#new girl references have been the theme of my day lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

isawritesshit · 7 months ago

Text

The Color Blue - Chapter 2

image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest

Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too. MDNI WITH THIS CHAPTER.

Warnings and Content: fem! reader, slightly ooc! (?) gojo (i feel like i'm not writing him as well as i thought i was lol) , mostly fluff with a hint of angst, smut/male masturbation (gojo fantasizes about fucking the reader, body worshipping, marking, fingrering, fem receiving! oral, taking reader’s virginity in mating press, etc.), mentions/anxieties of marriage consummation, themes of arranged/forced marriage/familial expectations, cursing, themes of mentally abused/anxious reader

Author's Note: Chapter 2 woo woo! Had a lot of fun writing this one. Please keep in mind that there is smut in the chapter so minors dni! I will add that reader's father in this series, along with other family members, are not canon and are created for the purpose of the story, as well as the beliefs/dramatization of the Kamo clan. If you have yet to read the prologue or chapter one, please do so!

Word Count: 7.3k

___________________________________________________________

Satoru folded his arms as he stood before your father, waiting for him to say something. Instead, the man held Satoru's gaze while sitting on the foyer's couch, not breaking it even when one of the household staff set a cup of steaming tea on the table before him and left.

Arao Kamo was a gruff man, and stupidly proud. His clan was the largest of the three major jujustu clans. Where Satoru and now you were the only Gojo members, the Kamos had dozens interwoven into their bloodline, and Arao oversaw them all with an iron fist. Just as Yaga had said, this was a family rooted in deep tradition, and Arao upheld it just as the other Kamos had done for centuries. Though he was past his prime as a sorcerer, wrinkles dotting his once handsome face just like the gray in his hair, he was widely respected across the jujustu community.

Satoru couldn't give two shits.

"Where is my daughter?" your father asked lowly, clearly tired of waiting. Waiting for you, Satoru realized.

"She's sleeping. She had a pretty bad fever this week, so I'm making her prioritize her rest. I was just about to make her breakfast when you arrived, actually," Satoru replied with equal calm, cocking his head and giving him a smirk. "Though, I'm assuming you're not here for breakfast."

"I came to see (Y/N)," your father grumbled, now taking the tea into his hands. "I messaged her this morning notifying her I would be here, but it seems she didn't see it. That girl can be so insolent sometimes..."

That set Satoru off a bit. No wonder you were always so focused on pleasing him if you had to cater to this prick. "Well, forgive me, sir, but like I said, she's asleep, so she wouldn't have been able to read your texts. Maybe next time give her a further notice. And, contrary to your definitely valued opinion, I find your daughter quite charming and very polite. But hey, what do I know, she's only been living with me for a month and a half," Satoru shrugged, firing at him with his usual attitude. He was peeved to even refer to this man as his father-in-law, so he avoided the thought as much as he could.

Satoru almost snickered when he saw a vein fire off in the Kamo leader's head as he gripped the ceramic cup so hard it almost cracked. What was even more fun was knowing that the man couldn't even tell Satoru to watch his tone. They were equal in position, but Satoru greatly outweighed him in power, even if your father was a retired special-grade.

Your father only released a breath, trying to calm himself before saying, "Right. Well then, since she's preoccupied, I'm sure you wouldn't mind telling me that you both have consummated your marriage?"

Satoru tried and failed to hide the disgust on his face. Why would he need to know that? You being his daughter or no, he had no right to know what went on in your marital bed. Satoru decided in that moment that he wanted your father out of this house before he made him leave. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Don't know why that's any of your business, but of course we have," Satoru lied, though the smug grin on his face made it look like he was telling the truth.

"Well then, I congratulate you both," your father said, now standing. "I expect good news in the coming weeks. I suppose I'll be taking my leave now."

"Oh, please do," Satoru replied wittily, moving a little too quickly to open the front door for him. "I need to get back to breakfast before my poor dear wife starves."

Arao gave Satoru a sneer before walking out the door. "Oh, and the lawn care guy should be outside if you need help getting down the stairs!" Satoru shouted as he watch the man leave, closing the door and laughing to himself.

He stood at the door for a moment, sighing and running a hand through his hair, all while trying to ponder the reason why your father felt the need to show up in the first place. Suddenly, Satoru felt a little guilty for not trying to move up the marriage date himself, now getting a more vivid image of what you probably had to deal with.

Speaking of you, he needed to get back to cooking. He turned to walk back up the stairs, but you were already standing at the top, looking down at him. He smiled at the sight of you, your usual silk robe covering your nightgown as you folded your hands in front of you. It seemed like you had just washed up, too. Satoru jogged up the steps to greet you.

"Satoru-" you started, a small pout on your face.

"Don't worry, (Y/N), I took care of it," Satoru interrupted, putting his hands on your shoulders to usher you back to the kitchen. "By the way, your father is a lovely individual."

"I know it was him you were talking to. I just saw his texts and rushed down to greet him, but you got there before me," you explained. "I was listening to your conversation, but I should have showed my face. Forgive me?"

"That's perfectly okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," Satoru reconciled. "To be honest, I was already ticked that he just invited himself over."

"Well, he is my father. He should be able to see me when he wants to," you replied. Satoru looked at you and furrowed his brow as the two of you walked through the doors and towards the kitchen.

"(Y/N), that shouldn't mean anything. You're his daughter, sure, but you're also an adult and someone that's capable of making their own decisions, so you have a right to refuse him, especially in the state that you're in. Not to mention, you should be in bed," Satoru argued. Did you really stop resting to go downstairs and see him? How much of a hold did this man still have on you?

"But as your wife and the matron of the house, I should be the first to greet guests-"

Satoru only snickered and shook his head. "(Y/N), just because that was something your father taught you doesn't mean you have to do that. You realize how ridiculous that statement sounds?"

He suddenly regretted his words when you gave him a worried look. "But, that's my responsibility-"

“But it doesn’t have to be!” Satoru interjected before you could say anymore. He sighed before continuing. “Look, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. What I mean is that… you’re recovering from an illness, and we both know you need rest. So, since something like this came up and because I’m the one taking care of you, I went to go answer the door because you’re still in bed. I was happy to do it, (Y/N)…”

After a few seconds, he added, “I understand what you think, and please don’t take this like I’m trying mansplain something to you or what not… but the whole husband-wife relationship dynamic that I think you have in mind… it’s not… healthy, so to speak. At least, I don’t think it is. You don't always have to break yourself down trying to handle so many things. The same goes for me too. So we help each other, right? You don’t even have to think of it in a married way either. Just see it like I’m doing you a favor, yeah?”

"Still... he won't be happy with me," you murmured as the two of you walked the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence. The ingredients still sat on the counter, the batter ready but unused. Satoru decided to get started on that right away while you watched from the entryway.

Your silence was indication of your contemplation, as if pondering his words against memories, pitting them against one another in your head.

"Satoru?"

"Mhm?"

"Why did you lie...?" The stove reached a crescendo of sizzles as Satoru poured the batter onto the pan, his back turned to you.

"Because he has no right knowing about private stuff like that," he replied, his shoulders moving slightly under his t-shirt as he fiddled the batter with the spatula. "And because I knew he would be furious with you. I knew he would find a way to blame it on you... as if it was your fault that I decided not to force myself on you because you were obviously nervous and scared and we had practically just met. I would never do something like that unless you wanted me to."

"But I do."

"Do you? Or do you want to because you know it's what your family expects of you?"

A beat. "I don't know."

Satoru moved the done pancakes onto a paper plate and poured more batter on the pan. "(Y/N), what do you want us to be?"

"You're my husband-"

"No, just... putting all that aside for a minute. Disregard what I want, what your family wants, what jujustu society wants... what do you want us to be, as two human beings?"

You didn't answer his question. In fact, you didn't say anything until he had used up all of the batter and made a semi-okay stack of blueberry pancakes for the both of you. Maybe you have never been asked something like this before. After all, your whole life you were told to be dedicated to your father and your family name, and then eventually to him. Your opinions thus didn't ever matter in any situation, so no one probably bothered asking. Did you even know then what it was like to want something? To want to have a goal or a sense of identity that was truly your own?

It wasn't until he opened the silverware drawer to grab forks that you spoke up.

"A friend. I want us to be friends."

Satoru smiled, shutting the drawer before handing you your plate. "You got it, pretty girl."

___________________________________________________________

"So what do you like to do for fun?" Satoru asked, observing you as he sat backwards on one of the many chairs of the library.

"Read," you replied, eyes still stationed on the book in front of you.

"Yeah. I gathered," Satoru grumbled. Whatever you were reading, you seemed really immersed, pages in your face and curled up all nice and comfy on the couch. He reached forward, barely able to put the tip of his finger on the top of the cover to pull it down a little and look at you. "What else?"

"Have we not had this discussion before?" You moved the book back up, a placid expression on your face.

"Yeah, but there's a difference between hobbies and things you do for fun..."

"Okay then. I do my hobbies for fun."

Satoru sighed. "So you're telling me you've never like... gone to the movies? An amusement park? Maybe a club or something?"

He barely saw you shake your head as you said, "Aside from going to see a movie once or twice, I've never done any of those. There are more ways to spend my time that do not involve spending money or wearing indecent clothing around indecent people."

Satoru chuckled at your response. You did seem like the type of person to frown upon things like parties and alcohol. "Hmph. Now that has me thinking... what is the most rebellious thing you've ever done as a teenager?"

You set your book down at his question, gently marking the page as you hummed. "I was able to procure a romance novel when I was 16..." you murmured.

Satoru only raised an eyebrow, shifting in his seat. "And? What did you do with it?"

"I read it of course," you replied matter-of-factly.

"That's... it? What, was it like hardcore porn or something?"

"Goodness no! It was... just a romance novel..." You picked up your book again, clearly flustered.

Satoru huffed a laugh, moving his chair around to sit on it normally to look at you as you read. "Well then, what was so bad about it?"

"Well, the fact that it was a romance novel," you shrugged.

That made Satoru pause for a moment, considering what your words were implying. "So... you weren't allowed to read romance novels? That seems kinda harsh... Is that why you read so much non-fiction type stuff?"

"To begin, I do read fiction, just not a lot of fiction prose. And secondly, yes, I was not allowed to," you explained. "My father believed reading stories of that nature would give me fanciful ideas to go out and try to experience romance and tamper my chastity before my marriage."

That stunned Satoru to silence for a moment. "Wow. Not gonna lie, your dad's a dick."

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him from over your book. "Satoru, that's rude."

"What? He's not in the room with us. And besides, it's not like you were shooting heroin up your arm and getting pregnant at 16 because you read a romance book," he argued, crossing his arms over his jacket. "What was it even about anyway?"

You sighed, setting down your book again. "I don't really remember. Something like... a girl running away from her kingdom to escape marriage, and she somehow ends up falling for the man she was supposed to marry anyway." You leaned back against the couch, setting your book on the table nearby. "I never read it again. I was too afraid someone would find it and tell my father."

"What was the book called?"

"I don't... I don't remember," you muttered, looking down in your lap.

"Did you like it?"

You only shook my head with a smile. "You ask a lot of questions, Satoru."

He only smirked and raised his arms up in a 'guilty as charged' motion. "Well, forgive me for just trying to know more about something that you obviously enjoyed. But seriously? Your dad wouldn't let you read something like that?"

"N-no..." Your eyes wandered before landing on the clock on the other side of the room, standing when you realized what time it was. "I should start on lunch-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Satoru ticked, standing up to stop you. "We're going out for lunch."

"We are?" you asked, looking up at him confused. "Did I forget?"

"Nope, I just decided," Satoru chirped, now putting a hand on the small of your back as he led you out of the library. "We're gonna go shopping, and then we're going out to lunch."

"But we have food here... and what do we need to shop for?" you inquired, a puzzled look on your face. "I had just run to the market this past weekend..."

"Well, dontcha think it's kinda odd that we're married yet we haven't really gone out to do something fun together? I think it'll be nice. And you can't shop for books and return with an empty stomach," he replied, patting his own stomach for emphasis. "You can get any romance book you desire, all on me. It doesn't even have to be a romance book, either! I can tell you've been reading those same poetry collections over and over so you must want some new ones..."

You not saying anything in response was a clear indicator of your hesitation, making Satoru look at you for a moment. You were biting the inside of your cheek, eyes trained down, second guessing. "Hey, if you don't want to, we won't go," he said, voice softening. "We can make lunch here and find something else to do later, if that's what you'd rather do..."

"I... I'm just..." you started.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl?"

You looked sheepishly off to the side, now stopping in the center of the private living room in both you and Satoru's shared part of the estate. "It's just... my father visited here less than a week ago trying to see me, and I didn't even greet him. And now... now what you're proposing is... something he most definitely wouldn't...uhm..."

Admittedly, the first thing Satoru felt was frustration. How much of your life did your father dictate before he married you? Too much, Satoru knew now. Too much to the point where you're thinking of his approval long after you were grown and married. Too much to the point where your father could have demanded an answer to the same question he asked Satoru a few days ago, and you would've answered him truthfully despite the fact that you knew you would suffer. What more could this man want from you besides your total devotion?

However, that frustration melted to empathy and heartache when looking at your face. Now, because of your consideration of rejecting his offer, you looked guilty. He felt the urge to reach out and hug you; to hold your head to his chest and tell you it was okay, and that he understood; to let you know that he didn't take any offense to what your concerns were or what you were feeling. After all...

