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liveontelevision · 8 months ago

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Okay, this started as a rant about Lucifer lore and turned into an argumentative essay on why Lucifer is a bottom. My b.

18+ Smut ahead, lots of angst

•••

Here's the thing about Lucifer. He was an awesome dreamer, fell in love with Lillith, and was banished to Hell. Literally forced to see what the gift of good will can do at its worse. Unless he's made some personal contact with a sinner to get like updates about what the gift of good will did right, he had to be stuck in a depression for centuries, at least until Charlie was born. And while that would've definitely given him a new passion, he'll never feel confident in dreaming again.

With how much he dislikes sinners and what they represent, i wonder if there had to be some strain on their relationship when it came to Lillith taking control? They never really talk about if they had a fallout or if she just disappeared, but i dont think they really got divorced either.

When Lucifer looks at that family picture and winces, does he feel bad about not contacting charlie? About something he did to make lillith leave? Or maybe he feels bad about being upset at lillith for leaving in the first place? There's so much to umpack there i live for the lore.

Love Interests:

But when that comes to potential love interests in the future, Lucifer hasnt had to court anyone before like ever. Not in the circumstances that they live in a big city like Hell. So when he finally ends up catching feelings, he has no idea. People around the hotel literally need to pick up on context clues for him and have an intervention to tell him he's in love again.

Even if he hasnt seen lillith in 7 years, their relationship had to be a drastic change compared to new love. I think that his love interest would also pick it up before he does, and you would let him work at his own pace. Fuck, it is so important that he goes through this process at his own pace.

With so much strain on his past relationships with loved ones, he fully gaslights himself into thinking he doesnt deserves and isnt allowed to feel affection anymore. I hate making characters i love suffer. But i feel like in his state of mind he'd go through depressive episodes and panic attacks, maybe some night terrors. Theyed be about his past and his subconscious would essentially tell him he has feelings again, and he shouldn't act them in case he scares you away and abandons you, like heaven. Or drives you away like lillith. Or purposely blocks you out like charlie. Mans is struggling i swear. He needs some comfort.

After finally coming to terms, hes a nervous wreck about every decision he makes. He'll constantly stare in the mirror in the mornings, making sure he looks his best, would plan mental scripts before even having a conversation with you, and would become a bumbling mess just trying to make jokes out of the situation, some base level actions, like how we saw in the show. He'll manage to finally ask you out, but all he really knows how to do is profess an undying love (i feel like his confession to lillith was hella dramatic) so it was a little awkward, but still cute. And of course you said yes.

So let's say its been 5+ years since he moved into the hotel, met you and finally managed to confess his feelings. When it comes to the actual relationship? You give him reassurance and support him through his mental episodes, and laugh at his jokes and praise him for everything he does. He has such intense imposture syndrome though, that even other demons have to reassure that theres no way you dont love him with all your being. Because it is literally obvious to everyone but him.

He's pretty good at doing the romantic fluff stuff in public, he loves to make a big show out of treating you like royalty and even trying to embarrass you when you become close enough. He's always more charasmatic in public, it seems easier than doing that alone.

Not in a negative way, but Lucifer is so never to be alone with you. You take the lead a bit more in those scenarios, suggesting ideas like movies or just coming up with small talk yourself. He needs someone who'll be patient with him. Being alive for millions of years AND being left or shamed by all your loved ones during that time is literally the definition of Truama.

Of course he's been bottling all that shit up, he has no one to confide with. There's no one who's been alive and witnessed it all the way he has. So bless you for loving and caring for him even without understanding all hes been through.

You'll have some rough patches, where this emotional side locks him away from you and everyone else. It might be a few days before you see him. He'll lock himself in his office, pumping out ducks by the dozen just to keep himself from sleeping, because he's scared he'll have night terrors if he feels asleep. He's in a constant loop;

"what if i fucked up?"

"what if i try to talk about it and then they realize how bad i fucked up?"

"what if that's enough of a reason for them to leave me?"

"what if i scare them away?"

"what if that fucks this up?"

"what if i fucked up.. Again..?"

After he leaves his office, youre excited to see him out and about, but you cant make a big deal out of it. You have to speak to him calmly, make sure he's physically okay before talking to him about his thought process. It might take awhile, but he'll eventually trust you enough to open up. And of course it'll never be bad enough for you to leave him, he's just struggling.

Physical Contact:

It takes him an even longer time to become physical with you. He hasnt been intimate for over a decade at this point, but as soon as he becomes comfortable with little affections like hand holding, cuddling, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing? Hoo boy, he melts after your first kiss. It couldve been even a small peck and he would still become a nervous wreck just trying to ask for more.

He'll ask for physical touch more than provide it at first. You'll give him a quick kiss and he'll look up at you super eager just like, "another?" He'll grow into tastful pda's, linking arms, quick hugs and smooches, holding hands all that.

He becomes putty in your hand when you're alone though. You'll nudge him to lean against your shoulder or even lay his head in your lap while youre lounging or watching movies. He becomes so relaxed in your presence, that you'll want to suddenly peck him just to see his suddenly flustered reaction.

You'd give him massages that he would always be hesistant over. He was always a little nervous that he wasnt giving enough to you, but you were quick to assure him that wasnt the case. You'd straddle his hips while giving him a slowww massage. It starts with light touches, tracing your fingers over his shoulder blades and spine. You'd trace your fingers over his chest when you would cuddle too, depending on the position. Or stroke his back sweetly. It was enough of a distraction to keep his mind occupied, away from any spiraling thoughts he might be having.

He purrs. Convince me that he doesnt purr. (You cant)

Being secluded for so long probably means that he doesnt fly as much as he used to. It was probably a passion of his, and he was especially delighted to share it with lillith and charlie.

So during those 7 years he barely flew, he also didnt take care of his wings. I feel like theyre something to be summoned, so they arent constantly tucked into his back. You'd basically scold him sometimes to just let you clean his wings.

You'd do it in like a spring-type bathhouse that Lucifer would have in his castle somehow. It was one of the first intimate moments he's experienced in years, so he was generally going insane. Feeling your hands and a little comb rake through the feathers on his giant wings? You'd have to tap his shoulder sometimes to keep him from falling asleep to the relaxation alone. After the first time, the water you used was pretty dirty and he had a lot of loose feathets that were combed out. Damn, he needed this.

Intimacy:

After awhile, you sit down and would have a discussion about being intimate in bed. Lucifer would be absolutely nervous about overstepping by asking this, (even though you've been together for about a year at this point). He would use his mental scripts and basically practice what he wanted to say.

It would mainly be him saying he wants to do this because he loves you and youve done so much for him that he wants to give back to you in this way. It would consist of him saying its okay if you dont want to, or if you ever want to stop to just say so. But of course you want to, how could you not?

It would start slow, he actually tries taking the lead in this specific situation. He would kiss you first, his lips trembling at the thought that this is actually happening. Feeling his nerves, you'd cup his face and stroke his cheeks with your thumbs lightly. That will help him ease up enough to start letting the passion take over more.

He'd become more confident in slipping his tongue into your mouth and placing his hands on your hips to pull you closer to him. Lucifer would get lost in the moment, pulling you to straddle his lap as he kissed and licked and bit his way across both your shoulders and down to the softeness of your breast. After leaning back to look at the damage his eyes would become increasingly wide, looking up at you with a flustered expression. Seeing you losing it as much as he was, gave him enough courage to keep up at it.

He would almost hesistantly take a hold of your breasts and would massage them softly, running his thumbs across your nipples and becoming absolutely delighted at the reaction you gave. The adrenaline from the pleasure would make you start grinding against his lap, which would make lucifer's hands on your hips pull away for a moment and make his breath stutter. Lucifer would look you up and down as if he didnt know what to do next, studying your body with darting eyes. You'd press a small kiss on his forehead before guiding his hands back onto your hips with yours, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

"Are you okay, Luci?" He would gulp before nodding his head and turning ridiculously red across his face, maybe from the idea of what was to come, maybe just from your voice alone. You'd keep your hands ontop of his at your hips as you'd keep moving, letting out breathy moans. He would be holding his breath without realizing, an absolute nervous wreck just from the view.

He would already be hard just from the previous make out session, so this would cause him to lean his back against the bed, his strength giving out. You'd keep up at it, feeling his hips jolt up to meet yours at times.

He was a sweaty, twitching mess in front of you and you hated to admit how much that excited you.

His scripted plan was immediately forgotten, but he was quick to remember that he wanted to please you.

He'd snap out of his state of intense pleasure, to carefully switch positions, him looking over you with your back against the bed.

You both discuss it, of course, attempting to set boundaries before hand. Even just the tender discussion would get him riled up. So he'd lean foward and kiss you again, showing off his forked tongue before peppering kisses down your entire body, until he was close enough to let his hot breath heat up your folds.

You'd feel his nervous breath on you before delving in. He would be hesistant of course, but would be quick to get used to your entrance after running his tongue across your entirety multiple times. Lucifer loves providing pleasure this way, so his brain immediately knew what to do once the nerves past. He was quick to take a tight hold onto your thighs to keep you in place as he entered you with his demonic lengthy tongue. He would look up at you as he sort of aimlessly dug around at first, waiting for a reaction. Once he'd see you dip your head back with a muffled moan, he would close his eyes to focus all his attention to that one spot. He'd reach his thumb around to circle and massage your clit that he would find far too quickly. You'd arch your back and try to get more friction against his tongue, but it's easy to forget that he is quite literally the strongest being in Hell. You weren't going anywhere.

He'd love feeling your hands in his hair and would absolutely lose it feeling you pull hard when he'd hit just the right spot. As soon as he set a steady thythm and was hearing your voice become more unhinged, he'd speed up to an extent that you didn't realize was possible after going for so long. You discussed cumming before and he made it very clear that he was okay with you finishing on his face. Fuck, he wanted it. You still warned him, moaning out his name to get his attention, "I-I'm almost there- K-Keep doing that.. like that..! Luci-" you'd almost direct him though the whole process, but were quick to become a moaning mess unable to communicate with words. You'd reach your limit and he would let you buck up into his face this time, loosening his grip on your thighs. He'd pull away after licking you clean, sending overstimulated pleasure across your entire body, with a line of your juices following his tongue as he lifted his head. He would pant with his tongue still sticking out of his mouth, and even through hazy eyes you loved seeing his demonic tongue and thinking about how it just drove you to climax.

Things would switch up again, and you'd sit him against the back of the bedframe. you'd have another quick discussion before seating yourself slowly on his length, which had been throbbing for any contact since the night started. The first few times, he'd do his best not to cum immediately. He hadn't been touched like this in a while, after all. You'd only begin to move once you made sure he was okay since his struggle was written all over his face.

The moment you began to keep a steady space, he would jut his hips upwards, becoming needy to feel this sensation he hadn't felt in over a decade. The first time didn't last long. It was sweet, and he would constantly moan out your name and babble on about how much he loves you. The entire time, you'd be praising him through every move until he was going too fast for you to get a sentence out.

He'd cum inside of you, another previously discussed topic. You essentially had to beg to convince him it was okay. You'd collapse onto his chest, a position he didnt see often. While the two of you always cuddled, you were so focused on making sure he was comfortable, Lucifer realized you didnt often get the chance to just relax on top of him. So after realizing that? Aftercare was amazing.

He'd let you sit with him inside you for a while, before pulling you off and immediately cleaning you up. Some nights, when he felt especially dominant, he would lap up his own cum from your incredibly sensitive cunt. He would swallow some of it, but was mainly pushing anything that dripped out back into your entrance.

After cleaning you up, he would wiggle his way back underneath you and pull you onto his chest, enjoying taking care of you the way you took care of him.

After the first night, lucifer would be much more confident. He'd have that healthy glow, but would be more assertive during meetings, more communicative and wouldnt shut others out as often. It really helped him realize how much you gave to him, and he was determined to give all that and more back to you.

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

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cxrrodedcoffin · 4 months ago

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Is It Casual Now? (Part 1) - Jennifer Jareau

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader overhears a conversation between JJ and Morgan and wonders what she is to JJ.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I’ve been listening to Casual by Chappell Roan too much lately and this is what happens when I do that. This is an AU where JJ and and Will are divorced, no cheating occurs.

TW: established relationship, angst, fem reader, typical cm case description, proposal

Rating: PG

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“Yeah it’s nothing serious, we’re just keeping things casual.” It slipped so easily off her tongue, like there were never truer words said.

“I think I might be rubbing off on you JJ.” Morgan shot her an approving smirk.

Static filled your ears, completely muffling whatever crossword hint Spencer had been going on about.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, standing from your desk and walking quickly to the bathroom as you fought back tears. You know she wanted to keep things between the two of you quiet but you still couldn’t believe what you had just heard.

The door shut loudly behind you and the dam broke, tears rolling down your red cheeks.

You held your face in your hands for a moment, drawing deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down, but the mix of anger and sadness grew into a pit in your stomach.

After a few minutes you pulled yourself together, wiping your tears before looking in the mirror, bloodshot eyes staring back.

How could she say something like that? You knew when you started this that Jennifer wasn’t the most open to commitment, and you was okay with that in the beginning, but month after month she invited you deeper and deeper into her life. You know things that she’s never told anyone else, she built that trust between you without you asking for it.

You did what you could to touch up your makeup before returning to the bullpen, just as Garcia called the team in to brief you on the new case. You trailed behind the group, nervously straightening your skirt to distract yourself until JJ took her seat. You took one on the opposite side of the table, across from your usual spot next to her. She glanced at you, her puzzled look turning to one of concern when she presumably noticed the redness around your eyes. You broke eye contact, turning to face Penelope as she started introducing the details of the case. Truthfully you hadn’t been able to pay too much attention, you caught something about a double homicide, unsub targeting unmarried couples, staging their bodies as if in an embrace. It all felt a little too on the nose.

“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch repeated his usual mantra, dismissing the group to get ready for our flight.

You walked quickly out of the room, focusing on not tripping in your heels while hoping to avoid having to discuss anything with JJ right now. Her hand met your shoulder and you knew your escape plan had failed.

“What is up with you?” She asked, just above a whisper. You could hear the stress in her voice but you were having a hard time cutting her slack right now.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Y/N, I know you, what’s wrong?” She grew slightly more agitated, eyes scanning yours. She could read you like a book, but you were not going to discuss this here.

“I’ll tell you when we land.” You were short with her, abruptly turning to break from her grasp, leaving to grab your go bag out of your car.

20 minutes later the team boarded the jet, and you took a seat at the table with Emily and Derek.

“Listen sugar, you know I like to see your pretty face anytime I can, but I have to know, what is going on between you and J?” Morgan joked, getting straight to his point.

“Nothing, we’re good.” You tried to lie, but with a team full of profilers, that’s not exactly easy.

“Really? The two of you are usually attached at the hip.” Emily added, her and Morgan exchanging a glance.

“Yeah, I just wanted a change of pace.” You smiled at the two of them reassuringly, pulling out the book you were reading before settling further into my seat and losing yourself in the pages.

When we landed you felt yourself shift into autopilot, going through the motions of setting up at the local precinct and pairing up with Prentiss to interview the witnesses and family members.

When the day was through the team headed to the hotel, Hotch handing out the room assignments. You knew this was coming, JJ and you always roomed together even before you started seeing each other, you were best friends before all of this and it was just routine at this point. You unlocked the door to the room, dropping your bag on the dresser and hurrying to undress and get in the shower as quickly as possible, partially to wash the grime of the day off, and partially to avoid JJ who you knew was only a couple minutes behind you.

As the warm water rushed over your skin you heard the door open and shut, followed by her footsteps nearing the bathroom door. Knock knock.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” Her voice rang from the other side of the door. You ignored her, taking your time scrubbing yourself down before rinsing off and wrapping a towel around your frame. You braced yourself for a moment before finally exiting the bathroom. Your footsteps stopped right outside the door, leaving ample space between the two of you. JJ sat on the edge of her bed, sending a text before tossing the phone onto the nightstand beside her.

“You said you’d tell me what was wrong when we landed, you’ve avoided me the whole day. Please tell me what is going on.” She seemed genuinely concerned, that gloss over her eyes that only appeared when she was on the verge of tears starting to form. Seeing her like that had you choked up before you could even open your mouth. You thought you wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine, but now you were regretting that more than ever. You never wanted to hurt her, even if the uncertainty was killing you.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You blurted out, the words catching in your throat as tears threatened your waterline.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, panic in her voice.

“I know we agreed to keep things casual but I can’t do it anymore, I’m in love with you.” Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek as your hands anxiously gripped at the edge of the towel wrapped around you.

“Babe, where is this coming from?” Your confession caught her off guard but not for the reasons you thought.

“The conversation you had with Derek this morning, you told him what we have was just casual.” You choked out, your body practically vibrating with emotion.

“That’s what this is about? You have to know I wasn’t serious, I was just trying to stop Morgan from prying any further.” She stood, taking quick steps to close the space between you two.

“I didn’t know if you’d want the rest of the team to know about us, I didn’t even know if you’d want there to be an official ‘us’ considering how this started, this is my fault.” Her tone grew more frantic, you rarely saw her this panicked.

“Stop.” Your voice was still shaky but you tried to be as firm as possible to snap her out of it. It worked, her expression going blank as she waited for you to speak.

“I need to know if you’re serious.” You finally calmed yourself, the rational part of your brain taking over.

“I am, I promise. This whole time I thought I’d never be able to commit to one person, but you have changed everything I thought I knew about myself. I love you.” She slowly wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Her tone was soft, almost breathy as she brought her face closer to yours, your lips almost brushing.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest, you’d waited years to hear her say those words whether you were conscious of it or not, and now that it was happening you felt love-drunk.

