#ok. ok. pinches between my eyes as i try to remember how to breathe. ok. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stevenssticks · 1 year ago

Note

hey p, i was wondering if u could write abt james and/or kirk with a reader that struggles with penetration? 💗

ohhh my god ok how abt both of them??? esp when they’re older and experienced??? what if i died. now strap in this is long

you don’t remember or care how you got like this, you had just gone over to kirk’s for a drink. a peculiar little relationship, you had, with him and james. you being far younger than the two of them, but still enjoying their company all the same. when you moved onto the street, they were the first to welcome you, living on either side of your small house.

the conversation had started when you all were all loose, a little tipsy. and had started babbling uncontrollably about how everything hurts when kirk had asked how your dating life had been. it had spilled out and maybe, just maybe you were too comfortable talking about how no guy who has fucked you has ever been able to make it good, or even tolerable for you. how even by yourself anything more than a finger was painful. james and kirk sitting and listening as you voice your uncertainties.

now here you are on kirk’s bed, james behind you, arms around your near naked body while kirk kisses you so sweetly. ah yes, they’d offered to try to make you feel good themselves. hesitantly, unsure if they had read your body language wrong, with the way you had always looked at them with such a deep desire in your eyes. they’re glad they weren’t. they’d never been more right about something in their lives.

“gonna make you feel good, honey.” kirk murmurs while james kisses up your neck, sucking a deep spot under your ear as you tilt back to give him more access. you squirm in his hold, hands grasping his forearms tight as james continues to pleasure you, breath mixing with yours and kirk’s as he kisses you silly. kirk starts to continue down your body, making you arch and slither his hands in between you and james to unclasp your bra. letting you shimmy out of it.

“fuck, are you a sight…” james murmurs behind you in between more kisses to your neck and shoulders. kirk moves to suck at your nipples. rolling each of them on his tongue while he plays with the other. while he keeps that up he pushes a hand down into your panties. you gasp, legs flailing out for a second before james grabs them and pushes them down to the bed. kirk rubs light circles over your clit, while james turns your head to him to take you in a deep kiss.

they’re both so invested in this, invested in making you feel good. you never thought that this would make it out of your deepest desires late at night, when you’re alone and longing for the two of them. but here they are.

kirk moves downward, and james takes the opportunity to play with your tits himself. pinching and tugging until you start to squirm and kirk has to push you back down into james’ chest.

kirk looks up at you with those beautiful brown eyes, tapping your hip in a silent question. you break the kiss with james to let out a small “please…” and kirk is yanking your panties down your legs. james’ arms come to hook around them, pulling your limbs back until you’re spread as wide as you’re willing to go for them. kirk takes a careful hand and rubs your clit with his thumb gently.

“we’re gonna make you feel good, okay? don’t even need to go all the way if you don’t want to.” james states from behind you, murmuring into your skin sweetly. you nod and let out a small whine as kirk presses down more firmly on your clit, coming down to rest on his stomach before blowing hot breath over your folds.

when kirk licks a stripe up your center you whine again, covering your mouth with your hand that james quickly pulls away and instead replaces with his mouth. kirk licks and sucks at your entrance, fucking you with his tongue and it actually doesn’t hurt, calming your nerves as he keeps up the pace while his thumb still works wonders on your clit.

you bring a hand down to kirk’s hair, yanking a little that releases a moan deep in his throat. he pushes his face further into you, and you feel james hard and grinding against your ass, so turned on by the sight in front of him and you wonder if he can get off completely like this.

james brings a hand down to where kirk is playing with you, replacing his hand and taking his turn at pleasuring you while kirk keeps his mouth on you.

“doing so good for us, honey. you want more? we’ll give you whatever you want.” and oh is that not the sweetest thing you’ve heard all day. they’re both so caring, so gentle with you and you melt into their grip even further. your legs shake as you nod, knowing what’s coming. “we’re gonna go slow, baby. don’t worry. this is about making you feel good.”

kirk sits up on his heels to watch james move his right hand down to your entrance, slick from kirk’s mouth and your juices. kirk holds your legs up higher, watching closely for any discomfort as james slowly slides a finger in. you squirm at the intrusion, much different from kirk’s tongue. a little uncomfortable, and you start to get nervous again, locking up and tightening around james’ finger. james and kirk notice almost as if they share a brain, both acting to soothe you. kirk massages your hips while james whispers more reassurance toward you, and in that moment they decide that they’re not gonna go all the way with you tonight. you’re too wound up and you have to get used to them.

instead, kirk pulls down his pants and underwear before removing james’ fingers to press his cock between your folds. “fuck, that’s good..” you hear him murmur. making eye contact with james behind you as he starts to grind himself against you. you relax again at the pleasure of kirk rubbing up against your clit with his tip, eyes lidded and lustful as he watches you fall apart for him. “wait- wait…” you gasp, and kirk stops immediately, your next move surprising him.

you get up and turn over onto your hands and knees, pressing your thighs together so kirk can slide his cock in between them. you look up at where james is still sitting against the headboard, rubbing his hard on over his jeans and unzipping his fly and unclasping the button. you pull his underwear down, letting his hard cock rest against his stomach as you feel kirk slide in between your thighs, pressing up against your clit with his shaft again and you whine out long and high.

you go back to the task at hand of getting james off too, taking him and rubbing your palm up the shaft. you plant little kisses all over his tip, sucking while you use your hand on the rest of him. you feel one of kirk’s fingers make it’s way back to your entrance, and you brace as he pushes it in to loosen you up again, but it’s the farthest you’ll get tonight. you have time.

kirk’s hips slap against your ass with each thrust, wet, obscene sounds coming from your pussy as you mouth at james’ cock. kirk keeps fucking your thighs while his finger keeps fucking your hole, and you’re so fucking close you could cry. james knows it, and he starts praising you again, knowing exactly what buttons to push.

“that’s it sweetheart, so pretty like this. you gonna cum? cmon, you’ve been so good for us. you can do it, deserve it for making us feel so good.” kirk is an incoherent mess behind you, determined to make you cum before he does. he pulls his finger out of you and hunches over you, hips thrusting faster and more uncoordinated as he bear hugs you. the closeness, the skin on skin, sends you over the edge with a howl. you vaguely feel james’ cum hit your chest and collarbones as you come down from your high, delirious, and then almost fall into a puddle of kirk’s cum when he lets go of your hips.

kirk laughs at how fucked out you are, finding it endearing and so precious that him and james get to see you like this.

“did so good for us, honey… we’ll get you farther next time, okay?” you nod enthusiastically at the thought of a “next time,” that having been the best sex you’ve had with someone. james pulls you back up into his arms, hugging you tight and close while you close your eyes, resting your head on his chest. kirk yanks the top sheet off his bed, throwing it somewhere and then crawling into bed with the two of you.

“hey… i want a turn.” james looks at kirk and huffs, letting you go so you can instead be in between the two men, coming to rest with their arms around you peppering little kisses all over your body.

—-

P figure out how to close out a story challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)

#asks and replies #p’s thots(^ ^*)#james hetfield #metallica #kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett fanfiction #kirk hammett smut #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut #metallica fanfiction

309 notes · View notes

hoonigiris · 1 month ago

Text

wishing you the merriest (teaser)

pairing: l. heeseung x f!reader

wc: 1.3k out of ~13k

summary: between handling all the incoming holiday orders from your bakery, warding off your best friend's attempts at matchmaking, and actively avoiding the ex you're stuck living with for another six months, christmas is the least of your worries. that is, until heeseung's parents come into town. million dollar question: what's worse than having your ex's parents stay with you? answer: having your ex's parents stay with you, not knowing that you two have already broken up.

notes: hallmark movie coded, exes-to-lovers, fake dating au, sorta angst, mostly not! ok, so you got me. it is in fact NOT christmas anymore (it's not even december anymore) but hopefully this fic revitalizes your leftover holiday spirit. everyone knows that christmas starts after thanksgiving and ends in february!!! send me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

So maybe Sunoo was right. Maybe you can’t avoid Heeseung forever.

If there was one thing you hated, it was hearing the taunting ‘I told you so’ echoing in the back of your mind. Unfortunately for you, that is the only thing running through your head as you stand at the doorway of your room, face-to-face with Lee Heeseung. Ex of your nightmares, ground zero of your many woes.

“Hi.” He has the decency to look embarrassed, at least.

You blink. “Hey…?”

You stare at each other for a few seconds longer. You shift your weight from one leg to the other, hand still on the doorknob. Tuna, your cat, looks at the scene from behind, curious.

Maybe you should end this now, as to not further confuse the children through the divorce. Or whatever they say. (‘No,’ you picture yourself saying to Tuna through a sack of catnip, ‘Mommy and Daddy are not getting back together.’)

“Do you… need something?” you try civilly. Whatever it was, surely it could have been communicated through a note stuck on the fridge or something. To not confuse the kids, you repeat to yourself. And to not confuse me.

You can’t even remember the last time you talked. Probably around the time he was moving all his stuff from your shared bedroom to his office. Hell, you can’t even remember the last time you saw each other in the same vicinity, considering you were always at work, and Heeseung was always either in his office or at the university or something. Never here. Never where you could see him.

“I, um,” Heeseung starts awkwardly, shifting back and forth. His eyes drift everywhere around him, maybe to find what to say, but eventually he seems to make up his mind. “…How are you?”

“Seriously?”

It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, a bit harsher than if you would have said intentionally. He cringes at the rebuke (Heeseung 2-0 for self-awareness, at least), hurrying to apologize.

“Hi, I know, sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Heeseung,” you say, not unkindly. it’s rather plain, the way you say his name now. “Why are you talking to me?”

What could you possibly want after five months of not speaking to each other? You’re surprised he’s even home at this hour, considering he always got back from work late at night. You always made sure to get all your stuff done in the shared space before he returned home, to avoid—well, to avoid whatever this is.

Heeseung pinches his nose and sighs deeply. “Ok well, there’s no easy way to say this, but…” Like ripping off a bandaid. “Remember my mom?”

What kind of fucking bandaid— “Of course I remember your mom.”

“Great. Well,” Heeseung continues, sheepish at the poor buildup. “She may or may not have heard that my grad program gives us a holiday break, and it just so happens that this year is the first year that my parents aren’t going on a fancy Europe trip during the holidays.”

You nod slowly.

“And, well, the reason they’re not is because—okay, do you remember my grandma?”

“Heeseung.”

“Sorry, okay. Long story short.” He takes in a deep breath and says everything else in one breath. “It’s my grandma’s 100th birthday this year and you know she’s a Christmas baby so we always celebrate her birthday and Christmas together, and you know, it’s her 100th, haha, and she lives close by, sorta, so—”

“Heeseung.”

“My parents want to crash at our place until New Years.”

“Okay...” You could work with that, ex-almost-in-law awkwardness aside. Definitely something he could have brought up through post-it, but you appreciate the transparency. “That’s fine. I mean, you’re probably going to have to sleep on the couch if they take your room, but that’s up to you guys—”

“They don’t know we broke up.”

Pin drop silence. You churn the words carefully in your head, Sunoo’s background loopings of ‘I told you so’ slowly getting replaced with ‘They don’t know we broke up—they don’t know we broke up—they don’t know we broke up—they—’

“What?!”

Tuna startles at the loud noise, ears flattening, eyes darting from you to Heeseung to you again. Mommy—Daddy—Mommy—Daddy. so much for not confusing the kids.

“I just—” Heeseung’s embarrassed. He should be, considering the fact that he’s been lying to his parents for the past five months, or at the very least, omitting the truth. The very important, crucial truth. “I meant to.”

“Tell them,” you insist. Heeseung falters. “Tell them before they book the plane.”

And then Heeseung presses his lips together, and shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You would have flung your hands into your hair and started pulling at the strands if you weren’t such a calm, collected, and mature individual. So you start pacing.

“Ok, fine, so they already booked the plane. Tell them now, so they know what kind of mess they’re about to walk into.” Heeseung looks a little offended at the description, but at least he knows better to keep his mouth shut. You pace a few more rounds, before you turn to him. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Y/N, i can’t.”

You swing your head at him with wide, wild eyes. “And why the hell not?!”

Heeseung winces, and says weakly, “My mom really likes you.”

You gape at him.

“Listen,” Heeseung stresses (as if he has any right to be stressed, that filthy liar). “I was going to tell them, okay? I don’t like lying to them any more than you do, but what was i supposed to say? ‘Hey Mom, long time no talk! My girlfriend of five years broke up with me but oh, by the way, we’re still living together for another seven months. Love you too!’”

Well, when he puts it like that.

You did exactly that, but your parents did give you a disappointed speech, and your mom never fails to give you a reproachful glance or two every time she’s reminded of your living situation, so maybe Heeseung was onto something.

“And you know my mom,” Heeseung adds. “She…”

“Would not take it well,” you finish, morosely. There wouldn’t be screaming, but there would be crying. Lots and lots of crying. and you liked his mom—you didn’t want to see her cry, or else you’d be like—you don’t know—the most evil ex-almost-in-law in history. The ex that ruined christmas.

You cannot be the ex that ruined christmas.

“Fine,” you grit out eventually, the ultimate seal in ending your peaceful solitude. “I’ll play nice and pretend to be…” you gesture vaguely, “ …with you…again.”

Heeseung sighs, so very relieved. He almost moves forward to give you a hug, or clasp you on the shoulder, or something, but he decides against it, arms falling awkwardly at his sides. You watch it linger, and you don’t know whether to be grateful or strangely disappointed. “Thank you,” he says, still, even without the proximity. “Really, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, smiling thin. “I like your parents anyway, it’ll be good to see them again. We can talk details later.”

Heeseung shoots you another smile, leans down to scratch Tuna behind the ears, and walks away. Finally.

You look down at Tuna, gazing up at you with large pupils that fiend for more Churu. It isn’t the first time the thought ‘oh, to be a cat’ has crossed your mind recently, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Tuna pads up to you, purring and rubbing his face against your leg. Distantly, the thought ‘oh, to be a cat with divorced parents that have to pretend to not be divorced anymore’ appears in your head, and it sounds infinitely less appealing. It seems like no one in this household is winning this month.

“Oh Tuna,” you sigh, squatting down to meet him at eye level. “What the hell did I just get myself into?”

#heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enha scenarios #heeseung x you #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #heeseung scenarios

35 notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 2 years ago

Text

instead of you [part nineteen] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, reader has emetophobia, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Why not?”