He can't blame you for knowing any different.

"(Y/N), I understand that you may feel that way but... I'll tell you the same thing that I told you before: I'm not your father. I don't plan on being like him, either. You can do whatever you want when you're here. So, if you want to stay here and not go get anything, that's fine. But, I want you to know that I would be very happy to take you to go get a few books and some food, and I think you'll be too. It's your decision."

You swallowed, picking at the skin of your fingers, likely a nervous habit. Your eyes darted to a few different spots: the carpet, his socks, the wooden wall, the window. You tried to calm your breaths, your chest rising and falling, rising and falling...

"Maybe... maybe one new thing on my bookshelf... wouldn't hurt?"

___________________________________________________________

One new book turned into two, two into three, and three into ten. Of course, Satoru got a few for himself too. He wasn't a big reader, but he figured he'd try a few to keep him occupied when traveling.

Traveling was part of the reason he took you out today. You both already knew that he had been assigned an upcoming mission for a while now, one that was going to keep him away for about a week. He wanted to do something for you before he left, and he couldn't have thought of anything more perfect.

After your shopping, the two of you went to a little café tucked between the stores of a nearby shopping center. You both talked for roughly two hours, enjoying baked sandwiches and coffee and muffins. It was the first time he had ever seen you talk so openly with him, like he was having a conversation with any of his other friends or colleagues. But it was so... different at the same time? You had this grace to the way you spoke, which he had already noticed, but what was new was your cute mannerisms: the way your eyes looked upward when you tried to think of something, or the way you smiled nervously when you suddenly forgot what the two of you had been talking about...

And if that wasn't icing on the cake, there was what he was now referring to in his head as The Miracle. A little blonde girl, no more than five, had been running around the café with her other sister, friend, whoever, for most of the time the two of you had been there. However, amidst trying to run away from the other girl she was playing with, the little blonde had run into the chair you were sitting in, causing her to fall over. Satoru choked on a laugh while you just bent over in your seat to help the girl up.

However, when you helped the girl to her feet, a hand on her little wrist, the kid just stared at you, starstruck. When you asked if she was alright, the girl only answered with a dazed, You look like a princess.

And what he witnessed was the best part of his day. You laughed. Loudly. Eyes crinkled as your cheeks expanded from a wide smile. You thanked the little girl, told her she looked like one too, before the kid ran back over to her parents.

He had laughed too, of course. Usually kids give him weird stares, but seeing it happen to someone else was funny for a change. Satoru couldn't have agreed more with the kid, though. You did look like a princess, even if you were wearing just a typical floral dress, and he had the fight the urge to rub it in the kid's face. She's my princess that I get to see everyday because she's my wife, so eat it.

That laugh was a broken record in his head the entire drive home, replaying over and over. It was so... unlike you, in a sense. You were so timid, yet your laugh had come out loud and roaring up from the pit of your stomach like a long awaited eruption. What he wouldn't give to hear that again...

And that's what led him to your bedroom. The two of you just got back 30 minutes ago and he was craving your presence again already. He stood in your already open doorway, leaning against it with his sunglasses slung low on his nose as he watched you put your new books on your bookshelf. You even rearranged some of the ones already on there to make a different section for your three new romance novels.

You seemed content, fulfilled. Satoru considered that a mission accomplished.

He spoke up when you were done. "Tired of me yet, or do you want to find something else to do?"

You turned to face him from where you were sitting on the floor before standing and straightening out the skirt of your dress. There was something... extremely attractive about your modesty, your adorable and considerate manners. He knew they must have been drilled into you since childhood, but the way you did it- the little bounce when you stood, the slight shift of your weight from one foot to another, your wide eyes looking at him- that was all you. He loved it.

"Uhm... if you don't mind me asking, Satoru..." you began, one of your hands picking at your fingers- a nervous habit, he now knew. "Why did we go out today... or why did you take me out? I don't think I did anything to... necessarily deserve this-"

"Let me stop you right there," he interrupted, a small chuckle as he took his glasses off and placed them on the collar of his button-up shirt. "You don't need to do anything to deserve something like this. I just wanted to hang out, have fun, take your mind off of things that might be worrying you. After all, you're the one that said you wanted to be friends, am I right?"

"Yes, but... I didn't know that that would entail shopping sprees..." you replied, a mix of bashfulness and thankfulness crossing your features.

"Well, it does when you're friends with me. And don't forget, my money's all yours anyway, so really then you don't even need me to take you out to splurge. If you end up hating me enough, you could buy your own house on the other side of the world and never see my face again," he shrugged, smirking a little.

That smirk grew when your face changed from bashful to worried. "Why would I do that? And... and how do I have access to any of that?" you exclaimed.

Satoru stepped off the doorway, making his way over to you. "Well, you're legally my wife, so my money is also yours. And as for hating me, while I will do everything in my power from getting you to do so, I know I can be a lot for people to try and handle. So if you end up disliking me, that's totally understandable."

You only looked up at him anxiously. "I think it would be rather crude of me to dislike you after everything you've done for me..."

"I guess you're right, but you're still allowed to from time to time. I'd rather you express yourself than cover it up," Satoru replied with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "So then, based off of that logic, how do you feel about your father?"

You opened your mouth, but then shut it, looking away. "I can understand why you feel loyalty to him and your family, but from what I can gather, he treated you terribly. And while I don't clearly know everything, I can tell. Really, I can. Were you happy to let him... indoctrinate you like that?" he asked, eyes soothing into something more comforting.

"I..." you started, as if trying to find the words. Then your breaths rose and fell slightly faster, your bottom lip began quivering. Satoru's eyebrows raised as he took note of what was going to happen-

His arms shot forward to steady you as your body seemed to cave in a little, a small no cracking from your throat before the tears started. His heart broke to pieces.

"Hey, hey, hey... shh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that without warning you..." he whispered, ushering you to sit on the bed while he stood in front of you. "Hey, talk to me. You can talk to me..." Satoru raised his hands, one placing itself on your shoulder, the other wiping the tears that trickled down your face.

Through your sobs and shaky breaths you were able to get out, "Scared... I was always... so scared and frightened by... by the thought of what... w-what he would do... if... if I... but I had no choice-"

"Yeah... and you shouldn't have to feel that way around your own father. What he was teaching you, and how he treated you, was wrong," he consoled, brushing more tears and stray strands of hair away from your face. Snot began to drip from your nose. "Shit, uh... here."

You grimaced as he held up his forearm for you to blow into his sleeve. You just pouted and shook your head.

Satoru chuckled lowly. "C'mon, it's fine. I can take it off and wash it later. Unless, you want me to take it off now?" he added with a wink and wiggled eyebrows shot in your direction.

That only caused your face to redden a little, giving him a sniffle as you moved you head forward and used his shirt as a tissue. "Don't be afraid to blow. I got another sleeve too," he quipped, smiling weakly when you eventually did as he adjusted more of your hair behind your ear.

"(Y/N)..." Satoru moved to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to make you tell me everything about yourself. What you want to share is up to you. But, I'll promise that you'll never have to be afraid of me... okay?"

You nodded once, your breaths staggering as you forced yourself to get calm.

"And... can you look at me please?" he whispered, gently cupping one side of your face to turn your attention to him. "You can come to me for anything. Even when I'm not here, you have my number."

You only sighed. "I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? For what?" Satoru retracted his hand from your face.

"For... for that. For feeling like you... for having to... coddle me like this," you muttered. "It's... deeply unfair to you..."

"It's really not..." he tittered. For a moment, he considered telling you just how much he had been wanting, waiting for a moment like this so he could show how much he cared for you. He wanted to tell you that he would rip his whole shirt to scraps for you to blow your nose in to prove it. "Emotions... aren't meant to be something transactional between people. Trust me, I know. If you want me to go to you for something, I gladly will, but right now it's not about me..."

"Are you sure?" you voice cracked, brows furrowing.

"Sure that's it not about me? Well, perhaps not everything can be. But I guess it's okay to give away my spotlight once in a while," he sighed with his usual sarcasm, causing you to giggle a little.

"I meant... are you sure that... that you'd be okay if I... talked to you about... anything?" you questioned again, trying to find your words.

"Absolutely, 's what I'm here for," Satoru assured. "And each time I'll remind you that you're a wonderful, talented, kind, and good-looking individual," he added, giving a little boop on the tip of your nose before continuing with a flare in his voice. "And that-" that I love you "-that, well, I think everything is going to turn out just fine. After all, I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I can handle anything you throw at me."

You smiled softly, looking down in your lap, your eyes caught between melancholy and meditative. "I suppose you're right about that..."

"Oh, I know, pretty girl. A little therapy session is nothing compared to a special grade curse," he sniggered. "But that doesn't mean I take it more lightly."

You only hummed in response. Satoru just continued to look at you as you stared forward into the carpet, probably thinking about something to say. Even after you had just finished crying, you looked so lovely. Hell, he could never catch you at a time when you weren't that. Or maybe he just saw you that way no matter what.

When you looked back to him, he prepared himself to listen. Instead, all you said was, "Have you packed a bag for your mission?"

He just laughed. "Yeah, I should probably get on that..."

"I'll... probably just get ready for bed early, then," you stammered. "And... uhm..." You turned to him, breathing in as you brought an arm close to his side, making a motion as if you were going to wrap it around him, before ultimately deciding to rest it on his elbow. "Thank you..."

Satoru gave you a knowing smile. He could tell what you were about to do, but chose to not say anything about it. What was important was that he at least noticed. "Anytime..." With that, he opted to leave you alone while he returned to his room.

He could see you were trying. He knew you were, and he knew it was hard. Your whole life, you had been terrified of messing anything up. Hearing you say that set off something deep in him.

As he packed, he realized he had been stupid, so idiotically fucking stupid. He had the power this whole time, for years, to take you to be with him earlier, yet he never acted on it. And those years that he had figured it was best to keep his distance from out of fear of what you would think of him were years you had spent in literal fear of your father and family. Even if he technically would have had to strike an agreement with your father for an earlier marriage date and there was no guarantee that he would agree to it, he could have at least tried.

Someday, Satoru knew he would have to apologize for it.

___________________________________________________________

Satoru got up to leave at 4:00am for his morning flight to Osaka. Once his bags were securely in the trunk, he got in the backseat as his driver took off.

He immediately noticed the container already in the middle seat, a sticky-note on it with your perfect cursive written in blue pen:

Couldn't fall asleep last night, so I made these for you.

- (Y/N)

Satoru grinned, lifting off the cover to be greeted by the smell of fresh, mouthwatering butter cookies. As expected, they tasted just as good too.

He took out his phone, taking a quick selfie with one of the cookies in his mouth, and sending it you with his thanks.

For good measure, he also sent you Suguru's number, saying that if your father came back or if you needed anything that he couldn't get there right away for, you could call Suguru and he would be able to stop over. You texted him back in the middle of his flight, glad that he liked the cookies and letting him know you would call Suguru if the need arises.

A few hours later, you sent him a picture of yourself smiling in the garden, hand marking a page in one of your new romance novels as you sat on your usual bench between the cherry trees.

Satoru made it his lockscreen in a heartbeat.

___________________________________________________________

This mission was by far the hardest he had ever had, and not because of the curses themselves.

Normally, Satoru would repeat the same thing throughout a mission week: wake up, go investigate the site of a supposed curse, find it easily, beat it with no sweat, spend the rest of his day sightseeing and buying food to splurge on back at his hotel suite, and then pass out.

However, this was the first mission he had ever spent away from you, which made the seven days ahead feel like a year. As much as he wanted to to finish all the curses off and go home, he knew that he had to take it easy and let his cursed energy replenish each day for a possible worst case scenario. Not to mention, the longer he was out, the more he was likely to get paid extra if it made it seem like he was actually trying.

Needless to say, Satoru did text you a few times throughout the day to check on you, seeing what you were up to and how you were entertaining yourself. You both would occasionally send photos back and forth. Satoru would send you a selfie of himself with a thumbs up and a defeated curse, and you would reply with whatever you were doing at the moment.

Because of your photo exchanges, he now had a small album in his phone titled Wifey (^ω^). His favorite so far was actually a video you sent of yourself playing the grand piano in one of the few estate galleries. He would play it over and over before bed, not to listen to the Debussy piece (thought you did a marvelous job playing it), but to watch you as your fingers floated across the keys with a pleasant, satisfied smile on your face.

He was imagining that face now as he was laying in bed, waiting for exhaustion to overtake him. He wished he could reach into his phone screen, brush the curve of your lips with his fingertips, trace along your eyelashes with his thumbs, and place kiss after kiss on your forehead until he got that smile of yours to come out.

Better yet, Satoru wished you were right here next to him.

He wished he could pull you close to him. He already knew your body would fit perfectly against his. Your head would rest against the crook of his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He wouldn't leave any inch of your face untouched by kisses, especially those delicate lips, the same lips he had to try his best not to stare at when you spoke, but would catch sneaky glimpses of...

They always looked so soft, and he knew they would feel that way against his own. He thought about what it would be like to kiss you for the first time, how shy and nervous you would be, but that is what would make it so much more enjoyable. He would guide you through it, one hand tangled gently in your hair while the other squeezed your waist closer to him.

And the two of you would lay there, the only sounds being the ones you exchanged between one another and the slight rustling of the sheets. Maybe if he got far enough, he would test the waters a little, barely teasing your lips with his tongue as his hands would start roaming against the silky fabric of that lavender nightgown he thought and a little too often, and then-

Satoru groaned, now staring up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face once, twice. He tried to think of anyone or anything else...

