#might edit tomorrow; I wanted to post this tonight

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 1

Week 1: Start of something new & Girls night in/out

"Sunshine battled her curls back from her face, put on her most obliging smile, and thanked Lucifer below that human noses couldn’t smell fear." Sunshine is staying back at the Abbey while the others leave on tour. Anxieties about her new job, goodbye kisses, and a final Girls Night in.

Sunshine x Cirrus x Cumulus x Aurora Content: Light angst, hurt/comfort (pre-tour goodbyes) Rating: general Words: 2274

A huge thank you to @jesusbutbetterrr et al. for organising the ghoulette appreciation weeks!

Read below or on AO3!

Sunshine battled her curls back from her face, put on her most obliging smile, and thanked Lucifer below that human noses couldn’t smell fear.

Lifetime job security Imperator had said (although who’s lifetime was anyone’s guess) if she and Aether stayed at the Abbey while the band was on tour. A guaranteed spot topside for the whole pack, for as long as they wanted it, in exchange for several months separation while they trained the influx of new clergy members at the Abbey. Ahead of her first day, Sunshine couldn’t help but wonder how unpleasant this job was going to be.

She was in charge of administration training, which mostly meant teaching young new clergy how to fill out tax forms and change typewriter ribbons, while Aether was training medics in both human and ghoul ailments for the infirmary. What Sunshine suspected this meant however was doing five times the paperwork she normally did, as well as acting as Sister Imperator’s personal dogsbody and scapegoat.

Sunshine forced a smile in the mirror, trying to project an air of confidence beyond her small stature, and smoothed down the front of her uniform shirt. This is all for the pack she told herself, begging the butterflies in her stomach to settle down at the thought of her first day ahead.

She ran a fingertip along the golden barrette in her hair, a farewell gift from the ghoulettes, then pressed it to her lips. That was the best she was going to manage for a good luck kiss today.

She thought back to the last kisses she had shared with the ghoulettes in the early hours of the previous morning. She and Aether had waved the band off on the bus, and used every shred of their collective willpower not to sprint down the driveway after them. The girls had stayed up all night before leaving, declaring such little sleep pointless, and having their final Girls Night in what would be an achingly long time.

They’d pulled out all the stops to try and compensate for the coming months of separation. Sunny knew they could call and see each others’ faces, but their solid presence and smell would be irreplaceable once apart. They’d sat around on Cumulus’ plush bed in pyjamas, drinking monstrously large hot chocolates and watching their collective favourite movie, all curled into each other in a tangle of legs and tails. They tried hard to distract themselves from the impending alarm on Cirrus’ phone which would pull the three touring ghoulettes away from Sunshine.

When the phone began chiming, it sounded like a death knell to Sunshine. Around her, the three ghoulettes began grumbling and stumbling towards their bus loungewear neatly laid out on the desk, Aurora’s idea to maximise their time together before leaving. Their suitcases were packed and lined up in the hallway outside for the same reason.

Sunshine looked up at them from the bed with a stricken look on her face and tears pre-emptively filling her eyes. Now the time for them to leave was here, it seemed impossible that she would survive their absence. Cirrus noticed the second her head popped back out of her hoodie, and she rushed back to Sunny with hands outstretched. She grasped the smaller ghoulette’s in hers, calloused fingers stroking over her knuckles, and pulled her to her feet and into her embrace.

“I changed my mind Riri, I don’t think I can do this anymore!” Sunshine hiccupped, failing at keeping her voice steady.

“My precious Sunbeam, you’re being so brave. You’ll manage splendidly without us, those new Siblings are going to be eating out of your pretty hand within a week!” Cirrus rubbed her back soothingly. “And besides, you’ll have Aether for company, I’ve got to wrangle the five boys without him!” she joked weakly, trying her best to make Sunny smile. She had a little success.

“I’m gonna miss you so much…” she sniffed, trying not to make a mess of Cirrus’ sweater. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Of course I will Sweetheart, every chance we get.”

The pair stayed swaying together for as long as they could spare while Sunshine tried her best to steady her breathing, before pulling back slightly to look into Cirrus’ slate grey eyes.

“Can I give you your goodbye kiss here? I don’t think I’ll let you leave otherwise.”

“Oh my sweet girl, I’ll miss you every second I’m away from you” Cirrus’ normally composed demeanour seemed on the verge of shattering too, as she leaned down to capture Sunny’s lips with her own. Eventually they had to separate, Cirrus running a finger along Sunshine’s jaw as though to memorise the shape.

As Cirrus reluctantly moved to finish dressing, Aurora approached with a small wrapped gift.

“We got you this, Sunny. So whenever you miss us you can remember how much we love you.”

Sunshine unwrapped the small parcel, revealing a shining gold hair clip. A sun, moon, star and cloud decorated the metal, one symbol for each of the ghoulettes.

“It’s beautiful, Starlight, thank you!” Sunny clipped it into her fringe, before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the tiny multi ghoulette’s lips. She tasted like the strawberry chapstick she used so often, that Sunshine definitely hadn’t also bought for herself while they were away. Despite Aurora only being topside for a short time, she and Sunshine had become fast friends, and quickly more, so it felt like a cruel injustice that they were being separated so soon into their relationship.

Finally, Sunshine turned to Cumulus, who was faring the worst of all at holding in her tears. She always got anxious before tours, and not having the cheery ghoulette next to her on stage to ground her was a change she was apprehensive about.

“Please don’t cry Lulu!” Sunshine wiped Cumulus’ cheek gently with her sleeve. “You’ll be back before you know it!”

“Everything’s going to be different though Sunny, what if the congregation don’t like the changes? What if they don’t like Rory and Tommy?”

“They’re going to love them, and they’re going to love you. Papa won’t let anyone say anything bad, you know how protective he is about his ghouls.”

Cumulus sniffled in acknowledgement, her froth of lavender-scented hair tickling Sunshine’s nose.

“Cheer up, my little stormcloud! You’ll be back before you know it. Take lots of photos for me okay?”

Cumulus nodded sadly, and gave Sunny a wan smile. “Can I have my goodbye kiss now?”

“Of course you can darling.” Sunshine kissed Cumulus sweetly, savouring the softness of her lips.

When they eventually pulled apart, Cirrus was waiting with Cumulus’s shoes to put on.

“Time to go I’m afraid girls, bus call is in ten minutes.”

The mood sombre, the four ghoulettes slumped along the corridor out of the ghoul wing and to the main entrance of the Abbey, Cumulus never letting go of Sunshine’s hand. Swiss and Phantom were already there, the latter almost vibrating in their excitement.

“Mornin’ all. You good to get going? Driver’s already got the side of the bus open for luggage if you want.”

“Thanks Swiss.” said Cirrus, “Any sign of the others yet?”

“Dew and Aether are making out like the world’s ending, Mountain’s making a giant flask of coffee for the road, and Rain’s still packing.”

“So no rush to get going after all then.” Cirrus rolled her eyes, before grabbing her and Cumulus’ suitcases and heading out to the bus with Aurora.

“How’re you holding up, Sunny? Ready for some peace and quiet?” Swiss flashed a toothy grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes, revealing the poorly-masked concern in them.

“Been better.” she shrugged, “I’ve got Aeth to keep me company at least.”

Swiss nodded comfortingly, and held his arms out for a hug. Cumulus finally let go of her hand so Sunshine could be swept into his warm embrace, inhaling the comforting incense and black pepper scent of her first friend topside.

When he finally released her, they could now see Mountain lumbering down the hall, an oversized thermos in one hand and his suitcase in the other. He grunted a greeting to the assembled ghouls, and slouched out to the bus to drop off his bag.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Aurora joked as she passed him coming back into the relative warmth of the Abbey. She soon struck up a conversation with Phantom about what they were looking forward to on their first tour, and where they were looking forward to visiting.

Shortly before Copia’s designated meeting time, the man himself arrived, clutching an even more comically large flask.

“Good morning my ghouls, glad to see you made it at this ungodly hour!” He took a swig of his coffee, shuddering at the taste. Good morning Papa chorused the assembled ghouls. “It seems we are not all here yet though, hmm?”

As he spoke, Rain came trotting down the corridor, suitcase clearly bulging at the seams.

“Good morning!” He chirped, “I’m not late am I?”

“Not the latest.” Swiss rolled his eyes. “Who’s volunteering to go and requisition our blond beauty from The Beast’s chambers?”

Several pairs of eyes shifted to look at Mountain. He huffed out a sound that was bordering on a growl, and slouched off back down the corridor. Not even a minute later, an angry roar echoed back towards the assembled pack, making Copia wince and Swiss and Cirrus chuckle.

Mountain returned dragging a squirming Dew, hissing and spitting furiously like a feral cat, with one arm and an equally mad Aether whose anger was emanating from him in dark wafts with the other. He pulled Dew’s suitcase along behind them with his tail.

“Uh, good morning Dewdrop, Aether. R-right then, everyone onto the bus?” suggested Copia nervously, the ghouls’ infernal anger affecting even the dark Pope himself. Cumulus patted his arm reassuringly and tried to ignore how he flinched at her inhuman touch.

After a final heated kiss, Dewdrop was eventually coerced out of Aether’s arms and onto the bus by Rain and Swiss, closely followed by Mountain and Phantom after saying their own goodbyes to the ghouls remaining behind. That left just the ghoulettes and Aether stood in the entryway.

After each giving Aether – who was still emitting a distressed void-like smoke – a brief hug, the ghoulettes said their final goodbyes to Sunshine.

“I promise to try and live up to your reputation Sunny.” said Aurora. “Gonna make sure the congregation appreciate us ghoulettes just as much as those silly boys and their bickering up front!”

“If anyone can do that, it’s you Rory.” Sunshine smiled. Aurora could command a stage like no ghoul she’d ever seen before. “I can’t wait to see videos!” She hugged the smaller ghoulette tightly, and placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Take care Sunny, we’re so proud of all you’re doing for us and the pack!” Cirrus gave Sunshine a final hug and brief kiss on her cheek, and she immediately felt the tears from earlier pricking at her eyes again. She wouldn’t let them fall this time, she was determined that the ghoulettes not leave for the tour with her tearstained face as the last thing they saw.

Finally Cumulus stepped forward, her tears already falling silently, shining like diamonds on her cheeks. Sunshine kissed them away as they fell.

“Be brave for me little cloud, and I’ll be brave for you”

Cumulus nodded in response, saying all she needed to with her eyes alone. She knew if she tried to speak it would only result in more tears. She pressed one last kiss of her own to Sunshine’s cheek, and pulled away, Cirrus and Aurora each taking one of her hands in theirs.

The trio made their way onto the bus, and Sunshine reached out for Aether’s hand as the doors hissed shut behind them. In the early morning twilight, the faces of their beloved pack were clear as they looked back at them through illuminated windows.

In a chorus of Love You and Good Luck and a flurry of frantic waving, the bus accelerated down the driveway, leaving Sunshine and Aether alone on the front step in the chilly air of the early morning. As it turned a final corner and the last glimmer of headlights vanished from view, Sunshine allowed the tears to fall. Turning into Aether’s arms, she saw he was equally affected.

The pair sobbed in each others arms in the doorway to the Abbey, until the cold forced them back inside. Sunshine couldn’t differentiate the shivers from the sobs at this point. They ended up curled around each other in front of the fire in the common room under one of Cumulus’ crocheted blankets, eventually falling back to sleep and waking up when the embers burned low around midday. They had been granted the day off from all duties ahead of their new roles tomorrow, Sunshine suspected this was Copia’s doing.

They spent the day in a daze, orbiting each other like lost planets. When they eventually decided to settle for the night it was separately; each wanting the solace to absorb the scents of their mates’ nests before it faded completely.

Sunshine slept fitfully, her face buried in a pillow that smelled of Cumulus’ shampoo, the taste of Aurora’s chapstick on her lips and the feel of Cirrus’ silky pyjamas against her body. The hair clip they had gifted her sat on the bedside table, her uniform hung on the wardrobe door. Tomorrow she would start her new job and the pack would have their first Ritual. This was the start of something new, for all of them.

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

yell at me if u see me on here now goodbye FOREVER (for the rest of the day)

[alo-officialgf]

the drafts are drafting 🫨

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[bookished]

( a collection of drunken confessions dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"You know, I always look for you in every crowd. Even when I pretend I don’t care, I do. So much."

"If I fall off this roof, it'll be your fault. Because you keep making my heart do stupid things."

"You know, I only came here tonight because I heard you’d be here. How ridiculous is that?"

"No, no, you don’t understand. I would actually choose you over fries. And I really love fries."

"I might regret this after the hangover, but right now, I need you to know that… being with you feels like home."

"This is probably just the drinks, but if I don’t say it now, I might never. You mean everything to me."

"You’re like… my favorite person to get in trouble with. I don’t want to do it with anyone else."

"I only come to these late-night study sessions because I know you’ll be here. Pathetic, right?"

"I know this isn’t the place, and I might not even remember this tomorrow, but… I like you. Like, a lot."

"The real reason I never bring anyone else to these things? Because they’re not you."

"I’ve had enough of watching you talk to everyone else. Maybe I want all your attention tonight."

"I might be a little tipsy, but I’m not too drunk to know that I want you… in a way I probably shouldn’t."

"I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want this moment to end, because I’m not ready to leave you yet."

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Golden Walkway

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader (Reader is a teacher in Jackson, has long hair.) Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: It’s your birthday, Joel takes you out to the Tipsy Bison, kisses (and does more to) you in the rain, and takes you home to give you a gift (it's sex, the gift is sex). Also, the thought of Joel spitting whiskey in someone's mouth happened and I had to write it out. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Warnings: smut, drinking, consent first, degradation second, followed by so much praise, hair pulling, spitting, Joel calls you a slut, fingering against a brick wall, F receiving oral, I watched that doggy style Narcos gif (for research) a lot, unprotected p in v, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), Joel’s canon age, Reader’s in her 30’s. Words: 4,300 A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first published fic. I'm currently working on a grander scale fic with these two, I hope to have the first chapter out within the next couple of weeks. I just really wanted to get this out there! Thanks for reading and a big thank you to @ohheypedrito for all of her help and also to our phones for not overheating when I send 40 texts at once with ideas for fics. Hope you enjoy, can't even blame the feralness of this on the full moon.

Edit: I posted the Masterlist for Elks, my work these two are included in.

***

“Was turning 21 as fun as they’d show in movies back then?” You’re cuddled in next to Joel on his couch sketching in your notebook while Joel reads a book about Native Americans that you found him. You always do this, a random question or thought to break the comfortable silence.   

“Not for me, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and split it on my porch with Tommy. Sarah was only a toddler then and I had work in the morning. Didn’t have the money or the time to go to a bar. ‘Course I don’t think a lotta people did anything the way they’d show in the movies.”

“I always wanted to have my 21st birthday at a bar, ya’ know? Wait until the clock strikes midnight and order a weird named shot.”

“Well, I reckon we could do that at the Bison tomorrow night. Might not be your 21st but I’ll get you whatever you want to drink, and the best part is you can drink before midnight.” Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your forehead, “What do you say, let me take you out for your birthday sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” you sigh into his shoulder, “sounds amazing.”

“Wear that little blue dress I know you have hanging in your closet.”

The drinks flowing through you making you downright giddy, alcohol making you bolder, your body and your inhibitions becoming looser, your hands becoming addicted to touching Joel, first his leg, then his thigh, now his lower stomach, right at his waistband. You haven’t been this tipsy in a long time, your face feeling flushed and red more from your desire than any drink you’ve had tonight.

“You better knock that off before I take you outside in the rain and fuck you against the building, darling,” Joel huffs into your ear. His fiery warning massaging your neck causing your heart rate cooled by your inebriation to pick up. 

“Sooo, keep going?” You slur back. 

“If that’s what you really want,” Joel puts a forceful squeeze on your upper thigh, a layer of your dress laying between his skin and your skin. If you weren’t both sitting at the bar, and maybe in one of the more darker corners of the saloon you’d surely hike your skirt up and let him learn just how bad you want him.

It feels so good to let go with him, to giggle openly at his jokes, stare at his profile as he talks with a friend or two who stop by to say hello, or place your hand on his broad back just because you want to touch his soft blue denim shirt. 

You watch as his tongue darts out and licks the leftover whiskey off his top lip, Joel’s movements becoming a little slower thanks to the amber liquid he’s been drinking all night. Some droplets glisten on his mustache, you fight every urge inside yourself to not lean over and lick them up. 

“It’s what I want,” you respond as you move your hand back and forth across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about ready to throw you over my shoulder and run home,” Joel says as he takes your hand into his and pulls it away.

“Not so fast. You told me you’d fuck me in the rain, that’s what I want for my birthday,” you whisper into his ear with a breathy giggle.

“Can’t fuck you out here in public. Small town ‘n all, but I’ll make you feel good,” Joel takes a last swig of his drink, puts the glass down and knocks his fist on the bar to let the bartender know you two are leaving. He leans forward and drawls into your ear, “Now finish your drink if you want me to show you just how happy of a birthday I can give you.” 

You nod and gulp your drink down. You’re so wet, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on before. Joel grabs your arm with the perfect amount of pressure, you’ve never been so happy to get outside into the pouring rain. 

——

It’s absolutely storming outside, your footsteps sloshing in the puddles on the ground. The rain pelting your’s and Joel’s bodies as you walk through late night Jackson. It feels like you’re the only two people in the whole town as you make your way farther away from the bar. The bulbs of the string lights reflecting off the water gathering on the sidewalks making your path towards Joel’s house golden. You don’t rush, the two of you not scared away by the downpour, the drops cooling your burning skin. Joel turns down the street before his, pulling you behind one of the storage buildings, it’s darker back here, practically pitch black thanks to the rain clouds blocking the moon and the nearest light source being three buildings down. You’re pushed up against the brick, Joel’s hand gently cradling your head to block it from hitting the wall, he’s such a gentleman. 

“Happy birthday baby, I need you to tell me you want this, ‘n you’re okay with this, I have plans for you and I need you to tell me you want it.” Joel instructs you, all you can see is his eyes and the faint lines of his facial hair, the rest of him camouflaged by the darkness surrounding the two of you. 