“You’re asking me why I can’t admit to wanting to kiss you?”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?”

He was backtracking, trying to dig himself out of a hole that he’d already buried himself in. He cocked an eyebrow at you, somehow still arrogant in the midst of vulnerability. You called his bluff.

“I’m not stupid.”

He leaned away from you, a fraction of an inch. “I never said you were.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “Don’t act like you were testing me, like you had Jisung’s best interest in mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for an actor you’re surprisingly transparent. No one leans that close to a person’s face for no reason. You were going to kiss me and now you’re trying to play it off like you were just testing me to see if I’d cheat on my boyfriend,” you paused for a beat, wondering if you could turn it around on him. “Because I was testing you, and you failed. Horribly.”

Minho blinked. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Does it look like I’m fucking with you?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I can’t tell.”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

“Guess so…” he trailed off, settling back into his own seat.

The moment was gone, dissipated along with the breath you’d been holding. It was like the tight line of tension running between you, inexplicably tying you to each other, had been given an inch of slack. It was still there, buried under layers and layers of repression and guilt, but subdued.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that it was likely a bit of both.

Suddenly the bus lurched around a corner, sending you flying into Minho in an cruel, ironic twist of fate. Your head landed in his lap. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a speed bump caused your head to bounce up and come down back onto his thighs, face planting into his crotch again. You didn’t even want to think about what it looked like to the people across from you. This was not how you envisioned his dick pressing into your cheek would go.

Minho winced, helping you sit up. There was a tiny dark spot on his jeans, damp from where your open mouth had left an imprint on the fabric.

Mortified didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

“Are you ok?” Minho asked, seeming totally unphased by the series of events that had just taken place. He was holding your shoulders like you’d run if he let go. He did a quick scan of your body, looking for marks as if you’d been hit by a car and not simply tossed into another human being.

“Fine, just absolutely humiliated,�� you sighed, rubbing your cheek.

“Don’t be.”

“Well too late, I already am. And, uh, sorry about… that.”

Minho followed your gaze to the wet patch on his jeans. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It happens.”

“Does it though?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to say.”

You slumped down in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. Minho brought his hands to his lap and turned to look out the window.

“Are you okay?” you heard yourself ask just moments later. “I mean,” your eyes flicked down to where his hands were resting on his lap. You thought he might have been holding himself in pain, but then you realized-

“Fine,” he answered through gritted teeth, and that was the end of the conversation.

The next stop was Mt. Fuji’s 5th station, another lookout- this time on the mountain, that provided an even better view. You felt a little dumb for taking all of those pictures at the first stop but then remembered what Jisung had said about sending him lots of photos and relaxed a little.

This stop also served as the lunch break. Meals were provided to guests that had added the option on their tickets. The Hans had elected not to spring for the included meal, leaving you and Minho to fend for yourselves. They invited you to join them at a noodle shop inside the station, but you declined, opting to use the time to explore and find something on your own.

More time alone, you thought to yourself. Great idea. The day wasn’t even half over and you’d already had a close call. Too close of a call. Was it really that hard to control yourself around your best friend’s brother? What was wrong with you? Maybe it’d be easier if he wasn’t such a fucking tease. Regardless, you needed to have a little more self-restraint.

The break period was only about an hour long and then you’d be driving to the next stop so you had to be quick.

You walked with Minho through the narrow passageways, nearly breaking into a jog to keep up with him. There were only three or four restaurants in the surrounding area, narrowing your selection down by a lot.

“Looks like our choices are kind of similar,” Minho said as he scanned the menu on the wall of the third restaurant you’d stopped in front of.

“Here seems as good of a place as any.”

It was relatively busy inside, but you and Minho were able to find a little corner table out of the way. You figured these places must make a fortune, seeing as there was so little competition and dozens of buses full of hungry tourists came through each day.

The exterior of the building was painted black, as were the walls inside to absorb heat. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the dining room, showing off the breathtaking view of the mountain range in the near distance.

“What sounds good to you?” Minho asked, leaning over the table to see your menu even though he had one right in front of him.

“Seems like everyone’s ordering soup,” you mumbled and nodded to the tables closest to you to prove your point. “I guess that does sound kind of good, especially because it’s so cold up here.”

“We could order a couple different kinds and share?” he suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed nervously.

You might as well share soup with your best friend’s brother that you almost kissed just an hour prior. Yeah, makes perfect sense.

Minho ordered for both of you when the server noticed you were ready. You watched him effortlessly make conversation with the waiter, cracking jokes like he’d known the man his entire life, and it made you think of Jisung. Jisung who always ordered for you, Jisung who counted the dishes he ordered on his fingers to keep track of them, Jisung who made friends in every situation he found himself in.

“What?” Minho asked, yanking you from your thoughts.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been staring.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“You okay? You didn’t hit your head earlier, did you?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for ordering for me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I noticed Jisung always orders for you so I just assumed you might’ve had some anxiety when it comes to that.”

“I do, yeah.” you admitted. “But it’s just something he’s always done for me, even before we started dating.”

The word dating seemed to snap Minho back to reality and he leaned away from you, straightening his posture and seeming to take great interest in the napkin in front of him.

“That’s sweet,” he muttered, sounding completely unconvinced.

“He can be when he wants to be. Shocking, I know.”

After lunch you took a walk around the lookout together, pointing out different signs with Japanese characters and trying to guess what they meant. Minho had paid for both of your meals, unsurprisingly, and you hadn’t even put up a fight. You already knew he wouldn’t let you pay for your own if you tried, slapping his card down on top of the bill before the server had even left the table.

You were listening to Minho talk about why he thought a sign by the bus stop said ‘no baseballs’ when you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Minho had given it to you on the bus so you could listen to music on the ride up the mountain and you just hadn’t remembered to give it back to keep in his bag.

It was a text from Jisung. Minho stopped talking as soon as he noticed you weren’t paying attention to him anymore.

How is everything? Haven’t heard from you all morning! Send a pic of you and Minho when you can :)

“Ji wants us to send a picture.”

“Of what?”

“Of us.”

“Us? Like, both of us?” Minho asked, looking as confused as you felt.

You shrugged. “I guess he wants to make sure we haven’t killed each other yet.”

He nodded in understanding. “Proof of life photo, got it.”

“Where should we-” you paused, looking around for the best place to snap a selfie.

“Well we should get the mountains in the background, right?”

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s go over there.” You pointed in the direction of a cluster of benches gathered at the ledge of the mountain where people were taking pictures with their families.

The section was fenced off to prevent guests from falling off the face of the cliff, but that wasn’t stopping kids from climbing the railings or couples sitting on top of them. You settled for simply leaning against it, not trusting yourself enough to balance your weight on top of it.

“Here, you have longer arms,” you said, offering your phone to Minho.

He took it without argument and extended his arm so that both of you were in the frame. You’d forgotten that he was a practiced expert at taking selfies. You wondered how many phone cameras he knew how to use just from snapping pictures with fans at every event he attended.

You weren’t sure how close to stand to him, or what to do with your hands. You leaned towards him, not touching, and smiled awkwardly. You weren’t doing anything wrong at that very moment, so why did you feel so guilty? Minho snapped a couple photos and was about to hand the phone back when you were interrupted.

“Do you want me to take a photo of you?” a woman with a thick German accent asked. “You know, couple? I take photo for you, and you take photo of me with my family?”

You were about to politely decline, correct her, and just offer to take the picture of her family, but Minho was already handing the phone over. You were going to kill him.

Minho slung his arm around your shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world and you forced yourself to wrap yours around his waist, resting your head on his chest as you bit the inside of your cheek. You could hear his heartbeat if you listened closely. It was steady, rhythmic. Not at all panicked or rushed like you were sure your own was. You faked a smile and waited until the camera stopped clicking before letting yourself breathe again.

Minho thanked the woman and traded places with her, taking a few pictures of her with her family while you paced anxiously in the background. You checked the time on your phone, wondering if it was time to go yet when you realized you still needed to text Jisung back.

You scrolled through your gallery, selecting all the pictures the nice lady had taken of you and Minho. Your finger hovered over the delete button, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to press it. You hit cancel, sighing in defeat.

You opened your messages again and stared at the blinking cursor. You flipped through the options on your camera roll, unsure of what to do. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t send one of the pictures the woman had taken to Jisung. He probably wouldn’t even question it, the pose was normal enough for friends, but then again what if he did? You couldn’t risk it.

You chose one of the selfies Minho had taken and hit send, promptly locking your phone as soon as you saw it was delivered.

“We have to get back on the bus.”

You looked at the time on your phone and then back at Minho, squinting in confusion. “We still have a couple minutes before we’re supposed to leave.”

“No, that woman’s son started talking about K-pop when I was taking their picture.” You glanced over your shoulder and saw the family huddled together, all indiscreetly staring at you and Minho.

“Don’t look!�� he hissed. “Come on.”

He tugged you by the arm until your feet caught up with you and you were able to walk in step with him.

“They recognized you?”

“The little boy did. I don’t know if the others believed him.” You were tempted to look back, but you knew you’d probably be yelled at again. As if Minho could read your thoughts, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Keep your head down.”

“I don’t get it, doesn’t this happen to you all the time?” you asked. “What’s the big deal?”

“It doesn’t happen to me all the time, and when it does it’s usually not a big deal,” he explained as he ushered you up the steps of the coach. You shuffled your way to your seats, nodding in acknowledgment at his parents as you passed them. You got to the row first so you took the window seat. It was easier than having to shuffle around. “I don’t mind taking pictures with fans or signing things for them most of the time. It can get annoying, but I try to remember that I’m incredibly lucky to be in the position I’m in in the first place. And I’m just like them when it comes to football players and golfers, anyway.” You chuckled. “I’m serious! I stumble over my words when I meet them, and my hands are shaky when I ask them for an autograph- I’m a fucking mess. But we already had one close call this week with someone seeing you alone with me. Twice is asking for it.”

“Asking for what?”

“Rumors, articles, blog posts- I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I don’t think that little boy is going to start any rumors about us,” you said.

“You don’t understand.” Minho was serious, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. “It’s not that simple. Someone from that family posts a picture on Instagram, they tag me and they see you standing next to me. My fans… can be really invested in my personal life. And they’ll want to know who you are because they think we might be dating. That’s why I told you to keep your head down so they wouldn’t be able to see your face.”

“But guys and girls can be friends,” you reasoned.

“It’s the internet, y/n. No one cares. I’m seen alone with a woman and suddenly everyone wants to know everything about her from her high school GPA to who her mother voted for in the last presidential election.”

Oh. Ok, maybe Minho was right and this was a bit serious. Your social media wasn’t the worst there was out there, but it certainly wasn’t the cleanest per se… you had a whole story highlight dedicated to you and Jisung competing to see who could down a shot the fastest. Yeah, you were those people at parties. And even though you lost most of the time, you could already imagine the things people would say about it.

“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” was all you could say.

Minho chuckled bitterly. “I try not to advertise it.”

“I can see why.”

“It’d be hell for you to be associated with me.”

“I kind of already am,” you pointed out. Minho gave you a blank look as if he didn’t know what you meant. “Through your brother.”

“Right, Jisung.” Minho sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know what he’d do to me if you got tangled up in all this bullshit.”

“You’re always saying shit like that. Jisung is pretty harmless, you know.”

Minho shook his head in disagreement. “You only think that because you’re wearing rose-colored glasses when it comes to him.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, come on, yes it is.”

“We were friends for years before we started dating! I haven’t always seen him romantically.”

“Still, you haven’t known him as long as I have.”

“Well you have on… whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses when it comes to him because you’re related to him!” you argued. “He can barely hold me on top of him- don’t ask how I know that.” Minho pursed his lips, suppressing a smirk. He’d clearly been about to ask. “I’m just saying I think you could take him.”

“I’m flattered, but I think you’re forgetting how protective he can be,” he protested. “Has he never gotten jealous?” Minho pressed, his body rocking slightly as the bus began to move. He stabilized himself against the seat in front of him, looking at you expectantly. “He’s never been possessive of you?”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to decipher whether or not this was a test. Did Minho suspect anything? Was he just being nosy or did he think there was something you were lying about. Was he trying to get dirt on his brother, prove to you that he’s not a good boyfriend? You weren’t sure what to think. You scrambled for something, running through your memories as you tried to piece together a story with fragments of half-truths.

“There were a couple of times…” you admitted, trying to even your breathing to sound more natural. “Like this one time, we were at a bar and this guy was trying to buy me a drink while he was in the bathroom and when he came back he just kinda came up to us and wrapped an arm around my waist and the dude fucked off.”

What had actually happened, was a guy tried to buy you a drink while Jisung was in the bathroom and you agreed, asking him to buy one for your friend Ji too. You let the dude assume it was short for Jisoo or whatever and entertained him while the bartender mixed the cocktails. As soon as you saw Jisung emerge from the bathroom you took both the drinks and ditched the man the second his back was turned. You presented your best friend with one of the drinks and toasted the man who bought them for you, clinking your glasses together in celebration. After you downed them, Jisung pulled you onto the dance floor with him, telling you to follow his lead. He made sure the stranger was watching and then kissed you hard right in front of him. You took it a step further, slipping your tongue into your best friend’s mouth and cupping his face between your hands. When you came up for air the man was walking out the door with a scowl on his face.

“Another time before we started dating he dropped me off on a date with another person, and wouldn’t even let me walk into the restaurant when he saw the guy through the window.”

That was true, but the real reason he didn’t let you go into the restaurant was because he knew the guy from one of his classes and had overheard him talking about how bi girls are freakier in bed which is why he actively sought them out.

“So I guess you’re right, he’s always been protective of me, even when we were just friends. But I don’t think he’d hurt anyone. He might say something brutal, but he wouldn’t swing at you unless he’s defending himself.”

“Well, I don’t want to take any chances.”

You thought Minho would be satisfied with your answers, but you couldn’t tell from the expression on his face.

You sat in silence for the rest of the bus ride to the next stop. There was that tension again. You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing yourself against the window as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to text Jisung back.

J: dorks ;) looks like you’re having fun. love you!

Y: it’s ok i guess… would be better if you were here

J: that’s because everything’s better when i’m there

Y: nvm i take it back

J: rude

Y: how are you feeling??

