Because you killed time?”

He nods wiping a tear away from laughing so hard, “Precisely, love. Consider it a punishment of sorts,” he leans down whispering, “Though this is exactly what I wanted, but don’t tell anyone that. This way, Wonderland can stay happy forever, no one will forget anyone, because we’re all perpetually stuck,” Beomgyu huffs, “Especially me, I can’t even leave my grove, the other losers here can at least have a little more freedom.”

You couldn’t imagine why anyone would subject themselves to this? No wonder he was like this, such a fractured mind, such a delicate psyche. You stammer, “W-Why?”

“Why?” He asks tilting his head, “Why?” He chuckles as he rapidly runs his hands through his head, “Because I wanted to. That pesky rabbit kept saying he was late, that abhorrent king said my tea parties lasted way too long. That crafty hare was trying to steal my limelight. Pathetic scum, the lot of them! And, and, and, the guests we get, oh love, before you, we hadn’t gotten anyone new in Wonderland for so long!”

He squeezes your cheeks, “Could you imagine how bored I was? Time was passing so quickly. The king barely came to my parties anymore, the Hare went his own way, and that stupid white rabbit didn’t even bother to tell me anything of anyone anymore. I was…” he giggles brokenly, “I think, I think I was being forgotten? Me?” He cackles, “Me? Being forgotten, isn’t that so funny? I’m the most memorable of the bunch!”

It hits you like a truck. The one weakness of the Mad Hatter. Time. Time’s passage. He was obsessed with being stuck in a moment. The relentless forward march of time terrified him.

Beomgyu releases your face and he peers down at his shaking hands with a wide smile, “Oh look at that. Even my hands are excited.” Afraid, you think, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of the fading joy and madness that defines his existence. He’s afraid of being forgotten.

You almost, almost feel bad. Perhaps you’d even feel sympathy if it weren’t for the fact you were hanging like a bat off a branch. A twinge of guilt permeates you…would it be so bad to exploit his weakness? To get out of here? Would that make you a bad person. No, you just wanted to flee is all.

“Why so quiet?” His voice is sharp and you’re startled by the husk in his tone and you see that you had zoned out whilst he rambled incessantly. “What?” You murmur dazed. Beomgyu’s lips form a twisted smile, “You’re definitely losing your mind.”

“I’m not,” you fire back. He coos, “Denial is always the first step. I would know, after all.” You snap, “I’m not! Just- Just let it be!”

He snickers, “Why? Is being mad so bad? I believe in madness lies great genius! Only the best people are crazy after all. Hmm…that brings me to the question, is being crazy, the same as being mad?”

You groan frustrated and yell, “Just keep quiet for ten minutes, please.” The Hatter muses, “Agitation, the common second phase of going mad,” he smiles darkly, “I like that, the notion of making you go so insane, you cease to function- no, no!” His eyes widen stopping himself, “No..not cease but ascend, to see things the way I do.”

Beomgyu stands with an eccentric step, “Don’t you feel pity? For the Hatter is lonely in his madness? Won’t you join this Hatter in his madness? In his little stagnant bubble?”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you simply gaze at each other. You didn’t know what to say - were you overwhelmed, drained? You didn’t know. You felt nothing.

Beomgyu grabs a chair and spins it around, sitting on it back to front, resting his chin on the back of the chair with his arms for support. “I don’t like when you’re quiet. That scream you let out earlier was delightful. Could you do it again?”

You give him a blank stare, attempting to get your fried brain to work. His gaze morphs into one of displeasure, “Are you ignoring me?”

You say nothing drilling your blank gaze into his. His jaw tenses, a scary expression on his face, “I don’t quite like what you’re doing, Y/n.”

With a long sigh, he hums, “Fine, fine, I’ll humour you since you’re special. I’ll stop pestering. How about this? I’ll let you down-“ Your eyes brighten and his lips quirk up, “Oh that got your attention now did it? All you had to do was say so, love.” You grit your teeth, piece of shit! As if he’d do so if you asked.

“I’ll let you down, if you play a little game. I think we’ve both been a little too personal with each other an frankly I’m just itching to see how that pretty head of yours works. So let’s lighten the mood. Riddles.”

You groan loudly, “No…I can’t even think straight now.” Beomgyu giggles, “That’s because you’re upside down silly!” If you could just wrap your hands around his neck and-

“Anyway, you don’t have a choice, love! I’m good at keeping promises, so don’t worry. All you have to do is answer the riddles correctly and I’ll untie you.”

“What if we raise the stakes? If I answer them correctly, you’ll let me go?” You murmur. His face morphs into one of disdain, “Come now love, that’s not what we agreed to do.” You snap, “We, we? We didn’t agree to anything? It’s all you!”

“You, me, he, she, whatever, whatever, all these are trivial details!” He exclaims. You smirk catching him off guard, “You’re afraid.”

He stiffens, his eyes narrowing, “Afraid? Of what?” Time. But you didn’t want to say that outright. You murmur, “Of me winning. Moving ahead. So you don’t even want to put that option on the table. Because there will always be the tiniest sliver of a chance that I’ll win.”

For a moment, you see his lips twitch and twist upwards and his head snap into a tilt, “Oh. Oh you think you’re so clever don’t you?”

You hum, “I do.” You expect him to seethe with anger but instead he smiles widely, “Good, I like guests with a little spunk. By far, you’re my favourite yet.”

“So you agree to my terms?” You beam. The Hatter muses sardonically, “Of course not, love. Don’t be foolish. Even if you left, you’d not be able to break the loop.”

“And how do you break the loop exactly?” You raise a brow asking. The Mad Hatter observes you amused, “You can’t.”

“I’m sure I can, there has to be a way,” you retort. “There is, one guest managed to. Pesky little brat,” he grits out. You hum, “Care to share?” Beomgyu sarcastically smiles, “When you win my game, I will.”

“Fine, if I win, you’ll tell me how to break the loop,” you mutter. He muses, “Mm, I’ll think about it. Actually, I don’t know. I lied.”

Fury bubbles up within you. Of fucking course! He resumes, “Anyway, first riddle. I can be cracked, made and told. What am I?”

Your brain whirrs slowly. Everything seemed foggy. Cracked? What on Earth? Think, think, think Y/n! Your brows furrow as you see his smug smile. Told…made…? Cracked? Oh-your eyes widen. A joke! A joke!

Before your lips part to answer, you hold back. Why did you have to oblige him? He never promised you anything. Who said you had to give the right answer? You tentatively murmur, “A…secret.”

He stiffens, before snickering, “Oh love, that’s incorrect.” You feign innocence, “A secret can be told, made, and cracked, can it not?” The Hatter’s lips part and then close for a moment and he scoffs, “The answer was a joke, love, a joke. Come now, that was easy.”

“I’m technically right,” you snap. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “No, you’re not.” You scoff, “It fits the criteria!” He muses, “It doesn’t fit my criteria.” You notice the surprise in his gaze as if he expected you to get the riddle right off the bat.

Hm. Perhaps the key, was to unsettle the Hatter. Use his weakness against him. Time. Lower his guard and attack. He mutters, “Second riddle, I’ll make it even easier this time,” he sighs drawling out his words, “The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”

Oh you’d heard this one before! It was footsteps! You furrow your brows deep in thought. Beomgyu sharply observes you and muses, “Oh come on, this is a classic riddle, don’t tell me you don’t know this? How did you even get this far then?”

Tiredly, you sigh, “I…I don’t know. I just…don’t know.” His gaze shifts and he mutters, “What’s this…this was supposed to be more exciting.” He scoffs, “Whatever, just say an answer, don’t keep me waiting.” You see him tapping his foot and you have to refrain from smirking, he’s giving you a hint.

You think deeply. Hm, the more you take. The more you leave behind. The more time you take. The more time you leave behind. Time. You could also say time. How…perfect.

“Time.” You utter. The Hatter’s slouch diminishes and his gaze blazes into you, “What? That’s preposterous? How? How in Wonderland do you mess that up?” You feign being disoriented, “I- Is that not right? Everything feels…so…ugh.”

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow, his grip on the back of the chair tightening, “It’s footsteps! The second one is also wrong!” You let out a laugh and you see his right eye twitch. “What’s so funny, that I’m not laughing with you?” He questions.