“I want it, more than anything. Please,” your voice straining as you beg. 

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Joel speaks into your slack mouth as he rubs his arched nose against yours. 

“I want you to have your way with me,” you moan against his wet shirt, “so bad.”

“Good girl, now, m’not gonna fuck you here, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and I need to have you in my bed tonight.” Joel starts to move his hand down your body lifting the hem of your dress. “But, you are going to cum for me right here.” Joel captures your mouth with his. His hand starts to trace the outline of your panties, you mew out a cry as his fingers slip through and begin to pet you right where you ache the most. His hands are so big, his fingers so long and thick, always putting the right amount of pressure, moving the way you need him to move. Joel Miller is a capable man, everyone knows that, but nobody, except for you, knows just how capable he is. 

Joel sticks a finger in you, though his finger is thick and feels so good, you need more to fill you. 

“Another,” you instruct in between fevered kisses. Your pussy clenches as Joel pushes another finger in you. “Yessss,” you moan out against his lips.

“That’s my good girl, gotta get you stretched out f’me.” Joel begins to kiss his way down your chin and neck stopping at your chest, your hard nipples jutting through your wet dress. Joel takes one into his mouth, sucking the fabric and your tit deeper into his mouth. The sloppy wet sounds of Joel’s suctions making you want him more.

“Another finger,” you shudder out. “Three? You really want it tonight, don’t you?” Joel mumbles against your chest as he sticks a third finger in. It burns, it burns in the best way. You’re ready for him, it’s what you’ve been waiting for all night. You bite down on your lip as your legs begin to shake, Joel can tell you’re right on the edge and twists his fingers inside of you as he finger fucks you harder. 

Your orgasm bursts forward your whole body going stiff as you try not to wail out into the night.

“That’s iiiiiit baby,” Joel pulls his fingers out of you and softly pets your pussy from hole to clit.

He removes his hand from between your legs bringing it up between the two of you resting his finger tips against your lips, you open your mouth and begin to lick. His tongue meeting yours as you both clean his thick digits covered in you. He takes his hand away leaving just your mouths to taste each other. His kiss turns tender, your kiss turns desperate.

Joel pulls away resting his forehead against yours. “My beautiful birthday girl. Let’s get you home, my gift’s not done.”

——

Your body practically chills with the promise of what is left to come. Joel grabs your hand and you take it depending on him to lead you to his home. Every step you take you feel your wet core heavy with lust, you’re soaked from the rain and from Joel, if you could drown like this, you would go down with the sinking ship. His house comes into view, your body tingling in anticipation at the site as the both of you speed your footsteps up in perfect agreement. 

He throws open the gate, you’re following so close you almost trip on his heels making your way up the walkway and steps. He fumbles for his keys and unlocks the doors, you take the opportunity to run your hands all over his back and sides, rubbing the wet cloth of his shirt as it molds to his body. The door swings open and you both shuffle into his living room gasps escaping your mouths, both out of breath from your dash home and your mutual want for each other. You step out of your wet shoes and shake your hair out. 

“Take your dress off, right now.” Joel huffs out as he tosses his keys on the console table and begins to kick his boots off. 

You strip yourself of your baby blue frock as fast as you can. You’ve never had a reason to wear such a revealing piece of clothing. You don’t know why you held onto it, let alone grabbing it from the communal clothing rack, never thinking anything, or anyone, would be worthy enough for you to dress up for. Joel’s worthy, so worthy. 

“Feel like I’m a little underdressed here…” your words grab Joel’s attention as he moves his hands up to his chest to begin to unbutton his denim shirt. He gets one button taken care of before he rips it open. Shame, it’s your favorite shirt, you'll have to fix it for him later. You watch as a button rolls underneath a table, before you can note where it lands, your attention turns back to Joel to find him stepping out of his jeans and underwear leaving him completely naked. 

What a sight, what a fucking sight. There’s only a lamp on in the room, Joel’s body being cast in amber color and shadow, one side of him on full display glowing in the light, the other more difficult to discern. He moves forward stalking you. “Now I’m the underdressed one here. Take them off for me,” he says as he moves to pick up a bottle of whiskey from his shelf. 

You follow his instructions shucking your underwear down your legs and leaving them pooled at your feet. 

“Good girl,” Joel says as he begins to walk towards you unscrewing the lid off the bottle. He stands in front of you and takes a drink. “Open your mouth,” he orders as he grabs your hair and tips your head back. He takes another pull from the bottle, this time he raises his mouth over your mouth and begins to dribble drips of whiskey down from his mouth into yours. A moan raises from your throat, causing Joel to tighten his hold on your hair and arch your head back even more. He spits the rest of the whiskey straight into your mouth, you happily swallow his spit and liquor down. He unwinds his hands from your hair, takes another drink and kisses you, the whiskey and his tongue spilling into your mouth. Joel pulls back and takes his last swig before resting the bottle on the table. “Get upstairs.”

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life, tripping over your feet as you rush your way up, Joel’s naked form hunting you like prey up each step.

The sight of Joel’s bed brings a new wave of goosebumps to your skin. 

“Bend over on the bed darlin,” Joel turns on a lamp in the corner and pulls it closer. “Need to lick and fuck you with my tongue.” 

You move over to Joel’s side of the bed and bend forward, your ass sitting high in the air and your face in the sheets, you inhale the smell of Joel on his sheets. You swing your hips in giddy anticipation of what’s about to happen. 

You feel his body lean over yours, his erection laying over your lumbar. “Okay baby, once again, need you to tell me you’re good with me having my way with your body,” he tempts into your ear. 

“Fuck, y—yes, fuck, of course I am good. So good.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s heavy body lifting off of yours as he kneels between your legs. You feel his hot breaths on you where you’re aching for him the most, you widen your stance egging him on to touch you. “Look at you,” Joel licks your thigh, “so fuckin’ wet you’ve spilled out into your thighs.” 

You scream a pleasured yell as Joel’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your thigh and sucks your skin into his mouth. The pain is perfect. He loosens his bite, kissing and licking the spot, the sensation making your body quiver. 

“Okay baby?”

“Y-y-yessss,” you answer.

“Whaddo you need sweetheart?” 

“Lick me,” you beg out, “please.”

“‘Course. Where do you want me to lick you?” Joel questions as he nuzzles his head against your ass cheek, giving it a small bite.

“My pussy. Pleeeaaase,” you’d say you sound pathetic but you couldn’t care less, your lust overshadowing any type of pride.

“Mm, you sound so needy baby, you sound like you really need my tongue on you, huh?” His teasing drawl drives you crazy, your body won’t stop moving, absolutely radiating tensity from your want.

“Please,” you implore, sobbing out. 

“Alright baby,” his hands grab your cheeks and spreads them, widening his view of you. “Prettiest thing I ever seen, love your pussy.”

This act feels so depraved, everything on display for him, legs and cheeks spread wide, your pussy exhibited for him like it’s an art piece.

You literally scream into the bed, biting down on Joel’s comforter as his tongue finally meets your core. This, thiiiiiiis is what you’ve been wanting all night. Joel moans against you, not being able to hold himself back as he tastes you, his fevered licks exploring your cunt, his large tongue mapping every inch of you. He’s absolutely conquering you, the noises of his lips and tongue smacking against your wetness soundtracking his journey. 

He can feel you getting close your hips beginning to cant as your orgasm begins to crest. You knew it wouldn’t take long, between the alcohol buzz and Joel’s tongue lapping up your wetness and cum from earlier, you knew you’d be a goner. 

“Mmf, cum for me,” Joel speaks against you, his mouth full of you, too busy to pull away to clearly speak. You don’t think he can get any closer to you, his tongue working your orgasm up in intensity with each swirl and dash against your clit. You feel it, it’s here. Your legs instantly collapse, thankful that the rest of your body is resting on the bed. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut and then begin to rapidly blink as your orgasm shatters through you. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit as it pulses. You’re too turned on to make a noise, Joel stepping in for you and groaning as your juices seep out of you. 

“Did so good baby,” Joel says leaving one last kiss on your clit before standing up behind you. You want to flip over to look at him, you haven’t seen his face since you laid down on the bed. You have no energy, you’re just a shell of a woman, the only sensations you can feel is the pool of wetness in between your legs and your light inebriation.

Your attention gets pulled to the sound of Joel spitting in his hand, followed by a hiss coming out of his mouth. When you realize exactly what he’s doing, you summon the strength needed to turn over. You flip over, your back thudding on the mattress your legs still spread wide, feet resting on the floor. And there…. there…. THERE he is, standing in the middle of his room, one large hand wrapped around his hard cock softly stroking as he watches you with hooded eyes. You know you just came, but the sight makes your pussy clench with desire. 

Joel jerks himself off as his eyes roam your exhausted form. “Been thinking ‘bout this all day. You all laid out in front of me heaving for air after cummin’ all over my tongue,” slow strokes matching his lazing words. “Just about canceled our night out when you opened your door in that little blue dress, looked like you were wearing the sky, baby.” 

You bite your lip as all of your senses are so overtly overwhelmed by lust. The sight of Joel’s handsome face watching you, the hazel flecks in his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lamp. The smell of the rain on your skin mixed with the heady scent of your arousal and Joel’s sheets. The taste of Joel’s whiskey tongue still in your mouth. The sound of Joel’s fist pumping along his hard cock. The feel of the aftershocks of your orgasm still quaking your body. It’s so fucking much, you need Joel inside you. The thought of feeling him stretch you causes a whimper.

“Yeah baby? Havin’ a hard time over there?” Joel stops stroking his hard length, his hand pauses on his shaft. “You want me to fuck you now?” 

“Pleeeease,” you keen out. 

“Alright sweetheart.” Joel confidently strides over to you, dick still in hand. He stops right at the edge of your feet. “Turn back around ’n get on all fours in the middle of the bed f’me.” 

You follow his instructions eager to please. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can feel Joel enter you. 

“Good girl,” he praises as the mattress dips lower with his weight behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loud, your whole body thrumming, you gulp down a breath of air trying to calm your need. You feel Joel’s cock brush against your ass cheek, he’s so close to fucking you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you real good and hard now. Happy birthday baby.”

And just like that, Joel buries his cock inside of you, you’re absolutely stretched around him. Your clit already worked over by Joel’s tongue, now your hole deliciously stinging while it flutters around his cock. He begins thrusting, tender and slow full strokes. Entering and exiting, swirling the head of his cock right at the entrance before plunging back in because he knows you love the feeling. Joel’s groans and your cries join in song as he begins to pound faster, the sound of your bodies slapping together match the rhythm. 

“Feel so fucking good, always so perfect for me. S’a good girl, always take it so good,” Joel grits out. 

He grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist as he pounds into you. “No one knows how fucking slutty you get for me behind these walls. They think you’re one of those innocent little teachers.” Joel pulls your hair harder causing a scream of ecstasy from you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You do. It’s so rough, so different from how gentle he always is with you. It feels like a luxury to be treated this way by him. 

“Y-y-y-yes, God I love it,” you whimper.

“That’s right. That’s what I like to hear. So pretty so smart. So much smarter than me, now I’m makin’ you stupid with my cock, right baby?” 

Everybody knows Joel Miller as the strong, silent type, a man of few words, somebody who doesn’t do chit chat. But with you in his bed naked and wailing as he slams into you, Joel Miller won’t shut up.

“Doin’ so good for me. So pretty, so perfect f’me. So wet for me.”   

“You made me so wet earlier, I was afraid I was going to leave a mark on the barstool.” Your words coming out as tortured weeps, so lost in your ecstasy you struggle with every word spoken. 

“Fuuuuuck.” That got him good. He pounds you even harder, the bed frame shaking violently against his wall, your body and cunt acting as if it’s the only barrier between Joel knocking a hole in the plaster. “Had I fuckin’ known I would have made you stick your face on that chair and made you lick yourself up as I fuck you against it.”

That’s it, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Joel’s deep timbered accent grunting those deviant words as he grabs you and begins to roll his hips into your cunt. Your body is strung so tight and rigid in all places besides your hips and core, pumping and rolling along with Joel’s as he fucks you. You’re close again, your panting breaths letting Joel know. 

“Baby, if you gotta cum, cum,” his grip on your hips pressure into you. 

“Going … going.. going to,” the only words you can say as your third orgasm radiates out of your body, your pussy is the epicenter, tingles firing through your veins, your hands fisting the blankets at your detonation. Slack jawed and fucked senseless you rally the strength to not disintegrate and fall into Joel’s bed. Your world has been shattered by Joel, but your body survives for him, your legs and arms shaking under gravity and your weight as they deal with the fallout. 

“C’mere baby, lemme help you.” Of course he can tell you’re struggling. He reaches his hands around, clutching your stomach and pulling you up against him. Your back up against his chest, his hand seeking out your breast, the other wrapping around your torso and clutching you to him. He holds you as he fucks into you, his nose brushing against your ear as he puffs and grunts against your neck. “Fucking. Love. You. So. Much.” Each word matching a thrust into you. Your hands find his and grip them, you’ve never felt more loved and protected. Joel Miller has got you.

You feel the familiar shudder in Joel’s movements as he edges close to his climax. His labored breaths getting louder and more fevered against your neck. You’re absolutely wrecked, but the angle of Joel’s cock inside of you mixed with the feeling of the shudder in his movements as he edges himself brings forth another orgasm. Words are gone, just sounds, whatever your throat can muster up and out of your mouth. 

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” Joel repeats. His hands squeezing yours so tightly, his chest heaving against your back, his strong thighs straddling yours, his nose pressing into your ear. You feel his body tense as he pulls out. His release coating your pussy as his whole body surrounds you. Hot breaths huffing against the side of your face in between featherlight kisses. “Love you,” a whisper in your ear so delicate and sweet as he lets go of your hands. Your body falling forward without his support, your arms catching you before crashing down on the bed. Joel gets up with a groan as you lay yourself down on your stomach, taking the opportunity to stretch your legs out before rolling over on your side to watch Joel. He stands arms akimbo in the middle of the room. He’d look like a Greek statue if his shoulders weren’t rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous and he looks just as wrecked as you feel. 

“Probably shouldn’t have gotten up as quick as I did,” he chuckles. “Damn well feel like I’m standing in the middle of a earthquake.” You love the casual banter he puts forth seconds after being deep inside you, his cum still covering your core. This is love. 

You smile at him, your cheek resting on your hand as a makeshift pillow. You’re exhausted… the whole night and your four orgasms catching up with you. Eyes feeling heavy, matching your limbs you begin to drift off. 

A wet sensation in between your legs jerks you awake. “Sorry baby, just want to clean you up,” a whisper just as light as Joel’s tender attention as he washes you lulls you back to sleep. 

——

“Baby,” Joel’s low voice gently wakes you up along with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You groan as you stretch your sore muscles under the sheet, opening your eyes to find Joel gazing down lovingly at you. He’s backlit by the filtered morning sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows. What a way to wake up. “Happy birthday sweetheart, I’d let you sleep all day but I need to give you my present.” His face is so bright and cheerful, a boost in your confidence provided by just how happy he looks when he’s with you. 

“Thought you gave me your present already last night,” you yawn. 

“Sweet girl, that was a present for both of us. Now come on, get up.” You grab his offered hand and reluctantly get out of bed. Joel wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, his hands splayed across your back as you nuzzle your face in his warm chest. “Happy birthday.”

A/N: THANK YOU for reading my first ever fic. My inbox is always open. :)

[joeybsversion]

Trouble

Joe Burrow x Reader

Your friends and family aren’t fond of Joe

“Seriously, he’s trouble. I can’t believe you’re going out with him.” Your friend scoffed, turning off the end of the Bengals game.

“He’s not trouble!” You defend him. “Really, he’s a nice guy!”

“Oh really? Is that why you’ve refused to tell your parents you’re dating him?”

“They’re just not big Bengal fans. It has nothing to do with Joe.” You lied as your friend rolled her eyes.

You had been secretly dating Joe Burrow, the Cincinnati Bengals Quarterback for 7 months now. It’s true, most people weren’t fond of Joe. He comes across as cocky, rude, and privileged. Plus his current bad boy edit doesn’t help much. Joe had recently gotten himself into trouble. He’s found a love for partying, blowing his money, and being reckless. All causing excess fame and a negative spotlight, something you wanted to avoid.

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he got suspended from games for legal trouble? Or has shown up to practice violently hungover?”

“How’d you hear about that?” You questioned.

She laughed, “It’s all over the news. He’s gonna get himself into some real trouble and not have a career here soon.”

“He’s working on turning things around. Really. I swear.” You do your best to defend him again. You seem to be doing that a lot lately. “Plus we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. I’m just having fun.”

“I know, and I’m happy for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But I know none of that is going to change your mind, so go have fun tonight.”

“I love you. If my mom asks, I’m here!” You remind her and head out the door, “Your pizza should be here soon and I logged into my Netflix account!” You figured if your friend has to spend the night posted up in her room to cover for you, you might as well take care of her.

You hopped into your car and headed over to Joes house, he was throwing a party after the game. Joe’s parties were always fun, usually a little wild, and typically ended with the police kicking people out and shutting things down. As much as Joe was trying to work past his bad boy edit, he couldn’t help it. He’s young and having fun.

The loud music from Joe’s house is rattling your car as you pull into his driveway. He’s outside on the porch with some teammates smoking a cigar.

As you walk through his thick cloud of smoke and clear the air in front of your face with your hand, Joe pulls you into a hug.

“There’s my baby.” His words slurred, you’re unsure if it’s from alcohol or the thick cigar pressed between his lips.

“Hi, Joey.” You wrap your arms around his waste and snuggle into his chest. “Good game, congrats on the win.”

He pulls the cigar from his mouth, “I want you to come to the next one.” He smiles.

“Me? At the game? Isn’t it in a different state?” You question, suddenly nervous. You and Joe had been casually dating, nothing was public yet.

“The next home game.” He laughs, blowing a thick cloud of smoke over your head. “2 weeks.”

“I’ll think about it.” You try and reassure him.

“Think about it?” He asks offended.