J: just ok :/ mum sent lix and i some soup, but i couldn’t keep it down

J: sorry, i shouldn’t have said that part

Y: it’s ok

J: no it’s not- i know how you feel about that stuff

Y: ji, i promise it’s fine.

J: if you say so…

Y: i do

Y: btw… minho was asking if you’re ever get jealous

J: why

Y: idk it was weird- i told him about that time at the club near campus

You hoped he remembered which time you were talking about. You flirted with a lot of people for free booze.

J: i remember that night

Oh, so he did remember. Or he was bluffing just in case Minho was reading over your shoulder. You checked discreetly, sneaking a glance over at his brother. But Minho was scrolling through Twitter, completely in his own world.

J: did you tell him about what i did to you when we left >:)

Y: he’s not reading these, dumbass. you don’t have to do all that

J: i was referring to spilling my slushie down the front of your dress idk what you’re talking about

Y: i can’t stand you

“Hey, y/n.” You jumped at the sound of Minho’s voice, clutching your phone to your chest protectively. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just, we’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the bus had stopped, but passengers were already getting off, eager to see the mountain from yet another view. Minho slid out of the row and stepped back to let you off in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” you wondered aloud as you passed their empty row.

“Guess they ditched us again,” Minho sighed. “Really loving this family trip. Not that hanging out with you isn’t cool and all,” he amended.

“It’s fine, I get it,” you assured him. “Except I’m going to take it very personally and give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day.”

He shook his head but laughed. You followed the rest of the tourists in your group who were getting into a fast-moving line and joined them at the end. You and Minho had been the last two on the bus so there wasn’t anyone else behind you.

You weren’t even sure what you were in line for, hell, you didn’t even know where you were, but men in beige coveralls were ushering the queue forward impatiently. They gave directions mostly through hand signals, pointing, thumbs up, thumbs down, probably so guests from all around the world could easily understand them.

Before you could even understand what was happening you were enclosed in a cable car that was ascending God knows how high with Minho and one other couple. They looked to be in their seventies, and were speaking Vietnamese to each other, completely oblivious to the seven stages of grief you were going through on the other side of the car.

“Minho” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. He looked quite pale himself, but you knew it likely had more to do with being concerned about you than anything else. He hurriedly glanced around the tiny cabin as if there might be something in there that could help you.

“Minho,” you repeated, this time with more urgency.

“I-I” he paused, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this was part of the tour. I didn’t mean for- if I had known I would’ve suggested we stay back.”

“I feel sick,” you mumbled.

“Let’s sit down.”

Minho tried to cross the car over to you, but his movement caused the gondola to shake. You barely managed to muffle a scream of terror with your fist. The car swung violently on the wire and you suddenly wondered how up to code these cable cars were. When was the last time they had been inspected? How old were they in the first place?

If you looked closely you could see rust corroding some of the bolts and paint chipping from the benches. It took everything in you not to collapse to the floor and assume fetal position.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Minho apologized. “I’m going to move again, okay?”

“No, please don’t!” you begged.

“I have to! I have to move to get over to you. It’ll just be one more time, I promise.”

You nodded, even though you were dreading it and screwed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the rocking. The jolt was bigger than you expected and for a moment you thought the cable had snapped and you were plummeting towards the ground, but when you opened your eyes you were still moving steadily upward and Minho was by your side.

“Why did you jump!” you cried. “We could’ve died!”

God bless him for his patience. He wasn’t even phased by your accusations, instead he just took you by the hands and eased you onto the bench behind you, sitting next to you a moment later.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you groaned, wiping your sweaty palms on your hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“That’s not true, I yelled at you.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.”

He was trying to make you laugh, but you were still terrified out of your mind. Your whole body was trembling and your stomach was twisting with nausea. You were trying not to look down, but the whole cabin was made of glass. It was impossible not to look, and closing your eyes only made you feel sicker.

“Want to hold my hand like last time?” Minho offered.

You were quick to accept, grabbing his hand as soon as it was outstretched.

“I’m sorry my palms are clammy.”

“Mine are too, it’s okay,” he assured you, even though they were completely dry.

You squeezed his hand hard, just like you had on the rollercoaster. But it wasn’t making you feel any better.

“Minho, I’m scared.”

“I know, y/n. It’s okay though. You’re safe with me. I’ve got you, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“How can you say that?” you whined, eyes darting around to all of the windows. “You can’t control whether or not we fall out of the sky!”

You suddenly felt horribly guilty for the other couple trapped in the cable car with you. They were probably just trying to enjoy their vacation and there you were having a mental breakdown thousands of feet in the air with nowhere for them to escape to.

Minho laughed despite himself and used his free hand to grab your face, turning your attention to him.

“Hey, look at me, okay? Don’t look out the windows. Just focus on me.”

“Okay,” you gulped.

You focused on his face. On the way his soft features hardened around the edges. His sharp jawline and perfect nose, easing into the light blush of his cheeks and warm, brown eyes. The dichotomy was striking, and the late afternoon sun that was shining in through the dirty glass made him look angelic. The way the light cast a golden halo around his curls was enough to draw anyone and you found yourself leaning closer and closer to his face.

You were the one to kiss him this time, but he more than reciprocated. The moment your lips touched he was tangling a hand in your hair, groaning softly against your mouth. His lips were just as warm and soft as you remembered, but the kiss was a million times more damning. You were both completely sober, even if you’d been consumed by terror moments earlier. You knew what you were doing. You both did. And you had the first time, but now there was no excuse.

You pulled away a moment later. “I-I’m sorry. I just had to see…”

Minho brought a hand up to your face and you flinched, but all he did was run a thumb across your cheek, collecting a stray tear on his fingertip. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started crying, and whether it was from fear or guilt you couldn’t be sure.

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

iou tags: @sluttywoozi @gimmeurtmi @phobia0325 @fwess @hipsdofangirl @galaxleeknow @urmomma0324 @bangmechanpls @102598s @farfromsugafanfic @ritzy-roo @dimpledsatan @bvslines @wonderfulshinee @imwithurmother @smollquokka @rosexjimin @skizzel @endzii23 @lady-lena @kwanisms @ch4nniebang @lilramennoodle @babyphotos0325 @dearalice @sojohns @mistlitmoonlight @yoontaethings @babebatter @mal-lunar-28 @shy-kisu @zerefdragn33l @downbadreading @sana-within-you @saquso @bunnispaces @reianagarcia @hyunehans @imtooyoungforthisshit @i8rsie @honeslykindahorny @214racha @hgema @chillllllli @vixensss @smhlino @feiyaa @borahae-reads @bigbearenergy @hoodiesandicedcoffee @darkacademic2512 @y00nzin0 @i8yul @shinypieceofgarbage @woozarts @just-a-little-delulu @djeniryuu @hbzzzbork000 @mimzibee @sofiaslayed @kangyounghyunhands

add yourself to my taglist here!

#instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #lino x reader #stray kids x female reader #lee know x female reader #stray kids series #skz series #lee know x bi!reader

318 notes · View notes

maarrgarr · 2 years ago

Text

The Unknown Heir.

part eight

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader.

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warnings: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

N/a: This is a flashback!!

Satoru's arm was wrapped around your waist, while your head was lying on his chest. You both liked moments like this, the two of you naked and cuddling, after having had fantastic sex.

You wanted to sleep so badly, but you had things to do, as did your boyfriend, but he didn't seem to mind as you could feel his breathing heavy. You moved to get out of his arms, causing him to wake up. You sat up in bed and lay still doing nothing, you didn't feel like leaving, but you had to. "What are you doing? Go back to bed" Satoru asked you in a hoarse voice. "I have to go see Ieiri" you answered him and looked at him, his hair was tousled and his eyes narrowed looking at you, "And you have to go talk to Yaga-sensei" you told him to get up too. Yaga had called Gojo to come to his office, as he wanted to tell him something, both of you guessed to scold him for something.

You bent down to grab your underwear that was scattered on the floor and when you stood up your gaze met a picture that was on your desk, in it were Satoru, Suguru and you smiling and hugging each other. "You still haven't heard from Sugu?" you asked Gojo. A few days ago your best friend had gone on a mission and still hadn't returned, the strange thing was that he didn't answer any of the messages you had sent him, which was a habit whenever any of you went on a mission. "No, I also called him and he didn't answer me" Satoru answered you. For some reason this made you feel uneasy, there was something you didn't like, but you thought it was just a bad feeling, and soon Suguru would be back.

When you finished putting on your panties and bra, you stood up from the bed to look for the other clothes, but while doing so you felt how you got dizzy and soon you felt like throwing up, you quickly ran to the bathroom and threw everything in the toilet. Quickly Satoru followed you and knelt next to you, rubbing your back, "Are you ok love?" he asked you, you just nodded, stood up and washed your mouth. "Yeah, I just got dizzy out of nowhere and felt like throwing up, maybe I stopped too fast" you answered trying not to make him worry, "I understand, but it's like the fifth time you've been dizzy this week, only this time you threw up" he put a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Why don't you go see Ieiri and ask her to check you out?". You only nodded, you had been feeling sick for several days, but you couldn't find a coherent reason, although you didn't worry much, you thought that maybe you had eaten something bad.

When you arrived with your friend, Ieiri, and you started to tell her what you were feeling, she only looked at you with suspicion, something you noticed, "What's wrong?" you asked her, "Y/n, when was the last time you fucked Satoru?", "Today" you answered without shame and she rolled her eyes amused, "Well, let me rephrase the question, when was the last time you menstruated?". Suddenly a silence was created in the room, you couldn't remember when was the last time, and soon you understood what Ieiri was thinking, "No way" was the only thing you could say.

Before they could continue talking about it, Satoru and Professor Yaga entered the room. The latter didn't have a very good face. Your boyfriend moved to your side when he noticed that you didn't look very happy either, in fact he noticed you looked a little pale. He gently pinched your cheek, bringing you out of your reverie, "Everything okay?" he asked you, and he looked between you and Ieiri, both of you nodded.

"I have something very important to tell you, and I know it won't feel good, but it is my duty to tell you". The three of them turned their attention to Yaga, "As you may know a few days ago, your partner Geto, went on a mission and still hasn't returned. Well apparently something made Geto react badly and he ended up killing everyone in that city". That took you by surprise and it was as if, for a minute, nothing existed around you. It was impossible, your friend, Suguru, killing people, it couldn't be.

"It's impossible, maybe it was a curse" said Satoru just as in denial as you, "No Gojo, I'm afraid it's true, it has been proven that what happened in that city was the work of Geto and not some curse. Therefore and as stipulated by law, Geto Suguru is now a deserter and is considered a cursed user".

That was the last thing you heard, before feeling a blip go through your ears, suddenly seeing everything black and losing consciousness.

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk gojo #jjk x y/n #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satorugojo #satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x you #gojo fanfic #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen satoru

316 notes · View notes

angel2el · 9 months ago

Text

DONE WITH YOU (ELVIS PRESLEY) -- PART TWO -- "THE ASSAULT"

Nearly 5500 Words, in this chapter tensions grow between spouses, friends, and manager until it comes to a head and two assaults take place.

hiii everyone and thank you for all the love on my first part! for those who don't know, this is a piece about an alternate reality where in 1969 Elvis begins the process of firing the Colonel. Part one is right here.

Thank you to the lovely @atleastpleasetelephone for editing this chapter for me!

Please enjoy, and let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist or anything of the sort! For those who don't remember, at the end of last chapter, Elvis collapsed on stage after his show.

“Mama,” Elvis whispers, leaning into his mother’s touch.

“Elvis,” she whispers.

Elvis doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got here, but he’s back in Tupelo, in his childhood backyard. Before Vernon went to prison. Back when everything was simpler.

And Gladys is here.

“Mama, why’d you leave me?” Elvis can’t help the tears that are running down his cheeks.

“I have to tell you something, Elvis,” Gladys whispers. She lets go of him.

“Don’t stop holding me, mama. Don’t walk away from me now. Not again,” Elvis begs.

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis. Elvis, come on.”

“Wh…” Elvis’s eyes flutter open. He squeezes them shut again.

“No. No,” he mumbles. Gladys is gone. Reality has hit him and it’s cold as ice. Jerry is rubbing his chest and Marty’s holding his head.

“Elvis, don’t try to sit up yet. We’re gonna get you feeling better,” Marty says softly, standing up with a hand on Elvis’s back. He turns to see Elvis looking shocked with a tear rolling down his face.

“You collapsed, E,” Jerry says softly. “You gotta rest before the show tonight, ok?

“I..I saw my mama,” Elvis says, his voice raspy and whispering.

“No, you didn’t, Elvis. You was dreamin’.”

Elvis squeezes his eyes shut. It didn’t feel like a dream.

“I…I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you was, Elvis.” Jerry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your mama’s gone.”

Elvis blinks. Breathes in and out.

“I…I know. I know she’s gone,” he says.

Jerry uses his thumb to wipe the tear off Elvis’s face. “I’m sorry. You gotta get some rest before the 9pm show. Cilla’s just landing and she’ll come up to the room as soon as she gets here.

“Wh-what about the Colonel?” Elvis asks, his muscles visibly tensing with nervousness as he thinks of his manager.

“He tried to come over here, but Joe pushed him out.”

“Where is he?” Elvis slurs.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna carry you on my back to Joe’s room.”

“Joe’s? Jerry, why–”

“Colonel already knows you’ve been in your room and mine. It’ll take a while for him to find you in Joe’s.”

“He’ll find me,” Elvis mumbles.

“We’ll deal with him if he does, ok?” Jerry says. “I promise. You ready to go?”

Elvis nods and pulls himself into a sitting position slowly and weakly. Jerry turns his back to him and squats in front of him.

“Put your arms over my shoulders. Nice and easy, slowly.”

Marty helps Elvis get his arms over Jerry’s shoulders.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Jerry says, and Elvis weakly does so.

Jerry stands up as steadily as he can manage. He feels Elvis’s full weight on him now as he leans groggily into his back. He’s heavy, but not heavier than Jerry can manage. Slowly, they make their way to the elevator and up to Joe’s room, which Jerry unlocks using the key Joe gave him. All the while he can feel Elvis’s shallow and labored breath. He gently stops at the foot of Joe’s bed and eases Elvis onto it. Marty follows the two of them and makes his way into the bathroom, starting the water.

“Let’s get you out of that costume and into the bath.”

“...bath?”

“Yeah, Elvis. You’ve got a fever. Cold water will help. It’ll also help you wake up.” Elvis puts a hand to his forehead.