“Marry Me.” You whispered, almost too afraid to say it.

“You mean it?” She asked, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt.

“Yes.” You were never more sure of anything you’d ever said in your life.

“Of course I will.” Her lips crashed into yours in a blur of passion and pain and years of built up tension finally being released. You could hardly breathe, having to remind yourself to do so in the heat of the moment.

——

Part 2 can be found here

Tag List: @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Jennifer Jareau or general taglist :)

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau angst #jennifer jareau fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fandom #wlw fanfic #wlw fiction #mine #my writing

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actuallysaiyan · 3 months ago

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Can I get #15 with Endeavor 🫣🫣

warnings: yandere themes, Enji is divorced, vaginal fingering, spanking my first time writing Enji...please be gentle

The number two hero was more than just a hot-head. He was irritable, angry and prone to anger. He was like a bomb waiting to go off at any second. That’s why everyone was so surprised when you said you were dating him. Nobody could truly wrap their heads around it.

Why would someone as sweet as you date such an angry man? Especially considering the age gap and the awkwardness that followed his divorce with his wife.

But you saw something else inside of him. You saw a man trying to reunite with his children despite his shortcomings, errors in his life and the trauma he didn’t necessarily mean to inflict on them. You saw a man who was beaten down by his own insecurities.

Yet he was so possessive. It turned you on, but it scared you in ways you couldn’t even comprehend. The way he always needs to have a hand on you whenever the two of you are out and about. The way he glares at any man that looks at you. It’s all things that make your head spin.

Even when you two are intimate, you have a safeword in place just in case he takes things too far. He’s quite the dominant man. He does everything in his power to make you see just how much you mean to him and how he owns you.

So tonight when you come downstairs wearing that skimpy little dress to go out on your date, Enji looks at you with his blood boiling. There was no way you thought that dress was appropriate for a dinner date. You must be trying to rile him up. He holds his arm up to keep you from moving forward, pushing you back.

“Enji! What’s the matter?” You tilt your head to the side.

He shudders, trying to keep his anger in check. “Angel, I’ll give you a minute to understand why I’m angry.”

You wrack your brain. You wonder what could have happened within the time it took for you to get ready. Then you watch as he’s fixated on your body. Your cheeks burn and you try to tug the hem of your dress down to cover yourself even more.

“Angel, baby…” Enji breathes in deeply. “Please…”

You try to push past him, but he’s shaking his head. He’s got a very tight grip on you now. You whine and pout, but he’s not budging.

“Let’s go! Come on! I don’t want to be late!”

“Hah! Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

That’s all it takes for you to stomp your foot in a bratty way and for him to grab you and bend you over his knee. He sits on the couch, pushing your dress up over your hips. You’re wearing the tiniest little thong, and it makes his cock so hard. Of course you’re dressed like this for him, but if anyone would see you, he’d be so angry he wouldn’t know what to do.

“Thought you’d be a brat huh? Well now we’re not going to dinner!”

Before you can even say anything, he swats at your ass. You moan softly, trying to wriggle free from his grasp. He spanks your ass a few more times, making you cry out. Then he soothes his hand over your red-hot skin, slowly moving his fingers down to your clothed pussy. He begins to rub your clit, watching as you squirm for even more pleasure.

“How about this…” he starts as he pushes your panties to the side. “If you’re a good girl for me and you only cum when daddy says so, then you can decide on what we’ll have for take-out.”

You let out a loud moan when two of his fingers slip inside of you, stretching you out. With gritted teeth, you nod and accept his little challenge.

dividers by: @adornedwithlight

Send me a prompt and character and I'll write you a short Drabble!

#bacon.writes #endeavor x reader #endeavor x you #endeavor x y/n #enji todoroki #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki x you #mha x reader #bnha endeavor #bnha x reader #endeavor smut #enji todoroki smut

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arotheosis · 2 months ago

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It’s all Whirred Up (NSBU Swap AU concept)

Essentially I started thinking about what it might be like if the action heroes were the ones in the real world, and the video world characters were the action heroes. I tried my best to switch things up so it feels different enough, although I’m still a little unsure about some character roles.

Will I ever actually sit down and write this properly? Who knows

In an old strip mall in Lake Elsinore sits one of the last remaining video rental stores in the country: Slater’s Video Superstore.

With the rise of streaming and digital media, however, the store is on its last legs. Its last week in fact, and its employees prepare to close down and find a new road to take in life.

Steven “King” Skin is a Princeton student with a bright future in politics. He’s nearing the end of his gap year, and wondering whether he really wants to go back to school after all. He works on the finances of the video store.

As he almost mindlessly balances the the store’s financial spreadsheets, he watches on one of the video store screens: Liv Skyler, master thief. Her name is whispered amongst criminal circles like a legend, because she can steal without even leaving a single trace behind.

Victor Ethanol is a young man with a dream of pursuing Formula 1 racing, but working several odd jobs to provide for his family. He does occasional maintanance/ plumbing work for the businesses in the strip mall, including the video store, which he visits frequently.

Trying to get him to take a break from working so hard, his brother Shaun asks if he wants to watch a movie. The movie’s protagonist? One Wendell Morris, former biker gang member who has become an informant for several underground organizations. He’s the black sheep of the Morris family, and their falling out is shrouded in mystery.

G13 is a young hacker who got caught attempting to access classified files, and was sentenced to community service. He’s supposed to be cleaning trash around the strip mall, but he mostly stays inside the video store using the crusty old public computer they have, since he’s no longer allowed to use any at home.

While attempting to bypass the many blocks on that ancient desktop computer, he sees a trailer for an old movie. It depicts Usha Rao, more commonly known by both her allies and enemies as Grandmother. She’s the head of a widespread criminal organization, and despite her sweet seeming appearance is someone to be feared. She’s been alive longer than anyone knows, she’s seen everything and knows everything, so if you mess with her family you cannot escape her wrath.

Working over by the more adult section of the store, is Jack Manhattan. After suffering through a grueling divorce with his wife and losing custody of his two children, his life is essentially at a standstill. He is very vocal about how much he prefers not being tied down, and talks about having many partners, but it’s clear that in reality he is not dealing with the separation well and is very lonely.

Unable to even look at the more unsavory content in front of him without thinking about the love he lost, he switches the channel only to see a movie starring crime investigator Paula Donvalson. While many overlook her based on her wild and sporadic personality, the crazy deductions she makes are more often than not entirely on the money, and the FBI begrudgingly hires her for many of their cases.

Jennifer Drips is a woman who does not stay in one place for far too long. Drifting quickly from town to town, she never sets up roots, but leaves a trail of lovers behind her. She is currently staying in a crappy apartment near Lake Elsinore, and working at the video store for some extra cash before she moves on.

On a screen behind her as she’s packing up the store’s inventory, plays a movie led by Russel Feelds, a mechanic developing gadgets for every organization under the sun. A self described lone wolf, he has no loyalty to any side, as long as you can pay his prices.

Greg Stocks is a wealthy man who owns nearly every storefront in the strip mall, except for the video store. He heads in every day attempting to make an offer that Slater will accept, but even as the store is close to shutting down, the video store owner remains stubborn.

Walking by the front of the store he sees, on one of the display TVs, a film about a man known only as Dang. Dang is the world’s deadliest assassin, and his methods are all just as strange as the man himself. After every kill he leaves behind his calling card, the word “rashab”. No one has deciphered its meaning yet.

#never stop blowing up #d20 nsbu #nsbu #dimension 20 #kingskin #liv skyler #vic ethanol #wendell morris #g13 #g13 nsbu #usha rao #jack manhattan #paula donvalson #jennifer drips #russel feeld #greg stocks #andy dang litefoot #dave balt #slater hancock

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19calicos · 3 months ago

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i know where to look – kuroo tetsurō ˎˊ˗

✶⋆.˚ chapter sixteen: under familiar lights ( 𖦹 )

currently playing: the two of us by omar apollo

word count: 2.3k

cw: language, usage of "die," vulnerable conversation lol, yn mentions their parents divorcing

kuroo has had too much time to think in the past four days, and it's all he can do to cram his head with documentaries of rainforests and hammerhead sharks and hummingbirds to keep his feelings from festering.

he's refused to let himself fall into a deep spiral of overthinking and second-guessing, of over-analyzing and pondering, but in doing so, he put himself in a limbo. really, all the radio silence has made him start to wonder if they even cared for him at all all, even though he knows with his head and his heart that isn't the case, that every shared moment between them was real.

kuroo doesn't want to think about how four days of silence, of nothing, of being left with his fears of messing everything up has made him feel so terrible, when all the time he's spent in their vicinity has made him feel so warm and whole and like he's himself at his best.

the uncertainty of being kept at a distance made kuroo feel small. it's a foreign, unpleasant feeling, so unlike himself – he's not sure when the last time he's felt this way was. and while the feeling has grown bigger in his chest in the past days, clawing at kuroo from the inside out, it's made him feel smaller, betrayed even. he thought he knew them, at least enough to not be ghosted like this.

so when kuroo got their text two hours ago, the notification reflected in his pupils, he may as well have thrown up. wide eyes become a scrunched nose, furrowed eyebrows, and a hitch in his throat after his third reread of their message asking him to talk.

all he's wanted to do was talk this entire time, but the way he’d been been ignored kept him from reaching out first. the pang of hurt in his chest when they made eye contact with him at the diner and immediately looked away was still fresh and tender, and kuroo was sure that the smallest thing gone wrong would make him feel like he's bleeding out.

he rubs his eyes. he rises from the couch. he rereads the texts between him and them again, then rereads the texts from the groupchat with his friends. he downs the water that bokuto put out for him an hour ago when he dropped everything to be by kuroo's side and dissect their texts with him. he swallows the lump down his throat, he ignores how it's instantly replaced by a knot in his stomach. he takes a big, deep breath, shoulders and all.

kuroo grabs his jacket off the coat rack and his board from the corner of the little foyer.

"you're heading out already?" kenma asks from behind, just around the corner of the little entry way.

bokuto peeks his head out from the opposite side of kenma. "you've got like, an hour before eight, dude."

"i think i wanna clear my head. i'm just gonna skate around somewhere," kuroo replies without turning around.

kenma and bokuto look at each other. kuroo sees their shared look over his shoulder, but he's not quite exactly sure what their faces are saying, or what the two are thinking. honestly, he doesn't know what anyone around him is thinking these days, not even himself – and especially not them.

"mkay, text if you need anything," kenma offers.

kuroo hums in response. he shuts the door behind him.

it's seven and they're already at the math building's parking lot. an hour passed by already, and there's still another hour to go of leg bouncing, sweaty palms, and rehearsing things to say in their head.

it would have been the same if they waited at home for eight o'clock like a normal person instead of showing up two hours early. but something about being in the same room where they laid themselves out to their best friends, brainstorming about how they were going to make their heart transparent for kuroo made them the fidgety type of anxious. the more they thought about it, the more stuffy the living room got, so it was all they could do to tug on a sweater and run outside with nothing but their skateboard and their earbuds.

the crisp sunset air did little to settle the thumps in their chest and the thrumming in their ears, though. the stupid anti-anxiety frequencies they were playing on repeat weren't doing shit, and they're not sure if it's because it's a scam or because they're not open-minded enough to it. they decide the question will remain unanswered when they hit shuffle on some other soothing playlist.

shaky fingers scroll through a lengthy notes app list of bullet points, ridden with typos and full of incoherency. they'd prefer if they could hash out everything with kuroo over text like they did earlier in the day with suna and the rest, but they knew that kuroo deserved better than that. he deserves better than them, really, but they wanted to talk in person about the past four days out loud.

something about kuroo just makes them want to try anything for him. so here they are, trying to string together their thoughts so they could make sense when they apologize and try to explain themselves.

"hey," a familiar voice calls from above them, and the first thing they notice is how quiet it was. the suddenness makes them almost drop their phone – it had been so still before in the empty space of the parking lot, the only ambience coming from passing cars and students some distance away.

their head snaps up to him, gaze flickering to his hand holding his board, to the jacket he's wearing that they know is his favorite, anywhere but his golden eyes. they barely manage to stutter out a "hey" back.

fuck.

they knew it was kuroo the moment they heard his voice, and they realize that even if he is an hour early, no amount of preparation would have made them feel ready at all for this.

"um, i didn't expect you to be here already," kuroo says as he sits on his board next to them.

the space between them is uncomfortable. even if he's only sitting a foot away on their right, he seemed so far away. their flight instinct begs them to turn tail and run, to try again another day. but they know they shouldn't – if there's anything they can learn from their mistake of seeing kuroo and ignoring him right after, it's that they have to stay and see this through.

"i'm sorry," they blurt out, scared that if kuroo speaks first they'll lose any willpower they have to be here. his stare burns into them, they can feel it, but they're not strong enough to look back at him. they keep their gaze on the pavement in front of them.

kuroo is wide-eyed when he looks at them, head snapping their direction in the blink of an eye. "wait –"

"no. no, i'm really sorry. i shouldn't have left you hanging like that for the past while when there were things we needed to talk about."

the space between them is still uncomfortable. they knew that the weight of it wouldn't dissipate with a snap of their fingers, but it's one thing to know it and another thing to experience it. it makes them feel like they've forgotten how to breathe.

"fucking hell," they exhale shakily, nerves crawling all over them. "i'm sorry – i've just, um, i've been like, really vulnerable today and it's a lot." another swallow. "not an excuse, i promise – just telling you that. sorry."

kuroo almost reaches out to them. but he understands the space they need, and that they're chasing their momentum to speak, so he only nods instead. "it's okay. don't worry about that, i get it."

"um, i've been thinking about it, and i think that when my parents got divorced when i was little, it kind of made me believe that love isn't real, and other stuff that happened really solidified that belief – ah, well, at least for me. i think love is very real between my friends and their partners," they continue, talking with their hands, tentative and unsure. "i... don't really trust people to love me and stuff. i don't know how to put it exactly. i just didn't think that this part of me would ever end up hurting someone like this though, especially you."

they pause before going on. they can't stand to see how he might be looking at them, not when this just might be the scariest moment of their life, baring themselves to kuroo. "you're so sweet to me, and i really like you a lot. and it freaked me out because i couldn't believe that, and i kept running away from those feelings and getting in my head and i let it build up too much and i hurt you in the process. and i'm really, really sorry."

kuroo’s head spins from connecting the dots.

“i remember how you kept insisting that i don't love you and everything. the things you said about how you can't love me back right, how i'm too good for you, that you love me too, all of it,” he slowly says in tandem with his real time processing. "when we were drunk, i mean. and none of the bad stuff is true."

they wince with embarrassment and purse their lips at that. "yeah... i just, i've been reflecting a lot and thought i should come clean and tell you these things."

the silence grows heavier, and the sun is almost gone. they wipe their sweaty palms on their jeans again, and when they finally look at kuroo, their heart drops at this foreign look on face. they realize they've never seen him frown like this, and they realize they never want to see him look this way ever again.

"if we're being truthful," kuroo begins. "you did hurt me a lot. and i've been trying not to think about it because it really made me feel like shit, like i didn't know you as well as i thought i did." he toys with his hands, pausing and collecting his thoughts. "and in hindsight, it feels kind of like you've been leading me on. a part of me is convinced that you never cared about us, or me, and that i don't really know you, even though the rest of me knows that's not true."

it's not like they would, but there's no arguing with that. they know that they've noticed the way kuroo looks at them with all the love in the world, and instead of sorting themselves out, they leaned into him – just not fully, always at odds with if they could believe him or not.

"despite all that, i still really like you. and i'm sorry too for all the things i did when we were drunk. i know that i freaked you out," kuroo finishes, voice trailing off.

"no! it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, that all makes sense," they quickly interject, turning their body and leaning towards him, knees falling towards his. "you're right, really. i mean, i was giving you signs, and because of that i do feel like i've been leading you on, since, y'know, i wasn't fully there. and then i just left you hanging out of nowhere. i'm really sorry about that."

kuroo reaches for their left hand and takes it with his right, interlacing his fingers with theirs. "during all those times, like at community day, the nights when it was just us at the skate park, and when you fell asleep with me and we woke up together, i felt like i was on top of the world since you were with me."

he looks at them right in their eyes, head dropping, cheek resting on his knees that he's pulled into his chest. they think he looks perfect under the dimming golden hour. "honestly, some of the trust is lost on my end too. it hurt a lot that you just ghosted me like that. and i just want you to believe me when i say that i love you."

kuroo averts his gaze. "and, well... i've actually been planning on properly confessing to you since that party. but i think i'll save it for later, if you still, well, like me, and maybe still want to give us a try."

their breath stills at that. kuroo has shifted something inside them, replaced hope where doubt used to be.

“so you love me,” they murmur.

“i might have been drunk, but i meant it.”

“for the record, i meant it too.”

it's the way that he still believes in them despite how they flipped his heart upside down. they don't have it all figured out yet, nor do they have the words, but they think they believe this, believe him.

"fuck. we’re not even official or anything, and now we’ve just said i love you, sober," they say with a laugh, eyes fluttering closed. they put their free hand over their furiously beating chest, and the thumping proof that their heart exists gives them courage, no matter how fleeting it might be. it's real in this moment, and they believe the rush they're feeling. "tetsurō, can we take it slow? i want to tell you everything, i want to know all of you past your favorite things, and i want you to trust me again. i want to show you that i do care about you, and that you do mean a lot to me."

"yeah?" kuroo asks softly, eyes stuck to the way their fingers have stayed laced with his this entire time.

oh, wait. they just called him tetsurō. he stops with a sharp inhale, reeling not just from the honesty of the conversation but also the leap forward they just took by calling him tetsurō. his head just might burst like a balloon with too much air.

they open their eyes again, smiling toothily, letting their gaze linger on kuroo. "yeah, i mean, it's no secret that i just really like you a lot."

it's something about the way that they've spoken, carefully choosing their words, crafting sentences as best as they could, how they're trying their best for him that makes kuroo's heart flicker for them again. his smile grows to match theirs.