“Well, yeah..I don’t… I’m not sure…” you feel his arms drop from around you. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go public yet.” You nervously tell him.

“It’s a football game. Not a red carpet.” He says annoyed.

“I know but…”

He cuts you off “It’s fine. Don’t come.”

“Joe I want to!” You reassure him.

“Seems like it.” He scoffs before heading inside, you following close behind.

“Joe I do! Really, there’s nothing I’d love more! I just still haven’t told many people about us, and you know, you haven’t had the best press lately and I don’t want to mess that up anymore for you and I just worry that-“

He presses the cigar to your mouth “take this.” He laughs cutting you off. “I’m sorry about the press. I’m working on it. Tomorrow I have a fun event at the elementary school. Next week, the high school. And the whole team is volunteering at the blood drive. Nothing but positive press up until the game.”

“Wow, what’s next? Taking a shift at the old folks home? Serving in the soup kitchen?” You tease.

He rolls his eyes, “So are you coming to the game or not?”

“I guess you better find me a Burrow jersey, because I’ll be there.” You smile.

The rest of the night is a blur. Lots of drinks, lots of dancing, too many sweaty bodies, and even louder music. You wake up the next morning tangled up in bed with Joe. His heavy arm around your waste and soft breathing on the backside of your neck. You slowly loosen his grip and start to make your way out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grumbles, barely audible.

“Home.” You slip your shoes on. “And you need to get up too. Your elementary school meet and greet starts in 45 minutes.” You sit down on the side of the bed again. “I don’t think the elementary school principal appreciates his guest of honor showing up smelling like a mini bar.”

“You’re probably right.” He slowly starts to sit up. “I’ll reserve some spots for you for the game.” He says. “Any request on where you want to sit?”

All the nerves come back. “Doesn’t matter.” You smile at him, wishing you could avoid the game all together. It’s not that you were ashamed to be with him, you were just anxious about what people, especially your parents will say. “I’m gonna get out of here.” You quickly excuse yourself, not sure if the sudden butterflies in your stomach are from drinking too much, or the next home game.

You call your best friend on your way and tell her all about the game.

“You’re gonna have to tell your parents.”

“I can’t! They will freak if they find out I’ve been dating him!”

“So are you going to keep your relationship a secret forever?”

“I don’t know I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Well scratch that thought, it’s not a secret anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check your phone.”

As you pull in your parents drive way, you pull out your phone to see a news article your friend sent you, a picture of you and Joe is on the front page. “Where did you find this?” You panicked.

“I was just checking E! News. It looks like every major magazine is covering it now!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You sigh, “I have to tell them now. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you later. I’ll probably need some support.”

“Good luck!” She says and ends the call.

“You’re WHAT?” You dad hollers, slamming down the news paper he was reading.

“Dad, he’s a nice guy. Really I -“

“No. The little romance you guys having going on is over. I can’t believe this. You’re such a good girl, why would you want to be with someone like him?”

“He’s nothing like what the press makes him out to be. He’s actually really kind, and supportive, and is volunteering a lot for the community.”

“I don’t care if he’s the president. You are not being seen with someone like him.”

“About that..”

“What?”

“Well the news got pictures of me at his house last night and leaked a story.” You hide your face in your hands.

“At his house?” Your mom questions. “So you’ve been lying to us? Clearly he’s a bad influence to be hanging around.”

“I lied because I knew you would react like this. You’re not even giving him a chance.”

“I’ve never seen you defend someone like this. What is going on?”

“I’m…”

Your dad crosses his arms across his chest “I’m in love with him. And I’m going to be with him and support him no matter how you feel. You don’t know him like I do.”

“I’ve never seen you fight for someone like this.”

“Because, I love him.”

Your dad sighs, “I don’t know if I like the sound of that. But I’m willing to give him a chance. Why don’t you invite him over.”

“Really?!”

“Like I said,” he pauses, “I’m not crazy about him, but I can tell that you, and for that reason, I want to get to know him.”

A few hours later, Joe shows up on your front porch and confidently knocks on the front door.

“Hi Joey.” You greet him with a smile and hug. “You look great… did you iron your shirt?” You tease him, brushing a hand across his perfectly pressed shirt.

“Steamed it actually.” He smiles, “I wanted to make a good impression.” He nervously takes your hand and follows you into the house.

“Mom, Dad, this is Joe.” You awkwardly present him to your parents.

He politely shakes their hands and takes a seat at the table next to you.

You feel his hand find its way to your thigh, his palms are sweaty, and his fingers are nervously tapping across your leg. You reassuringly take his hand into yours and lightly rub across the top and share a confident smile.

At the end of dinner, you and Joe excuse yourselves and you walk him to the porch.

“They loved you.” You kiss him.

“I’m so relieved.”

“My dad even wants to go to the game with me!”

He laughs, “I’ll get extra tickets.”

Relieved that your parents were pleased with Joe, you walked him out, he kissed you goodnight, and you sent him on his way home.

It’s official and the world knows, you’re in love with Joe Burrow.

[fookingmuffins]

Say something babe

James potter x reader

Angst

I have not written anything in years and English is not my first language, so pls be kind. I'm trying to do things that scare me (posting my writing) just to get over my fears, and I hope you guys enjoy. (Or not since it's angst sksksk) also, this is not proofread at all I kinda wrote it in my notes and ran imma edit it tomorrow when I'm not half asleep

Pic creds to @/sofflllll on pintrest

You giggled quietly as you were sneaking into the Gryffindor common room with the help of your best friend Penny to surprise your boyfriend. You had been dismissed from your last club meeting before break earlier than expected, and you were dying for a cuddle session after barely seeing him this last week with the many activities you had been doing from extra classes to the clubs you were part of.

"Oi potter! You got to tell me, mate, what's the matter between you and y/n?" You abruptly stopped with Penny looking at each other as you heard your name being mentioned between James and a voice you recognized as Castor, one of his quidditch buddies and a guy who had been randomly getting flirty with you despite your protest and the fact the whole school knew you were with James. You had mentioned to James how uncomfortable Castor made you feel before, but he brushed it off and always seemed preoccupied with other matters, assuring you Castor was just being a boy.

"What about her?" James said with an uncomfortable chuckle

"Well, you're clearly messing with Evans recently, so I was wondering where that would leave her at tonight's party?" You felt Penny squeeze your hand and pull it a little as tears welled up in your eyes. Messing with Evans? You had been with James for a year now, and you knew he liked Lily before, but that was long over before you two got together when they decided they were better off as friends. You held your breath as you waited for James to say something, to deny that something was happening between him and Lily and tell them off because you were his but all you heard was his signature boyish laugh that usually got you grinning like a fool and made your bad days better but this time all you felt was a knot form in your throat.

Penny tried to pull your hand to get the two of you out of there but all you did was shake your head and pull her back, you were frozen in place and needed to hear more despite everything in you telling you to run. "She's all yours if she'll have you mate. Might help me distract her a bit while Lily and I have some fun." A knot formed at the back of your throat, and you tried to swallow it as you blinked to stop the tears that were threatening to spill, but you just couldn't.

"OH come on, Potter, you cannot be serious, I really thought she was gonna be your wife once we left Hogwarts." You heard Percy, another teammate, say. "The girl seems head over heels for you and half the school wanted her, and she chose you"

"That's just it! She is so obsessed with me, it's suffocating! Definitely would never marry her. Can you imagine that? At Hogwarts, I at least get away from her when I'm in the common room, but having to live with her seems like torture to me. Especially with all her stupid friends always around" After hearing that you turned around leaving Penny behind and ran out of the portrait you had just been so careful to pass through unnoticed. You could hear Penny try to catch up to you and call out your name once you were a bit far from the Gryffindor entrance, but you just kept running, although you felt like you couldn't breathe and your vision was blurry. Had he always felt that way about you? Maybe you had done something wrong and that's why he was saying that. You probably were clingy, but you were just trying to help and show him you were there for him despite the many activities you had gotten yourself involved with since you joined Hogwarts.

As soon as you got into your dorm, you started packing the last few things you were gonna take over spring break, checking the time and realizing you could still make the night train. You were supposed to leave the next day with James and all of his friends after spending the day at Hogsmade, but he obviously would prefer it if you didn't. When you were ready you stood in front of your door slowly feeling the knot in your throat fade along with that uncomfortable pang in your chest, suddenly you felt nothing, It's like James Potter had so much control of my emotions you didn't know what to feel anymore.

When you made it on the train, you sat in an empty cabin away from the few passengers who were also on board and just stared at the seat in front of you. You wanted to be mad to feel something, but everything in you had turned numb, and you felt sleep take over from the crying you had done earlier.

Part 2?

[lizardkingeliot]

everyone pls clap for me like i'm tinker bell while i attempt to edit the last 3-4 pages of this rockstar lestat fic i desperately want to have posted by tomorrow... i'm really happy with how it's turning out but this thing has needed soooo much editing to make it ~pretty and also i can't seem to stop adding words but then again what's new right 💀

anyway.... rockstar lestat loustat fic HOPEFULLY incoming sometime tomorrow............ and if i do happen to finish before, like, 8pm est i might consider posting tonight.... but no one hold me to that lol

[aerkame]

Smooth Moves

🌹Wally and Barnaby teach you how to dance🌹

(Takes place in Alive AU from my A Silly Thought and More post)

Posted later than intended rip

Some mood music for this writing. POV playlist

__________________________________________________________

It was late at night, most of your guests were inside fast asleep while you, Wally, and Barnaby finished up making space on the large porch. Barnaby was insistent that he and Wally teach you how to slow dance when you mentioned you've never danced before. Plus you two needed to figure out who was doing what tomorrow. Winner gets to choose after seeing who dips better.

"Alright, so if I win I get to pick what we do tomorrow. And if you win you get to pick what we do tomorrow. Deal?"

You held your hand out to shake on it, but Wally gently grabbed a hold of it and turned it over to plant a small kiss on the back of your palm. Heat rushed to your cheeks as the two of you parted ways to opposite sides of the porch. You wished you could just hide away in a corner right now until your cheeks looked normal or at least pretend that you were fine.

You slowly looked over to where Wally was, he was staring at you still, eyes half-lidded and a droopy smile on his face. That cheeky little bugger.

Barnaby walked up to the center of the porch and held out his paw towards Wally. "Hey buddy, I think we should show em' how it's done first, it's their first time right?" His voice was a cheery as usual, but something felt a bit off about it tonight, it had a deeper tone to it. "That it is, maybe we'll each get a turn with our host?" He peered over at you as he took a hold of the beagle's paw. "I sure hope so, I love dancing with new partners!"

Barnaby leaned to the side where a table was and quickly pressed the play button on the stereo you had given him the day before. He loved that thing to bits.

The music started out slow and steady as the two began to step and sway along with the beat. "Make sure to match up with your partners movements...like this." They both swayed to the far right, then the left, both of their feet being in sync perfectly with every single step. Clearly these two practiced frequently. The music went on for a while as the two circled, swayed, and danced around in patterns. It was so smooth that you almost felt hypnotized into a daze, only snapping out of it when Barnaby and Wally slowed down into a large dip. Wally, ever the dramatic suave, put one leg up as he was dipped down. "There, it's as simple as that!" Barnaby looked over at you and gestured for you to come over. You shook your head though, now too nervous to really put yourself in a spotlight like that.

"Ohh? Is someone nervous now?" Wally teased, hanging off of his friend's arm lazily. "It'll be fine, we can both teach you at the same time if you want!" Barnaby butted in, seeing how nervous you looked. Maybe his new friend needed some more encouragement.

"Alright...I'm not good at dancing though so I might step on someone's foot." You did not feel confident in yourself quite frankly.

"That's okay." The two pals separated as Barnaby went to go behind you and Wally right in front of you, boxing you in. "Besides, now you can have two partners!"

You felt the soft blue paws grab onto both of your hands and guiding them, placing one on Wally's shoulder and one on his hip, Wally mimicked the position on you in the opposite direction. Barnaby spoke up "Now remember, try to match your partners movements and just let us guide you until you get used to it." You nodded and looked down at your feet making sure they were in the correct position, missing the knowing looks the two had with each other.

"I think our dear host will catch on quick, won't you?" Wally smiled sweetly, giving your hip a small squeeze as you looked back up, earning a small squeak. How adorable of you. They wondered what other noises you could make.

It started out just like before, Barnaby having restarted the song and returning to being behind you. You stumbled a bit for the first few steps but you caught on quickly, seeing the pattern more clearly. It also helped to have two giant soft paws behind your back in case you tripped or fell.

"Wow, see! You're catching on already!" The blue friend continued to encourage you. "Now this part might be a bit harder, you'll need to swing your hips with the movement of your feet. Let me show you." Barnaby gently cupped your side and helped move your hips along to the rhythm of the music as Wally kept your shoulders in place. You stumbled though, having a hard time trying to match your footwork with theirs.

"Here, like this..." Wally spoke up and his friend backed up a little bit for some space. He took hold of your hip once more, this time more gently. "Just copy what I do."

He put one foot to the side and you did the same, allowing Wally to control the movements of your hips with his, one step at a time, one sway here and there, a few twirls, and it was like you were an expert at this. You didn't even notice that Barnaby had gone to sit down, locking eyes with Wally to give him a big thumbs up. Or the small crowd of friends standing by the back door watching the two of you.

The music kept going. The longer the two of you danced, the more you started to feel yourself getting used to this. Suddenly, Wally guided you into a deep dip, exaggerating his position into what that of a lover would be as the music came to a slow stop. He leaned in closer squeezing your hand in his. "I believe I won, yes?"

[wandering-feather]

The Chain

Larissa Weems x Female Reader

Explicit no minors!!!!

Reader is a Normie who is married to Larissa. After the event with Crackstone the new mayor hired Reader as a communication liaison between the school and the town. Larissa and her have been drifting and Larissa seems to put her second all the time. After forgetting a work function of yours and chooses work again, Reader leaves and is  in an accident.

I just edited this a little more with just fixed wording, grammar and typos. I have issues with getting over excited and posted this a little too soon. I cleaned it up and made it smoother. 

AN: I have not written in a long time and this my first time writing for this fandom. This story came to me in a moment and was written pretty fast because I could not stop. It might not be great but it’s a start. Also this is me getting ready for my series that I posted about. Also the title of the work is from the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

Warnings: angst, smut, car accident, blood, wounds, hospitals. 

You were sitting at your vanity, finishing up your hair and make up. You were excited to be going out with your wife even if it was for a work function. After what happened the year prior the new mayor hired you to be the communications liaison between the town and school. Even though you are a normie you were married to the Principle of Nevermore and with your degree in communications the job was a perfect fit. Ever since you started your job though you both have been busy and seem to be drifting apart. You stop for a second from putting on your earring and frown, the more you think about it it seemed you were the only one trying. You reminded yourself that the last school year was very hard on Larissa and she doesn’t want it to happen again. Sighing you finished up at the vanity and stepped in your closet and slid on your favorite dress and quickly slipped on your heels and grabbed your clutch. You stepped out of your shared chambers and stopped at seeing Larissa working at her desk dressed in the clothes she had been wearing all day. You looked at your watch and it dawned on you she forgot because there is no way she had time to get ready.

“Larissa?” You spoke trying to get her attention. 

Larissa looked up and smiled noticing how beautiful and fixed up you were but then her face turned to confusion as to why you were dressed up. The moment you saw her confused look you knew you were correct she had forgotten. 

“Darling, Why are you so dressed up? Not that I’m complaining, you look beautiful.” 

You shake your head feeling tears in your eyes. Larissa noticed this and became concerned.

“I have the work thing tonight that you promised you could make it. I reminded you last night.” 

Larissa feels her stomach drop. She did it again and it killed her to see that the tears in your eyes were caused by her. She quickly jumped up and walked over to you, placing her hand on your shoulder. She felt the slight pull of your shoulder and pulled her hand away.

“Darling, I'm so sorry things have been crazy and Wednesday seems to be up to something again. I have been overworked.” She said softly trying to get you to understand. 

You took a deep breath and hoped that maybe tonight could be salvageable. “I could go ahead so I won’t be late. You can get ready and then I will tell them you had something come up and will be a little late.” You looked at her with pleading eyes.

Larissa sighed she wanted to say yes but if she didn’t get these emails out tonight a disaster could be happening by tomorrow with upset parents.  When you heard her sigh you knew what was coming.

“Darling, I’m so sorry but I won’t be able to attend, with what happened today I have to get these emails out.”

You took a step back and blinked rapidly to stop your tears and not ruin your makeup.

Larissa stared at you noticing you were on the brink of either sobbing or yelling. She wanted to wrap you up in her arms but she wasn’t sure if you would let her. She heard you whisper something.

“Darling, I couldn’t hear you.” She said 

You looked up wiping at your eyes carefully, you were done crying over this and being looked over again. Not being able to be your wife’s first choice. You never have been anyone's first choice. What you were doing was helping the school also.

“Larissa, I’m tired of being second to everything in your life. You do this all the time lately. I have been patient and hear me when I say this. I love you with all my heart but I can’t keep doing this. It’s breaking me.” You said this calmly which scared Larissa even more as you have thought about this a lot. These were not just words being said in the moment of anger.

“Love, that is not true please you know how important the school is to me but you are my everything.” She pleads with you.

Shaking your head and huff, “Larissa that is not how it seems. We haven’t even had sex in two weeks and it was like just getting off no romance. You used to send me little notes, have flowers sent to my office. I still do these things I still try but you don’t” your voice was getting a little louder.

You watched as Larissa’s eyes turned to anger and you knew she was upset because you were right and now she was defensive.

“When we got together you knew how important Nevermore was to me.” She said with a curt tone and stood at her tallest height. “I'm sorry you think my love making is lacking and if we are being honest you are just too needy at times.” 

You took a shocking breath at her last words. She knew how insecure you are about being a bother to others. Larissa saw your face and instantly regretted her words. She quickly took a step towards you to gather you in her arms and say she was sorry but you took another step back putting your hand out. “Don’t” you could feel your whole body sake. “Just stay here, do your work and I will go do mine. Please don’t come.” You looked her straight in the eyes, “I mean it this isn’t me saying please surprise me and everything will be better.” You turned and grabbed the door knob and without looking back you spoke softly.