Nope. His cock was still hard in his boxers.

"Fuck," he seethed, pulling down his waistband. He was painfully hard. And all because he thought about kissing you-

He immediately drew his hands away, letting the waistband go with a snap. No, he shouldn't. He shouldn't. Even if you were married to him, he told you he would be your friend. Nothing more, nothing less... unless you wanted to.

And frankly, Satoru couldn't even tell if you wanted him, not that he would demand or expect you to, of course. He never wanted to come off as the guy that felt they deserved your affections just because he was nice to you. He just... wanted to express his love and attraction as platonically as possible.

Even if that meant going through the rest of your lives remaining this way: living in the same house, sharing the same income, spoiling one another, going to each other for anything and everything and providing a shoulder to cry on...

God, the lines felt blurry, even if they were straightforward: married by status, friends by relationship. He'll keep it that way, and he'd never beat his dick to any of his friends.

Granted... he's never been attracted to any of his friends the way he's been attracted to you. He's never been attracted to anyone the way he's attracted to you.

To him, you were so much more than a body, a hookup for whenever he wanted to get laid and that he could discard when he was finished. He didn't want a friends-with-benefits situation either. He wanted all of you.

Satoru turned over with a sigh, burying his face in the pillow as he cursed himself and his stupidly horny brain, which was something he usually didn't mind. But when it's now starting to think about you in this context...

The reason it probably felt so wrong was because you were so innocent. Hell, you blushed and shied away from the prospect of him with just his shirt off. And he understood what the jujustu community expected, what you expected: for the two of you to produce an heir. But he couldn't care less. To hell with the Gojo bloodline if it meant he was going to have to defile you to appease someone else.

But then again, there's no saying that you didn't want him either...

Fuck. And it's not like he couldn't see the effect he had on you. The way you would smile and flush nervously whenever he teased you, whenever he called you pretty girl. He loved calling you that, almost as much as he liked calling you by your name. (Y/N).

"Fuck... (Y/N)." Satoru turned over and reached his hand into his boxers. He was caving, but just for tonight. Just for tonight, to get the edge off.

He raised his hand briefly to spit in it before bringing his hand back down and hissing at the amount of pre that was already leaking. With a shaky groan, he wrapped his palm around the tip and dragged down slowly.

What if this was your hand instead of his. You would be so shy, at least, maybe at first, before you got comfortable. He would coax you through it, telling you how good you were doing and praising you from how good your perfect hands felt. He'd show you everything. Where he was sensitive, what movements and actions felt the best...

Oh, but what about you.

If you were any other girl, he would have taken your outfits as you trying to entice him with your gorgeous curves. He would've fell for it, dragged you to his room, and ripped those cute dresses and tights to shreds in order to admire those curves properly before he fucked your brains out.

But he could never do that to you, not unless that's what you wanted. He was prepared to do anything for you, of course, but with what he felt for you, what he yearned to do was to make love to you.

He wanted to make love to you gently, slowly, show you exactly what he was feeling in the most physical way possible. He needed to protect you, make sure nothing would ever hurt you or cause you any discomfort.

He would get all that tempting skin of yours on display for him and put his lips all over it, worshipping you, listening to all those cute noises you would make. He'd run his tongue over your breasts, sucking on them and marking them as his own, before moving down and down-

His hands would push your succulent thighs up to your chest to give him a full view of your sweet cunt, just before he ate you like the tasty little dessert you were. He'd prep you with his mouth and fingers, make you cream a few times to get you all pliant for him-

And that's when he would descend on you, working you through the pain with sensual words and even more sensual touches. He'd get you to take as much as you could, as much as you wanted, because he would be all yours. You would finally belong to each other.

He would be assured of that with each moan and whimper he drew from your throat as he worked you to orgasm, crying out his name over and over- Satoru, Satoru, Satoru- until...

Satoru spilled his cum into his hand with a low mewl of your name. His breaths slowed, one after the other, as the haze of his orgasm, the hardest orgasm he'd had in a while, faded to a quiet thrum in his veins.

He shouldn't have done that. If you had found out about this, he knew you'd probably be disgusted with him.

Or just maybe... maybe you'd feel the same. Somehow.

Satoru was hard again.

___________________________________________________________

tags: @leonora13x @cole-silas @feeiry @mysuperrainbow @tw0fvced @emptybrain01 @xixiwang @drilled-brain @lvieee @xxkoyukixx @we-loveebony @sereniteav @ilovecoyotepeterson10 @baby--vera @jebemticeluporodicu @louannfox

315 notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

Text

Children of the Night (Steddie X You)

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"- Dracula

A/N: "I present to you...this fucking thing." Lol always the TikTok that comes into my head when I try something new. I had started doing like a camboy Steddie thing but I struggled a lot with it and the feelings I wanted to convey. While listening to a song, this idea popped into my head so... I hope you enjoy it!

For the first half, everyone is referred to by their screen names.

Eddie is Dracula.

Steve is Renfield

Reader is Mina

I also set it in 2005 when things like streaming were relatively new and cameras weren't 100% clear.

Warnings: Camboys Steddie (Vampire Eddie and Human Steve) X Human Fem Reader, SMUT of the Steddie variety, Daddy kink (because im me lol), choking, biting. ANGST, blood is mentioned mostly from Eddie feeding, the reader has an abusive boyfriend so Domestic Violence Trigger, Eddie defends her and both boys take care of her. I think that's it.

Word Count: 4046

InnocentLittleMina: Hey sexy boys.

You grinned at your computer screen when you saw the long-haired boy smirk under his mane of hair.

“Hey, honey. How are you tonight?”, the other man smiled lovingly into the camera.

InnocentLittleMina: I’m alright. Can’t complain. What about you?

“I’m ok. As you can see Dracula is a little grumpy.”, he teases.

“I’m hungry.”, he growls making you giggle.

When you first saw these boys known only as Dracula and Renfield, you were drawn to them immediately. There was something about them that was not only attractive but confident as hell and it drove you wild. People around town talked about them constantly which was interesting since Los Angeles was a huge city. In 2005, there weren’t many people streaming, let alone broadcasting the content they were.

Everyone including police tried to track them down but never could. Their website itself was fairly generic but that’s not what their fans cared about. What they cared about was the content these two provided.

The man known as Dracula would feed of off the other man known as Renfield and nine times out of ten it led to something sexual. The first time you heard Renfield moan, your pussy clenched around nothing. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Not many of their fans stayed after they finished but you always did, loving the way Dracula took care of Renfield after. They seemed to genuinely care about each other and that was something you appreciated.

When you created your account you hoped it would get their attention and as luck would have it, it did especially since a lot of the female fans that watched them named their accounts after the character Lucy always believing that was the girl Dracula fell for.

After a few months of back and forth, you actually came to know them as friends. Dracula didn’t talk as much as his friend but he did chime in where necessary and played his guitar for you once or twice making you swoon. Renfield always asked about your day and told you things about their time away from the computer but you couldn’t help but feel like they were holding information back.

You asked them constantly why they decided on this particular vampire style content and theme and every time they changed the subject. You asked once how they faked the blood that stained Renfield’s chest when they were done and they pretended like they didn’t hear you. You asked them for their real names and each time they said their screen ones making you sigh.

To make up for being obtuse and hoping to distract you, Renfield offered you a job as their moderator and paid you fabulously for your time. Since they trusted you enough with their business, you met their kindness with one of your own by turning on your webcam and showing them your face.

Dracula’s eyes had turned towards you, grinning at your beauty.

“Pretty girl.”

“Very.”, Renfield agreed.

It had been a few months since then and you were extremely fond of them both.

InnocentLittleMina:��Ok, well, you have your stream in a few minutes so… don’t get too hungry! You need and love him.

“I do.”, Dracula smiles.

“We’ll talk to you after, honey.”, Renfield winks and you watch as they get into their places on the bed behind them.

***

A little sigh left your lips as both men removed their shirts. Dracula’s tattoos on his chest always had you entranced. You noticed the first time you watched them that they both had scars along their stomachs up to their necks but that was a question you knew better than to ask. Trauma like that was none of your business unless they chose to tell you.

The stream began and you kept your eyes peeled as fans began pouring in. They never said a greeting nor even said hello. You figured part of it was because by this point Dracula’s eyes were black like a shark on the hunt and those contacts had to be killing him.

Straddling Renfield’s waist, Dracula tenderly kissed the man’s neck before gripping his fluffy hair in his hand and tugging him back as he bit into his skin. Renfield’s palms promptly came around to cling to Dracula’s head as his eye’s rolled and he fell backwards onto the mattress.

A heavy exhale escaped you at the sight, licking your tongue across your lips as his hips began grinding up against his own.

“Fuck. That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”, Renfield moaned.

Something happened. Dracula’s head abruptly shot up looking vacantly in the distance.

“What? What’s wrong? Wh-What do you feel, honey?” He cooed underneath him as he ran his fingers across his cheek and moved some of his messy hair back.

“Mina.”, he growled.

That got your attention as you sat up straighter. They both swiveled their heads towards the computer before you heard heavy footsteps and immediately yanked the cord from the wall just as the door opened.

“John! Hey. I-I didn’t think you’d be coming over tonight.”

“You say that like you’re not excited to see your boyfriend.”

“Pfft. No, baby, I am. You just scared me is all. H-How was your day?”

His stern blue eyes flicked towards your little pink razor phone by your end table as it continued to vibrate. The boys knew your number. You gave it to them when they hired you.

Please don’t let him walk over there to see.

“Are you going to get that?”

“No, baby. I want to talk to you. Tell me about your day. I missed you—”

“Answer. The phone. Y/N.”

You sighed, pretending to be annoyed he was making you answer a random call as you flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Mina?! Are you alright?!”

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

You can hear them arguing in the background, vaguely picking up tidbits as your boyfriend steps closer to you.

“I can feel her. I know where she is! Something bad is about to happen to her!”

“NO! You can’t reveal yourself and bring her into our mess! She deserves to have a better life!”

“She won’t have a fucking life, Steve, if this fucker kills her!”

“I always knew I’d catch you cheating on me sooner or later. Give me the phone.”

“John, I’m not… I would never…”

“Give it to me NOW.”, he snarls. You do as he says and as soon as your device touches his palm, his free one flies across your face smacking you so hard you fall on to the mattress. “Whoever this is, what you have with my girl is over.”

The growl that came through your phone’s speaker scared even you as you heard it loud and clear from where you were.

“You’re going to regret touching her. If I were you, little man, I would leave now.”

With that there was silence and John threw the phone across the wall hoping to smash it into pieces. You two began fighting each other but he was much stronger than you, getting a good hit to your eye making you dizzy.

The banging of the door caving in is loud and your eyes are half open when you see a blur fly into your room, tackling your boyfriend to the ground. You hear his screams but they sound so far away. After a few minutes, everything is silent again and your arms fly out defensively when a hand touches your side.

“No! No please!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mina. I never would. Just hold on to me, ok?” You feel your body being lifted and you press your cheek against cold, bare skin. “Clasp your hands around my neck, sweetheart.”

After barely registering his command, you feel a sudden rush of wind and after a minute you find yourself being placed on a bed that isn’t yours.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!? Killing someone and then bringing her here!?”

“How do you know I killed him?”

“Because I fucking know you!”

“Can you stop berating me and help her, please!?”

A much warmer hand tenderly moves your hair back as something wet is dragged across your face making you jump.

“Hey, hey now. Everything’s ok. I just need to clean your cuts here. Can you go get me some ice, please?” Wind lightly blows your hair back twice before you hear the pack slam into his hand. “Thank you. What, um, what was happening when you got there?”

“He was hitting her. I’ve felt his anger before but this was different.”

“So you did go hunting for her even though I told you a thousand times not to.”

“No.”, he snarled, voice deep with annoyance. “I can just…feel her. I don’t get it either ok?!”

“Oh wow.” The wet rag was replaced with the cool of the ice pack as the man’s voice beside you got louder. “You like her.”

“And you don’t? She’s beautiful, kind, funny—”

“Innocent.”

“Fuck. Off. Little boy. Or I swear to God—”

“You swear to God what? Finish that sentence, Dracula. I dare you.” The man scoffed as he focused his attention back on you. “Go clean up your fucking mess while I take care of her.”

There’s a whoosh of air and everything in the room stills.

################

You woke up the next morning in utter confusion. You vaguely remembered your boyfriend being angry and attacking you but then…someone saved you. Turning to your side, you noticed you were at home in your room tucked safely under the covers.

Carefully standing, you glance around the room to find nothing out of place except for your phone by your bed that was broken in half.

Loud knocking on the door, startled you before you power walked to see who it was before answering. Sighing, your best friend doesn’t even wait for you to fully open the door before she barges in.

“Ma’am! I have been calling you all morning and your phone goes straight to voicemail! What’s going—“ She freezes when she sees your face. “Y/N! Oh my god! What happened?!”

“Nothing, Lilly. I’m fine. I just—”

“Fell? You always say that. Where is that fucker? Is he here? I’m going to kill him.”

Lilly stomps towards your bedroom and you quickly run after her but you’re not one percent sure why. Him being attacked was a dream you had, right?

“Hm. Well, next time I see him he’s dead. Jesus, looks like he destroyed your phone. Come on. Let’s go the store so we can get you a new one. Maybe one of those sleek shiny new ones with the screen you touch.”