"yeah, let's take it slow," he says when turning to them, heart spilling right out of him, swelling with relief as he takes the hand on their chest in his. "let's go with whatever happens from now on, then.” kuroo matches their lighthearted laugh, and they think he sounds like wind chimes on a sunny, perfect day.

“and call me tetsu in the meantime,” he murmurs. “when you're ready, i'll tell you that i love you as many times as you need to believe me."

without thinking, they let go of one of kuroo’s hands to hold his cheek instead. his hand, big and warm and just right, rests on top of that hand as he leans into their touch. "okay, tetsu, deal. and when you're ready, i'll remind you everyday that i love you more."

the sun is set, and under the familiar lights from the math building and the street lamps and the deep blue sky, they start to believe that love for them is real in the form of kuroo.

prev | masterlist | next

⟢ we have a few more fluffy chapters left yippee ! honestly i just want to indulge myself and write some more cute little things for kurooyn

⟢ bo was the one who made the crossover group chat with suna's support

⟢ noya ran away earlier bc yn's head snapped in his direction. they didn't actually see him in the bushes but his fight or flight instinct kicked in so he ran LOL

⟢ ummmm not a lot of fun facts here just that endgame is very near. kurooyn isn't official yet but they'll get there soon !!!!

⟢ i hope u guys can see my trains of thought lololol

⟢ the debriefs after were crazy but both kuroo and yn just went straight to their rooms to sleep once they each got home, so debriefs came the morning after

⟢ yn has now learned that vulnerability isn't the scariest thing ever !!!!!!

taglist (50/50): @eggyrocks @whorefornoodles @sereniteav @bedeater @itsdragonius @spicana @localgaytrainwreck @sunafc @scinclaitnoir @staygoldsquatchling02 @rrosiitas @yuminako @zahrawr-likes-red @walllflowerrrsss @unwindwithme @mfcherry @giocriedpower @ahdbodhr @iiwaijime @loveelylacey @chososcamgirl @iheartpinky @piapiaweee3 @azuremyst99 @csbnova @tired-jaz @samuel1004 @kennedy-brooke @wyrcan @arustydoll @illuzminate @juie13 @01trickster10 @thatonecroc @theycallmenanamisgirl @nobodybutnnoorr @gsyche @walkingcorpse03 @miliondollagirl @keelsforreals @just-coreee @sp1ng @lovingjeankirsten @kuytie @puppenpop @softpia @mawenskiblue @zombriesworld @anqelkoz @zumicho

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biibini · 28 days ago

Note

Heyy!! I really love your modern!mizu work sm 😭😭🫶 I was wondering if you could please write how modern Mizu would act when her and reader have an argument? Tysm if u do!!

modern!mizu in arguments

tags: modern!mizu is rlly sweet but ngl u spooked her a sec , tw: midterms , college au , reader is lowk mean & crazy from all the stress , resolved in the end ♥︎

a/n: just bc i want to be levi’s wife doesnt mean i’m leaving mizu just yet <3 my past few quarters have been beating my ass (im finally surviving)

modern!mizu would be the type of person to get anxious if something goes wrong at the beginning of ur relationship

and let her fight or flight kick in

bc she let her guard down the first time around (thanks m*k*o)

tbh i wouldnt rlly imagine yall getting into a fight

but i feel if a fight did happen, it would most likely stem from misunderstanding and misinterpretations of what u guys say

for example, a small argument at the beginning spooked her due to her previous relationship having little to no communication

before the first argument, u had just gotten home from a long school day filled with lectures, annoying group mates, and a senseless amount of studying

midterm season was approaching

things were a lil tense

u had hoped to destress and maybe cuddle with ur gf instead of being crammed into a dorm with two other girls with their crazy studying schedules

only to find her busy with her work

“I’m home!”, you yell into the hallway. The rain had just started pouring and you were sopping wet. Thank goodness your laptop was safe, but the rest of your clothes weren’t.

“Anyone home? Hello?”

Frustratedly, you jangle the keys out of the door. They sure wanted to be stubborn with you today after ALL the things you witnessed today.

An early lecture class that you were half awake at. A failed attempt at working with your group mates for your communications class, with Akemi being the only person that actually showed up. Your teacher becoming the strictest they’ve ever been. It wasn’t your fault that he’s going a divorce, but it sure feels like it.

And after all that came your awaited time to study. Only to find your favorite places filled to the brim with students who giggled and gossiped in their corners, making the noises grow larger and larger. God, freshman are the worst.

You were on the verge of insanity.

The sudden change in weather nearly pushed you to your edge.

Arriving at the apartment sopping wet, you were relieved to finally take off your wet shoes by the door, hoping to finally unwind and let go of the annoyance of the day.

With no answer to your call, you assumed it was an empty apartment and huffed, attempting to let go of all the stresses from the day. You hung your bag, letting it dry from the pouring rain. Little did you know how fucked you would be when you opened the bag to find your lecture notes, damp from the rain.

Sent over the edge, you throw your notebook onto the kitchen counter in an attempt to dry the papers. You were so screwed if they weren’t dry by the midterm this week.

You cursed as you dig up the rest of the contents in your bag, only to find them damp and wet from the rain. The only thing that truly stayed dry was your laptop due to its case.

“God, fucking damnit.”, you swore to yourself, continuing to lay out all the contents.

First, your things needed to dry NOW. Without those notes, you would be going into that midterm blind.

Now, it was you next.

You stormed into Mizu’s bedroom, fueled with rage and annoyance from everything today. It all felt like it was crashing down with every step you took. The tiredness, the annoyance, the wetness, the heavy weight of your drenched clothes. You couldn’t wait to take off everything and be dry & clean.

The door swings open right in front of you, hitting you face first. You step back to find Mizu with headphones on, wide-eyed, realizing what she just did. In the brief silence, you could hear the faint noise of the drums and bass being blasted into her headphones.

That was your final straw.

“Oh shit, sorry Y/N, I didn’t know you were home-”

“You couldn’t hear me lose my shit just now?”, you snapped. “Really now?”

“Y/N? What’s going on?”

At this point, you were too tired to care.

“What’s going on is that I’m wet, I’m fucked for my midterm tomorrow, and I just- I just need to go take this shit off.”, you huff, pushing past Mizu.

Before you can even move past her, Mizu grabs your forearm, pulling you back from your momentum.

"Hey.", Mizu said in a sincere tone while squeezing your arm, hoping to meet your gaze.

"What.", you snapped at her.

"I'm not the only person who's busy here.", she retorted.

You looked back to spot her eyes, dead and exhausted, forming dark spots under her eyes. You could tell how worn out she was, staring at formulas and mismanaged group projects all day. Her dull hair was in a disheveled bun, barely hanging onto the butterfly clip you had bought her a few weeks ago.

"Look, I've been working on these midterm projects all day too. My project group mates barely did their shit and our capstone check-in is coming in so soon… I need to catch up now and—“

“Could you at least be aware of your surroundings when you do work on your projects?”, you scoff as you past her and grab a towel and a hair dryer.

You walk back to your damp belongings, hoping you make it in time to minimize the damage. What you didn’t expect was your girlfriend also following your footsteps.

“Y/N, please…”

You wipe your chargers and pencil cases dry. You’re glad they’re safe and secure. As for your notes, you fear that’s a different story.

“Honey…”

You heard her but to be frank, your priorities was your drenched notebook, currently sopping up all the rainwater. You plug in the hairdryer and immediately get to work, hoping it’ll be enough to save you for the midterm coming next week. Some of the ink starts to bleed. You can only hope for readability as the pages on the notebook start to lighten.

“Y/N.”, she calls out.

You turn up the heat settings of the hairdryer as you continue to point the air on the important notes. It becomes more readable.

“Y/N!”

“WHAT.”, you snap back.

You look back in annoyance and see Mizu behind you with a house fan in her hands, eyes widen. You fear your response was a little too loud as you spot the power cord tremble in her hands.

Oh Mizu…

“Um, I’ll just put the fan here.“, Mizu states, whipping around in hopes of plugging in the fan quickly.

“Mizu, wait, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s okay.”, she cuts you off. “I’ll just… um… I’ll just—”

You can hear the stammer in her voice. You reach for her arm before she can hide away. It’s cool to the touch, almost cold.

“Mizu, I—”

She turns around to look at you. Her eyes used to look tired but now they’re so shaken. God, you forgot how much words hurt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at your earlier and now. I was so absorbed and stressed with midterms and the rain and everything about today. I’m so sorry, I should not have exploded like that in front of your face, especially since you have midterms as well. Mizu, I’m just so—”

“Overwhelmed?”

You sigh, “Very.”

A small smile grows on Mizu’s face. You let go of her forearm and smile back.

“Me too honey. Me too.”, she sighs in relief. “C’mere.”

Her left arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to her side. Were you a little damp? Yeah. Did she care at this moment? Not a chance.

“After we get these notes all nice and dry, do you want to take a nice, warm bath and you’ll talk about your day and I’ll talk about mine…”

Your face warms up as her hand starts to slowly feel up and down your side. Her touch felt so warm and welcoming.

“Mmhm”, you hum in agreement.

Her mouth slowly inched towards your ear, her breath dancing over your lobes.

“and maybe, afterwards, some de-stressing?”, she hints, breathily. You don’t need to look at her to know she’s smirking.

“I wouldn’t be opposed.”, you tease.

Besides, Ringo wouldn’t be back until next week.

Mizu places a kiss on your cheek. She plugs the fan, double checking to make sure it is aiming at your notebook, as well as your bag.

“Thank you for your helping, Mizu.”, you say as you kiss her on the cheek.

“No worries.”, Mizu says as she grins, pulling you to her again to steal another kiss. “We’re both stressed, we need breaks every once in a while.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t count that last part as a break—”, you jokingly question.

“It’s a maybe… just putting the thought out there.”, Mizu defends, putting her hands up.

After your notebooks are dry, you notice that most of your notes are fine. Thankfully, you remembered Akemi was in the class and were able to get her digital notes from her iPad.

As shitty as your day first started, it couldn’t come close to the end of your day. You got your hot bath and rant, as promised. And maybe that last step too.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #blue eye samurai #bes mizu #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu headcanons #mizu x y/n #modern mizu #college au #mizu college au #mizu modern au #argument #request

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film-bro-hotch · 1 year ago

Text

I Can See You - Hotch x Fem!Reader (one-shot)

I have had the idea for this one-shot ever since this song came out, and I wrote it in the middle of the night in an attempt to stay up and fight jetlag. This is going to be posted quite literally as I am in the airport about to move to a foreign country, so please enjoy.

Summary: You and Hotch start something outside of work that slowly starts to make its way into your on-the-clock time in more risky ways. Based on I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: smut 18+, oral (m receiving), semi-public sex, workplace relationships (?) but like in the most disruptive way possible

WC: 2k

'Cause I can see you waitin' down the hall from me And I could see you up against the wall with me And what would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you

The past three months had been filled with what everyone assumed to be the mundane, typical occurrences of amicable coworkers. Passing of paper, catching glances of him from across the room during a briefing, occasionally brushing polyester suit jackets against each other in the elevator. They were insignificant. Or at least that is what everyone thought.

It’s what you wanted them to see. And to be completely honest, it’s what you thought at first too. Why would you possibly think your older, recently divorced boss would be interested in you?

Yet here you were on the BAU jet after a case. He was sitting next to you, both working on some paperwork to officially close the case you had just been working on. You couldn't remember a specific detail from the case.

“Hey, Hotch, how many rounds of ammo did this guy have in his basement again?” “Enough I think he was doomsday prepping. Local PD was still getting an accurate number when we were leaving. I’ll call them when we land.” His tone was nonchalant enough, you really didn’t think much of it.

An hour later you were at your desk, getting ready to pack up when he came by, close enough that he was brushing your shoulder. He had picked up a pen from your desk and wrote the number down on your documents.

Odd moments like this kept happening. Sometimes he would lean a little closer than usual to show you one of the various drawings Jack made that he had stuck on the fridge. When you asked him for help on some grueling paperwork, your shoulders often touched. You would go to turn in administrative work and instead of putting it in the designated basket on his desk, you handed it directly to him, his fingers brushing yours. If you looked close enough, you could have sworn you saw his ears go a little red.

No one had said anything yet, which filled you partly with relief. Emily and JJ not saying anything was normal. They may be profilers, but they were both pretty good at keeping their noses out of their coworkers’ business. Who wasn’t so good at that was Penelope. If anyone was going to catch on to it, it would be her. And she would say something to you.

The fact that she hadn’t made you feel a little crazy. Were you really just reading too much into things? Were you projecting?

That was until one day after everyone was gone, he asked you to dinner.

You said yes, of course, though partly in the back of your head you wondered if it was more of a friendly coworker ‘well, we are both off and have nothing else to do’ dinner date than a date date. Any concerns of that were crushed when at the door of your apartment he kissed you. You had imagined his lips a few times already, thin and usually in some kind of disapproving frown. They were soft against yours, and you could feel the gentle scratch of his stubble on your chin.

When he pulled away, you expected maybe a form of regret, a look that read ‘what have I done?’ Instead, he just looked hungry for more.

“I know I shouldn’t have,” he says.

“But you did.” And so you gave him more. You both tumbled into your apartment. Your hands were in his hair, his hand was grabbing your ass as he continued to kiss you. You remember making it to the bed, and you remember that he spent the night at your place that night.

After that, work with Aaron looked much like it had the past few months. Business as usual with only stolen moments of tenderness, when your hands touched, his calloused fingers brushed yours for just a moment as he handed you a report and asked you to turn it in at 5:00 before you went home. You didn’t let the team catch the way your eyes linger on him for just a moment longer than what was socially appropriate for co-workers, how your gaze went from his eyes to his lips, usually pressed in a thin line. No one saw how in that cramped elevator, the last part of your morning commute, he would sometimes get closer, let one finger from the hand holding his briefcase curl with your pinkie.

That had been the two of you for the last three months. Professional. You just weren’t sure how much longer you could take professional.

It started out simple enough. You were in his office for a legitimate reason. JJ had been out sick and as the only other person with a communication background, her work fell on you, though you didn’t mind. You were there to hand him a stack of briefings for potential cases, and as he started to flip through them, you casually slipped a hand on top of his thigh, your fingers curling towards his inner thigh, your thumb rubbing circles against the fabric of his pants. You could feel his pulse rise, his sharp intake of breath, see his eyes dart straight toward his door, the blinds that were open. There was a certain thrill in the danger of being caught. “What?” you asked coyly. “Scared of being found out?” “I’m not-it’s not that.” He was flustered. “We are at work. And your hands are cold.”

“Oh, I am very aware,” you said, abruptly pulling your hand from his and standing straight. “JJ should be back tomorrow, but if you have any other questions on these, just let me know,” you said, continuing on like you hadn’t just turned his face red with a touch or given him an awful boner in the middle of work.

Later that week, you had left your desk to give yourself one more cup of coffee considering you knew you would be working later than usual to finish up some details on a file. You usually go down the hall and sneak into another department’s kitchen to use a couple flavoring syrups. Passing a nook, you felt a hand grab you and pull you back, another hand settling on your lower back as Hotch pulled you into a kiss. Your surprised grunt was muffled by his lips, his teeth nearly busting your lips when they crashed into you.

“What the hell are you doing?” you breathed. “We are at work.”

“This is the only place on this floor besides a janitor's closet that isn’t on camera. And I didn’t exactly think cleaning chemicals gave the most romantic mood.” He said it completely seriously, like he had actually given this thought.

“Wait, how did you know I was even going to be here?”

“You always get a second cup when you are planning to stay past 5:00. And you never get coffee from the BAU’s kitchen. You go down the hall to data science because they have better variety. I just happened to take a break right before you went for a refill, and I happened to be in the one corner that cameras don’t reach.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was reading from a textbook rather than the romantic declaration that he actually paid attention to your habits.

“It’s really hot when you pay attention, you know,” you said, reaching up for another kiss, but Hotch pulled back.

“Got to get back to work,” he said, the edge of his lips curled into a know, shit-eating grin. Bastard.

The tipping point came nearly a month later. The two of you had been at this little game ever since, trying to see who could make the other the most flustered, and things were getting progressively more risky. The closest call so far had been when you two thought you were the only ones left for the day, but Morgan had come back to grab his thermos he had left on his desk.

On this day, you were working at your desk when Aaron called you into his office. It wasn’t an occurrence, but something did start to feel off when he asked you to shut the door.

“Lock it for good measure,” he added, moving quite close to you to shut the blinds.

You hardly got his name out of your mouth before he kissed you, nearly banging your body against the door, which clearly would have alerted someone. You found your hand intuitively going around his neck, one cradling his cheek as he kissed you. “What the hell are you doing?” you finally were able to ask between breathless pants.

“You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’ve hardly done anything.”

He pulls away then, pointing towards his desk. “We have five minutes before anyone gets suspicious.” You were already ahead of him, pulling him towards his desk, your hands already reaching for his belt. He was eager to help you, unclasping the buckle in one fell swoop. Even through the lining of his pants you could see his bungle. You wondered how long he had been thinking about doing this all day, thinking of you.

He slid his pants off part of the way, your fingers going to grip him, only his boxer keeping your flesh from touching. He had to be sensitive. Even just the friction from your hand and the fabric made him hum in approval. “If we are going to do this, you are going to need to keep quiet,” you said. Your hands moved from his crotch to his neck, unlacing his tie with ease. Haphazardly bundling it up, you shoved the mess of fabric into his mouth to shut him up.