“Larissa one day I might not be here, almost losing you last year showed me we don’t have forever. Just know I don’t want to be apart from you.”

You opened the door as Larissa spoke but you didn’t hear her words after she said sorry you had heard that word enough. You walked through the school towards the front doors pushing it open. You wondered if Larissa in fact did follow you but you would not look back. You don’t like to play games like that if you tell someone something that is what you want and you knew Larissa knew that. You got in the car and drove off towards Jericho where the party was being held. You finally put your foot down, you were not going to make her choose you would never do that to her but she needed to know that you can’t keep going like this either.

You arrived at the party letting everyone know that Larissa had something unexpected happen. You worked on moving around the room greeting everyone and you felt your social meter deplete quickly so you excused yourself to your office and sat in the dark thinking. You were not wrong Larissa has drifted you even wondered if she loved you less. What was said had to be said. But you did just tell her why you were upset with her and left instead of trying to talk. You took a shaky breath finally letting the tears fall. If she was falling out of love with you then you would let her be free you would break the chain and let her go. Sometimes love is not enough to keep people together. You held back a sob placing your hand over your mouth. You needed to get to her to let her know you do love her and that the two of you could figure this out together. This can’t be it. You stood up grabbing your bag and keys and thankfully seeing your assistant you told her you were not feeling well. She let you know she would let everyone know. You hoped you didn’t look too bad after crying. 

You stepped out feeling the breeze hit your skin and a few raindrops hit your face hurrying to your car you got in as the rain picked up a little. You took some deep breaths trying to calm down. Maybe you should ask your assistant to drive you home but you didn’t want to ruin her night too. Turning the car on you took the road that headed to Nevermore. You turned the radio on to distract yourself and laughed lightly at the song playing The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. Both because it's her favorite band and the meaning of the song.  Feeling some tears slipping from your eyes again you quickly punched the station button hearing heavy metal blaring out. You wipe your eyes and that’s when you see the deer standing in the road. It was not raining that hard but it made the road slick. Screaming you grab the wheel swerving. You felt your car lift and roll to the ditch leaving you hanging upside down. Before you slipped out of consciousness you thought about how you never told Larissa you loved her when you left.

You didn’t stay unconscious for long, your eyes snapped open and you could feel the rain pouring around you. You looked around thinking about how your body felt and where it hurt, which was everywhere. You felt something warm dripping down your head and you touched it confirming that you were bleeding. You felt like you could move your body but that doesn’t mean nothing is not broken. You take a deep breath thankful that you felt air moving okay it did hurt to breathe a little. You reached over for your seatbelt and waited one second before unbuckling it and falling to the roof of your car. You cried out as you felt something slice into your leg above your knee. You bit back the pain and looked around for your clutch that had your phone seeing it you reached for it wincing in pain. Quickly getting your phone you groaned because there was no service. It was always crappy in this area and with rain it was impossible to make a call. You thought about writing a note to Larissa so she would know you loved her just in case. 

Before you began typing on your phone you saw lights. You knew it was dark. They might not see your car and you begin to climb out of the car ignoring the little cuts you’re getting from the glass. You finally got out of the car and crawled to the road waiving seeing the car slow down you collapsed on the road crying of relief. A person jumped out of the car and came running toward you yelling your name. The last thing you noticed was Vlad before you lost consciousness again.

***

Larissa stood there in shock as you walked away not even responding to her when she told you she loved you. You guys never left without saying you loved each other even if you were upset.  She wondered what you meant by one day you might not be there? Were you going to leave her? The tears and sobs began. She collapsed on the floor grabbing at her hair pulling pieces out of the pins. She knew you were not asking her to give up Nevermore but to just show you that she loved you. She was not doing that and she hated herself for that. She cried like that for what felt like ever. She noticed it had began to rain and now she was worried because she hated the fact you were driving out in the rain. She also couldn’t help but know if she kept her promise she could drive instead. 

Getting up she headed to the bathroom and was shocked by her appearance. She pulled the pins out of her hair letting the rest fall as her curls fell around her shoulders. She started to clean her face but before she could get all her makeup off she heard a knock at the door. She wondered if it was you but knew that it was too soon. Walking towards the door she opened to find the Astronomy teacher who was taken back by Larissas’s appearance. 

“Professor Wilson is everything all right?” Larissa could see fear in the teacher's eyes.

“You need to come with me, Vlad called me, Mrs. Weems has been in a car accident. Vlad found her and she is at the hospital. He asked for me to bring you.” The older lady was frantic at this point.

Larissa felt her world stop at first she didn’t move but when Professor Wilson snapped for her to hurry she grabbed her coat and bag and went with the professor. She was numb. She might have lost you just like you said and she was so stupid she should have been with you. You were not needy and you were neglected by the one person who should have never had. She felt tears fall down her cheek. As they pulled up to the hospital she jumped out of the car running up the steps into the hospital as fast as she could. She ran to the nurse's desk.

“My wife was brought in, she was in a car accident. Weems is her last name,” the nurse looked up and before she could say anything Vlad called out.

“Larissa, she's going to be okay. They are running tests.”

Larissa walked over to Vlad and collapsed in the chair putting her face in her hands. She did this, this was all her fault. She felt Vlad sit next to her and place his hand on her shoulder. “She kept saying for me to tell you she loved you every time she was awake.” Larissa began to sob after a few minutes she used her handkerchief to clean herself up as she saw the doctor.

“Mrs. Weems, your wife is going to be fine. She suffered mostly superficial wounds. Surprisingly nothing is broken, her wrist is sprained. She has a lot of small cuts that will heel up just fine. She does have a head wound but it’s not serious. Though she did have a large deep wound on her thigh it's been sewn up and she is resting. She can go home tomorrow if she stays stable.” 

Larissa breathed a sigh of relief thanking the doctor and rushed towards your room but quietly entered in case you were sleeping. Her heels grabbed your attention though and your eyes caught Larissa’s and she stopped when she saw your eyes filling up with tears and her heart broke for the millionth time that night. She was scared you didn’t want her there. You noticed her hesitation and reached your hand out letting her know it was okay to come close. She quickly closed the gap between the two of you grabbing your hand. You both stared at each other for a moment crying before Larissa spoke.

“I’m so sorry I should have been with you and you’re not needy. I have been neglecting you. I love you so much and…” you placed your hand on her cheek.

“Larissa, it doesn’t matter, I mean it does but we got this second chance to have time to work on us. I love you. I should have stayed home and talked to you. You are my everything too. I know you have other priorities but we have to take care of each other too.” You winced as you moved and Larissa quickly went to help and you grabbed her hand intertwining your fingers with hers. “I’m fine, I should have not been driving while I was upset. I let my mind get to me and told myself that you must be falling out of love with me. I just wanted to get back to you.” You touched a strand of her hair smiling lightly noticing she had left the school not put together. 

Larissa shook her head frantically as more tears fell down her beautiful face. “Darling I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. That is not true. I love you so much more than my own life. I forgot my priorities and that is going to change.” She leaned in to kiss you but hesitated seeing the small cut on your lip but you broke the distance and kissed her lips ignoring the slight pain. 

When she pulled back you smiled at her, “I love you too forever.” You laid there like that for a while you knew you both had to work on a few things but you didn’t mind because your love was too strong to let the chain break.

***

It has been a week since your accident. You forced Larissa to go back to work today because poor Vlad was about to lose his mind. She had promised she would be home at 5pm sharp. Her first promise she made since you were home. You got in the shower and cleaned your wounds which were much better. Your bruises were fading and your wrist hurt a lot less. The only issue you had was the gash on your leg. Getting out you dried off and put on your silk robe and went to the bed. Sitting down you begin to dress your wound on your leg. Before you could finish the job you heard the door to your room open and looked up to see Larissa who had kept her promise. You smiled at her as she smiled back at you.

“Hey I missed you today,” She said, noticing you changing your dressing and frowned quickly coming over to help you. “You should have waited till I got back.” She took over wrapping the gauze around the wound. “Did you think I was going to break my promise?” 

You heard the hurt in her voice and put your hand on her cheek making her look at you as she finished wrapping the wound. “First, I missed you too, and no I trust you. I did it by myself so we could have more time to relax together.” You then leaned forward and kissed Larissa’s lips softly.

You could feel her tension relax and she smiled at you as she kissed you back. “I’m sorry today has been hard being away from you after everything.” She said as she stood up and began to remove her heels, earrings and jacket. She then began to undo her hair. 

“No wait, stop let me take the pins out please.” You smiled and she nodded and unzipped her dress stepping out of it leaving her in her slip. She walked over to you and sat in front of you as you stood up by the bed. She shook her head and softly grabbed your good wrist to pull you back to sit on the bed. You shook your head this time.  “I can stand up for a bit Larissa.” She sighed “ I know I just worry.” She says smiling. You began to pull the pins gently from her hair hearing her moan at the relief of her hair being free. Her curls now fall down her shoulders and you run your fingers through it, smoothing it out hearing her moan again. You squeezed your thighs together feeling your desire run down your leg. It has been too long and you couldn’t help a moan escape your own mouth.

Larissa’s head snapped up towards you and quickly helped you to the bed thinking you were hurt. She stands up frantically. “Where does it hurt?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Larissa, it's okay I’m not hurt.”

She looked at you with such confusion in her eyes. Has it really been that long you thought. “Then what’s wrong?” she asks.

You blushed and looked down, “Its been a long time and when you moaned it just well turned me on,” You felt stupid for being so shy. You also felt like everything was new and to be honest it felt amazing.

Larissa put both her hands on your face and smiled, “Oh darling I have wanted to so badly, I have wanted to show you how much I love you, but you're hurt and I can’t hurt you worse.” She kissed your lips.

“Larissa please I will let you know if you’re hurting me but I need to feel you that way again. Please touch me. Show me.” You pleaded.

Larissa knew she could not deny you not with everything that has happened and she didn’t want to. The things you were saying and the emotion your eyes were showing. What you said in the office broke her heart but it was true she hadn’t really truly touched you in awhile. She nodded, “Alright but this is about you and me showing you how much I love you, we can worry about me later.” She said climbing back on the bed. She helps you lay back against the pillows  and being careful to not hurt you she spreads your legs apart. You gasp at the cool air hitting your core. Larissa stops looking into your eyes to make sure you're okay. You smile and place your hand on hers, your way of always telling her you're okay. Larissa smiles and carefully lays between them supporting most of her weight to not hurt you. Normally you like the pressure of her on you but at this moment you were thankful. You smile at her as she kisses you deeply and your hands go up into her hair and she begins to kiss down your jaw and to your throat, “I love you so much Darling you're so beautiful.” She says and she reaches for the belt to your robe untying it and letting your robe fall to your sides. She looks at the old bruises and looks up at you as if she’s asking if it’s okay to kiss them. She wanted to remind herself of how close she lost you or to make them go away. You nod as she then places soft kisses on the bruises each time thanking the stars you’re still here. She kissed back up to your chest kissing right over your heart ,"I'm so sorry." She whispers looking straight at your heart. You saw the tear fall out of her eye and you reached up to wipe it with your thumb. “I’m here Larissa, it's okay.” You said as she reached up catching your lips in a passionate kiss you moaned into the kiss running your hand down her arm. She pulled back looking into your eyes with so much love you knew the look she was in love with you today just as she was in the beginning.

Larissa began to kiss down to your chest taking your breast into her mouth your head fell back as you moaned laying your hand over hers squeezing letting her know you were okay. After giving your other breast attention she licked from your sternum down to above your throbbing core. She smiles seeing how wet you are, that it’s for just her and no one else. She carefully wraps her arms around your legs being careful as she runs her hand carefully over your bandage placing her hand above it she kisses the bandage. You watched her with your mouth partially open. You place your hand over hers keeping your eyes on her as she kisses on your thighs. Moans were escaping your lips and you couldn’t help but buck your hips a little. She chuckles as she looks up at you catching your eyes. Then with a smile she runs her tongue along your slit keeping her eyes on you. You arch your back as much as your body would allow and it was like an explosion came about your body. The sounds you were making were letting Larissa know what you wanted and she began to suck on your clit and while making sure you're staring into her eyes she slid two fingers inside you and began to curl them like you love so much. You were moaning and panting and an utter mess but you kept your eyes on Larissa’s blue ones with your other hand on her head.  You knew you were getting close and you knew Larissa knew because she replaces her mouth with her thumb on your clit and climbs up kissing you still keeping her weight off of you. When you guys were like this she wanted to be close to you when you came looking into your eyes. 

“Larissa I…..” You took a deep breath trying to get your words out as your head was spinning.

“I know baby it’s okay cum for me.” She whispered in your ear as her fingers moved faster. You felt the sensation start in your stomach and spread throughout your body while keeping your eyes on hers. You let out a sound you have never heard before and kissed Larissa as you came. She pulled her fingers out and you gasped at the motion with how sensitive you were. Larissa pulled back and moved some hair off your face. “I love you so much my darling.” She said kissing on your face running her fingers through your hair.

She laid back and softly pulled you up to her side as you laid your head on her chest. “I love you too.” You whisper. She reaches down and grabs your bad leg resting on her thigh. She rests her hand lightly above your bandage, again something to remind her you're here. You run your finger along her collar bone and smile. It was silent, all that could be heard was your labored breath. It was like all the words you could have said were said in the way she made love to you. You felt your eyes flutter a little as sleep begins to take over. Normally you would be ready to show her but you were to keep your promise also and she wanted tonight to be about you. Also your body was still healing.

Larissa ran her fingers through your hair, “Sleep darling we have later for more.” You hummed and you let sleep take over. Larissa looked down watching you sleep. She had been doing that a lot lately. She furrowed her brow at the about watching you sleep. It seemed creepy. However, right now it doesn't matter she couldn't keep her eyes off of you like you would disappear if she did. She almost lost you and she made a promise to herself and you that she would not do that again.

[be-my-ally]

The Return Flight

Big Bunny #2

As always it's super late here, I will re-edit grammar etc tomorrow! enjoy!

Summary: It’s the next day and they’re off on their return flight. Elvis and Bunny get up to panicking and meditating, and then a couple hours of later one of the other bunnies joins them. Idk I just really can’t see elvis missing out on such a prime chance for a teeny lil bit of voyeuristic action. 

I truly tried to wiggle the wrist weights in but alas, not to be today - next time though, next time. 

Warnings: 18+, p in v penetrative sex, handjobs (v), oral (p and v), mentions of drug use, graphic description of a panic attack, f/f touching, elvis is kinda sweet in this one - except for the voyeurism + girl on girl action; TO CLARIFY - this is asked for by elvis + both parties consensually agree however, I am warning about very teeny tiny elements of internalised homophobia + the fact that reader implies she only does so (at least at first) to please elvis - she is not, however, reluctant nor unwilling.

wc: 11.4k

FYI: I’ve updated my bio to say I’m pausing requests - just until I get my inbox cleared down + posted! xx Also!!! I’ve had a couple of requests for a taglist - so this is my official mention of that; lmk if you want me to tag you in future posts! FINALLY found images of Elvis AND big bunny! pictured on the left and top right below!

Your brief encounter with Elvis had been your first experience of anything casual, or meaningless, and you’ve never had to navigate the emotions or situations before. It makes you antsy that you don’t know the correct procedure even before you’d left the plane; what do you even say to him? ‘Thanks for the sex, see you on the flight tonight?’ You’re not proud of it, but you ultimately panic to such an extent that you hide in the powder room until they’ve all disembarked. You’d not realised you’d have to hide from the other bunnies too though; they’d all converged on you as soon as you’d left - desperate for any morsel of information you would give. You’d somehow, thankfully for your dignity and the taxi driver’s ears, managed to prevent them from asking too many questions until you’d all arrived at the hotel where you would be staying. 

You were looking forward to ensconcing yourself in the hotel room, a proper shower and time to relax for the night and day or so before the return flight. That was, however, not to be, and you were thankful that you’d had the chance to at least wipe yourself down before getting redressed on the plane; your sudden lack of tights had forced you back into your dress - unwilling to be so exposed in your bunny corset. Instead of the peaceful night you had planned Daisy and Maggie were forcing their way into the room (of course, they’d have been sharing with you anyway but you can’t say that you didn’t try to run in and close the door on them) with Darla and Michelle close behind; you forget sometimes that even though they may be more ‘senior’ bunnies, they were still only two years older than you. They sit down around you, demanding you tell them everything, wanting you to fill in the gaps between the assumptions they could make from what they’d heard and when things had gone silent. 

“Oh lord, I just don’t know what to do -” You'd said after you’d recounted, blushing, the majority of the details; you’d left out him licking you, or that you think that might have been the first true orgasm of your life. You leave out that you think the hour you spent with him might have made you fall in love, and other ridiculous notions. And, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a detailed description of him, trying to simultaneously protect him and to keep something just for you; you wouldn’t let them speculate on his size, or his stamina. But you had mentioned that he had a thing for feet, something that had been met with raucous laughter and clapping from the girls when you’d prefaced that with the story of your pantyhose being torn. You were, despite your embarrassment, glad to have these girls around you - you’d grown up in a fairly conservative part of town, and you know any of your close childhood or home friends would have been disgusted with you. They might have let it go - since it was Elvis, or have loudly judged you while silently expressing a level of jealousy but under no circumstances would they have encouraged the behaviour, or been so happy for you. Nor would they have interjected your story with their own, somewhat similar, although far less famous, tales. By the time the conversation had gotten back around to your dilemma with how to deal with Elvis again you were all relaxing on the two beds, piled up and crossed legged like a slumber party. “So really - what should I do?” 

“Just don’t change a thing,” Daisy recommends, “If he wants to make something of it let him, but you have to rise above it all. Seem like you don’t care. “ Maggie offers you differing advice;

“If you want it to happen again, just be all over him, it’s not like you have to worry that he doesn’t like you.” You consider these opposing suggestions, silent, sipping the terrible hotel coffee. Michelle speaks up, Darla nodding in agreement;

“In my experience… you’ve got to subtly let him know you’re there and available, but don’t fawn over him, just … just say hello in a friendly way and it’s all in his hands then. Remember, be casual about it.” You consider this for a moment before agreeing. It does seem to be the way of the least mortification. You try to put it out of your mind for the remainder of the break, taking the time to try and focus on resting and relaxing before you had to be back in the air. 