You laugh louder, “You…you look confused.” His body tenses and he observes you laughing to yourself. Had you truly gone mad? He himself mirrors your laughter, “Has that head of yours been upside down for a little too long? My, my, perhaps my riddles are too complex for you at the moment. You’re losing your sanity as we speak.”

You snap, feigning anger, “No! I-“ His lips form a devilish smile, “Oh but you are, love.” You clutch your head and groan, “No, no, no-“ you let out a frustrated yelp, and you gaze into his eyes widely, “Please, just let me down!”

Beomgyu regards you for a long time before finally stepping forward. He reaches into his pocket pulling out a handkerchief, a flower, a broken pocket watch and then he scoffs in irritation. “Nothing to cut you down with.”

You gaze at the fractured glass of the pocket watch on the grass . How curious that he still had such an item with him. He grabs a knife and walks over beginning to slice at the rope around your ankles, “Do cover your head, don’t want you knocking what’s left of your sanity right out of you upon impact now, do we?”

It had worked! How odd…he caved in quicker than expected. You yelp as you feel yourself fall into a crumpled heap on the ground. The urge to vomit surfaces from the sheer blood rushing back to where it’s supposed to be. God…you felt awful.

You sit up groaning, hair disheveled and panting for breath. Beomgyu crouches tossing the knife aside and grabs your jaw tilting your head upwards, “You’re certainly something, y’know that?” His eyes scan down your flushed face and he smirks amused by your state, his thumb tugs at your lower lip, “Such a pretty thing. I almost feel bad. But if it means you can see things from my point of you, then I’m indeed happy to enable your insanity. Because what I’m doing, what you’re experiencing,” he leans closer; his sweet breath caresses your cheeks, “is your mind being freed. Sanity is the chain which holds you down, but madness, insanity, it opens your mind. You might be feared, marginalised but they don’t know how we think. They fear the unknown, what we’re capable of.”

You gaze into his eyes. God, that face. The type of face you’d believe anything that’d come out of his sinful lips. He whispers, “With every moment, everything you do, it just feels intoxicating. You so…unpredictable, so…thrilling. I love it. I love everything about you so far.” The words send a dark unease through you.

You question, voice just above a whisper, “Tell me, why did you kill time? It’s because you fear the passage of it. The passage of time means you’ll eventually be forgotten.” Beomgyu’s fingers dig into your jaw and his eyes darken, “You don’t get it. Being forgotten- ah, ha,” he brokenly muses, “No, no, no, you don’t understand it like I do.”

You murmur softly, placing your hand timidly atop his, “Then explain it to me.” His eyes widen bizarrely by your sudden compassion, “What are you up to?” You muse, “You don’t trust me?”

His eyes narrow and you see his lips twitching trying to refrain from smiling, “I don’t. But I want to.”

“I won’t leave,” you murmur and add on, “Not like I can. Even if I did, I’d be stuck in this godforsaken loop, that you so, kindly won’t tell me how to break,” you emphasise and he snorts, “Oh I genuinely don’t know. Even I can’t break it. As I said, it’s part of my punishment. As long as I exist, it will exist also.”

You hum, “If you cease to exist?” His eyes widen panicked, “No- no that can’t be. I can never die in this realm. Time has to pass for that.” Time to throw a wrench into his philosophy.

With a small smile, you utter, “You don’t exist outside of Wonderland.” His gaze snaps to yours, “What?”

“No one knows you outside of this world,” you say bleakly. Your hand tightens across his. You had to make him break down, had to keep him distracted until you could think of something more concrete.

“That’s…preposterous,” he stammers, “Even if I don’t technically exist there, I still exist here. I’m still alive.” You murmur, “That girl who once escaped, surpassed the loop, she must have forgotten you, no?”

You remember the caterpillar’s words. Only one of the many guests here had escaped Wonderland. That must be her!

Beomgyu rips his hand away roughly and his gaze darkens. Your notice his breathing become ragged and a mixture of anger and panic on his visage. Beomgyu trembles, “Stop it- don’t remind me of such nonsense! She…no. Forgotten me? I had almost driven her insane, there’s no way she could have forgotten me?”

You continue, “She’s escaped, living her normal life, what, perhaps years have passed in the real world? You think she’d remember you still? The older she gets the more you fade.”

With a shaky breath, you say, “Have you not considered, that by killing time, you’ve only inhibited your ability to progress, to remain relevant. What you’ve done, is confined yourself to the past.” Beomgyu’s eyes dart back and forth and he screams, “Stop, stop, stop!”

A manic chuckle emits from him, “I-I-I know what you’re doing Y/n. I know your little tricky mind game!” You shake your head, “I’m not playing any games. I’m saying my thoughts on our predicament,” you smile widely, “What’s wrong in that?” You inquire, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Beomgyu yells infuriated, “No! No! No! You are not! Such insolence- I- how dare you?” It gives you a strange satisfaction to see him like this. Were you sick for enjoying tormenting his already fragile psyche like this? Maybe. Perhaps Wonderland had indeed taken its toll on you. So why were your lips itching to break into a delirious smile?

You catch a flicker of movement in the sky. The birds, you swear their wings flapped for a second. Your heart races - were you seeing things?

Beomgyu clutches his head distraught, “No, no, I killed time, time is only bound to make things worse! I’m not trapped in the past, I…I just want to preserve the moment. Don’t you get it? How don’t you get it?”

You peer at him with a grimace and he lets out an unhinged cackle dragging his hand down his face, “You’re looking at me like I’m mad? I am, I am?” He chortles to himself. “Oh…I’m a mess...”

Your eyes widen as you see the bunting move a little, the birds’ wings flap. Wait…did that mean time was passing? You glance back down at the deranged Hatter. Guilt and pleasure mix within you. His madness was the key to your escape. He had grown comfortable with his own twisted philosophy, and now that you were intentionally provoking him, provoking his conscience entirely, it seemed to mess with the loop.

With a smile, you bend down picking up the cracked pocket watch, “Why have this with you?”His eyes widen and he goes to snatch it before you place it behind your back, “For someone who doesn’t care much about time, you have something like this.”

“Don’t test me, love,” he grits out standing. You attempt to compose yourself and keep your fear in check as you inhale, “Does the truth hurt? The fact that you’ve trapped yourself in this bubble of time. Whilst everyone outside forgets about you? After I escape, don’t you want me to remember you, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu marches forward, his hand flies to your throat as he slams you against the tree. The bark digs into your back and you grimace as his fingers dig into your neck. The broken pocket watch slips out of your fingers.

He clicks his tongue rapidly in annoyance as he snarls, “You sly vixen, you think you can just talk your way out of this? You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything at all! It seems you’ve truly gone bonkers!” Choked gasps and splutters leave your lips as you try to pry his hand off.

Your eyes flutter up and you can’t help but smile stupidly at the sight, the birds were moving, flapping away. This so-called punishment given by time was intrinsically linked to his mind and consciousness. No wonder he was as mad as he was.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen dumbfounded by the sight of you smiling as he chokes you out. The stagnant air seems to dissipate around him, the scent of nostalgia dissipates and he feels the brush of a hefty breeze against his skin for the first time in a long time.

Beomgyu tugs you forward, his face inches from yours as he seethes, “What? What are you grinning about?” You rasp out, “T-Time,” you cough, “is…moving.”

His hand immediately lets you go as you collapse, gasping for air. He looks up, where were the same three birds which hovered in the air? Why were the clouds moving so jaggedly, almost buffering?

Panic fills Beomgyu’s system as he stumbles back at the horrific sight. Time will always continue. After all, time makes everyone his fool. And now, the biggest fool of them all, was Beomgyu. The Mad Hatter.

A distraught and strangled laugh escapes Beomgyu’s throat as he peers at the livelier environment. Trees rustling, the sunlight glimmering. Tears drip down his face as he laughs, “I have not killed time, but time has killed me! How funny! Is that not hilarious?”

His head snaps to you as he cackles, “Laugh! Laugh, laugh, laugh it up! I’ve been the fool all along? Who was I to think I could outsmart time itself when it was in fact time who kept me trapped in my own consciousness, to be a fool who was but a mere memory!”