“Wait,” you heard him say, having removed the makeshift gag. He shook his arms out of his suit jacket, taking the most surely expensive coast and folding it, placing it on the ground. It took you a moment to realize what he was getting out, but you started to understand when he happily put the gag back in his mouth. Kindly, he had made his jacket into a cushion for your knees so you could be comfortable while sucking him off and making him scream. And you planned to do just that.

Your fingers gripped the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his dick. Spitting in your hand, you began to run your hand along the length of him, slowly, oh so agonizingly slowly. From the corner of your eye, you could see the way he gripped the edge of his desk, practically begging you to go a little faster, use a little more pressure. You kept up the facade for a bit, listening to his near desperate hums before placing your lips on the tip, running your tongue along it and hearing his muffled groan in response.

You started to move your hand a little faster, your tongue picking up the place along with it. You loved to see the way his knuckles went white, the way he was gripping the desk for dear life.

“Please,” you heard his muffled whimper.

“I’m sorry, dear, what was that?” you asked from your position below him.

Quickly, he ripped out his gag, one hand still gripping the desk as he said, “For the love of god, please stop tormenting me.”

You were happy to oblige him, beginning to move your hand up and down as well as flicking your tongue along his tip, feeling the muscles in his thigh and his abdomen tense and clench before he finally released. At the last second, he muffled his cry with the tie, nearly sinking back into the desk as you wiped himself from your lips.

Standing and brushing your knees off, you motioned to the door. “Put your pants on so I can get the hell out of here and hope no one noticed.”

He took a moment to compose himself, tucking his shirt back in and trying his best to straighten out his tie. He opened the blinds and unlocked the door, sending you on your way with a simple, “Please make sure those are on my desk before the end of the day.”

You were certain he was planning on returning the favor.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch #song fic #based on a taylor swift song #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #hotch x fem!reader smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic

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katiefrog217 · 4 months ago

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Btw in case anyone's wondering:

Regardless of how things play out, I do not plan on engaging with or supporting/buying any NG works in the foreseeable future (never hand any interest in it anyway).

I will continue to do my own stuff for GOmens and engage with the fan community.

My general interaction with the fandom was based within the fandom anyway, so nothing much has changed.

Dragon Omens and Creature Omens are too dear to me not to keep doing, and are heavily divorced from what's going on as is.

I will generally just stick to engaging with fan content and works over official sources as possible.

This is unfortunately not my first rollercoaster with this (RIP other Kenshin fans, those were dark times).

Keep on keeping on. The community and fandom is largely its own thing away from their creators as is. If you choose to fully step away, God speed to you, I hope you find peace and enjoy whatever fancies your heart next.

Please remember to take care of yourselves, both mentally and physically.

#good omens #Katiefrog217 rambles

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junk-story · 7 months ago

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Interview Archive 1, 12.1993 - Ongaku to Hito Special Edition

BUCK-TICK is an exceedingly rare sort of band. Although the Band Boom has ended up vanishing as if it never happened at all, in an area totally unrelated to the Boom, where no one else is drawing a crowd, is a group with a unique stance who have continued following their own path of “individuality”. Their stylish visuals have the lingering scent of decadence. Their lyrics, like “I just want to go mad”, are laden with the aesthetics of self-deprecation. And, with “strange” sounds that have absolutely no roots in Western rock, and truly catchy melodies – from any angle, they are a “Japan Original”. Furthermore, although these “nonconformists” have also continued to be a great success commercially, they are still breaking new ground. Although their eerie ambiance is often misunderstood by ordinary people, this unique sensation is something that anyone can have a share of. Sakurai Atsushi reigns with a “negative charisma”, but his absolute desire to escape and narcissism in the sense of “being lenient with oneself” can happen to anyone. I support the weakness of humanity.*

Ichikawa: How do you think BUCK-TICK are seen by ordinary people?

Sakurai: …Maybe...I suppose people who aren’t interested just aren’t interested at all. Because no matter how many times something that doesn’t interest me shows up on TV, that’s where it ends for me.

Ichikawa: Despite your CD sales, you’re passive about this.

Sakurai: Yeah, because there are people who don’t listen to music, so even if I stood face-to-face with such a person and said, “It’s me”, they’ll just be like, “And who are you?” (laughs)

Ichikawa: Conversely, what kind of people do you think listen to BUCK-TICK?

Sakurai: Hmmm...I think a lot of them are daydreamers. (laughs) Even watching the same movies, like Alain Delon1 rather than Jurassic Park. (laughs) When I read the letters I’ve received, that’s the feeling I get.

Ichikawa: What kind of letters do you get most?

Sakurai: In my case, I get everything from the heavy stuff to the light stuff. (laughs)

Ichikawa: What sort of content is in the light letters?

Sakurai: “Your stage outfit was so cool this time”. (laughs)

Ichikawa: And what about the heavy letters?

Sakurai: The heavy ones are incredible, really – like a 21 year old girl who got divorced even though she has a child, or things about their family members, or about how they’re sick. Also, there are many people who write emotional content.

Ichikawa: It’s become Kitaro’s Yokai postal service2, hasn’t it?

Sakurai: Hahaha. But, there’s nothing I’m able to give them...you know.

Ichikawa: Although this idol-like reaction is understandable, is there no “added hidden value” appearing more and more?

Sakurai: Hmmm, I wonder...although I’m making music...music isn’t necessary to living, and you won’t die without it. So I think people who aren’t interested don’t listen to music that deeply, and naturally, they don’t synchronize their listening to the situations I find myself in and my reality. So the band is getting more media exposure, which is supposed to give us more opportunities to be heard, but I wonder…

Ichikawa: But on the other hand, the Yokai Post Box has letters arriving to it frequently, right? Obviously, that’s different from just a popular song and supporting some harmless rock music.

Sakurai: But I expect that the people who are watching idols are definitely greater in number. Because they’re all the same.

Ichikawa: But BUCK-TICK are already big names, and you’ve been reigning on the front lines for 6 years. Naturally, you should be different from them. And hey, if you were part of SMAP3, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?

Sakurai: Yeah, that would be an issue. (laughs)

Ichikawa: So for example, what do you think people come to see Sakurai Atsushi for at concerts?

Sakurai: I really don’t know...for example, I receive letters saying like, “I want to see more of your humanity4 during the MC sections”, and I think it might be better if I expressed my humanity more. Also, I think the songs I want to sing and the songs people want to hear may be different...I’m always confused.

Ichikawa: You still haven’t gotten a grip on what your stage persona is.

Sakurai: No, if I think about understanding it, it’s easy, but I think hard about it and then it confuses me. I suppose there won’t be any problem if I do everything like an entertainer with a strong sense of providing a service, but.

Ichikawa: Like, “I’m Sakuraiiiiii!”

Sakurai: Wahahahaha.

Ichikawa: What’s an example of a song people are expecting?

Sakurai: Songs like “Speed”, “Jupiter”, or “JUST ONE MORE KISS”, don’t you think?

Ichikawa: And the song you think they’ll dislike?

Sakurai: Taiyou ni Korosareta. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Aah, Sakurai’s song about the thing at the core, the “aesthetics of self-deprecation.” Well, it certainly seems like a song that was written sitting on a hill of despair.

Sakurai: Oh? (laughs) But lately, I’ve received letters saying that Taiyou ni Korosareta was good, so I’ve thought that maybe I’m not as misunderstood as I thought I was.

Ichikawa: So you ought to have more self-confidence, Sakurai.

Sakurai: I should, right. More...not to flatter myself, but I hope I can cross the line to becoming an entertainer.

Ichikawa: Well, I think it’s enough that you’re performing as this “dark entertainer”. What do you think is lacking?

Sakurai: It’s not that something’s lacking...it’s that it’s incomplete.

Ichikawa: Well, then where is something lacking?

Sakurai: Mmm...in my own head. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Oi, come on now.

Sakurai: (laughs) I think it could be anything, but, for example, when I go out in front of 2,000 people, I just don’t get that same high anymore.

Ichikawa: So even though you have this stately and dark look – you don’t even think things like, “These 2,000 people have gathered to come see me!”?

Sakurai: No, I don’t. There can be people who are looking at something else even if they’re directly in front of me. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Aren’t you being narrow-minded about this?

Sakurai: It’s caught my attention. So I stare at a single point and act like an idiot who doesn’t see that sort of reaction to me.

Ichikawa: Wow. First of all, haven’t you ever thought, “I’m popular”?

Sakurai: When they’re screaming, “kyaaaaa!” (laughs)

Ichikawa: A live venue is really a melting pot of those “kyaaa” screams; does that make you feel anxious?

Sakurai: I don’t think it’s anxiety, but...I’m always agonizing5 over if I should take myself less seriously. It’s not only people who are listening to the music and enjoying it; there are also many people enjoying another part of the performance, so I think I should do what I want, but...I’m insecure.

Ichikawa: Have you ever thought about the influence you have?

Sakurai: I have. For example, it’s easy to tell when there are kids wearing the same fashion as I am. Also...I don’t know if this is my influence or not, but...the people who like the same world that I do. They give me these detailed, maniacal (laughs) opinions on things, like, “that musical is really good”, “have you read this novel?”, “you like this type of aesthetic, right?”, “this thing you said in an interview really spoke to me”, like that.

Ichikawa: Fundamentally, is it that the recipients of your work can’t accept Sakurai Atsushi as a real person? With your charisma, it’s like you’re magnified up 5 or 10 times bigger in their minds. And those voices, their expectations are like, “Well, if it’s Sakurai-san, naturally he’ll understand my aesthetic sense.” I think it would be natural to gain some self-confidence from those voiced expectations and support.

Sakurai: It would be better not to betray that sentiment, but when it comes to my own conviction...I think if I can put out more that says, “this is how my world is”, I’ll be able to clearly have that conviction.

Ichikawa: Even with Sakurai having this internal conflict, you’re being seen by ordinary people, other than your fans6, as a so-called “rockstar” now – in your case, you must be feeling the difference of that.

Sakurai: I do. Even people who don’t know music have said, “Ah, it’s that guy” – although I had just come there to have a meal. (laughs) I’m human just the same as a salaryman that’s the same age from that area, so..while I think that about myself, I guess they’re in a position where they can’t see it.

Ichikawa: Even if you don’t want to be considered special, in the first place, rock really must be thought of as “exceptional”. Moreover, being exceptional is the biggest characteristic of BUCK-TICK. Do you not have any awareness that this means you are exceptional?

Sakurai: I’m also very aware of that. It’s both extremes. There are also times where I want to say, “Leave me alone!”, turn my nose up and walk away, but (laughs) that’s also tiring, so there’s the converse argument to be made, too, like, “I’m a human just like you, so leave me alone.”

Ichikawa: Do you think things like, for example, that you could be as self-absorbed with how exceptional you are as Ei-chan7?

Sakurai: …I really do, without everyday life.

Ichikawa: What I’m asking is, can’t you become that way?

Sakurai: I can’t~. I don’t like being interfered with, and I switch Sakurai Atsushi off in those moments. (laughs)

Ichikawa: But there’s David Bowie, who isn’t doing fan service around the clock, but at work...(laughs) As a charismatic person, you can behave as you see fit, right? Although I think you could do it if you tried, you’d always agonize between those two selves.

Sakurai: I wonder why...because I’m afraid of being caught off guard?

Ichikawa: Don’t you think you’re cool?

Sakurai: there are times when I think, “I am super cool”, but there are also times where I think, “What am I doing?!” (laughs) I’m hard on myself, maybe.

Ichikawa: But, it’s simpler8 to think of yourself as cool, isn’t it?

Sakurai, Yes, much simpler. But in order for me to think so, I have to aim for being an entertainer, and I’m no good.

Ichikawa: This orientation you have toward being an entertainer is also being taken too far, actually – it’s like chloroform you breathe in every day until you lose consciousness.

Sakurai: Wahahahaha. That’s harsh!

Ichikawa: Don’t you want to become more arrogant and charismatic?

Sakurai: I really just want to shine within music, if it’s something I’m able to do. Aah...I see...maybe...I’m rebelling against it, aren’t I. Everyone views me as a rockstar, so I wonder if maybe I simply want to betray that notion and rebel against it.

Ichikawa: Does the so-called narcissistic state, where you can think of yourself as cool, not last long? It seems like only the high of not caring what the people around you think lasts, but. (laughs)

Sakurai: It doesn’t really last, no. It’s like...I end up able to see reality. That I’m someone who can go as far as narcissism, but can’t sustain it, I can see that.

Ichikawa: But without narcissism, the fantasy of rock won’t flourish, right? You’re a man who can’t be proactive, aren’t you?

Sakurai: Yeah...but that’s quite kind, because it makes people’s dreams of it expand more and more. I don’t really seem very kind, talking selfishly about my own needs while also saying, “I won’t show you the important parts.”

Ichikawa: If you said more, would it be like, “It’s your fault for coming to love me without my permission”?

Sakurai: (laughs) I wouldn’t say their fault...more like, it’s a waste. If I could be understood even if I didn’t say anything, I’d be extremely happy, because I hate the regret I feel after babbling out an explanation. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Then, explaining yourself to an ordinary person who thinks of you as a rocker must also be miserable.

Sakurai: That’s right. But...lately, my way of thinking about it changes all the time. Sometimes I think, “I’m gonna make that guy who doesn’t know me take another look!”, and other times I think, “It’s no good! I’m tired.” (laughs)

Ichikawa: So then, as I thought, you do think you’re cool, don’t you? If you were to call out to the women on the roadside over there9, you have confidence they’d quickly follow you here, right?

Sakurai: If I wanted to do it. (laughs) But using the energy is more trouble than it’s worth. I think maybe I’m unkind in that way.

Ichikawa: Well, calling out to them isn’t really nice either. (laughs)

Sakurai: Oh. (laughs) But, I’m thinking I want to become less sentimental, colder.

Ichikawa: What’s the reason behind that?

Sakurai: Because I have a heart. Wahahahahaha.

Ichikawa: Well, regardless of some minor occurrences of it, (laughs) Sakurai Atsushi doesn’t have any arrogance, really, in the bigger picture of things.

Sakurai: But I’ve also come to understand that I could be just a bit easier on myself, too. I think I could become cooler if I did.

Ichikawa: As Sakurai, and as BUCK-TICK, too, even though you’re this deeply self-centered person who doesn’t care about the existence of other people at all10, I think gradually it becomes necessary to see yourself objectively. And you have to become aware of the influence you have.

Sakurai: Lately, I’ve been chatting with people who have the same tastes as me, and it’s interesting to see how I can come to see myself when I see those people. While I was drinking in Osaka, a person came and sat down who said, “I can see ghosts” – why, I wonder, is it always that sort of person who comes to me? (laughs) But, it turned to conversation about our newest song, “die”, and they said, “You’re definitely a narcissist”, and I was like, “Ah, right, right, I’d forgotten that, now that you mention it.” The person I show other people is a narcissist; I felt like I’d forgotten.

Ichikawa: In the end, those types of people are the ones who come together under Sakurai with peace of mind, don’t you think?

Sakurai: That’s true. I think the people who are thinking about me must be seeing me with some amazing eyes.11

Ichikawa: Give those “amazing eyes” a response, a spectacular one.

Sakurai: I think it will change during our current tour. (laughs)

Ichikawa: (laughs) With that – BUCK-TICK is a band where the members take walking alone endlessly to the extreme, right? The most of any in Japan.

Sakurai: That’s out of my control. There’s nothing I can do about that.

Ichikawa: And that’s also why you feel like you can’t effectively exert your influence, I imagine.

Sakurai: Hmmm...so, I expect that I’m afraid of cheapening what I do. I just did what I wanted to do, so. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Are you being careful with your words?

Sakurai: You could call it being careful; you could call it cowardice.

Ichikawa: Certainly, in the early years – you may have been perceived as cheap during the pop era of your music where your hair was straight up, but since then, I think conversely, you’re perceived as a luxury good.

Sakurai: Yeah, I think we aren’t perceived as cheap, but I certainly have fear of being thought of that way.

Ichikawa: That’s like an ordinary girl thinking, “Don’t become friends with that person” about a yankii in their same class.

Sakurai: (laughs) Is that so?

Ichikawa: This yankii is stubborn, but in reality, he’s facing the dilemma of wanting to be friends with anyone at all.

Sakurai: Exactly. (laughs) But, I’ve been thinking that from now on, we should harden up more, get colder, and that I hope that those who don’t care about our music don’t bother with it. I hope that those who do care it experience it whenever they get the chance, and that those who don’t, never experience it again.

Ichikawa: Well, but, you’re so cool, so wouldn’t it be better to be more free-spirited?

Sakurai: Hahaha. I’m always overthinking things like that.

Ichikawa: I wonder if that overworrying is part of your personality.

Sakurai: Hmmm...I don’t know. But I’m always thinking about how I want others to enjoy and be happy.

Ichikawa: Even so, there are a lot of ups and downs in everyday life. (laughs)

Sakurai: Hahaha. I may not be handling them so well.

Ichikawa: Well, in the end, trouble always ends up coming about.

Sakurai: And that’s why all you can do is stand your ground, right...or I’m going to act out that pretense. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Have you been acting pretentious lately?

Sakurai: Quite pretentious.

Ichikawa: Anyway, you’ve got a good face for it.

Sakurai: Yeah.

Ichikawa: Oh, an easy agreement on that from this guy.

Sakurai: Fufufufufufu.

Ichikawa: So, if you acted like you owned the place, you could powerfully establish your own world – and moreover, externally, Sakurai is already waiting for it. All that’s left is you feeling like doing it.

Sakurai: ...it’s troublesome, you know.