This time, there’s far less pomp and circumstance around his arrival; and you’re not surprised to see that it’s solely the same group again. Only Darla greets them on the tarmac - the rest of you already onboard and preparing for a quicker departure than last time. This time, you’re all in your little bunny suits, collars and cuffs, cottontails perfectly fluffed - since he’d requested it you all assumed it would save being made to change. This airport was, despite being private, closer in airspace to the larger international airport and your takeoff time was therefore far stricter than any of you would have liked. All knowing that sometimes these celebrities were as difficult to wrangle as herding a particularly difficult group of cats.

So you don’t have a chance to really look at him, take him in, until he’s brushing past you, his thick hands on your hips and waist moving you from where you’re blocking a narrower part of hallway with your body. He doesn’t say excuse me, or ask you to move, just manhandles you across him. You feel then, before you see, the soft plush fabric of his outfit, and when you glance over your shoulder at him you’re a little surprised that rather than the expensive, perfectly fitted, suit he was wearing last time, this time he was wearing a, clearly expensive but nonetheless fairly ordinary, tracksuit - navy blue, low zipper exposing the wide collared shirt underneath - his chest hair peeking out. Your tummy flips seeing him, and you stay very still where he’s put you, struggling to remember what your plan had been. He pats your ass, casually, in the blatantly chauvinistic way that should make you squirm, that implies he could and would do it to any girl at any time - although you hadn’t actually witnessed that yourself, and you’re mortified that at even that brief touch, without any words exchanged your breath hitches and your mind goes slightly blank. He’s gone by the time you try to open your mouth to say something and you try to clear your head by distracting yourself with the take-off preparations. 

Michelle is eyeing you up when you’re finishing checking the door, and she opens her mouth but you’re frantically shaking your head before she can say anything, gesturing to not say a word. She frowns, but complies - a moment later only asking you to help her sort the food out. You do so, happy to disappear for a little while and let the others deal with them for a bit. It’s not long after that the pilots signal for take-off and you sit down briefly as the plane taxies down the runway. You’re distracted enough by the situation you find yourself in; are you making it more awkward not talking to him? That for once the take-off doesn’t bother you at all and soon the plane is balanced in the air, allowing you and Michelle to finish your preparations. Daisy pops her head around the corner a few minutes later saying you’d been requested. 

You breathe in, deeply, as much as you can as a little bunny, plastering a smile on your face and you head out to the forward compartment where the group is sat. You expect to walk straight over to Elvis, but you’re stopped by someone else whose name escaped you - barely greeting you; 

“Look babydoll, last night, you made me the best Mai Tai of my life, and I’m sure you’re all…” he looks sideways, “as well trained as each other, but honey,  I’d really like it if you could do me another one?” You somehow manage to keep your face in check even though you want to scream at his barely concealed innuendo. Instead, you agree, customer service smile on your face, and turn to the rest of the compartment asking if they were all ready for drinks. There’s a resulting chorus of orders and so you head over to the bar to get started. Elvis hadn’t responded, walking out when you’d walked in - he’d gone right into the conference space and one of the boys had mimed a phone to his ear at another's questioning face. You were a little hurt to not be acknowledged but also, truthfully, a little relieved to not have to deal with him for the second. But it wasn’t to last long, upon delivering the other drinks with the other girls to many a relieved sigh,  a different man had pointed through to the conference area, gesturing to the bar, 

“Think you should take the boss a little pick me up too.” You nod in agreement but he hadn’t drank last time and you have no idea what that would mean making so instead you pour a short glass of cola, hoping that’ll do at least, and balancing the glass on the tray, head through the little curtained archway. You try not to show any emotion when you walk through, keeping your face neutral and concentrating on holding the drinks tray, the slight tip of the plane was liable to send a single glass sliding if you didn’t balance it perfectly. You hear him before you see him, curled against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. His fingers twirling the cord as he looked out of the window, but with how dark it was outside he could only be looking at his reflection. You’d intended your poker face to display that you weren’t going to be the first to crack, to acknowledge anything but now you’re having to maintain it to retain dignity once you hear what he’s saying. He’s sweet-talking a girl, uttering promises and reassurances; 

“No, honey, darling, no - would I be ringing you now? You don’t need to nag me baby, that’s right you’re my baby aren’t ya, ye-ah, put it on your card honey, on my card, yeah that’s no problem… you know I like you in blue…” 

You know you have no claim on him; despite your activities together you’ve barely spoken to him, and you’ve only known the man 24 hours and yet a weird surge of possessiveness fills you. Or is it even possessiveness? Or just plain jealousy? Half the trouble was that you’ve never wanted someone like this — you’d never understood why the girls at school would fawn over a specific boy, it had never interested you. You’d never lain awake wondering what you should wear or how you should style your hair to best catch their attention. But today, just this morning, you’d nipped out to the nearest drugstore to the hotel and frivolously bought a new lipstick; you had no need for a new one, and certainly not in the colour you’d chosen - far flashier than you would usually wear, for some reason certain it would catch his eye, but you’d been unable to resist the temptation of putting on a bit of a show for him. To have that gone to waste, for him to ignore you, preoccupied with worrying about appeasing some other girl? Who wasn’t even there? You were annoyed at yourself, for being hurt by his actions and for doing it in the first place. 

He finally spots you in the window and he turns, waving you over, reaching out a hand for his drink off of your tray. He doesn’t verbally acknowledge you, or pause in his conversation, simply demanding you come closer with an impatient hand raised. You come towards him, dipping to allow him to easily take the glass, and you watch as he immediately tips it back for a gulp and places the half-full glass back onto the tray. He makes a little mmhmm noise down the phone as he turns his attention back to the call, and the girl on the other end. You turn to leave, not willing to simply stand there and wait for him to want the glass again, jumping when you feel him swat at your exposed thigh. You whirl back around, ready to either playfully (or truthfully, actually) confront him - once was fine but twice? But, before you can he’s back giving his attention to the phone again, looking out of the window. You take it as the dismissal he meant it, and you hate that as you walk away you add an extra sway to your walk - bunny tail bobbing with the motion - just in case he’s looking, and that you can feel your slightly smug smile from even that touch.

It feels like hours, but it was probably only twenty or so minutes later when he returns to the forward compartment, settling down into the large sofa-seat in the middle of the cabin. You’re forced to walk past a moment later and he grabs your arm on the way; 

“You look real good today Bunny - very cute.” You wiggle your tail at him and he chuckles; that deep laugh that starts in his chest but ends in his belly. His head rocks and it causes his loose hair to flop about, so different from it’s stiff look from the years prior. You beam at him, pleased to have been so entertaining. He looks you up and down again, still holding onto you,

“Like the lips darlin’. You wear that just for me?” You shake your head no, but he just laughs at you, “Ohhhh, you did it for ol’ Joe over there then did ya?” Feeling the catch-22 you’ve put yourself into you frown, you don’t want to admit that you did do it for him, but god do you not want him to even jokingly suggest you were trying to attract one of the other guys. So you do the next best thing, shaking your head and teasing him back.

“Nu-uh it was for me.” He laughs back at you, his eyes crinkling. When he calms back down he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“ O’course it was honey,” You protest his condescending tone,

“It was!” You gesture down at yourself,  “I don’t put all this on just for you,” He laughs again, eyes crinkling as he crows at you; shouting to the rest of the boys.

 “Ooh-hoo we got ourselves a real-life feminist bunny over here!” He says it mockingly, adding a sneer; “Watch out Ms. Steinem!” He scoffs,  “Now hon-ney, we both know it ain’t true… so why don’t you stop playing hard to get, admit you made yourself all pretty for me and come and sit over here. Right on daddy’s knee.” He pats his lap. You frown, you were a feminist, but his lap did look pretty inviting, and your heels were already hurting and you had wanted his attention. So, you do. 

“I’m only doing this because you’re paying me.” He chuckles again, one hand coming around you to hold your waist, the other coming to hike your legs further up and across him, his broad hand rubbing your thigh as he does so;

“Sure thing honey - you want me to tip you a little extra for whatever we’re about to do in there?” He nods his head towards the back of the plane. You frown a little, you know he’s joking but you’re suddenly a little worried he does think you’re paid to provide him with extra services. ‘We naturally do not tolerate any merchandising of the bunnies.’ That’s what the bunny bible says. Its word is law, so it’s not true that any extra services are expected. But then, when you think about it, you were told to be…nice to him. The annoying thought then registers, less concern about whether what you’re doing is against the rules, that you hope he realises that you’re doing this because you want to and not just because you’ve been told to. You try to shake this thought off, be casual - c’mon be casual, the mantra running through your head as you attempt to push all other thoughts and feelings out. After all, you don’t want him to think you’re not fun, or reading too much in to anything. 

“No-o, that’s, that’s, that’s just an added bonus.” You stroke down the zipper of his jacket, and he laughs again, grabbing your hand and kissing the knuckles.  He spreads your hands in his, assessing them. 

“God, you got such pretty little fingers baby, look at them lil’ nails  - what’s that colour called? Call-Girl Red? Scarlet Tart?” You blush, but you’re able to laugh, recognising that he would only continue to suggest increasingly ridiculous names until you did. He holds you there while he finishes his conversation with the boys, fingers brushing over your skin, until finally, he pats your thigh phrasing an order as a question - “Come through to the bedroom, doll?” You stand up, waiting for him to lead the way to the bedroom at the back of the plane; instead he stands and gestures ahead of him.

“C’mon bunny, hop to it,” He pauses, grinning after his borderline tragic bunny pun as if waiting for a laugh; you comply with a polite giggle even though it’s really not that funny, and take his hand when he holds it out, “let’s go.” When you cross into the bedroom he lets go, leaving you to sit down on the huge elliptical bed while he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You try to breathe, wondering what he has planned when he returns. 

You have no idea why you’re suddenly so nervous. There’s a rising sensation of breathlessness travelling up your chest, your stomach churning a little. You feel inexplicably sick, and for a moment you worry, as the plane bobs the tiniest bit - the motion normally soothing, that you might actually puke. He’s still in the bathroom, and you’re trying to calm yourself down - what will you say to him when he comes out? He’s expecting something now. You don’t want to miss out on anything, it had been so good last time; you didn’t want this to be the new lasting memory of your, however brief, time together. You try to tell yourself you’re being ridiculous - c’mon now, calm down, you’re fine - it’s not like he hasn’t seen you before - not like you haven’t done this before, why are you doing this - don’t ruin it for yourself - oh my god why are you such a little baby get a grip.  But that clawing feeling is climbing your chest and you’re struggling to swallow - to breathe. You’re ripping off your little bow and collar as hurriedly as you can but it doesn’t make a difference. You sink down lower, practically lying down now, attempting to practice deep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s in that moment he comes bounding out of the bathroom - looking you over, as if he’d expected to be ready to pounce; not deal with you still fully dressed (as much as you could be in the bunny corset) and close to tears. 

“Hey - hey honey what’s this?” He sounds panicked, and his pitch only increases at the tear falling down your cheek. You try to speak but can’t; “Just - Just talk to me bunny, what, what’s wrong?”  You whine at him, trying to sit up and look at him rather than peep from your horizontal angle. He makes it easier by sitting by you on the bed and peering down at your face. 

“Nuh-uh-thing,” You finally gasp out, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just - just got myself all twisted.” A tear slips out, and you angrily brush it away trying to stem the flow. He looks concerned for a second, patting your arm.

“I won’t - we haven’t -  we don’t gotta do anything baby, you know that? Not gotta do a thing you don’t wanna do.” He sounds unsure, like he’s not had to deal with this before, or like he’s nervous he’s upset you. It only makes the tears fall a little faster - at how nice he’s being to you when you don’t feel as though you deserve it.

“No-o no I know, I want to,  I just can’t seem to stop,” You talk through your hitched breaths, trying to explain. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t breathe.” He hums, looking over at the little table that ran the length of the wall, at the little black bag settled there before patting his thighs and sighing. 

“Right. ‘nough messing about - lemme just get one of the boys to call Dr. -” 

“No! No! No - I want you! I wanna do this!” You roll onto your side, scrambling upright and turning to grip his jacket, twisting it in your fist. “I wanna - Elvis I promise I’ll be fine in a second just need to calm down. Catch my breath.”

“Well, if its just you’re breathing all funny let me just give you a puff of an inhaler; they’ve barely got anything in them, just wet your throat really but- but they do help,” You shake your head and he sighs again, as if unhappy you’d refuse the offer. But then he nods, almost to himself, and taking matters into his own hands - hauls you up to be leaning against this thick, sturdy, chest. The zipper was a little lower than before and another button of his shirt has popped open allowing you to pillow your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you feel yourself come down. Shame creeping up as you become fully lucid at how irrational you’d behaved. You sit there for a little while - maybe as long as twenty minutes, but could be as short as ten. Elvis hums song after song at you, occasionally breaking into a little quiet verse, chest hairs tickling you as he moved. Finally you feel sane enough to push up a little, pulling away.

“Sorry - Sorry don’t know what came over me.” You stare at his chest, avoiding making eye contact. He brushes his hand over your chin, pulling it up to force you to look at him. He’s looking at you with an expression of tenderness that’s almost too much to bear. 

“S’all right doll, told you - it’s all fine.” You give him a tentative smile. 

“I’m sure that wasn’t very …sexy of me, but I do wanna give it another go, please Elvis?” He looks at you hard for a moment, directly in your eyes, as if attempting to judge you were being serious. He clearly decides you were because a moment later he’s leaning over you and moving his hand up your leg. 

But when his hand grazes your upper thigh, travelling upwards you feel yourself tense, suddenly stiff as a board. He kisses your neck, and his hand retreats. He spends a long couple of minutes stroking your arm, kissing your neck - your ears. Before attempting it for a second time. Again he gets most of the way there before you go stiff and tense. He moves his hand back to your arm,  talking lowly and slowly, practically whispering. 

“Now, darlin’ s’ok - we’ve done it before baby.” He’s soothing you like you’re a skittish horse, crooning into your ear, “If you wanna do this I need you to relax for me darling. Can’t do anything otherwise.” You nod, agitated at the accusation that you’re not already attempting to relax. 

“I’m trying Elvis - I want to too! I just, it’s involuntary!” He hums - looking over at the bag again -

“Look, honey, I’ve got some, some ‘ludes you can take,” You frown, you didn’t think Elvis was known for doing disco drugs. “I take ‘em to uh help me settle down baby.” You start to speak, perhaps to question the veracity of this claim or where he gets these from - considering his position on recreational drugs. But before you can he’s talking again; “Don’t get me wrong doll, I’m not - don’t get it twisted - they’re prescribed.” He pauses again - “But they’ll sort you right out, real leg spreaders. Won’t change your mind, if you say you want it you still will but, trust me, they’ll relax your body enough.” You shake your head at him, not admitting that while you would love to breathe the concept of not being in complete control of your body was terrifying, instead taking deep breaths to try and force yourself to relax a little more. 

“No-no, no need for that, ‘m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me - I’m so nervous today - I just, sorry - just need another minute.” He sighs again, and although the irrational part of your brain worries it’s in annoyance you can tell he’s more annoyed about you consistently declining his offers of help. He’s still doing his best to soothe you, delicate fingers firmly rubbing your arms and sides, a constant motion. “I just - I know it’s ridiculous, but I still feel like I can’t breathe properly.” His fingers stop on the boning of the corset, and he taps it - as if he’s discovered an answer. 

“Awh no this is silly now doll, who could all squished in there like that.” He gestures down to where your chest is threatening to spill out of the tightly laced and zipped bodice. You frown, you’re pretty sure it’s mental and not physical but now he’s drawn attention to it you feel like it’s tightening around your middle. You twist to attempt to unhook it yourself - moving forward to bend out of his lap; “No, no darling, let me - I’ll get this thing offa you.” He pushes you further forward a little way, and then with surprising skill deftly undoes the bunny corset. You don’t want to admit it but the moment the hooks fall away you do feel as if some of the air has returned to your lungs. He’s gently and firmly peeling it away from your body, pulling it down and off of your legs - tutting and stroking the little red marks where the seams and boning have dug into you a little - whether because it was just generally too tight or because you’d been contorted into a slightly awkward position. 

“Lord almighty - they doin’ that to you every day?” You shrug, about to say that it wasn’t that much worse than some of your tighter dresses or your panty girdle. He holds it up though, looking at it with distaste, rather than the humour he had the first time he’d seen it off of you -  as if seeing it for the first time. “They should make ‘em stretchier! Or - or - a better lining!” He frowns again, “I’m gonna ring Hef and tell him - it’s not right!” You shake your head, the conversation at least distracting you from your lungs. 

“Elvis - it’s not like I’m meant to be naked right now. How would you supposedly know.” You gesture down at yourself, a little flushed at the realisation that you were, in fact topless and therefore nude from the waist up. He laughs at you, a little condescendingly. 

“You ‘spect me to believe he doesn’t know what you’re up to?” He pauses, “Or that…, bunny, you know, I was, uh, warned that you girls would be… available.” You grimace, it makes you feel like a whore when it’s put like that and you try to return you mind to the point you were trying to make. 

“Well, still, if it’s because of me that the boat gets rocked - I like my job, and it was at your request we’re proper bunnies today and not in our flight uniforms!” He rolls his eyes at you, huffing at the accusation.

“Ok, ok. Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” You laugh a little, and you notice your chest bobbing with the motion - it makes you suddenly very aware of your nudity, probably a sign that you’re starting to return to normal, and you wrap an arm around your middle while scrambling to sit properly upright instead of in a semi recline. He looks at you sideways, starting to lean down, 

“Well - now we got that sorted - “ You cut him off,

“It wasn’t about that - it was just, I just got all caught in my head, I think I’m a little messed up; it happens every now and again. It just - anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Could you, sorry, would you pass me my bag from over there?” You nod towards the bag just inside the door, it had been a little presumptuous perhaps but you’d left it close enough that if you had missed the mark it wouldn’t have been tricky to move or hide it. “I’ll get changed now.” He frowns, he’s sat upright again himself, but doesn’t move for the bag, instead pulling your arm around and dragging you to sit over his legs again - he leans back, pulling your head to lie on his chest. 