“But I like my razor phone. It’s shiny enough.”, you smile as you change to go out into the world.

***

As you amble around the phone store, you friend continues to babble about mundane things that you barely hear. What does catch your attention is a group of girls talking in the corner. Pretending to look at the devices in front of you, you slide closer to them as you listen in.

“Did you see their stream last night?”

“It started getting good but then Dracula disappeared to ‘save Mina’. Like are they kidding?”

“I hope they aren’t mixing plot with their sex-ca-pades.”

“Now if they want to add a Mina I think that’d be hot but don’t just cut a stream short like that!”

“Y/N! Did you find what you want?”, your friend practically shouts making you and everyone around jump.

“Yes! Good God, Lilly. Lower your voice.”

“Aw. I love you to.”

***

Staring at your blank computer screen, you debated on even signing on. All the clues were telling you what happened last night was real but that can’t be, right? You had called John multiple times to no avail and even went to his house with no answer. Checking the message boards of their fan group, others were saying what the other group had said about them cutting mid-stream and Dracula abruptly vanishing.

What happened?

“Hey, honey—Oh my god, Mina what happened?!”, Renfield asked as soon as you signed in. Dracula was sitting beside him, his arms folded as he starred off to the side. Turning on your mic, you decided you needed to know the truth.

“I was going to ask you that.”

“Us? Why? The last time we saw you was before our stream.”

“Really? I could swear I heard Dracula’s voice in my house and then you two fighting while I was passed out.”

“Huh. A dream maybe? I mean, we’re pretty far from you.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

Your stern tone had Dracula turning to face the screen as Renfield sighed.

“Far, Mina.”

“How would you know? I don’t even know your names let alone where you live.” You glare at your computer, feeling a confidence you had never felt before. “Did you kill John? Or hurt him?”

“Who cares what happened to that asshole? You deserve better.”, Dracula answers in a deep tone of his own that made you a little bit nervous but you ignored it as you pushed forward.

“Again, how would you know? You never met him.”

“Don’t need to see him to see the damage he inflicts on you every time he comes over. Why do you put up with it, sweetheart? Because you think you deserve to be treated like trash?”

“How did you get here so fast? People are saying you disappeared after saying my name.”

“This was a mistake.”, Renfield whispers to the boy beside him.

“I’m not afraid of you…either of you. I just…I just want answers.”

Dracula’s eyes darken as he turns to Renfield.

“No. No! Don’t you fucking—”

Before he had finished his sentence, the long-haired boy was gone and you heard your front door open as a breeze hit your face.

“You may not be afraid of us now, little one, but you will be.”

With that, he lifted you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and in the blink of an eye you were back in a room you vaguely remembered.

##############

“Why am I even here? You never fucking listen to me!”, Renfield whined.

“Sit.”, Dracula commanded you as he pointed towards a chair. “Not a sound. Do you hear me?”

You nod completely frozen in fear at the speed of which he even brought you back to their house.

“You to. Sit.”

“Fuck you. Are you kidding me right now? After everything we’ve done to avoid getting caught—”

The man choked on his words as a strong hand wrapped around his throat and walked him backwards towards the end of the bed.

“I’m not in the fucking mood to have this argument right now, Steven.”, Dracula growled angrily. “I didn’t get to finish eating last night and I’m starving.”

“You…you didn’t…eat her boyfriend. I’m…shocked.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity to talk back even in the position he was currently in. Plus, he always seemed so gentle so hearing him talk this way startled and excited you.

Dracula’s eyes fluttered closed as he dropped Renfield who promptly gasped for air.

“Jesus Steve, if you could fucking smell what I smell you’d do anything for her to. You think she’s scared but she’s not. She’s turned on.”, he whispers as you watch him adjust himself in his jeans.

“Steve?” They both turn to look at you as you suddenly speak. “Renfield is Steve. W-Who are you, Dracula?”

The man can feel your heart beat slow as you find a sense of grounding in your current chaos. He wasn’t lying when he said he could feel you weren’t afraid but you were extremely confused, trying to make sense of a reality that they both had long accepted.

“Eddie. My real name is Eddie.”

Your hand shakes as you point to your chest. “My name is Y/N.”

Something in their room beeps as they give each other their attention once again.

“You’re insane if you think we’re streaming right now.”

Eddie points his finger at you once more as his voice deeply rumbles.

“No noise. Not even a squeak.”

They get into a position you’ve seen numerous times but this time the energy is different. The man you now know as Steve clenches his jaw as he tilts his head to expose his neck.

A ring laced hand reaches out to cup his cheek and turns his face towards his own as he leans his forehead on his.

“Please don’t be this way. I need you.”, Eddie whispers.

“Yeah. For this right? Because you sure as hell don’t listen or care about my opinion.”

As they murmur to each other, you imagine it’s too low for the mic to pick up but you can hear it and the pain in both their voice breaks your heart. The metalhead’s dark eyes flick towards the web cam before settling back on the man beside him.

“I do, sweetheart. I care about you and what you have to say. It’s because of you I’m still here…I’m safe.”

Steve’s eyes flutter slightly as his admission as he blinks back tears.

“I love you.”, he whispers as he kisses his forehead.

“I love you to, baby. Come here. Let me take care of you to.”

Eddie tenderly pushed Steve back against the mattress, pulling down his sweats and boxers, and tossing them to the floor. When his cock sprang free, Eddie wasted no time, licking and kissing his tip before enveloping him fully into his mouth.

“Fuck.”, Steve whimpered as he reached down to tangle his fingers in the boy’s messy hair.

Lifting his head, he spit on the man’s dick and twisted his wrist as his palm smeared his saliva along his length.

“Such a good boy for me always, aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes I can be a bad boy and not think.” While pumping his hand faster, Eddie leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “But Steve, you were right. I like her so fucking much. You can’t tell me you don’t want to make her moan. Taste that sweet pussy I smell practically dripping from here.”

Steve’s eyes turned to meet yours as he continued to speak.

“Feel a beautiful woman’s tight cunt choke your dick again.”, Eddie tightened his fist as if to prove his point as he quickened his pace. “To have a girl in our lives again who isn’t afraid of us and makes us feel complete.”

Steve craned his neck back towards Eddie as he passionately kissed his lips.

“Take what you need, honey, please.”

Unbuckling his belt, he pushed his jeans down enough to free his cock, and both men mewl as Eddie guides himself into his entrance. You couldn’t help when your hand slid between your shorts and you rubbed your clit. Their moans, Eddie’s passion as he thrust into him, and Steve’s tenderness when he clung to his back drove you wild.

“Can—shit—can you hear it, baby? The sound her fingers between her legs.” Steve nodded as he waited for Eddie to truly take him. “Fuck, you feel so good. Are you ready?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

From your angle you couldn’t see much of what happened next. Eddie’s head tilted slightly and Steve’s entire body arched as he held the man closer to him. The metalhead’s pace quickened as he slammed his hips into his partners.

“J-Just like that, Daddy, fuck.”

Eddie grunted as one of his hands came up to cup the boy’s cheek as if to hold him still as he sucked on his neck. Steve shuddered as his eye’s rolled and he came. Eddie’s own rhythm faltered just enough as his grip tightened on his boyfriend’s hair and released his seed inside of him.

Steve became limp as the man above him continued to roll his hips till he had given him everything he had and came off his neck with a loud syrupy smack. Your own body trembled as you came, covering your mouth as to not give yourself away.

Eddie crawled down the man’s frame as he headed for the opposite corner of their room to the mini fridge where he grabbed two water bottles and a power bar. Normally, they left the cameras on to show the aftercare but this time, he sauntered towards his computer and promptly ended the stream.

After handing a bottle to you without looking your way, he immediately focused on Steve.

“Sit up, sweetheart. There we go. Here eat this for me ok?”, he coos as he hands him his snack before leaning under the bed and producing a first aid kit. You watched with studious eyes as Eddie grabbed a rag and cleaned the blood from his neck while Steve daintily nibbled on the bar in his hands. “Good boy. Drink some water.” His fingers tenderly pushed back some of the boy’s hair as he kissed his shoulder.

“S-S-So, this is real. You’re really a vampire?”

He heavily sighs as he looks your way. “I am.”

“And what is Steve?”

“My boyfriend. He…he takes care of me.”

“How? What? I…I have so many questions.”

“Tomorrow, little one. He won’t be back to 100% for another few hours and even then he’s had a long couple of days. Here. Let me take you home.”

“NO! I mean…please. May I stay?”

“Um, yeah sure. I don’t see why not. Let me see if we have any clean spare sheets for that guest bedroom we have.”

Once he leaves, you sit by Steve’s side and glance over the wound on his neck.

“He should really cover these up since they’re kind of deep.”

“Pfft. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. Eddie uses vampire voodoo whatever he can to make sure he doesn’t leave a scar. As you noticed, honey, we have enough.”, he giggles. “He’s right you know. You are very beautiful. I’ve always thought so.” You softly smile as his palm lazily comes up to trace your now black eye from yesterday.

“Fucking asshole. He’s lucky I can’t run in the blink of an eye.”

“Steve, sweetie, why don’t you lay back?”, you grin as he limply nods and scoots his head up towards the pillows.

“Y/N. I have to keep saying it so I don’t forget. Y/N.”

As his eyes close, you lay on your side beside him and run your fingers along his cheek till your palm rests on his chest.

“He’s fine.”, Eddie announces from the doorway where he had been observing you two talk. “I never take enough that would kill him or turn him. That first night though I did the same thing.”, sighs as he gestures towards your hand.

“Is it ok if I stay with him?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just hang out in this room here—”

“You can lay here if you want. I don’t mind.” He scans you over making you slightly self-conscious. “I mean…unless…you have a coffin you sleep in or…”

Eddie laughs as he comes to the opposite side of the bed and lays on his back.

“No coffins, princess. I sleep here with him.”

“I’ve never heard you laugh before or even seen you really smile. It looks good on you.”

He smiles as he turns on his side and brushes some of your hair away from your face.

“Y/N.”

“Eddie. I like your names better than your screen ones. Plus both Dracula and Renfield’s stories end tragically.”

“Maybe Eddie and Steve’s stories did end tragically…”, he muses. “Or it was the only book he and I actually read in school.”

You giggle as he grins your way before he’s taken aback when you roll over and pull his arm over your waist. Most people feared him especially back in their hometown. It had been so long since anyone besides Steve touched him without hesitation and he didn’t realize how much he missed the contact.

Even though he soothed your worries, your hand still rested against Steve’s chest making sure it was still rising and falling at a normal pace. There was a lot you didn’t know about them but you were dying to find out.

447 notes · View notes

lucysarah-c · 3 months ago

Note

How would Levi react to his s/o getting their period? Like, would he know a little about it or would he be completely clueless? (He has to have helped Isabel in the Underground at least once?? But they could've also been malnourished, so I don't know) Would he try to help in any way? Also, behind the walls, do you think they had pads? I think they probably used like those fabric products (menstrual belt + reusable pads).

Post war I think his s/o would be introduced to pads if they ever get their period.

P.S. this is very on theme with the recent tampons/pads news. (not to spread more panic, like, more research needs to be done, so if anyone freaks out just do what I do - panic at 50% lol)

Hi! How are you?

Oh, I think Levi is far from clueless about periods. I've written multiple one-shots about it. In the manga "A Choice with No Regrets," Levi finds Isabel as a little girl and raises her himself. I hardly doubt that Levi was clueless or wasn't the one who guided her through it the best he could. Because of this, I think Levi is well-informed about periods.

Plus, as I've mentioned before, Levi is a very straightforward, blunt man. He knows women, or at least the vast majority of them, get their periods—it's natural, it's biology. He simply takes it for what it is: men get their dicks hard, women get their periods. This man will take what life gives and simply work with it. He'll be chill and ask her if she needs anything.

And if she feels a bit ashamed about it, he'll say, "Tch, your body is your body. It's the same body that I like. If men get disgusted or ashamed of what a normal woman's body does, then they don't like women," and carry on.

About the pads. Look, hun, not even Isayama knew what he wanted to do with the clothes and the period of time that clothes inside and outside the walls should refer to. It's all over the place during the entire story, and as someone who loves historical fashion, it's annoying how inconsistent it is. So, my best advice about the pads, etc., is you do you. If you want them to have pads, tampons, etc., do it. If you want them to have a more historical type, do it. But honestly, there's no way I could say, "this is what they would wear," because the clothes they wear inside and outside the walls make absolutely no sense in terms of fabric, fashion, and limitations. So, once again, you do you.

And about the news that came out—as a scientist myself—look, don't mind it, that's my best advice. There will always be something that may help or harm you during your life, which is later found out to be bad or good for you. Some can't wear menstrual cups, me included, for example, and some don't want to. You know what's well-known to kill you? Stress. So don't mind it.

Have a nice day!

76 notes · View notes

tyrantisterror · 2 months ago

Text

So I Saw Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

...and listen, I went in fully expecting it to suck ass. I was expecting my nostalgia to actually make me hate it even more for sucking ass than I would have if I had never seen Beetlejuice before. I figured it would be a lazy, heartless cashgrab, with tired actors awkwardly forcing themselves to play a caricature of their old roles and young actors given nothing to work with beyond oooing and aaahing at references to a movie that was made before they were born, directed by Tim Burton, a man who hasn't made a good movie since at least 2007, if not even longer.

So I feel really weird about saying it was actually... good? Somehow? Against all odds, it was good?