You gaze at the Hatter who had been shattered beyond recognition. His chronic phobia of the passage of time had seemed to overtake any remaining sense of rationale. With a cautious step back, you peer at the forest at the horizon. You just needed to slip away now…

Beomgyu beams brightly as sparkling tears run down his cheeks, “Oh, you…you, you. Never before have I seen such cunning, such a pretty face,” he coos before growling, “But twisted mind.”

Beomgyu steps forward, “How does it feel to have broken the Hatter? Huh? Huh? Not only have I been shattered once, but now twice?” He bursts out into another fit of laughter before his crazed eyes gaze lands upon you once more, “That smile on your face… you liked it. You like seeing me suffer, you’re just as depraved as we all are here in Wonderland.”

Your heart drops; no. You…,couldn’t be. Depraved? You wouldn’t go so far to be depraved- okay, perhaps you were enjoying tormenting him a little but that’s just because you were getting closer to a way out- you weren’t twisted or sadistic?

He breathlessly chuckles stepping forward, wiping away his continuous tears, “You’re singlehandedly the most twisted guest I’ve ever received.”

Fuck. You were so close. You step back timidly; you catch him looking at your feet and he runs his hands through his ebony locks, smiling widely to himself, “Oh, look at you, look. at. you.” He muses, closing his eyes as if trying calm his rage, “Get out.”

Your body stiffens at his words. Did you mishear him? “What?” You ask, quivering.

Beomgyu drags a hand down his face as he looks down, strands falling over his eyes dangerously, “Get out of my sight, before I make your pretty little head a cake topper for my next tea party.”

You take another step back, and another one. A few more. Finally, you turn around and break out into a sprint, you even glance behind you only to see him standing completely still - his chilling gaze burning into your back with a clear message:

DON’T. EVER. COME. BACK.

With that, you look ahead and run, run and run like your life depends on it toward the eerie forest on the horizon. The sun begins to set once more and the entire place seems to wane, stretch, move and distort, with a new breath of life. A delirious laugh escapes your lips as you run along the decrepit path, wind whips past your face in which you relish immensely.

The Cheshire Cat…what would you face next? Your hands itch, at the rate you were going, you feel like you could…ki-no. No. Compose yourself Y/n. You just wanted to go home. Was that…so hard? No damn cat was going to stop you.

You’d do anything.

Anything to leave. Anything.

As you disappear from his line of sight, a smile laces Beomgyu’s lips and a breathy chuckle emits from him. His knees buckle and he clutches his pounding, overwhelmed head. His brain was truly scattered, broken into mere smithereens.

If you do get past the Cheshire Cat, by which you will, he knows it. That bastard of a cat, will most definitely let you go.

Whilst he may have lost to time, there’s one ounce of peace and one absolute truth that makes him grin so hard that his cheeks hurt.

He’ll never forget you.

Ever.

And he has a feeling, most importantly, you won’t forget him either.

Taglist: [open]

@naoristerling @staaaarykids @tremendousphantommiracle @lun4kazumii @lunathewritingcat @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @taehyhunnzly @20crowsinahoodie @baekberrie @syraphyina @fullbodyblankets @soohashits @f4iryfever @themochiverse @atiny-chocolate-chip @nothingwithoutgyu @ethystclove @hancafe @nap-of-a-starr @isa942572 @evn-09 @ninitorih @m3chigo @tenleeluvr-blog @matcha-binz @soobunnymoa @sleepyygyu @nicngyu @vicurious28 @kurokkkiko0 @zyoopioo @noraimp @bvqler @lailols @iiisusy @astridxxxx @kookiesbunny @scrumptiousloser

[remember-the-fanfics]

An asked 'I feel like if Adam met the gen Z overlord before he came to the hotel they talk circles around him.'

But it came out as their first interaction, they still roasting Adam when they can.

Set in the first episode

-

"Ah yes, the first man. The reason I had to live my life and have responsibilities. So wonderful." Said (Y/n), after Adam revealed who he actually was..

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking too? I'm the dickmaster!" Adam said finally noticing (Y/n)'s presence in the room.

"Well being the first man, you really had nothing else to compare it to." They told him with a smile.

"This is (Y/n), they came with me because-."

"I don't trust any of you so I'm making sure Charlie stays safe." (Y/n) finished the sentence not wanting Charlie to soften any words with the Angels.

"No sinner should be here, I should end you for even setting a foot in here." Said Lute, glaring and getting close to (Y/n), who just glared back while getting up from their chair.

"Test me, bit-." Getting interrupted by Charlie pulling them back into their chair. (Y/n) looked at Charlie with a upset glare but settled back down while Lute returned back to Adam's side.

"I want to discuss biggest problem." Said Charlie, trying to get back on track on why she was here.

"Oh herpes. Yeah, that's a bitch." Adam replied.

"Seems to be a you problem." Said (Y/n), seeming already done with Adam.

"No! Our... other biggest problem."

"Ugly people? Math? Global Warming? No wait, that's earth problem." Said Adam, earning a deadpan look from Charlie, who (Y/n) patted on the back.

"You can't change stupid, Charlie. No matter how you try." They whispered to Charlie. "But hey maybe he isn't a complete moron."

Which (Y/n) completely took back after tuning in to Adam being on a different topic now. Being sexist and boasting his own masculinity.

"Do you cope by being a complete ass?" They said, Adam completely ignoring (Y/n) went on.

"-expects you to pay the check but you're like 'Hey, I thought you wanted equality."

"I'm gonna kill him." Said (Y/n), looking at Charlie.

"No! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!" Charlie finally said before (Y/n) could try and kill him.

"Ohh, well that's not a problem! We got that covered." Adam said before turning to Lute. "Lute, how many demons did you kill this year?"

"A good 275 this year, sir."

"275? Woah, badass! Awesome job, danger tits! Pound it." Adam said putting his hand up for a fist bump which Lute did.

"That's not good! They aren't your people to kill!" Said (Y/n), upset with how casual the two seem to be about it. "They are Charlie's people, me including."

"Well that must suck for you." Said Adam before laughing, making (Y/n) pissed. But Charlie jumped in before they could get any more heated about it.

"But these are souls...Humans souls just the same as the ones you have up in heaven." Said Charlie, getting (Y/n) to sit back down.

"They're not the same. They had their chance and they earned damnation." Lute coldly said before looking at (Y/n). "Like you."

"Oooo, so scary." Said (Y/n), flipping Lute off.

"You're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes." Said Charlie.

"Angels don't make mistakes."

"You really believe that?" Said Charlie and (Y/n).

"I know that."

"Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fucking life." Said Adam.

"Didn't you get kicked out of the Garden?" (Y/n) asked him.

"That was one tim-."

"And apparently had your first wife leave you."

"Low blow, tiny." Adam said before Lute walk around the table to where Charlie and (Y/n) was seated.

"The only reason you're still here is because daddy gave you and your hellborn kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel, to know how little you matter?" Lute said, taunting Charlie.

"Bitch, he probably did that because he cares about her." Said (Y/n), glaring at Lute. "So go fuck yourself with a chainsaw."

"Nothing is stopping me from killing you now, sinner." Lute said, getting close to (Y/n)'s face for to long before moving on.

"Opps, almost out of time. Guess we should get into it." Said Adam.

"Oh fuck!" Said Charlie, getting her presentation ready. "Okay I've got a lot to get through and not a lot of time and I feel like you weren't hearing me before so here it goes."

-I ain't typing a whole ass song-

"-Ugh, Shit!" Said Charlie, after (Y/n) and her got pushed out of the room.

"Mother- trucker!" Yelled (Y/n), not wanting motherfucker and Adam in the same sentence or thought. "Dude that hurt like a buttcheck on a stick." They said getting off the floor and helping Charlie up.

"Are you okay? You weren't treated kindly in there." Asked Charlie.

"It's fine, I knew what I was walking into when I came with you." Said (Y/n), shrugging.

"I'm sorry you got dragged here for nothing." Charlie said before getting a side hug from (Y/n).

"You got nothing to apologize for. I knew from the dipshit's face from the start it would be a long shot if he is in charge."

"Thank you, (Y/n)."

"Soo.. 6 months, huh? I have to go back to my territory to get ahead start with that but I'll meet you at the hotel afterwards, okay?"

"Alright, see you then!"

"Byyyyeee~" With that (Y/n) took off to their territory.