“Babe - there’s nothing wrong with you… you just gotta, gotta put a little of it into the air, believe it’s happening for a reason.” He pauses, one arm moving up to wrap around your waist, the other stroking your arm, catching on the little cuff that was still there. “You gotta promise you won’t - it’s no secret, not anymore, but I don’t share this with everyone - so you promise you won’t laugh?” You nod, as best you can - he sounds nervous. “My mama, she er, she always used to say I was real special, that I had a gift.” You nod again, assuming this is about to lead into him singing something to you which, while you didn’t think it was going to be key to ending these nerve attacks you keep having, is certainly not something you would discourage. “But, she uh used to say I had the power to heal things, and, and I think its true baby, so will you - maybe if we can; if I can give you some of my ‘nergy and we think about it - real hard - together, we might get somewhere? Just gotta, gotta connect - spiritually. Maybe if I, If I push on you, and we meditate together we might, it might help?” He looks so hopeful and sounds so earnest that, despite your misgivings about the veracity of these claims, you agree. 

“Ok, ok - if you think, if it might help. I just, I do wanna do things with you, I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You won’t baby, you won’t.” He sits down, cross legged at the top of the bed, pulling you around to sit in front of him. He makes no mention of your nakedness, and you’re doing your best not to notice it yourself. “Ok, honey, so just, I’m gonna put my hands here, and you’re just going to breathe with me ok?” His eyes are bright, and his face open, like he’s simply excited to be able to share this with someone. You nod, placing your hands on top of where his are resting on his thighs. “Hold on baby, let’s get these offa ya too.” And he unbuttons your little cuffs, rubbing your wrists where they’d sat, “You don’t hafta, don’t need to think about anything ok darling? You just sit there, and focus on my hands and match my breathing ok? I’ll do all the hard work.” You nod again, and he shuffles himself a little, as if getting himself ready to settle in. “Oh - and I want you to close your eyes.” You look at him for a second, attempting to gauge that he’s being serious and this isn’t some kind of elaborate set-up. He gazes back at you, blue eyes completely calm, and you let your eyes slip closed. He hums a moment later, and then you feel him clasping your hands. 

You can tell he’s focussing his breathing, slowing it down and drawing it out, and you match him as best you can, feeling him spread your fingers and press his palms into yours. It takes all of your attention and sufficiently distracts you from your panic and worry that quickly you don’t realise you’re no longer thinking about anything but the light pressure of his hand on yours and the air filling your lungs. 

You’re entirely focussed on his slow, measured breaths, and your mind is blank - it’s almost a surprise when an immeasurable time later he flexes his hands, whispering at you to open your eyes. You come back up slowly, blinking in the artificial light of the plane, despite Elvis having used the dimmer. 

Although you do, admittedly, feel better you’re still not wholly convinced by his healing properties. What you are grateful for however, is how happy he looks when you open your eyes, as if pleased to have been given the opportunity. And regardless of the ability to heal you, you also feel like something has changed. A shift in the energy between you. 

His hand grasps yours, his fingers releasing you to trail up your wrist, up your forearm, and stroke back down to your palms again, brushing his fingers all the way down to your very fingertips and starting all over again. The motion of it, after the intimacy of the last half hour sends your nerve-endings alight, goosebumps forming over your flesh. You feel completely calm, completely ready for him again, your posture straight but relaxed. He moves his hands further up, brushing against your armpits and you gasp as he tickles you the tiniest amount. Suddenly, you find yourself up on your knees - leaning into him, falling into him. Your hands cupping his face, fingers tangling in his sideburns. He catches you in his relaxed arms, the soft fabric of his jacket rubbing against your nipples. He’s still breathing quite deeply, mouth parted - and it allows you to press your lips against his, tongue rapidly falling into his mouth. His hands spread across your torso, curving around your chest as you lean into him - trying to get as physically close to him as you emotionally feel.

His thumbs twirl in circles and your back arches as your nipples pebble against his soft touch - your pussy suddenly starting to feel unbearably hot in its three layers of tights and panties. You huff against his lips, pulling back to grasp the waistband of them all - determined to simply roll them all down together, saving them from him, and you do so in one motion almost immediately regretting that it left you completely bare while he was still fully clothed. He doesn’t give you a chance for it to be more than a fleeting thought though, lying you back, still focussed on making you breathless with his mouth. He kisses along your cheek to your neck and you gasp as he sucks on the sensitive patch just above where your collar bone joins your shoulder. You try to reciprocate, pushing the jacket off of him and struggling to unbutton the last of his shirt -  exposing his chest and stomach. He bats your hand away when you go for the top of his pants, pulling away from you and he stands up - surveying you. 

“You ready for me, baby?” You squirm a little under his gaze, and you’re not sure where the boldness comes from to reach a hand down, dragging a finger over your wetness, and spreading the folds of your labia open for him to see the glistening stickiness within. 

“I dunno, what do you think?” His mouth gapes at you, breathing heavily, the motion as unexpected to him as it was to you, and as you sink a finger into yourself, moaning while you do, he hurriedly removes his pants - throwing them somewhere, his eyes never straying from your core. He pushes your arm out of the way a moment later, 

“Think you look like a goddamn fucking centrefold - Jesus Christ, bunny, Lord, all for me, Halle-fucking-lujah,” He lowers himself back down, pressing a kiss to your chest, pumping himself a few times before lining his cock up with your entrance. 

He sinks into you, slowly, letting you feel every inch of him that he guides into you. The slight overhang of his belly pressing against your middle as he holds you close, pressing into you as deeply as he can get. You feel every inch of him, every fold in his skin as he pushes in - you know he’s not huge, but it’s been so long that to have something in you two nights in a row, you can feel your entrance ache a little, and inside a slight burn from the stretch. He groans, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you shift, wrapping your legs around him crossing your ankles behind his back. He pants against your ear, kissing the sensitive patch of skin right behind.  He’s encasing you in him, smothering you, the smell of him - he’d clearly showered after his show, the faint hint of neutrogena still clinging to him but his own scent, the mixture of his own musk and woodsy cologne layering over it - surrounds you. It altogether feels as intimate as the meditation did - just his and your bodies entangled together. He rests there, barely rocking into you, slowly, almost tenderly - before dragging himself out, rolling off.

“Gotta let you breathe, mama - wanna get deeper.” The concept seems impossible, but he’s pushing one of you legs to the side, rolling you slightly and clambering on top, straddling your other leg and kneeling down before he’s sinking in again. 

“Oh - shit, shit - how’re you, oh my god Elvis, that’s - I’ve never,” He knocks against your walls, blindly, until he hits the little bundle of nerves inside you causing all thoughts to leave your head, unable to form a sentence past whimpering. You prop yourself up with one hand, holding onto him with the other, it’s new for you - to be able to watch someone’s face as well as watch them push themselves into you. Being able to look at his face, his mouth open, little grunts and moans flowing as his eyes half-close in pleasure is mind-blowing; beyond your wildest imagination. 

“Oh baby, mama, you’re so - oh god, how are you still so tight, you ain’t been properly broken in yet, have you, fuck,” His hips are thrusting into you now, little jolts of pleasure running down your spine and you whine as he hushes you, rubbing a hand across your tummy, moving it up to grasp at your breast. He squeezes, on the edge of too hard, swiping his thumb across your nipple as he pinches it - causing you to clench down on him again, prompting a low groan out of his own mouth. He strokes down your torso, before resting his hand on you, it feels huge across your stomach, heavy and hot almost feeling like it’s burning through you. He slips his thumb lower, coaxing your clitoris out from hiding. 

“Want you to go with me, C’mon now baby - c’mon bun, I’m close,” He slams his hips into you, “Al-most there,” His fingers rub over you a little faster, and your nails of your supporting hand dig into your own hair, the other clutching his arm, as you tumble over the edge, shouting,

“Oh - oh - oh, god, Elvis - daddy, god, fuck that’s - oh god,” You hear him swear, pulling out just in time and spraying over your stomach, his fingers coming off of you, allowing you to come down, your body still trembling for a few moments.  

When you feel like you’re properly back on earth, a few minutes later, you’re still lying back, panting, while you hear him stand and  get himself wiped off.  Coming over to you to gently wipe away the mess on your tummy. He looks over at you, eyes still half-lidded, 

“C’mon ‘lil bunny, time to get back to work.” He pats your thighs and you shakily stand up. Despite his hurry he behaves almost unexpectedly gentlemanly and fetches your bag for you from beside the door. “Ain’t gonna make you put that torture device back on - you can do the leather if you want.” You frown, thinking for a moment - everyone will know what you’ve been up to then, but then you laugh to yourself a little - everyone already certainly knows. You pause before getting your underwear back on, slightly surprised at his speed, looking over at him; 

“You sure you won’t…don’t wanna go again?” He looks a little bashful for a second, 

“ ‘m not, I’m an ole man now baby.” Is all he says in reply, but it does the job in conveying what he meant. You look over at him - not sure that you’d describe him as old, he’s what… 38, 39? But you leave it be - dressing in the little leather coat/wrap dress. As you sit to roll your tights over your legs though he stops you, looking you over. “Bunny? Leave off the hose.” 

“Sure daddy, sure.” You obey, stripping them off again and pulling your boots onto your bare legs - undoubtedly you’ll get a blister but it’s worth it for the pleased way he looks at you and the kiss on the top of your head in reward for your obedience. You nip into the bathroom, trying to sort your hair and touch up your make-up, and by the time you’re ready to come out he’s gone. 

You walk out with your head up, and while you’re greeted with a series of smirks and some whispers you’re not as panicked about it as before, and you’re relieved he came out before you, positive that he took the brunt of any teasing. He winks at you when you pass him, dressed without his shirt now, but otherwise ignores you. This doesn’t upset you like before -  you’re content that only you and him truly know what’s just gone on and that your new, intimate, connection is safe and tucked away just for the two of you. It feels like you’ve been wrapped up in him for days and yet when you look over at the clock ticking away you realise you’ve only been in the air for an hour and a half. You feel a little like you’ve left a tiny part of yourself in that room with him, and that you should feel more vulnerable - more exposed than you do. Instead, you feel calm - your tension almost completely gone and with that you start to feel the possibility that you might actually be able to enjoy the next few hours. 

A couple of hours later, you’re dancing in the disco room - providing entertainment although you’re sure most of them, certainly Elvis, should be sleeping; unsure where the burst of energy from everyone has come from. But still, you’re dancing about with the other girls, playfully messing around, when he - from his sat position, lavender tinted glasses now on his nose, pulls you down to whisper in your ear,

“C’mon bunny, give me a little show - pick one of ‘em.” He gestures to the other girls bobbing around you. You look at him, mouth open, a little shocked at his bold request - so different from the sweet, slow, intimate behaviour from earlier. It’s not something you’re totally opposed to, but….in public? It’s as if he’s reading your mind; reassuring you -

“S’ok, baby, s’just us up here - just me and m’boys,” He pats you on the thigh, “Go on - there’s a good girl.” You stumble forward a little and make eye contact with Maggie - who was already looking over, clearly eager to share his attention. You look back over to Elvis, watching him grin at her, pleased that she seems so willing, “Just wanna watch you two kiss honey, nothing more - don’t gotta be that dirty but just… just a little. Just for me.” You nod, steeling yourself. But Maggie isn’t reluctant in any way, threading her fingers through yours to pull you closer. The tie of your leather dress brushes against her bare thigh, still in the bunny corset, and you feel her shudder against you as you step completely into her space. 

It’s a little strange, kissing her, different but simultaneously essentially the same. The startling difference was the … niceness of it, it was sweet and slow and gentle. Different from the lip biting and teasing of the men you’d kissed. You forget, for a moment, all the other people in the room, it’s narrowed to just the three of you although really you’re putting on a show for everyone, and you open your eyes - watching Elvis watch you. Despite Maggie’s lips on yours - her soft body still pressed against you - your focus is solely on him. His eyes are burning into you, and his legs are spread, thighs thick and inviting. You put a little more effort in, grasping her hair, rubbing down her back, and you listen to him huff a little chuckle when you jokingly squeeze her tail, and slot your leg between hers. You keep eye contact behind her head, watching him swallow, shifting a little to rub a hand over himself - completely unabashed at doing so in front of everyone. The sight of him sat there, looking like a sultan surveying his harem, blue eyes serious and intense, makes your eyes slip closed, and you put all your focus into the feeling of being watched and being kissed. You pull away, laughing as you both sway a little from the force of coming apart - you look over at him; 

“That alright Da-El?” He beams at you, 

“Perfect girls - so goddamn perfect.” He pats his thigh, the outline of his hardening cock almost completely visible, “Why don’t you come over here bunnies, let me have a better look.” You both do as he asks, giggling, as you tumble together onto his lap. It’s messier now, more fun, her hands scrabbling down your sides, and yours cupping her cheeks. You feel so hyper from it all that you almost feel drunk. His hand moves to support your lower back as you lean across to kiss Maggie again, giggling a little against her lips as she almost tips backwards until his arm catches her. 

“God, men fucking dream about this dolls - two little bunnies sat in their laps. But this is just for me ain’t it? Just for me?” His head is tipped back, but he swings it forward to look at you both - intensely, possessively. How a man could be possessive over two women he’d only known 48 hours, on a plane he didn’t even own, was mind-boggling - the sheer confidence required for that kind of thought overwhelming. Yet you can’t help but feel turned on by it, your own head nodding insistently to reassure him. Maggie looks askance at you, but still rapidly nods - the slight lie going unnoticed. His thigh flexes and where you’ve leant forward has hitched your tiny skirt up high enough that you’re now entirely sat feeling the soft fabric encasing his thigh underneath you rub against your bare legs. You can’t help but rock against it, just the tiniest amount. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you three, and instead of the shame you expected to feel, your stomach tightens in arousal at the sensation of being watched. He lets out a little moan, and it only makes you work harder, slipping your tongue into Maggie’s mouth as she pants against your lips. You feel Elvis’  hand slide up your body to the side of your ribcage, his thumb brushing your breast. You pull back, and he gasps as you stroke the outside of his soft trouser leg, gently rubbing the fabric over his cock. Elvis abruptly stands, pushing you both off. 

“Think there might be some important business I need to do in Hef’s office. Why don’t you two run along ahead - gonna need,” he looks sideways, jokingly, playing it up for your forgotten audience, “gonna need a couple of helping hands.” You give what can only be described as a polite smile, wondering what on earth has gotten into you that you were willing to display yourself like that in public. But for whatever reason you’re walking back into the bedroom again - this time following behind Maggie. You’re watching her from behind, and though you’ve seen her in uniform countless times you’re suddenly left wondering if her shape has always looked that inviting to grab - or if the teddy had always revealed so much of her ass. She seems far more at home in Hugh’s private quarters than you ever did the first time, and you realise suddenly that it’s very probable this isn’t her first time back here with a guest. The realisation shoots a burst of anxiety through you again, that you try to immediately brush away, that this whole thing really was just expected of you. 

Elvis shuts the door behind him when he comes in, immediately setting the mood lighting. Before resting his hand on your back and pulling you in for a quick kiss. It’s strange kissing him again now, you expect for some reason his lips to feel rough in comparison to Maggie’s, masculine instead of her soft femininity,  but as always his lips are full and buttery soft a perfect representation of the juxtaposition of his personality. He pulls away too soon and you find yourself leaning into him, eyes still closed, chasing the sensation, pouting when he laughs at you. 

“You good to go honey, or do you need a hand givin’ me a show?” You’re confused by what he’s offering, until you notice he’s holding out his hand two little pills sat in it. “Just vitamins baby,” You shake your head, you’re a little nervous but despite the environment you’re working in you’ve not taken anything yet, and the concept of it scares you more than your nerves. You’re surprised though when Maggie’s hand comes from nowhere, plucking one of them out of his palm and swallowing it dry. He beams at her, “Atta girl.” Maggie giggles at him, 

“Thank you daddy,” and he glances over at you, sideways, again before swallowing the leftover pill. 

He claps his hands, before suddenly, playfully, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You’re shocked at the display of physicality - not expecting it at all, and even more surprised when a moment later Maggie is thrown in much the same manner, bumping onto the bed and knocking into you. He settles himself up by the cushions, looking expectantly at the pair of you of you sprawled out and he gestures to the rest of the bed. He shifts, settling his hands on his open thighs, the hard outline of his cock almost completely visible through his pants. He clenches them into fists, like he’s trying not to touch. He looks, with his hair wild and his glasses on, so classically - typically Elvis that it makes your heart rate increase just watching him.

“Go on then, pretty little bunnies - wanna see you two - wanna see you havin’ fun. Give me a show.” It’s not a request but a command, and even if you’d wanted to (which you didn’t) you can’t do anything but obey. 

Maggie responds with a “Yes, sir,” as you move to situate yourself, kneeling at the bottom of the bed and she crawls over to meet you. This time she takes control, kissing you, her hands moving over the little leather coat-dress. It feels different having her lithe, nylon covered leg pushing in between yours instead of Elvis’ thick thigh. You wouldn’t go so far to say it’s better, but the friction against your thin panties and the way it allows your legs and thighs to stay fairly close, to clench and move is appealing. You can’t help but rock against her, clutching at her waist -  she laughs into your mouth, pulling your hair a little as she presses gentle kisses down your neck. You gasp, head falling back, before you pull away to lean forward again, catching her face between your hands, you rub against her, drawing her front back towards you - you giggle, whispering, 

“Mags’ I can’t - can’t believe we’re doing this...” Elvis chuckles behind you, clearly you weren’t as quiet as you thought, and that makes you laugh harder. It’s fun and flirty and you haven’t felt this chill about something in a while - the ability to just zone out and enjoy the sensations without having to worry about the future. You start to unbelt your dress, trying to move quickly - frantically, and as soon as you’ve got it unbuttoned Maggie is palming at you, pushing it down your shoulders. She moves forward a little more, and you lean back - letting Elvis get a better look at your newly uncovered skin. She moves her hand to brush against your panty-covered mound and you gasp. Your head falling forward onto her shoulder at the feel, so different from your own fingers or his thick digits, she moves her leg and you’re suddenly humping against nothing - you whine into the air, Elvis interrupting you as you try to pull her back.  