Ichikawa: You sure are BUCK-TICK’S frontman.

Sakurai: (laughs) I want to have an effective presence that has a detailed edge to it. More than feeling like a big, enveloping presence.

Ichikawa: Aren’t you seeking a long life full of detail?

Sakurai: No way! (laughs) But, lately I’ve realized this. Because I’m using energy on this tour. (laughs) How can I say this...it’s like more...pushing forward the next day while feeling like, “I’m losing it, aren’t I?” (laughs)

Ichikawa: You’re a man predestined to being a paradox.

Sakurai: ...Has this ended up being an unspectacular interview? (laughs)

Ichikawa: Well, even if we sang “Shimauta”12 at karaoke, we didn’t sing “die”, so. (laughs) It’s considered special, you know, definitely.

Sakurai: Even if we’re doing something special, like – I end up feeling like everything is lumped together. I feel like the people who listen to music have become cowards, too. Like the provocation is frightening to them.

Ichikawa: Even though the propagation of provocation is the theme of this band.

Sakurai: Right. And moreover, we’re trying to even out the high and low points of unevenness, and there’s a feeling of something unseen moving.

Ichikawa: When it’s that way, you can only go back to the basics and put your hair straight up again!

Sakurai: Right? Although I wasn’t aware of it during the time my hair was up, that “We are special” thing.

Ichikawa: But I think if you put it up now, you might be able to do it having that awareness.

Sakurai: Imai currently has a mohawk while having that awareness.

Ichikawa: Well then, next will it be Sakurai Atsushi with his hair up?!

Sakurai: When should I put it up...people might say, “It’s uncool!” (laughs) I really don’t want to use my energy on that sort of thing. (laughs)

~~~~~ Footnotes: * This makes more sense as you read the interview - basically, I think he's saying that he argues Sakurai ought to be more lenient with himself. 1 A French movie star. 2 A reference to a manga. Kitaro is a “sullen ghost boy” who “protects others from malicious spirits”. 3 The biggest name in Johnny’s of that time, and still one of their biggest ever. 4 Human-ness? I don’t know a better word for this in English. They want him to emote, talk more, things like that. 5 Very dramatic word choice here – literally “suffering until you faint”. 6 Who are not ordinary people, obviously, lol. 7 Eikichi Yazawa, a big Showa-era rockstar. 8 Simpler in the sense of more comfortable; less work. 9 I wonder if he was actually gesturing to someone, or if this was hypothetical. 10 I think he’s ribbing him here – calling him out on his bullshit. Sakurai is repeatedly trying to say this about himself and then contradicting it. 11 In other words, they are seeing a version of him that he doesn’t believe actually exists. 12 A 1992 song by the band “The Boom”.

~~~~~ Some final translation notes:

I don't know who put the LibreOffice suggestion on my dash, but I used that to type this up this time instead of Google docs, and it seems to have preserved the footnotes (at least on desktop.) I'll try and test this on mobile too but hopefully it's a better experience!

Also, just a basic note on "cool" in Japanese - kakkoii. It's commonly translated as "cool" but really encompasses things like being attractive, sexy, etc. in ways I think the word in English doesn't. I think its usage packs more punch when you think of it that way, as like "heart eyes, motherfucker" cool.

#buck tick #sakurai atsushi #atsushi sakurai #ongaku to hito #jrock #visual kei #quartz translates #translation

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roxygen22 · 7 months ago

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Still Here (Chapter 3)

Summary: You have a chance to catch up with Timothée over lunch.

Catch up on previous chapters here.

<><><><><>

You didn't have to wait long to see Timothée again. You crossed paths at the pharmacy three days later, where you were shopping for toiletries and other sundries for you and Madison. There was something oddly...final...about buying full-size shampoos and conditioners, instead of the travel-size bottles you packed in California. Like you had finally accepted that you would be here for a while.

You spotted Timothée's distinguishable curly dark hair over on the next aisle. Your heart stuttered. You had hoped not to run into anyone you knew, especially someone with whom you shared a complicated past. Who was I kidding? This isn't a crowded Target in Cali where you can just blend in. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Should I say hello? Should I put down my stuff and come back later? [Y/N], stop it. You can't run away from this. It's a small town, and you are here for the foreseeable future. May as well embrace it. Besides, it may be nice to have a friend again, if he's willing after things ended.

You looked up at the signage above to see what was there. You didn't want to embarrass him if he was shopping for something...personal. Ah, shaving accessories. Nothing embarrassing about that. You smiled, briefly reminiscing how the boy you knew could never grow a full beard despite how desperately he wanted to.

You worked up the courage to go say hello. You intentionally came up behind him as payback for startling you earlier in the grocery store. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were stalking me, Timothée Chalamet."

He quickly spun around, initially looking over your head before looking down to meet your eyes. His big, lopsided grin sent your heart into palpitations again, just as it did over a decade ago. "Well well well, I could say the same about you, [Y/N] [maiden name], or, umm, I guess it isn't [maiden name] anymore," he fumbled and grimaced.

"It is. I'm divorced," you forced out. You still weren't used to saying it out loud. You watched as a whole range of emotions swept over his face before landing on sad, pitying look.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I wondered if that may be the case when you said you moved back in with your folks. You know, I run into your mother from time to time in town. It was through her that I knew you had gotten married and had a baby. She was always happy to show off pictures." He paused to chuckle. "But she didn't say anything about the, uh..." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.

"Yeah, well, my parents aren't big fans of the d-word. It was a very recent development, too, one they have not yet come to embrace despite not being big fans of Michael." You suddenly found your sneakers very interesting, unable to make eye contact with Timothée.

"Well, hey, I'm just here to grab my dad's meds. I was thinking about swinging by the diner to grab a bite to eat before driving back. Would you like to join me?"

"Uh, sure. Maddy is hanging out with my parents and they aren't expecting me back immediately. Might be nice to have adult conversation again." You chuckled. The two of you paid for your items and walked across the street to the restaurant.

Timothée, ever the gentleman, opened the door for you. Everyone looked up at the sound of the metal bells hitting the glass. Whispers started floating around as soon as you stepped foot inside.

"Is that [Y/N] [L/N]?' "I thought she was in California." "Maybe she's just visiting her family?"

You ducked your head as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. You followed Timothée to a table in the corner and sat with your back to the rest of the diner, not wanting to see the curious looks. It was somewhat reassuring, though, to know that you still bore enough resemblance to your former self that people recognized you. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror anymore.

Right as you got settled in your seat, you heard footsteps stop beside you. You raised your head to see that your server was also someone you knew from high school, Amanda. You smiled and softly said hello.

"They said it was you, but I didn't believe them. How are you doing, honey? Where is that baby of yours? Your mom hasn't been by lately to show off any pictures." Only after her barrage of questions did she look across the table. "Hey, Timothée."

"Hey, Mandy," he replied quietly.

"Oh, she's hanging out with my parents while I did some shopping. She's not a baby anymore, though." You pulled out your phone to show Amanda a recent photo.

"She looks just like you, [Y/N]! And they are always babies, no matter how old they get. How old is she? Looks about 9 or 10. I have a 12 year old, almost 13. Practically a teenager!" Amanda pulled her phone out of her apron to show you her lock screen.

"He's very handsome," you offered with a friendly smile.

"How long are you in town for?" she asked.

"Uh, well, I'm not sure. However long it takes to get back on my feet. I recently got divorced, so I am trying to figure out what's next," you replied solemnly as you traced the patterns on the paisley tablecloth with your finger. You were trying (and probably failing) not to give away how incredibly overwhelmed you were feeling. You were grateful when Timothée interrupted the exchange.

"Hey, Mandy, what's the special today?"

"Oh, of course! You are here for a reason, after all. I was so eager to see if it was really [Y/N] that I forgot the menus. I'll be right back." She patted your shoulder before retreating. She returned as quickly as you could mouth "thank you" to him.

The two of you silently scanned the menu and then placed your orders. As you waited on the food, you easily fell into conversation about high school, then your time in California. You had forgotten how easy it was to talk to Timothée. You gleefully showed him pictures on your phone of your favorite landmarks and landscapes until you accidentally swiped to a photo of you, Madison, and Michael together at one of the national parks. The reminders of the fleeting happy times were painful.

Sensing the shift, Timothée grabbed your hand. You felt lightning surge throughout your body from his touch. He squeezed once and then let go just as quickly when he spotted Amanda heading to your table with your orders. You looked up and saw the smirk on her face as she eyed the two of you.

"Enjoy! I'll come back to check on you in a bit."

You turned to look at Timothée. "You know we are going to be the hot gossip for at least the next week, right?" you said playfully.

"Let them talk. There are worse rumors than being spotted with you." He cleared his throat, then popped a French fry in his mouth. "So, was there anything you missed about Tennessee?"

You, you thought automatically. "I eventually came to miss how much simpler things feel here. How life slows down in the woods and the mountains. In LA, everyone is always in a hurry. There is so much traffic. There were so many people, yet it was so lonely. Michael was really my only friend there." You went on, and Timothée listened intently as you provided a high-level retelling of what brought you back.

"...and so I packed up our clothes and a few belongings and drove out here. I got into town about two weeks ago and have been laying low with my tail between my legs." You stared down at your now empty plate in shame.

"Does he stay in touch with Madison?"

"No. He barely saw her after we separated, and he hasn't reached out since we left the state. But she's convinced that he's going to send for her to come live with him once he's settled in his new house in Sacramento with his girlfriend."

He shook his head. "You deserve better than that. SHE deserves better than that." You detected a hint of anger and disgust in his tone.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, we are both paying the price for my poor decision-making." Your voice was thick with remorse. "She doesn't deserve to pay for my mistakes."

"[Y/N], you can't do that to yourself. You were young. All you can do is make the best of now." Amanda came by and set the check down on the table. You were grateful for her timing because you weren't sure what to say next. Your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the ticket.

"Please, let me get this," he said assertively. "I invited you to join me, remember?" He slid his credit card and the check over to Amanda, whose face was all grin. People were definitely going to hear about this.

You narrowed your eyes with playful scorn. "Fine, as long as you let me get it next time," you rebutted before fully thinking it through.

"Next time, eh?" His eyes lit up as he cocked his head to the side.

You blushed. Whoops. "Umm, yeah, next time. All we talked about was me today. We didn't even get to what you have been up to for the past 10+ years!"

"Fair enough, though that won't take long to tell," Timothée shrugged and signed the receipt after Amanda returned. You both stood and walked out the door to make your way back to the pharmacy parking lot.

"You still have the same truck!" you exclaimed. You jogged the rest of the way and ran your fingers across the emblem on the front. You and he made a lot of...memories...in that truck.

"Yep. Restoring her became somewhat of a hobby when I came back from Texas."

"Texas?" You never knew he left town. From what you remembered, he had never planned on going anywhere, especially not that far.

"A story for another day. Next time, remember?" he smirked.

"Well, maybe we should actually make plans for a next time instead of just hoping we run into each other in town. Here." You handed Timothée your phone. "Plug in your number so we can chat."

This time it was his turn to blush. He took the device from you and called himself. "So I can save your number as well," he offered.

You recognized the digits when you had your phone back in hand. "You never changed your number."

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

You laughed softly. "Fair enough."

"Well, I better get going. It was good to see you again, [Y/N]."

Timothée opened his arms for a hug, which you reciprocated. For a moment, all was right in the world with your head on his chest. I missed this. But I can't want this right now, you lectured yourself. You stepped back and gave him space to get into his truck. He rolled down his window to say goodbye once more.

"Tell your folks I said hello, please," you called out over the noise of the engine. His smile fell just briefly.

"You do the same."

<><><><><>

Chapter 4

Masterlist

Tag List: @croatianprincess

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lucky-clover-gazette · 3 months ago

Text

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 10

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The events of last night, endlessly complicated in the candlelit privacy of Laurent’s bedchamber, had resolved into a single, blissful fact this morning. Laurent missed him.

He felt a flutter of illicit joy when he thought of it. He remembered Laurent gazing up at him. You keep overturning all my plans. Laurent was going to be furious when he arrived at the morning meeting.

he’s going to be in such a bad mood <3 i love their love

‘You’re in a good mood,’ Nikandros said, as he came into the hall. Damen clapped him on the shoulder, and took up his place at the long table. ‘We’re going to take Karthas,’ said Damen.

“also my divorce husband likes me again”

Straton arrived with Philoctus, arranging their skirts as they sat. Makedon was already present, along with Enguerran. Vannes arrived and took her seat, arranging her skirts similarly

i like how skirts are contextualized as authoritative here, and the female character who you’d expect based on traditional stereotypes to be the only one in the skirt, and whose dress skirt is nothing like the akielon battle skirts, is still seamlessly grouped in with the men

Laurent entered, an edge to his grace, like a leopard with a headache, around whom one must tread very, very carefully. ‘Good morning,’ said Damen. ‘Good morning,’ said Laurent. This was said after an infinitesimal pause, as if maybe for once in his life the leopard wasn’t quite certain what to do. Laurent sat on the throne-like seat of oak beside Damen, and kept his eyes carefully on the space in front of him.

screaming they’re so ridiculous. laurent is so out of his element with no idea what happened

‘Laurent!’ said Makedon, greeting Laurent warmly. ‘I am glad to take up your invitation to hunt with you in Acquitart when this campaign is over.’ He clapped Laurent on the shoulder. Laurent said, ‘My invitation.’ Damen wondered whether he had ever been clapped on the shoulder in his life.

laurent let his self-sim go on full autonomy for a night and is discovering that he’s now best friends with makedon

This provoked a wave of soldierly camaraderie. Laurent did not typically engage in soldierly camaraderie, and did not know what to do.

fucking nerd

‘You’ve sent riders to announce your plans?’ said Laurent. ‘This is the Akielon way,’ said Makedon, as he might to a favoured nephew a bit slow at learning. ‘An honourable victory will impress the kyroi and gain the favour that we need at the Kingsmeet.’ ‘I see, thank you,’ said Laurent.

laurent thinks war is brutal and fucked up and doesn’t approve of the “decency” of akielon customs. also he’s a passive aggressive bitch

Makedon was explaining the virtues of iron tea to Laurent, and when Laurent massaged his own temple with finely bred fingers, Makedon remarked, rising, ‘You should have your slave fetch you some.’ ‘Fetch me some,’ Laurent said. Damen rose. And stopped. Laurent had gone very still. Damen stood there, awkwardly. He could think of no other reason why he had stood up.

GUYS.

He looked up and his eyes met those of Nikandros, who was staring at him. Nikandros was with a small group to one side of the table, the last of the men in the hall. He was the only one to have seen and heard. Damen just stood there.

this would be an hr complaint if anyone else noticed, but only nik saw so private twitter vent #12 it is

The acidulous blue of Laurent’s gaze on him had nothing to do with the meeting. ‘Nothing happened,’ said Damen. ‘Something happened,’ said Laurent.

honestly i think part of laurent would have preferred if they fucked to just being vulnerable and affectionate and damen being decent

‘You were drunk,’ said Damen. ‘I took you back to your rooms. You asked me to attend you.’ ‘What else?’ said Laurent. ‘I did attend you,’ said Damen. ‘What else?’ said Laurent. He had thought having the upper hand over a hungover Laurent would be a rather enjoyable experience, except that Laurent was beginning to look like he was going to vomit. And not from the hangover. ‘Oh, stand down. You were too drunk to know your own name, let alone who you were with or what you were doing. Do you really think I’d take advantage of you in that condition?’ Laurent was staring at him. ‘No,’ he said awkwardly, as if, only now giving the question his full attention, he was coming to realise the answer. ‘I don’t think you would.’ His face was still white, his body in tension. Damen waited.

<3 i don’t have too much heavy analysis because this is so much payoff to previous analysis. laurent trauma intimacy issues, damen’s never-ending decency that laurent does not expect, damen being delighted/amused by laurent allowing himself to be vulnerable but also sensitive to the discomfort of that vulnerability

‘Did I,’ Laurent said. It took him a long time to push the words out. ‘Say anything.’ Laurent held himself taut, as if for flight. He lifted his eyes to meet Damen’s. ‘You said you missed me,’ said Damen. Laurent flushed, hard, the change in colour startling. ‘I see. Thank you for—’ He could see Laurent taste the edges of the statement. ‘—resisting my advances.’ In the silence, he could hear voices beyond the door that had nothing to do with the two of them, or the honesty of the moment that almost hurt, as if they stood again in Laurent’s chambers by the bed. ‘I miss you too,’ he said. ‘I’m jealous of Isander.’ ‘Isander’s a slave.’ ‘I was a slave.’ The moment ached. Laurent met his gaze, his eyes too clear. ‘You were never a slave, Damianos. You were born to rule, as I was.’

we are so fucking back. sooo bittersweet, with this little shutdown of “we can’t have each other and we never really could have” a kingdom or this etc, they’ll figure it out soon we are in the home stretch

It was a beautiful fort. He saw that, the ghost of its Veretian grace; of what it had been; of what it could be again, perhaps. For his part, this was farewell. He wouldn’t return here, or if he did, as a visiting King, it would be different, restored as it should be to Veretian hands. Marlas, so hard-won, he would simply give back.

or you could both be kings together. just a suggestion.

That was strange to think. Once a symbol of Akielon victory, it seemed now a symbol of all that had changed in him, the way that when he looked now, he saw with new eyes.