-

"(Y/n)... where have I heard that name before?"

[chillinglyadventurous]

Pissed Off

Thank you for the request, anon! As someone who is also pissed off today, I hope this calms us both. However, I took a bit of a twist.

Tags: fighting, toxic relationships

Fiddleford had caught you off guard as you sat in the kitchen with a book in your hand. You had heard the screaming, the yelling, but your friend’s chest heaved now. His gaze was unfocused and bewildered. “That machine ain’t safe and yer fiancé’s tinkerin’ with it like it’s a toy. It’s gonna end the world!”

“Fidds,” you stared, “what happened? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer you, running from your home as if he had just escaped certain death. You knew Fiddleford was right. He’d been warning Ford for months, trying to get you on bis side, but Stanford had insisted and brushed the two of you off with that genius air of his. He had said over and over again that he was in control. His muse was an expert.

You couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Enough was enough. Whatever happened scared Fiddleford so badly he wouldn’t even explain, storming out, so you stormed down the stairs, ripping into Ford’s lab with a wild look in your eyes. Your glare fixed itself onto the giant, triangle portal which dominated the room, making you feel small. Fiddleford’s warning echoed in your mind and fueled your exhaustion with this, with being second place to everything in his life. 

What pissed you off the most that Ford didn’t even look up at you. His attention was fully focused on the loose sheets of calculation in front of him. “Stanford Filbrick Pines, are you out of your mind?”

It was like he didn’t even hear you. Your fists clenched, knuckles white as the anger filling you boiled over. In one swift motion, you grabbed the stack of notes off the table in front of him and threw them into the air. Pages flew everywhere, floating down in a fluttering mess. You met his glare with your own. Your eyes were full of rage.

It was as if his whole body shaked is disbelief. You caught him off guard, lost in his wondering of where his muse had disappeared off too. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“This isn’t worth it, Stanford! None of this is worth it!” You shredded the papers that landed at your feet, ripping them apart mercilessly. You watched the pieces fall to the ground. You didn’t care how many hours he had put into it. You didn’t care how meticulous he was. Fuck this.

You kicked over a chair, not knowing what had so quickly come over you. It didn’t matter. You needed to get a message through his thick skull. The chair crashed against the wall and the wood splintered. The sound boomed through the room. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care. All you could see was that portal and the man you loved throwing his goddamn life away for the sake of some mystery, some fucking puzzle. 

You hurled one of his many gadgets across the room. The sound of glass shattering startled you, but you didn’t stop. You truly didn’t know if you were capable of stopping. Not yet anyways. So, you threw another, watching it smash against one of his many workbenches. The wires and circuits scattered across the floor like every single one of his broken promises. 

“Stop! [Y/N], please, stop!” 

Ford’s voice cut through the chaos and you turned to him, eyes blazing. “You promised me!” You screamed, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, “You said this wouldn’t consume you! You said this was safe! Did you see Fiddleford’s face? What did you do to him?!” A hateful laugh escaped you. You gestured wildly around you, “Is this worth it? All of this? Is it worth losing your best friend? Is it worth losing me?”

Ford stood frozen in front of you, your words cutting deep. You lunged at him, you fists pounding against his chest in a plea for him to stop this, whatever it was. You weren;t sure, but it could kill him. It could take him away from you. You didn’t want to lose him.The heel of both of your fists met his chest again and he grabbed you. 

He needed to stop you and you fought him the entire way, even as he pinned your back to the far wall. Tears streamed down your cheeks then and you tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. “I didn’t realize-”

“You never realize!” You screamed into his face. You struggled against him, never stopping until his body was pressed flush to yours, hands pinned between you. “You are always so wrapped up in your work that you forget about everything else. About us! Do you even care anymore?!”

He did his best to hush you. A hand cradled your head and hid your face in his neck. You shook your head, tears burning in your eyes, but the anger was fading now, replaced by exhaustion. “I don’t want to lose you, Ford. I can’t stand by and watch you throw your life away for this obsession.”

He held you as you screamed, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your hands covered your face as he tried to kiss away what you were feeling. He didn’t speak, just trying to calm you. You knew it, you knew, this wouldn’t stop. You were going to lose him to this portal, to his muse, whatever, whoever, it was. Ford wasn’t yours, not anymore. Instead, you let him hold you, savoring what was left. You knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be yours for much longer.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 2: Reluctant Allies

Pairing: Gojo x fem! reader

Warnings: language, domestic violence, thank y'all for sharing your experience with me, it helped me so much understanding childhood trauma and made me transform it into this fic <3

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

„I heard about your failures, (y/n).”

Your mouth reacts faster than your mind.

“Maybe I’d do better if you get me away from that ass school”, you mutter more to yourself than your father.

A brutal slap sends you straight back to reality and your heart into your throat. Fuck, you’re not talking to Gojo Satoru here, your time at Jujutsu High didn’t do you any favour apparently. The man in front of you wearing that dark blue kimono is none other than your father. Or better said, the man who is responsible for your lousy existence on this planet.

Being a father is a wide stretch for that monster.

“Watch how you talk to me, (y/n). I sent you to Jujutsu High in order to become better than that Gojo brat, so that you bring honor to the Zenin clan. But all you accomplished this far is a grade 2”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

The stinging smell of sake sticks to his presence like glue and makes your guts turn almost instantly. When will this madness finally stop? What on earth are you supposed to do when Gojo Satoru is the honoured one? You studied the way he fights over and over, tried to gain as much information as possible regarding his abilities. But still…

“The only way to get better than him is to kill him”, you press out.

“Maybe you’re simply not strong enough, (y/n). I told you right from the start you can’t surpass me, even though you’re older than me-”

“I’m your twin sister, you fucking fool”, you spit at the other man who emerges from the shadows like the frightful little monster he is.

Since the day you were born, you held a strong dislike for Naoya and how he was worshipped in contrast to the way they treated you. The genius, the youngest, the most promising of Nabito’s children who left you standing in the rain, who forced you into Jujutsu High. If there’s a reason apart from the fact that you are a Zenin for your miserable life, it’s him.

Him, who’s now standing in front of you like a statue with a shit-eating grin plastered on his usual so cold features.

“And still, you are the weakest out of this whole clan. I could wipe you from the surface of earth without even blinking, so watch how you talk to me, brat.”

You know all too well that his words aren’t true. No, you trained your ass off these last months, surpassed your classmates by miles. The teachers at Jujutsu High told you over and over how special you are, that you are stronger than any jujutsu sorcerer these last decades. If it wasn’t for him…

Fucking Gojo Satoru. If they wouldn’t constantly compare you to him, they’d begin to see how well you do, that you are just as capable as Naoya is. But instead, they forced a task on you you’ll never be able to achieve. How on earth are you supposed to be better than the honoured one? You clench your hands into fists so tight that blood spills and lift yourself off the ground, cheek hurting like hell. No, no matter how unimaginable the task is, you have to do it, you have to prove them wrong. Even if it means that you need to beat him, even if it means you are forced to spend even more time with that douchebag.

You will beat Gojo Satoru, no matter what it costs. 

“Just watch me surpass you then, Naoya.”

“I can’t wait to see you try, loser.”

-back at Jujutsu High-

“Wait a minute, what the fuck is he doing here?”

All you wanted to do was going to the training field and running your heart out when Masamichi Yaga stopped you mid-way. Your heart is still pounding roughly against your ribcage in sheer anger, cheek hurting like hell from the well-timed slap your father gave you earlier this day. And now there’s him, Gojo Satoru, sitting on a chair with his long legs stretched out onto the table in front of him and Geto rolling his eyes.

Well, seeing that dumb smirk on that idiot’s face definitely makes you wish to be back at the Zenin’s estate though.

“Would you sit down before causing a scene, (y/n)?”, your teacher mutters while squeezing the bridge of his nose in sheer annoyance.

You snort to yourself while crossing the room, carefully avoiding those devilish blue orbs like a plague on the way to the free seat next to Geto. To be honest, you never allowed yourself a feeling similar to affection when it came to your comrades. No matter how many times Yu brought you sweets, no matter how often Geto trained with you. The second a spark of feelings other than disinterest and anger ascends, you do anything in your power to trample it to death. No, in your world, there is no place for stupid things like that.