“Sl-slow down girls, get tha’ dress off and go a lil’ slower - there’s no rush. No need to rush now - just slow - slow it down.”  You nod trying to still your hips, gasping out, 

“Ok, ok, daddy - well - we’ll slow -ah- down,” and Maggie pushes you, both of you tumbling backwards. You roll for a moment, the silk of Maggie’s costume rubbing against your skin, the coolness a welcome relief to your burning skin. You suddenly catch, out of the corner of your eye, Elvis shifting, his arm moving at a rapid pace and you don’t know why, considering what you’re currently doing, you’re shocked to realise he has his cock out, that he’s touching himself watching you. You accidentally make eye contact, and you’re taken aback by the look on his face, his lip curling in pleasure. To be watched with such burning desire is shocking, and would be enough to make you shy had you not had this overwhelming sexual confidence come over you from somewhere. You absently think that you should probably help Maggie out of her corset, the pufftail isn’t comfortable to lie in and she was probably wishing for more breathability right now, but before you can offer she’s stroking a finger down you and all thoughts fly out of your head. She looks up at Elvis, questioning something that you can’t hear through your single-minded tunnel vision and hearing, but you manage to catch his reply; 

“No - no, just - just, just over top, honey, not - no, that’s just for me.” And she resumes to touching you over the top of the growing dampness of your panties, you groan at the sheer level of objectification; at being spoken about as if you were just there for his amusement, that you were his. Maggie renews her efforts though, and her fingers quickly, even over the soft cotton fabric of your underwear, find the spot to make you squirm, hips bucking into her. She soothes you, and you wonder if you should be reciprocating in some way but as her delicate fingers push the tiniest fold of fabric into you, you’re lost clutching at the fur throw, the slight friction easing as it gathers up your slick. She moves her finger to circle around your clit, bunching the fabric between her thumb and fingers and rubbing it against you. You somehow manage to blink open your eyes, leaning your head all the way back to look at Elvis; his entire focus is on what’s happening between your legs - it causes a shudder to run through you, and your stomach tightens as you feel your legs start to cramp; 

“Go on baby, hold it for me, hold it - don’t - want you to keep her just there for me - that’s it. Stop stop, that’s just for me.” She pulls her hand away and your back arches as whine, so close to the edge. 

He leans in gripping Maggie’s neck to kiss her and you can hear the wet smack of their lips together, he pulls back, briefly “Don’t worry, honey, don't wanna make you jealous…just wanna say thank you for such a lovely show - that’s alright isn’t it?” You can’t do anything but agree and he returns to her, hands on her neck and head to hold her in place. Watching it up close you can understand why he wanted to watch himself, you wonder if that’s what you look like with him too; all teeth and tongue and lips. You squirm, still feeling the possibility of your orgasm. 

“Now go on, there’s a good girl, run along now, thank you darling - You gonna be alright? You want me to get one of the boys to uh, see to ya properly?” She shakes her head, almost fondly as if laughing that she might need his help to find a willing partner.  “Well - You tell ‘em I said it’s ok.” He sends her on her way like he’s pimping her out for the night, you hate how it makes your core throb a little, and you can’t help but glow at being the very obviously chosen one; not just one night but two in a row. Maggie looks back at you, still lying on the fur throw, winks and leaves - sauntering through the door. When she’s gone Elvis turns back to you, rubbing sweeping circles on your stomach,

“Just wanna get you goin’ again for me,” His hand starts to trail down, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you put your own out - grasping his wrist to stop him wanting him to know;

“Daddy, I’ve never - that was my first time with,” He laughs, 

“Oh, honey, I know, I know. Did you like it?” You nod, and he laughs again, “I’ll bring my camera next time baby, can’t believe Hef’s not got one installed in here somewhere. What a waste.” He tries to move but you hold his hand where it is, causing him to look calculatingly over you, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Was there something you wanted?” 

“I…” You squirm under the pressure of his gaze and the tone of his voice. 

“C’mon bunny, tell me what you want.” You nod, a bit nervous - but you had stopped his hand for a reason. 

“Could you, would you… you know.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he responds, 

“No, sorry, I don’t.” You whine,

“Ugh - would you, with your tongue?” 

“Ohh - you want me to go back down on you? Have another taste of that sweet yittle bunny cunt?” You wriggle at his harsh wording mixed with his babying tone, but you frantically nod. He grins, taking his glasses off and throwing them somewhere on the bed.

“Well ain’t today just my lucky day.” He manhandles you into a better position, ripping your underwear off, pushing you against the cushions and shoving one underneath your hips -  moving to situate himself between your thighs. He wiggles like a cartoon about to be served at a restaurant - almost certainly to make you laugh and you comply, nervously giggling, mind preoccupied with hoping that you taste alright now that you’ve asked for it. He spreads you open, kissing your inner thigh before moving closer to your core, and you can feel yourself pulse with anticipation.

He tentatively licks you, just a gentle, wet stripe and you immediately gasp - eyes flying wide open, startled at how sensitive you already felt. Although it shouldn’t come as any surprise, you’d been slick and swollen since you’d fucked earlier, and a bit sore since last night. He flattens his tongue, spreading your folds, and moves his fingers in to keep you spread open. Your hips buck of their own accord when he wets his lips and blows cold air onto you, watching you squirm and clench in response. You can feel his smile before he concentrates again his tongue lapping at your entrance. Your legs come up, needing more support to better grind onto him and your hands move down to grip his hair, thumbs digging into the side of his face, his sideburns, while your fingers find purchase in his long strands, gently holding him in place. He renews his efforts, flicking his tongue in your inner folds and he moves one of his hands to brace your stomach down as he moves to lick directly over your clit - your hips thrusting up enough in response for you to understand the necessity of his hand holding you down. You didn’t realise you could become addicted to the feel of something so quickly, but you’re not sure you’re going to be able to live without someone, preferably him, doing this to you regularly. The warm wet pressure builds, and on top of where you were already on the edge it’s quickly building to be almost too much. He pulls back just as you think you’re about to go over the edge and you groan, but he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick. 

“Oh god - is that, is that me on you?” He grins, 

“Sure is baby, sweetest honey from my honey bun-bun.” He licks his lips, and you groan again, your tummy flipping from how close you still feel, 

“Elvis - Daddy - need you, need more,” He leans back down, whispering, crooning in babytalk to your pussy; 

“Oh baby, baby, poor little, yittle, baby bunny - daddy’s gonna take real good care of you now, no more games baby, no that’s right, gonna get you right there,” He presses his lips to your clit kissing it, nose buried in you. Your entire focus is on the sensations as he moves down to spear his tongue into you, so different from a finger or cock and you almost choke from the force of the puff of air you exhale, as he curls it just so; you didn’t even know it was possible to do that and you wonder how much practice at this he really has. 

You can’t bear to look down at him anymore, the sight of his long lashes brushing against you, reminding you of who it was between your legs, watching you almost too much and you throw your head back, eyes closing as he thrusts his tongue in and out. He moves to add his thumb in, rubbing over your clit as his tongue continues to do its job, soothingly licking where you’re sore around the entrance to your hole. Your stomach tightens as he maintains a steady pace and you clench around him, thighs coming to rest on either side of his head, as you rock on his tongue and fingers. It’s not long, only moments when the pressure and movement get you there, body jumping as you crest over the wave of your orgasm. He licks you through it, and it means you just keep going. It’s overwhelming, and not something you’ve experienced before, the extended shaking and shuddering as you jolt around, jumping with every fizzle of pleasure. Finally, he pulls back, allowing you to breathe again, panting as you force your body to relax. 

A minute or so later you’re able to sit up a little more, opening your eyes properly again. You look over at Elvis and he’s got his cock in his hand - you’re tired but you feel like you have to show him some kind of appreciation for the best orgasm of your life so you lean up on your elbows, reaching a hand down to join his, you pump it once or twice before whispering to him,

“Let me Daddy,” and you sink your mouth down onto him. He gasps in surprise swearing

“Lord hav- oh god baby, bunny, oh shit.” as you hum around him, swallowing. He was clearly already very close and it only takes a couple of moments in the hot, wet, pressure of your mouth and throat before he’s warning you, 

“Gonna, it’s, I’m gonna go off baby, it’s - I’m close, real fu-cking close.” And with that he thrusts once, twice, while you hollow your cheeks - sucking down hard and that’s all it takes for him to be spurting into your mouth. You flinch, surprised, despite his warning, at the speed the taste unexpected, but still you swallow it down. “Fuck - fuck, thank you bunny, thank you.” He’s sweet, offering more gratitude than you’ve ever received from a man. You kiss his tip as you pull away and once again fall onto your back. You lie back, panting, and he joins you, curling around you - cuddling into you for the first time since you started this whole thing. You roll into him, enjoying being cradled in his thick arms, trying to comprehend the events of the past forty eight hours and how you’re going to be returning back to your normal life in only another few hours, wondering what Maggie chose to do, when he starts to talk, fingers tracing circles on your arms. 

“You know - my daddy’s - I got ‘im buyin’ me my own jet.” Your brow furrows a little, unsure where he’s going with this - “I uh, I - you’ll still have a cute little outfit, I like - like to dress ma girls up but, but I promise it’ll be … stretchy and uh, I won’t - I won’t assume anything but - but I  sure would like it if you, you would come on board with me?” He perhaps should have stopped there but he keeps talking, “It also - it would mean more time together, bunny, fewer girls around. Well…fewer in uniform anyway.” You grimace a little - so what is he suggesting; you be his on call plane whore? You hate that you want it, hate that you’re so desperate for him, in any way you can have him - to whatever capacity he’s available that you’re going to agree. 

“Of course - that would, that would be a dream come true Elvis, I would love to,” You’re not entirely stupid though. You smile at him, agreeing but not believing - this happens all the time in the clubs too; men promising things that never materialise - the drunker they get the more outlandish the claims; cars, houses, vacations, jobs. You know of too many girls who quit because they were promised a job as someone’s secretary only for the role to never materialise to put too much stock into his question. Besides, you still have two more flights with Elvis already in Big Bunny’s calendar - you were sure there’s more than enough time for him to make the offer again if he was really serious. 

“Wha-what’s your schedule like?… You got a boyfriend?” You pause, uncertain where this is going, surely these were questions that should have been asked yesterday? You suddenly realise that you know he’s seeing someone if only from the overheard phone-call but that you also had no idea if you were turning into the other woman or something. Or if you were just a girl to pass the time with. 

“I - uh, no. No, no-one. I’m not, we’re kept quite busy…” He frowns, kissing the top of your shoulder,

“Would you, you could come watch a show if you, I’ll get tickets for you and the girls if you want?” You smile, 

“That would be lovely, thank you -” He continues, 

“You could come a little earlier if you wanted, I’m playing somewhere new tomorrow, well - uh,” he looks over at the clock, grimacing, “Today. So I gotta check the sound and things, you could come to the rehearsal? I want you there baby,” You register some shock at his last words but nod, agreeing, it sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime and you go to say it but you suddenly realise, from the little puffing breaths on your shoulder he’s fallen asleep practically mid-sentence. You look around for the clock, before you, with some wonder, discover there’s still ninety minutes left of the flight and close your own eyes too. The others can do the stewarding, you’re doing the main job - keeping Elvis happy. 

[karizard-ao3]

Asks, this week's chapter, next week's chapter.

Once again, I know I have asks waiting for me and I promise I am not ignoring them. It's been a rough week and I haven't had much bandwidth for anything besides laying about and thinking about how it's been a rough week. I try to do asks in the order I received them but I might do the simpler ones first this time. There is one in particular I have to think about a bit more to work out logistics.

Also, I looked over the smut chapter accompanying this week's normal chapter of single parents and it was pretty fucking mid, so I am going to try to fix it up over the next couple days. Reading it, you can really tell I was burned out on writing smut 😭. I still am, but I will do my best to make it not suck regardless.

Also, I am going to be on a road trip all of next week so I will do my absolute best to get Friday's chapter edited and posted at the usual time, but please be patient if it gets delayed. We invited my parents on this trip so I will have to find time in between sightseeing and getting carsick to write/edit in secret because, despite being a grown adult, I still don't want my mom and dad in my business. I had hoped to work on the chapter tonight or tomorrow, but I will be attempting to fix the smut instead 🤷‍♂️

Thank you for your patience and wish me luck with this trip.

[gourmet-trash]

HEY. remember when i said i accidentally stayed up until 2am writing smut a week ago? i did it again! tomorrow i might delete edit this and post it properly, but in honor of trying to use nanowrimo to simply get back into the habit of writing and get out of my own head about it, here's 4k of under-negotiated halstarion kink for ya!

--

They haven’t been settled in the clearing long, but Halsin is breathless, shirtless, and working a line of sucking kisses towards Astarion’s gaping collar when it happens. He’s learned to look and listen for it now - the telltale shift of Astarion’s focus, the overly practiced cadence of his moans. Tonight, it’s a sound he makes when Halsin kisses the exposed bit of his collarbone – too breathy, too eager – that makes Halsin look up. 

Astarion is still perched over his lap, has curled a long fingered hand around the back of his neck and another over his shoulder. But for all that his weight is a welcome presence across his thighs, Halsin knows he isn’t really there with him. His features are arranged into an expression of soft pleasure, certainly, but there’s a dull rust in his eyes and a languidness in his limbs that give him away. 

Slowly, Halsin sits up against the tree he’s propped himself against and lifts his hands from where they had been stroking the outside of Astarion’s thighs. He rests one warm palm higher against his side and lifts the other to cup his cheek. 

“Astarion?” he calls, brushing his thumb against the soft skin beneath it. They’ve only just started feeling their way into the evening, and Astarion hasn’t been detached for long. But even still, Halsin gives him time to reconnect, watching as his eyes gradually brighten and refocus. 

“Are you all right?” he asked gently. 

Astarion blinks at him once, twice, and then his expression pinches down into something narrow. Annoyed. It only lasts a moment before he visibly regains control of his features, brows softening, lips curling, lashes lowering.

“I’m fine,” he insists, turning to press a nipping kiss to the thumb against his cheek before leaning in closer and winding his arms around Halsin’s neck. “Just got a bit…distracted. Now where were we?” 

When he dips in for a kiss, Halsin returns it, but only briefly before he eases Astarion back. The annoyance reclaims his face and is not swept away this time. 

“Are you certain?” he presses. “We do not have to continue with this if you would rather not.” 

Astarion leans back from him of his own accord this time, fisting his hands against his own thighs and huffing so hard a curl falls down over his forehead. He doesn’t climb off of Halsin’s lap, but his brow knits into a tight furrow and his lips press down into a hard, flat line. The agitation roiling up around him may as well be a physical thing for how obvious his displeasure is. 

“I want to continue,” he bites out, teeth all but grinding together. 

Halsin, in turn, is exceedingly careful when he lowers his hand to Astarion’s other side, his touch featherlight, though Astarion gives no indication he notices at all. 

“It’s all right if you don’t,” he points out, keeping his own voice calm. He means this, and knows - or rather hopes - Astarion knows that. It would not be the first time they adjusted their evening plans accordingly, and Halsin knows it will not be the last. He is, perhaps, more at peace with this than Astarion himself is if the tension in his limbs and the thunder in his expression are anything to go by. 

Astarion doesn’t respond, breathing hard and unnecessary through his nose, and when Halsin glances down, he finds he’s uncurled his fists in favor of curling the points of his nails into his thighs instead. When one cuts through his trousers to dig into the glimpse of white flesh underneath, Halsin releases his sides and sets his own larger hands over his, grasping gently. Not enough to restrain, but enough to keep him from directing any more frustration into his own skin. 

Astarion scowls down at their hands in silence. 

Halsin rubs his thumbs against his hands until Astarion relaxes them. Then, softly, he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, my heart.”

“Yes, and maybe that’s the problem!” Astarion snaps suddenly, yanking his hands out from under his. 

Halsin stares, startled by the outburst, and Astarion frowns, first at him and then at the tree over his shoulder. When he doesn’t elaborate, Halsin carefully breaches the silence instead. 

“Do you want me to hurt you?” 

Astarion opens his mouth to respond before catching himself and pressing his lips back together. Halsin spots a glimpse of a fang hooking over his lower lip briefly before it’s released, and he clicks his tongue softly, shoulders coming up slightly towards his ears.  

Halsin sees the moment Astarion’s not insignificant amount of nerve fails him. When he decides to settle rather than expose any more of his soft underbelly than he already has by asking outright for what he wants. He casts his eyes aside and tilts his head, just so, hiding his expression and tucking away his throat - his jugular.

“Astarion,” Halsin tries to coax him back into the conversation, lifting a hand to frame the sharp edge of his jaw. He sees Astarion roll his eyes under the cover of his lashes and the loose curl of his hair. 

“Let’s not worry about it, darling! Certainly not worth derailing the rest of our evening over. Shall we try again?” Astarion says with bright, easy flippancy. He settles back into his own limbs with perfectly composed intent: rolling a wrist as if to brush away the conversation, sitting up to regain his position and conveniently pulling his jaw out of Halsin’s palm. He puts on a familiar smirk and drops his hands to Halsin’s chest, watching as his fingers drag down over the bared muscle and hair there. A well insinuated excuse to avoid eye contact.

Halsin considers him for a moment while Astarion artfully attempts to sweep the entire ordeal back under the proverbial rug. But it is a rare thing for Astarion to voice his own desires with any sort of specificity, either because he does not know what he wants or because he struggles with what he does. And Halsin suspects he knows which of the two is agitating him this evening.

When he lifts his hand to Astarion’s jaw again, he catches both sides and digs his fingertips and thumb into the soft skin with more force than he’s previously shown outside the furthest throes of passion. The skin dimples under his grip, and on another man it would take only a bit more pressure to leave a flush in the shape of his fingers behind.

The effect is immediate. 