Damen looked back at Genevot. Genevot was trembling. She wasn’t scared. She was furious. She was furious at him, at his presence here. ‘It wasn’t fair what happened to your village,’ Damen said to her. ‘No fight is fair. Someone’s always stronger. But I’ll give you justice. That I swear.’ ‘I wish Akielons had never come to Delfeur,’ said the girl. ‘I wish someone had been stronger than you.’ She turned her back on him after she said it. It was an act of bravery, a girl in front of a king. Then she went and picked up a coin from the floor. ‘It’s all right, Genevot,’ said the girl. ‘Look, I’ll teach you a trick. Watch my hand.’

she is/was laurent. laurent is/was her. so many poignant references to damen and laurent's "discussion" during the marlas rematch. this is a perfect moment, and the coin trick recognition is just the cherry on top

Damen’s skin prickled as he recognised it, the echo of another presence, the achingly familiar self-possession that the girl mimicked as she closed her hand over the coin, holding her fist out in front of her. He knew who had been here before him, who had sat with her, taught her. He had seen this trick before. And though her eight-year-old sleight of hand was a little clumsy, she managed to push the coin into her sleeve, so that when she opened her hand again, it was empty.

laurent’s resilience becomes vere’s resilience becomes becomes damen’s resilience. and damen had a large part in creating the circumstances that required laurent to become so resilient, which is a fascinating cycle. i don’t know if damen regrets what happened with auguste yet on a purely idealistic level (as opposed to feeling bad for laurent), or if he ever fully will, because his perception of akielon “decency” in war is still slowly evolving.

i’m guessing that the final straws for damen will be the realizations about the regent and kastor, and only then will he fully Get that it is all fucked, war can't be civil, and there could have been peace instead this entire time. there is no divine right of the “strongest” people simply deserving dominion over others, and the best way one can use authority is to show compassion to enemies and allies alike. it’s not just that the strong shouldn’t hurt the weak—they shouldn’t hurt the strong either, ideally. and while that can sometimes be unavoidable, it’s important to build a world where peace is the goal. which he can laurent can both do, together :)

He saw Laurent, also mounted, a frowning spicule with blond hair. Rigidly upright in the saddle, his polished armour gleamed, his eyes impersonal with command. With the head that Laurent had from griva, it was probably a good thing that he would soon be killing people.

‘You’ve been listening to slave gossip.’ ‘You spent the night in the Prince of Vere’s rooms.’ ‘I spent ten minutes in his rooms. If you think I fucked him in that time you underrate me.’

nik please we are at war

‘I see. You’re warning me again not to bed him?’ ‘No,’ said Nikandros. ‘I know you’re going to bed him. I’m saying that when he lets you, think about what he wants.’

nikandros you have no idea what the fuck is going on between those two, mind your business

She was beautiful. As ever with her, it was something you noticed initially and then forcefully discarded because it was the least dangerous aspect of her. It was her mind, deliberate, calculating, that was the threat, regarding him from behind a pair of cool blue eyes.

mhm yeah that sounds familiar

He made himself look at her. He made himself remember every part of her, the way she had smiled, the slow approach of her sandalled feet as he had hung in chains, the touch of her elegant fingers against his bruised face. Then he turned to the low-level foot soldier to his right, delegating a trivial task that was beneath him, and now meant nothing. ‘Take her away,’ he said. ‘We have the fort.’

okay very specific here but you know how in like 2000s and 2010s reality tv, finalists in competitions would have like "family/home visits" towards the end of the season, and you always got a ton of implied context about how they've become who they are on the show? the middle of king's rising kind of feels like that. like we met damen's bestie, and now we're meeting his ex. we get to basically see his hometown. i won't say the slight tone shift is bad, and there are definitely still intense moments (especially what we're building up to), but it's still just a... slightly odd feeling. does anyone else feel that way?

#sam reads capri #capri #captive prince #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen

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nwheregirl · 1 year ago

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A little bit of fun for your soul. (Kevin Lomax x reader)

Request: “So, can you do an headcanon Yandere Dark Kevin Lomax being obsessed with his innocent secretary female reader, please?” By @gea-chan96

((NSFW-ish, DARK CONTENT, 18+ ONLY, DUBCON, FEMALE READER, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, IT’S CLEARLY A POWER DYNAMIC AND A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP KEEP THAT IN MIND, NOT A WRITER JUST HAVING FUN, COULD CONTAIN TYPOS.))

New York is so fun, right? You just moved there, probably enchanted by all the wonderful scenery your parents' friends often told you about. Besides, you needed to feel independent, to leave mum and dad's house in order to finally be a woman free to do what she wanted.

Rent is expensive, the apartment is perhaps too small for such a high price: you immediately had to find a job.

You noticed on the newspaper that a famous New York attorney was urgently looking for a secretary: the salary was quite high for such a...simple job?

"Who cares? You literally just have to sit behind a desk and smile to his clients, and learn how to use the printer!" Your friend with whom you were talking on the phone told you, while you were sitting on the sofa of your small apartment in shorts and a tank top. "Or I'll end up spending my mornings and nights printing papers, having to remember how he takes his coffee, and having his wife storm into the office to punch me in the face out of unreasonable jealousy!" You answered, in a tone that was not too ironic.

Your friend had pointed out how you were perfect for such a job: you had always been a kind and honest, quiet girl…sometimes too naive for your own good. You were a person incapable of hurting anyone, it was hard for you to lie, you were smiley and polite. Basically, an emotional and sweet soul.

You both imagined that this big-shot lawyer was probably old and wrinkly, someone who needed help with the little tasks of his job because of his age.

Wrong, you were fucking wrong.

Kevin Lomax was a promising young lawyer from Florida. He had been making a name for himself for some years now, as a professional who had never lost a case since his career began. Over the years the commitments had increased, along with his money. He had just gotten out of a stormy divorce with his ex-wife (this is something you would find out later).

The reason for the divorce was that Kevin was an absolutely unfaithful, self centered and possessive man. His poor wife had come to have a nervous breakdown due to the immeasurable sadness he had caused her.

But this, you would never know.

You applied for the job, and on the day of your interview you were struck by the beauty of the man: his pitch black hair and his brown eyes that seemed to penetrate into your soul for how deep they were, his broad and muscular body and his expensive suit that hugged his shoulders perfectly... you were convinced at first that he was just a trainee, but no. He was the man you were going to work for.

In the first months of your job Kevin had been professional and quiet, at times even cold and rude. He just nodded to you, ordering you left and right to do something for him without so much as a 'thank you' or 'please'. He was a man of few words and busy. You thought it was definitely not the friendliest environment to work in.

No one from the office ever spoke to you: you were simply the secretary and nothing more. They wished you good morning and smiled at you, that's it.

What you didn't know was that, in the first few months there, Kevin had done meticulous research on you to understand what kind of woman you were: he had contacted some criminals he had managed not to send to jail (they owed him a favor) to stalk you and make a complete profile of the person you were.

He was a lustful man, but at the same time (given what he had gone through with his ex-wife) he wanted to aim for a woman who was simple, submissive and therefore easy to manipulate. Not a gold digger, possibly. He wanted to indulge in his needs without any stress.

Kevin liked your aura of kindness and naivety, so he wanted confirmation that it wasn't just a mask: he discovered that you were actually a good girl, with a simple life and many female friends. You were shy around men, sometimes maybe even scared that someone might be interested in you. In short, you were perfect. Kevin wondered how it was possible that you didn't realize how beautiful you were, your sinuous body could have set a fire in the soul of any man that looked at you. He liked it even better that way though, it would have been easier to corrupt you and make you his good little fuck doll.

It happened out of nowhere: your boss had started being nicer, almost too much. You didn't know what to say or what to do, you were too embarrassed...and he had too much power over you to complain. You couldn't risk getting fired.

“Grab me a coffee. Will you, sweetheart?”.

“What a nice skirt you are wearing this morning, doll”.

“It’s late, I’ll call you a cab”.

“Y/N, print me this.” He would say, moving exaggeratedly close to your ear and tapping his fingers on your hips for a few seconds.

“You can go now. Do you have any plans for the weekend? I hope you don’t have a date, sweetie”. He said to you one day, winking at you with his pearly white smile: you laughed at those words but there was a touch of jealousy in his eyes, it seemed that through that small gesture he was hiding something more sinister.

During the few months in which those subtle behaviors had gone on you hadn't reciprocated his flirting ways: you wanted to keep it professional, you were shy and perhaps it made you a little uncomfortable. You couldn't deny that you weren't flattered to get the attentions of such a handsome and powerful man, though. Kevin knew that behind that fear, that innocence…you craved him just as much as he did. He was starting to lose his patience, no longer wanted to play nice with you.

It happened one evening, in one of the most expensive bars in New York: Kevin had just won yet another lawsuit. You often accompanied him to court to keep his papers organised, always finishing work after dinner time and coming back home exhausted. This time, however, you had decided to pass by that bar just for a few minutes to say hello and congratulate him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Lomax!" you exclaimed happily as you entered the bar. You knew perfectly well that you didn’t belong there: you were surrounded by very rich attorneys, with their beautiful trophy wives and their shiny sports cars.

You were wearing a navy blue knee-length skirt, a white button-up blouse, a tailored blazer and stud earrings. A pair of low heel classic pumps at your feet. You wore your hair down, alway looking professional and polished.

Kevin turned to look at you as he was talking to his colleagues, his face changing completely into a seductive grin. He stared at you, licking his lips. He was wearing a sophisticated three piece grey suit.

His voice almost seemed to take a different tone; much deeper and seductive.

“Thank you, sweetheart”

He said with a charming wink, taking a sip of his drink as he offered to buy you one.

"Oh no thanks, I don't drink. I just came by to say hello, I don't want to disturb you"

"Who ever told you that you disturb me, honey?" Lomax said, his smile widening more as he leaned forward. He brought his drink to his lips slowly, eyes locked on yours as he did so. You didn't know exactly what to answer to those words, it was simply you being shy. Lomax reached out a hand, placing it gently on your arm.

He looks strong and confident, you had always admired him for his confidence…

“Don’t be so self conscious, you are a beautiful girl” He said with a warm smile, bringing his hand up to gently stroke your hair.

Wait…what the fuck had just happened? Was Kevin Lomax really stroking your hair?

You blushed, you lowered your gaze and murmured thanks to that compliment: man, now you understood why all the girls in the office spoke of him as if he were the most fascinating man on the planet. It took very little for him to make someone's legs shake.

"Mmh..thank you, but I really have to go..." You whispered at that moment as you sank into your shyness: but he wouldn't have given you a chance to escape. In fact, being late, he offered to drive you home in a tone that made you understand that "no" was not a plausible answer.

So, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his very expensive car, your hands resting shyly on your knees while you avoided making eye contact with Kevin and admired the sight of the city’s lights from the car’s window. The famous attorney had turned to look at you, a sly smile on his face: you were so cute, he could feel his pants getting tight at the thought of corrupting such a simple girl. It would have been so easy to make you fall at his feet…

"You know I don't bite, right? You can talk to me." There was an awkward silence in the car due to your discomfort. You turned your head toward the man, a shy smile on your face. Fortunately, you were not very far from your apartment: you could hold out a little longer. You smiled shyly, apologizing to him.

“…unless you want me to bite”.

What? What did he just said?

You turned towards him, shocked: you felt your throat grow dry as your cheeks turned bright red. You stood still for a few seconds.

"Mr. Lomax?" You called his name, thinking you were losing your mind. But no, it was real and it was really happening: you became aware of the fact that he had parked in front of your apartment but was showing no signs of wanting to unlock the door.

"You know..." The handsome attorney whispered, bringing his face closer to yours.

"I know you've noticed how I've treated you over the past few months, but you've shown no signs of wanting to give in. I am a not very patient man, if I want something I always get it." You noticed that you felt a huge emptiness in your stomach as you continued to stand still and look into his eyes with your lips half-open in shock.

"I always win." The man had whispered then, brushing his fingers over your cheekbones.

"I don't think any of this is appropriate…you are indeed a handsome man...but what will be said about me if people find out about this?" You whispered, as your insecurity blocked your throat from making a confident, clear sound.

"There are many beautiful women just waiting for attention from the famous Kevin Lomax, I am simply your secretary. I know what lawyers do with their secretaries, they use them like dolls and then throw them away. I don't want to be that, for any man in the world -- not even the richest one..." You kept going, feeling your eyes getting wet: damn insecurity, but at least you were managing to speak. That innocence and tenderness of yours generated in Kevin an even stronger lust for you: it was true, a good part of his colleagues did that. The world of New York lawyering was a world full of sins and scandals. But he was a gentleman, or for that matter he was distinctly better than some people: it almost seemed as if he could smell your fear and embarrassment.

"Sugar..." this time Kevin caught your face in his hands, bringing it brutally close to his: you could feel his breath smelling of alcohol and cigars on your skin. Not commenting on anything you had said, he ended the conversation this way:

"Good night, try to get some rest because tomorrow you will be forced to stay with me until late."

And once again, his tone scared you.

Back home, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you silently rinsed your face: you thought first about calling and quitting the very next morning, and then in the silence of your room -as you tried to fall asleep- you sensed your most unconscious emotions taking over your brain.

Kevin was handsome: you had stated that several times. You admired his confidence; you were frightened by his authoritative energy. You were a woman like any other, you had needs and when a person was attractive to you, you couldn't help but fantasize at least a little bit. Your brain had done that with your boss too, but you had always tried to scuttle your thoughts-you felt guilty, damn guilty. It wasn't right, what would your parents think of you?

You fell asleep overwhelmed by this train of thoughts, ignoring the fact that you had woken up after dreaming of your body bent against a desk, powerful hands pulling at your hair.

The next day you felt like you were in a different place, not the one you had now come to know for more than eight months.

You constantly felt Kevin's intense, dark gaze on your body; he hadn't spoken to you all day: he seemed to be back to his old way of doing things.

How wrong you were.

He simply wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, and he had succeeded. You felt that you had done something wrong, that you had offended him: perhaps you had gone too far? Was he about to fire you?

You were doing an impeccable job: his schedule was always perfect, his papers always in order, and much more. Would he really have been able to send you away or treat you badly because of a simple conversation?

You were forced to stay late into the evening in the office, when everyone had already left. Kevin had been in court for many hours that day because of a very difficult mob case. Now, after having dinner with several colleagues, he was forced to stay until late sitting at his desk to analyze documents that contained important evidence that would enable him to win the case. It was you who had alphabetically sorted through that large amount of documentation; that was why he needed you.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he had coldly called your name to ask you to find him the file of a specific person.

Slowly, you opened the small metal drawer to look for that specific file. There was total silence inside that room, it was now almost 11 o'clock at night, and you couldn't feel the fatigue because of the adrenaline rush that the discomfort was causing you.

You could once again feel the attorney's eyes slowly exploring your body-he was waiting, but panic made it seem like your eyes could not focus on the right letter. You coughed several times, starting to sweat.

"So?" He had said aloud, passing his tongue over his lips: his blazer was resting on the chair, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was now forgotten somewhere. The first buttons of his shirt were open. His hair, that were always tied elegantly combed back, now fell over his forehead.

At that moment, to get even more comfortable, he had taken off his suspenders and the very expensive Rolex he was wearing on his wrist until a few minutes before.

"I'm sorry, I'm looking for it: it must be fatigue slowing me down." You had your head lowered in shame: you were generally quick, it never happened to make him wait more than a minute.

“Come here”.

You slowly turned toward him, your eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Look at me."

You didn't want to, you were ashamed, you couldn't really lift your head. At that point, Kevin violently slammed his hand against the desk.

"I said fucking look at me! Don't you ever listen?"

Terrified, you raised your head toward him: your legs were shaking, you felt you were about to cry--you don't like it when people yell at you. Kevin realized that maybe he had gone too far in having that reaction with you (or maybe he had accidentally shown you his true nature?), so he signed and massaged his temples:

"I'm sorry, come here..." He turned in your direction, opened his legs slightly and settled more comfortably in the black leather chair.

Figuring it would be worse if you didn't listen, you slowly approached the desk and looked at him with a confused and disappointed expression. You were facing him now, but were still too far away for his own taste.

"I didn't mean to respond that way, sugar..." He repeated, displaying a mask of guilt as his hand repeatedly tapped his thigh.

"Come closer” He said in a firmer tone, this time understanding what he was getting at.

"Kneel" He ordered you, and so you positioned yourself between his legs like a lapdog: in the silence of that moment you felt humiliated…humiliated and that you were succumbing to his power and feeling even more ashamed of the fact you were liking it. His hand began to caress your cheek as his thumb did the same with your lips.

"Open" The lawyer ordered , and you welcome his finger in your mouth, licking and sucking it slowly. You had heard of things like this: you understood then what he wanted, and you were at least trying. He'd probably been with more experienced women than you, and that shamed you even more. You felt like a stupid teen.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice the fact that Kevin had slowly started to undo his belt, opening your eyes when you heard the noise of the zip being lowered.

"Don't worry, I’ll teach you everything" He explained, having noticed how awkward you were: even better he thought, it would have been even easier for him to make you what he wanted you to be.

"You're mine now, not that you'd ever get a chance to run away from me..." The way you were looking at him, with his finger still between your lips, made his eyes darken: you reminded him of a sweet deer, small and innocent. He smiled, taking your face in his hands and leaning towards you.

"If you're good, in a couple of years I might even put a ring around your pretty little finger…you would like that wouldn’t you, little doll?”.

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves characters #keanu reeves fanfic #kevin lomax #kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax smut #the devils advocate #headcanon #fanfic #nwheregirl made this #request #dark fic

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be-my-ally · 2 years ago

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We can't go on together (with suspicious minds) fic. 1.

first post! i've been working on a mini series of these, where the reader confronts Elvis about his other girls and his reaction to being called out. I think we're going to go for a classic and name the series Suspicious Minds? This is the first, completely inspired by that phonecall with anita, and the story from priscilla about Elvis' reaction to her divorce request.