Like, I assumed it'd be a lazy rehash of the original, but no, it has a very distinct plot from the first film. It takes Lydia and Deelia Deetz and not only allows them to have grown from where they were in the original film, but keep growing to the end of this one. It uses Beetlejuice himself sparingly, shows new aspects of the entertainingly weird and surreal bureaucratic nightmare afterlife of the original, and actually makes a really strong theme about escaping from manipulative and predatory relationships.

There are references to the original, yes, but overall far fewer than I expected - like, there were so many iconic gags from the first film I expected them to repeat in a "See? It's like the first one!" nostalgia moment that just... didn't get repeated at all. On the other hand, there were clear jabs at the stupid bullshit OTHER legacy sequels have been doing - like, you know how the trailer had the groan-worthy "serious" cover of Day-O? Yeah, in the movie itself, the "serious" cover is sung in-universe in what is clearly meant to be a moment of comedic tonal dissonance - the very idea of using that fun song in a serious context is the joke. They also have a "baby Beetlejuice" gag where the baby version of the pre-existing characrer in question is a horrid little ghoul who spends every second of screentime being as repulsive and awful as possible. It's like it knew what I, personally, expected from a shitty Beeltejuice legacy sequel, and decided to goof on those tropes for my entertainment.

It's not perfect or anything - it has a shitload of subplots which it mostly manages to juggle really well but has, like, just one too many, but that one easily cut-able subplot also revolves around having a Monica Bellucci frankenstein, and I'm enough of a freak to admit I can understand not wanting to cut the Monica Bellucci frankenstein even if it added nothing to the movie beyond the pleasure of seeing a Monica Bellucci frankenstein.

But, like, it was funny, it explored a fantasy setting that honestly is ripe for more exploration, and it had surprisingly more heart than I expected. Like, it actually had more sympathy for both Lydia and Delia Deetz than the original, which is one of the flaws of the first movie in my opinion - it understands that Delia is kind of a great artist instead of maing her just a joke, and that Lydia's anxiety and grief actually has some true pain in it beyond "lol teenage girls are so overdramatic amirite," and it lets those two actually form a really great bond while ALSO adding Jenna Ortega's character into the mix kind of seamlessly? It helps that all three of these women have great chemistry together as actresses - Winona Ryder and Catherine O'hara play off each other so well, and Jenna Ortega adds this great third point to the dynamic the former two had in the original film, it's kind of inspired? And Michael Keaton's Bettlegeuse is used just sparingly enough, as he was in the first film, to be funny and threatening without wearing out his welcome.

It was good. I can't believe I'm saying it, but it was good. I enjoyed it, and I'm still kind of baffled by the fact that I did so. I can't believe I'm writing this in 2024, but Tim Burton finally made a good movie again.

42 notes · View notes

be-my-ally · 2 years ago

Text

Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too.

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside,

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means.

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!" You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth,

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles,

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little.

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers,

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you,

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses.

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves, just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper,

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar.

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes.

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now.

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you;

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position,

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns,

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air —

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk,

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips.

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly,

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming,

"How’d you tell though?"

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little.

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see."

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt,

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan,

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you.

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude.

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too.

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed.

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth.

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic.

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips.

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg.

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet.

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you.

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place.

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting,

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again.

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up.

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything.

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face.

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward,

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements.

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position.

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked.

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise;

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says,

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again.

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet.

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy."

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit.

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise, and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back.

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

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

695 notes · View notes

madrone33 · 5 days ago

Text

I have been CHILLING this week post-Vengeance saga release! I managed to avoid debilitating stress and anxiety from the onslaught of fan stuff by simply avoiding all social media for the first two days, so it's been good!

However, I am now BACK, dumping my immediate reaction of the saga from a week ago. I thought I was ready. I was not ready. 600 Strike blew my mind. I was left staring blankly at my ceiling. Jorge please rest sometime, I'm begging you. The amount of talent beaming through my screen is exhausting even me.

Also, to every cast member and collaborator and behind the scenes person: y'all are amazing. Like seriously. I hope you all get a yummy drink and a cozy blanket and just. Bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. Hats off to y'all fr.

Anyways! I keysmashed the following at around midnight, 14 hours before the livestream ('cause australia is the superior timezone /j). Be warned there's LOTS of swearing 'cause sleep deprivation + incoherent excitement lol

AHHH IT'S GO TIME

Ok it's starting the same as the Goodspeed festival showed. Tho, the first lead in sound thing reminds me of Lucids.

Gorgeous vocals. Hate Calypso, love Wangui fr

"Let me speak!" She really doesn't care about his feelings huh. I noticed in LIP as well, she always makes it about her, which is absolutely in character.

Those ensemble harmonies tho!!

"... You do?" Girl you literally told him to lie smh

"Why in the world won't you love me too?" 'Cause he has a WIFE

IT'S HERMES TIME

FSA melody? YO??

"Cause I had one goal in mind..." the silence where the crew's chorus would come in is PAINFUL

BAG?? HERMES!!

"Hello old friend!" Grinning so hard rn

"Well it's a little bit ✨dangerous✨" AHHH IT'S HAPPENING

Fingertapping and headbopping to this chorus

"Put your whole braiin in it!" I love how he says that sm

"And lastly the wind bag" NEW STUFF

WINIONS

Wow ok I did not expect the wind bag to show up again. Tho it makes sense; this is probs the storm that Ody told Sirenelope kept blocking the way home

ODY SINGING THE CHORUS!!!!

RUTHLESSNESS MENTION

"Hermes! Thank you" AHHH THE CALLBACK! He sounds so tired and like down to his bones grateful this time 🥺

"I'm not the one who fought for you!" MY EYES WIDENED SO FAR. WE ALMOST GOT AN ATHENA NAMEDROP. I'll settle for the reference to her

Okeee. Charybdis!!

Oooh it's just like in the reference vid. No lyrics for this start part!

The 5/4 is amazing. And the electric guitar!!

God this song is SO BADASS

LETS GOOOO ODY!!!

ahhh I KNEW there'd be some sort of soft KYFC esque "I can't wait to make some new memories" type verse AND I WAS RIGHT

he sees ithaca!! Oh god poseidon's gonna show up isn't he

my heart's beating so fast i'm scared

PENELOPEEE

the ELECTRONIC DISTORTION OH NO IT'S HIM

RIGHT INTO GET IN THE WATER AHHH

"Coward" AHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE FINALY HEARING THIS FOR REAL

"That's when our paths collide!" THE RASP

"Now get in the water" Oh shiiiit here we go

the choir is so eerie

"GET IN THE WATER" THE GROWL

"aren't you tired poseidon" ooh it's this part!!

ha he changed it to ten years instead of eight like the demo had XD

"maybe you can learn to forgive" the line from that one snippet!

"No" oop

"DIE" DAMN that deep echo!!

*underwater sounds* oh shit ody's fucking dying

NO! FUCKING POLITES

EURY

ANTICLEA

FUCK YOU JORGE

THE CREW

WAITING??? EXCUSE ME WTF

AHHHHHH WHY TF DOES JAY LOVE HURTING US SO

HUH? HUH??? WHAT WAS THAT! AND THERE'S A FUCKING AD. Probs good, I need the break but WAHT. I KNEW he'd do another fucking polites reference gods damnit jorge WHEN I CATCH YOU

Ok time to hear 600 strike. Holy shit we're here

ELECTRIC GUITAR LETS GOOO

Aeolus theme. IS HE GONNA OPEN THE WIND BAG AGAIN??

600 MEN MOTIF HOLY SHIT

ANIME SCREAM

HOly shit there's magic sounds happening. I'm really curious about whatever Jorge's cooking up for the animatic in the livestream, 'cause I have no clue what's happening rn 👀

"For every comrade!" FSA melody!

"all those _ who were slaughtered by your hand" hmm I can't quite hear what he's saying there?

wait wait wait he's ACTUALLY using the power of his 600 men!!

"You idiot" damn lol

DIFFERENT BEAST ODY HOLY SHIT

is that a blade sound effect?

WAIT DID HE JUST STAB HIM WITH HIS OWN TRIDENT

HOLY SHIT ODY

HOLY FUCK

POP OFF ODY

OMG "MONSTER" AND THEN "RUTHLESSNESS"

BRO HE'S BEGGING??

*trident drops* hot damn ody

"Next to my wife." OHHHHHHH MIC DROP

Holy FUCK that was crazy

I'm gonna listen to it again.

Ok but holy shit Odysseus literally just tortured a god until he gave in?? Daym ody

Tho I like how he tries using open arms first, and then ruthlessness. He's kinda found a balance? I say kinda, 'cause he went hard on the ruthlessness, but since he sincerely tried to ask Poseidon to just drop the whole thing already, his later actions in 600 Strike feel more warranted.

I honestly don't know how Jorge keeps doing it. He just keeps topping himself! Like! Thunder Bringer? And then God Games?? And now Six Hundred Strike??? They just keep getting better! Banger after banger, like!! How.

Wait I just wanna. Sit with it. Imma lie down and stare at the ceiling for a bit, aight?

... I am shooketh.

But BRO THAT WAS INSANE! ODY FUCKED HIM UPPP

AMAZING BRAVO EXTRODINARY INCREDIBLE SHOWSTOPPING GORGEOUS WONDERFUL HOW DARE YOU

#long post #my posts #epic the musical #epic the vengeance saga #immediate reaction #jorge rivera herrans #pay for my therapy

21 notes · View notes

everytaylorswiftsongisaboutcats · 25 days ago

Text

What’s one more day of clowning?…

Here we go final leg of the Eras Tour😭

(RIP my hope of tickets☠️)

Miami Florida N1

— (I’m gonna update this as I go cause I need somewhere to speak in hyperspeed Swiftie screams) while streaming —

Lover Creamsicle/Lava Girl (despite the Twitter debates (yes I said Twitter😂) it looks the usual coral to me at least) though possible new necklace? w Normal speech + addressing the final leg & fantastic crowds to celebrate these albums

New Fearless dress! (Possibly my favorite thus far)

— I’m thinking Elsa for a “Mastermind” name? … trying to come up with some pasta suggestions for “Swiftbowl” but honestly all I can think is “buddy the elf spaghetti”😂

A lot going on at the moment for Red with usual ATW speech & announcing the confirmed ✨RAIN SHOW💖

Swirls for Speak Now enchanted

NEW REPUTATION SUIT WITH MATCHING MIC & DIFFERENT SNAKE (its giving Karen… which @taylornation is of course trolling the clowns with)

— Maybe more green snake intro? (otherwise normal) It seems to be more green lighting?🤡 Normal Rep setlist (I guess I’m going with Christmas themes today… cause all I want is Debutation?😂) also lwymmd has red Rep suit box… idk if it’s new? Mostly just afraid new suit is from “old stinky” (who I love) having holes…

Berry Folkmore/Everlore dress, basic Betty & Champagne problems speeches (or at least nothing officially big?⬇️), + usual setlist (the rain pausing & beginning in Marjorie was beautiful though) & while I see some Tweets saying Willow has new synths I personally did not hear them or see lighting differences in coloring (maybe it’s my screens? It seems usual green & coloring) OKAY BUT THAT SPEECH DANCING RAIN (dancing with our hands tied?⬆️)

Was hoping for a new combo with an all green set for 1989, we got red & green which is both rep colors, usual set, bikes are green not blue!

Hoping for Florida during TTPD, seems more red and green lit, Florida is in setlist WITH FLORENCE!!! (I’m getting snake eye lighting vibes which is me clowning for sure). Malfunction: she was literally running with her dress unbuttoned.😂 The crowd screaming again tricked me w Postie😭🖤NOTHING HAPPENED (but hey I love Jan so) Hoping for all Gold set (or black for Rep?) Set is white! Currently: Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me? dress w White gloves & usual rest of set (aside from earlier ⬆️ Florida)

It’s all waiting on surprise dress now… I’m hoping new green, brand new black (maybe even silver/gold) or at least orange? Surprise songs o clock (coming in right after ICDIWABH which were on as I type this lol): HERE WE GO — THE DRESS IS RED AND GREEN AND BLUE AND LOOKS LIKE BLACK MIDNIGHT STARS OR HOLOGRAPHIC OR RAINBOW WHAT??? ITS RAINING?? ITS TIME!! ITS TIM MCGRAW & TIMELESS — ITS PIANO TIME (I AM CONFUSED) ITS THIS IS ME TRYING & DAYLIGHT — SHES JUMPING — UNLESS MOTHER DOES SOMETHING NEW AND ANNOUNCES AT MIDNIGHT WE HAVE BEEN CLOWNED🤡 but hey def my new fav dress for surprise songs (excited for high quality full pics)

It seems this has been dubbed the beta, paint splatter, sleeping beauty make it blue make it pink, lover hair or rep dress reference of Surprise Song dresses

Midnights: purple CORRECTION NEW ANTI HERO DRESS —

— & MoonStone🌙 bodysuit (don’t think it’s new guys) normal setlist & Kam love! Loving the rainy curls😍 & new crowd YES YOU ARE chants (haven’t heard that one for going out tonight before… maybe I’m just lost lol clowning fried my brain) if nothing else thankfully Vigilante Shit will always be scream worthy and heart stopping for mother🥵🤣👏 we Stan a good ✨Chicago✨ moment Magenta jacket & a wonderful night! Thanks for clowning!