Not even Geto’s charming smile can change this.

“I’m sat. Now tell me why that douchebag is breathing the same air as me.”

“Douchebag? I hope you’re not talking about me, disgusting (y/n).”

Gojo’s sing-sang voice stings in your ear, annoys you straight to your already troubled core. God, how are you supposed to avoid him when you get forced together by that cursed school every single time? You have already seen him twice this week, way too much for even a month.

“Why can’t you just shut up once, Gojo scum?”

“You calling me a scum when your family is out there murdering? Look at your pathetic self, (y/n). Your cheek wasn’t bruised when I saw you yesterday. What happened, huh? Daddy must have been pretty upset with your dumbass as it seems. I know you went on a little family trip this morning, looks like it was definitely worth it. Send your father my kindest regards.”

Something inside you snaps. Before Geto is able to get a hold of your trembling body, you get off your chair and yank Gojo’s puny figure towards the ground, eyes locked with his dirty gaze. Oh, that asshole knows exactly what buttons he has to press in order to send you over the edge, he knows exactly that your family will always be your weak spot.

And Gojo Satoru definitely has no problem with using that knowledge to destroy you from the inside out.

“Do you really think you can hurt me with your words? Don’t you think I’m used to hearing stuff like this after years of living with that family?”, you suddenly press out.

For a split second, Satoru’s eyes widen in surprise. That look on your face, it reminds him of the day when he met you, when you heard your nanny’s voice shouting after you. A spark of…

Pain. Despair. Anger.

 It wasn’t a secret to anyone how badly members of the Zenin clan were treated by their own family. Fuck, after all he always witnessed those fresh bruises decorating your body when you came back from a trip home. How many times Geto told him to not talk about your family, to not stress you any further when you returned from your family. It was in his nature to make fun of you. You’re a Zenin, right? The worst enemy of the Gojo clan, right?

But for the first time since his childhood, a gleam of sorrow sparks up his usual so cold heart when it comes to you. He really feels…sorry.

Until your eyes get as cold as before. Until his mind snaps back to reality with a shake of his head, back into the word where you pin him against the ground, ready to beat the shit out of him.

“Cry about it.”

The words escape his lips automatically, trained on mocking you at any given opportunity since he was a child.

Without saying another word, you lift yourself off the ground and press him down with your foot one last time before Geto finally gets a hold of you and drags you backwards. Oh, you are so used to his cruel words that they don’t even hurt you anymore. No, instead a numb feeling takes over your chest, drags the wave of emotions that ran over you away. You rip your gaze away from him and return to your seat, wordlessly staring at the teacher in front of you.

“So, what’s the point of this pity party?”, you question.

“I have a mission for you.”

“A mission for me?”, you repeat in sheer disbelief.

Oh, this feeling crawling up your spine makes your guts turn. Normally, getting called in like this and being assigned with an important mission is the best that can happen. After all, a lot of these missions lead to you ranking up to a grade 2. But being in the same room as him…

Your eyes drift over Gojo ever so slightly, catching the way he already stares at you with wiggling eyebrows.

“A mission for all of you”, the man standing in front of you clarifies.

Fuck. You don’t even care about the way he explains the mission, how Geto scolds Gojo for not listening and making dumb jokes. No, all you can do is stare at him in sheer horror. Him, the honoured one sitting only one seat away from you. All this time you were forced into going on missions with others, but luckily it was never him. Somehow you always managed to stay with Yu or Geto. Fuck, why not Nanami? You were supposed to stay away from him, to get better than him. But instead you’ll have to work with him by your side? Him, Gojo Satoru?

“Ain’t no way I’m going with that white ferret by my side.”

You’re already jumping out of your seat, ready to leave the room without looking back. Fuck that mission, fuck the potential of getting better. Nothing is worth spending one or even more days together with that douchebag.

“Even if it means getting ranked as grade 1 if you’re successful?”

Wait…what? Your ears perk up, eyes darting towards the tall man standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. Is he serious about that? Getting ranked as a grade 1 would surely benefit you in your goal, especially since Naoya and your father are special grade 1 sorcerers… You’ve been here for a few weeks, already ranked up to a grade 2. It would bring honor to your family if you achieved getting ranked up just below the special grade so rapidly.

And this would mean you’re finally gaining a tiny bit of freedom, a tiny bit of the appreciation you fucking deserve.

“Come on, (y/n). I will keep an eye on him. We’ll get it done together.”

There it is again, the oh so charismatic smile of the black-haired man next to you. Is this really worth it? Your mind wanders back and forth, head almost exploding underneath the pressure. If you decline an important mission like this, your father will beat the shit out of you. But on the other hand, he’ll punish you as well as soon as he finds out that you purposely spend time with Gojo Satoru. Still…

Your nails dig into your thighs, head lowered. This is the best chance you get in order to become a special grade and beat that douchebag sooner or later.

“Only under one condition.”

All pairs of eyes are set on you as thick silence hangs in the room. You raise your head again proudly, the deadly gleam in your eyes making even Gojo stop in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“Don’t you dare to talk to me, let alone get in my way, Gojo scum”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear Zenin brat”, the white-haired boy sighs, casually lying back in his chair.

“Don’t you dare to cry for my help, then.”

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange @madaqueue @chilichopsticks @sugurulefttesticle @boba-is-a-soup @jennapancake @kentocalls @mrshlf @byakuya61085

[samoankpoper21]

Kento Nanami Drabble

A/N When I eventually get around to uploading my masterlist please note that the characters will ALWAYS be chubby! / plus size! reader and is a poc 🫶🏽 Anyway this is something "light" 🤣 Enjoy~!!

Word count: 967

Content warning: slight smut, slight fat shaming if you squint really, really hard, small cursing

Random drabble of how Kento Nanami adores his chubby, fiesty secretary that doesn't take shit from anyone. She will put you in your place if she feels that you have disrespected her.

The moment you were hired you reminded Kento of a fire log: you brought warmth within the office, if that made sense. He tried not to pay too much attention to you, only talking when saying "thanks" and "that'll be all" but found the task of ignoring you impossible considering that your desk sat outside his office making it convenient for you to be at his beck and call. He watched through his tinted glasses admiring your full figure as you clacked away at your computer -you're efficient he'll give you that- getting up to retrieve documents from the printer, stopping every once and in a while to talk to your coworkers with that warm smile on your face that he was slowly falling for.

What really sealed the deal for him was how you always looked out for him, taking care of him in your own way: leaving small squares of dark chocolate on his desk with a note scribbled in your neat handwriting: Not saying you look like shit but it's been proven that if you eat one dark chocolate a day it'll benefit your heart, teeth, and help you sleep better^^ try to get some rest ~^^ you look a bit tired today :-( ; always making sure that he actually stopped working to eat and rest. "Minnie," the nickname you adapted to calling him when it was just you two. "Ya need to eat something."

"Let me just finish this-"

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh-"

"Too long. Come on!" He inwardly shivered at the spark that zapped through him as you grabbed him by his forearm attempting to pull him out of his seat. Squeezing you joke, "Sheesh. Didn't realize how built you were." Leading him towards your desk he wondered whether you knew what effect you were having on him.

The day that really killed it for him was when you both showed up to work practically identical: you wore a white, mid length pencil skirt with a thin black belt, satin blue blouse tucked in with the first two buttons undone, and some black heels. As you were gathering the notes to lay on the conference table you giggle. "Minnie, we look like a couple." After the conference he went home early claiming to be sick. Oh the naughty thoughts that were running rampant in Nanami's mind as he fisted his aching cock in the cold shower: he wanted to hike your skirt up, squeeze the supple flesh of your thighs, rip the blouse apart making sure to bring out your breasts from the confines of your bra and pound into you on his desk as you pant his name. "Na-nami" he imagined your half lidded eyes, mouth agape as he watched your breasts bounce with each of his thrusts, his fist stroking faster, teasing and rubbing at his sensitive, tip. "Minnie, I think ima-" Nanami groaned as rope after velvety rope painted his walls. This was driving him mad. He needed to make you his asap.

Sitting at the head of the conference table with a potential client, sneaking glances your way, he watched as you typed away at your laptop, alternating between typing and writing in a notebook. He was grateful that the lights were dimmed as the company's CEO and representative were giving their presentation, lightly palming himself underneath the table.