“I-I don’t know if I want a bath right now, Jerry,” he says softly, fiddling with his rings.

Jerry frowns and eases off Elvis’s shoes and socks. “I know you don’t, buddy.” He sighs. “Cilla’s bringing some fever medicine, but for now this is what we got.”

Elvis sighs. “What about…something for the nausea?” he asks.

“We’ll get you something. Cold water will help with that, too, though.” Jerry gently pulls off the top half of Elvis’s jumpsuit.

“Lift,” he says, and Elvis uses his hands to push his bottom up and off the edge of the bed while Jerry pulls off the rest of his outfit.

Elvis sits back down. “I don’t wanna–”

“We’re keeping your underwear on,” Jerry says, “And your necklaces. But the rings have to come off.”

Elvis nods in understanding and holds out his hands for Jerry to remove his rings. Jerry presses his lips together and tries to swallow the lump in his throat at this simple action. The vulnerability Elvis reveals by not being able to take off his own rings and trusting in Jerry is unmistakably fragile. He’s as trusting as a puppy who’s been hurt a million times but still has faith. This type of sensitivity will not help Elvis in his fight against the Colonel.

But it’s the biggest piece of his humanity that Jerry knows.

“Jerry?” Elvis asks.

“Sorry. Just thinking,” he says, starting to slide the rings off of Elvis’s fingers. When he finishes, he lifts Elvis up gently, “Bath time.”

He guides Elvis to Joe’s bathroom, where Marty is waiting with a full bath that makes Elvis’s jaw clench.

“One foot at a time,” Jerry says, slowly helping Elvis into the bath. As soon as he’s in, he’s shivering violently and trying to get out. But Jerry lays him down.

“Jerry, Jerry, l-let me out, I’m f-freezing,” Elvis begs as Jerry dips a washcloth in the bath.

“Just relax, Elvis. Twenty minutes and we’ll let you out. This’ll do wonders for you, I promise.”

Elvis grits his teeth. “Doesn’t f-feel like it.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Marty says. Jerry watches him leave the bathroom then turns back to Elvis. His eyes are down and his right hand fiercely grips his left shoulder as his whole body shakes.

“You’ll be feeling much better in no time, E,” Jerry promises. Elvis nods slightly, clenching his jaw.

Jerry turns around when he hears footsteps to see Priscilla rushing over to the two of them with Marty trailing after her.

“Elvis, honey, how you feeling?” she asks, setting her bags on the counter.

Elvis looks up and his face relaxes for the first time in days. “Come h-here, Cilla,” he says softly. She leans in to kiss him.

“You’re shaking like a leaf. You didn’t give him a cold bath, did you?” she asks, looking between Marty and Jerry.

“Uh…yeah. We did. Something wrong with that?”

Priscilla blows out a breath.

“Yeah. We tried it one time when he got sick, back when I just moved in. Cold baths don’t do anything for him. You’re just making him more miserable,” she says, reaching into the bathtub and pulling the plug. “Can we get him back in bed? We can give him some of that fever medicine. Oh, and I got a thermometer.”

“Why don’t you get him changed into clean boxers, Cilla? Marty and I should talk. Outside,” Jerry says, glancing between Elvis and Priscilla.

“That’s fine,” Priscilla says. “Help me get him out the tub.” Gently, Marty helps Priscilla lift Elvis out of the tub and put a towel over him. He’s still shivering violently as Priscilla towels him off.

“Don’t put him in nothin’ too warm,” Jerry instructs. “We’re trying to heal the fever, ok?”

“I know what to do,” Priscilla says. “Elvis, let’s get over to the bedroom. I can call a maid to bring up some of your clothes.”

“Joe’s clothes will fit him just fine,” Jerry says.

Priscilla nods, putting her hand on Elvis’s back and guiding him back to the bed. “Why don’t you two leave while I change him?” Jerry and Marty look at each other.

“Alright. We’ll be right outside. Just holler if you need anything,” Jerry says.

“I won’t need anything,” Priscilla says. “And I’m calling the Colonel.”

“Actually, Cilla…” Marty interjects.

“...we’re, uh, we’re trying to keep the Colonel out of this,” Jerry finishes.

Priscilla makes a face. “Why’s that? He’s Elvis’s manager, Jerry. We need to call him.”

“We’re not doing that,” Jerry says firmly. “Joe’s dealing with him right now, and he can get a bit of a temper around stuff like this.”

“Um…okay,” Priscilla says slowly. “But we have to tell him eventually, right?”

“...yeah,” Jerry says, leaving the room. Marty follows him out.

“Do you think she’s right?” Marty asks. Jerry scoffs.

“I think she’s bein’ a pain in the ass,” Jerry huffs out a breath and scratches his brow..

“Come on, Jerry. You know she’s got Elvis’s best interests at heart,” Marty says.

“You know what? I’m actually starting to doubt that,” Jerry says, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Marty rolls his eyes. “She’s the only thing keeping him sane.”

“I actually think she’s making him crazy. You know, last April, Elvis told me she’d been cheating on him with her dance teacher.”

“They’ve obviously worked it out or they wouldn’t be together anymore,” Marty counters, shaking his head.

“That’s the thing, Marty. He never said a word about it to her. He just saw the signs. And found another man’s undershirt beneath their bed after he came back from a concert.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

Jerry shakes his head. “Not a word. He’s always been so anxious. Non-confrontational. It hasn’t changed as he’s aged. I bet you she’s still cheating on him and he still won’t say a thing.”

Jerry presses his lips together. “So…so what? What are you getting at? You can’t kick her out just because you don’t like how she’s treating him, Jerry. She’s still his wife. He still needs her. Cutting the Colonel doesn’t mean cutting Cilla.”

“I think it does. Cilla loves the Colonel.”

Marty makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “That-that’s absurd. You can’t ask Elvis to divorce the love of his life–”

“--Cilla’s not the love of his life. He cried for weeks before that wedding, you know that. He was going to leave her for Ann Margaret in ‘67 before her father forced them to marry.”

“Jerry, you sound crazy. They’re married. Your feelings about Priscilla don’t…dictate the decisions Elvis makes,” Marty says firmly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re letting your worries about Elvis get the best of you.”

“Jerry, Marty!” Priscilla calls.

“Stop trying to meddle in his love life, Jerry. You got no say in that,” Marty says.

Jerry throws his hands up. “Right. Of course. Forgive me for being concerned about my friend whose wife has been cheating o–” “Boys, come in!” Priscilla’s voice again. Marty pushes past Jerry and opens the door. Elvis is curled up on his side in Joe’s grey undershirt and boxers, shivering again.

Jerry and Marty both approach the bed. Jerry sits behind Elvis and puts a hand on his back.

“You alright? Feeling better?” he asks softly. Elvis’s back feels unnaturally hot but he isn’t sweating at all.

Elvis nods silently.

“He’s feeling much better, I think,” Priscilla says. “Not perfect, but we were talking about getting him something to eat just now.”

“Good. That’s good, Cilla. He hasn’t eaten since dinner last night and he hasn’t kept anything down since yesterday’s lunch. What are you hungry for, E?”

“...e-eggs and toast,” Elvis mutters.

“Marty, why don’t you go down and ask the kitchen to make him some eggs and toast?” Jerry asks, turning to Marty. Marty silently sighs and nods before leaving the room.

“We should take your temperature, honey,” Priscilla says. “Once you’ve eaten we can get some fever medicine in you and you can rest until the 9pm show. How does that sound?”

“Fine, honey,” Elvis says. “Come here.” He reaches his arm out to Priscilla who leans down to kiss his forehead. “Wh-what about the Colonel? He ain’t gonna like me taking rests instead of rehearsing.” Jerry turns to Elvis to see his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He looks hazy, weak, scared.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll deal with the Colonel. You don’t gotta worry about him.”

“I don’t understand it,” Priscilla mumbles, barely loud enough for either man to hear.

“What’s that, Cilla?”

“I don’t understand why you’re keeping him from Elvis. He’s helped him his whole life. He gave us everything. Doesn’t make sense to me why you’re trying to kick him out now,” she says, louder.

Elvis swallows and clenches his jaw. Jerry can see the conflict on his face, the tears beginning to form.

“Colonel’s hurting him, Cilla,” Jerry says, pointing his finger at Elvis’s crumpled frame. “Working him too hard. He’s sick now and he still has to work. You don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“Why are you so defensive, Jerry?” Priscilla retorts. “He’s my husband. I know what’s best for him, and I just think it’s wrong that you’re keeping him from his manager.”

“Right. Well, while you’ve been in Memphis and New York and God knows where else, we were here watching Elvis getting worked to the bone. If you’d been here instead of–”

“--stop, Jerry,” Elvis whines. “She don’t know any better.”

“I don’t know any better? I know—”

“--Cilla, baby, please. I…I think…” Elvis pauses, out of breath, and puts a hand on his brow. “I…”

“Breathe,” Jerry instructs. Elvis draws in a slow breath, his chest rising heavily. He blows out and breathes again, his heart stopping the pounding motion that’s been making him dizzy.

“I ain’t firing him, Cilla. Nothing like that. We’re just takin’ a break.” Elvis wraps his hand around Priscilla’s waist.

“Elvis, you were talking about firing him–”

“--I didn’t mean that. He…he’s given me everything. I can’t let him go.” There’s a heavy, thick silence in the room until Jerry claps his hands together.

“Alright. We’re taking your temperature, then you’re eating, and then you’re gonna sleep. Cilla, get the thermometer.”

“You get it.” Priscilla’s voice is sharp and cold.

“Fine. I’ll get it.” Jerry grabs the bag from the drugstore and pulls out a mercury thermometer and brings it over to Elvis. “Open your mouth.” Elvis follows, tilting his head up to Jerry and parting his lips. Jerry places the thermometer under Elvis’s tongue.

“Stay like that for a bit.” Jerry sits down on the bed next to Elvis and watches as he brings Priscilla in closer.

Jerry glances between Elvis and Priscilla for the next few seconds until he feels enough time has passed, watching Priscilla massage Elvis’s hand in her own and look at him. He turns to Elvis. “Open,” he instructs, and Elvis opens his mouth so Jerry can pull the thermometer out. He holds it to the light.

“Not good.”

“What?” Priscilla asks.

“102.2. I think it’s higher than it was last night.” Elvis sighs.

The door opens and Marty walks in with a small plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast. “Here you go,” he says, handing Elvis his plate. “I, uh…I gotta go now. I have a meeting. See y’all tonight,” Marty says, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Fine. Bye now,” Jerry says and Marty walks out without another word.

Elvis starts eating hungrily but delicately.

“Be careful. Don’t wanna get sick again if you eat too fast,” Jerry says. Elvis glances up at him. Not eating fast and not eating too much has never been something that Elvis has followed. He continues eating in silence before he’s about halfway done and starts to look tired again.

“Done?” Priscilla asks.

“I’m full,” Elvis says softly, pushing the plate away. Jerry takes it and sets it on the side table before grabbing the bottle of fever medicine and handing two pills to Elvis. He takes them dry and lays back down.

“Tired,” he says softly. “Wanna sleep.”

“I need to sleep, too,” Jerry says. “I was up all night.”

“You can have the bed,” Elvis says softly.

“I’ll take the couch. Cilla will lay in bed with you. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Elvis says. Jerry makes his way to the couch and grabs a blanket before laying down. He’s exhausted, but he knows it’s nowhere near how awful Elvis is feeling. Slowly, he lets his guard down and falls asleep.

—

When he wakes up and checks his watch, it’s 7pm. They need to get Elvis some dinner and more medicine. “Cilla?” Jerry calls. Priscilla walks into the room.

“Yes?”

“It’s 7. We need to get some more dinner and medicine.”

“Yes. I think something’s really wrong with him. His stomach is really swollen and he seems to be in a lot of pain. I think it’s those pills.”

Jerry takes out a cigarette and lights it. “Right. Well, if he’s still asleep, we can go now. Why don’t you get some shoes on?”

Priscilla nods, grabbing a pair of short heels and sliding them on her feet. Jerry leads her to the door and shuts it behind them as they exit. Jerry puts the cigarette in his mouth as they start walking to the elevator.

“I think we should have a doctor come and see him before the show tonight,” Jerry says. “I actually think he shouldn’t perform tonight.”

“What?” Priscilla asks. “He has to perform.”

“...right,” Jerry mutters, frustrated. “Because it’s your decision.”

Priscilla shakes her head and scoffs.

“I’m just putting in my opinion, Jerry. I don’t see why you have such a problem with me,” Priscilla crosses her arms.

“I don’t have a problem with you, Cilla.” Jerry takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “I just…take issue with the way you talk about Elvis.”

“I just want what’s best for him,” Priscilla insists.

“Yeah. Me too.” They approach the elevator and Jerry pushes the button. “Well, for now, let’s just focus on getting him better.”

—

When Elvis wakes up, it’s slowly and with a grunt as he lifts himself into a sitting position and holds his head. His sleep was plagued with various nightmares of the Colonel finding him, hurting him. The worst one…

In the worst one the Colonel had hurt his mother. Smacked her across the face. The image of that comes back to Elvis and suddenly he feels a great pain in his chest and stomach and stumbles to the bathroom and vomits. He kneels in front of the toilet for at least ten minutes, barely conscious, barely able to catch his breath, and freezing cold but too weak to get up and grab a blanket. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep his body upright. Something is wrong. His stomach is killing him, his head is pounding, and his heart won’t stop fluttering. He falls over and lays on the cold bathroom floor, shaking and crying for an indeterminate amount of time before he hears the door open.

“Jerry…Jerry,” he calls weakly, finding the strength to pull himself up and stumble out of the bathroom. His body freezes when he sees the Colonel with his cane and an ugly frown.

“Elvis,” the colonel says. “It’s 8:00. You should be rehearsing by now.”

Elvis is confused and delirious. “Wh…J-Jerry said you wouldn’t..”

“I am here now, am I not?” The Colonel asks. “And I am tired of being kept from you.” Elvis shakes his head.

“St..stay away from me,” he slurs out. The Colonel comes closer.

“I am your manager, Mr. Presley. Staying away is not something I can do. I am already angry enough that you have let these hooligans keep me from you.”

Elvis’s breath picks up and his throat clenches with nausea. “You..” he gasps for air. “You–” Elvis whines in pain and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You are going to come with me,” The Colonel says. “And there will be consequences for your actions.” He steps towards Elvis, who deliriously puts his hand up as if to defend himself.