12 notes · View notes

n7punk · 26 days ago

Text

“Rain or Shine (Going Postal)” Fic Notes

Rain or Shine finished yesterday so have some short fic notes on it! I'll make a share post tonight, I kinda forgot lol

Playlist:

The playlist for this AU was only 4 songs since it was so short, but here they are:

So What Now — Renee Rapp

Love Me Not — Emei

Flicker — Rina Sawayama

allofthat — ELIO

Epilogue Life:

These girls have had a very weird path but no longer working together is really the best thing that can happen to divorced work wives when they get back together. It’s a little touch and go and Catra is cautious, but her dumbass cat is in love with her new girlfriend so she kind of needs to see her a minimum number times per week or Melog won’t stop hitting the Adora button until he pisses her off.

Catra knows they’ve reached the serious stage when Melog starts letting Adora walk him by herself and that’s when she starts letting go of her fears (as best she can, anyway).

Chapter 1:

⦁ Catra was annoyed whenever Adora acknowledged their past because it felt like Adora wasn’t taking her seriously and she wanted to show off her negotiating prowess.

Chapter 2:

⦁ My dog didn’t handle car rides well as a puppy so I always held her for them and now if she’s in a car she wants to be in a lap. She is not lap size. Melog similarly only handles cars well if he’s being held.

⦁ Catra does not move for a change of pace, she can’t find a place she likes but can’t articulate why because they’re all perfectly fine places considering their expense (none of them feel like home).

Chapter 3:

⦁ .eth is short for “etheria” and is their version of .gov

⦁ I used to hate emails and I still lowkey do but it’s like a third of my job at this point so I’ve kind of gotten over it but this was me dressing them up like paper dolls and it was really fun honestly.

⦁ Formatting here was kind of a challenge? But I think I found something that looks correct/realistic while still being readable. Hopefully.

Chapter 4:

⦁ Catra’s number says GAY-FAGS. Sorry. I think Adora’s is KIS-DYKE

⦁ Chapter title is a reference to that one fic I did in a day lol.

⦁ The space after Hello Adora , in the invitation is a MailMerge error. IYKYK (my pain).

Chapter 5:

⦁ Catra frowns when Adora implies she has been lying to her this whole time because, while she messes around and likes to make Adora play the guessing game, she isn’t trying to actually deceive her or seem scheming, at least not in the way Weaver she is. She wants to be cool and confident and one step head. Cognitive dissonance and Catra go hand-in-hand and she didn’t realize how toying it came across.

⦁ This has become a running theme at this point but it always results in something fun, so once again Metalesbos made a joke about something that became a plot point, in this case “Bunny the dog Melog AU where he’s learned to use those word buttons” which I somehow spun into Melog accidentally wingmanning them via soundboard.

⦁ Actual conversation that happened as some point: Entrapta: and what would the purpose of giving your cat a ‘slur’ button be? Catra: it would be funny (She then had to remove the fag button because Melog started pressing it whenever he really wanted attention while she was working because it would get her attention Real Quick in case someone overheard it during a call)

⦁ Oh yeah, after writing this entire thing I went into my "abandoned" folder for something unrelated and found I already had a fic called Rain or Shine, which upon checking was like 600 words of a postwoman Catra AU I abandoned back in like 2021 because I wasn't feeling it and I thought it was creepy for Adora to be bugging Catra post-fallout via her mailbox since her job meant Catra had literally no choice but to keep dealing with it. This was a much funner use of the post office lol.

Sheratober prompts:

Ch1: Day 4, purring

Ch2: Day 9, workout

Ch3: Day 11, drunk

Ch4: None, just needed to get to the next one, though I was going to use embarrassing for Adora making a fool of herself over email because I realized that came before "drunk" and scrapped that idea.

Ch5: Day 16, kiss

Original Outline:

Kinda unusual scenario where I have the entire original outline still on hand from when I wrote it a full year ago (21/09/23). It would be like half of these fic notes to include, but… I think it would be an interesting peak into the writing process? So I’m just going to include it. The big shift in Catra’s job actually came because I hadn’t read the outline in a while and the new stamp collection thing came to me, which I just liked better even though it changed the context of their negotiation.

Post office adora / sourcing supplier catra who took a job at a Weaver’s company and eventually bounced while Adora went to humble (shitty) office jobs due to a mix of guilt, fear, and impostor syndrome. Weaver was trying to make a golden parachute for herself in the form of two children who would support her in her older years, but she wanted to incur as few costs in the process (children are expensive — she was trying to have them specifically to make money) and they basically lived like orphans in her large house. Weaver supplied for them through college, expecting a “return on investment”, but senior year Adora had a breakdown, she and Catra broke apart, and Catra went on to work for weaver while Adora faded into obscurity. Catra made her way to a minor executive position before leaving to work contract negotiation for a smaller but nicer company. Reconnect when they have to work together, Catra taking over the contract Adora already had with them. It’s a cautious relationship and Catra scares Adora when she starts to negotiate a far worse rate for them, but it turns out to be a scare tactic and even as Adora is stammering they can’t do that Catra cuts her off “we’ll renew at the current rate” Adora gapes. Catra looks up, flashing her a threatening smile. “Just remember what I’m capable of, princess.” They enter a cautious business relationship, interacting on a regular basis and gradually getting more friendly as they do. After a bit Catra starts signaling they might not be able to continue the contract as it was, and it makes Adora nervous, but it’s nothing like she did the first day where she was legitimately negotiating them into a corner. Eventually she comes back to Adora and tells her they’re not renewing the contract, but she doesn’t try to negotiate anything, just gives a new minimum to continue the contract Adora can’t agree too. So Catra suggests a competitor she can go to and rights out the terms of their current contract for adora to show. Adora goes there and gets a worse deal, but better than what Catra was going to offer her. It’s all weird and Adora can tell something is going on, but Catra refuses to answer her questions. Part of her wonders if catra is just trying to get rid of her and this — objectively less favorable — contract in one go.

The rest of the outline was either rough outlines of scenes I ended up writing and thus deleted from the draft document, or in my head. Other aspects of the fic I had stored in my brain:

Adora running into Catra when she’s walking her cat or perhaps them going on a maybe-date at the park and Catra walking her cat as part of that after reconnecting post-contract

The whole LinkedIn interaction — at the time Adora didn’t have Catra’s LinkedIn initially and I later changed that

A “business dinner” Adora can’t tell if it’s a date or not

The rest all came up as I was writing it.

Upcoming:

So I’ve got two more one shots for Sheratober, and there’s going to be an update to Unhinged Instagram Lives Era for the Music day, but the last week of AU-ctober is the canon divergent week, so it’s finally fucking time. The end of October is going to be all ten chapters in secession.

Somewhere Beautiful, We Can Finally Meet

#RoS #ficmeta #fic notes #sheratober

10 notes · View notes

mulders-too-large-shirt · 1 month ago

Text

s4 episode 15 thoughts

life is so fun when there is mulder and scully time to look forward to <3

(post episode thoughts: not sure how i feel about this one. i definitely didn’t hate it, don’t get me wrong, but it was really sad and after last week’s sad episode i’m ready for some happy times. i’m also trying to figure out what exactly the meaning of this episode was because there’s a detail in there that really threw me off- i shall elaborate late.

nonetheless, i thought it was an interesting ep…. just saddened the heart, and i’m trying to parse out the meaning of the whole thing. maybe that detail of which i speak was just a throwaway line and i’m overthinking everything? this has been known to happen.

but, please keep in mind: i am not an expert on all things, including jewish culture- which could perhaps explain my interpretation of the episode/confusion on its overall theme- and if i made any mistakes please feel free to point them out, but understand that they were not made intentionally and that i am merely a fan blog who is living, laughing, loving, and learning each day)

i’m so excited to see what happens next after such an amazing episode last time!! and i know better than to expect a direct continuation of that storyline. BUT a girl can hope! we covered some pretty important territory in the previous one, so to pretend it didn’t happen wouldn’t make a ton of sense- but that is usually how these things go lol

(author's note: this is exactly how things went)

also, i know a lot of people headcanon mulder as jewish, so i’m interested to see what the episode brings/if i will also be sold on the hc! i’ve definitely subscribed to it up until now, so i’m interested to see if it’ll convince me more.

without further ado…

we begin with a man praying in hebrew in new york. sadly, we are at a funeral. everyone is in black. but the way this camera is especially focused on this woman in black is leading me to believe that she is gonna be the star of the episode.

we see, through her eyes, someone being terribly attacked. she is crying as she throws some dirt onto the coffin.

we also see that the man holding her hand has numbers tattooed on his arm, which implies he is a holocaust survivor, and makes this hate crime in america all the more horrific for him to have experienced.

i would guess that this man is maybe lead woman in black's father? he is leading her away from the funeral :(

at the cemetery in the rain, we see someone making a human form out of mud? dirt? clay? actually. what is the line between mud and clay? never thought about that. not the point, though. the mud clay dirt man begins to breathe!

this must be the golem referred to in the episode description…

(spooky intro time…. always a nice ritual for me)

so, the man who was murdered was named isaac luria, scully lets us know. he was from an area of brooklyn known for racial tensions and hate crimes, two of which mulder recites off the top of his head. he is the type of guy to recite facts.

the only thing that was taken from the market where the crime went down was the surveillance tape, which was found in the VCR of a 16 year old tony.

(was that guy we saw earlier doing the shooting supposed to be 16? because he looked 25 at the youngest. yeah, hard to suspend my disbelief in that regard, having a memory of what being 16 was like)

oh! the twist is… tony is dead now! strangled to death while watching the tape. mulder says this is “very old testament”.... interesting choice of words there

and the fingerprints of the strangler WERE THAT OF isaac luria!!! mulder seems greatly intrigued by this. has me wondering how that would go down.

scully is convinced that it is a resurrection hoax, and they must figure out how someone got a dead man’s fingerprints. mulder makes some joke about casper never leaving behind fingerprints. well casper was a FRIENDLY ghost, so maybe that is the difference! casper was not intended to be a creature of revenge. actually, i could be wrong there. haven't seen the movie since i was a kid.

the agents are off to new york, and i was right, that man we saw before was the crying woman’s father. his name is jacob weiss and hers is ariel luria.

scully looks so pretty :(

it seems they’re holding shiva, and showing up with a request to reopen luria's grave is not welcomed. understandably so!

apparently jacob had called the police before the attack, who had said they were paranoid. mulder asks “so there was a specific threat of violence?” and he answers “the threat is always there” <- damn….

then he hands mulder a flyer that was slid under their door with some horrible antisemitic stuff on it that actually made me flinch

jacob seems to slip that he knows who did the murder… but refuses to cooperate. and after they explain that they can get the court to order them to dig the body back up, ariel says to do what they need to, but to please leave them alone.

and from her perspective, it does seem like mulder and scully are just here to stir up trouble- it sounds like they’re trying to protect the murderers, and like they want to make her suffer by digging her husband back up, but i’m wondering if saying “we found your dead husband’s fingerprints on the boy’s corpse” would go over even worse

(they also keep looking at that one guy tony that did the murder and calling him a “boy” as if to emphasize his youth. but again. he looks like 25, so. maybe should have cast someone else if that was the point they wanted to make)

agents in the raaaain going to the car. scully oh my GOD she’s so beautiful. so so so so so so SO beautiful.

she thinks that jacob doesn’t want them messing with the grave because it will somehow reveal who did the killing of tony. i’m not sure i buy it. sorry scully. he would be too obvious.

mulder pulls the horrible pamphlet out of his pocket and says that whoever published it probably knows who killed isaac AND tony. how tight knit is the community of people who print hateful pamphlets to slide under doors? something i have genuinely never asked myself but now i’d like to know.

omg!!!! someone covered in dirt is watching them!!! did the golem turn into a person? why did i think he was going to stay made of mud? this is definitely a dirty man and not a mere man of dirt! and he has a mark on his hand

OHHHH some horrific antisemitism from the guy who they are questioning, later revealed to be named curt. oh my god???? he says mulder “looks like he might be one” and that the FBI “works for them” and blah blah blah

what the hell…… sometimes i forget that people spouting such horrific stuff are people with faces and names……… you might read it in awful internet comments, but you forget those are Real Human People who are saying those words. at least, sometimes i do. perhaps that was also the point of including him, to personify this hatred.

it seems that one of the boys who did the killing is watching all of this go down through the surveillance camera in curt's shop. mulder makes a snappy comment about a jew coming back from the dead 2,000 years ago in response to whatever tf this dude’s name is (again, later revealed to be curt, do NOT get him confused with kurt with a k from last episode) being a dick about the resurrection allegations involving luria. and scully says well i assume you don’t want to be responsible for these young men dying! and they leave.

ooooo mulder tells him “bless you” as he leaves…. he is gonna mess w this guy. and i appreciate that.

but gasp… the "kid" has disappeared from the back room!

now why is this kid hanging around with this older man? and why is he killing people? there are a LOT of questions here. if i’m supposed to care if he gets taken by the golem… i simply don’t.

the two surviving boys (who again, look older than me, a person above the age of 16) are digging up luria’s grave to see if he really did rise from the dead. but oh no! someone is watching them!!

damn, one of the killer children is dead. oh nooo i’m so sad (said with deep sarcasm)

the other one finds luria’s body just as the killing goes down, and luria appears very dead. the surviving one is being taken by the cops???

scully at the scene. looking at the dead kid. seems he was also strangled.

scully says maybe they came to desecrate the corpse? but mulder says they were probably scared he came back from the dead. hmm.

they’re trying to figure out what exactly is going on when mulder pulls a book out from under dead isaac’s head and it catches on fire!!! what!!! how did that happen!!!!

the creep from the copy shop is clocking in. the last surviving kid (? i think idk they all look the same? unless someone else came back from the dead?) is saying he killed the man because he didn’t sit back and just spread propaganda like this guy curt does.

well. that is a sharp reminder of how hate speech leads to hate crimes.

the book that was burnt is being analyzed. it’s the book of creation, the sepher yetzirah- but this is not something that a jewish person is buried with! no worldly possessions are allowed in the grave. so how did it get there???? did they decide to make a special exception to the rule or something?? and if so, for what purpose?