Pairing: Elvis/afab!reader (I imagine BDE but I think you could probs picture whatever era you like)

Summary: Reader is upset at being forced to watch Elvis constantly touching and kissing other girls - his solution? fuck her until she doesn't care anymore.

warnings: 18+, blowjobs, sex, demanding!Elvis, jealous!Elvis, possessive!elvis, idk yandere? maybe a little? slight dubcon, especially in the second half. tiniest breeding kink. arguing as foreplay, references/allusions to infidelity, mention of pregnancy. Reader is definitely being manipulated here. Elvis is not being nice.

wc: 5.7k (this was meant to be under 2k whoops) I kind of hate the last couple of lines but if I didn't decide I was done there this was gonna go on forever so there we are!

The fact that Elvis kisses forty girls a night is neither here nor there, they are indiscriminate from one another and don’t mean anything - you know that. He simply has to kiss as many girls that he finds unattractive as much as those that catch his eye; although whenever he argues this point you’re uncertain if he truly knows how to be unattracted to a girl of any kind. But you’ve so far taken it at face value - he was yours at the end of the night and you were in his bed, in his home, and honestly that’s all you cared about. You could let the other girls have their seven seconds with him.

You probably, at this point in your relationship, cared far too much about him but he made you feel like no-one else has ever done. You wonder sometimes if he even knows how love feels - or if he just truly has to be permanently in love to live, he says it so easily and freely. Regardless, you can’t help but believe him when he says he loves you. There’s just something about him, a strange magnetism or force that allows you to forgive and forget a lot more than you usually would. Constantly desperate for his approval when really he should be begging for yours. You’d beg him to pay attention, accuse him of being distant and he would somehow always turn it back onto you - “You’re just so damn needy,” and “I can’t just rush off to see you when you want, I’m a busy boy Darlin’,” until he became exasperated; “Lord, stop naggin’ me woman.” You accepted it, in a way you wouldn’t from anyone else - you simply argued your case as much as you could, hung up the phone, sobbed, and then ran to him gladly when he offered you any scrap of attention. Why didn’t he like you enough to listen if he claimed to love you?

It’s not the girls at the concerts you worry about, throwing themselves up at him, clawing at him - that display of unwomanly desire is as unattractive to him as can be, entertaining rather than arousing, and you know that for him it really is all about putting on a good, memorable show for the audience. It is as much a part of his stage personality and persona as his jumpsuits are; women and girls go to see Elvis expecting to come home kissed.

It’s the afterparty girls you find difficult. It’s when you see, from across the room or even from right beside them, his hand inching up their thigh; when their legs tangle together, or he pulls their feet on his wide spread thighs that you start to feel like its wrong. You mind it less if you’re not there to see it, and you can tell Elvis knows this too - judging from how often you’re sent home to Memphis, only called back to Vegas every few weeks. Whenever you talk on the phone you ask him about the other girls - if there are any, if there’s anyone special. He always denies it and reminds you over the phone that “I’ve only got eyes for you little darling.” But that “a man’s got needs mama” or even, “I’m a polite boy baby, I can’t just shove em offa me!” And you agree - he can’t exactly shove girls off of him, but maybe he could just…invite them over less?

But really who knows what else he is supposed to do. It’s not like there’s a precedent for this, nor is he likely to listen to your suggestions. So you accept it all, simply as part of the price of being allowed to maintain rotation in his orbit.

But still it’s hard. Especially when it’s been days since you last had the chance to really see him, or spend any time with him and he’s sat there lapping up the attention from these goddamn groupies like a sultan with his harem. You can’t help but go cold to his advances, giving him one word answers when he deigns to talk to you across the room. You can tell you’re annoying him, he hates to be publicly defied especially from one of his women - from his main woman, and you can tell he’s chewing his cheek by the clench of his jaw when you respond again in words of one syllable. As if to annoy you further you watch him shift in his seat, spreading his legs further apart, and laughing as he tips his head back in response to whatever blondie to the right of him says. It causes the fabric of his trousers to go taught, and his neck muscles tighten - veins appearing to tense. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and you close your eyes for a second. He’s unfairly attractive like this, in fact, he’s blinding to look at and you can’t help but shift your thighs together.

When you open them he’s staring back at you. You inadvertently make eye contact and he winks. You forget for a second you’re angry at him, and can’t stop the heat rising up you. But then you watch his arm flex around the girl to the left of him and you regain your senses, looking away with a flick of your hair. You count to a hundred, pretending to keep the conversation up with Jerry while you wait to glance over again. When you look over again he’s whispering in her ear, and you can’t help but glare. He seems to sense you, and looks over her cheek to you. He leans back and nods to his dressing room door. You purposefully ignore him, turning back once again to Jerry. A second later you can hear movement behind you and Elvis’ voice rises above the noise of the conversations around you; “I’m sorry sugar, but I’ve got some business to see to.” Your ears are attuned to him, and you have no idea what the conversation you’re in is anymore, listening to hear what this business was and trying to judge from the sounds what his movements are from behind your back. A second later you don’t have to try and guess as his hand touches your elbow,

“Come on now darlin’ lemme borrow you for a sec.” You look at his hand on your elbow and your eyes narrow at him, but he’s looking at you like he’s daring you to say something, playfully half expecting you to make a scene. But that’s not your style and he knows it. You flick your head back around to Jerry and Charlie and say,

“Sorry guys, the ‘King’ called.” You add a sarcastic edge to your words and playfully roll your eyes. You turn around to head towards his dressing room and jump as Elvis’ hand connects with your ass - propelling you forward, he walks you towards the door laughing as the boys behind continue their conversation as if you were never there.

You pull away from him as soon as you’re on the other side of the door and look at him affronted when he shuts the door with a definitive click and turns around, practically leering at you and rubbing himself over his trousers.

“Oh, you must be joking.” You scoff, you can’t deny you’re almost always turned on around him, but you do have some level of self respect.

“Come on now baby, don’t be like that, thought you’d wanna help me out?” He pleads, looking at you hopefully.

“That fuckin’ groupie gets you all riled up and i’ve gotta be the one to deal with it.” You roll your eyes again, crossing your arms over your chest. He frowns,

“Well - if it’s such a chore don’t fucking bother.” He shrugs, and looks down at himself, “I’ll just….deal with it myself.” He rubs again before untucking himself from his trousers - his cock jumps when it hits the slightly chilly air, and you can see his foreskin tighten a little in response. He licks his palm ready to get himself going but pauses before he touches himself. He looks down, looking like a kicked puppy, “Never thought you’d wanna leave me like this though little mama,” he touches himself once, twice, starting to peel back his foreskin from his head, “please baby, help me out?” He’s talking in that utterly stupid baby voice of his, and even before the question is fully out of his mouth you know you’re going to give in, that you can’t resist him.

He practically whimpers a further. “Please baby? Please!” and you know you’ve had it. You’re incapable of denying him any further. You move as if he’s got you on strings, dropping to your knees in front of him. You can feel your wetness start to form - the response to this position is pavlovian at this point. You nod once,

“Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.” He looks down at you and winks, starting to gather up your hair in his hands to hold it away from your neck and face. He brushes a finger down your cheek and taps it against your lips,

“As if you had a choice.” Despite the slightly sinister statement you can’t help but find his confidence endearing and you giggle, already feeling better now that he had you alone. Proof that he chose you.

He’s always gentle at first, allowing you to lap at him, tiny kitten licks as you gaze up. This time is no different, you feel like you’ve been there for half hour, although its probably closer to three or four minutes by the time he starts to insistently push his head against your lips. He lets you control the pace for the moment and you obediently bob up and down on him. He looks down at you, his lips are in a little pouty grimace, and his pupils enlarged so that the clear blue of his eyes is barely visible. He’s clearly losing the battle at staying hands off, and this is even more true when a moment later you feel his grip on your hair tighten. He pulls you further, causing you to choke slightly before you adjust to the deeper motion and it doesn’t take long before he’s completely controlling the pace and depth.

He speeds up, his eyes slightly manic as he thrusts forward, fucking into your mouth even deeper and remaining deeper to match his quicker timing. He drops your hair and with one hand he holds the back of your head, while the other creeps around your shoulders and neck to rest on the base of your throat, his fingers gently wrapping around. He pulls you all the way off, and a trail of drool connects you before you lick your lips, his precum and your spit mixing into a bitter tasting foam. He nods at you and you take a deep breath, allowing him to pull you forward once more. You hollow your cheeks, and use all the techniques you have, swirling your tongue and humming, and it doesn’t take long before he’s pulling you tighter, harder and quicker, and after that barely any time at all his hips stutter and he’s releasing down your throat, his fingers stroking where he can feel you gulping it down.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He leaves you there, he’s normally very generous - but today he doesn’t even order you to touch yourself. It feels like he’s proving a point, that he gives you what you get. That you’re no different to him using the other girls who get him hard. There just for him to use you, get off. You feel frustrated, and hurt, and a tiny bit like a groupie or whore yourself. But, then he’s sweet as can be the next day - showing you off to reporters, planning a trip to Hawaii together and while you still feel slight unease at how you’ve been treated, you otherwise quickly forgive and forget.

——-

There’s a party at Graceland tonight, you’ve barely seen him and you huff as you fetch yourself another drink. He’s ‘holding court’ in the music room, playing to other’s requests when you head back to the kitchen. By the time you return he’s sat on that impossibly long sofa laughing and talking with the boys and girls on either side of him and mingling around the room. There’s nowhere for you to sit and you consider the floor for a second - but quickly realise that the place that puts you out of the way of people would put you directly at his feet. You hope he looks over at you, pushes the girl off who’s sat next to him to make room for you. But he doesn’t - instead you watch him lean over to whisper in her ear. You’re openly staring from the doorway now, as he cups her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss.. There’s raucous laughter in response from everyone else, and from the angle - when he opens his eyes mid-kiss - you make eye contact. He doesn’t even flinch when he notices you. He pulls back and pats the top of her head, she grins - clearly satisfied with herself - and he heaves himself up. Whether to go to you, or just to head out of the room in general you don’t know - by the time he’s stood up you’ve stormed out.

You take a few deep breaths in the slightly chilly outside air, and walk far enough away that you can look back upon the house. It’s shimmering slightly from the heat within, the windows are steamed up from the volume of people and you can see little plumes of smoke from the sheer number of cigarettes and cigars being consumed escaping into the night whenever the door gets open and closed. You’re not sure why it’s getting to you so much, but it’s like he’s trying to prove a point at the moment and you just have to accept it or find your limit. You can’t help but let a few tears escape, it’s humiliating, to be treated like that in Vegas or on the road is bad enough but in your own home is almost too much to bear. But maybe that’s the point - it’s not yours really, it’s his and you’re not your own person anymore, you’re his. You stand out there until you can feel a chill setting in and head back inside, slipping upstairs and past the groups of people without saying goodbye, and climbing into bed.

You don’t sleep, on edge waiting for him to come up, but you do feel yourself drowsing. When he does come up he ignores your body in bed in favour of the ensuite and by the time he reappears in his pyjamas you’re drowsing again. He slides in behind you and you almost inaudibly huff as he drapes an arm over your midriff, tucking a leg over yours. You huff louder, and pull away, turning around from him to face the other side of the bed. He tries to push up your nightgown and stroke your back but you reach your arm around to bat his hand away, you’re certainly not in the mood tonight. Not after his behaviour. “No Elvis. Not tonight. Not after you’ve had those girls all over you.” He pulls away and huffs.

“Come on darling, you’re being a bitch.” You roll over and pretend to be asleep. He ignores you.

The next morning you wake up and he’s gone but in his place, on his side of the bed, is a huge box. This isn’t rare - he often bought you presents, or left you clothing to be worn and normally you loved it. It wasn’t even because of the materialism of being bought the pretty things - the dresses and the jewellery; the shoes and the lingerie but rather the possession of it. Owning things he picked out for you with every expectation that you would, of course, be wearing it when he next saw you. Normally this gave you a thrill - he didn’t even need to write it on a note anymore. It was just understood that you would, when such a box appeared, be bedecked in an outfit that would loudly proclaim you as histo those in the know, if not the world. His flashy, expensive but very specific fashionable and feminine style obvious to everyone who knows him. You peek inside the box to see a flash of green sparkly knit fabric and a red jewellery box resting on top, undoubtedly containing something absurdly over the top and expensive that he expects to see you in. Not this time though. This time the dress can stay in the fucking box it arrived in and you’re going to wear your jeans and a top you bought all on your lonesome. You’re not even going to look at whats in the red box. You feel outraged that he thinks you’d simply forgive and forget his behaviour the night before because he bought you a present. It's even more humiliating than being so publicly embarrassed; the implication that you can be bought so easily.

You storm out of the bedroom once you’re dressed and your hair is brushed - it’s not styled, which would usually irk you (and him) but you’re honestly too riled up to care. The time for calm is over and you feel like you’ve been pushed to the edge too many times now. You burst into the den, the door slamming open, furious that you feel so out of control. So unlike yourself.

“El you can’t treat me like dirt and then try to buy me off.” He’s cut off in the middle of a take of a song. You can hear the recorder still whirring - that’s going on the tape forever. You’ll make them destroy this copy later, (or Elvis himself will you’re sure) he’s obsessive about keeping everything possible but its unlikely he’d want evidence of his lack of control of you here. The boys all turn to stare, their instruments faltering to a halt and Elvis spins around, before he’s even facing you you can tell he’s utterly furious. He’s practically shaking.

“-Get the fuck outta here!” He roars, pointing at the door; “fuckin’ hell what do you think you’re playing at?” he tugs at his hair in frustration and you cross your arms. If you leave now and he doesn’t follow you’ll lose what nerve you have. You can only imagine how you’d end up regretting your outburst, simpering apologies to him later if you left now.

“No.” You actually stamp a foot, and your brain is going fifty miles a second trying to regain your dignity, “No Elvis I won’t. I want you to listen to me.” He puffs out a short breath and starts to stalk towards you. Charlie puts his hand out onto his forearm, perhaps anticipating that with his temper and fury so high he might do something he’d later regret. But he’s unwilling to physically hold him back, and Elvis simply shakes his head at him and shrugs him off instead rushing forward and clutching the top of your arm.

“Turn that recording off!” He shouts as you struggle against him pulling you towards the door.

“Elvis! Let me go! Let go of me!” He uses your momentum of your struggle against him to almost trip you over, catching you across the waist and lifting you bodily out of the room. You continue to struggle, thrashing about in his arms as he lifts you up the stairs into the kitchen. He practically drops you when you reach the empty room and you attempt to jump away from him but he holds you steady with that same grip on your upper arm, swapping over to hold your wrist. He practically growls at you;

“Let’s go baby.” He drags you upstairs to his bedroom, despite your protestations, and slams the door behind himself.

“I ain’t about to have it out with you with all the boys lookin’ on in, like I can’t control my goddamn woman.” He leans in to sharply whisper at you and you laugh cruelly, finally managing to pull away.

“Maybe thats because you don’t have a woman to control Elvis. I ain’t been your woman in a long time! How can I be if you’re away all the time doing god knows what with god knows who! Or even being here and doing it!” His chest is heaving as he takes in your outburst. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Little girl, I’m not having the same argument with you twenty times over. We’ve already had this discussion and you’re really turning me the fuck up about it. I’ve got needs. I don’t know what you want me to say mama.” He’s clearly annoyed, but still trying to come across earnest - as if he doesn’t understand what’s angered you so much.

“I want you to say that you actually give a damn Elvis. That you give a damn about me. About how I feel about it. About how if you promise me there ain’t another girl that there ain��t another girl that the boys are whispering about.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“You’re not around all the time baby; I don’t know what you want me to say to you - I love you. That should be enough; why isn’t it enough for you? There ain’t no one I’d rather be with, it just ain’t always possible mama.” You absolutely can’t stand the glow that you immediately feel as he professes his love for you and it spikes your anger once again - since it comes attached to absolutely no attempt to deny his sheer infidelity.

“Well, you’re not around either, and it’s not a choice I make to not be there for you. Maybe I should do like you do - after all ain’t a woman got needs too?” You placed your hand on your hips, chest heaving at the volume you’d not realised you’d reached.

“Don’t you dare lil’ girl, I told you there wasn’t anyone else. Don’t threaten me like that. You won’t like what you get back.” He tuts and shakes his head, and you’ve no idea where your sudden boldness comes from;

“What? Afraid I’ll like them more?”

He roars at you, throwing himself at you, pulling your hands up. He shoves his lips on yours and you have no choice but to acquiesce to his tongue’s insistent demands that you open your mouth. He growls against your neck;

“I’m gonna make you see right now. Gotta show you, you belong to me lil mama. To me.” He pushes you down to your knees and it barely occurs to you to struggle. He’s gathering your hair in his hands - pulling it away from your face as you realise the argument’s clearly made him hard - the bulge in his trousers evident from your close angle. He pulls your head back with his grip on your hair and his other hand trails down your cheek to your neck, his fingers stretching around it. Just a presence there. You look up at him with wide eyes and a flushed face and he stares down at you.

“You’re gonna ‘pologise to me for messin’ with my work. And for accusing me of all that shit and you’re gonna do it right now.” Your mind is gone, his eyes somehow holding you captive and all you can do is nod. “Right then, get little Elvis out baby and get to it.” He nods down at you and you quickly grasp his meaning, your fingers shaking as you fumble through unbuttoning his trousers. He is, like usual, not wearing any boxers so there’s no other fabric barrier that you have to get to before you’re able to pull his cock out. He pulls you by your ponytail and you immediately kiss the head, licking the tip and down in long stripes. He allows this for a moment before taking the hand from around your throat to slap his dick against your cheek - before insistently nudging it against your lips. The moment it’s in your mouth he pulls you down on him, barely giving you time to catch your breath. He’s rougher than he usually is right from the start and it's a struggle to keep up.