Astarion’s eyes finally snap back to his, wider but infinitely more focused than they’d been just a moment before. And whether from the pressure against his jaw or sheer surprise, his lips have fallen just a bit apart. He doesn’t even appear to be making the effort to feign breathing, gone supernaturally still in Halsin’s lap with only his fingertips still balanced against his chest, as if he’d forgotten about them entirely.

But it’s the intensity of his focus that strikes Halsin the hardest. Any misgivings he may have had about the honesty of Astarion’s desires are put at ease by how firmly anchored into the present moment he appears to be. For now, at least.

Halsin doesn’t speak right away, watching Astarion’s face as he slowly tightens his grip, pushing into what must be uncomfortable pressure. It’s just hard enough to force Astarion’s mouth further open, enough to expose his fangs. It would likely not yet even bruise if his lover were at risk of such a thing. 

It still tears an impossibly sweet noise from him, high pitched and wobbling in his throat. The sound is something delightfully unpracticed, and it sends a sharp, promising jolt of warmth through him to hear it. Another warm pulse follows at the flustered expression that crosses Astarion’s face a moment later when he realizes he made it.

“Astarion,” he says again, fingers tight but his voice as gentle as it has been before. Astarion tries to make an undoubtedly disapproving face at the tone, but he isn’t entirely successful with his mouth pressed open and a thin line of saliva starting to trickle out of the corner of his lips. “Is this the sort of treatment you were asking for?”

The spell that had so thoroughly ensnared Astarion when Halsin grabbed him is starting to abate by now. He doesn’t pull away, but he does raise an arch eyebrow and lifts one of his own hands to wave pointedly at where Halsin is holding his mouth ajar. 

Halsin smiles and uses his grip on Astarion’s chin to tip his head back a bit. He’s rewarded with a small, hitched sound that Astarion doesn’t quite manage to stop himself from making, and the trail of saliva curls over his jaw and starts a slow trickle down the exposed line of his neck. 

“I’m certain you can manage a clear enough yes or no from here,” Halsin says, not unkindly. 

He watches Astarion’s eyes narrow and his throat bob. He has never been connected to Astarion’s mind in the way their other companions have, but he doesn’t need a tadpole to know Astarion is weighing his options. It is written more plainly on his face than he’s likely aware. 

Astarion still doesn’t try to pull away, hasn’t even moved again except to drop his hand back onto Halsin’s chest. But he sees the considering shift in his expression, and Halsin feels the testing shift of his jaw under his fingers. Pushing back against the pressure. 

No, Halsin realizes a moment later. Pushing into it. He squeezes, brief but hard, in retaliation, digging into the soft divots where Astarion’s jaw is already hinged open. Gives him a taste of something properly painful. 

The red of his eyes disappears briefly under a flutter of lashes, and a shudder wracks through his body where he’s so carefully perched over Halsin’s lap. When Halsin presses one thigh up firmly between his, Astarion eagerly accepts the offer and grinds himself against the proffered muscle with a ragged moan. 

There’s no denying he’s a stunning creature, but Halsin thinks he’s especially beautiful like this, when some of those carefully tailored seams start to fray, revealing the raw edges he typically keeps tucked away under needle and gilded threat. He smooths a warm hand down Astarion’s considerably cooler flank to cup his hip, rubbing a soft circle against the point of his hip bone through his trousers. And when Astarion squirms at the tender treatment, he squeezes his jaw once more. 

It takes him by surprise if the gurgling moan and stuttering rock of his hips are anything to go by. Astarion’s fingers curl where they’re pressed against his chest, nails pricking at his bare skin, and he makes a pleased sound of his own for it. Halsin is so endeared he nearly lets this be enough. 

Nearly.

He softens his grip somewhat on Astarion’s jaw. It’s not enough to release him, not even enough for him to comfortably close his mouth again, but Astarion whines his protest all the same, trying admirably to scowl at him with his spit slicked jaw hanging open. 

Halsin chuckles and tugs Astarion forward a bit, just to see his eyes flutter, as he leans in to meet him. He draws the tip of his own tongue along the soft shape of Astarion’s lower lip, from one corner to the other and slowly back again, relishing in the shiver he feels under his hands and against his thigh. 

“You do still have to answer me, my heart.”

“Huhhn?” is the wordless, confused noise he gets in return, and Halsin leans back again to catch Astarion’s eyes.

He’s watching him, eyes gone heavy lidded and dark, but he’s still there, still anchored between the press of fingers to his jaw and thigh to his cock. 

Halsin smiles and lifts his hand from Astarion’s hip to pet a few wayward curls off of his forehead, ignoring the way Astarion rolls his eyes at him for it. “Is this the sort of treatment you were asking me for?” he asks again. 

This time Astarion does his best to nod in Halsin’s grip, making an affirmative “uh huh” sound for good measure. 

He leans in once more to press a tender kiss to Astarion’s temple while tightening his fingers around his jaw again, digging a little harder against what must be exceptionally sore muscles by this point. 

“Thats’s very good,” Halsin says against his ear, feeling the sharp prick of Astarion’s nails pressing harder against his chest for it. “You’re doing so well, Astarion.”

The noise he makes is one of confused pleasure, a protesting sound, but he grinds harder against Halsin’s leg when he shifts it deliberately against him. Halsin can feel the delicate muscles of Astarion’s jaw trembling under the pressure of his fingertips as well as he can the trembling in the thighs Astarion has squeezed around his own. 

“You are,” Halsin insists, pushing Astarian’s chin further up, forcing him to tip his head back, to arch his neck to accommodate the bracket of Halsin’s hand clamped around his wet jaw. His own fingers and wrist are damp. 

And so is the front of Astarion’s pants where he’s rutting. Halsin can hear how rough his own voice has gone when he murmurs, “You’ve done such a good job this evening telling me what you desire. Allowing me to give it to you.”

Astarion whimpers and screws his eyes shut, trying without much success to shake his head in Halsin’s grip. But he’s pressed so close that Halsin can feel the way his cock jumps in the snare of his pants, can smell the arousal high and heady in his scent. 

Briefly, he considers cutting a finger over one of those pearly, reaching fangs and trickling blood down Astarion’s open throat. But they are already well beyond where they should be with nothing more than a passing comment, and he’s unwilling to push much further against the blurry boundaries around this. He can, however, give him a bit more.

“Look at me, my love,” he croons, petting his free fingers into Astarion’s hair again before fisting them hard enough to pull against his scalp. 

Halsin is certain it doesn’t hurt as much as his jaw must, but it’s a new, sharp sensation, and Astarion’s eyes snap open with a yelp that gets trapped somewhere in his curved throat. His lower lashes are wet when he narrows his eyes at him. Looking at him now, it’s hard for Halsin to believe the sort of stillness that had overtaken him earlier in the evening. 

Now, all that supernatural stillness has abandoned Astarion, and he’s squirming in Halsin’s lap like he can’t help himself, scoring what are certain to be welts into his pecs like a particularly pleased cat. As if in retaliation - and that isn’t so absurd a thought with Astarion - he scoots down the thigh he’s been riding so he can rub his own knee against the hot ridge straining at the front of Halsin’s pants with every eager roll of his hips. And in the process, he leans closer, deliberately making Halsin’s grip pull harder on his hair.

Halsin takes a deep breath to steady himself and knows Astarion sees it from the pleased flash in his eyes and the self-satisfied quirk of his parted lips. So he chuckles and gives Astarion’s hair one more sharp pull, enjoying the thready moan from the vampire as he rolls his own hips once, letting him feel how much his trust, his pleasure, have affected Halsin in turn. 

When he slides his fingers out of his hair, Astarion whines and grabs blindly for Halsin’s wrist. But when he finds it, he doesn’t try and drag Halsin’s hand back, he simply clings to it like a new lifeline, panting through his open mouth when Halsin slowly moves his hand between them. 

“You’re so good, my heart,” Halsin says, as gentle as he can make his now gravel-pitched voice, while he rubs his thumb against the wet patch on Astarion’s trousers. Astarion clutches at his wrist, shuddering, and the low moan that starts in his chest hiccups into a sharper noise when Halsin digs his other thumb in a tight, harsh circle into the sore meat of his jaw. 

“That’s it. Just like that, Astarion. You can let go whenever you’re ready. I have you,” Halsin promises against his ear, brushing his lips softly against the sensitive, twitching tip.

Astarion shakes his head slightly again, though if it’s in protest or simply to feel his fingers pushing into his flesh, Halsin can’t say. He isn’t sure Astarion could either, at that point. But he’s patient, lets the vampire take what he needs, where he’s all but writhing in his lap, chasing down that cresting peak. 

Halsin grinds his palm steadily back against Astarion’s cock and offers no protest to the iron grip on his wrist or the stinging in his pec. He murmurs soft praise and encouragement as he needles at the aching spots in Astarion’s jaw. And when he finally feels tension sweeping up through his body, hears the catch in his throat, Halsin loosens his grip entirely on Astarion’s jaw. 

Astarion sobs when sensation rushes back into the tender muscles, grinding down onto Halsin’s thigh hard enough as he chases his orgasm that the druid will not be surprised if he’s bruised in the morning. 

Carefully, while Astarion is still hiccuping and shuddering through the last sparking threads of his climax, Halsin cups the nape of his neck and slowly eases the weight of his head back up and then foreword onto his shoulder. And when Astarion goes, shivering but without complaint, he slips his wrist from Astarion’s loosened grip and winds the arm around his back, pulling him in close to the warmer curve of his body. 

He gently massages the stiff muscle down the back of his neck, and allows himself the brief indulgence of pressing his nose against the soft white curls of his hair. He smells like he always does, of faded rosemary and iron, but also enticingly of salt and sex, and it’s a lovely, heady combination. 

But Halsin is more than content in their current position, breathing in the scent of him, marveling at the looseness of his limbs and the faint trembling in his fingers where they lie curled against his chest. His shoulder is damp where Astarion has tucked his face, and Halsin allows them to pretend it’s from the spit smearing his jaw while he listens to the quiet rustle of the night around them and Astarion’s unsteady efforts to reaffect the act of breathing. Even one shirt shy of fully clothed, this is more vulnerable than Astarion has ever appeared when spread out on a bedroll, and Halsin holds on to this gift for as long as Astarion allows. 

Unsurprisingly, the moment does not last for as long as Halsin would like. But, if he is honest with himself, an eternity cradling that tender moment would still not have been enough. 

“Well, darling, that was certainly a pleasant surprise,” Astarion hums, and while the words themselves are true to form, the raspy quality of his voice and the fact that he has yet to lift his head are telling. Halsin smiles into his hair and can’t help but snort his amusement when Astarion most certainly feels it if his put upon “Ugh” is anything to by. 

“I meant what I said,” Halsin tells him, lifting his own head, and it doesn’t escape him that Astarion takes several moments longer to do the same. Even if he has affixed a bland, unimpressed look on his face when he finally sits back enough for that face to be visible. 

“Of course you did,” he says, rolling his eyes, and it takes a considerable effort for Halsin not to reach up and wipe the remaining tear tracks off his cheeks. He drops his hands to frame Astarion’s hips instead, holding him steady while Astarion laces his own fingers and stretches his arms up above his head, making a showy but pleased sound at the feeling.

When he drops his arms again, it’s in a loose circle around Halsin’s neck, and his lips are curled into something teasing and just on the edge of mean. He doesn't reach to rub his jaw, doesn't comment on the ache that must be left behind. Instead, he drops his voice into a familiar purr and says, “You know, darling, usually when someone roughs me around a bit, they just call me a whore and get on with it.”

Halsin smiles softly and rubs his thumbs against the jut of Astarion’s hip bones. “If you find your pleasure in a firmer hand, my heart, I am happy to oblige. But I will not be cruel.”

Astarion barks out a laugh and shifts pointedly, pressing the thigh tucked between Halsin’s to rub against the still-hot ridge at their crux. “Cruel?” he repeats, leaning in to nip sharply at Halsin’s lip. “I think I can handle a little name calling with my manhandling. In fact, I’m quite good at it.” 

There is a much more complicated matter lying tangled at the heart of all this, something overgrown with thorns and rot and biting quips. And Halsin is old and experienced enough to know that there are several more conversations to be had before they wade back into this bramble again. 

But they are, for the moment, still caught in the underbrush, and Halsin does not feel as guilty as he perhaps should when he lingers there.

Astarion smirks when he raises a hand to his face again, but his expression falters with startled realization when Halsin gently traces his knuckle down the tear track drying against his cheek. And when Astarion twitches as if to lean back, it’s a simple thing to catch his chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding him gently in place.

Halsin leans in slowly, and Astarion does not try to pull away when he brushes his lips up the long shell of his ear. When he speaks against it, his voice is no louder than a whisper, something meant for the vampire’s ears and his alone. 

“Did you ever come as hard for those insults as you did for my praise, Astarion?” 

He shudders so hard, Halsin is compelled to tighten the grip he still has on his hip to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance. Astarion tries for a moment to find his easy deflection or sweetly barbed insults, visibly floundering at his own speechlessness. Tripping over the brambles he likely didn’t realize were still underfoot. 

Thinking again that he should feel guiltier than he does, Halsin releases Astarion’s hip and chin to cup his face gently instead. He brushes his thumbs under the surprisingly round shape of Astarion’s eyes, stroking away the last visible remnants of any tears. And with that baffled, garnet stare still focused on him, he presses a soft kiss to Astarion’s forehead. 

“We should wash up before we return to camp,” he says, raising his voice a bit and leaning back, giving Astarion space to step out of the brush. 

He does so slowly, blinking away his own befuddlement and sitting back on Halsin’s thigh. It takes one false start that he covers as eloquently as he can with a cough before Astarion is neatly hemming down his edges again. “We? Only one of us seems to have the dubious pleasure of thoroughly sticky trousers, darling,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

Halsin laughs at that and nudges Astarion until he reluctantly climbs onto his feet, and he ignores the bemused frown being aimed at him by ducking to retrieve his discarded shirt. “Perhaps a bit of late night laundering to go with a bath, then.” 

“Not precisely the point I was making, you realize?” 

“I do,” Halsin assures him, pulling his shirt on before turning back to Astarion. He smiles at his pinched expression and reaches up to brush a bit of hair off his forehead. Astarion is still frowning at him, but he tips his head, just a bit, towards his fingers, and it takes a greater effort than Halsin cares to admit not to lean down and kiss his forehead again. “I am perfectly content this evening, my heart.”

“Content? My, what glowing praise for the evening,” he sneers, his tone still off center but finding its way back into easy scorn. “Perhaps you would be better at insults.” 

Halsin chuckles and pulls away, starting towards the edge of the clearing in the direction of a stream they had found earlier in the day. “I promise to have better compliments prepared for next time.”

There’s a beat of quiet before he hears Astarion’s footsteps trailing after him. “Well. If you promise.” 

[macawritesupdates]

Fic Writing Updates 11/2

Man, I feel slow on writing/posting chapters, but life has been SUPER busy. I 've started a second job which means working 12 hours a day on some days. Just need the extra cash, but means less time for writing unfortunately (and art too :<)

BUT the updates are still going to come out, one way or another! Here are the updates!

JUJUTSU KAISEN LONGFIC UPDATES Broken in the Ways No One Sees: Update is coming tonight and planning on writing out the ending this week to bring this fic to a close! Soon it will be ending... but that leaves a slot open for a new fic to start!

Spouse Wanted: NEARLY done with the chapter. Goal is to finish writing it tonight and edit it tomorrow. Just got to finish up the scene everyone has been waiting for... Culturally Inappropriate: THE SEQUEL IS ALMOST READY.... the first chapter has a final scene to get done, but then, then it is coming... The Yuuji Files: Working on the next chapter at last! Had to tweak the flow of it, but I think the new way adds more stakes, plot, and punch to it. Going to be a wild one!

Lessons in Accidental Seduction: Next chapter is mapped out, just need to start writing it! This story is getting so domestic...

Malevolence of Love: Letting the next chapter simmer a bit. Going to be high on emotions AND I have to do some historical research! So need some time to get all that together and map out the chapter in greater detail! <3

Careful What you Joke About: Next chapter has some work done for it and hopefully won't be long until I can get that fleshed out!

Who's a Good Boy: On the backburner as I don't see a lot of interest for this one, so want to make sure I look at and rework the next chapter so it has a bit more bark to it c:

When You Get Two Grandsons: On the backburner a bit until some of the other fics finish up! A new chapter is in mind, but want to make sure some of the longer/larger fics get their updates!

Mirrored Lives: Still need to work on the rework of this one, but it is still planned to finish once the new rework is finished!

MY HERO ACADAMIA FIC UPDATES

Jealousy is Not a Good Friend: Next chapter is coming along nicely! This fic is taking a DARK AND ANGSTY turn the next chapter. Poor Kirishima is going to go through it...

Unsung Heroes: WANT TO WRITE IT SO BAD. Really need to set aside time to indulge and write out a few chapters!

A Rut Time of It: Will return to it, just want to finish up other fics first!

ONE -SHOTS

Once Upon a Blob: Still trying to map out how I want to proceed with it, but it is slowly in the works

And That's When I knew It (Might change the title though!): I just want to indulge in my rare pair ship of Kirichako okay?

FICS TO COME

Exploration: ABO Sukita short chapter fic. Mostly porn with some plot that I poke at occasionally

We Wretched Few: It is outlined out almost, but going to keep it on the back burner to focus on other fics for a wee bit. Want to get a few of these stories completed first!

Law Meets Disorder: Still slow going. Ran out of steam a bit so letting it simmer until the brain worms inevitably return lol

The Dragon Story: Still drafting it out as it has the worldsetting, but just need to find a plot that holds my attention and lends itself to a good narrative

Collab fic: an ABO hybrid fic writing with a friend! It is turning out good, just taking our time with it, but it is in the works!

[katiefromcabin7]

Hey guys I think I might post Chapter 4 today not tomorrow because I’m going to another Halloween party tonight and I know hungover me isnt going to want to deal with HMTL while hungover lmao

So anyways keep an eye out

Oh also this chapter is the start of Valgrace so enjoy lol

Edit:

Chapter 4 is up (Ao3)

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