Oblivious to Kento's internal struggle you stood directly in front of him, so close that if he were to lean forward just slightly he could sniff you. Meanwhile he was admiring how your love handles looked in the midnight blue, sleeveless blouse you were wearing and how the black pencil skirt complimented your ass. As you both were saying goodbye to the CEO he clasped his hand on Kento's shoulder saying, "Mr. Kento, I look forward to working with you. But, take it from an old geezer who's been in the game for a while now, if you want more clients you need to hire someone who's more easier on the eyes. You know what I'm saying?" Your eyebrow shot up and as you were about to defend yourself Nanami replied with, "Unsolicited advice is never welcome. You disrespecting my secretary is a direct hit towards me. I can't do business with someone who only wants to look good on the outside. Please allow the security to escort you out."

"What?! You're joking right?"

"I never joke when it comes to the well being of my employees."

"This is preposterous!"

"Security please escort he and his representative off the premises."

"You will regret not merging with us!"

"Highly unlikely."

As the scene died down you tilted your head glancing at Nanami. "You know I coulda handled it."

"Why? So you could get reported to HR and lose your job?"

"I wasn't gonna hit him." Nanami stopped to stare at you intently. "Ok maybe I wanted to shave his bushy ass eyebrows." Shaking his head he chuckled. "The shorter you are the closer you are to the devil." You lightly smacked his shoulder. "Besides I can't afford losing you."

"Awwwww why? Minnie, you make it seem like you actually like me." Stopping in his tracks he turned to looked at you. "I do. I do like you."

"You better not be playing because I swear to gawd-" Nanami pulled your body flush against his causing you to silently gasp, biting your lower lip. Leaning down to whisper against the shell of your ear, "Need more proof?" You shook your head, you could feel the dark chuckle erupting from within his chest. "Use your words baby girl."

[bellysoupset]

Sick at Home - Part 3

@beanizsmol

----------

Vince slept past his alarm. He never did that, no matter how tired he was, the noise always managed to wake him up. But this time, he slept past it and then past a phone call from Wendy at seven thirty and then past one from his mother at 8 AM.

He woke up with coughing, eyes peeling open like they had been glued down and for a second he just sat there, rubbing at his face and trying to pinpoint what exactly was going on.

He was freezing and his stomach hurt like he had swallowed nails. His head was pounding and there was an incessant noise that took Vince a second to realize was Sophia heaving over her bucket.

He jumped up and immediately regretted it when the room spun around him and caused his knees to buckle. Vince grabbed her desk, bringing a bunch of glittery pens and notebooks to the ground, but managing to stop himself from faceplanting her floor.

Behind him, Sophia let out a wet belch and he heard another heave, followed by her hyperventilating. Vince swallowed a heave of his own, stumbling towards her bed. He wasn't able to stand upright, so he crawled on it and flinched as he saw just how red Soph's face was. There weren't tears running down her cheeks, but she was clearly sobbing, a rope of saliva hanging from her bottom lip and her blue eyes all bloodshot.

"Vin-" Her voice came out hoarse and Vince scooted up on the bed so he managed to sit almost behind her. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but he managed to hold back her hair with one hand, the other one rubbing her back up and down.

"My head is killing me, Vin..." Sophia whined, turning so she could bury her face against his chest. Normally he'd be over the moon with such affection, but at that moment all that the gesture caused was more pressure on his stomach and Vince pressed a fist to his mouth, muffling a gag against it.

"Water," he grumbled, squeezing her, "you need water."

"Can't- Won't stay down..." Sophia sniffled pathetically and Vince pressed his eyes closed, trying to muster up energy to force her to drink something. Hell, he needed to check on Livia, the panic was starting to cling to him like cold sweat and making him claustrophobic.

"Stay- Stay here..." Vince rolled off the bed and stumbled up, bracing against her wall and taking shallow breaths.

"Vin?" Sophia called in a little voice and he forced his eyes open, ignoring the little colorful pulsating spots that were dancing around her head. His sister was curled up as much as she could, frowning at him and he wasn't entirely sure why she was angry. He hadn't done anything- "are you okay?"

"Liv," Vince answered instead, taking deep, steadying breaths and forcing his legs to keep moving, "gotta check on Liv, high fevers are dangerous with little kids," and if something happened to Livia because he was too sick, he'd die.

Vince nearly went down to his knees when he entered Livia's bedroom and she was starfished in bed, peacefully asleep. Vince sat at the foot of her bed and let out a relieved sigh when he touched her and she felt cold to the touch. The seven year old had sweat through another set of PJs, but she seemed sound asleep and Vince grabbed the thermometer abandoned on her bedside table, holding it to her ear.

"How high is it?" Sophia asked, startling him. Vince stomach soured up even more at the mild jump, causing him to gulp down.

"Hmm-" he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, "101ºF.... That's good, right?"

Sophia nodded, then let out an exhausted sigh and climbed Livia's bed, wrapping herself up around her little sister as if the kid was a teddy bear. Vince felt almost envious, that was exactly what he wanted to do, but his stomach had other ideas.

"Give me that," Soph opened her hand to grab the thermometer, then held it to her own ear, "you look like shit, Vin."

He huffed out a breath, staring at his shoes. The room was pulsating, he wasn't sure how that was even possible.

"Uhm... A little under 102," Sophia announced, holding the device for him to read, but Vince couldn't even begin to put the numbers together, "your turn."

Vince shook his head, then ignored Soph's complaints as his belly flipped. He slammed a hand to his lips, but didn't have any strength to get up.

Instead, he collapsed out of Livia's bed, to his hands and knees, and gagged fruitlessly. His senses were tricking him, his stomach felt full and his head was swimming, he was freezing as if he had dipped into a frozen lake and Vince wanted to cry...

"Shit, you're super warm," Sophia was draped on his back all of sudden, her voice filtering through the ringing in his ears. Vince coughed, managing to bring up a splash of bile, all over the floor. What a mess.

"Sophie..." Livia sounded pitiful and terrified and he had no idea when she had woke up, "Soph, I don't like this, I want mamma-"

"I don't like this either," Sophia scoffed, shaking Vince a little, "Vin? Vin, please, I'm scared, what do I do? I'm going to call mamma-"

"No," Vince managed to say, shaking his head. He dizzily reached behind him, grabbing the bed to pull himself up and Livia promptly latched on his wrist as if she could be of any help. He took a breath, wiping his mouth, "get my phone, please."

Sophia was happy to be bossed around and she bolted out of the room, while Livia crawled on his lap, puke be damned, her little fingers all over his face, "Vin?"

"I'm'kay," he turned his head to kiss her palm, closing his eyes for a second-

"Is he passed out!?" Sophia's voice was too loud and Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open. He was flat on his back now, although he didn't remember lying down at all. Livia was sitting by his side, curled up, bottom lip trembling, face all red as she was clearly crying.

"Not-no..." Vince squeezed his eyes shut and open again, staring at the ceiling, "call Max."

He wanted Wendy, but she was 4 hours away and even feverish as he was, Vince knew they needed someone now.

"Who?"

"Max," Vince rolled on the bed, his face met Livia's lap and he couldn't bring himself to move when his baby sister wrapped her arms around his head like an octopus, "Daniels."

"Mr. Daniels?" Sophia held the phone to his face, so she could get the face ID, before snatching it back, "my chemistry teacher?"

"Yea-" Vince muffled a sick burp against Liv's lap, "tell him to come over."

He was floating in and out of consciousness. Half listening as Sophia stammered and nearly died of embarrassment as she called Max, then as she peeled off Livia from him, ignoring the kid's complaints.

He was drifting, sinking into the dark, when suddenly he was shaken harshly, "Hey, Monacelli," Max's voice was rough, alarmed, "man, wake up. C'mon, don't have me call an ambulance."

Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open.

Daniels was standing over him, looking more than a little pissed off. His blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, so the undercut was showing, and he was wearing what Vince assumed were gym clothes, although he'd never peg Max as the type to frequent one.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Max huffed, "can you sit up?"

Vince nodded, although he wasn't so sure. He looked around the room, dizzily, "where- Where-"

"Livia and Sophia are in your bedroom. The bed is bigger and its not as messy. Livia is having breakfast, I got her some cereal. Sophia is sleeping."