You’re a mess of day old mascara and tears from your eyes watering, and spit and drool when he pulls out. Pulling you off of him entirely. He crouches in front of you and wipes at your face with his thumbs on each cheek before he pushes you backwards, although he supports your fall back with a hand under your neck - lowering you completely to the floor. He moves quickly to unbutton your jeans, tugging them down impatiently. It doesn’t occur to you to struggle, and while a little part of your brain is shouting at you to stop being stupid, that you’re losing the argument, that this wasn’t what you wanted to happen, a larger part can’t get over how good he looks in this moment - nor the anticipation of what you’re sure is going to be some pretty spectacular sex. “I hate you in these, baby.” You smile. That’s why you wore them.

“Oh,” He smirks back at you. “I get it. Tryin’ to prove a point huh?” He grasps the legs as they unroll past your ankles and yanks. You hear the tearing as they split straight down the seam. “Point made Darlin.” He’s infuriating. He pushes your panties to the side and circles your clit, rubbing down before pushing into the pooling wetness. He slides in one finger, and it slips straight in so he immediately pulls it out to add a second. He pumps them a couple of times, crooking his finger in just the right spot to make you jump around him, your hips grinding of their own accord. You whine when he pulls them out, shoving them into your mouth and he drags you back closer to him. His other hand steadying his dick and he slips his other out of your mouth to better support his body. He pushes in, you’re wet as anything but barely stretched and you can feel every inch of him as he pushes into you. He stills for a second as he bottoms out, and you shiver around him. He looks back at you, his eyes blazing and his hair flopping forward, out from where it was so carefully slicked back. He’s still mostly dressed and it feels so wrong to be able to feel his slacks and open shirt resting against your naked skin but you forget all about this when he pulls you almost all the way off and slams you back down. He thrusts like this once, twice and the noises that come out of your mouth are obscene, your eyes rolling back. “That’s r-right my t-t-tight lil woman,” he stills for a second to kiss you and you clutch at his shoulders for balance as you try to get closer to him. He tugs at your lip before working his way down, sucking onto your collarbone. The heat is building in you, and you can feel it in your thighs, your pulse jumping, but his slow rocking motion isn’t enough to get you properly close;

“El-Elvis, baby, baby, need you, need you to move.” You stutter out and feel his smirk against your neck. He then, if you didn’t know better, seems to lose control - his hips rocking in his signature way, as he fucks into you rapidly back and forth.

His bedroom carpet is plush and expensive but still isn’t particularly comfortable to be rocked against as your t-shirt rolls up but he seems completely uncaring to the comfort of your skin being rubbed raw, focussed on his fingers getting you off and fucking into you as deep as he can get. You claw into the carpet as he makes your back arch in pleasure as he pulls away and drags you back onto him. You can feel the bruises forming in the shape of his fingertips on your hips.

He’s out of breath with the exertion of the act and you can feel the sweat and heat coming off of him, as he thrusts so deeply it makes you choke as your head rocks forward. He lets out a breathless huff of laughter in response;

“That’s right darlin’ gonna make you feel it.” You moan, and he continues, “Only way to get it through that thick skull of yours is fucking it into you.” He slams into you, and you shake as the words and his motions push you over the cliff. He continues talking but you can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, and the noises coming out of your own mouth as you ride out the wave - his fingers and cock moving in the exact same way to coax you through it. He removes his hand and you feel like you can breathe again as you feel everything pulse around your core. He grips your thighs, “No-one else could fuck you like this, make you take it like this.” He punctuates his point with a rotation of his hips, pushing into you as much as he can - deeply rocking you, and you can feel his head knocking against your walls. You tremble, overstimulated from your brief orgasm a moment ago but still on the edge, “You think anyone else could make you feel like this?”

You rapidly shake your head, stuttering out a response, “No, no, nn-o.” He lets out a breathy, tiny gruff chuckle,

“No you’re damn right baby. They couldn’t.” You moan, can’t help yourself and you feel him jump inside you,

“Gonna knock you up darling, gonna make you mine forever.” and his hips stutter as you feel the pulse of his cum inside. You’re shocked at his announcement, but you feel yourself twitch in response and he goes to touch you again, feeling where the two of you join, his cock still inside, sliding his fingers up and down, and that’s apparently enough to send you over the edge again. When you come to he’s slipping his cock out of you, although he remains leaning over you to talk in your ear;

“You interrupt me workin’ again doll, with shit like this, and you’re out. You understand me girlie?” You nod again, it’s like you’ve been struck cock dumb - you can barely even remember what you were annoyed with him about. He rubs your stomach and places a light kiss on your neck, he murmurs against your skin; “You can’t be jealous if I’ve given you somethin’ no one else has.” He pulls away from you and redresses himself - well, pulls up his trousers and rebuttons his shirt. You lie there, panting, on the floor feeling his seed trickle out of you. He holds out a hand to you and it seems to take a lot of effort to take it, but you grasp his hand and he pulls you up in one tug. He holds you close and kisses you hard on the mouth, “Put your present on,“ he glances to the box on the bed, and you nod, “Knocked some goddamn sense into ya now, haven’t I.” He declares it proudly, satisfied that you seem to be meek in agreement with him, and you smile back at him unable to even deny that his fucking you has caused you to agree with him. You turn away from him to head into the bathroom, clean yourself up a little and you can finally talk again as you go, your voice scratchy, “Don’t worry Elvis baby, I ain’t all amped up still.” You can practically feel him smile.

“That’s good, honey, that’s real good.” He pauses, “If you can behave yourself you can come and join us, if you like, after you get yourself touched up.” You’re inspecting yourself in the mirror, responding with forced casualness,

“Course!” As you assess your body, still flushed and littered with tiny bruises, you crane around to look at your back and wince at the carpet burn evident there. You shake your head, what a ridiculous thing to have done, when the bed was right there. You hear him leave and take a shaky breath in - how are you gonna sort your hair from this clearly debauched state. You glance down, looking at his fingerprints on your hips and sides, and consider your stomach for a moment. You wonder if he truly has, in his anger, joined you together for eternity. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but on every other occasion he’s ensured you’ve taken every precaution, short of abortion. Should you douche? You jump suddenly as you hear him sprinting back into the room, as if he could hear your thoughts he bursts into the bathroom.

“Forgot to say mama,” He pauses and jabs his pointer finger at you, “you let that baby stick. It’s the only way to prove it to you. You let it be.” You start to protest,

“Honey, sweetheart, do you…do you really think we should be doing this? That we should?”

“You sayin’ you don’t want my baby, Sugar?” You lock eyes with him in the mirror and rapidly shake your head,

“No-no-no! No! Elvis, No! Of course I do! I just, is this the way it should be done?” He laughs,

“I don’t see how it makes the slightest bit of difference, we’ll have to go again, later, make sure - don’t see how we can tell which does the trick. Just that it’s done.” You turn to look at him properly,

“We-ell ok then Elvie baby, let’s do it.”

Later that night, when you’re sat watching a girl practically climb into his lap you feel a surge of pride - he glances over at you and winks - and you think, that's right have him for the second, but I’ve got what you really want; him all the time and his baby in my belly.

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction

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absurdthirst · 1 year ago

Text

Simple As That {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Internalized homophobia/bi-erasure, actually homophobia, mentions of cheating, divorce, anxiety, panic, self doubt, Marcus being the best

Comments: Telling your boyfriend that you're bisexual when Pride month comes around isn't easy, especially when a friend is going through a horrible time because of their own sexual identity.

A/N: Happy Pride Month! 🌈 I know that I've had my own moments of panic and self-erasure and I'm sure a lot of you have as well. Be authentic to yourself. Live, laugh, love whoever you wish. Just know that I love you for who you are.

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You’ve talked yourself out of this conversation for so long, you wonder if it’s even necessary. After all, what does it matter? You are with a man who is bright, funny, thoughtful and caring. One who is empathetic to your hectic life, because he has his own full plate, and never seems to mind when you just don’t have the social battery to go out. He even asks if you have the energy to let him take care of you, or if he should spend the night at his own apartment. In short, Marcus Pike is perfect.

Still, guilt hangs over you like a shroud, weighing you down and making you bite your lip when the topic is brought up or even represented on tv. Like there is a big neon sign flashing over your head that screams ‘LIAR!!’ in a pink, blue and purple hues.

You tell yourself that it doesn’t matter if you're bisexual. You are in a relationship with a man. Even though younger you would be completely pissed off by the fact that you are self-erasing a part of yourself that seemed so central to who you are.

You’re scared. You can admit that. You’ve seen how some of your friends' relationships have imploded when their sexuality was used against them. Hell, even now, Anthony’s marriage is dead, going through the nastiest divorce that you’ve ever seen with Charlotte accusing him of sleeping with every single one of his friends. Apparently the gym was code for a gang bang in the locker room, and he called her ‘Charlie’ because he wanted to pretend his wife was a man. It didn’t matter that she was the one who offered that nickname when they met three years ago, it was being used against him now as some sort of weird, homophobic proof of his infidelity.

Personally, you think she’s crazy and it was unlikely that the marriage would have lasted even five more years, but the viciousness of her accusations managed to dig into you. Permeate under your skin when you had heard what she had accused him of, how immediately Anthony was untrustworthy around anyone and everyone, all because he was bisexual. The fact that she had known this before they got married was irrelevant. It mattered now and it was crushing your friend.

Tapping your nail on the desktop calendar, you try to ignore the date. June first. The beginning of Pride Month. A month to celebrate who you are authentically. This month is different from the rest since you have gotten serious with a gorgeous FBI agent with a boyish smile.

Instead of some kind of Pride event, you’ve penciled in a date with him. Knowing that he will be eager to see you since the latest case had taken him out of town for nearly two weeks. Two weeks of self doubt and second guessing. Two weeks of dealing with the fallout of Anthony’s marriage crumbling, since he is sleeping on your couch - even though it’s ironic she’s not accusing him of sleeping with you. Two weeks of deciding that you should never tell Marcus about that side of yourself and then chastising yourself in the same single breath.

It doesn’t matter if you never kiss another girl again. Never sleep with one. That Marcus is the only person that you are intimate with for the rest of your life. You are bisexual. You are sexually and romantically attracted to both men and women. It doesn’t matter that on the outside you appear as a heteronormative couple, you’re not. Because you’re not. To deny that would be to deny a huge part of yourself.

You sigh softly and consider canceling. Hiding away for the next few days, hell, maybe even the entire month. Just so you don’t have to be out with Marcus around the flags or the events that were planned throughout the city for the entire month. Pretending it doesn’t exist.

Your phone lights up, buzzing as a picture of Marcus pops up. It was one that you had snapped while he was trying, and failing to cook dinner about a month ago. Looking adorably flustered, it had become his contact picture and it makes you smile every time you see it.

You smile this time too, but it’s a nervous smile. Picking up the phone and trying to ignore the way that your stomach rocks and rolls like the waves of a turbulent sea, you answer. “Hey, babe.” You hum, hoping you sound completely normal to your boyfriend.

“Hey.” Marcus always sounds like he’s excited to hear your voice, the warm, buttery sound of his greeting relaxing you a bit and making the smile turn a bit brighter. “I just landed and wondered if I could come over.”

It’s completely Marcus to want to drop everything and rush over to see you. Despite the fact that he might be exhausted from traveling, or working nonstop over the two weeks. Only one of the reasons that he didn’t know about your houseguest. You hadn’t wanted to talk to him about it over the phone since you couldn’t see his face. Watch his eyes as you explain.

“How about I come to your place?” You ask, glancing back at the little flag that Anthony had stuck in your pen organizer. The lines of the damn thing mocking you, although you know why he is stubbornly being prideful about Pride month this year. “We can relax, and you can sleep in your own bed for the first time in two weeks.” Although you might not be sleeping beside him.

Marcus groans, and you can tell that he likes that idea. “I’ll pick up some take out on the way home.” He agrees quickly, so you know that he was offering to come over simply because he felt like it was the right thing to do. “See you in half an hour?”

“Half an hour.” You agree, ending the call and trying not to feel sick about something that should be so easy. It’s not, but you need to tell him.

****

“I’ve really missed you.” Marcus leans in to kiss you softly. Food consumed and he looks infinitely more relaxed after a quick shower and tossing on some of his oldest, comfiest sweats. Leaning into you on the couch and you can see that spark of desire in his eyes. It’s easy to see and you bite your lip, determined to tell him before anything else happens tonight.

“Anthony’s getting divorced.” You blurt out, making him pause as he leans in. “He’s been staying on my couch for the past two weeks.”

“Shit.” Marcus frowns and leans back, his brows pulled in slightly and he sighs. “Is he okay? What happened?”

You don’t want to tell him the details, knowing that it’s not your place to say anything to him about Anthony’s sexuality since you don’t know if it’s ever been brought up before with Marcus around. He knows your friends and likes them, but it’s not like everyone is talking about who they are attracted to. Everyone is in committed relationships except for a few who are serial daters. “They- Charlie thinks Anthony is cheating.”

Marcus’ eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Damn.” He huffs. “I hope that’s not true, I doubt it is, from what I gathered, he seemed pretty damn committed to Charlie.”

“He is- was.” You correct. “But there’s no going back now. Not with what’s been said.” It was sad, the things that were hurled at him in anger or spite and you know it hurt him a lot. “He’s staying on my couch.”

“Okay.” Marcus nods quickly, reaching out and rubbing your arm. “Let me know if I can help in any way. Or…” He shrugs slightly. “I do have another bedroom. He can crash here instead of your couch.” He offers. “No offense to the sofa, it’s comfortable, but a bed is more comfy.”

You smile, shrugging slightly and nod. “I’ll tell him about your offer. It’s sweet, but he might say no.” You hum and Marcus tilts his head curiously but doesn’t ask why. He’s good about not prying. Especially for an FBI agent.

“It’s available.” Is all he offers before he scoots closer to you. “So I want to take you out.” He starts. “But I wanted to make sure that it was okay before I surprise you with it.”

That’s unusual for Marcus. He tends to like grand gestures and this makes you look at him curiously. “Oh?”

“There’s an event this weekend. And I always go to it every year and I was wondering if you would come with me.” He tells you, keeping his dark eyes on yours and you feel the dread that has been in your stomach all afternoon start to slowly ebb under the weight of his soft expression.

“What’s that?” You wonder if it’s some kind of work event. Or even a marathon. Marcus has been groaning about needing to start running again. Apparently he has been running marathons every year, at least one, since he was in college. The beer runs had turned into more respectable 5 and 10ks.

“Pride.” Marcus ventures, his brows raising up and he looks a little nervous. “There’s a pub crawl this weekend and I just always go to something, and I thought that it might not be as….large as the parade and I thought you might like to go…and if you don’t, that’s okay, but-” Marcus is rambling, something that you notice that he does when he is worried about what you might say so he feels the need to provide more details or arguments that back up his ‘case’ so to speak.

Your own sense of having water poured over your head washes over you and you reach out. “Marc.” Touching his hand makes him freeze mid rambling sentence and you let the silence hange between you for a moment. You don’t ask a question, but you’re sure that your eyes are begging him to explain.

“I just- I thought you might like to go since, well, yeah.” He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I thought that since you are bisexual, you might like to go? Unless you don’t celebrate pride and your boyfriend is being incredibly insensitive? If that’s the case, I’m so sorry.”

“You know?” Your eyes widen and abject horror is probably spreading across your features even though you can’t even feel anything other than your thundering heart. “H-how do you know?” Who told him, how did he find out? Did he go through your phone one night to find the small stash of porn you had saved for those nights when you wanted to think about a woman. Fantasy isn’t cheating, you’ve always believed that, and you know that Marcus has his own porn habit, but how does he know?

Marcus frowns, confusion clouding his face and he shakes his head. “I- was I not supposed to know?” He asks quietly, his hand sliding back to rest on the back of the sofa to give you space if you needed it.

“I just don’t- who told you?” You don’t feel like any of your friends have said anything, but who knows? Your stomach feels like every bite of your dinner is going to come up.

His look of confusion deepens and he shakes his head. “Babe…..you told me.” He tells you, completely confused as to why you seem so upset.

“I told you?” You demand, voice creeping up. “When did I tell you?”

“Our first date.” He shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Babe, what’s wrong?” He asks, obviously confused over your reaction to this conversation.

“I didn’t tell you on our first date.” You argue. “I would never just come out and say ‘oh by the way, I’m bisexual’.” You know that you’re getting emotional, but you can’t help yourself. You’ve been torturing yourself for a long time about this.

“Woah, babe.” Marcus raises his hands and speaks soothingly. “I’m not understanding. On our first date, you told me about breaking up with ‘Sam’.”

“Sam is a boy’s name.”

“You called her Samantha at one point during the story.” He tells you.

Your mouth drops open because Sam was Samatha and you hadn’t even noticed the little slip of the tongue. But he apparently had. “Oh.”

He doesn’t try to make you feel dumb, instead he just waits for you to speak again.

“Why do you go to pride?” You ask quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

Marcus gently cups your chin, tilting your head so you are looking at him again. Smiling softly at you, no judgment in his eyes. “Because I’ve had a lot of friends who are in the community and it’s important for me to support them.” He explains. “Just like it’s important for me to support my girlfriend.”

“Simple as that?” You ask, surprised that he doesn’t have questions, hasn’t questioned you about this before now or voiced doubts about your sexuality or faithfulness. Although maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. Marcus is a very thoughtful, rational man. Suddenly you don’t feel anxious at all, a little sheepish for your internal crisis, but the anxiety has melted away into utter affection for the man in front of you.

“Simple as that.” Marcus promises, leaning in to kiss you softly.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike the mentalist #happy pride 🌈#pride 2023

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