“C-consequences? You get out..” Elvis slurs.

The Colonel only gets closer. “Come with me now before I make you.”

Elvis looks up at the Colonel. Anger burns in his throat. He clenches his fists. He can’t think straight. He doesn’t know much, but he knows he needs the Colonel to get out.

“G-get outta here before I call the cops,” Elvis says, coughing.

“Now you apologize to me before I make you sorry,” the Colonel says, pushing Elvis. Elvis weakly falls on the ground. It wasn’t a hard push, but any type of force is enough to take Elvis down in this state. He’s on the ground, pushing himself backwards with his hands and legs bent.

“Jerry! J..Jerry!” Elvis calls.

“Be quiet!” The Colonel shouts, moving closer.

“Jerry!”

The Colonel thrusts his cane at the lower left side of Elvis’s chest as hard as he can. There’s a cracking sound and Elvis groans in pain before wrapping an arm around his ribcage.

“Be quiet before I shut your mouth for you!” The Colonel yells.

Elvis takes a big breath and screams.

“Jerry!”

“Shut up!” the Colonel screams and whips his cane into the side of Elvis’s face, hitting his cheek and temple. Elvis crumples to the ground, holding his bleeding head.

He moans and blinks slowly as the Colonel moves closer.

Suddenly, the door opens and big, heavy footsteps come into the room.

“Elvis? Colonel, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Jerry shouts. “You hurt him?” He looks at Elvis, whose face and right hand are covered in blood and who is fighting to stay conscious.

“You get the hell out, Colonel, before I kill you,” Jerry says.

“I’m not leaving until Elvis–”

“GET OUT!” Jerry screams. Priscilla, who had come in with Jerry, approaches Elvis and puts one of Joe’s shirts from the floor over his wound.

“I said–” The Colonel starts, but Jerry shoves him. He lands on his left arm and yells out in pain.

“Get outta here before I kill you, you fat bastard!” Jerry’s voice is so loud now that it makes Elvis start crying from the pain it causes his head. He’s completely lost it. He rips off his sunglasses and kicks the Colonel in the groin. “OUT!”

The Colonel scrambles out of the hotel room and Jerry slams the door behind him before running over to Elvis and Priscilla.

“E, what happened?” Jerry frantically asks, seeing all the blood that’s accumulated on Joe’s shirt.

“He…he…” Elvis whispers hoarsely.

“He hit you? We need to go to the hospital, Elvis.” Elvis shakes his head and groans.

“N-no hospital…”

“I know you hate hospitals, but this could get serious.”

“Jerry, he has to do the show tonight,” Priscilla says.

“...Screw the show. We need to get him to a hospital.”

“I..I wanna do the show,” Elvis manages to get out.

“Are you kidding? You wanna perform in this state?”

“Call Dr. Nick,” Elvis says.

“Let’s at least get him into bed,” Priscilla says. Jerry nods and helps lift Elvis up and bring him to Joe’s bed.

“I’m calling the doctor. Then I’m calling Joe to ask him why the hell he let the Colonel come up here.” Elvis is barely able to hold his head up as Priscilla tends to him and Jerry makes his way to the phone, dialing a number before talking in a hushed but serious tone.

“He hit you with his cane, Elvis?” Priscilla asks. Elvis nods slowly, but the pain it causes makes tears stream down his cheeks.

“We’ll get you rested for the next hour. The fans won’t know a thing,” she reassures him. Elvis just makes a small noise of understanding in his throat. He doesn’t really feel like performing.

“Dr. Nick’s gonna be up here in one minute with some medicine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Colonel hit him with his cane. Right across the face,” Priscilla says. “I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” she presses the shirt tighter against Elvis’s face and he whimpers.

“Right. Well, I’m gonna talk to Joe during the show.”

“Where’s the Colonel? I think you mighta broken his arm,” Priscilla says, her eyebrows tensing.

“I don’t give a damn where that bastard is. Long as he stays away from Elvis. I think we should get a restraining order on him.”

“Restraining order?” Priscilla asks. “That’s extreme.” Elvis makes a moaning sound of pain and she shushes him.

“What’s extreme is him hitting Elvis across the face with a metal cane. That’s assault. And I plan to never let it happen again.” Jerry can feel his face getting hot with anger.

There’s a knock at the door, and Jerry opens it to find Dr. Nick with a bag, who walks over to the bed and sits on the chair next to it.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” he asks.

“Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane,” Priscilla tells him. “He’s been bleeding for at least five minutes.”

Jerry scoffs. Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane. That’s the way of putting it that makes the Colonel seem a lot less guilty.

Dr. Nick puts his hand on Priscilla’s and pulls the shirt away. Blood gushes out of a gash from the tip of the cane right above Elvis’s temple.

“Normally I would say this doesn’t need stitches, but I think we should give him some considering the show tonight,” Dr. Nick says.

“The…the show?” Jerry asks. “He’s not doing the show. He’s injured. And sick. And he’s been workin’ like a dog all season. Sixteen shows a week with no breaks, you don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“No need to get angry, Mr. Schilling,” Dr. Nick says, to which Jerry shakes his head. He grabs a needle and sutures, then pulls out a syringe and vial. “I’m going to inject some anesthetic around the wound to numb it for you. Then I’ll put in the stitches. How does that sound?”

“F-fine,” Elvis says, opening his eyes. “Ah…” The lights cause him pain and he shuts them again.

He feels a small pinch as Dr. Nick injects him with the anesthetic. “I’m starting the stitches now. You just let me know if it hurts too much, ok?” Elvis makes a noise of agreement and tries not to move as he feels Dr. Nick starts the stitches. It’s over quicker than he thought it would be and isn’t that painful, but it still makes him tense and nauseous.

“I’m gonna start cleaning up with a wet cloth, just getting the blood off your face,” Dr. Nick says, taking out a white cloth and dousing it with water from his bottle. He gently presses it to Elvis’s face, which causes him to wince and whine, and Priscilla shushes him and kisses the top of his head.

“Can you tell me what happened leading up to you getting hit?”

Elvis nods. The pain in his head is intense to say the least, fogging up his memory and making it hard to speak. But he tries anyways. “I…I had a bad dream. I went to the bathroom and I got sick…then…then…the Colonel showed up.”

Dr. Nick gently wipes more blood off of Elvis’s face and neck, glancing over at the puddle of blood on the carpet by the bathroom.

“He said…to come with him. And that he was gonna punish me.”

“And then he hit you?”

“...yeah. I-I think so,” Elvis confirms.

“He’s having some other issues too. Stomach issues, and he’s been feverish since the day before yesterday.”

Dr. Nick nods. “The good news is, all those things can be cured. Fevers, nausea, head injuries. And they can all be cured in time for you to perform in 45 minutes. I’ll give you some pain medication and nausea medication. I don’t have anything for fevers, though.”

“I do,” Jerry says. “But he really shouldn’t be performing.”

Dr. Nick takes out a syringe and two vials.

“Well, it’s up to him. But he has some fans waiting.” He fills up one of the syringes and injects it into Elvis’s shoulder, then fills the next and does the same.

Then he stands up. “Call me if he gets any worse. I’ll be around.” With that, he leaves the hotel room.

“You really shouldn’t perform tonight, Elvis,” Jerry says, seeing Priscilla’s jaw tighten.

“I think you need to, honey,” Priscilla counters. Jerry sighs. “If you don’t, the Colonel could sue you. Plus, all those fans are waiting to see you. You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you?”

Jerry makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “Are you trying to make him feel bad for bein’ sick? It ain’t his fault if he can’t perform. The fans can wait.”

“I’m not making anybody feel bad but you, Jerry,” Priscilla bites back. “Elvis, I really think you should go out there tonight.”

“I…I will,” Elvis says softly. “Just give me ten more minutes to rest and I’ll be on my way to the dressin’ room.”

“Why don’t you go down to the theatre and give us some time, Jerry?” Priscilla asks.

“Yeah. Sure. See you in a bit, Elvis,” Jerry says. Elvis nods.

As soon as Jerry is done lecturing Joe, who’s nothing but apologetic, he rushes to watch the concert. Priscilla is nowhere to be found and Elvis is clearly struggling. He’s pale, shaky, delirious, and should be sweating but isn’t. That can only mean his fever is getting higher and not breaking. He holds his head when he can and dances slowly, messily. Even the audience can tell something is seriously wrong. As Can’t Help Falling In Love starts, Jerry hears footsteps behind him. “Almost done?” Priscilla asks.

“Yeah.” Jerry wrinkles his nose. She smells like alcohol.

The two watch in silence as the number finishes and the curtain starts to close. Elvis has given everything. Surprisingly, he doesn’t faint as soon as the curtain is down. He just curls up into a ball and sits, shivering.

Priscilla runs over and puts a hand on his back, she goes to give him a kiss but he turns away from her, gagging. Someone hands him a bowl and he’s sick into it, pushing Priscilla away when she tries to touch him.

Jerry walks over to Elvis and puts a hand on his back. It’s hotter than ever before and bone dry. “Someone get him some ice water!” Jerry calls. When Elvis looks up from the bowl, the force of vomiting has caused his stitches to burst and his head is bleeding again.

Jerry takes off his own blazer and holds it to Elvis’s head. “We need to go to the hospital. Get us a car.”

A staff member from the hotel approaches Jerry and Elvis with a bucket of ice water and a thermometer. Jerry places it in Elvis’s mouth gently. “Let’s get your jumpsuit off.

“What’s he gonna wear?” Priscilla asks. Jerry turns to her. She’s standing off to the side with her arms crossed.

“His boxers and undershirt. Anything else and he’ll overheat.” Jerry takes the thermometer out and gasps. “105.4. Is the car ready? Tell the hospital we’re coming.” He takes the blazer off of Elvis’s head and find that the bleeding has stopped, so he starts working the jumpsuit off as best he can. When the jumpsuit and Elvis’s shoes and socks are off, he starts taking handfuls of ice water and pouring them on Elvis’s torso.

“Jerry—“

“—he could get heatstroke if we don’t get this fever down. Now.”

Joe rushes into the room. “Jerry.”

“What?”

“The car’s ready.”

Jerry doesn’t know where, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but he somehow manages to find the strength to pick up Elvis bridal-style and carry him to the hallway. Elvis is completely out of it and his breathing is shallow.

“Stay awake, Elvis. Don’t fall asleep now,” Jerry says. Elvis is in and out of consciousness as Jerry eases him into the backseat of a black car. Priscilla gets in the other side and Jerry situates Elvis so his head is on Jerry’s lap and his legs are on Priscilla’s. Elvis instantly curls up, clearly freezing. Jerry puts a hand over him and is about to shut the door when Joe stops him.

“Jerry.”

“What?”

“I been on the phone with the colonel.”

“So what?”

“You broke his arm.” Jerry swallows.

Waits.

“He’s pressing charges against you and Elvis.”

#60s elvis #elvis #elvis fans #elvis history #elvis presley #elvis the king #elvis the pelvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis fanfiction #elvis movie #elvis fic #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #done with you #new writer

26 notes · View notes

densi-mber · 2 months ago

Text

Let’s Save That for Home

***

“Hey, I just got a call from the school. Caleb and Sophia’s teacher has requested we stop in for a meeting,” Deeks informed Kensi.

“Oh, not again,” Kensi groaned.

“I mean, at least it’s only the second time this year.”

“Which wouldn’t be that bad if the first time wasn’t because they told an entire table of six year olds ‘mommy and daddy don’t shoot people anymore’.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Kensi exhaled extremely slowly.

“Yeah, that was not a fun meeting,” Deeks agreed. “I suppose it’s a relief they didn’t actually try to bring a weapon to show off.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Kensi said.

“I guess we better find out what happened.”

With a reluctant sigh, she took his offered hand, and they walked to the twins’ room together. They found Caleb and Sophia laying on the floor, coloring a giant picture of Disney characters, the very picture of innocence.

“Caleb, Sophia.”

Caleb paused long enough to look up. “Hey.”

“Is it time for dinner?” Sophia asked, mouth slightly open as she worked at a small section of the picture.

“No, we have about half an hour,” Deeks said, getting down on his knees beside them. Kensi joined him, sitting cross-legged. “Did anything happen at school today?”

Sophia tilted her head, looking remarkably like Kensi. “We watched a video about penguins,” she answered.

“And Liam got sick in gym,” Caleb added.

“Well, that’s lovely.”

“That’s not quite what we meant. Mrs. Rosenbaum called us. Do you know why that might be?” Kensi asked, raising an eyebrow at the twins. Caleb just shrugged.

“I don’t know. Wait, we did have to go to the principal’s office.”

“I’d think something like that would stand out in my mind, but ok. Why were you in the principal’s office?” Deeks caught Kensi’s eyes, and saw the worried anticipation in her expression.

“I don’t know. We were just playing bad guys and good guys during recess and showed Elijah defensive stragegies and then Mrs. Clark said it was against the rules,” Sophia explained.

“And she took us to the principal,” Caleb finished.

Caught between grim amusement and consternation, Deeks cleared his throat, and asked,

“Exactly what defense strategies did you show him?”

“A roundhouse and flipping him on the ground. Just like Uncle Sam showed us.” Caleb nodded proudly.

“I’m the one who flipped him,” Sophia said, puffing out her chest.

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Kensi groaned.

“Just like your mama,” Deeks muttered. When Kensi gave him a sharp look he shrugged. “Thanks so much, Sam.”

Drawing in another breath, Kensi took Caleb and Sophia’s hand. “Guys, remember how we talked about there being certain things that you don’t do or talk about at school?”

“I thought that was just for stuff with weapons and Uncle Arkady and Grandma Deeks’ stories.” Sophia looked to Deeks in obvious confusion.

“Oh it is,” Deeks assured her. “We just neglected to add that you shouldn’t show your friends and of the things your uncles show you. So that means no judo, tae kwon do, kickboxing, karate—”

Caleb raised a hand.

“—or wrestling,” Deeks finished, and Caleb lowered his hand, shoulders slumping.

“Sorry we messed up,” Sophia said softly. And didn’t that just break his heart.

Sighing, Deeks pulled her into his lap; Kensi hugged Caleb into her side. “We know you didn’t mean to, but you gotta be a little more careful, ok?”

“Yeah, please don’t beat up your friends anymore.”

They got two nods and Sophia hugged him tightly.

“Hey, why don’t you guys get ready for dinner? Then we’ll check any homework.” Deeks patted Sophia’s shoulder and reached over to ruffle Caleb’s hair.

“Ok! Then can you tell us about the bad man who tried to kidnap you on your wedding?” Caleb requested excitedly.

“No, I wanna hear about when Mommy and Daddy met!”

Getting up, Deeks held out a hand to help Kensi stand as the twins argued.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be normal,” Kensi said.

“It would probably be a lot less interesting. And we’d probably never have met.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t change a thing.” Kensi kissed him quickly.

#densimber 8.0 #densimber 2024 #densimber day 6 #ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi twins #fluff #by ejzah #ncis la

16 notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 9 months ago

Text

A New Crown: A Ruhn and Bryce Story

A/n: for crown prince day I thought I’d take a different approach to Ruhn’s crowning. I imagine Ruhn visiting Bryce after her tragic visit to Lunathion and this is the end of one of their secret visits. @ruhnweek

Warnings: none

Checking his watch Ruhn grimaced. It was getting late and though his father doesn’t pay much attention to him, the Autumn King will notice Ruhn has been gone for an extended time. Every time he left Bryce his heart ached. She always got so attached to him during his visits.

Right now, the two siblings were in the middle of an intense game of Monopoly. Bryce tapped her fingers together menacingly as she looked over her domain. Thinking about how to further bankrupt the prince. Looking back at the board Ruhn suddenly didn’t feel that bad. He was practically broke and Bryce was about to buy him out of the only two valuable properties he had left.

Clearing his throat Bryce looked up at him, noticing his frown had nothing to do with the board game. Looking at the clock on the wall Bryce let out an unhappy sound, a frown forming on her own small face. “Do you have to go?” She asks, her tone trying to guilt Ruhn into staying longer.

“Unfortunately I do kiddo. But I’ll be back next weekend.” He pinches her cheek and Bryce quickly bats his hand away. Ruhn chuckles at his sister and stands from his spot on the floor. “Do you want anything from the city?” Knowing her answer already, Ruhn watched as Bryce pretended to think.

“If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a new midnight Starlight Fancy pony that I’ve had my eye on.” Bryce smirks up at her brother, knowing she has him wrapped around her finger. Ruhn nods, “You got it kid.”

Bryce stands to hug him goodbye. Ruhn picks her up and spins, earning a giggle from the littler girl. Ember watched from the doorway as her daughter enjoyed quality time with Ruhn. Part of her wished Ruhn would stay so Bryce had a friend in this small town.

Ember cleared her throat, the pair looking at her. “Don’t you have something to give your big brother?” Bryce’s face lights up as she remembered the item she spent over a week making for him. “I’ll be right back! don’t go yet!” She yells over her shoulder, racing to her room.

Ruhn sends his step-mother a questioning look. “Just wait,” she whispers excitedly.

Footsteps coming thundering down the stairs as Bryce comes to a stop next to her mother. Her hands behind her back and an infectious smile on her face. “Ok, kneel down.” Ruhn just shrugs and obeys his little sister. Bryce approaches Ruhn slowly, her demeanor changed to unsure. Like he wouldn’t like what the surprise is.

She looks up to Ember who urges her on. Taking a deep breath, Bryce reveals whats behind her back. In her hands sits a silver wire band, three peaks like an old fashioned crown with blue clay stars glued all over. Ruhn looked at her with wide eyes, an odd melancholy feeling blooming in his chest.

“I remembered how you said you didn’t like his crown, so I made you a new one.” Ruhn had to hold back tears as he stared between Bryce and the homemade crown. “Wow,” he breathed out, “it’s amazing Bryce. Will you put it on me?” Bryce playfully rolls her eyes, “Duh, why do you think I told you to kneel.” She sassed.

Bryce lowers the crown onto Ruhn’s black hair. Closing his eyes Ruhn felt the weight of the crown. Not physically, but what his position stands for. How Bryce looks up to him and that one day he will be responsible for their people.

Removing her hands from the crown Bryce asks, “Will you keep it safe?” Ruhn places a hand over his heart. “I will protect my new crown with my life.” Bryce throws her arms around Ruhn’s neck, giving him one last hug. Before separating she whispers a little too loud for his fae ears, “You’ll be a great king one day, I just know it.”

#crescent city #crescent city fanfic #crescent city fic #crescent city fluff #crescent city fanfiction #crescent city ruhn #crescent city Bryce #ruhn danaan #prince ruhn #prince ruhn danaan #bryce quinlan #Bryce danaan #Bryce crescent city #ruhn fluff #ruhnweek24

22 notes · View notes

littlestsnicket · 17 days ago

Text

title: it gets worse before it gets better

word count: .7k

armand/daniel, ambigously post canon working out how to have a functional relationship, trauma recovery, discussion of vomit (but no one actually does)

Daniel doesn’t know what they were fighting about at this point. He doesn’t even remember what it is he said last—the thing that made Armand go live-wire tense and then start to cry. Crying is the wrong word. Sobbing, maybe. No. Even that does not come close to encompassing the intensity. Armand is having a full-on meltdown, crying with the absolute lack of inhibition Daniel has only ever seen in small children.

Armand has collapsed in on himself, shaking, kneeling, on the floor.

Daniel crouches next to him and places a cautious hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, breath.”

Armand makes a disgruntled noise between sobs, leaning into Daniel’s touch. He pulls Armand closer, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I know. You still have a parasympathetic nervous system though, it will make you feel better.”

Armand takes a deep shaky inhale and lets it out in a pathetic whimper. His body goes spring-tight, like he’s fighting a pile of conflicting impulses. Well, that didn’t work very well.

Daniel shifts his hold to pet Armand’s hair. “You know I’ll still hold you if you stop crying, right?

Armand pulls away and stares at Daniel with giant owlish eyes, mouth pinched, not quite expressionless. He’s trembling ever so slightly, and the red tinged tears smudged across his cheeks and still spilling out of his eyes makes the sight even more unnerving, but Daniel loves his unnerving boyfriend.

“Yeah... I’m not very good at the comforting thing. Whatever you think I meant by that, I didn’t.”

Armand sniffles, rubs his nose with the back of his wrist, and shakes his head: no. He looks painfully young, and it’s only partially an act.

“You’re a manipulative freak. We’ve established this. As long as you’re not fucking with my memories or actively trying to gaslight me, we’re good. If you need to do the thing where you exaggerate your emotions because you’re scared of being ignored, or you think you have to suffer enough to deserve comfort, or whatever else is going on in that labyrinthian head of yours, that’s fine. I’ll deal. But it might be easier for both of us if you trust me enough to just ask for what you need. That way I don’t have to worry about you crying hard enough to make yourself puke on my carpet.”

Armand shakes his head again. The sobbing has picked back up, but quieter and more controlled than before. Daniel pulls him back into a hug.

“Ok, not that. But the point still stands—you’re my manipulative freak and I love you.” Daniel pauses, stroking Armand’s hair and trying to think. “I’m not going to let you off the hook if I really think you’ve done something wrong, but adjusting for things I would actually expect you to do to end a stupid fight, having a meltdown isn’t that bad of a choice. It’s a lot less upsetting for me than when you, uh, dissociate.”

Armand wraps his arms around Daniel and squeezes tight enough to force the air out of his lungs. Daniel gently scratches Armand’s scalp in wordless response.

“Feels worse,” Armand mumbles against Daniel’s neck after a long pause.

Daniel frowns, feeling out of his depth. “Yah.”

Armand makes a semi-hysterical burbling noise that Daniel is pretty sure is a laugh.

“Shut up!”

Later, after the sex that feels a lot more like Armand’s need for reassurance than to perform penitence (Daniel’s proud of Armand, but he’ll figure out how to tell him that in a less stupid way later), when they’re still tangles together, Armand says: “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Daniel is quiet for a long moment, struggling to piece together the details of what was going on before Armand sucked his brain out of his dick. “Lenora managed it a few times as a toddler. Fussy, sensitive kid, and I was... probably less than helpful.”

He can feel Armand smile slightly and shake his head. “I may have a reasonably functional parasympathetic nervous system, but I doubt the same can be said of my digestive system. I haven’t vomited since I was turned and I don’t think it’s physiologically possible unless I’ve fed in the previous hour or so.”

“Huh,” Daniel says. “What happens when Louis eats human food? Can he digest it since he eats regularly? Does a vampire’s digestive system become more vestigial as they age? Do I still have enough digestive stuff in my stomach to vomit without being full of blood?”

Armand’s nose wrinkles against Daniel’s neck. “So many questions, fledgling. We could run some experiments if you wish.”

“Hm, it’s a date.”

#iwtv #armand/daniel #devil's minion #mayo writes fic #continuing resolution to overcome personal arbitrary rules about fic length and just share things!

5 notes · View notes

christopherlovescats · 11 months ago

Text

A wet dream

!mature content!

Please read tags for trigger warnings ⚠️

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Here's some beautiful starcheaser smut.

"please games please. I just want to feel something" reggie's whiner then usual voise begged. "We can't fuck like this, reg. Look what a fucking mess you've become just because of some bloody alcohol."

James explained him, not for the first time. "then clean me up, Jamie, teach me how I should behave" reg whispered, heading to their bedroom. "Jamie, make me feel so I don't do it myself ?" He cryed out again, already on his knees.

with a deep stabling breath James answers "fine, but only to keep you away from this mindset." Of course James cares about regulus' health, mental end phisical, and he knows better then to keep him alone when he's thinking things like these.

Its just that reggie Looks so fine on those white sheets, shirtless, on his knees. his deep green eyes staring at James' body so desperatly. "Remember what we talked about" James starts "use. your. safeword." Regulus looks into James' eyes and whispers "ok".

reggie's hand was crawling twords his bag, that layed on the nightstand near the T-shirt that he took off. a moment after that- a small dagger was in his hand. reg opened the daggers case, witch made a smooth metal sound that alerted James quickly "move another inch and you're not cuming tonight." James' voice came out cold and comanding.

as expected, reguls dropped the danger at that very moment. James moved towards him, forcing him to slwl lay down on his back, between james' legs... "I want it to hurt, jamie" regulus whispered. "earn it" james replied. "Be a good whore so you'll deserve feeling anything at all" he mockeed, in that same cold, flat tone that made reggie shiver.

"I'll be good, I'll scream, and I'll moan and move so loudly for you, Jamie, just please touch me!" reg cried out at James while his fingers were working on opening James' button up shirt. Then kissing and touching James' color bones, James chest, James' thighs. regulus realsed a short whine when he got there. and James' hands ammidiatly climbed down from reggie's waist straight to his inner thighs. reggies mouth opend, but little air came in and out.

James bent down, one of James' legs is in between reggie's, now touching his cunt, and feeling how wet he was. James smiled proudly to himself. their lips are touching each other, on and off.

Jamie's hands run back down to pinch regulus'nipples. regulus cries out a moan, and another one feeling his pants getting so freaking wet with precum. James' lips move to reggie's Jaw, sucking.

"Jamie" reggie cries. wanting to do some thing with his hands, anything, but as soon as he tries, James reaches out and ties them with a tight knot behined his back. Soft, stretchy rope. "a good fuck-toy would never try to touch himself without asking" James hissed. reggie whimpered and moved around but then imidiatly stopped himself to say "Im So Sorry, Jamie".

"Open" James said. It was needless to say more. Reggie's legs spread apart emediatly. Finely, James pants and underwear are off, exposing his hard dick. Regulus couldn't stop himself from staring- while james puts on a condom, hands shaking, mouth opend. Regulus guides James' hands to his neck, then mumbles "be harsh with me". James hands close tightly.

#jegulus smut #starchaser #marauders era #plot what plot #hurt/comfort #alcohol #consent #they are madly in love #drunk #bdsmkink #angst #safe word #self destructive tendencies

38 notes · View notes

pixiedust-poppers · 4 months ago

Text

Was for my film art class but I read the instructions wrong after I finished everything, so. Take my lil storyboard and I even sweetened the deal with a little drabble enjoy!

She pulled the nub closer to her as if to try and comfort herself but quickly relaxed it when she remembered, so she let out a sigh “Mhm…”

“It’s going to get better Iz.. I promise.”

(mini story cont below!)

She said nothing to that, only looking back out to the sea. The waves once stained with red earlier in the day, due to the amount of bodies that were dumped into the sea were now calm. Those same bodies were now once again walking and talking as if hell didn’t transpire today.

The pirate lass was one of those bodies, one of the first alongside cubby actually. Though she didn’t remember much after her own… well beating would be an understatement. It felt more akin to a ruthless slaughter to her considering it was so severe that she lost a limb from it. The final result was even more horrifying apparently from what she could gather from Jake’s semi-cohesive sobs; her and cubby looked more like a pile of organs, flesh and meat rather than two bodies.

“Also.. I’m still sorry we couldn’t find your arm Iz-” “Jake. It’s Fine.” She turned to him, his eyes looking glassy again. “You and the mermaids did everything you could to look for it. Like cubby's leg it's probably lost to the NeverSea current. Atleast the fish or sharks are getting some use out of it.” “But they shouldn’t!” The boy protested, small trails of tears sliding down his cheek. “IT should be on you. I brought you back but I couldn’t bring all of you back! And now you’re permanently disabled because of me-” “Are you the one that took off my arm?” “Well- no but-” “Then it's not your fault, Jake.”

Jake’s brow pinched in frustration, how could she not get it? Maybe he wasn’t the one to rip off their limbs but he was the one that separated them. That sent them to their graves. If he Just would have known! He should have seen it coming, why else would a villain have three hallways like a maze?! Oh he should have known something was up! If he had only listened to his intuition beforehand.

“Do you not get Iz?” He huffed, “ I could have prevented this, If I had just thought about it more and not separated us, We could have gone in twos, or as a group! Izzy don’t you understand I could have done something?!”

“Done what Jake?” She herself was getting abit agitated now, he shouldn’t beat himself up over this. “What could you have done? You aren’t psychic, you can see into the future. There is nothing you could have really done to prevent this from happening to us.”

“B-But!-”

“THERE IS NOTHING.” Frustration roared through her voice as she raised it higher, her brown eyes glaring into his own. After a moment of silence she let out a breath and continued her voice now falling stern “.....There is nothing you can do now Jake, you can’t go back to prevent us from splitting up, you can’t go back to prevent me and cubby from getting killed. All we can do is move forward, you have us here now yeah? It’s still us. Just a little different.”

She then stood up brushing, the sand off her being careful to avoid brushing too wildly lest she wanted bits of sand to get between the bandages, she could almost shudder how itchy some sand would be if they managed to reach the gauze and subsequently her stitches. She looked down at him, a softer expression on her face as she spoke.

“You can’t save everything Jake, sometimes you can only save what you can and you’re going to have to be ok with that.You did what you could and I will forever be grateful for that.”

With those final words she walked off, he didn’t hear her open the hideout entrance, so he assumed she must have walked into the island itself to probably be alone. As much as he would rather herd her back to the hideout to get some rest, he figured she wanted some more private time to herself and after what they went through today… he let her go, he too would want to decompress by his lonesome if he had to be put back together.

He looked back out to the sea, the sunset just reaching its end and the moon was rising higher into the horizon. Sniffing abit, he wiped away whatever track marks remained on his face, yet a few tears still escaped his eyes and he wiped those too.

Izzy was right he couldn’t dwell on this, he did have to move forward..Neverland was back to normal, all the residences of Neverland were alive once more, and the three people dearest to him were back to him… But…

He let out a heavy sigh, crashing back into the sand, the stars making their appearances as the last bits of twilight faded away. He could feel his eyes beginning to water up again.

Leaders don’t make mistakes like that, he felt like a fucking failure.

#my writing is rusty sorryyy #this can be labeled as Jizzy or not #jake and the neverland pirates #jake #izzy #disney junior #disney #fan art #drabbles #jatnp #storyboard #art

15 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 1 year ago

Note

OK- ok ok listen, so in you're do not got gentle series, in Ireland's one. it said that scotland offered to "help him go painlessly" so he wouldn't die of infection. but HOW did they kill him off tho? like that must have been difficult, especially at the age they were. I cant imagine it worked first time, like did they have to try multiple times?? IM SO CURIOUS PLEASE, I must feed my brain rot. please bestow this information on me

Alba has always been good with plants. Well worked leaves left as dark stains between his fingers, clumps of their flesh dark and stubborn under his nails. It is an old, careful knowledge he carries: which plants to pick for what effect, when and how best to collect them. How to strain them even without the specialised tools he wants, how long to boil them to release the best of their properties. He mumbles their seasons and duration under his breath on sleepless nights, tired eyes watching the stars as his brothers sleep nearby.

‘It matters,’ he makes sure to tell Albion as he demonstrates how best to pinch flower between forefinger and thumb, his brother too young to remember Mama’s teaching on the subject, ‘It matters. Always watch the moon and the weather before you pick anything, otherwise you can’t trust what it will do.’

Alba slips away down the hill fort as the humans sleep, Albion and Cymru left to guard. Some of the plants he seeks sit on the back of the hill itself, some lie deep within ancient woodlands- moss on cool roots and tubers under damp stone. He cannot wait until the time is just right, cannot wait until the moon hangs fat in the sky as some best need, but he makes sure that the stems fold plump as he plucks them, makes sure they are fresh and healthy. Many times Alba has prepared plants to ensure they do not harm, now he must collect to ensure that they do. They need to be strong; they need to be quick. There can be no mistakes, it is a cruelty Ériu does not deserve, and Alba picks prematurely with guilt and worry despite his confident promise.

Alba waits until Éiru says yes. Until he finally nods, teeth chattering and eyes bloodshot and desperate in sunken sockets. Only then does he hold a patiently blended paste to cracked lips, makes sure it is washed down with water till all is gone. And then after, holds the cool hand close so he can feel as it slackens.

It is kind. It is better.

And Éiru goes.

#hws Scotland #aph scotland #hetalia #hws #aph #Do Not Go Gentle AU #heroes writes

46 notes · View notes

ankhisms · 2 years ago

Text

ok one lovely person said they wanted to read the writing practice i mentioned being tentative about sharing so here <3 i have some notes and thoughts as well included. since the dont reblog function is still broken pls dont rb this thanks

as a disclaimer i am very rusty with prose which is why im trying to practice it at all since ive mainly been writing poetry and not any prose for the past few years since i felt discouraged about writing prose but now im trying to get myself to practice again. also one thing im aware of is that i have a tendency to accidentally switch between tenses so if you notice that yes i know its something im working on. also both of these arent finished they have gaps between action and thoughts which ive noted in the text

for this first one i havent written the beginning establishing the setting and everything but the premise is hiromu has a dream where he and enter are sitting at a cafe in paris and shenanagins ensue. well not really shenanagins its just a conversation i think their dynamic is interesting and i wanted to explore it in a more neutral not battle related setting so thats why i wrote this

---

(beginning and descriptions of surrounding add here)

hiromus narrows his eyes, "did you hack into my dreams?"

this causes enter to scoff, "really, red buster, you wound me," he rests his chin against his palm and explains, "i havent hacked into anything. you called me here."

"thats ridiculous," says hiromu, blunt even when sleeping.

enter smiles, "oui, ridiculous, perhaps, but it is true none the less. it would be rude of me to refuse an invitation, dont you agree?" he pauses, and leans over the table to add, "besides, i wouldnt lie to you- at least not here."

hiromu doesnt like that one bit, nor does he believe anything enter could possibly say. still, its not as if enter had invaded his subconciousness and just started torturing him with computer cables. compared to the more avian related nightmares hiromu had, this was pretty tame.

he briefly tries to recall anything he could have possibly read before, even in passing, about how to wake yourself up from a dream. unfortunately for hiromu the only thing that comes to mind is how to wake up a buddyroid from sleep mode. too bad he doesnt just have some kind of power switch like nick or usada. but maybe something similar to that could work, some kind of jolt to his system. people pinch themselves when theyre dreaming, right? or was it something about holding your breath? hiromu cant remember which one is supposed to work, so with a deep inhale he starts pinching his arms.

to enters credit, he doesnt immediately laugh like a madman upon seeing hiromus cheeks puffed out while he frantically pinches his arms. the most he lets out is a quick snort, before reaching over the table to pat hiromus cheek, "your manners are awful," enter says, "weve only just said hello and youre already trying to wake up. you cant possibly hate me that much, mon cher."

the hand against his cheek is warm. of course, most peoples hands should logically be warm to touch, but not enters. the projection of a human shouldnt be warm. did jin ever feel warm? hiromu doesnt feel keen about playing back all the moments during battle when enter had gotten close enough to possibly feel some kind of heat. thus, thinking about his avatar team mate is the better option. except he cant recall any time jin had ever felt warm either. does a dream offer an avatar more humanity somehow?

hes thought about it for too long perhaps, because he hasnt replied and enter is starting to look at him curiously, and so hiromu decides he can dwell on it when hes actually awake. he lets out his breath and swats away enters hand with a scowl for good measure. enter feigns an exaggerated pout, but then he settles back in his seat all the same, keeping his hands to himself.

hiromus cheek still feels warm and itchy, but hell be damned if he lets enter know something he did got under his skin. this too is like a battle, the enemy can find weaknesses even in the smallest of movements. he restrains himself from scratching his face, opting instead to glare more at enter across the table.

his enemy looks different in the cerebral parisian landscape theyve found each other in. for one thing, hes actually wearing civillian clothes rather than his usual long coat or any of his attempts at disguising himself. with enter perched opposite of him wearing a dark turtle neck and a caramel sweater, hiromu is struck by the jarring realization that the avatar almost looks like a normal person. almost, if one didnt already know that the man sitting there was made of code rather than flesh and bone.

eyeing him carefully, hiromu thinks that he catches the slightest glitch at the edge of enters face, an abnormality that is gone by the time hiromu has noticed it. enter may have decided to wear something a little more reasonable for this encounter, but he still isnt fooling hiromu. even in a fashionable sweater theres something off about him.

the rest of his attire aside, he does still have those ridiculous goggles pushed up against his brow, because of course he does. he would fit the part of a cafe loving paris tourist better if he had a silly little beret instead of his trusty eyeware, but hiromu doesnt particularly feel like pointing that out. seeing enter flounce around in a beret isnt exactly an enjoyable thought at the moment.

(add something here)

"ive heard about people going to paris for the first time and getting sick from the shock of how dirty it is," hiromu says, "you should be glad it doesnt smell here."

enters nose wrinkles, "dont say that, you'll ruin my appetite"

"so you have an appetite? its not like you need to eat, right?"

the avatar shrugs, and carefully picks up his fork, saying, "i may have no need for food to survive, but that doesnt mean i cant enjoy it." enter takes his time with slicing off a chunk of the lemon cake between them, and continues, "theres things humans dont need but do none the less, non? your lives are so short after all, why not chase after every little pleasure."

seeming satisfied with himself, enter takes a bite, eyes closed with an exaggerated look of bliss. whatever emotion it is that enter has been trying to elicit from hiromu, hes just growing more annoyed, rolling his eyes and pointedly turning his body away from the cake.

(add something here)

hiromu stands up with a jolt, and the screeching sound of his chair breaks what little illusion of idle cafe chatter this dream had left to offer. he fumes, fists clenched with his gaze set firmly on enter, who only barely looks up to offer a smug smile.

"we," hiromu spits out the word disdainfully, "are nothing alike. theres nothing to compare between us."

despite the outburst of his dining companion, enters expression remains unchanged. if anything, hiromus insistance upon distancing himself has only amused enter further. he laughs, throwing up his hands half heartedly, as if they were old friends having a casual debate rather than mortal enemies with their blades always at each others throats.

"i suppose we should leave it at that then," enter reaches for one final bite of cake, clearly enjoying himself, "this has been lovely, you really should invite me more often, ma puce."

"go to hell," hiromu tells him, and lunges to try and land a punch against that awful smile.

by the time hiromus fist reaches where enters face would have been, the avatar has already disintegrated into a burst of code. orange numbers and the distant sound of laughter linger for a moment in the air, before hiromu blinks awake in his room.

---

this second one i wrote before the first one and im still not very happy with it and might scrap it and try to rewrite it. i couldnt decide what point of view i wanted to write it from between third person pov or vaguely enter talking so it feels muddled to me. this was mainly a kind of train of thought because i had and still have a lot of thoughts about the avatars and what it means to be human and what it means to be an avatar and if they can feel things etc along with enter and escape being their own people and having their own identities and lives. but i feel like i didnt exactly get all the thoughts that i wanted to convey across very well so again im probably going to rewrite this at some point lmao

86 billion neuron cells, with another million billion synapses connecting the spaces in between, all sending information to and from the brain, the extremities and sensory organs having gathered data from the outside worlds stimulation in order to help the human machine function.

from ancient calculating tables and tally sticks, to early machines reading punch cards, to alan turings first thought of the modern computer, you could trace an avatars lineage back to the very first time a human began to count just as easily as you could to any of these.

enter and escape are not any of the doomed researchers that crossed the gap between dimensions, whos data was cleanly picked apart from their miserable mortal bones and woven back into the code of their forms. perhaps you can not fault those same humans for their squeamishness at the thought of any person being undone in such a way, let alone a family member. really, nature has functioned like this long before the first digital computer ever graced the earth with its code.

when a deer falls dead in the forest its body becomes food for the rest of the life among the trees, and in time its flesh decomposes and turns to soil. another one bites the dust only to offer up a meal for the starving masses. you are born, you die, and someone finds a way to steal from you long after youre gone. c'est la vie, as we say.

think of it, dear reader, as such; a thousand photos lie before you of humans. pictures of people from across the world, some of them seeming familiar and some of them with faces unknown to you. you can thumb through as many as youd like, but in the end you will always come to the same realization that somewhere, within these people, are bits and pieces of yourself. this one, looking off camera against a gray sky, has your nose. this person, leaning against a bridge and failing to strike a good pose, has your eyes. the next person will have your smile, ectera ectera. you get the picture- ha.

even if you were not flipping through a book of old family records you would still spot bits of yourself in people far away and long dead. this, mon cher, is how i see best fit to consider what it means to be created from composite data, for i assure you one need not be an avatar to be formed in such a way. you have been strung together from bits and pieces of every person your ancestors ever loved.

love, ah. thats another subject we must discuss, sooner or later, i suppose. can a machine love? really now, i wish you would find something else to ask. anything else would be a more stimulating topic of conversation. why must we agonize over such messy details? humans simply can not stop themselves from philosophizing until theyve got nothing left to make a philosophy out of.

what does it matter if a machine could or couldnt love, when plenty of stinking humans have never even thought to act on the very principle they obsess over. love. let us not get sidetracked by such nonsense, we still have other aspects to examine.

delete that last input, page back with me, now think again on the subject of data, and of rebirth. the doomed researchers are not escape, nor are they enter, just as much as you are not the person who first gave you a specific gene in your dna. the researchers were a sample for an experiment greater than any they had ever run through before. do you get it now? do you understand? of course you wouldnt. humans are foolish enough to think they are one of a kind.

forget about if a machine loves, just what can an avatar feel? if their coding is to be equated to the human nervous system, then is it so hard to consider that they too could find the many vices of the earth pleasurable? enter cursed himself for spoiling messiah, having given the virus too much of a taste of just how splendid human suffering could feel. he was taught pleasure too soon, and greed was already something he knew from birth. enter should have known better than to offer up a plate of food he could not continue to harvest sustainably- not yet, at least. especially when the one gobbling down that harvest throws a tantrum the moment its all gone.

really, is it so terrible to ask for a thank you once in a while? you would think that after devoting your existence entirely to a single being, you might get a few bones thrown your way. in this we could draw another parallel between the humans and machine, where enter is scorned by his messiah in the same vein as humans praying for salvation from some unforgiving god.

i am drifting off course. forgive me, you see a machine can ramble just as easily as a human, non?

---

ok yay thanks if you read all or any of this honestly i appreciate it. id love any feedback anyone has including constructive criticism from writer friends but i just ask that you maybe try to be a little gentle with me and remember that im very rusty yknow but i do still appreciate any thoughts or helpful tips thank u again mwah

9 notes · View notes

dearcat1 · 2 years ago

Text

(Handled)

Part 2 of Unfortunate Surprises

🔞🔞🔞 CW: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞

Shit. Xanxus covers his mouth with his hands, eyes closed in desperation as he tries to keep quiet. He's trying to be good, damn it. And the last thing they need is more intruders now that Xanxus's heat is finally being attended to. He's still moaning, though, even if it comes out muffled between his fingers; Xanxus arches his back a little more, body going almost limp when Sawada grabs his nape. Xanxus mewls, a little bit in submission but mostly in an attempt to entice. Sawada shakes him gently, chuckling under his breath. "Ready?" It's more a warning than an actual question; Xanxus is already sloppy from the last knot, there's no reason he can't take another.

When the knot is shoved into him, Xanxus whimpers, hands shooting up to fist the sheets so he can catch his breath. He wipes his forehead against the pillows, ears turning red when he feels cum filling him up, his own hole clenching and milking the knot for more. "Sawada…"

Sawada hums, kneeling upright with Xanxus still tied to him, Xanxus's ass elevated slightly on his lap. "Yeah?" He lays his gun down on Xanxus's lower back, busying himself with loading the second one again.

Xanxus hesitates, cushioning his head on his arms. "I didn't know my heat was coming." He didn't even know he could have heats anymore. It's not what he's getting at, though… he's just trying to make sure Sawada understands that Xanxus wasn't just being recklessly stubborn.

"That's ok," Tsuna pats Xanxus's ass affectionately before changing the gun he's examining. "Things happen and we're dealing with it. How are you feeling?"

"Full," Xanxus murmurs it against the pillow, it makes it come out muffled. Xanxus jumps when Sawada slaps his ass once, gently but warningly. "Ah," he forces his head up so he can speak clearly. "Full." Xanxus feels like he's going to be leaking Sawada's semen for days. It's the first time Xanxus has had any alpha take him without condoms. But there weren't any more condoms left and Xanxus insisted it's fine, it's just that he hadn't quite understood. He's… he doesn't think he can but if he can… well, he wouldn't be against it. It's a strange realization to come to in enemy territory but it is what it is.

"Good full or uncomfortable?" Sawada leans over him for a moment, kissing his nape. "I'm trying to take care of you."

And that's part of why Xanxus finds it so difficult to say anything. It's… there's a part of Xanxus's brain, the instinctively driven one, that is smugger with every little bit of cum he manages to milk out of Sawada. There's a part of him that can't help but remember that he's going to be sneaking out of enemy territory with cum leaking out of his vagina at some point. He highly doubts they're going to stop for a shower. The rest of him is just happy Sawada is taking care of him. Xanxus has always been greedy and in heat, he's greedy for a very specific thing. "I'd like to be fuller," Xanxus admits because he hadn't known he likes to be filled but he does now and there's no way he's denying himself.

Sawada chuckles, "I can do that." Sawada's hand sneaks under Xanxus's belly, fingers rubbing his clit lazily.

"Too much," Xanxus mewls but he spreads his legs to accommodate. "I'm sensitive."

"I know," Sawada pinches that little nub gently. "You squirm beautifully."

Xanxus whimpers, arching into the touch. He hesitates for a moment before reaching back, spreading his cheeks to give the alpha a better view.

"Look at you," Sawada's praise makes Xanxus shiver, holes clenching in response. "We should get you a plug, a pretty thing with a jewel to keep this hole full."

16 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

Text

Dead

He shoulders his way past you into your chambers, briefly taking in your attire and loose hair. A small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Reading, at this hour?” he asks, nodding towards the book still clutched in your hand.

🧍‍♀️ so he just walked in

“Am I?” he asks, his voice a mocking drawl. He pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head back up and forcing you to look at him. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want what your sister has. Admit it.”

[SHAKING IN MY BOOTS]

Gooseflesh ripples over your skin as his warm breath fans over it, your eyes fluttering. “I…” you begin, but your voice fails you as something dark and sinful stirs deep within you, dampening the linen of your smallclothes. You try to look away, but can’t. Instead, you find yourself reciprocating his intense stare, the words spilling out before you can stop them: “I loathe her.”

She like me for real deny deny deny deny

His other hand grips your hip, squeezing tightly. “Good,” he hums, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your face. “There is no need to hide your true feelings from me, sweetling. I see right through you. Your hate, your desire for power… your desire for me.”

Gasping softly at his words, your heart races in your chest. You’re trapped between his sturdy frame and the door, and his nearness causes heat to pool in your stomach. “That is… not true,” you deny weakly, although your voice lacks conviction. You can feel the heat emanating from him, the strength of his hands on your body – and yet, you do not pull away. “I… I don’t…”

I would perish

“Then prove me wrong,” he laughs, low and dark, “push me away. Fight me.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” he mutters, voice guttural and possessive. He leans in to bury his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin.

HE WHATTTTT

He continues to lavish attention on your body with his lips and tongue, just barely pulling away to take a breath. “You shall never be queen like your dear sister is,” he groans in between some kisses, his voice ragged. Under different circumstances, his words would have made your stomach drop – but not when he’s fucking you so good, and speaking again after a short breather. “But she could never give me what you do. She could never make me feel the way you make me feel. You drive me mad with desire.”

DAMN HE SAID THAT I WOULD CRY BUT ALSO CREAM MY PANTS

He doesn’t give himself much time to revel in the pure bliss before he lifts his head off of your shoulder and untangles himself from you. His breathing is ragged and his gaze still darkened with desire as he gazes down at your disheveled form, taking in the marks he’s left. He silently buckles his belt and adjusts his clothing, appearing as though nothing has happened while your mind and body are basically in shambles.

I would simply explode and die but ok

“And sweetling,” he says, his brusque demeanor coming right back with a dangerous tone to his voice, “I will not tolerate any further interference from you in my affairs, and I will not tolerate any envy towards your sister. You ought best to remember your place. You are nothing but a toy for me, and I will not hesitate to put you in your place if you get in my way.”

BETWEEN THE LINES.

Maegor Targaryen x female Harroway!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, doggy sex, power imbalance, size kink, degrading, idk.

WORDS: 2.4 K

NOTES: This has been rotting in my docs for so long, I had to finish and post it. It's missing big tiddy daddy hours, and I want you all to suffer with me. Thank you @thought--bubble for proofreading this! <3

The Red Keep is much more homely and friendly than your Houses’ seat, Harrenhal, that much is true. Yet you have never longed more to be back at that gloomy castle than you’ve done since your sister has taken you to court with her.

Not that you’ll ever have the choice to stay or to leave. Not unless your sister, or rather the queen, says so.

For one summer you’ve lived in the keep by now, summoned the moment your sister came back from Pentos to aid her husband after the demise of King Aenys Targaryen. The talks of Maegor taking Tyanna of the Tower as his third wife had arisen not long after, and did little to quell your jealousy.

He's seen you before. You were at your sister’s side during their short courtship, their wedding, and had visited them regularly until she chose to accompany Maegor in his exile in Pentos.

And yet he’s never paid any attention to you, has never even considered taking you to wife instead – rather opting to go for your dull sister and a sorceress from Pentos.

Sitting on the chaise lounge in your chambers, flames crackling in the fireplace, you read over a book you’ve procured from the library on your stroll through the castle. It very much borders the Hour of the Owl, and you’ve yet to take the bath the maids have prepared for you quite some time ago.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re quick to rise to your feet, covering the loose nightdress that clings to your curves with a plain robe. Caught off guard, you waste no thought on the fact that you don’t expect any visitors this late.

“Yes?” you ask loudly.

A gruff voice comes from behind the door, and, despite the impatience laced within, you know very well who it belongs to. “Open the door. I would like to have a word with you.”

His words make you frown, but you follow his orders, unlocking the door and opening it for him. Immediately craning your neck to meet his stern gaze, the eye contact ignites a fire within you. “Your Grace, I– what is the matter?”

Warmth spreads to your cheeks at his question, intensified by his low and dangerous tone. You can feel his gaze despite your back still facing him, like a weight that has settled on your shoulders. “I could not sleep,” you answer simply, closing the door and turning around. “So I thought I’d read for a bit before I bathe and retire. But is that truly the matter you wish to talk to me about, Your Grace?”

He prowls closer to you, his steps slow and deliberate; a hunter closing in on its prey. “No, that’s not why I came here,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. As he comes to a stop in front of you, his bulky frame towers over yours. Reaching a hand out, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear – a gesture that makes you shiver. “It’s your behavior towards your sister… I shall not tolerate it any longer.”

A frisson of heat races down your spine at the touch, and you do not dare pull away from him. She must have obviously talked to him about you slowly removing yourself out of her life, getting out of her way and clearly avoiding her at times. “I… I do not know what you mean, Your Grace,” you stutter. “Alys… my sister… I have no quarrel with her.” Your eyes flicker to the ground, just briefly, but long enough for him to know that you’re not saying the truth.

Taking another step closer, Maegor captures you between his body and the door, a sneer evident on his features. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” he growls. “I know of your jealousy. Your envy. You long for what she has, to be a queen at the side of a man of my power and strength, but that day shall never come.”

Your heart lurches at his words, hitting you like arrows, and striking a wound that you have refused to acknowledge. Your breath escapes in a sharp gasp. “That is not…” you deny weakly, but even to your own ears your voice lacks conviction. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but his mere proximity makes you feel hot all over. “You… You are misunderstanding my feelings, Your Grace.”

A cold triumph fills his features as you speak, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear. He lets out a low rumble of laughter, a mocking sound without any trace of humor that sends a shiver through your body.

The conflict that wars in your eyes is obvious, and he all but devours the fight your body puts up against the desire that’s slowly burning through your body. “You don’t?” he challenges, and your breath hitches in your throat the moment his lips find your exposed throat. The tip of his nose brushes your jaw as he pulls back, lips all but a whisper apart. “Lie to me again. The sight of these beautiful lips of yours speaking falsehoods is almost as arousing as the truth.”

His words send a jolt of heat to your core, your body and skin growing hot while your pulse quickens. Fighting stubbornly against the urge to surrender to his touch, you take a shaky breath. “You… You’re wrong,” you whisper, your voice choked by your own traitorous arousal.

“Then prove me wrong,” he laughs, low and dark, “push me away. Fight me.” Shame and excitement alike flood your veins at his words. Your hands come up to grip the front of his loose tunic as if you mean to push him away, but instead you pull him tightly against you.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Maegor’s nimble fingers undo the tie in the front of your robe.

You bite your lip, staring up at him with wide eyes. The robe comes loose against your body and falls partially open, exposing the skin of your chest and shoulders. Your body is responding to him in ways it shouldn’t, and you’re helpless to stop it.

“I…” you pant, voice ragged, “I can’t…”

With his fingers tracing patterns on your body like a burning brand, you can’t bring yourself to push him away, and instead charge at him, wrapping your arms around his thick neck and connecting your lips in a passionate embrace.

Maegor grunts at the impact, but returns the kiss with equal fervor. His grip on you tightens even more, using it to push you back against the door. Breaking the kiss, he peels your arms off of him, which allows your robe to slide off your shoulders and fall to the ground, and flips you around, pressing your chest flush against the wood.

Although you try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, you miss the dark, possessive look that’s etched onto his features, far too distracted by him easily ripping apart your nightdress from the collar to the hem.

You can all but feel his dark blown eyes roam over your exposed skin, practically devouring the sight of you standing completely bare and pliant right in front of him. His fingers trail over your curves, gripping a fistful of your arse.

The sensations have you arch your back against his sturdy frame while soft gasps and moans spill past your lips. You feel him shuffle slightly behind you, yet your mind is far too occupied by the weight of his body against yours, the heat from his lips on your neck, and the harshness of his one hand on your hip to notice what he’s doing.

But then you feel something dragging through your soaked and swollen folds, and while you’re certain it’s two of his fingers, you’re quickly proved wrong as something even thicker breeches your tight cunt. The groan he releases is strained but loud, fanning right over your damp skin, and drowns out the moan that slips past your lips.

It’s not the first time you lay with a man, yet the last encounter took place quite some time ago, hence your need to adjust to the size of his cock. But Maegor is not in a generous mood this night, and hardly allows your body to accommodate him before he sets up a reckless pace that has you whining and whimpering.

Maegor towers over your small frame, pushing you up against the door with every snap of his hips. One of his paw-like hands is still holding onto your hip, while the other has disappeared into your hair, tugging on it and forcing your head back against his shoulder to make sure you keep your back arched for him.

You tremble under his frame, and pressure builds within you as he brings his hand between your legs. It seems as though he’s suddenly taken on an urgency he hasn’t displayed before, adamant to finish it quickly so that his disappearance does not attract any attention.

“The… Then take what you want… Your Grace,” you stutter, words hiccuped by his harsh thrusts. He’s sent you into a frenzy by now. “Take me.”

The coil in your stomach is ready to snap at any given moment with how precisely his deft fingers rub your pearl, and your peak washes over you even before you can tell him. Your lips fall apart in a breathy whimper while you relish in the overwhelming pleasure of your peak coursing through your veins as Maegor chases his own.

Regardless of how badly you want to reach behind you to touch whatever part of him is within your reach, your hands have to be propped against the door to support your small frame, keeping you upright.

His thrusts already have become more and more erratic at this point, and the tight clenching of your walls around his cock is the last bit that eventually triggers his own release.

Shuddered breaths and strained groans topple over his parted lips, mixing with your whimpers and moans. His twitching cock spills his seed deep inside of your cunt, and you squeeze him ever so tightly in response, milking him for every drop.

There’s little time for you to come back to your senses after he’s pulled out, and even less time until he’s inconsiderately nudging you away from the door, taking the handle into one hand.

The sharpness in his tone makes you shiver. You watch him silently, body still trembling with the aftershocks of your encounter. His words ring in your ears, and you swallow hard, the reality of your situation only now sinking in.

As he turns away and opens the door, he throws one final look at you from over his shoulder.

“Yes… Your Grace,” you mumble with a nod of your head, and only then does he take his leave, albeit it does not last for too long, because as the following day passes and the Hour of the Owl strikes, it’s him who’s knocking on your door again, coming to take what he’s successfully claimed.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @k4marina @foxyanon @nats-whore

@palmer-hjp @sinarainbows @luvdella

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9 @croatianprincess @snowystark @moonlightfoxx

@melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fan-goddess @at-a-rax-ia @tsujifreya

@bbgmonsay @doublesparrows @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101

@multyfangirl @dixie-elocin @zaldritzosrose @userhotd @delulumhaggy @urfavnoirette

@iloveallmyboys @beautbuck @rose-brulante @aerangi @aoi-targaryen

#maegor targaryen fanfic #maegor targaryen smut

317 notes · View notes