"Fever-" Vince slurred, trying and failing to push himself up. He was flooded by a sense of relief that his sisters were taken care of, which was a bad thing, since panic was the only thing holding him together. It was suddenly much harder to keep his eyes open.

"Livia's fever is almost gone," Max moved and grabbed Vince's hoodie by the front with both hands, using all his force to pull the other man sitting up, "Sophia took some Tylenol, I'll check on her in a second. None of them are half as bad as you- You're burning up."

"Hmmm," was Vince's sleepy answer, all fight leaving him. Max slapped his cheek, not too kindly.

"Wake up, don't pass out on me-" he pushed something against Vince's lips and the man frowned, forcing his eyes open again. He didn't remember closing them. Max was suddenly really close, forcing a straw in his mouth, "drink up, you're super dehydrated. Sophia said you didn't drink anything."

"Snitch," Vince scoffed, then took a gulp and immediately groaned as it settled like a punch in his stomach. He didn't even quite swallow it down, before his belly was squeezing with a retch, rejecting it. Max barely had time to scramble back, as Vince puked the little splash of Gatorade on his front and let out a sob, "fuck-"

"Shit, Vince," Max chewed on his lip, worried, "I think you need a hospital, man."

"No," Vince shook his head, grimacing at the wet spot on his hoodie, "help me-"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry-" Max cringed at his own lack of action, helping Vince strip off the piece of clothing, "don't go anywhere, I'll be back in a second."

Vince let out an amused huff at the prospect of him moving, when he could barely stay awake. He closed his eyes once again, hating the way the room was spinning and the heavy weight in his stomach... Something like ice touched his face and Vince scrambled, only for Max to grab him by the shoulder.

"HEY! Stay put!" Max's bedside manners were atrocious, as he all but shouted at Vince in order to snap him out of the fever induced panic. Nevertheless, it worked. Vin settled back down against the pillows, his heart hammering, eyes darting around in a paranoid way until he realized Max was simply holding a wet towel to his face.

"Christ, you're a mess," Max pouted, wiping him face and chest, "we need to cool you down, your brain is probably melting..."

The visual caused Vince to grimace and gag and the blonde widened his eyes, "oh, for fuck's sa- Vince!" he snapped his fingers in front of the other man's eyes, "stop that. No more puking."

"Check on the girls," Vince rasped out, "Sophia's in bad shape..."

"Sophia is fine," Max glared at him, "her fever was going down and she managed to keep down water, unlike you. Livia-"

"She doesn't like cereal," Vince let his eyes slip closed again, turning his head so he could press his forehead to the inside of Max's wrist, "she'll puke again."

"You're insufferable," Max scoffed, draping the wet towel over him like a blanket, "I'll be right back."

Next time Vince woke up, he was alone in the room. The towel draped over him had changed into a different one and it was dry by then. He could hear giggling down the hall. Vin's throat was scratchy and he had a killer headache, but the floaty feeling from before had diminished.

He stumbled up, using the wall as support and forcing himself to get out of the room.

Max was sitting with his legs crossed, boots gone and just in his socks, in Vince's bed. Livia was sitting on his lap and Sophia lying down, rolled on her side, they were playing UNO cards.

Vince braced against the threshold, squinting at how bright the room was. All windows were open in the house, which caused him to shiver.

"You're such a cheater, Daniels," Sophia said in a raspy voice, although it sounded amused. Max rolled his eyes, noticing Vince in the doorway, but all he said was:

"No, I'm not," he kissed Livia's head, "are we cheating, Liv?"

"No, we're not!"

"See," he grinned at Sophia, smugly, before grabbing Livia's waist and planting her sitting on the mattress, "keep kicking your sister's ass. I'll be right back."

Vince moved out of the doorway before the girls could see him and Max met him in the hallway, planting his hands on his hips and looking a whole lot like a worried mother, "the fuck are you doing out of bed?"

"Thirsty," Vince whispered and Max rolled his eyes.

"You could've asked for water," he said, grabbing Vince's arm and shoving him in the direction of Livia's room, only for the other man to stop moving altogether.

"Tired of the bed," he rubbed at his forehead, grimacing at his greasy hair, "need a shower."

"You're gonna slip and die," Max glared at him, "you can barely stand."

"I feel gross," Vince groaned, wrapping an arm around his stomach - Since when he was shirtless? - "I wanna shower."

Max stared at him, seemingly not sure of what the hell to do, before sighing and nodding, "okay... You're gonna leave the door open," he steered Vin back in his own bedroom, where the girls were.

As soon as they stepped inside, Livia was rushing up, squealing "VINNY!" and hugging him by the legs. He wanted nothing more than scoop her up, but just the idea of bending to pick her up was enough to have his head swimming again. Max's grip around his arm was iron tight.

"Hey bambi," he messed Livia's greasy curls, she needed a shower as well. Sophia didn't get up from the bed, but she sat up, staring at him worriedly.

"You sure you should be standing?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Vince said, at the same time as Max answered:

"No, he shouldn't."

"I'm fine," Vin insisted, stroking Livia's face when she hugged his stomach, "I just need a shower and some water."

Daniels scoffed, but didn't say anything, only crouching down and grabbing Livia by her armpits, stopping her from attempting to climb Vince like a cat would, "c'mere, little monster," he threw her up, hugging her closer, then pointed at Vince, "keep the door open, go."

"He's bossy," Sophia giggled from her spot and Vince nodded, stumbling forward.

Showering proved to be a bigger challenge than Vince was expecting and he was panting and dizzy by the time he managed to wash his hair. He didn't have any energy to get out of the shower, so he only braced against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cold tiles and trying to will his stomach to stay in place as the nausea returned with vengeance.

He ended up stumbling out of the shower in order to lean over the toilet, still naked, and retch weakly until his body managed to bring up a splash of bile and trickle of red. Vince's head swam and he slumped forward, hugging the toilet, just as Max said, "What the- Is that blood?!"

"Uhm," Vince answered unhelpfully, as Daniels stepped around him to close the shower and threw a towel over him. The blonde crouched down next to him, a hand squeezing Vince's nape.

"God, Vince, how- Yeah, I'm dragging your ass to the emergency room," Max decided, "c'mon, get up. Hope keeping your curls pretty was worth it, you idiot."

"No- No'spital..." Vince slurred, leaning against Max's arms and nearly sending the blonde flat on his back, "I'm not... Not puking blood," his stomach flipped once more and he groaned, swallowing down the nausea, "scratched throat."

"Yeah, I don't believe you," Max sighed, forcing him to sit up right, "up, get up. You need some clothes, I don't want you to catch pneumonia on top of this plague."

"Gon... Gonna be sick again," Vince groaned, feeling dangerously close to tears. He was tired of being strong, he wanted to be in bed and feeling fine, "sorry."

"You don't have anything to bring up," Max's voice was strained as he threw one of Vince's arms around his neck and used his whole body to pull him up, "Girls, close your eyes."

Vince cringed in embarrassment as he stumbled in the room, naked, the towel had already slipped down his waist and was on the ground, and saw Sophia with her eyes shut and covering Liv's with a hand.

"Sorry..."

"Vinny," Livia grabbed Sophia's wrist, "are you-"

"I'm not dying," he scoffed, already knowing what she was going to ask. He was going to find whoever taught his baby sister about death and strangle them.

"He's just stubborn and annoying and-" Max dropped him on the bed, causing the whole thing to jostle and Sophia to let out a squeal, "really fucking heavy."

"I keep telling him to go on a diet," Soph said unhelpfully, causing all three of them to let out a scoff.

"He doesn't need a diet," Max said, at the same time that Liv exclaimed, "Vinny is fluffy! Stop being mean!" and Vince answered, "fuck off, Sophia."

She let out a little whine at all three answers and Vince struggled to sit up as Max let go off him in order to dig up a fresh set of sweatpants.

"We're getting way too friendly here, Monacelli," Max teased him, as he had to crouch down and help Vince slide up the pants. He straightened up, patting Vince's thigh, "alright, you can open your eye- Livia!"

Livia had jumped Vince the second Sophia let go of her, causing her brother to let out a groan and squeeze his mouth in a tight line. Max let out a tired sigh, feeling a wave of sympathy for his...Friend? Yeah, Vince was his friend, he decided. He had just hauled the guy around naked, they were more than acquaintances, they were friends.