“has it ever been known to spontaneously combust?” <- LMAO mulder i know you’re being serious but 😭

scully’s talking scientific theories on chemicals making books blow up, but he is not buying it at all. keeps questioning the book guy.

oh! someone’s name is on the book!! JACOB WEISS!!! what!!!!

now i bet that someone planted that there…..

so they go back to the weiss household. ariel is very sad to hear about her father's book being at the scene, as you can imagine.

oh wait….ariel and isaac never actually got married…. omg this changes things……… wait. now it's even sadder. and it was already really sad :(

she’s showing them a ring that every woman married in the synagogue wears, that her father had hidden during the war. mulder looks really really really upset by all of this.

scully asks where ariel’s father is, but ariel promises he wouldn’t kill anyone. well. that doesn't exactly answer the question

agents rolling up to the synagogue. everyone must have had a lot of questions as to what the duo in trenchcoats were up to.

it seems jacob exited out a back door? it’s investigation time….

OMG the last kid has been hanged!! someone is running away from this!!!!!!!!! everything is dark and i cannot see.

NOOO mulder is down…. and scully is down too, but she fired a shot off…. at jacob???? that was who was down here?? hmm i’m not buying it. seems too easy.

aha! that dirt covered hand is also at the scene!

ariel is at the jail asking to see her father. and scully seems very sad to inform her that he is under arrest.

mulder’s asking jacob why he killed him. jacob says that the kid was up in the attic and he defended himself. by hanging him? hm.

he seems shocked that his book was at the crime scene, and professes his guilt, but mulder isn’t buying it. he says someone else was up there in the attic and WHO WAS IT?

mulder picks some dirt off of his sleeve…. suggesting he is onto him….

it seems that jacob had bombed people back in israel 1959? wait. if that was the case, then how did he get to new york…

(this line confused me greatly, because what did it add to the story? it felt like it had Implications that just. were not explored)

“he’s not our killer, though” “what do you mean? i… he just gave a confession, i stood here and listened to it” <- she sounded so shocked lmaoooo

mulder launches his second person in the attic theory. couldn’t have been the daughter. because the person shoved mulder down. mulder is big strong man.

OH! jacob says he confessed to protect ariel. omg it’s clicking… she must have used the book to make the golem, and he is taking the fall for the golem’s actions.

the print shop guy is printing more of his horrible pamphlets and oh my god he has a nazi flag on his wall…. jesus. it’s always such a visceral jumpscare to see those. something is approaching him…… and choking him…. and the hand is dirty and has the same mark as before!!

mulder is going back to talk to the book guy to ask about the sepher yetzirah and the golem. book guy explains that it was believed a righteous man could make a man himself out of mud or clay (mud or clay! used interchangeably here! this does not help me figure out what the difference between them is), but it could only be brought to life by the power of the word. certain letter combinations. you put the word on the hand and bam.

mulder says he doesn’t speak hebrew, so he doesn’t know what emet means, but omg!!! it means truth!!! the truth…… it haunts him

apparently the golem is imperfect and must be destroyed by its creator. which you do by erasing the first letter to turn “emet” into “met”, which means dead.

scully phone call time!! curt (the printing man) is dead (well. if i'm supposed to be sad. i'm not)

more strangling….. but at least we know that this time it wasn’t jacob that did it, because he was still in jail

they look onto the surveillance footage and gasp! it looks like the killer is isaac luria!! so did the golem take his form??? huh. that's creepy.

luria is again confirmed as very much dead, so mulder must explain his theory.

“a ghost is spirit without form, but i believe what we’re looking for and what we’re seeing here is form without spirit” <- i want him to make a compilation of his worldview so bad just so i can read it

(indignant scully voice) "MUD?!?" <- lmaooooo she never gets used to his ideas 😭

back to ariel’s… which is suspiciously unlocked. wherever she is, she has the ring!!!

at the synagogue, jacob is there with a candle. he’s also looking for ariel.

ariel says to “leave us alone” WHO IS US?? the golem???! but jacob won’t leave without her.

what she brought back isn’t him….

they’re both crying as she recounts what happened; she made a golem, which took the form of isaac, but it isn't truly him

but da agents are here now…. and JACOB IS BEING HANGED???? so the golem does not have her best interests at heart.

mulder pulls out a handy knife to cut him down!!! mulder keeps a knife on him….. huh. i’ll analyze that later.

scully is working her doctor skills while mulder goes on a hunt for ariel, who he finds on the floor.

ohhhh but the golem is here….. and she’s begging him not, to but mulder is shooting at the golem…. it isn’t doing anything. and now he’s choking mulder.

she offers “isaac” the ring…. and he puts it on her hand….

but she wipes off the first letter!!!! and he crumbles!!!!

scully is here to find mulder!!!!! while ariel is saying goodbye

that is the end of the episode, which is dedicated to lillian katz. a google search leads me to believe that she was the episode writer’s grandmother

hmm. what am i thinking….?

well, this was a sad one. a very sad one. which i had been warned was going to keep happening over and over again until i hit episode 20. and yet! here i am! still sad!

i take it that this one was likely very personal to the writer, if that really is the writer’s grandmother that this was dedicated to and google is not lying to me.

i think it covered really important topics, especially about how rhetoric turns into violence, and the two are inseparable.

here’s something i’m confused about: why did they throw in that line about jacob being a terrorist? was it supposed to show that hate can effect all people, like how mulder said hate was a two-way street? it just feels like it didn’t actually serve any purpose beyond being a red herring to try and get you to think it was jacob and not the golem that did the killing. but what does that do to the narrative, to highlight someone who has suffered at the hands of hatred- and then put a different hatred of his own into that character’s hands? this is a thing that happens in real life, and real life is messy and complicated, but i feel a bit thrown off on that for the basic plot reason of “if he killed 7 people then how did he get to new york”.

implications aside of someone surviving a genocide and then inflicting the pain of death onto others, which i will admit i feel hesitant about but don’t even know where to begin in approaching that, it stuck out to me as weird and unrealistic. i mean, if they were trying to show that hate was a two-way street (which is… an interesting way of seeing things anyway), jacob’s hatred of the boys who killed isaac was already well fleshed out without a random terrorist point. is the story trying to say that everyone hates something or someone, and we are all capable of being driven to horrible things? or what? i’m a little lost on the overall meaning, and maybe i have to wrestle with it for a bit. it's not like the hatred of an oppressor to the oppressed and the hatred of the oppressed to their oppressor are moral equivalents.

i feel i wasn’t supposed to take home the message that using golems to kill nazis is a good thing but. well. if i was supposed to be sympathetic to curt and the murder boys and see their potential to change and be good people deep down, i didn’t get the memo. and also they kept calling these men who looked like college graduates "boys", as if to emphasize how hate corrupts the next generations, but. again. they did not look like boys. so if they were trying to make that point, i feel it fell a bit flat.

in terms of the jewish mulder headcanon... like i had said, i had been subscribing to it myself, but honestly, i didn't feel anything happened here where i was like "omg, canon proof!" i think if he had known the word on luria/the golem's hand i would have been more compelled to think so. but his line about hate being a two-way street felt weird, and when he didn't understand that there doesn't need to be a specific threat of violence for the threat to always be there in a jewish community also felt a little like he didn't know what he was talking about. also, he described the death at the beginning as "very old testament", which felt odd. it is an odd thing to say at all, but given that it is such a christian term, it felt loaded.

maybe, if you have this headcanon, you imagine that he grew up without knowing much about the culture associated with it? what do you think? do you subscribe to that headcanon?

while the episode was touching, i found myself confused on what exactly it was trying to say. i guess i'll leave it at that.

did you like it? did you have a solid interpretation on what it was trying to say and if it said it well? to me it felt like it was trying to be a lesson on how hate corrupts all but that also seems simplistic.

tell me all the thoughts.

#juni's x files liveblog #the x files #txf

13 notes · View notes

frogletscribe · 11 months ago

Text

Until It Doesn’t Hurt

Chapter 11: So Long and Lost

Summary:

20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago.

Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

---

Tenak has entered the chat, Neteyam struggles to adapt, Anthe and Spider get bad news

_____________________________________________

Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!Reader/OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N, Blood, Self-depreciation, Neglectful Parenting, Suggestive Themes, Mutual Pining, Hurt-Comfort, Found Family

WC: 3672 words. AO3 Link Here

A/N: Okay its been a sec! I graduated college (yaay) and also had my laptop and switch stolen in the same day (;~;) SO, this took me a minute to finish. Also thank you to everyone who has been liking and reblogging my doodles!

I feel like I should also note that I still have not played Frontiers of Pandora so, there are obviously going to be differences. I'm staying away from using too many explicit references, or else im gonna frustrate myself when i actually do get to play the game lol

{ } indicate speaking Na'vi

Masterlist

Previous Next

_____________________________________________

One of Tenak’s clearest memories of his childhood was the first time had met Anthe. He was thirteen years old, the oldest child to have been taken just a few years prior. There were only three others then, all between eight and eleven, and all looking to him for safety and guidance. Anthe arrived with three more children, nine years old and full of spite and fire. The others that came with them were even smaller, six and seven at most, clinging to Anthe’s legs, trying to hide from the strangers that had killed their families and stole them from their homes.

Tenak watched through the classroom window with Kala, a girl from his village that had been stolen with him, waiting to see what would happen with this new group of Na’vi children. They watched the RDA soldiers try to drag Anthe and the other kids towards the classroom. The smaller children went more easily, still too scared to fight back, but not Anthe. Tenak watched the younger child kick and hiss at the soldiers. Teacher tried to step in, urging the soldiers to stop trying to force the child to go, but the soldiers were already angry, and Anthe was still kicking and cursing at anything that tried to get too close.

So, Tenak made a choice. He left the classroom, pushing past Teacher and the soldiers and putting himself between them and the child. Someone tried to grab him, and drag him back into the classroom as well, but at thirteen Tenak was already taller and stronger than the human soldiers, and could easily brush them back. He stuck out a hand to who he would soon know to be Anthe, helping them back to their feet where the soldiers had pushed them down. They eyed him warily, as Teacher was frantically trying to keep the soldiers from escalating things further.

“{Why do you dress like them?}” Anthe’s voice was small but accusatory. Tenak looked down at himself, clad in the TAP issue pants and shirt he wore. By contrast, this new child still wore their more traditional Na’vi clothes, a woven and beaded top with matching tewng.

“{They took my clothes.}” He said simply, his mother tongue feeling rusty in his own mouth. “{They will take yours too, and anything else you have.}” The child swallowed, curling in on themselves protectively.

“Hey! English only! You know the rules!” One of the soldiers grabbed Tenak by the arm, shouting in his face.

“They do not know English yet.” He hissed back through gritted teeth. “They are confused, and will not listen until they know what’s going on.” There was a moment of tension, Tenak staring down the soldier holding him, ears pinned back against his skull.

“Then do your explaining back in the classroom.” The soldier finally relented, shoving the children towards the door. Anthe was less resistant this time, holding close to Tenak as he quietly ushered them into the room, Teacher close behind them. The three other new children were all huddled together around Kala, sniffling and sobbing into her shirt. She was only eleven, and already acting like a mother hen for all the younger children.

“Okay.” Teacher let out a shaky breath, closing the door behind her. “New agenda for the day, we are going to help our new friends get adjusted.” Her smile when she turned back to the eight Na’vi children did not meet her eyes, and Tenak could see the anxiety in the shake of her hands.

Over the next several hours, Tenak and Kala helped Teacher clean up and dress the new children in TAP uniforms. More soldiers came and went, taking away the children’s old clothes and songcords, but while there were many tears, this time there was less fighting. Anthe, as Tenak finally managed to get their name, refused to make a single sound or acknowledge anyone but him. Not once did they cry, only gritting their teeth and clenching their fists as even more was taken from them. That was the last day any of them were allowed to speak Na’vi freely and without punishment, the last day they had even the smallest taste of home, and the first day of the rest of their lives.

Ten years they stayed in TAP, losing their language and stories with the passage of time. Ten years trapped in a cage that turned them into weapons against their own people. All the younger ones were gone now and all that was left were Tenak, Kala, and Anthe. But, Anthe hadn’t woken up when he and Kala had. They had lost fifteen years of their lives to the cryopods and Anthe was still asleep.

Every year, for the last five years, he had made a point of going back to TAP and checking on Anthe in their pod. When he and Kala had first woken up, Anthe’s pod was the only other one to have not gone completely dark already. They had tried everything they could think of to get their younger sibling out and nothing had worked. So Tenak took to waiting, going back as often as he could, waiting for Anthe to wake up.

However, he had gotten caught up in the new RDA invasion, trying to protect the new friends and clans he had met in the Western Frontier of Pandora, and now Anthe was gone. Tenak had returned to where Kala was staying with the Aranahe clan in a panic, Pandora was a big place and their younger sibling could be anywhere. Kala was significantly calmer about the news, reassuring him that Anthe would find their way back to them. She had always been the wisest of their family and a mother figure to the younger of them.

“They are strong, Tenak. Anthe knows how to take care of themselves.”

“But they are alone! And you know they hate about being around strangers. They’re not going to stay with another clan.” Tenak knew Anthe too well, and knew their anxiety about being an outsider. He had struggled with it as well before he and Kala had met the clans in the west.

“We don’t know that. There are many clans, it's entirely possible that they found a safe place to stay.”

But where Kala was a calm and patient voice to soothe him, Tenak’s own inner voice was the exact opposite. Within two days, Tenak was searching every clan in the area, using an old photograph of the two of them he carried with him to ask if anyone had seen Anthe. The longer he searched the more stressed he got, especially knowing that the RDA was back, leaving Anthe in more danger because of it.

Now, Tenak was practically a year into his search, and there was still no sign of his younger sibling. Kala stayed behind with the Aranahe, just in case they popped up, but Tenak set his sights for the East. There were a number of clans in that direction, as well as the new RDA headquarters if his intel was right. If Anthe was there then Tenak would find them, no matter what it took.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The Metkayina Clan at Awa’atlu were kind to the Sully’s for the most part. The first few weeks in the reef village were tense, but with help from the Olo’eyktan and his family, mostly his daughter Tsireya, the family was brought quickly into the larger community. Neteyam’s siblings seemed to take to the ways of the water quickly, but the same could not be said for Neteyam himself. Where once he excelled in every aspect of his life, now he floundered. He struggled to master the breathing techniques Tsireya taught them, and grew frustrated by his slow pace in the water. It was not helped by Ao’nung, Tsireya’s older brother, and his taunting. Neteyam hadn’t wanted to leave home in the first place, but he needed to stay strong for the rest of his family. There was no room for Neteyam to mourn.

Now he sat on the sandy beach, watching his siblings joke with each other and their new friends. Kiri and Tuk were building a sandcastle with Tsireya, while Rotxo was play-fighting in the serf with Ao’nung. Lo’ak had run off in a huff earlier, upset that no one believed that his new Tulkun friend was not the killer they believed it to be. At least his younger brother was no longer fighting with Ao’nung. It was a good development, especially given the recent fight the Sully brothers had had with the Metkayina man and his friends. Neteyam licked the healing cut on his lip at the memory, wincing as it still stung. Neteyam was still pissed at Ao’nung himself, even if his brother had apparently forgiven him. After the fight, when Lo’ak had attempted to make peace, Ao’nung had almost gotten Lo’ak killed, abandoning the younger man outside the reef in Akula territory. At least, there was no more fighting or insults being thrown.

Neteyam thought now, as he did often, of Anthe, wondering if they were okay, if they had escaped the RDA or were still there with Spider. If they were even still alive. He thumbed softly at the hilt of Anthe’s knife, the only thing he had left of them besides the gifts he never got the chance to give them. Neteyam had finished the knife he made for them, and kept it wrapped up with his belongings, and the clothes Kiri had made for them, hiding it from view. No one had tried talking to him about Anthe since they left the Omaticaya except Kiri, who did her best to reassure him that they would be fine, wherever they were. Even his parents seemed to avoid the subject, as if they had never existed, as if they had never spent the better part of a year in the family's company.

He thought back to their last conversation, how Anthe could believe they weren’t worthy of safety or belonging within the Omatikaya. The thought that they couldn’t ever belong. At the time, he found it hard to understand. He couldn’t see how just having a different upbringing could make a person feel so separate from those around him. Unwelcome. Outsider. But, Neteyam understood it now. He felt it, here with the Metkayina, where none of his previous skills had value, and he was no longer the eldest son of the Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. Just another demon blooded outsider. Kiri and Lo’ak had it even worse too, he knew that, even back home they had struggled. Neteyam felt like he had no right to feel this pain now, while his siblings had felt it their entire lives. At least he had his family, all together, all safe, going through the same things with him. Anthe was just alone, not knowing if their family was even alive. No wonder nothing he said had helped. No wonder they had left him when he couldn’t even understand that much.

“{‘Teyam?}” Kiri’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, back to the beach.

“{Kiri, hey.}” Neteyam shook himself, pocketing the knife again.

“{Are you alright?}” Kiri asked, plopping herself down beside him, and leaning close.

“{I’m fine.}” He shrugged, not looking at his younger sister.

“{Come on, Neteyam, don’t be like that.}” Kiri frowned, nudging Neteyam in the side. “{You’re worried aren’t you?}” Neteyam just shrugged again, leaning into Kiri a bit.

“{I’m fine, Kiri, I promise.}”

“{But you’re not! I know you miss Anthe and your home sick, we all are.}”

“{Kiri.}” He sighed, “{You really do not need to worry about me, I will be fine, I’m just…}”

“{Sad. You’re sad, and heart broken, and I know you would rather wallow in it but I don’t accept that. I miss Spider more than anything, but we have to trust that they will be okay. They will come back.}” Kiri spoke, holding Neteyam’s face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. Of course he knew she was right, just as she usually was. Neteyam let out a heavy sigh, slumping into his sister’s hands and letting his face squash in her palms. Kiri smiled, pinching her older brother's cheeks with a soft chuckle.

“{Tsireya said she got her mother's permission to take us to the Spirit Tree here, you should come with us. Please, come with us.}”

“{Okay.}” Neteyam nodded finally, letting Kiri drag him back to his feet.

“{Is he coming?}” Tuk hollered, seeing her older siblings approach where she and Tsireya sat.

“{Should we try to find Lo’ak too?}”Tsireya looked to Kiri, worried expression on her soft features. The Metkayina girl had grown close with Neteyam’s younger brother, who in turn had a very obvious crush on her as well.

“{I’m not sure he really wants to be around us yet. We can bring him next time.}” Kiri sighed.

It didn't take long for the group to reach the Metkayina’s underwater Spirit Tree, but the sun was still setting quickly in the distance. Ao’nung had excused himself before the group had left, leaving Tsireya and Rotxo to guide Neteyam and his sisters. Even from atop the waves, the view of the glowing tree below them was breathtaking. Tuk was standing excitedly on the back of Kiri’s Ilu, eager to jump straight in, while Tsireya explained that she and Rotxo would act as the Sully’s dive partners to keep them safe while they connected to the tree.

One by one they each slipped from the backs of their Ilu and dove down into the water. Neteyam could see that Kiri especially seemed excited. She had prayed at the Brother Tree back in their home forest all the time, and was deeply spiritual compared to Neteyam and the rest of his siblings. This would be the first time in months that she could connect to Eywa again since they left. Rotxo brought Tuk to one coral-like branch of the tree while Tsireya led Neteyam and Kiri to their own, encouraging them to connect. He could see why his little brother could be falling for such a sweet girl. Carefully, he reached back for his kuru, watching the pink tendrils hidden beneath the end of his braid eagerly reach for the tree as he brought them to the branch and closed his eyes.

Neteyam was back in the forest, familiar and warm, in an area he knew quite well. He followed the small path to the pond he had brought Anthe to so long ago. It was just as he remembered, the afternoon light bleeding softly through the tree canopy above, glittering across the shifting pool like gems. It felt calm there, peaceful in a way Neteyam missed. But something still felt like it was missing, beyond just the fact that Neteyam knew he wasn’t actually there. It was calm, but it was also lonely, the lack of Anthe’s presence making itself known.

Homesick, heartbroken, hopeless, Neteyam felt all of it. At least here, he could actually let himself feel it, finally someplace private without fear of interruption. The last time he had tried to have a moment to himself, it had been cut off by the admission from Ao’nung that Lo’ak had been abandoned out in open water, and Neteyam had been scolded for not being there to stop it. Here that wouldn’t happen, he could just be alone and feel as sad as he needed to without being a burden to anyone. It was cathartic, right up until the flashing started, suddenly pulling Neteyam from the connection, back to reality. Neteyam shook his head, trying to orient himself as Tsireya rushed past him, towards where he saw Kiri convulsing, seizing under the water.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“We found something.” Quaritch grinned at the group of Recoms standing around the conference room, and Anthe felt their heart drop to the pit of their stomach. There was a chorus of whooping and cheers from the soldiers around them, but Spider was stock still and pale as a ghost. Anthe did their best not to show their dread, forcing a grin and high five when Ja turned towards them to celebrate.

“We got a helicopter ping headed in the direction of this cluster of islands.” The Colonel pointed out on a holographic map, showing an area to the South West of their current location.

“Ardmore is sending us to the RDA coastal base, here.” He pointed to an area more immediately west of Bridgehead. “Where we will catch a ride to search the islands.”

“Colonel.” Anthe managed, doing their best to seem as neutral as possible. They had only just been released from their ‘probation’, their ankle tracker finally removed, and one step closer to getting out.

“What is it, private?”

“Are we sure it’s them? You said all that was left back at the original RDA base were scientists, could it just be a research team or something?”

“It’s possible.” Quaritch nodded. “But it's still a lead to Sully. If it's anything good, then maybe you’ll get some use outta that rifle of yours, too. Speaking of-” Quaritch motioned over to a grinning Lyle who excitedly pulled a familiar large shape from behind his back, handing it to Anthe.

“You get your piece back!” The recom grinned, clapping a hand on Anthe’s shoulder. Anthe was quick to check over the rifle, it was cleaner than they expected with a new strap, but undamaged and otherwise unchanged. The weapons' familiar weight in their hands brought with it a sense of safety Anthe hadn’t truly felt in a while, that made the smile that crossed their face feel that much more genuine. They held it close, nodding a quiet thanks to Lyle as he crossed back to his place at the Colonel’s side.

“Right.” Quaritch coughed, regaining the room's attention, an air of smugness about him that suggested he was pleased with Anthe’s reaction. “We leave in one hour, so get your shit together and be ready to go. Anthe, make sure the kid doesn’t break anything while we load up. Dismissed.”

As soon as Quaritch said the word, Anthe was half dragging Spider out of the conference room, back to their dorm. The rifle was comfortably back on their shoulder right where it belonged. Spider was silent, his hands balled into tight fists as Anthe pulled him into their room, locking the door behind them. They turned back to the man slowly, standing stock still in the middle of the room.

“{Spider-}” Anthe started, moving towards their friend.

“{Do you think it’s them?}” Spider suddenly spun towards them, eyes panicked.

“{I don’t know.}”

“{It can’t be them right? There shouldn’t be any reason for a helicopter to go find them unless… unless something went wrong.}” He was spiraling, eyes darting around as he was definitely imagining the worst possible reasons for the Sully’s to suddenly need a helicopter.

“{Spider, look at me.}” Anthe knelt, tossing the rifle on the bed.

“{Something is wrong, something has to be wrong! What if someone is hurt? Lo’ak or Kiri- What if-}”

“{Spider!}” Anthe grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look at them. “{We won’t know until we can get out of here, okay? I need you to breathe, deep breathes.}” They placed a palm on his chest, which Spider quickly grabbed onto, trying to anchor himself. Anthe guided him in taking deep, slow breathes, until the man's heart was no longer beating so erratically under their hand.

“{Thinking up worst case scenarios is not going to help anyone right now.}” Anthe spoke again, once Spider had somewhat calmed, and they were both sat on the cold floor of the dorm.

“{Those idiots just gave me back my gun, and they took off the ankle tracker. All we need now is to get rid of your tracker, and find an opportunity to get out of here. If the Sully’s are on one of those islands, then the sooner we get out and warn them, the better. Okay?}”

“{Okay.}” Spider said nodding, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“{We won’t let anyone get hurt. I promise.}”

An hour later Anthe and Spider were on one of Bridgeheads roofs with the rest of the Recoms, securing their few belongings onto Anthe’s ikran before they flew out to the RDA coastal base. Spider remained quiet, largely giving everyone but Anthe the cold shoulder. Quaritch kept looking over at them, something like concern playing on his hard features.

“Okay, Ted. Ready to go?” Anthe said quietly as they mounted their Ikran, the aforementioned Ted, who shuddered lightly as Anthe bonded to her. They leaned over, reaching a hand out to Spider and hoisting him up into their lap when he took it.

“I still can’t believe you named her Ted.” Spider scoffed, setting himself more comfortably against their front, while Anthe made final adjustments before take off.

“Ted is a fine name, and it's better than ‘Cupcake’,” Anthe smiled, gesturing to where Quaritch was mounting up, making Spider snicker. “Or whatever Lyle named his. What was it again? Manly Barber?”

“Malibu Barbie!” Lyle shouted from the back of his mount, sounding offended.

“Why?” Spider asked, not bothering to hide his incredulousness.

“She’s pink!” Lyle gestured to the creature's bright pink and yellow markings. Anthe and Spider looked at eachother, sharing confused shrugs.

“I don’t get it.” Anthe shook their head back at Lyle, who groaned in frustration.

“Barbie! The fashion icon! How do you not know this?!”

“I think it’s an earth thing.” Spider frowned up at Anthe, who was feeling increasingly confused.

“Wainfleet! Quit screwing around! We ready to go?” Quaritch shouted over the bickering. There was a small chorus of ‘yessir’s from the recoms, all mounted and ready on their Ikran. Quaritch signaled take off, launching into the air and taking the lead as Anthe and the other soldiers followed.

#froglet writes fics #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x oc #avatar frontiers of pandora #neteyam x reader #until it doesn't hurt #navi oc

28 notes · View notes