He had been in the house for around six hours now and he was already done for, he couldn't fathom how Vince was able to keep up with the girls while so sick himself.

"It's okay," Vince breathed out, moving on the bed so he was in the middle of it and Sophia, for all her attitude and bark, promptly curled up against his side, just like Livia was, "I'm alright, Max, relax."

"You're insane," Max breathed out, circling the bed to grab the Tylenol and a bottle of Gatorade. He figured it was fine if Vince shared with Sophia, since they were both sick, "drink."

"No, man, I don't-"

"Drink," Max's patience was gone, "drink or I'm calling an ambulance, do not try me."

Vince let out a groan, but gave in as soon as Livia lifted up her head from his chest and said, "no hospital, Vinny."

"Fine," he said sourly, taking the pills with a small sip and planting the bottle on his bedside table, "happy?"

"Ecstatic," Max replied just as sharply, then sat on the foot of the bed, fishing out Vince's phone from his own pocket, "you should call your girlfriend, she called like 3 times already. And your mom-"

"Did any of you tell mamma about this?" Vince looked between the girls and they all shook their heads, "good. We're not gonna."

"Very smart," Max said dryly and Vince opened a sheepish smile.

"It's their anniversary, man, I don't want to ruin it. Besides, everything is fine here, right?"

"Now that Daniels is here," Sophia scoffed, but didn't move her head from where she had her cheek pressed to Vince's bicep, yawning. Vince let out an amused huff, noticing Max's face turning all red.

"You hear that? She likes you better than me," he said, then his call connected and he said, "Hey, honey-" and Max could clearly hear Wendy going frantic over the line.

He lied down on the foot of the bed himself, looking up at the ceiling and rubbing his face, trying to fight the horrible warm feeling that was washing over him. It shouldn't feel this nice to be surrounded by three sick people.

[vroom--vrooming]

Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader

Just Carlos in love with his teammate's girlfriend

The roar of the engines echoed around the circuit as you stood in the Ferrari hospitality, watching the race with a nervous excitement. Charles, your boyfriend, was out there fighting for the top positions, and so was Carlos. They were teammates, but lately, something had felt off. Especially with Carlos.

He wasn’t the Carlos you’d met at the start of the season—the friendly, charming driver who made you laugh with his easygoing jokes. No, Carlos had been acting differently around you lately. Cold. Distant. Sometimes even rude, like he was deliberately pushing you away. You’d tried to ignore it, believing he was just focused on racing. But whenever you caught his gaze, there was something in his eyes, something intense and… almost painful.

You didn’t know it, but Carlos was fighting a battle inside. His feelings for you had started small—a simple attraction he thought he could ignore. But the more he saw you, the more he tried to bury those feelings, the stronger they grew. And watching you with Charles only made it worse. Each laugh, each smile you shared with Charles twisted a knife in his heart, making him jealous and angry in a way he couldn’t control.

Then, everything changed.

The race took a sudden, dangerous turn. You saw it on the big screen—a collision. Carlos and Charles tangled in a tight corner, their cars colliding in a burst of sparks and smoke. Your heart pounded in fear. Charles was out of his car quickly, waving to signal he was alright, but Carlos… Carlos was still in his car.

You rushed toward the medical room, your heart racing, not stopping until you were right outside the door. Inside, you found Carlos, shirtless, sitting on the examination table. He had a bruise forming on his shoulder and an ice pack pressed against it. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and his skin glistened slightly from the race and the heat of the room. His expression was a mix of pain and something darker when he looked up and saw you standing there.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost cold.

You took a step closer, ignoring his rudeness. “I wanted to see if you were okay,” you replied softly. “I was worried.”

Carlos’s face hardened, and he let out a low, bitter laugh. “Worried? About me?” he muttered, looking away. “You shouldn’t be here. Charles could be looking for you.”

Your heart sank at the harshness in his words. “Why are you acting like this, Carlos? What did I do?” you asked, feeling a pang of hurt.

He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the problem,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re perfect. Sweet. Kind. And you have no idea how hard it is to be around you.”

“Carlos, I don’t understand,” you whispered, feeling the confusion and hurt grow inside you.

Carlos looked up, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a frustration he could no longer hold back. “Of course, you don’t understand,” he snapped, stepping closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “You don’t see how much it kills me, watching you with him. How every smile, every look you give Charles makes me want to tear myself apart.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, his words sinking in, but you couldn’t respond. You were too stunned.

He reached out, his hand slipping behind your neck, holding you firmly as his gaze bore into yours. “I tried to forget you. I tried to hate you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I can’t. And every time I see you with him, it only makes me want you more.”

Before you could process his words, Carlos’s lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was fierce, desperate, and raw. His hand pressed against your back, pulling you closer as he dominated the kiss, pouring every suppressed feeling, every ounce of jealousy and passion, into that single moment.

You could feel his frustration and longing in the way his hands gripped you, holding you as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips moved with a desperate hunger, claiming yours in a way that left you breathless, unable to think of anything but him.

Just as you found yourself lost in the moment, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, and looked down to see Charles’s name on the screen.

But Carlos’s hand was quicker. He grabbed the phone from your hand, his jaw set, and without a second thought, he hit “Decline.” The phone went silent, and he tossed it aside, his eyes locking back onto yours with that same fierce intensity.

“He doesn’t get to interrupt this,” Carlos said, his voice low and commanding. His thumb traced gently along your jawline as he looked at you, his gaze softening but still full of unspoken feelings. “Not this time.”

You were speechless, the world around you fading as you stared into his eyes. This was Carlos stripped bare—every wall, every barrier he’d put up now shattered. You could see it all: the pain, the anger, and the overwhelming love he’d tried so hard to hide.

The world seemed to vanish around you as Carlos kissed you again, this time slower, more tender, like he wanted to memorize every second. His hands rested firmly on your waist, pulling you closer, as if he could somehow make up for all the lost moments, all the silent longing he’d kept hidden. You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, and your mind spun, caught between the intensity of his touch and the reality waiting just outside that door.

When you finally pulled away, breathing heavily, you looked into Carlos's eyes, your emotions a mess of confusion, guilt, and an undeniable pull toward him.

“Carlos, this is… it’s not right,” you whispered, shaking your head as you stepped back. The gravity of what just happened weighed on you, pulling you back to reality. “Charles… he loves me. I love him.”

Carlos’s face fell, but he didn’t look away, his gaze steady, filled with a quiet desperation. “I know,” he said, his voice low, as if admitting it broke something inside him. “But I couldn’t help it. I’ve tried to let you go, believe me, I have. But every time I see you, every time you look at me… I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. “I don’t know how to stop.”

You bit your lip, feeling torn. Part of you wanted to stay with him, to keep feeling that warmth, that spark you’d never known before. But your heart ached with the thought of Charles, of the betrayal this would be.

Carlos must have sensed your turmoil because he gently reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “Look, I’m not asking you to leave Charles. I know how much he means to you,” he said quietly. “I just needed you to know… how I feel. I couldn’t keep hiding it anymore.”

The raw honesty in his voice made it even harder to pull away, but you knew you had to. “Carlos, this… whatever this is, it can’t go any further,” you said softly, though it took all your strength to say it. “It’s not fair to Charles. And it’s not fair to you, either.”

Carlos’s expression tightened, a flash of pain crossing his face, but he nodded, forcing himself to accept it. “I understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But just… know that if things were different… if you ever felt something, even for a second… I’d be here.”

You felt your heart break at his words, knowing how much he was sacrificing, how much he was willing to give just to keep you in his life. “Thank you, Carlos,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For being honest. For everything.”

With one last, lingering look, you turned and left the room, your mind racing and your heart aching. As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze on you, the memory of his kiss still burning on your lips, and you knew that nothing would ever truly erase the feeling.

Outside, Charles was waiting, a smile lighting up his face as he saw you approach. You forced a smile in return, taking his hand, but a part of you couldn’t shake the memory of Carlos, of the passion and pain in his eyes, and the forbidden moment you’d shared.

And though you knew you’d made the right choice, deep down, a part of you wondered what could have been.

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

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You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

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Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics