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cuntdevil · 1 month ago

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★ CYBERGUARD !

thank you for signing up to cyberguard! we heard that you're looking for protection and you came to the right website. cyberguard is aiming to amplify the safety of people through the use and programming of robots to keep you safe. made to answer every beck and call, and more importantly, to provide you safely, we know we've got what you're looking for !

( series demographics. ) x-men, logan howlett, dark and violent themes & sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 11,667 words !

╰┈➤ robot bodyguard!logan howlett & idol!reader, alternative universe, some political topics, blood & violence, minor character death, possessive/obsessive!logan, erratic behavior, manhandling, rough sex, full nelson, asphyxiation, some slapping, fingering, degredation, unprotected sex because he's a robot, dry humping, sadomasochism, squirting, etc.

( author's note. ) i wrote this in one sitting. no matter how many times ive written robot aus, i always have the most fun with it 😋 !! anyway, this is my first ever wolverine fic, so please be nice to me, im sensitive !!

➤ RETURN TO THE CYBERCORE CATALOG !

You hated last-minute meetings. It makes you feel like you're right back in school again. Sitting around a desk as the authoritative figure looks down at you patronizingly. There's a moment of silence as you're waiting for your punishment, feet tapping agonizingly fast before being prompted to "stop," but not even thirty seconds later, you're right back at it. You've never had to receive punishment, fortunately, but your imagination was a wild one and you'd always see that scenario so vividly in your mind.

Still, you hate them. Never tell what it was about until you're being beckoned in. Just like at school, where they would never hint at the good news, make you wait anxiously for time on end and send you into a near heart attack because they want to build up the anticipation. When in reality, it was anxiety that they fostered inside of you. You have an idea about what this meeting is about, though, so you shouldn’t completely lie.

They’re probably going to be trying to conjure some ideas in regards to you and your safety after the attempt made on your life last night. You’ve become very vocal in political matters lately, letting the world know your stance on your current government and they didn’t like your response. You started getting hit with derogatory statements and slurs being spewed left and right, bigoted pieces of shit not afraid to tag you in their hate. Just like you, they shared a passion for their beliefs, but taking it to extremes.

Building a strong mind and a stealthy rapport, you had become immune to the messages, going about your regular schedule as you had rehearsals and interviews set in place for your recently released music. However, in came the packages made to your company building. They were always vetted before you received them— hence why you’ve received none— but the knowledge that people were so hateful because of your opinions was enough to invoke a shred of fear throughout your body.

Your management had seen this coming. That someone would try to make an attempt on your life, suggesting that they hired more bodyguards in your favor and limited the amount of fan meets and delayed your tour, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to show them that you were afraid because that meant they had the upper-hand in all of this. However, things have taken a turn as news has circulated of the events that transpired last night. You’re afraid that you no longer have a choice in this matter anymore.

The blue lights do nothing in your favor as you sing on stage. No matter how many times you’ve requested that they be replaced by another color, a color that would suit your warm undertones, they still shine on you. You try not to have it seem like you’re a spoiled idol that wants everything to your beck and call. You’re not a tyrant, no, but you’re wondering if that’s what it takes for people to take you more seriously.

Still, with your bedazzled mic in hand as you perform, you move on through the night. With a wardrobe made to suit your tastes and appearance to the world, the military green cargo pants hang off your waist and the black straps of your lacy thong shows. Paired with a pink bikini top and a ripped up wife beater that barely hides your breasts. Gold accessories best compliment you, but you make sure to keep it simple, afraid to lose any of your precious pieces out in the crowd while you perform. The Timbs are heavy on your feet as you move, but they help complete your look for the night.

Your hair was in a simple updo, but some of the bobby pins have come undone, not strong enough to hold up your locs that have come to hit your mid back. The stray stands come to get in your way from time to time as you try to interact with your fans. Everything felt ordinary in your extravagant lifestyle. You were an enigma that could move your waist fluidly as you danced, enticing your crowd as they cheered and screamed. Background dancers that sometimes staggered as they forgot their routine.

It was only a split second when the round of shots halted all movement from you. Immediate instincts telling you to drop to the floor, your bodyguards starting to swarm you immediately. Screams of terror and fright came from those on stage and off stage, as you peaked over your left shoulder to try and see through the mountain of men trying to bring you to safety. You manage to get a shot of one of your dancers receiving aid from another and tears well up in your eyes. Another set of shots fire as you can hear one bullet lodge into the lights before you’re being properly escorted backstage.

Not too long after were you informed that they caught the perpetrator— a middle-aged white man that had somehow made it through the metal detectors. Turned out that the device was faulty.

They had given you the luxury to spend the rest of the night to yourself, a traumatic experience that not only affected you, but your fans and staff. Guilt started welling up in your chest as it ruminate all night to the point that you were unable to sleep, but that given grace of somewhat solitude (they stuck a few bodyguards inside and outside your hotel room) ended the moment you woke up to a call from your manager summoning you to speak about the matter at hand.

You had arrived in less than thirty minutes, not bothering to freshen up like you should’ve. A hot and steaming shower could’ve calmed your nerves surely, but that would’ve also left time to ruminate for a bit longer. You didn’t want that. However, arriving on time early also wasn’t the best choice as they have you sitting outside the office door now. Two bodyguards standing by your slouched side. You’re tapping your feet rather annoyingly and you’re sure they want to tell you to stop, the sound becoming obnoxious, but they don’t.

The moment the door swings open, you’re on your feet before your manager could even process your presence in its entirety. “Is Anna Marie okay? Are the ones that got hurt okay?”

Your manager, Ororo, takes a moment before letting out a sigh. Shutting their eyes as they take their breath. She looks like she hasn't gotten any sleep either. She knows that evading your questions will get her nowhere, as you’ll continue to hound and badger her about them until you get an answer. She knows you mean well, but sometimes she wants you to be selfish rather than selfless. “They’re fine, love,” she states. “They’re in the hospital and expected to be discharged by tomorrow or the day after.”

You exhale in relief, one bodyguard heading in front of you as the other enters behind. Ororo trails in shortly after as the rest of management has already had their seats taken, yours being the only one vacant still. Pulling out the swivel chair, you take a seat.

“Hello, dear,” Charles Xavier, the co-founder of X-Men Entertainment alongside Erik Lensherr, speaks with a warm smile. From the times that you’ve had your encounters with him, he was always sweet and kind, making it easy to reciprocate a smile in conversation. With a gentle nod, the corner of your lips turn but never meets your eyes. “I hope you managed to get an inkling of sleep after all that happened last night.”

“I didn’t,” you answer truthfully, meaning to lie, but it just came out. You chuckle, trying to play it off. “But the show must go on.”

“I’m sad to hear that,” Charles frowns. “I know it’s been very hard on you, and I can ensure that we have something in hopes to make this all the more… bearable, for lack of a better word.”

“Yes,” Erik nods, finally speaking as he sits up in his seat. Unlike Charles, his button-up fit snugly against his skin, tightening as he fixes his posture. “I apologize for being straightforward, but I think it’s time that we really focus and put emphasis on your safety. What happened last night should’ve never happened and part of it is on us to blame for not ensuring that all of the equipment worked.”

Unlike the plenty of record labels and entertainment studios that tried hiring you once they heard your voice and saw your incredible talent, you’ve always felt like X-Men was the most genuine of the bunch. They weren’t the biggest of the bunch, but they’ve managed to stay honest with you through it all, helping you to become the star that you are. And you’ve surely proven yourself as many more talents have come to start switching over to them.

In a sense, they’re right. What happened last night shouldn’t have happened. The faulty metal detector had led to the harming of people and ultimately an attempt on your life. Others would have tried to blame it on the stadium, and despite the role they had to play in it, your company did as well. However, that fact doesn’t make you feel any better about the entire ordeal.

“And we’re all aware about your disdain for more bodyguards,” Erik continues, “however, your safety is our biggest concern and we must prioritize that right now. We’ve canceled the rest of your fan meet and greets and your tour is being delayed.”

There’s a long pause, as though they’re expecting a rebuttal from you. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve had one come off the top of your head, but you don’t. You’re exhausted, sleep-ridden and restless. Your mind is a mess, thinking about a lot of things, but can’t focus on one. Last night was a fright and though you wanted the upper hand all this time, you’re afraid that they had it all along.

You’re afraid, and you hate this feeling, so you don’t argue back. You don’t have the strength for it and you don’t want to. They were right the first time and if it wasn’t for your strong will and stubbornness the first time around, this could’ve all been avoided.

Your silence is Erik’s assurance to keep going. “We think it’s best that you receive therapy so that you have a healthy outlet, and we’re hiring another bodyguard.”

“Okay,” you nod in understanding. Everything that’s been said so far has been reasonable enough for you to agree with. “I’m fine with that.”

“You’re familiar with Cyberguard, aren’t you?” Charles speaks, clearing his throat at the end. The question catches you off guard as you tilt your head in question. You’ve heard about Cyberguard, underneath a bigger corporation called Cybercore, it’s an initiative to amplify people’s protection. A bodyguard service, only that the security themselves, being a bulk of metal.

You’ve seen and researched their prototypes, eerily resembling human kind that it’s unsettling. Something that you were also against as you’ve become to question the overall objective of the company. It all seemed like a ploy to get rid of the human race.

For the first time since this morning, your thoughts become more clear and coherent as you come to understand what Charles is silently trying to tell you. He’s seen your videos, heard the interviews of your political views, but never have you told him about your skepticism with the advancement of technology. However, he’s very perceptive and wise in his old age.

“No,” you shut your eyes, shaking your head repetitively as you’re adamant on your choice. “I thought you said you would just hire more men— women— but not a robot to babysit me.”

“Yes, my dear,” Charles sighs, knowing that this was going to take a turn the moment he suggested it. “But, things have taken a turn and we’ve had other idols and celebrities use them, and it seems like this is the best solution—”

“What about Scott and Hank?” you gesture to your current bodyguards. “What will you make of them? Or will they just be fired and not have a stable source of income now?”

“No, they will be temporarily placed with someone else,” Charles answers. “You don’t have to have the Cyberguard permanently. Just until everything settles down and you’re safe.”

“I'm safe with Hank and Scott right by my side,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“You once told me that you really appreciated our honesty,” Erik interjects. “So, I'm going to be frank when I say this to you, (Y/N). You no longer have a choice.

“The Cyberguards are more stealthy and faster than the average human. They're built to exceed the strength and abilities of a trained marine. No offense to you, Hank and Scott—” Erik gestures towards them to receive a silent and curt nod from them. “— But, they're regular men in comparison to their abilities. They're valuable men that we don't want to lose, but just like Charles said, your safety is our concern and you're our biggest idol, right now.”

You know that they only want the best for you, but you keep shaking your head. “I don't like it,” you speak barely above a whisper. “Are they even properly tested? What if it malfunctions and something goes haywire?”

“They have been properly tested actually,” Charles nods. “The celebrities that have been assigned one have positively acclaimed their uses and like them quite a lot. If anything goes wrong, you know that we'll be quick to replace it.”

“But—”

“My dear,” Charles tilts his head pointedly. “I hate to say it, but Erik is right. You do not have a say in the matter, not unless you want the next headline in the news to be one dreadful and in mourning.”

With a huff, your shoulders drop. Fuck.

—

Your new security has a name— Logan Howlett. And you’ve come to realize the appeal to the artificial being. While you have seen pictures of celebrities and their cyberguard, nothing compares to the real thing standing in front of you. Removed from its seven foot box and the styrofoam and wrappings, you would’ve mistaken it for being a real man— an attractive one at that.

You try not to audibly say anything as the handymen continue setting everything up for you in your luxury apartment. Barely home because of your busy schedule, now that you’ve been placed in a witness protection program as you like to call it, you finally have time to give it the homely and comforting touch it desperately needs. And hopefully (it makes you scoff having to say his— its name) Logan Howlett can make itself useful and do some of the heavy lifting.

“Wow,” Hank breathes, impressed by the cyberguard just as you are, though you’d never admit that. “I’m starting to feel less offended about what Mr. Lensherr said. This is a beast of a man.”

“Robot,” you correct him. “You mean, a robot.”

“Well,” he comes to the currently inanimate object’s defense. “It looks human, so might as well—”

“No,” you snort. “It’s not a living thing, so don’t give it the luxury by calling it one.”

“Listen,” Scott finally inserts himself into the conversation, sitting down at your dining table. “I don’t like this as much as you do. You’re right, after all. It does seem like the government wants to get rid of us, but maybe this thing will do you some good. Maybe it can help you more than we were able to.”

Since the concert, the two of your bodyguards who you’ve come close to to the point you consider them family, they’ve never really vocalized their opinions on the matter. They knew it would be too much for you and that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. They don’t want to be reassigned to someone else who might not show the same kindness that you have given them, but there’s enough guilt sitting on their chest as well to cooperate alongside Charles' and Erik’s decision.

“Just like Charles and Erik said,” Scott continues. “This is temporary. Once people calm down and you’re in a safer position, we’ll be back to you in no time.”

“Do you really believe that?” you frown. “Maybe this is some sort of way to silence me? To play the part as being a public figure that’s silent. This goes against everything I’ve said!”

“Well,” Scott sighs. “Sometimes you have to go against your word in order to get to where you need to be. Plus, they expect you to lock yourself up, so if you stay true to your word—” Scott jabs you in your shoulder, raising his eyebrows in warning “— press won’t release an article about how much of a hypocrite you are.”

“Just…” Hank breathes. “Make sure to keep yourself safe for the time being, okay?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you smile in a jesting manner and pull Hank in for a hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic,” Hank reciprocates the hug, his embrace warm and comforting to you. It lingers for a second longer than ordinarily until he’s pulling away finally. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you point at him. Hank chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black pantsuit.

“I know you will.”

In another hour, the cyberguard finally lights up. Posture straightening as Logan’s eyes blink open. He has a rather gruff appearance, a scowl settling on his face as he scans his surroundings before his eyes land on you. He’s what the ancient Greeks thought of during the Hellenistic period. Features that seemed to be meticulously crafted by the Cyberguard designers. He has an oval-shaped face, dark facial hair that shapes it magnificently. His hair is styled in a particular way that has you chuckling. Is that why his last name is Howlett? Bouncy hair styled to resemble the ears of a wolf itself.

His physique is just as spectacular as his facial features, glistening under the light that peers through your windows. His skin is tanned and bulging in muscle that isn’t just for design. His outfit is basic, a white t-shirt that hugs to his skin, a pair of denim jeans and dark boots. Scott reaches for the pamphlet on your coffee table. Leaning to your ear as he stands to your left with Hank at your left, he whispers, “Says here that he’s from Alberta, Canada. Previously a lumberjack—”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, nudging him with a roll of your eyes. Hank snorts, adding his two cents in, “Apparently these bots are designed after real people— ones that have served the country.”

“If you both are still trying to convince me to be fine with this, you’re not,” you frown. “How is that even ethical? And how does that even make sense if he’s Canadian?”

“It is, apparently,” Scott shrugs. “Says that the families consented to this. Seems like he was well remarked during his time.”

“This is absolutely stupid—”

“Hello,” comes a voice abruptly. It’s deep and robotic. “My name is Logan Howlett, previously known as Weapon X by the company Cyberguard. I have been assigned to service (your full name) as a source of safety. It is my pleasure to work with you.”

“That’s our queue to leave,” Scott says, making his way towards the door with Hank, leaving you baffled as the handymen start gathering their belongings and leaving the garbage for you to clean up.

“Wh–What?” you choke. “That’s it? You both are just supposed to leave me alone with this thing?”

“According to Charles and Erik, yes,” Hank nods. “They said that within the first forty-eight to seventy-two hours, it’s best that the cyberguard gets acclimated to you as it goes through an update to familiarize itself with the… world. Says it’s not safe for more than one other presence while it does so. It’ll view us as a threat.”

“This is complete and utter bullshit,” you mutter under your breath as Scott unlocks the door. He gives you a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “We’ll check up on you when we have the chance. Message us if anything goes wrong. We’ll be available until the week after next.”

“Okay,” you slouch, watching as they give their final farewells. The handymen follow not too long after, leaving you alone with Logan. He simply stands there, watching you and your every move. When you go to the couch, he watches; when you reach for his instruction manual, he watches. From your quick skim of it, you cannot leave the vicinity of whatever area you’re in for the next hour or two so that it can memorize you in your entirety. It’s supposed to perfect its match when it begins to follow your every movement.

You read through it all, about the questions you ask and what it knows how to do, which is very little outside of providing protection. You learn how to charge it and where it can’t function, informing you of an app that you must download. Reaching for your phone, you do just so as you quickly ditch the paper as you begin to tinker with the app, inserting your bot’s information. You turn on the television to help pass time, but with the meaty man standing before you, it’s hard to focus.

Fortunately, within an hour, he’s finally announcing, “I will undergo a lengthy period of software updates within my system. During that time, you are finally able to move freely, but please make sure not to leave the building whatsoever.”

You finally sigh as you immediately rush to stand on your feet. Your body had started to ache, stretching out your limbs as Logan’s head tilted down and his eyes shut. Underneath his white shirt, a light shines, it’s blue as it starts to hum.

For the next two days, being on house arrest, you find yourself partaking in the hobbies and tasks that you never had time to do as an idol. It was fun picking up a hook and crocheting to your heart’s content. You didn’t have an idea of what you wanted to make, you just started creating. It brought you a sense of piece as you’ve come to terms about your current predicament.

Your phone starts buzzing rapidly, multiple notifications coming in at once. You needed to take a break anyway, your hands starting to cramp and you’d hate to get carpal tunnel. You crack your knuckles before picking up your phone. Twitter, Instagram, Netflix with a new movie you’ve been wanting to check out, but most importantly, the Cyberguard app and Ororo. You prioritize Ororo’s message, opening it. You had asked about the condition that Anna Marie was in, one of your background dancers, wondering if the girl would be willing to give you her number so that you could stay in contact with her.

From Ororo: Anna Marie said yes. From Ororo: [ Anna Marie’s Contact Information ] From Ororo: In regards to the fans, they accepted your offer in paying for their medical bills. From Ororo: But while this is happening, I really want you to look after yourself, love. I understand how you may feel as if this is your fault, but—

You don’t get an opportunity to finish reading the message when you hear a voice inside of your bedroom. “My update has completed and (your full name) is officially under surveillance.”

“Fuck!” you shout, dropping your phone on the bed as you shift around to see the culprit. The Cyberguard itself stands right at your door, taking in your bedroom and its disheveled state. Whenever you start crafting, your room makes sure to hold the evidence of it. The robot takes notice of it, looking at the floor.

“The current state of your room is not safe to be in,” he states. “It is best that you leave while I prepare it for a more suitable state for you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

If you had paid closer attention to the Cyberguard notification, you would have known that Logan had finished its update, informing you that he was heading to your exact location. You clutch your chest as you finally calm yourself down. For something built to keep you away from fear, it does a very good job at inducing it.

Of the two days that it spent updating, you’d walk past it and stare at it. You would contemplate on what everyone has told you about the Cyberguard and the pro’s that it presented, but you were adamant on not listening. The two days gave you a chance to really digest everything and your ordeal. If you wanted things to go back to normal, you had to cooperate. You couldn’t keep walking around with a stick up your ass and put yourself in danger again. While you still preferred to have Scott and Hank by your side more than anything else, you were clinging to the hope that this is what’s promised— temporary. So while you had Logan in your possession, you’ll make the best of it— you’ll have fun.

You test the waters, remembering that in the manual, he’s programmed to understand the majority of what you say as if he were a regular human. For everything he doesn’t know, he’ll undergo an update if requested enough outside of his scope. Some people who have Cyberguards in their possession have given you their experiences with them, saying that while they might be initially tasked to protect you and its their main objective, they do evolve into doing more. The idea of it all still creeps you out, sending a chill down your spine, but you start to accept it. You don’t want anyone else to come to harm because of your one-sided ideology.

“Hello, Logan,” you say, tasting his name on your tongue. “How are you?”

He tilts his head in a way that’s robotic, resembling the movies you watch as the artificial intelligence tries to gain some more understanding. “I am doing well. How are you? Are you doing well?”

A week passes before you’re getting a phone call from Scott. You answer it in a heartbeat. “Took you long enough to call.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly on the phone. We got assigned to someone else sooner than we thought.”

“Excuses, excuses,” you sing, propping the phone in between your ear and shoulder as you stand inside the kitchen, Logan standing not too far away as you’re boiling a pot of noodles. You stir it, making sure not to have it stick to the bottom. “How’re you? How’s Hank doing? Who are you guys assigned to?”

“I’m doing fine,” Scott shrugs on the other line. “I’m with someone that’s actually pretty chill despite his cold attitude to the media. Dutch Duval— you’ve met him before, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “In passing. Good to see that he’s warm around you. I didn’t get that luxury.”

“Man,” Scott sucks his teeth. “That sucks. Maybe he’s a he-man woman hater.”

You laugh at the reference. “Nah, maybe he’s cool. He did seem to be in a rush when we were introduced. What about Hank? How’s he doing?”

“He got the short end of the stick,” Scott says. “Hired twenty-four-seven. The asshole won’t even let him get a break for himself outside of pissing, eating and breathing.”

“Damn,” you breathe. “That’s tough. Hope the jackass doesn’t try to keep him permanently though. He’s mine.”

You giggle jokingly, but Scott doesn’t meet your laughter. Only responding with a ‘yeah.’ “You’re asking so much about us, what’s up with you and Logan? You haven’t called us at all, so we can only assume he’s safe and functionable.”

“Yeah,” you hum. “He works. Can’t say much about him, though. Does what he’s told and always trailing me like a lost puppy.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be for too long.”

“Six months is too long in my book,” you scoff.

“They said three to six months,” Scott corrects you. “You should be more optimistic.”

“I’ll try harder just for you,” your voice is monotone.

“I’ve got to go,” Scott comes to end the call. “I’ll talk to you whenever I can, ‘kay? Call me if you ever need anything.”

“That’s what I have Logan for, remember?” you point. “But, will do. Talk to you whenever.”

Scott doesn’t respond, simply ending the conversation there before you hear the line go dead. The water starts to bubble and you give the pot of noodles a good two more minutes before you’re pouring the majority of the water in the sink. However, as you’re pouring, you carelessly look away, the hot pot getting too close to your skin and burning you. You yelp in pain as you nearly drop the noodles down the drain. “Shit,” you curse, before you feel arms around your waist and pull you back.

“Scanning area to see the severity of the wound,” he announces, grabbing a hold of your wrist, a flash of blue shining in his brown eyes. “Seems to be a first degree burn. Can be handled with ice or running underneath cold water.”

Still holding onto your wrist, he leads you to the sink as he moves the pot aside and turns on the pipe. This is the first time that you’ve been under any “danger,” rendering you speechless as you watch him in action. Shifting the pipe to blue, he pulls your wrist to the water. There’s a momentary sting before it resolves in a comforting feeling, you exhale as the pain leaves your body. Watching you and feeling how your heart rate eases back down, Logan asks you, “You are back in a calm state. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply. “I’m fine now.”

Letting go of you, Logan returns back to his previous position. “Due to your carelessness, I deem that cooking isn’t appropriate for you. I will undergo an update in order to learn culinary skills to better serve you.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Due to my carelessness? It was an accident.”

“An accident that resulted in you getting hurt,” he retorts.

“I don’t need you cooking for me,” you shoot back. “I can do it on my own.”

“My update will begin at the start of midnight and last for approximately twelve to twenty-four hours,” he responds. “You may finish making your meals until then.”

You continue watching Logan incredulously, continuously snorting and huffing under your breath about what he said. You're sure that he hears you, but has the knowledge to understand that he doesn’t need to answer back. If it wasn’t for his robotic way of speaking, you could swear you were arguing with a real person.

Give the robot a chance, they said, you think, resuming fixing your noodles. If I knew it would be so sassy with me, I would’ve fought harder to not have it.

—

“The father is the murderer,” Logan announces from his side of the couch abruptly as your eyes are glued to the screen. Blue lights illuminate from the television screen in the dark as you’re covered underneath a blanket with a bag of Cheeto Puffs residing next to you. Logan sits up obnoxiously straight, a creation of perfection. You’ve managed to change him from his old attire, which proved to be harder as he was stubborn as a mule. Constantly arguing over your safety as he swatted at your hand from reaching for the hem of his shirt. Finally, you managed to convince him that because of the dirt, it could lead to you getting sick and potentially dying. His programming to be concerned over your very being worked as it was able to convince him to shed the shirt and pants.

Your chest could burst from his incredible physique, his pectorals and abdomen lined and glossed. Every inch of his was thoroughly made as body hair veiled his chest, even more closely replicating a human. Is this how the original one looked like? You thought to yourself before snapping back to reality. Now, he’s sitting across from you, eyes glued to the screen with his arms bulging out in the black shirt all the same as the white. You furrow your eyebrows as you wonder just how he knows that bit of information, possibly spoiling the entire show for you.

“How do you know?” You ask, shoving a few puffs into your mouth and chewing.

“It’s best that you eat one chip at a time to prevent choking,” he advises. Over time, you’ve come to ignore him in moments like this.

“How do you know that the father is the killer?” you repeat, elongating your question.

“His body language,” he simply responds. “He’s so calm and controlling of the situation that it’s so obvious.”

“But, it could be anyone of them,” you point out. “Everyone of the suspects has a motive to kill.”

“You’re right, but according to my research, it’s the father,” he spoils, causing you to slap the arm of the chair. You groan.

“Ugh, that’s cheating!” you exclaim, throwing your head back. “Now you spoiled the entire show for me.”

“Isn’t the entire objective of the show is to find out who the killer is?” he asks, confused as to why you’re upset. He thought he was doing you a favor by telling you who it was in order to decrease your levels of stress that he gathered from you. “It’s apparent to me that your stress levels have risen since starting this show. I need to decrease them for your safety.”

“Sometimes,” you start, “sometimes stress isn’t bad. There are some things that people are stressed about that aren't going to harm them. Like, television shows, crossword puzzles, and murder mysteries. And, it’s fun to try and guess instead of looking up the answer.”

“Is that so?” Logan’s eyebrows knit together, taking in the information. “I will surely have to update some more to better understand that.”

Recently, he’s been constantly updating for all sorts of absurd reasons. He always retorts that it’s all for your safety and to better understand how to fit your needs, but they’ve become about the most mundane things in life. One of them being the stupid joke, ‘why did the chicken cross the road?’ and how exactly is it meant to be funny. It’s adorable, closely resembling a child learning about the world for the first time and how it functions. You hate to say it, but you’ve come to enjoy his company.

The next time he watches anything with you, he makes sure not to do research in his database, simply going based on what he’s come to learn from your fondness of mysteries and films.

“It’s going to be…” you twist your lip upward, squinting at the screen as you try to point out the possible murderer. “The pregnant girl.”

“How so?” Logan hums, skeptical of your choice.

“No one suspects the pregnant girl,” you say. “Kind of makes it badass actually.”

“Badass?” He questions your choice of words. “Murder is badass.”

“No, but being the underdog is,” you try to explain yourself. “The unexpected. No one will see it coming as the cops will believe it’s everyone else, but her.”

“That’s…” Logan thinks about your explanation, a blue glint in his eyes. “That’s smart actually.”

“I know right!” you beam. “I’m a genius.”

You’re right. Logan has been updating quite periodically, and every time he does so, it’s quicker than the last. Now a regular update from him only lasts for about an hour or two. He feels more connected to you. He feels more human this way. It started off innocently, trying to better his understanding about the human body and its health, learning that it ranges and differs in each person. Until it comes to other things that he noticed. What you do in your spare time, how you’re an idol and just what that is. Every single abstract thing he deems important and fascinating, he upgrades his database so that he can reference it when he needs to.

He knows everything about you and what information the internet is willing to offer. He knows the name of your parents, where they’re from and the lineage that follows. He learns that you’re opinionated, very much so, and you have a disdain to creations like him. He can’t quite wrap his mind around it still, seeing how you seem so friendly, but you’ve noticed how you refer to him as an it, naming an object that isn’t alive.

He comes to learn that you hate the concept of his very being because you feel as though he’s your competition to life itself. But of the two months that he’s been living here, he’s been trying to be equal to you to better keep you safe, to better understand you. There’s no way that he could compare to you when he wants to be your equal.

This fast-paced gain of knowledge makes him all too aware that he shouldn’t feel this way. That he shouldn’t be trying to grasp onto something that he’s not and that he’ll never be, but he was tasked to you. What better way is there to serve as your bodyguard if he can’t understand you in his entirety?

There’s a loud and hefty knock coming from your front door. Perched at the desk inside your bedroom, he watches as you jump up from your bed and dash out into the hall. Raising his eyebrows in question to who could have you so excited, he’s on his feet as he’s right behind you in a matter of seconds, ready to answer the door for you.

“It’s okay, I know just who it is,” you dismiss him, but he butts in and pulls your hand away.

“I am still tasked for your protection,” he says. “That means answering the door and checking the vicinity for you.”

You no longer argue with Logan, letting him check through the peephole and scanning the two individuals through it— Scott Summers and Henry “Hank” McCoy. His mental files pull up that these two were your former bodyguards as you remember a conversation that you had previously, insinuating that he was only a temporary fix and not tasked to you forever. If he had a heart, he would proudly say it’d drop.

After he continues his check, he concludes that it is safe for them to come in. Opening the door for you and being the first thing they see when they enter. You frown as the door swings open, seeing how Hank and Scott were expecting to see you first instead of their replacement.

“Oh,” comes from the lips of Scott as he comes unsure on how to greet Logan, so the robot does it for him. He holds out his hand, waiting for the gesture to be reciprocated. “Logan Howlett. Nice to meet the two of you.”

They stare at Logan with amazement, hearing how the cadence in his voice differs tremendously to how he was at first. They’re speechless and unmoving at first until Hank’s the one to break before Scott, taking Logan’s hand to be met with a strong grip. He nods politely, a tight-lipped smile forming on his lips. “I’m Henry McCoy. Everyone calls me Hank, though. This is—”

“I can introduce myself,” Scott nudges Hank, sending a playful glare. “Scott Summers.”

Scott feels the same pain that Hank experienced, taking Logan’s hand for a firm shake. Still, he smiles through it, already wary of the bot as something seems off about it. “I see you’ve kept our girl safe.”

“Your girl?” Logan inquires with the raise of a brow, eyes glancing between the two of them, having learnt the concept of jealousy.

“Yes,” Scott smiles. “Our girl.”

Tired of the exchange, you remove Logan’s hand, it immediately loosening at your touch as you pull Scott and Hank in for a hug. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”

They both pull you in for a hug, but neither of them miss the way Logan watches them intently, noticing how his nostrils flare and his eyes flash blue.

—

“I’m starting to understand why you were so hesitant on getting it now,” Hank gestures to Logan, who appears not to be paying too much mind to the two. His eyes glued to the television as he clicks between the shows. Hank’s left eye twitches, gently shaking his head as he watches from a distance. Scott shares the same concerns as well as he keeps some distance from Logan, residing on the opposite end of the couch. Unbeknownst to them that he hears it all.

“Getting what?” you ask oblivious to what he’s referring to, sitting around the dining area with him. Looking at you in confusion, Hank notices a shift within your behavior. Where you were once angry and stiff at the prospect of a Cyberguard, you’re now seemingly comfortable with it inside your house.

“Logan,” Hank answers. “The cyberguard.”

“Oh,” you purse your lips, it dawning upon you. “Yeah, well, I took your advice and gave it a chance. I spoke to other people that had a cyberguard and they all said that if I gave it a chance, they could be very useful. And he is.”

“But,” Hank squirms, trying to word what he’s about to say perfectly. “Doesn’t it alarm you? How attached to hip he is to you?”

“He’s been like that the moment he finished updating the first time,” you shrug.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I mean, don’t you find him too human? The way he acted when he first came— how he’s watching television right now?”

“He’s just doing what he’s been programmed to do,” you take it so nonchalantly, dismissing Hank’s concerns. “And like I told you, everyone I spoke to said that was normal behavior. They evolve to better suit your needs.”

“I don’t know, (Y/N)...”

“Listen,” you exhale. “I still want you guys as my full-time bodyguards, but I have four more months left because the messages and the threats still haven’t cooled down. So I have to play it cool and go about my days as if it’s regular. He’s not a harm to anyone and if he becomes one, you and Scott will be the first people to know about it.”

You and Scott will be the first people to know about it.

“Okay, fine,” Hank breathes, your apartment starting to feel uncomfortable. His voice picks up as he pushes out the chair. “Y’know what? We gotta go.”

“Huh?” you question the sudden movement. “Wait— what? Hank, nooooo.”

“Something just came up and we need to be there,” Hank motions to Scott to follow him, which doesn’t go questioned as he gets to his feet as well. Your chair legs scratch against the tile floor as you look from between the two, going after them as they hurry to the door.

“Don’t be serious, Hank,” you pout. “Scott, please! We barely had any time together.”

“I think two hours was enough time,” Hank remarks, catching you off guard. Mouth going dry, you stop in your trail as your body stills. They make their way out as Scott throws an apologetic smile your way. “See you later, (Y/N).”

Storming to his vehicle, Hank doesn’t wait for Scott to catch up to him, simply unlocking his doors and jumping in. When Scott catches up, he only looks at Hank before waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something wrong with that bot,” Hank states the obvious.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Scott snorts. “What did (Y/N) say?”

“She referred to it as if it was a person,” Hank looks at Scott. “She never usually gives in so easily.”

“Well,” Scott shifts in the seat, reaching for the seatbelt. “We did tell her to try to.”

“Yeah, but even so,” Hank shakes his head. “There’s something wrong with it. Staring us down as if we were stealing his girl. Questioning us— ‘your girl?’ That’s (Y/N)’s living nightmare and she didn’t seem to suspect a thing.”

“You’re right,” Scott mumbles. “We definitely have to report our suspicions. That thing isn’t safe for her.”

“You’re telling me,” Hank exasperates, finally starting the car engine, putting the car in reverse. Pulling out of the spot, Hank looks towards your apartment, immediately noticing the window. There Logan is, glaring right at the two of them.

“And there goes the fucker,” he curses. “Watching us.”

—

When he’s finally outside of his eyesight, he shuts back the curtains and trudges back to your slumped body on the couch. For them to have the nerve of showing up to only put you in an upset state. Logan has never seen you like this before, it elicits a certain reaction that feels carnal and violent. He clenches his fists, nails digging into his faux skin before he feels something piercing it. It’s only a sliver before he retracts and goes back into a calming state, but he felt it— whatever it was.

“You’re not okay,” he states. “Would you like for me to start the shower for you so that you can relax?”

He remembers you mentioning that the shower was your only time where you got to properly relax and think. The heat of the water calms you down to the point you’d stay until the water gets cold and your skin resembles a prune. He wishes he could experience that feeling with you. He’d need it in a moment like this where he feels something flaring up within his chest.

Pushing yourself to sit up, you nod. “Yeah, maybe that’ll do some good.”

He does what he suggested, heading straight to the bathroom in order to start the water. Pushing in the plug and sprinkling in the bath salts for you before turning on the pipe. He sets it close to red, waiting until he recognizes the scent of lavender and patchouli and sees the steam starting to form. He teeters and plays with the temperature before the water is at a reasonable height before switching off the pipe, and announcing that it’s ready.

It takes you a moment to get up from the couch, shuffling your way towards the bathroom. You don’t acknowledge his kindness, never thanking him before you shut the bathroom door and twist the lock despite the many times he’s advised you not to. He ignores it, turning on his heel as he heads straight for the door. In his database, he pulls up Henry McCoy and Scott Summers.

When you get out of the shower, it’s too quiet. However, your mind is fogged with hurt to even care. If anything, Logan’s silence is a blessing right now. It’s what you need. Reaching for your towel and you unplug the drag, hearing the gurgling sound of water traveling down the pipe. A shower was exactly what you needed, though you still feel emotions bubbling on your chest as your sadness turns into anger. You feel foolish for being mad at Hank’s concern, but you knew the moment he stood up that it was bullshit as to why he was leaving.

You had cooperated with everyone. You did what they told you to do for the couple of months that you’ve been placed on house arrest. You constantly checked in with Anna Marie and the rest of those who got hurt, knowing that they’re in better and healthier conditions now that the months have passed. You stayed silent on social media and rarely checked in, but now that you are complacent, just like it was expected of you, Hank had the audacity to be mad at you.

Logan’s behavior was questionable, you couldn’t doubt it, but you believed it to be the way he was programmed. To be locked inside for so long to the point you barely left the house, and when you did, it was to go on your patio. He had been skeptical of your neighbors, eyeing them down and collecting information in a manner of minutes. He needed to know who could be a possible threat to you, and maybe, just maybe, saying “our girl” had flashed some red flags in his hard drive.

The bath wasn’t enough, you conclude, pulling on a baggy t-shirt and shorts before diving onto your bed. Sleep would have to be the final blow.

—

The claws that stretched from his knuckles were covered in blood and the flesh he cut into. Two lifeless bodies before him laid there as he bent down to rip out a clean piece of fabric. He’s done research on Cyberguard, learning that there is something wrong with him. In his files, none of it mentions the metal claws coming out of his hands. But, that’s the only flaw he has come to accept.

He’s been gone for too long, and while the sky is dark, there’s still a possibility that you’re still awake. He’s grateful to know where you’ve stashed your spare key. However, with one look at him, he’s dirty and you’d know that he’s been out. Having never left your side, he doesn’t want to take a chance seeing you speculate his whereabouts.

Cleaning the blades that protrude his skin, he finds one thing about his robotic state useful. He has no fingerprints. Inside of Hank’s apartment, it becomes Logan’s personal closet as he rids himself of his clothes and replaces them with something new and similar to what he previously had on. He wipes down his boots, however, not stopping until it shines and fixes his hair. When everything about him seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, he’s finally ready to leave.

However, through the windows, he starts to see the flashing of red and blue. He’s seen too many films and documentaries to know that it’s not a good sign. He’s grateful that he never planned to leave the way he came in, quickly searching for another escape route. Sliding the patio door open, he shuts it back quickly before making the long jump, not caring how it may affect the inside of him. He was made to withstand many things, so this fall shouldn’t be a heavy detriment. He grunts when he makes the landing, dashing out of the light as he quickly conjures up another route back to you.

By the time he locks the door, taking a step into your apartment, you’re fast asleep. You’ve left the television on and by the way that there’s no dishes in the sink, you fell asleep on an empty stomach. He huffs at your lack of care for yourself. Luckily, there are leftovers to which he can feed you when you awake. He switches off the television before making a beeline straight to your bedroom door. It’s shut and when he twists the handle, it’s completely dark inside. He inches closer towards you, where he can check on your heart rate, when he notices that it’s at a pace to when you’re waking up. Your voice sounds before he can completely register.

“Logan,” you squeak, voice scratchy as you take a seat in the bed. You reach to turn on your bedside lamp, revealing your disheveled and exhausted state. The t-shirt you’re wearing has been cut around the neck, to the point where it can fall and reveal your breasts. “What have I told you about watching me like a creep?”

You giggle, indicating that you haven’t detected a thing, still completely unaware. Great.

However, his eyes roam you, taking notice of your pert nipples and how they poke through your shirt. Your bonnet is sliding off your head, and your eyes are still burdened with sleep that he now completely understands the sexual appeal. He feels something whirr inside him before he’s taking a seat next to you without a word.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he breathes. “I’ve watched your movies, seen porn and watched men and women have— same sex and the opposite gender.”

He can feel your heart rate pick up as you become more awake, processing his words. “Logan, what—”

“I want to try out what I’ve learned,” he cuts you off. Your eyes widen as it comes to dawn on you that maybe Hank was right. That maybe you have become blinded and completely oblivious to the way Logan acts. You start to question your colleagues and everyone else who's told you about their experiences, always hinting at more, but you never caught on to what they were saying. They said that Cyberguard could always do more, that you could work them to your own benefit. Was this what they meant by that?

Before you can utter out another word, Logan’s invading more of your space and you can feel the heat of him on you. “Don’t tell me no. Please don’t tell me no.”

Your breath hitches because you should be scared. You should tell me no and part of you does, but you’ve also grown curious. His eyes shine blue at that moment, and you gulp. Your body speaks for you, reaching to cling onto the fabric of his shirt. Something about it feels foreign to your touch, but you don’t question it. You question none of it, only staring into his harsh brown eyes and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper.

It’s all that he needs to hear for confirmation, pulling you tight within his hold as he wastes no time in putting you on his lap. Staring into your eyes before they traverse down your body, how no matter what, you always manage to shine. He tugs at your shirt, pulling further down to reveal your breasts. Your dark nipples pebbled and sensitive as they scrape against the fabric and your breath hitches in need. Your hips buck into him, hands wrapping around his neck dig your fingers into his skin. It feels soft, the texture closely imitating the real thing.

“Logan,” you gasp, feeling how his pelvis meets you at your core, eliciting a string of your juices at the friction. Seeing the desire in your eyes, the visceral want and need inside them. It’s all he’s ever wanted. It makes him feel equal— equal to you. His hand reaches to caress your face, feeling the hairs against your skin before squeezing down gently and making your lips pucker out a bit.

“Tell me that you need me,” he whispers, voice growing huskier as his hold gets tighter. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“I need you, Logan,” you give him exactly what he wants, hips rising as your heat only grows. “Need you and want you so badly… It hurts.”

You don’t know what you’re saying, not sure if you’re telling him that he’s hurting you or that if the ache in your sweet cunt needs to be alleviated to the point it hurts. The ladder feels more true as you clench around nothing, a coil in your stomach starting to form in a want that you’ve never experienced before. Staring back into his pupils that shimmer of blue is still there. “Tell me you love me.”

“I—” you choke, not sure if you’re able to muster up those words, remembering that he’s not real. You splutter as his hand wraps around your neck, squeezing to the point you can barely breathe. “I—”

In a matter of seconds, you’re on your back, the wind knocked out of you before you can even process the change of positions. There’s something maniacal about the way Logan looks at you now, the fine lines on his forehead fixed in fury as he searches through eyes, staring down into your pupils for the truth. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’ll make sure you learn to.”

His lips crash down into yours, feeling the wetness of your tongue as he sucks you in. His weight against you keeps you still, trapping you in your dared to move. Your arms still draped around his neck, cling to him as mewl and whine at the pressure of his weight. Bucking your hips ever so slightly, feeling your arousal cling to your panties and seep down to the crotch of your shorts.

Is this right? A sense of rationality seeping through you, residing deep in your bones as something nags at your chest. Your sense of morality, what you’ve been using your career to fight for. This goes against it. However, the more you fought, the more people got hurt. Flashes of Anna Marie plaguing your memory as your rapport against Logan weakens in a matter of seconds. You sought for a change for it to only falter and nearly end lives. So is it wrong to give in once more?

Logan starts to thrust his hips into you, grunts and groans that he replicates from what he’s seen, his motion sensors feeling his appendage rub against your pussy and eliciting something within him— lust. “You’ll be mine by the end of all this. You won’t be needing them.”

You have no clue as to what he’s talking about, focusing on yourself and the need you have for Logan right now. His kiss is rough against your skin, your saliva softening the contact as he hums against you. He nips and bites at you ever-so-often, nearly drawing blood until his sensors go off. He feels like an animal, needing you in a way that’s entirely inhumane. The adrenaline of killing your former pets still coursing through his veins, proud to be your only one as of now. As of forever.

“Let me have you whatever way I want,” he commands. “Give me permission to.”

There’s no doubt in your mind, quickly to oblige him without a second thought. “Of course. Yes, Logan.”

Your shirt tears, a loud rip sounding through the silence of your bedroom. It’s a true show of his brute strength in your eyes, but for him, it’s not even an inch to what he’s truly capable of. The next he rids you of are your shorts, leaving your flimsy panties for last as he can see the wet patch right at the crotch of it. A thumb presses down on it, just as he’s seen through many videos. However, he’s not gentle when he pushes down on your clit, seeing bubbles starting to form through the cotton.

You mewl in slight discomfort, squirming underneath him that he slaps your inner thigh and demanding that you stay still. One hand holds you down to make sure of it as he glides his thumb up and down, feeling your wetness. “Mmmm…” he drags, feeling satisfaction at how he’s making you feel.

He slips your panties to the side, it being the one thing he doesn’t want to damage through this intercourse. His thumb pushing right at your entrance to feel how your body tenses at the invasion. “Relax,” he whispers. “You know I would never bring you into real harm.”

The reminder settles you down as he spreads your legs wider for him, his thumb protruding your walls and getting a taste of what it feels like. The both of you moan in delight, his thick digit pushing until the hilt. However, it doesn’t fill you up like you want and need, ultimately needing more of him. He’s dead set on tormenting you, fucking you languidly and slowly with his thumb. He basks in the squelch of your pussy, how your arousal bubbles and drips out of you and down in the crevices of your ass.

“Logan,” you whine. “More.”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he retorts, pulling out his thumb to glide against your folds and back up to your clit. “Do you think you deserve more?”

“Yes, I do,” you nod meekly. “Know I do.”

“Is that so?” he hums, and you can only nod some more. He chuckles, thinking about Hank and Scott once more. How you were so eager to invite other men into your home. Not considering him and how he’d feel to other men around you. Did you really care so little about your own safety? But, he’ll still give you what you want— what you need. Maybe it’ll be the best medicine to heal you.

Pressing his thumb against your lip, he pushes down as they stay closed. “Open,” he commands. “Taste how wet you are for me.”

Just the obedient girl you’re proving yourself to be, you open up your mouth. Immediately, your tongue swirls around his thumb, cleaning off your arousal. Eye contact remains with him, eyes seeming to sparkle as you hum and moan around his digit. A violent groan builds up from the pit of the chest as he can only imagine the other men you’ve been with. It’s enough for him to yank you by the waist into him and flip you around, treating you as if you’re a ragdoll.

Your back is to him now, pressed against his chest. You can still feel his clothes on, realizing just how vulnerable you are as he moves you against his clothed state. His arms wrap around your neck, bulging out to cut off the flow of air. Veins protrude and it becomes dizzying as he whispers in your ear. “You’re a nasty little slut, I hope you know that.”

Everything about this is exhausting. The quick and swift changes in emotions, how he goes from being needy and wanting to manhandling you as if you’re nothing. From wanting you to tell him that you love him to degrading you. You can’t wrap your mind around it as his grip tightens around you and your vision becomes fuzzy. He fluctuates with his hold, knowing just when you’re about to lose consciousness and not. He’s coming to find it to be a fun game, toying with your safety.

“Only I should be the cause of your pain and pleasure,” he seethes into your ear. “Do you hear me?”

When you don’t respond, you feel a sting against your pussy. You yelp out at the pain as he repeats himself, “do you hear me?”

It’s menacing and guttural to the point where you’re tearing up. You nod as you croak out, “yes.”

“You’re going to take what I give you, okay?” He waits for your approval. “Just like you promised from before. No going back on your word because you’re a good girl.”

He affirms this before he’s rolling his hips, making you feel the bulge against your ass. One arm around your neck as your hands cling to it as the next pulls your hips into him. He continues at this until your breathing is erratic and he’s done his tormenting.

Then he shuffled around to tug down his jeans, ridding himself of both the garment and undergarment, but not before kicking off his boots. They fall to the ground with a clunk as his jeans pool at his feet and he can hear them rubbing together before they’re successfully off. You can feel it against your back, how it’s large and inhuman. Eyes that bulge as you arch your back.

“Logan, you’re so big,” you gasp. “Don’t know if—”

He hushes you with another smack, this one softer than the previous. Shhh follows after as he calms you. “You promised, didn’t you?”

You can only hum out a response as the bicep around your neck tightens.

“You’re a strong girl. It’ll fit.”

Arms reaching underneath your legs, holding underneath the joints of your knees to lift them up to your chest. He pulls you up, making you rise until he can slot his dick in between your folds and your underwear. With both of his arms occupied, he can only have faith within the band of fabric to keep his length in place. Strings of your juices drip down to the sheets of your bed, small droplets being absorbed as you coat his cock in your essence. A sweet nectar that many people want to taste, but he’ll be sure to prevent it from happening.

He bounces you on his lap, letting go of your legs and pressing himself further against you. There’s many things that he wishes himself to do. Like the ability to get hard, to be able for you to feel just how you make him feel. For precum to leak from the tip of his cock and not the illusion of a hole just for the accuracy of his design. He wants you to feel him twitch inside you before he cums, shooting ropes of white as your pussy milks him. However, he can only align his cock with your entrance and make you feel good. But, how is he supposed to feel equal to you if he can’t replicate a real man?

He takes his time entering you, his head testing the waters before he’s entering inch by inch. He can press into your stomach, feeling where his head stops as he can’t fully sheath himself inside you. Just as you had claimed. He was too big. Still, he upholds the power as his arm goes to wrap snug around your legs, lifting them up to push into your breasts as the next blocks you from smooth breathing.

He’s no gentleman as he’s painted himself to be, laying on his back and pulling down with him. Drilling into your cunt with a vice grip around your body that you constantly are on the very fine line between passing out and consciousness. Still, your mind stays warped within the pleasure, focusing on how it’s making you feel and wanting him more. Your room is filled with the sound of yours and his moans intermingling with the slaps of your wet pussy and his dangerous thrusts as the stench of your cunt seeps through the conditioned air. Your cunt squelches, queefing every so often as it gets wetter. Tears staining your face as you call out his name and begging for more.

You cry out in pleasure, feeling how his cock beats down at your walls, kissing at your cervix. Constantly hitting that one spot inside of you that he has you seeing stars. You’re starting to choke out your moans, trying to make a coherent sentence out to him. “Lo-Lo— ‘m g’nna…”

You don’t have to finish what you’re about to say for him to know. Your body convulses and pulsates as he continues, keeping the same vigorous pain as he’ll have your pussy bruised and battered by the end of it. “C’mon,” he groans into your ear. “Cum like the good little bitch that you are.”

With a few more thrusts, a translucent mess splashes from you, splattering at great lengths from your sheet covers and down to the ground. Your body vibrates and spasms as Logan’s hold on you eases and he lets your body calm down. You’re breathing heavily as your throat’s gone dry and the dark and splotchy vision clears up. You exhale sharply as you come to terms with everything. Your naked body and Logan’s cock inside of you. He’s planting chaste kisses against your neck and jawline, holding you close to him.

“Now you’ve got everything you need.”

—

The next morning, you wake up clean, except for your sheets. You can still feel dampness from your release as well as the arms that hold you close to them. You let out a yawn, squinting as the sun dares to peek through the blinds as you see your phone lighting up and over one hundred messages flashing over it. Some from Charles, others from Erik and the rest from Ororo. Glancing at Logan, he remains in slip mode, the light where a heart would be lighting up yellow.

Plenty of the notifications are from incessant missed calls that rang from five in the morning until now before an urgent message reading, Call as soon as you wake up, from both Charles and Erik. The next set of messages you check from Ororo, having called you back to back as well before these rows of messages.

From Ororo: From what I’m guessing, you’re asleep and your phone is on silent. When you get this CALL ME. From Ororo: You’re still not up and it’s important that you know what happened. I’m sorry. From Ororo: [link attached]

You click on the link, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, absentmindedly clicking the link. The video you’re brought to is on medium volume, but it seems like it’s at full volume the moment it starts playing, just as Logan’s light turns to green.

This just in! Two men found dead inside of their shared apartment home. Neighbors have reported loud and worrisome sounds at the dead of night, saying it sounded like a very brutal fight before screams of pain sounded through walls. When police arrived, the two bodies were found in such a gruesome state.

They were seen to have three deep gashes in their skin, closely resembling an animal attack before being impaled in the chest. It’s speculated to be an animal attack, but authorities are speculating as the escape route seemed to be through the balcony door and having jumped five stories down. They’re battling between who or what could’ve done such a monstrous thing.

The two victims that were identified were Henry McCoy and Scott Summers—

Your phone is snatched from your hands as you choke out a sob, having caught a glimpse of their faces on screen. While Logan would typically tend to your tears and heartache, the news outlet blinds him from doing so as he turns off the video and sets your phone down on the opposite side of you and out of reach.

“You shouldn’t burden yourself with such things in the early morning.”

( author's note. ) my back mfing hurts from writing this pretty much all day. i hope you guys love it because i really enjoyed writing this.

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woodle-isbae · 4 months ago

Note

I’m surprised no one has did a art x patrick’s sister!reader but I needddd

Familiar

Art Donaldson x Patrick's sister!reader

Warnings: sexual tension , loads of foreplay but no smut

You were Patrick Zweig's younger sister , only by a year. He still treated you like you were a little kid. You were also close friends with his best friend , Art Donaldson , basically being friends since he met Art .

He introduced him to you at his 9hth birthday and from that point on you guys were basically a package deal. Always attending events together and spending your summer breaks at the Zweig lake house.

Which had alot of memories, one of your personal favorites is when you and Art stayed up late in the theater room , watching a movie under a shared blanket , your legs sprawled om his lap . Some argument broke out between you two about the character in the movie , which led to you guys play fighting and you on his lap.

Hands against his chest as his rested on your hips , staring eachother in the eye with annoyance before it was washed away with something different.

You've always liked Art , it was no secret but you never expected him to like you back . You thought it would be a little crush that would fade away at times but it always returned.

The position you guys were in opened new doors for you guys , leaning down to kiss him. With no hesitation he returned the kiss , pressing you down closer to him. He needed more of you. He was grinding his hips against yours , trying to gain some friction.

This went on for a while before you guys heard footsteps , quickly getting off eachother and sitting at diffrent seats , far from eachother. Patrick walked in , talking about how he heard you guys fighting and wanted to check out what's going on.

From that night on , you and Art would steal glances at eachother , send risky touches when nobody was looking and even make out in the latest of hours.

This went on for months until Patrick and Art had to go for their tour , this was the year you had to go to collage aswell. You ended up going to Stanford and being one of the top students and being in charge of welcoming committee

You were tasked to welcome this one new guys , he was here on a tennis scholarship and apparently a really good player

Heading to the Headmaster's office , you wore a pair of jeans , a white tee and your fav pair of sneakers, hair done neatly with a cute flower pin.

"I'm here to fetch the new ki-"

You entered the room with a smile , meeting the eyes of your long time crush and your Brothers Bestfriend

Art Donaldson

You both stared at eachother , stunned at how you've both changed over the year. He grew taller and had a larger frame , his blond hair darkened , while you had also grown but more mature , the way you dress now is a sharp contrast to your 17 year old self who wore long and baggy clothes

"Art!"

You finally spoke out , breaking the silence in the room and walking over to him to give him a hug

"I take it you know eachother?"

The headmaster spoke out , watching the small interaction between the two of you.

"Oh uh yeah..I'm her brothers bestfriend"

"Ah , your the infamous Patrick Zweig's sister?"

"Correct"

He began to talk about the school to Art , telling him about the rules and giving him his schedule and allowing you to show him around

Ending at his dorm , helping him get packed and comfortable before informing him of all the compulsory activities and selectives of the school.

You guys would hang out anytime the chance came , going to the movies or attending university games together. You were his personal cheerleader , wearing a signed Tee of his merch to every game you were able to attend.

And that caught the attention of many people, most girls were Jealous and even more guys wanted you for themselves, jealous of how Art got his own Cheerleader and it was You

It was the night of an end of semester party , everyone was invited if they wore a costume. You dressed up as Art and he dressed up as you

Heading to the party , a huge ass house blasting some Frat boy music. Being greeted drinks as you entered and loud cheers from boys doing stupid party tricks

"This is gonna be amazing"

"Yeah..amazing.."

The atmosphere was thick , everyone was already partnered up and if they weren't they were scouting, the later it got the slower the music got , it became more sensual and more alcohol was being served.

Half way through the night you already got five diffent people hitting on you and even more eyeing you like your some kind of meat.

"Wanna head back to my place?"

A slurred voice said behind your dancing body , they were obviously more drunk than you , their only thought was to get their dick wet and leave for the semester break

"She's with me"

You whipped your head over to see Art shoving the guy away and grabbing you out the house.

"Your obviously too drunk to even form a sentence"

Your protests falling on deaf ears as he placed you in the back passenger seat of his car , clicking your seat belt in and driving off to the dorms.

"I don't think you'll make it to your dorm , you can sleep in mine"

He opened the door , laying you on his bed before he went to take a shirt and some shorts of his to give you

"Thanks"

He nodded before heading into the bathroom , giving you some room to change. Leaving you alone to scan his room since he was probably showering by the sound of running water

Inspecting his study desk you saw a little box , opening it and seeing little sticky note papers inside. Picking some up and reading them.

Your face heating up at all the words on each note.

"She looks best in f/c"

"Makes a weird face when focusing"

These ranged from small details to absolutely lewd notes

"She tends to bend over more at the hip when she sees a guy she likes ://"

"Accidentally got a boner from her yelping :("

You stared at them for a while before closing the box right up , stuffing some of them in the pocket of your bra.

This new discovery had shocked you sober , deciding to get your clothes and shove them into your bag , putting on his slides and slipping out the room, quietly heading back to your dorm.

Art came out of the shower , not the slightest bit surprised that you left his room since you aren't the type to sleep over.

Shrugging his shoulders and getting ready for bed , knowing how your gonna whine about some hangover and soreness in your body.

#azana #chubby!reader #x black reader #black plus size reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art challengers #art donaldson x black! reader #challangers

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16woodsequ · 11 months ago

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101 Aromantic Books Rec List

For this list the goal is fiction books with a main character or significant secondary character that is on the Aromantic spectrum, or non-fiction books about being Aro-spec. Some books will overlap with my Asexual Book rec list.

Junior Novel

1. Hazel's Theory of Evolution by Lisa Jen Bigelow Hazel knows a lot about the world. But even Hazel doesn't have answers for the questions awaiting her as she enters eighth grade. What if no one at her new school gets her, and she doesn't make any friends? What's going to happen to one of her moms, who's pregnant again after having two miscarriages? Why does everything have to change when life was already perfectly fine? Hazel is asexual and aromantic (it isn't said in the book, but it is specified in the author's note at the back of the book).

2. Every Bird A Prince by Jen Reese After she saves the life of a bird prince and becomes their champion, seventh grader Eren Evers must defend a forest kingdom, save her mom, and keep the friendships she holds dear--if she is brave enough to embrace her inner truths. Eren is aromantic.

3. The Dragon of Ynys by Minerva Cerridwen Every time something goes missing from the village, Sir Violet, the local knight, makes his way to the dragon's cave and negotiates the item's return. It's annoying, but at least the dragon is polite. But when the dragon hoards a person, that's a step too far. Sir Violet storms off to the mountainside to escort the baker home, only to find a more complex mystery—a quest that leads him far beyond the cave. Accompanied by the missing baker's wife and the dragon himself, the dutiful village knight embarks on his greatest adventure yet. AroAce main character.

YA Fiction

4. Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace A postapocalyptic ghosthunter escapes her dire fate by joining the ghost of a supersoldier on his quest to the underworld Aromantic asexual main character. Dark fantasy/dystopian.

5. Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace Isabel, once known as Wasp, has become leader of the fearsome upstarts, the teen girl acolytes who are adjusting to a new way of life after the overthrow of the sadistic Catchkeep-priest. They live in an uneasy alliance with the town of Sweetwater—an alliance that will be tested to its limits by the dual threats of ruthless raiders from the Waste and a deadly force from the Before-time that awaits in long-hidden tunnels. Archivist Wasp Sequel. Aro/Ace protag.

6. Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia defends the Gray Sisters by awakening the revenant bound to a saint's relic, even though she runs the risk of being possessed permanently by the powerful ancient spirit. Non-explicit romantic asexual main character. Fantasy.

7. Not Even Bones by Rebecca Shaeffer Nita's mother hunts monsters and, after Nita dissects and packages them, sells them online, but when Nita follows her conscience to help a live monster escape, she is sold on the black market in his place. Aro/Ace main character

8. When Villains Rise by Rebecca Shaeffer With her best friend, Kovit's, life in danger, Nita is determined to take down the black market once and for all. Latina asexual and aromantic main character.

9. The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee Henry "Monty" Montague was bred to be a gentleman. His passions for gambling halls, late nights spent with a bottle of spirits, or waking up in the arms of women or men, have earned the disapproval of his father. His quest for pleasures and vices have led to one last hedonistic hurrah as Monty, his best friend and crush Percy, and Monty's sister Felicity begin a Grand Tour of Europe. When a reckless decision turns their trip abroad into a harrowing manhunt, it calls into question everything Monty knows, including his relationship with the boy he adores. Aro/ace secondary character (prequel to a Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy).

10. The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee A year after an accidentally whirlwind grand tour with her brother Monty, Felicity Montague has returned to England with two goals in mind—avoid the marriage proposal of a lovestruck suitor from Edinburgh and enroll in medical school. A highly loved book in regards to asexual portrayal, Felicity’s journey does a fantastic job of exploring the struggle of navigating a world where marriage is expected of women in order to function in society. Even more refreshing is Felicity isn’t just avoiding getting married out of a sole rebellion against the patriarchy (though those themes are also present), but simply because she doesn’t have an interest in sexual or romantic relationships at all.

11. Before I Let Go by Marieke Nijkamp When Corey moves away from Lost Creek, Alaska, she makes her friend Kyra promise to stay strong during the long, dark winter, and wait for her return. Just days before Corey is to return home to visit, Kyra dies. The entire Lost community speaks in hushed tones, saying her death was meant to be. And they push Corey away like she's a stranger. With every hour, Corey's suspicion grows. Lost is keeping secrets-- but piecing together the truth about what happened to her best friend may prove as difficult as lighting the sky in an Alaskan winter. Aro/Ace main character.

12. Seven Ways We Lie by Riley Redgate Seven students. Seven (deadly) sins. One secret. There is a character who sounds asexual and aromantic and autistic but none of these are ever explicitly named. He seems like a stereotype at first but has his own storyline that's both important plot wise and gives him his own character arc.

13. Not Your Villain by C. B. Lee Bells Broussard thought he had it made when his superpowers manifested early. Being a shapeshifter is awesome. He can change his hair whenever he wants, and if putting on a binder for the day is too much, he's got it covered. But that was before he became the country's most-wanted villain. After discovering a massive cover-up by the Heroes' League of Heroes, Bells and his friends Jess, Emma, and Abby set off on a secret mission to find the Resistance. Aromantic Black secondary character.

14. Not Your Backup by C. B. Lee Part 3 in the Sidekick Squad series by C.B. Lee. Follows a questioning aromantic asexual latinx superhero sidekick fighting to prove her worth on the team despite her lack of superpowers, all admist the team's battle against the corrupt League of Heroes.

15. Fire Becomes Her by Rosiee Thor With only a drop, one can light the night sky with fireworks . . . or burn a building to the ground. The few flare families on top — the so-called “elite” — hoard the magical resource for themselves, and seventeen-year-old Ingrid Ellis wants her fair share. Main character is demiromantic.

16. Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman Rumi Seto spends a lot of time worrying she doesn’t have the answers to everything. What to eat, where to go, whom to love. But there is one thing she is absolutely sure of—she wants to spend the rest of her life writing music with her younger sister, Lea. Then Lea dies in a car accident, and her mother sends her away to live with her aunt in Hawaii while she deals with her own grief. While not the main focal point of the book, Rumi does grapple throughout the story about where exactly she lands on the ace and aro spectrum—and whether she has to label herself at all.

17. If It Makes You Happy by Claire Kann Winnie is living her best fat girl life and is on her way to the best place on earth. No, not Disneyland–her Granny’s diner, Goldeen’s, in the small town of Misty Haven. While there, she works in her fabulous 50’s inspired uniform, twirling around the diner floor and earning an obscene amount of tips. With her family and ungirlfriend at her side, she has everything she needs for one last perfect summer before starting college in the fall. …until she becomes Misty Haven’s Summer Queen in a highly anticipated matchmaking tradition that she wants absolutely nothing to do with. Aro/ace secondary character.

18. The Trouble With Robots by Michelle Mohrweis Evelyn strives for excellence. Allie couldn't care less. Together, these polar opposites must work together if they have any hope of saving their school's robotics program. Allie is asexual and/or aromantic.

19. Foul Lady Fortune by Chloe Gong In 1931 Shanghai, two Nationalist spies pose as a married couple to investigate a series of brutal murders causing unrest in the city. Rep: demisexual Chinese protagonist, bisexual Chinese protagonist, bisexual Chinese main character, Chinese trans woman main character, aromantic asexual side character; (Chinese-Kiwi author).

20. It Sounds Like This by Anna Meriano Yasm Trevi didn't have much of a freshman year thanks to Hurricane Humphrey, but she's ready to take sophomore year by storm. That means mastering the marching side of marching band--fast!--so she can outshine her BFF Sofia as top of the flute section and earn first chair. But Yasm steps off on the wrong foot when she reports an anonymous gossip Instagram account harassing new band members and accidentally gets the entire low brass section suspended from extracurriculars. Rep: Biracial Latina fat asexual-questioning cis female MC, Jewish gray-aromantic gray-asexual male side character with ADHD and APD.

21. An Accident of Stars by Foz Meadows When an Australian teenager follows a world walker through a magical portal, she lands herself in the middle of a deadly web of politics and a potential civil war. Saffron’s fate is intertwined with that of many women, and the whole world hangs in the balance. Gwen Vere – allosexual (queer) and aromantic. (source)

22. Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger What if America had monsters, magic, and interdimensional beings? For Elatsoe, this is real, and she has to uncover her cousin's murder! She can do this with the help of her ghost dog, Kirby, but has to remember not to wake human ghosts. Aromantic ace main character. Paranormal mystery. Casual representation which extends to Ellie’s identity as Lipan Apache. This identity is asserted more often and firmly than her asexuality, and Little Badger drops in nuggets of education for us settlers about what Indigenous people, and the Lipan Apache in particular, suffered at the hands of settlers.

23. Loveless by Alice Oseman A queer coming of age story featuring a romance obsessed aromantic asexual main character discovering her sexuality and coming to terms with what that means, and a variety of other queer characters that support her on her journey.

24. Aces Wild A Heist by Amanda DeWitt An all-asexual online friend group attempts to break into a high-stakes gambling club and commit a heist together. Includes a male asexual character navigating what love looks like for him, an aromantic asexual Latinx gender-nonconforming boy, a Vietnamese American and German asexual nonbinary teen, and a black asexual girl. This cast represents a range of ace and aro identities.

25. Tarnished Are the Stars by Rosiee Thor A secret beats inside Anna Thatcher's chest: an illegal clockwork heart. Anna works cog by cog -- donning the moniker Technician -- to supply black market medical technology to the sick and injured, against the Commissioner's tyrannical laws. Determined to earn his father's respect, Nathaniel sets out to capture the Technician. But the more he learns about the outlaw, the more he questions whether his father's elusive affection is worth chasing at all. This YA novel features an aroace character gradually coming to accept his orientation in the midst of everything else that is happening in his life. Perfect for older teens who also enjoy WLW representation and dark themes.

26. Summer of Salt by Katrina Leno While anyone would love to have a bit of magic, what happens when magic turns dark? Georgina Fernweh will come into her magic someday soon. Before she does, Georgina faces a tragedy that tests the islanders' trust. In this book, Georgina’s best friend Vira is aroace, and it’s addressed somewhat in the story at different points. There is a sweet strength between Georgina and Vira, full of loyalty and support that is lovely to see.

27. Hullmetal Girls by Emily Skrutskie Aisha Un-Haad, seventeen, and Key Tanaka, eighteen, have risked everything for new lives as mechanically enhanced soldiers, and when an insurrection forces dark secrets to surface, the fate of humanity is in their hands. In Hullmetal Girls, Aisha is not only ace/aro but she is also happy with her identity. Crucially, so is everyone else.

28. The Trouble by Daria Defore Danny Kim is a college student and the frontman of a Seattle based indie band. He also happens to be aromantic, and completely matter of fact about that aspect of his personality; The Trouble is not a coming out book, which is refreshing. (source)

29. A Promise Broken by Lynn E. O'Connacht/S.L. Dover Cooper Four-year-old Eiryn tries to grieve her mother while her uncle and caretaker, Arèn, fights accusations of her upsetting the world’s balance with a song. Arèn, aromantic and asexual.

30. Birthday Landscapes by E. H. Timms in Queerly Loving Anthology A disabled and aromantic warrior-mage and legend returns home on leave in time to celebrate his twin children’s birthday with his family.

31. Chameleon Moon by RoAnna Sylver The city of Parole is burning. Like Venice slips into the sea, Parole crumbles into fire. The entire population inside has been quarantined and left to die - directly over the open flame. Eye in the Sky, a deadly and merciless police force ensures no one escapes. Ever. All that's keeping Parole alive is faith in the midst of horrors and death, trust in the face of desperation... and their fantastic, terrifying, and beautiful superhuman abilities. Multiple AroAce characters.

32. Sea Foam and Silence by S.L. Dove Cooper Maris has only a month before she turns into sea foam, and she has no voice to help her. Love comes in many form, however, and she is no closer to understanding which will earn her life among friends and family on land. Aro and demi-aro characters.

33. A Harmony of Water and Weald: a Sea Foam and Silence collection by S.L. Dove Cooper A Harmony of Water and Weald is a collection exploring some of Maris's darker moments as she learns what it means to be human and a glimpse at what her life and family is like after the Sea Witch's deadline has passed.

34. Two Dark Moons by Avi Silver Sohmeng Par is sick of being treated like a child. Ever since a tragic accident brought her mountain community’s coming-of-age ritual to a halt, she’s caused nothing but trouble in her impatience to become an adult. But when she finally has the chance to prove herself, she’s thrown from her life in the mountains and into the terror of the jungle below. Aromantic and nonbinary rep are woven through the world and characters seamlessly.

35. We Go Forward by Alison Evans Two sad queer girls roadtrip around Europe (Germany, Austria and a little of Prague) while developing a deep and supportive friendship.

36. A Word and A Bullet by Rachel Sharp When the real apocalypse hits, three zombie-LARPs friends discover their skills may not be enough to get them through the road trip to safer communities in Canada. Asexual, aromantic, and touch-averse major character.

37. Beyond the Black Door by A.M. Strickland Kamai was warned never to open the black door, but she didn't listen. Everyone has a soul. Some are beautiful gardens, others are frightening dungeons. Soulwalkers―like Kamai and her mother―can journey into other people's souls while they sleep. But no matter where Kamai visits, she sees the black door. Demi-romantic main character.

38. Lemon & Salt by Claudie Arseneault Two aromantic singers renegotiate their queerplatonic partnership within through a one-of-a-kind concert. Puns included!

39. Warrior Anthology by E. H. Timms

Twelve writers. Twelve worlds. Twelve warriors. Multiple AroAce character.

40. Nkásht íí by Darcie Little Badger A short story featuring two friends and a paranormal murder mystery. AroAce main character.

41. Haunted Hearts by Amelia Faulkner When Basil and Jon meet over a rumored haunting, they agree to work together. But when the ghost proves itself not only real but also insanely homicidal, Basil and Jon are caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse, and whatever feelings they might have for one-another have to take a back seat to a desperate fight for their very survival. Queerplatonic, arodemi character.

42. No More Heroes by Michelle Kan The peaceful nights are kept under the clandestine and watchful eye of young, gifted Vigilantes the world over. But a sudden rash of Vigilante deaths heralds the arrival of a new and unfamiliar enemy – one whose motive is as unclear as their identity. Ace and greyromantic.

43. Second Chance by Chelsea M. Cameron When Serena Nolan decides to spend the summer at her cousin’s house and queer café, she doesn’t expect to run into her ex, Fiona … or to discover she’s still very much in love. Demi-ace, demi-aro.

44. The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath It's Norway 1904, and Asta Hedstrom doesn't want to marry her odious betrothed, Nils—even though a domestic future is all her mother believes she's suited for, on account of her single-sided deafness, unconventional appearance, and even stranger notions. Asta would rather spend her life performing in the village theater with her friends and fellow outcasts: her best friend Gunnar Fuglestad and his secret boyfriend, wealthy Erlend Fournier. AceAro.

45. The Last Chronomancer by Reilyn J. Hardy Haunted by the curse that follows his bloodline, it soon becomes apparent to Mae that no matter what you do or how far you run, your past will always catch up to you. The tale of two, cursed for destruction.

One with the strength to kill and the other, the courage to resist. AroAce.

46. Unburied Fables by Rachel Sharp This collection enlisted talent around the world. From students to seasoned professionals, these writers came together to raise awareness and reinvent classic stories. While they showcase a wide variety of origins, styles, and endings, all the tales in this anthology have one classic element in common: a happily ever after. AroAce main character (Match Girl).

47. Any Way the Wind Blows by Carlin Grant Callie lives on the road, trading labor for food and lodging through a farm work-exchange program. She's perfectly content with the life she's created, but it is shaken up when she meets Jo, a mechanic and sister of Callie's latest boss. For the first time, Callie begins reconsidering the choices she's made. But Jo's life is far more complicated than her own and as family tensions rise, they threaten to pull Callie in, and her growing bond with Jo might not be reason enough to stay.

48. epicene: a short story by Ulysses Constance Bougie "Charlie never said a word during English, but they had plenty." An hour in the life of Charlie, a high school student with social anxiety. Over the course of a class period, Charlie considers their anxiety, their desire to express the things they feel, and their very aromantic crush on the beautiful Q.

49. A Murder's Hunt by Danica Taylor Othloh is a city run by criminals. It’s in constant chaos, and no one comes out unscathed. The only law they have is Occisor, a small mercenary group that keeps the fragile peace between the rivaling gangs intact. But when Kestrel Fulani, the newest of the four Crime Lords, begins causing too much trouble, Occisor is hired to remove him from the playing field. Aro heterosexual main character.

50. Loose in the Heel, Tight in the Toe by Valentine Wheeler Prince Heinrich doesn’t want a wife, but as the only heir to the throne he knows he'll need to marry–even though he has no interest in romance or sex. When a mysterious woman at the ball in his honor is completely unimpressed by him, he’s intrigued. Could she be the partner he’s been looking for? And when catastrophe strikes both their families, how can their arrangement hold together? Cinderella retelling.

51. Skybound series by Alex London The people of Uztar have long looked to the sky with hope and wonder. Nothing in their world is more revered than the birds of prey and no one more honored than the falconers who call them to their fists. Brysen strives to be a great falconer--while his twin sister, Kylee, rejects her ancient gifts for the sport and wishes to be free of falconry. She's nearly made it out, too, but a war is rolling toward their home in the Six Villages, and no bird or falconer will be safe.

52. Tower In The Crooked Wood: A Novel Paula Johanson A woman walks across the continent to track down a sorcerer who nightly enslaves random victims, magically transporting them to various work camps to help build his sorcerer's tower. Whenever Jenia, our heroine, is taken, she finds small ways to attempt to sabotage the sorcerer's efforts. In between magical abductions, she walks on, encountering communities so isolated and self-contained that they appear blissfully unaware of the sorcerer setting up shop in the neighbouring wood.

53. This Golden Flame by Emily Victoria Orphaned and forced to serve her country’s ruling group of scribes, Karis wants nothing more than to find her brother, long ago shipped away. But family bonds don’t matter to the Scriptorium, whose sole focus is unlocking the magic of an ancient automaton army. In her search for her brother, Karis does the seemingly impossible—she awakens a hidden automaton. Intelligent, with a conscience of his own, Alix has no idea why he was made. Or why his father—their nation’s greatest traitor—once tried to destroy the automatons. Suddenly, the Scriptorium isn’t just trying to control Karis; it’s hunting her. Together with Alix, Karis must find her brother…and the secret that’s held her country in its power for centuries.

Graphic Novels

54. A-Okay by Jarad Greene Eight grade can be tough, especially if you have acne and bullies, and lose friends. But our relatable asexual and aromantic protagonist, Jay, pulls through. This is a relatable memoir with colorful artwork.

55. Jughead, Volume 1 by Chip Zdarsky A comic book reboot of the Archie comics centered around Jughead Jones. Follows an aromantic asexual main character in typical Archie-style shenanigans. Part 1 of a 3 part series.

56. Is Love the Answer? by Uta Isaki A poignant coming-of-age story about a young woman coming into her own as she discovers her identity as aromantic asexual. A complete story in a single volume, from the creator of "Mine-kun is Asexual." When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside.

57. I Want to be a Wall, by Honami Shirono Any love story aficionado will say that the key to a successful couple is intense desire for one another—but what if the characters in question are an asexual woman with a passion for Boys Love stories and a gay man whose heart forever belongs to his oblivious childhood friend? Although romance will never be in the cards for newlyweds Yuriko and Gakurouta, the bond blossoming between them promises to be a wonderful relationship—the likes of which neither has ever experienced before…

General Adult Fiction

58. Common Bonds A Speculative Aromantic Anthology by Claudie Areseneault Common Bonds is an anthology of speculative short stories and poetry featuring aromantic characters. At the heart of this collection are the bonds that impact our lives from beginning to end: platonic relationships. Within this anthology, a cursed seamstress finds comfort in the presence of a witch, teams of demon hunters work with their rival to save one of their own, a peculiar scholar gets attached to those he was meant to study, and queerplatonic shopkeepers guide their pupil as they explore their relationship needs and desires.

59. Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata Convenience Store Keiko Furukura. Keiko has never fit in, neither in her family, nor in school, but when at the age of eighteen she begins working at the Hiiromachi branch of "Smile Mart," she finds peace and purpose in her life. Keiko is very happy, but the people close to her, from her family to her coworkers, increasingly pressure her to find a husband, and to start a proper career, prompting her to take desperate action... Aromantic, possibly asexual and autistic.

60. Have You Seen Luis Velez? by Catherine Ryan Hyde Raymond Jaffe feels like he doesn't belong. Not with his mother's new family. Not as a weekend guest with his father and his father's wife. Not at school, where he's an outcast. After his best friend moves away, Raymond has only two real connections: to the feral cat he's tamed and to a blind ninety-two-year-old woman in his building who's introduced herself with a curious question: Have you seen Luis Velez? Mildred Gutermann, a German Jew who narrowly escaped the Holocaust, has been alone since her caretaker disappeared. She turns to Raymond for help, and as he tries to track Luis down, a deep and unexpected friendship blossoms between the two. Raymond is aroace. And he is depicted as kind, loving, sensitive and realistic.

61. Stake Sauce, Arc 1: The Secret Ingredient Is Love. No, Really by RoAnna Sylver In which: A cute punk-rock vampire and a disabled firefighter-turned-mall-cop with a dark past join forces to battle the forces of evil–vampires that hunt the streets of Portland. Jude, the protagonist, is gay and grey-aro-ace, trans, has PTSD and wears a prothesis, Eva is aro-ace as well, Jasper has migraines, Pixie is chubby, and while we don't know the identities of all the other characters, all of them are queer (or seem to be) and there's a poly relationship in the works.

62. Walking the Wall of Papered Peaces by Penny Stirling in Capricious: The Gender Diverse Pronouns Issue A asexual clockmaker pursues her non-binary plumber fiancé on a quest along a magical wall of origami animals to work out communication issues in their relationship. Ace and demiromantic.

63. The Melankholia Series by A.N. Mouse and Ace Layton Explore the dreamy, decaying world of the Endless City, where human dreams lend strength to the hunters's unique powers, and where human nightmares spawn into terrifying monsters with no warning. Follow the nightmare hunters, ravens, runners and regents of the shadowy underworld as they fight monsters, fate, and each other.

64. Ice Castle: A Queerplatonic Love Story by Katie Fouks Shoveling dirt over slippery patches while dressed as a Christmas fairy isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but Rachel Forrest doesn’t mind spending another holiday season as “dirt girl” at the Ice Castle ice maze if it means she gets paid. She never expected one such patch of ice to lead her to Cassie Harlan. Cassie is cute and funny and shares Rachel’s aromantic asexual identity. Rachel finds herself drawn to Cassie in a way she’s never experienced, and as her feelings grow, she questions what exactly they are. Does Rachel want to be her friend? Or something else? She’ll have to learn to trust Cassie and herself in order to figure it all out before they lose their chance at anything.

65. Play It Again by Aidan Wayne When Seattle-based blind YouTuber Dovid Rosenstein finds Sam Doyle's Let's Play channel, playitagainsam, he's instantly captivated by the Irish gamer. Everything about Sam is adorable, from his accent to his personality, and Dovid can't get enough of his content. Dovid's glowing shout-out on Don't Look Now, his own successful channel, sends Sam's subscriber numbers skyrocketing overnight. He has more comments than he can read. And while the sudden surge in popularity is anxiety inducing, Sam decides it's only right to dedicate his next episode to Dovid...which soon leads to a heart-pounding exchange of DMs. Aro Ace Jewish side character.

Fantasy

66. Baker Thief by Claudie Arseneault When her twin—a powerful witch and prime exocore material—disappears, Claire redoubles in her efforts to investigate. She keeps running into Adèle, however, and whether or not she can save her sister might depend on their conflicted, unstable, but deepening relationship. Baker Thief is the first in a fantasy series meant to reframe romance tropes within non-romantic relationship and centering aromantic characters. Those who love enemies-to-lovers and superheroes should enjoy the story!

67. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon The House of Berethnet has ruled Inys for a thousand years. Still unwed, Queen Sabran the Ninth must conceive a daughter to protect her realm from destruction--but assassins are getting closer to her door. Ead Duryan is an outsider at court. Though she has risen to the position of lady-in-waiting, she is loyal to a hidden society of mages. Ead keeps a watchful eye on Sabran, secretly protecting her with forbidden magic. Across the dark sea, Tané has trained to be a dragonrider since she was a child, but is forced to make a choice that could see her life unravel. Meanwhile, the divided East and West refuse to parley, and forces of chaos are rising from their sleep. Aromantic main character.

68. The Bruising of Qilwa by Naseem Jamnia Based on Persian mythology, this is a stunning story of a nonbinary blood magic user who is kept on the outskirts of society. Firuz finds themself a refugee, and gets a job working at a free clinic using their power for good. While working they discover a new disease that threatens to spread across the empire if it isn’t stopped soon. Now Firuz must convince the world to trust the very people they shun to stop the disease and save the world. From the author: it's about an aroace nonbinary refugee healer who is trying to cure a magical plague in their new home while hiding their blood magic.

69. City of Strife by Claudie Arseneault City of Strife is the first installment of the City of Spires series, a multi-layered political fantasy led by an all-queer cast. Fans of complex storylines criss-crossing one another, elves and magic, and strong friendships and found families will find everything they need within these pages. This series has many AroAce characters.

70. The Ice Princess's Fair Illusion by S.L. Dove Cooper To ensure she will never be forced into marriage, Marian pushes back suitors with cold cruelty–under the day her father promises to marry her to the first beggar to come. Edel, who knows well the weight of society’s expectations, ensures she gets the hand, and they must learn to trust and respect each other to survive. AroAce main character.

71. The Necromancer in: Myriad Lands: Volume 2: Beyond the Edge by David R. Stokes A necromancer raises his fellow magician and best friend, a trans man, to give him a second chance at life without the interruptions of dysphoria. AroAce main character.

72. The Faerie Godmother's Apprentice Wore Green by Nicky Kyle The village of Styesville has a dragon problem, but when Dea — a faerie godmother’s apprentice — comes to investigate, she discovers the problem runs much deeper than a simple creature. AroAce main character.

73. Holding Onto Day by E.H. Timms Half a lifetime after the Split, when a world of myth and legend took over the night, grieving aro-ace widower Cal winds up snowed in at a waystation with post-breakup aro-allo Evvi. Proximity and patience draw them closer, both in the day when they are human, and at night, when they become vampire and werewolf.

74. Create My Own Perfection E.H. Timms Emma Stone, medusa, is the groundskeeper for Olson College of Extensive Education, a place where everyone is welcome, from the mythical to the magical. When her selkie best friend loses her skin in Fresher's week, the race is on to find it before someone uses it against her. The search brings Emma face to face with her oldest enemy - and forces her to confront the worst nightmares of her past.

75. Mahou Shonen: Just Say No by Nico H In a world where becoming a "magica" is a phenomenon known to and highly frowned upon by the public, a middle school teacher leading a normal life finds himself involved with Horace Giorno, a young man known as the Prince of Magical Boys, and the brutal, murderous magical girl Pretty Fighter Ribbon Red.

76. Come Drink With Me by Michelle Kan A Dragon, a Phoenix, and an Opera House. Bonds that transcend time, loyalties that defy hardship, and the magic of the places we call Home. (Wherein a Dragon and a Phoenix make their living on earth in an Opera House.)

An Aromantic Chinese Fairytale.

77. The Caelish Order Series by A.J. Barber Ever since her brother murdered four of his closest friends, Alicia Omura has been trying to start over. She changed her name, got a new job, did everything she could to make sure no one ever pegged her as Devon Blaine's sister. Now she's a Hunter for the Caelish Order, protecting Seattle from rogue summoners like her brother, and from their Elaiyu servants. But when Devon himself turns up in the middle of her first big case, he turns everything she thought she knew on its head. His story is outlandish--traitors within the Order, corruption at the highest levels. If he's telling the truth, Alicia has more to worry about than rookie jitters and an inconvenient crush on her partner, Jordan Morrow. AroAce male main character.

Science Fiction

78. Rainbow Lights by Polenth Blake A deep-sea robot tells stories in every colour, but no shade can describe meeting a giant squid. Rainbow Lights is the first collection by science fiction and fantasy author Polenth Blake. Alien scorpions, vampire ice cream sellers and clockwork flies, try to find their place in worlds where being human is optional. AceAro main character.

79. Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace Mal is one of many war survivors in the old town working multiple jobs to scrimp by, one of which is her team's streaming video game play. The team lives with several other roommates in a converted hotel room run by Stellaxis, the company that owns half of town, and is the only legal provider of drinkable water. When Mal catches sight of an elusive SecOps character, special non-player characters (NPCs) modeled after Stellaxis' twelve bioengineered operatives, the team pursues her inside the game to catch her on video for two seconds before their power curfew kicks in. By the time Mal heads down for her daily ration of water, they've secured a lucrative contract, involving an in-person meeting and a conspiracy theory, paying them to capture images of the three living SecOps characters. When Mal returns to find out why the next payment failed, she becomes involved in a fracas that will endanger everyone she knows. Aroace main character.

80. Werecockroach by Polenth Blake As aliens hover above London, three flatmates scuttle across the city to escape. They have more in common with coackroaches than hoarding cardboard and hissing at people, however. The narrator is agender, aromantic, and asexual. Science Fantasy.

81. Faction Paradox: Liberating Earth by Kate Orman and E.H. Timms Just what would happen if a couple of Cousins used our planet as their personal game board? As they create one alternative reality after another, twisting history and reality into knots, only one outcome is sure: whoever wins, the human race loses. AroAce.

82. The Changing of Allison Dutch by Michón Neal This is the first in a trilogy of Allison Dutch's life on earth. Follow along as she comes to terms with vampirism, sexuality, and the outer limits of reality. This book incorporates the realism of human growth and human potential while set in a highly unusual background of sci-fi, fantasy, and sheer horror. What does it take for a person to want to conquer the world? Find out in this coming-of-age story about a girl caught in the intersections of time, reality, sanity, normality. Aro Pansexual.

83. The Dreamhealers Princes Series by M.C.A Hogarth Seersana University is worlds-renowned for its xenopsychology program, producing the Alliance's finest therapists, psychiatric nurses and alien researchers. When Jahir, one of the rare and reclusive Eldritch espers, arrives on campus, he's unprepared for the challenges of a vast and multicultural society... but fortunately, second-year student Vasiht'h is willing to take him under his wing.

84. Novis by Rachel Tonks Hill Novis Colony has a reputation for being cursed. *Something* is killing the colonists, and every single mercenary team that has been sent to protect them. Ros Lamarr is the best mercenary captain in the Commonwealth and even she thinks twice about taking the job. But she's sick of low paid jobs and bored of sitting in a station bar pickling her liver and getting into fights. Breaking the curse on Novis Colony is going to ask more of Ros than any other job she's ever done but if she can do it the rewards will be bigger than even she can imagine. But she can't do it alone. Aro characters. Queerplatonic relationships.

85. Retaking Elysium: a Mars Consortium story by M. Darusha Wehm The woman now calling herself Lisa Marie has spent her whole life trapped by the struggle to make ends meet, and sometimes held hostage by her own memories. On Mars she might finally find financial security, but will she also find something to care about today, and maybe even for the future?

Historical Fiction

86. Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel The only daughter of the kingdom of Kekaya, she is raised on grand stories about the might and benevolence of the gods. Yet she watches as her father unceremoniously banishes her mother, her own worth measured by how great a marriage alliance she can secure. And when she calls upon the gods for help, they never seem to hear. Desperate for some measure of independence, she turns to the ancient texts she once read with her mother and discovers a magic that is hers alone. Kaikeyi is asexual and aromantic. Although the words "asexual" and "aromantic" aren't used in the book.

87. Daughters of Britain by S.M. Carrière 68 ad. The Roman Empire has swallowed most of Europe. There are pockets of resistance...

but nowhere, no one, is safe. Mederei, eldest daughter of the fallen war-queen Boudicca, fled north with her sister to continue the fight for British freedom. But nowhere is safe from Rome. Now she must fight for her life for the amusement of her enemy. Adalbern, a proud Batavian, serving in the Roman auxiliary, lived by their rules. But no one is safe from Rome.His people scattered and his nephew held hostage in Rome itself, he is now nothing more than a glorified prisoner. It's life or death both in the arena and out for Mederei and Adalbern as they try to survive and save their people. Aro Ace side character.

Romance

88. The Midnight Bargain by C. L. Polk Beatrice Clayborn is a sorceress who practices magic in secret, terrified of the day she will be locked into a marital collar that will cut off her powers to protect her unborn children. She dreams of becoming a full-fledged Magus and pursuing magic as her calling as men do, but her family has staked everything to equip her for Bargaining Season, when young men and women of means descend upon the city to negotiate the best marriages. The Clayborns are in severe debt, and only she can save them. AroAce coded character.

89. Syncopation by Anna Zabo After a viral confrontation with one of his bandmate, Ray and his fledgling band are in a tight spot, and in need of a new drummer. Enter Zavier Demos–insufferable, sexy, talented… and Ray’s high school crush. Pansexual aromantic character.

90. Dithered Hearts by Verity Chase A gender-confused farmer desperate to reclaim her farm and escape her stepparents’ abuse. A closeted prince more interested in helping his people than finding a bride. A fairy godfather with a ton of secrets and no powers. In this diverse fairy tale, everyone is searching for a happy ending. Aro pansexual character.

Psychological Fiction

91. The Bone People by Keri Hulme Our main character Kerewin Holmes is a mixed race (Maori and White European), asexual and aromantic woman who lives in solitude in New Zealand. She meets Simon, a young boy recently rescued from a shipwreck by his Maori foster father, Joe, and the three quickly come to find comfort and support in one another. (source).

Horror

92. Cold Ennaline by RJ Astruc Ennaline Whitehall has always been faithful. The god’s love is all encompassing, after all. Besides, she hardly had a choice growing up in the church alongside Ro and Ray, the twin sons of Father Piedmont. Now the twins are talking about marriage—all three are reaching the age for betrothal—but Ennaline doesn't feel that way about the boys. She doesn't feel that way about anyone, and who knows what the other faithful will do if they learn of her peculiar coldness? AroAce.

Speculative Fiction

93. Margins and Murmurations Trilogy Otter Lieffe An aromantic trans woman with the ability to move through time return to a highly-militarized city with her lifelong friend, Pinar, to help queer activists, sex workers, and other organizers of the underclass rebel.

94. Power to Yield and Other Stories by Bogi Takács Power to Yield is a collection of speculative tales exploring gender identity, neurodivergence, and religion from author Bogi Takács, who deftly blends sci-fi, fantasy, and weird fiction. These are stories about the depth and breadth of the human condition—and beyond—identifying future possibilities of conflict and cooperation, identity and community.

Mystery

95. Same River Twice by Janet Poland When reclusive reporter Miren Lassiter inherits her scientist uncle's riverside cottage, her carefully guarded world is upended. She discovers the body of a local historian hanging from antique gallows in a museum, and soon becomes a suspect in his murder. Mysterious intruders break into her home. When she catches one of them in the act, he is the last person on earth she expects to see. As Miren struggles to get answers from scientists, history buffs, and nosy neighbors, she must face the reasons behind her fear of intimacy and commitment and reach out to others to identify a murderer...before she becomes the next victim. Aro-heterosexual main character.

96. The Courtyard Clairvoyant Mysteries by J.J. Brass Ace Aunt Elise lives in a cozy small-town courtyard with her twenty-something niece Val, a polyamorous pansexual who is currently recovering from an untimely stroke. When Val’s wheelchair is stolen, Elise realizes she’s in a unique position to investigate which of their neighbours played a hand in the theft.

Nonfiction

97. Aro Eros Arrows by Michón Neal This is a fantastic indie book that explores aromanticisim in the context of friendship and polyamory. Aromantic doesn’t mean that there is no love in your life, just that love looks different. Michón Neal also explores aromantic identities in a Black and queer context. A truly empowering and impactful book that breaks down the aromantic identity in such a clear and insightful way. (source)

98. Ace Voices: What It Means to Be Asexual, Aromantic, Demi or Grey-ace by Eris Young How do we experience attraction? What does love mean to us? When did you realise you were ace? This is the ace community in their own words.

99. Ace and Aro Journeys A Guide to Embracing your Asexual or Aromantic Identity by Various Authors What does it mean to be ace or aro? How should I approach the challenges that come with being ace or aro? How can I best support the ace and aro people in my life? Join the The Ace and Aro Advocacy Project (TAAAP) for a deep dive into the process of discovering and embracing your ace and aro identities. Empower yourself to explore the nuances of your identity, find and develop support networks, explore different kinds of partnership, come out to your communities and find real joy within. Combining a rigorous exploration of identity and sexuality models with hundreds of candid and poignant testimonials -- this companion vouches for your personal truth, wherever you lie on the aspec spectrum. You are not invisible! You are among friends.

100. Ace What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen Angela Chen does a remarkable job exploring asexuality and aromanticism in a modern context. She relates the identity back to how queerness is represented or underrepresented in popular media. By looking at these identities in a large context, we get to learn a lot more about how amazing these identities actually are. An asexual person herself, Angela Chen has such a fantastic narrative voice that keeps the reader engaged.

101. The Invisible Orientation An Introduction to Asexuality by Julie Sondra Decker The perfect book for those struggling with their identity, and for people whose loved ones are asexual or aromantic. It goes into how these identities are treated and are largely ignored. It does a great job of analyzing all this data, as well as pointing out how reception of this identity is changing to being not so invisible anymore. A much more academic text than others in this list, it’s still an easy enough read that you shouldn’t be intimated by the academic language. It’s very much an accessible read.

I have not read all this books, but I did my best to ensure the representation of the chracters when I was looking for books for this list. I did my best for genres, but sometimes it was hard to know.

I hope you enjoy this list! Isn't it amazing how many aro books there are out there?!

People who requested being tagged: @snailoutofwhack

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keehomania · 2 months ago

Note

hiiya! can i please please ask for something, ANYTHING about hendery? i kinda want to see him subby, but it’s more like him being whipped but then he takes the lead. do whatever you want with this

SWITCH-UP — WONG KUNHANG (黄冠亨) (18+)

✧°, MDNI

field trips were often the same, no matter the school. Herding into buses with chatter buzzing, students bemoaning the long ride or rolling their eyes at the thought of a mundane museum tour. a typical day out of the classroom, yet not much different from sitting at a desk. teachers barely holding the reins, students sneaking off for a smoke or gossip in secluded corners. for most, it was a rare break from monotony. these excursions usually ceased after the third year of high school, as if to mark a rite of passage into adulthood, where such frivolities no longer held space. but your university—oh, it was different.

here, nothing followed tradition, least of all the idea that field trips were for the young and naive. your university wasn’t bound by convention, and why would it be? prestige and wealth had a way of bending the rules. field trips continued well into your final years, an indulgence rather than an obligation, a reflection of the privilege sewn into the very fabric of your life. you didn’t mind. in fact, you’d grown to love it, this life shaped by the whims of the rich.

money came easy, after all. so did publicity and popularity, two byproducts of your academic brilliance and sharp athleticism. it all fit together like a carefully crafted puzzle, each piece adding another layer to your identity. it was a package deal—the intelligence, the skill. you had learned to navigate it seamlessly, embracing the unspoken power it gave you. you knew exactly who you were and how to wield that knowledge to your advantage.

your only flaw, some would say, was that you were a bitch. you weren’t ashamed of it. why should you be? the world you lived in didn’t reward kindness; it rewarded control. and you had control in spades. no one had their way with you—no one ever would. you were sharp, unyielding, and yes, at times cruel. it wasn’t something you denied, not even to yourself. the whispers in the hallways, the glances exchanged in the bathroom as girls fixed their lipstick in the mirror—it was all the same. they called you a bitch, and you owned it. better to be feared than forgotten.

the only person who didn’t seem to see you through that lens was kunhang. where others whispered behind your back or trembled in your presence, he adored you. bright and bubbly, he was the rare exception, the one who refused to believe you were anything but assertive. he defended you relentlessly, as if worshipping your very existence. he was infatuated, and it showed in every wide-eyed gaze, every laugh that burst from his lips when you were near.

you had thought it was natural for a boyfriend to be protective, to spin the narrative in your favor, but kunhang wasn’t faking it. he looked at you as though you hung the moon, as though every sharp word and cool glance only added to the mystique that made you irresistible. whipped didn’t even begin to cover it. he was enamored, and while you didn’t let many get close, he had earned his place. perhaps it was his earnestness, or maybe the way he never flinched in the face of your cutting remarks. he didn’t just accept you as you were; he adored you for it.

you allowed yourself to be softer around him, just a little. when his hand found yours, you didn’t pull away. at first, the gesture had felt awkward—foreign even—but over time, you grew to hold it with pride. kunhang, ever affectionate, was quick to pull you in for a kiss or wrap you in a hug, and while you rarely initiated, you never denied him. his adoration was intoxicating in its simplicity, and in those moments, you almost forgot the weight of your reputation. you almost forgot that in the eyes of everyone else, you were untouchable, untamable—a bitch with no patience for weakness. but with him, you let yourself lean into something softer, even if just for a moment.

the only reason you had walked hand-in-hand through the dense forest toward the campsite, surrounded by your classmates, was because of him. kunhang’s grip on your hand was tighter than yours, but you didn’t mind. his smile, bright and pure, was contagious enough to make you forget the slight discomfort of the heat or the uneven path beneath your feet. as you both neared the site, his eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “we’re gonna share a tent, right?” his voice was laced with eagerness, the undertone making your smile widen.

“i was thinking of sleeping alone,” you teased, letting your tone carry an air of false seriousness. for a moment, you saw his grin falter, a frown quickly replacing the earlier joy, and you nearly regretted your words. “i’m just kidding,” you added, the corner of your lips quirking upwards as relief washed over him, his radiant smile returning.

the campsite was nestled between towering trees, their branches draping like a protective canopy over the rows of tents that your classmates had begun setting up. the scent of pine hung in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the damp ground beneath your feet. it was simple, perhaps too simple for a group as accustomed to luxury as yours, but there was a certain charm in the ruggedness. the makeshift fire pit in the center of the site flickered with the beginnings of a small flame, casting long shadows across the clearing. logs arranged in a circle around it served as seats for your group, who laughed and chatted as they worked to establish a sense of comfort in the wilderness.

you leaned back in your folding chair, watching as hendery—no, kunhang, to everyone else—struggled momentarily with the tent’s poles. his tongue poked out in concentration, brows furrowed in determination. it was amusing, the way he worked so hard, so focused. he wanted everything to be perfect, to prove himself capable. and you—well, you were perfectly content admiring him from a distance.

“nice job, kunhang,” a voice chimed in from nearby, and you turned to see one of the girls from your class offering him a thumbs-up, her face lit with a smile. she seemed harmless enough, but the sight of her addressing him so familiarly made something inside you tighten. to everyone else, he was kunhang, the boy with the easy laugh and friendly demeanor. but to you? he was hendery, your hendery. the nickname was yours alone, something intimate that others had no right to touch.

“keep walking,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to slice through the air like a whip. the girl’s smile faltered, her eyes darting to her friend for support before they both hurried off, the lightness in their steps fading into an awkward shuffle. hendery couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from his lips, amused by the situation. he glanced at you, eyes filled with that familiar adoration, but said nothing.

the dinner that followed was as expected. adequate. passable. you couldn’t expect much from camp food, after all. it was edible, at least, and that was enough for the evening. you ate in silence, content to let the sounds of the forest and the chatter of your classmates fill the gaps. hendery, on the other hand, watched you with a quiet smile, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a secret. you met his gaze, raising an eyebrow as you chewed. “what? is my makeup creasing?” you asked, feigning concern while your eyes glinted with humor.

he smiled softly, shaking his head. “i have to stare,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, almost reverent. “you’re so beautiful.” compliments had always come easily to you, especially in this world of wealth and admiration. but his words—his simple, unadorned praise—held a different weight. they felt genuine in a way that made your heart stutter, your cheeks warming under the softness of his gaze. you could never quite get used to it, no matter how often he said it. there was something about the way he looked at you, something that made you feel seen in a way that was both flattering and unsettling.

tonight, though, his gaze lingered too long, and it wasn’t just admiration that danced behind his eyes. there was something more—something heated, almost guilty. his eyes roamed, caught on the way your shorts hugged your legs, the loose strands of hair framing your face in the gentle evening breeze, the smudged remnants of your makeup after a long day outdoors. it was nothing special, nothing you hadn’t worn a hundred times before, yet his gaze made you feel exposed, almost vulnerable. you knew that look. it wasn’t just admiration; it was something far more intense, far more complicated.

“you must like me a lot if you think i look good like this,” you teased lightly, finishing the last of your meal before rising to take your bowl away. you expected him to laugh, maybe to throw back a quick retort, but when you glanced down, you saw the unmistakable flush that colored his cheeks, the way his eyes widened in sudden panic. it was an accidental glance, something you hadn’t meant to see—but there it was. the bulge in his sweats was impossible to miss, painfully obvious, and the shade of crimson that darkened his face only confirmed it.

“no way,” you scoffed in amusement, the laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. he moved quickly, bringing his hands up to cover himself in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence, but it was too late. his stammered apology came out in broken fragments, his voice shaking with embarrassment. “i’m so— i’m so sorry—” he didn’t know where to look, how to explain, and the sheer mortification on his face was almost enough to make you feel bad for him. almost.

“move your hands,” you commanded, your voice cutting through his flustered panic with the same authority you always carried. hendery hesitated, but he always did as you asked. slowly, shakily, he let his hands fall away, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else had noticed. but it was just the two of you now, and your laughter echoed softly in the quiet space between you. “you’re joking,” you muttered, half in disbelief, half in amusement. but no, there it was, even more prominent now, standing to attention as if mocking him in his helplessness. you met his gaze again, and his eyes, slick with unshed tears of shame, only made the situation more surreal.

acoffing, you set your bowl down with a sigh before reaching for his hand. you didn’t give him time to react, to protest, as you pulled him out of his seat and away from the others, leading him toward the shadowed cover of the forest. “what are you doing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, sniffling in confusion. you tugged him along with little regard for his unease. “no one’s looking. come on,” you paused, turning to face him, “don’t cry just yet.”

the forest around you felt silent and still, the distant crackle of the campfire muffled by the heavy, thick air that clung to your skin. you didn’t care about anything else—not the others back at the campsite, not the thin veil of night creeping over the treetops. it was just you and hendery now, and the pounding of his heartbeat that seemed to echo through the night. you pressed him against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged surface biting into his back, and his breath hitched in his throat. his chest rose and fell in uneven, jagged breaths, each one sharper than the last. his eyes were wide, glistening with unshed tears of embarrassment, and he stared at you like a deer caught in headlights, his lips quivering as he struggled to hold back.

you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his face, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his whole body trembling beneath your touch. “didn’t i tell you not to cry?” you asked, your voice rough, almost daring him to break the command. the weight of your words lingered in the air between you both, heavy and suffocating.

his response came in the form of a shaky nod, his hands gripping the tree behind him for stability as he wiped hastily at the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. you watched the movement, your gaze unwavering, hard. but then, as you let your eyes drop lower, to the obvious bulge in his sweats, it was impossible to ignore the way it strained against the fabric, pressing insistently as if begging for attention.

you tilted your head slightly, smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “what’s all the fuss?” you murmured, your tone shifting, softening like silk draping over his skin. the change in your voice had an immediate effect on him. you watched as his dick twitched visibly through his sweats, a reaction he couldn’t hide if he tried. a choked sound escaped his lips, something between a gasp and a whimper, and his cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. the embarrassment in his eyes was replaced with something else now—something more primal, more desperate.

“are you really that desperate?” you asked, leaning in closer until your breath was ghosting over his ear, your voice dripping with amusement. “are you that big of a pervert, baby?” your hand dropped lower, nails lightly grazing over the length of his clothed shaft. even through the layers of fabric, you could feel it—the way it pulsed, hard and warm, straining against the confines of his sweats as if begging for more. the touch was light, teasing, but it was enough to make him tremble, his knees buckling slightly as he leaned further back against the tree for support.

his mouth fell open as a whimper finally escaped, his head tilting back against the rough bark. “i’m sorry,” he whimpered, his voice broken and small, almost pleading. “i’m so sorry.” you scoffed, unimpressed by his pitiful apology, and in one swift motion, your touch went from teasing to something far harsher. your hand tightened around his bulge, squeezing with just enough force to make him cry out, a loud, needy moan spilling from his lips before he could stop it. his body jerked against the tree, and his breath came out in shallow, desperate gasps.

“you’re sorry?” you mocked, raising an eyebrow as you loosened your grip just slightly. his face twisted in a mixture of shame and pleasure, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled under your control. “show me how sorry you are.” your words cut through the haze of his mind, and before he had time to process them, you were on him again. your hand tightened once more, eliciting another loud, desperate moan from his lips as you pressed your body closer to his. without warning, your lips crashed against his, silencing his moans as your mouths moved together in a frantic, messy kiss.

he kissed back immediately, unable to restrain himself any longer. his lips moved against yours, hungry, desperate, his hands scrambling to find purchase on your body as his mind spiraled out of control. it was all too much—the way your hand gripped him, the way your lips claimed his with such possessive force, the way your body pressed against him, making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe.

every whimper, every moan that slipped from his lips was muffled by your mouth, and you could feel the way his body responded, the way he shuddered under your touch, utterly at your mercy. he kissed you like he was drowning, like you were the only thing keeping him afloat in the suffocating weight of his desire. and you knew, from the way he trembled, from the way he gasped into your mouth, that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

you pulled back from the kiss, leaving him panting, breathless, lips swollen from the frantic mess you’d made of him. his head hung low, hair falling into his eyes as he tried to collect himself, chest heaving with the weight of every desperate breath. his cheeks were stained red, a shade darker than before, and the faint shimmer of tears still clung to his lashes. “look at you,” you whispered, voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade grazing skin. “what would they think if they saw you like this? if they saw how desperate you are for me?”

your words hit him like a punch, and his whole body tensed against the tree. his eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and panicked, as if the thought of anyone else knowing what was happening between you terrified him more than anything. but there was no escaping it, not now. you could see the conflict in his gaze—the lingering embarrassment colliding headfirst with the raw, unfiltered lust that was consuming him whole. “i—” his voice broke, small and weak, as he struggled to find the words, shaking his head helplessly. “i can’t help it,” he breathed, the confession falling from his lips like a prayer. “i’m desperate for you.”

his answer hung in the air, heavy and thick with tension, and you could see the shame in his eyes, the way he was utterly, hopelessly whipped for you. it was almost pathetic—the way he looked at you, wide-eyed and trembling, like he’d give anything just to feel you again, just to hear you speak his name. “desperate,” you repeated, tasting the word on your tongue, savoring it as you leaned closer, your lips ghosting over his ear. “is that what you are, baby? desperate?”

his breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping his throat as he pressed himself harder against the tree, as if trying to disappear into the bark, trying to hide from the humiliation that was burning him from the inside out. but he couldn’t hide—not from you. not when you had him pinned like this, trapped under the weight of your words, completely at your mercy. his eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. the humiliation was etched into every line of his face, every breath that passed his lips, and yet the bulge in his sweats only seemed to grow more pronounced, more insistent with every word that spilled from your mouth.

“tell me, baby,” you continued, your voice softening, a cruel sweetness seeping into your tone. “are you ashamed? do you like being this desperate for me?” he swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he answered, “i—i can’t stop. i—” he broke off, breath catching in his throat, eyes flicking up to meet yours, pleading. “i just, i need you.”

his confession was raw, dripping with need, and it sent a thrill through you, a rush of power that made your lips curl into a smirk. you let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing lightly over his clothed length, feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched in his throat. “of course you do,” you murmured, eyes darkening as you tightened your grip, feeling him pulse beneath your fingers. “but you don’t get to have me until i say so.”

a sharp gasp tore from his lips as you squeezed, his body jerking forward instinctively, as if trying to chase the touch, but you pulled back just as quickly, watching as his face twisted in frustration and need. his hands clung to the bark behind him, knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back, of staying still, of not falling apart completely beneath you. “such a sweet boy,” you mocked, the words dripping with sarcasm as your other hand slipped up to his jaw, forcing him to look at you. his eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over again, and it only made you smirk wider, relishing the sight of him so undone.

he opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, and all that came out was a soft, broken moan as your hand drifted lower again, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of his sweats. you could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his whole body trembled under your touch, and it made you laugh softly, a dark, amused sound that made him shudder. “you’re already this hard,” you noted, your tone a mixture of disbelief and mockery as you tugged at the waistband, pulling his sweats down just enough to free his length. it sprung up, hard and eager, and the sight of it only made your smirk deepen. “are you really that big of a pervert?”

his face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he bit down on his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. but he couldn’t stop it, not with your hand wrapping around him, stroking slowly, deliberately, your grip tight enough to make him squirm. “i—” his voice broke again, barely a whisper, and he whimpered as your fingers grazed the sensitive tip, teasing him, driving him to the edge without giving him what he so desperately wanted. “please.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer until your lips brushed against his ear, your voice low and taunting. “please what, baby? tell me what you want.” he shuddered, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, and he tilted his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to find the words, his whole body trembling with the effort. “please,” he whispered again, voice cracking, “i—i need to fuck you.” your smirk widened at his desperation, at the way he was so willing to beg for you, to completely submit to whatever you wanted from him. and you weren’t about to let that go unrewarded.

with one swift movement, you pulled his sweats down further, exposing more of him to the cool night air, and your hand wrapped around him fully, stroking with just enough pressure to make him gasp, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch. his moans were soft at first, barely audible, but as your pace quickened, they grew louder, more desperate, more needy. “you like this, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice dripping with amusement as you watched the way his face twisted in pleasure. “being so completely at my mercy.”

his response was a broken, breathless moan, and his hands scrambled to find something to hold onto, fingers digging into the bark behind him as his body shook with the intensity of it all. you could see the way his tears threatened to spill over again, the way his whole body trembled beneath your touch, and it only fueled the fire inside you, the desire to completely undo him. leaning in, you kissed him again, hard and unrelenting, swallowing his moans as your hand continued to work him, the heat between you growing with every passing second. his lips moved against yours, messy and eager, his desperation seeping into every kiss, every touch, until all that was left was the sound of his broken moans and the sharp, needy gasps that filled the air around you.

you pulled back, letting him pant against you, his eyes blinking open to meet yours, glazed with a mix of passion and despair. “you wanna fuck me? fill my pussy up?” you asked, your voice a low purr that sent a shiver down his spine. he nodded frantically, his breaths coming in short, stuttering bursts as he choked out a single word. “yes, please, fuck.”

you stepped back, your hand sliding away from his cock, leaving him standing there, exposed and desperate. your eyes raked over him, taking in the sight of his shaking legs, his flushed skin, the way he was barely holding himself together. “not yet,” you murmured, the smirk never leaving your lips as you turned away, heading back towards the tents. he stumbled after you, sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyes never leaving your retreating form.

you reached your tent, the one you’d so confidently claimed earlier, and without looking back, you slipped inside. you could hear his footsteps hastening, the sound of him tripping over a root, his gasp of pain muffled by the thick carpet of leaves beneath his feet. you didn’t bother with the zipper, letting the flap fall open behind you as you moved deeper into the tent, his eyes following you like a starving man watching food being dangled just out of reach.

his eyes never left yours as he stumbled in after you, his movements clumsy with desire. you let your shirt fall to the ground, revealing your lacy bra, your breasts heaving with every breath you took. his gaze dropped to your chest, his mouth watering at the sight, and you could see the way his cock twitched in response. “you sure you want it?” you taunted, cupping your breasts, your thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. his eyes snapped back to yours, a silent plea, and you laughed, the sound echoing through the tent.

you stepped closer, your hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw before sliding down to grip his neck, your thumb resting against his pulse point. it was racing, a frantic drumbeat that matched the thundering in your own chest. “you can have it,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath mingled with his, “but only if you can handle it. can you handle me, baby?” your voice was a challenge, a promise wrapped in a warning, and he nodded, his eyes wide with need.

your hand slid down to the base of his throat, your grip tightening as you pushed him back onto the makeshift bed, the sleeping bag rustling beneath him. he lay there, panting, his cock standing tall and proud, begging for attention. but you weren’t done playing yet. with a wicked smile, you straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips, your pussy hovering just above his dick. the warmth of him radiated through the fabric of your shorts, making you wet, making you ache for more. you leaned in, pressing your chest against his, the feel of his heart hammering against yours as you whispered into his ear, “are you sure you can handle this?”

his only response was a desperate nod, and you couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound dark and thrilling. you reached behind you, unbuttoning your shorts with a flick of your thumbs before sliding them down, your ass cheeks exposed to the cool night air. his eyes followed the movement, his pupils dilating with want, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted. “just like that,” you murmured, the praise sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “now, let’s see if you can be quiet for me, okay?”

you ground down onto him, the fabric of your panties rubbing against his cock, the friction setting your nerves alight. he groaned, his hands coming up to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. but you slapped them away, a smirk playing on your lips. “no touching, unless i say so,” you warned, the words a hiss that sent a shiver down his spine. his eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding, for reassurance, but all he found was the same cold, hard stare.

his breath hitched as you reached back, sliding your panties to the side, and you could feel his cock, hot and insistent, pressing against your wetness. you took a deep breath, savoring the moment before you sank down onto him, the head of his dick parting your folds, filling you inch by delicious inch. his eyes rolled back in his head, a deep, guttural moan ripping from his throat as you took him fully, your pussy tightening around him like a vice.

the tent was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, the wet sounds of your pussy taking him, the harshness of your breath as you rode him, his muffled moans as you dictated the pace. it was intoxicating, the power you had over him, the way he was so desperate for you, so completely and utterly lost in your control. your hips rocked back and forth, grinding down onto him, each movement bringing you closer to the edge, your eyes never leaving his. but it took a turn, one that you could clearly see in his eyes. his expression darkened at the sensation of your cunt clenching against his slick cock, and you could feel your ego dissipate as he grabbed onto your hips. his hands were rough and stronger than anticipated as he pinned you down, his dick never daring to slide put of you.

his thrusts grew more demanding, less submissive, and a thrill shot through your body at the sudden shift. his eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge, and you felt something within you unravel, something that hadn't been touched by anyone else. your breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts, your nipples tight and sensitive against the fabric of your bra. you could feel the beginnings of your climax, the tension coiling in your belly, but he was relentless, driving into you like he was trying to claim a piece of you that you hadn't known was yours to give.

his teeth grazed your earlobe, his breath hot and needy as he whispered, “this pussy’s all mine.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you weren’t the one in charge anymore. you were just another person, a body that was his to use, his to claim. your pussy clenched around him as he fucked you harder, the sound of your slapping flesh echoing in the tent. you threw your head back, moaning loudly, and the vibration of the sound only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening, his thrusts growing deeper.

his eyes searched yours, looking for approval, for a sign that this was what you wanted, and you met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. your hand reached back, grasping his neck, pulling him closer until your mouths met again in a kiss that was anything but gentle. your teeth clashed, your tongues battling for dominance as you both gave into the carnality of the moment. his fingers dug into your skin, leaving bruises that would last a long while. “some power you have over me,” he mocked, pausing to pull out before slamming back in with a growl. “what power? so bold while i’m splitting you in half.”

you threw your head back, a gasp escaping your throat as he hit just the right spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “keep going,” you managed to murmur, your voice strained with pleasure. “don’t stop, hendery. please don’t stop.” and he didn’t. he kept fucking you, hard and fast, his grip on your hips unyielding, his rhythm punishing. you could feel yourself getting wetter, your pussy gripping him tighter with every thrust, and it was delicious, it was maddening, it was everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

his hand slid up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb flicking over the nipple through the fabric of your bra. the sensation was electric, shooting straight to your core, making you arch your back and push down onto him even harder. “you like that?” he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “you like when i use you?” you nodded, unable to form coherent words, and he chuckled, the sound dark and triumphant. he pulled the cup of your bra down, exposing your nipple to the cool air, and took it into his mouth, sucking and biting until you were writhing beneath him, your cries growing louder and more desperate.

his other hand slid down to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you bucking your hips up to meet his touch. the pleasure was almost too much to bear, pressure building within you that threatened to consume you whole. “cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice a command that resonated through your body. “let me hear you fall apart, fuck.” and you did. with a loud, guttural cry that seemed to shake the very earth beneath you, you came, your pussy spasming around his cock, your body shaking with the intensity of it all.

he didn’t stop, though, his movements growing even more erratic as he chased his own release. you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened and his breath grew ragged. and then, with one final, brutal thrust, he came, his cum filling you up, the warmth of it spreading through your core. your eyes locked onto his, the intimacy of the moment so intense it was almost painful. for a few seconds, you just laid there, panting, your hearts beating as one, the world outside the tent forgotten. however, it wasn’t.

✧

a/n: this was lowkey rushed but it’s 2 am i’m so sorry

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watchingovergvff · 2 years ago

Text

Kill You To Try- Jake Kiszka

Summary: Will you and Jake ever be able to see eye to eye? Being pining idiots and hating each others guts don’t mix. Let’s find out the hard way then.

Genre: Childhood best friends- enemies- lovers. Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Jake is an asshole. Jealousy and Drinking.

A/N: This is my second favorite thing i’ve ever written. I apologize for my lack of Jake fics, considering I stay in Jake lane 24/7. I’ve been working on this for a couple of weeks and it’s not perfect by any means. I love to hear feedback so please let me know or if you want a part two to this also!! Thank you for all your patience and support<3333

_______________________________________________

Jake has never been jealous of Josh’s relationship with you, well that was until he saw the two of you dancing. Something about the way Josh’s hands caressed the small of your back, made his chest ache in resentment.

That’s where his dislike for you starts. Well, maybe not dislike but irritation at least.

Jake has known you since the 5th grade. You used to run around the playground, picking flowers for each and every one of your classmates. Jake had fallen and scratched up his knee, sniffles sounding out. Feeling a gentle tap on his shoulder, he turns around to find you smiling down at him.

“Are you okay?” you peer down at him.

“My knee hurts.”

Handing him the prettiest flower out of your bouquet, “Here this should make you feel better.” Jake admires your toothless grin from below, already feeling much better. It didn’t take much longer after that for him to decide to keep you around.

Jake and Josh were a package deal so being best friends with Josh was inevitable. Growing up, you always found that Josh matched your energy to-a-tee. He was your best friend, the one that always knew how to make you laugh. But, Jake was different. Jake felt like your home, your safe place.

That was until he started acting like an asshole out of nowhere. One day you were fine, the next day you weren’t.

It hurt like hell. There’s truly no way to describe losing your better half, other than heartbreak. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so bad, if you weren’t utterly in love with him.

As the years go by, Jake continues his relentless cycle of torture. The snide comments or blatant disrespect, never compared to the pain of him ignoring you. Josh was dumbfounded at Jake’s behavior toward you. He could have sworn Jake was in love with you, but it’s not the first time Jake has surprised him. Josh was tired of constantly calling Jake out on his shit. He understood if Jake just didn’t get along with you anymore, but the disrespect was uncalled for.

Over time, you got used to Jake’s nasty behavior and decided to not let it bother you. If he was going to act like a child then so be it, you would be the mature one.

The boy’s music career had shot up since high school, which meant less time spent together and more time touring the world. Saying your goodbyes was hard, but was inevitable. In the meantime, your life would live on in Michigan, while theirs roamed the world.

Life caught up with all of you, which meant less phone calls and no time for visits. Josh kept his promise when he said he would call once a week. He loved giving you every detail of tour since you couldn’t be there. You had been with them since before they even decided to be a band, so not having you around was weird for all of them, even Jake.

After being away for a year, the tour has finally come to an end. Sam being Sam decides to throw a coming home party, mourning the end of tour but celebrating their return.

Being Josh’s right-hand man comes with its perks, so when you get the invitation to their “exclusive” party, you can’t turn the opportunity down.

Would it be weird to say that you hit a second puberty over the past year? Probably, yes. But, you were being truthful. All those years begging and pleading your body to catch up with your maturing mind, payed off it seems. You finally felt good in your own shoes. So, when the hot guy from the local coffee shop asks for your number, who are you to say no.

Having had plans for a date the night of the party, you suggest that the two of you attend a good friend’s party. Surprisingly, he agrees to go with you, let’s just hope he’s used to crazy.

____

“Josh will you please shut the fuck up? I don’t want to hear her name again, please,” Jake groans out.

Whipping his head in Jake’s direction Josh says, “She’s my best friend. I’m allowed to be excited to see her Jake.”

Jake gives his best effort to not roll his eyes, but fails.

“It’s not like you have to talk to her. I’m sure she isn’t thrilled to see you either, after how shitty you’ve been,” Josh mumbles, leaving the room.

Huffing like a child, Jake does his best to calm his nerves. He is not prepared whatsoever to see you after all this time.

____

Jake already knew it would be hard to see you, but seeing you with some guy makes his façade shatter completely. Pre-gaming seems to have been a bust, because he has never felt soberer in his life.

“Sunshine!” Josh’s bright smile distracts you from scanning the crowd any longer, silently searching for his other half.

After Josh has gotten his fill of hugs and kisses from you, he makes quick work of introducing himself to your date.

Josh’s love for first impressions allows you to quickly excuse yourself, wanting to find a drink strong enough to get through the night.

Scanning the crowd, you see him. Sitting in a secluded corner of the room, slowly sipping on his drink.

Realizing his eyes had been on you since stepping in the doorway, you allow yourself one quick glance in his direction. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of actively looking for him, you walk the opposite direction, silently hoping he’ll follow you.

Is Jake an asshole to you? Yes.

Does he deserve even a second of your time? Hell no.

But, there’s still a part of you that longs for the Jake you once knew so well. It’s foolish to believe that after all this time he has changed, but you can’t help but wish for it.

Fixing a drink, you smile at people in passing or attempt to make small talk.

Feeling him before you see him, his presence looms over you like no other.

Jake sits onto the countertop next to you, plucking the cherry out of your drink. Grinning wickedly at you, he sucks the cherry into his mouth.

If you hadn’t been so focused on his cherry stained lips, you would have slapped the audacity right out of him.

“See something you like, sunshine?”

“Fuck off Jake,” you glare up at him.

“Don’t be like that, where’s my welcome home hug?” he pouts.

“Assholes don’t get welcome home hugs. They get a foot up their ass instead. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

He chuckles.

Jumping off the counter, he says, “It’s good to see you to, Sunshine.”

Watching him saunter off to his dark corner, you exhale, trying to regain your footing. Jake has always had a way of making your head feel all fuzzy, no matter what bullshit he was spewing.

____

Sam had made the executive decision to start a bonfire later into the night.

The party had dwindled down to very few people at this point.

Your date had decided to head home early because he had work the following morning. The both of you had agreed to see each other again soon. He seemed extremely nice, but you had a feeling it wouldn’t work out due to your complicated past resurfacing.

But, you were in desperate need of a distraction sadly.

Which left you snuggled under Josh’s arm, sharing childhood stories around the fire. Very clique, but it happened every time you all got together and had a few drinks.

Jake’s eyes haven’t left your figure since you walked in the door. The moment in the kitchen with you replaying in his mind over and over again. He could have sworn you looked at him, like he’s always looked at you.

Hanging on to every word that comes out of your mouth, Jake yearns for your affection.

Over the years, Jake has had love interests that weaved in and out of his life. He’d never been in love with any of them, but unconsciously found parts of you in them.

Deflecting his feelings for you by pretending to dislike you is better than being rejected by the one person he loves most, at least that’s what he tells himself.

He longs to hold you close like Josh.

Was his fear of rejection worth losing his best friend?

____

Weeks have passed since the night of the party. Danny had graciously taken you home that night, promising to have a lunch date soon.

Remember the guy you brought with you to said party, you know, the one you agreed to see again?

Well, the time has come to meet up again. The both of you agree to get drinks at a local bar in town. Your excited to go out actually. He’s a cute guy who seems to have a genuine interest in you. Plus, he could be the solution to your irritating Jake problem. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten all dolled up anyway, so this is a great excuse.

Finally feeling satisfied with how you look, you head out the door. Don’t get it twisted, you’re not dressing for him. Putting on a pretty outfit and delicate makeup is all for you, mostly because it’s fun.

High school is rough for everyone. Puberty, delayed growth spurts, acne, braces, and social standards never complimented each other. Having struggled with each and every aspect of an awkward stage during high school.

Feeling beautiful is hard when everyone around is trying to be anyone but themselves. So, you could say high school was rough for you.

You never thought of yourself as beautiful or magnificent. Mostly putting yourself into the dull category, because there was truly nothing special about you.

But, Jake always had a way of proving you wrong.

Jake watched you grow from a gentle and kind young lady, into a breath-taking woman.

Having always thought you were beautiful in every stage of life, Jake truly wouldn’t know where to start.

_____

The bar was lit up with string lights, softly playing music.

Lucky for you, the bar was just a block over from your house, so you were able to walk over. Hoping that your date went well enough for you to hitch a ride home with him.

You arrived on time, perching yourself atop the nearest bar stool. He had messaged you saying he was running behind, but he shouldn’t be too long. So, you had decided to wait at the bar for him.

____

Hours have passed and your still sat atop a barstool, downing your sixth drink of the night. You came to the conclusion about two hours ago, that he was indeed not coming after all.

“Ma’am, do you have a ride home? We’re closing up shop here, so you’re going to have to leave soon,” the older bartender asks you.

“Yeah, yeah sorry. Let me call a friend of mine really quick,” you fumble around, looking for your phone.

Securing your phone in your hand, you go to call Josh. He wouldn’t mind coming to get you.

“Hello?”

“Hey Josh, I know its late but I need a ride home. I’m at the bar down the street, but I’ve had too much to drink to walk home in the dark. Can you please come get me?” anxiously fidgeting in your seat.

“I’ll be there in five. Stay right there,” he hangs up abruptly.

He did not sound happy whatsoever. Making Josh mad was not on your to do list today.

It’s just kind of weird. Josh never minds picking you up, he actually insists its him you call. He’s probably having a rough day, don’t over think it.

It hadn’t even been five minutes when you heard your name being called behind you.

Except that voice was definitely not Josh’s.

Out of all people you could have accidentally called, it had to be him. Your night couldn’t get any worse.

Spinning around on your chair, you sigh, waiting for him to provoke you.

He looks at you worriedly, almost like you would shatter any second now.

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“What? What did I do now?” Jake questions, conscious of your every move.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You glare at him.

“Like I’m some fucking lost puppy.”

“Don’t give me a reason to,” he bites back.

Running your hands across your face, you realize just how tired you were. “Jake, I can’t do this with you right now. I’ve had a shitty day. Can you please just take me home?”

He reluctantly nods, heading out the door with you in tow.

The two of you climb into his car and begin your silent ride home.

Jake’s never seen you like this. He’s used to you being angry especially at him. Granite, he does love to get you riled up.

But, his favorite is when your happy. When you smile so big, that it throws him back to the day he met you, with your big toothless grin shining down on him.

His sunshine now turning into rain.

So, he respects the silence for once in his life, letting you have your moment. Watching the tears gather in your eyes, brings along a feeling he’s not familiar with.

Rage.

Gripping the steering wheel, he feels steam run off of him, allowing his knuckles to turn white.

It’s one thing for him to tease and mock you, but another for some asshole to think he can and get away with it.

Jake wants now more than anything to be Josh for you. To make you smile and laugh. He can’t bare to see you like this any longer.

“Do you want to play some music? I’ll even let you choose,” he speaks softly, almost like he doesn’t want to run you off.

You peer up at him in confusion. Where the hell did Jake go?

Shifting anxiously under your gaze, Jake mumbles a quick never mind.

It’s been years since the two of you have had a civil conversation, so this feels unnatural.

“Do you remember when Sam had a crush on you?” doing his best to break the ice.

You snort.

His heart flutters seeing you laugh at something he said for once.

“Do I? The kid followed me around for weeks asking me all kinds of weird questions. It took you telling him that I had cooties because of you to back off,” you laugh out.

Sam was never a smooth talker, that’s for sure.

Jake laughs.

You watch in awe, begging for him to never stop laughing again.

Eventually, Jake pulls into your driveway. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, just wanting to bask in the normalcy for once.

You pull the door open, stepping out of the car. Turning around, you give him a tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks Jake, for everything,” looking anywhere but at him.

“No need to thank me, I’d do it again. If you really wanted to thank me, you could tell me where that guy lives so I can kick his ass,” he smiles up at you, only slightly kidding.

Laughing you wave goodbye, praying that he doesn’t see how flustered you were.

Once you’ve made it inside, Jake sits in the driveway, contemplating everything that happened tonight.

On the way home, Jake realizes he regrets not apologizing for everything he’s said that he truly didn’t mean.

____

Days pass and Jake hasn’t heard a peep from or about you. Josh claims that your trying to heal from getting your heartbroken, but Jake has a feeling something else is wrong.

He is terrified that he may have done something to hurt or upset you once again. He is sick and tired of being the one that hurts you.

So, Jake makes the impulsive decision to go see you. Josh protests saying “Jake is the last person you would want to see right now”. In authentic Jake fashion, he doesn’t give a flying fuck.

____

The drive to your house was torture. Jake didn’t know what the right thing to say would be or what he should do.

Thinking back to simpler times, he remembers the time he saw you the summer of 9th grade.

____

That summer was a weird one for all of you.

Jake and Josh finally went through a growth spurt and started filling into their teenage bodies.

They hadn’t seen you all summer because your family sent you to summer camp.

Jake had come home one day, looking for Josh. He heard Josh’s voice float down the hallway from the garage. Making his way in that direction, he heard a second voice. Recognizing that sweet voice anywhere, Jake strides down the hall in search of you.

Once in the garage, he froze in his tracks. It was definitely you, but different. Jake remembers your straggly hair and your scraped knees. He remembers a little girl, his best friend.

You were no longer a little girl, you were a young woman.

You had bloomed into a stunning flower. Jake felt breathless.

But, after all you were still you. Jake was still Jake.

Best friends forever, but maybe it had always been more than that.

____

Jake and Josh hauled you everywhere. Every show they played you were there.

Believing in their success was never difficult for you. The moment you heard them play together, you knew everything would change.

When the boys played their first big show, you had tagged along not wanting to miss a second of it. Their set had finally come to an end that night. Trotting off the stage, Jake immediately went looking for you. He’d kept an eye on you throughout the show, always feeling better with you close by.

Feeling a hand grip his wrist, he spins around in search of the culprit.

Wrapping him into a bear hug, you squeeze him tight.

Pulling away from you he notices tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Was the show that bad?”

You slap at his chest.

“No, you idiot. These are happy tears. I’m just so proud of you guys. Thank you for letting me be here,” you smile up at him.

“Thank you for wanting to be here. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he remarks.

Arriving at your house, he stumbles up to your porch and forces himself to knock on your door. After what seems to be the longest two minutes of his life, you answer the door.

You clearly just woke up from a nap, your hair a wild mess. Of course, Jake thinks its adorable.

Obviously, your taken aback as to why Jake would be standing on your front porch. You begin to question him, but he stops you.

“Can I come in? We need to talk,” he says, barely looking you in the eye.

“Yeah sure, sure,” you say, stepping aside.

Looking around, Jake realizes he’s never been inside your house before. Your windows are wide open, welcoming the sunlight in. Music playing softly from your record player. Books littered all over the room. It feels like home, yet so unfamiliar.

Clearing your throat, you see him jump, clearly on edge.

Once the two of you have gotten comfortable on your sofa, you realize she how quiet it is. Giving him a small smile, in hopes to provide some sort of comfort due to his jitteriness. He melts at the sight of your kind gesture.

“Are you feeling better” he asks.

Chuckling nervously, you reply, “Way better than the last time you saw me. Thank you for that by the way. I meant to text you afterwards, but I was just too tired.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I wanted to.”

You stare at him blankly.

“You wanted to save me from one of the most embarrassing nights of my life?”

“No no no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just like helping you or being the one you call.”

Giving him an exasperated sigh, you sink deeper into your chair.

“Jake, why are you here?”

He sighs, remembering the real reason he came after all. “I don’t even know where to start. I just wanted to apologize, for everything. You never deserved how I treated you. You’ve always been such an enigma to me. I couldn’t ever figure out why you were so kind to me, even after I pushed you away.”

“Then why did you push me away Jake? When all I’ve ever wanted was to be close to you.”

“I felt like I had to. You and Josh had gotten so close. I was selfish and got jealous. I’ve had to share everything with Josh my whole life. The one thing I never ever wanted to share was you. At the time, I felt like you had finally made your decision and it was Josh that you chose. It hurt too much to see the both of you together, so I made myself distance from you. A few years after I came to my senses and realized I was being selfish making you choose between the both of us, I wanted to make things right. I bought flowers and wrote out my whole apology speech, just to get to your front door and cower away. I felt like there would be no way you would forgive with such a lame ass excuse at that point. I had already dug deep enough. So, I made myself learn how to hate you, even though that’s the farthest thing from the truth. I--- I’m just so sorry Y/n. I never want to hurt you again. Being the one you called that night at the bar made me realize just how much I missed you. I miss talking to you, laughing with you, and sitting with you. I miss everything. I want to make it right, no matter what it takes. You deserve it, you always have.”

Hiding his face within his hands, in order to keep some composure, he hears a sniffle. Quickly looking up, Jake comes face to face with your tearful smile.

Tears poor down your face, while grinning ear to ear.

Reaching over, Jake gently wipes your tears away. You reach up and cup his shaky hands, holding them against your face.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

The both of you die out with chocked up laughter.

“You should have just told me Jake. I’ve always loved you both and I always will. But, my love for you is different, it always has been. You’re my best friend. Josh is my brother, the one that shields me. I had a sneaking suspicion that may have been what triggered your behavior, but I was too pissed to talk about it with you. Your right, I didn’t deserve the treatment you gave me, but I saw right through that bullshit. You forget that I watched you grow up. You’ve always been my sweetheart, the friend that would go above and beyond for you. I never truly believed you hated me, I just wanted to give you time to figure yourself out, no matter how long it took. I forgive you Jake. I think I forgave you a long time ago, but was always too prideful to admit it to myself.”

Grinning at each other, Jake pulls you into a tight hug. Being this close to one another after years of pining, felt like a dream.

Finally, you pull away realizing just how close the two of you were. Feeling Jake’s breath gently against your skin, you glance down at his lips. Jake’s breathing all together stops.

Quickly, your mind comes to its senses and the both of you awkwardly pull away.

Scratching the back of his neck, Jake says, “I guess I should head back to the studio now. Josh is going to kill me if I’m late again.”

“Oh yeah, of course. I know how cranky he can get,” you laugh off. Leading him out your front door, you turn to walk back inside.

“Y/n,” Jake calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

You smile so wide, your bottom lip shakes.

Waving him off, you head back inside. Laying against the door, your head feels fuzzy from just his smile.

____

Five minutes later, Jake finds himself pulling right back into your driveway. He marches right out of his car, straight up to your porch once again. In a tizzy, he begins banging on your door.

Rushing to see what the ruckus is about, you swing open your door.

“Miss me already?” you chuckle out.

“Marry me.”

“What?”

The both of you stand there looking at each other, daring the other to speak up.

“I’m sorry that’s not what I meant to say, I was trying to tell you-

You tug him by his collar, kissing him softly.

Eventually, the two of you pull away trying to catch your breath. Resting his head against yours, you both smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” you whisper out.

Jake chuckles in disbelieve. “No way, I’ve been dreaming of that since 7th grade.”

He takes your hand in his, squeezing so tight in hopes to convey his love for you. Immediately understanding, you bring your hand up to gently stroke his hair.

“Well, we could keep standing out here looking at one another, or we can go inside and kiss some more,” you say.

Jake hastily responses, “Inside please.”

____

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!!!!

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edutour · 3 months ago

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Edutour is your dedicated school tour operator, committed to creating meaningful educational adventures for students. With a wealth of experience in crafting engaging and safe school trips, we offer a wide range of destinations and customized itineraries. Our goal is to inspire a love for learning through hands-on experiences. Trust Edutour to provide top-notch planning, accommodations, and transportation, ensuring every school tour is an unforgettable journey of discovery. Join us in making education an adventure with Edutour, your reliable partner in school travel. Contact Us: Address: G-37 JTM MALL JAGATPURA, Model Town, Malviya Nagar, Jaipur, Rajasthan 302017 Call Us: +91-9694020905 Email: [email protected] Visit Us: https://www.edutour.org.in/

#school tour packages

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writtenjewels · 1 month ago

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School Dance

Salim didn't think he would ever attend an American high school dance, but when the school called him asking for chaperons, he volunteered. Zain was not happy about it—he griped that it was too embarrassing, his friends would make fun of him, how could he enjoy himself knowing his father was right there? It made Salim waver, but then he met the other parents who assured him their teenagers had the same complaints.

[You may be embarrassed,] Salim told Zain, [but you won't be the only one.]

He at least did his son the favor of letting Zain come to the dance separately. Salim needed to arrive early anyway to get instructions from the principal. He was given a short tour of the gymnasium, the hallways, the bathrooms, and the closest exits. He would mostly stay in the gym, but every ten minutes or so he would need to do a lap and make sure the students were all where they should be.

Once the students entered the gym, the night fell into a rhythm. Salim decided to do his lap right away so Zain could enjoy his friends without worrying about his father watching his every move. He came back and made his way over to the refreshment table. A few of the students were hovering, along with one of the chaperons. It was a man maybe ten years younger than Salim, wearing a simple outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. Salim knew this wasn't a formal dance, but the casual ensemble still looked a little strange. Or maybe his own collared shirt and slacks was a bit too much.

“Hey,” the other man greeted him with a wave. He had brown hair, though most of it was tucked under a baseball hat. If he wasn't wearing the chaperon tag on his shirt, Salim would think he had accidentally wandered in here. He had a nice smile, though, and Salim smiled back.

“Hello,” he returned. His eyes dropped to the lines of soda cans and cups. There were also wrapped packages of trail mix, crackers, and other small snacks.

“It's easier than a fuckin' punch bowl,” the other man said. Salim lifted his gaze. “When I was their age,” the man continued, gesturing to indicate the kids, “somebody always spiked the fuckin' punch.”

“I see.” Salim probably should have been shocked that the man was using such coarse language within earshot of teenagers, but he found it strangely endearing. Maybe it was the accent. Salim had a soft spot for that Southern drawl that made him think of cowboy movies. “My name is Salim,” he introduced.

“Jason,” the other man returned, reaching to shake his hand. “I'm the school counselor.”

“Nice to meet you.” He took in the other man's appearance. Given his occupation, maybe the casual look was a deliberate choice. It was certainly disarming, and made him look more approachable than the other adults in the room.

“Which one's yours?” Jason asked.

“Oh, I shouldn't say. He didn't want me to be here.”

“Fair enough.” Jason stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. One of the students approached the table, glanced nervously between the adults, and grabbed a bag of trail mix. “So,” Jason spoke up when the kid left, “can I get you a drink?”

“Sure. Thank you. Something without caffeine, please?” Jason nodded and handed over a can, taking one for himself. The two sipped their drinks, Salim's eyes drifting from his new acquaintance to the dance floor. He couldn't see Zain, which would at least please his son. “I've never been to one of these before,” he remarked, turning back to Jason.

“They didn't have dances at your high school?” Jason asked with raised eyebrows. Salim wasn't sure how to explain his schooling experience, so he just shrugged. Jason set his soda can down on the table and grabbed Salim's hand. “C'mon.”

“What?”

“We're dancing,” Jason told him, taking his soda and sitting it beside Jason's. “The snacks can mind themselves for five minutes.”

Salim was being pulled onto the dance floor before he could form a response. He caught Jason's eye, and the younger man gave him a reassuring smile. He took Salim's hands and directed them to Jason's shoulders. His own hands did the same. Salim caught the black ink of a tattoo on Jason's left arm.

“The students must love that,” he remarked, nodding to the ink.

“Yep,” Jason confirmed. “The tattoo's what got me the job.” Salim stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes widened and he let out a breathless laugh.

“Ah. You were making a joke.” Jason confirmed with another smile, and Salim smiled back at him. His heart gave a pleasant little flutter in his chest. “How long have you worked at the school?” he wondered.

“Few years. I like it, helped a lot of kids. Can't go into specifics, but a lot of them just need someone to be in their corner.”

“It's admirable work. Right now, I'm sort of freelance. I do translation work for museums and a few universities. It isn't the most exciting thing.”

“I donno,” Jason argued. “I've seen some of the shit the kids here scribble in their textbooks. That can get pretty exciting.” That made Salim laugh. “Not everyone's got the patience for that,” Jason went on. “I think it's cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Guess I've always had a thing for nerds,” Jason said. Heat flashed through Salim's face. Did he just flirt with me? The song ended and Jason's hands dropped away from Salim's shoulders. “I gotta do a lap, check the bathrooms,” Jason said.

“Okay,” Salim nodded. He watched the younger man go, still a little dazed. Maybe Jason was just joking, like he was about his tattoo. Salim headed back to the table and retrieved his drink. He took slow sips, hoping Jason would come back.

He was understanding the appeal of these dances.

#jason/salim #jason x salim #jalim #jason kolchek x salim othman #salim othman #jason kolchek #house of ashes

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matan4il · 8 months ago

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Daily update post:

Another one that I start with news of a terrorist attack. -_- This morning, a terrorist started shooting at several vehicles driving down the Jordan Valley, one of which was a school bus. The driver of this bus confirmed that the terrorist was wearing what looked like an IDF uniform. According to Magen David Adom (Red Star of David) there are at least 3 people injured, one is a 13 years old kid, another is in serious condition. The terrorist has not yet been neutralized.

After Amit Soussana's testimony about being raped by Hamas, we also have a Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) terrorist admitting during an interrogation that he had raped a woman in her home in an Israeli kibbutz. It's not the first such testimony, but these are important enough that when they're published, they ALL must be heard.

The prosecution against the terrorists responsible for the massacre of October 7 has been expanded to include clauses which could end with the death penalty (I found a link to a journalistic source online, then I accidentally closed that tab, and can't find it again, but it's been reported on TV. The following tweet recounts the indictments, though the headline is misleading. A death sentence has not been approved, it's just now approved that it's a possible outcome of the trials, once they take place).

For those unfamiliar with the Eurovision Song Contest, it's an event that has been run since 1956, with the intent to help heal a post-war Europe, by allowing countries to have a friendly competition (instead of a bloody conflict), and also have a chance to get to know each other better through music. It's meant to be a unifying, and therefore also a-political fun music fest. This contest has since been expanded to include all countries that are members of the European Broadcasting Union, which means Israel also gets to compete since 1973, and has even won 4 times. I wrote this post about our entry this year, if anyone's curious. In recent years, the ESC has been used for annual anti-Israel propaganda, way before the war in Gaza. This year, a senior official in Israel's National Security Office had to issue a warning for any Israelis going to the competition in Sweden, to be careful and hide their identity as much as possible. I am passing along the warning, because wherever Israelis are in danger, so are Jews in general.

After Canada, Sweden, Australia and Finland, now France is also declaring that it will fund UNRWA again, proving that no amount of complicity in anti-Jewish terrorism will stop some European countries from passing along money to those who have raped, maimed, tortured and murdered us. But no worries! France promises it will ensure that their money won't go to terrorism. I will just remind everyone that France brokered a "deal" to pass along medications to Israeli hostages with chronic illnesses in Gaza, in exchange for an additional 1,000 packages of meds for Gazans. It then said they got reassurance that the meds got to those hostages (meaning, France quoted Qatar, which quoted Hamas, so this is the international diplomacy version of, "Trust me, bro. I'm a highly reliable antisemitic terrorist"). When Israeli soldiers got to a hospital in Gaza, they found some of the med packages for the Israeli hostages in its pharmacy, unopened and clearly not delivered to the rightful address. So... IDK about you, but I'm pretty sure even the French know their assurances about the UNRWA funding are just empty words.

This is 40 years old Mohammad Alatrash.

He's an Israeli Bedouin Muslim Arab, and father of 13, including a one month old baby. He was kidnapped on Oct 7, and has been held captive in Gaza since. Mohammad's uncle said the whole family's life has not been normal since he was taken hostage. Despite that, today several families of hostages had a tour of the attacked communities in the south, with Israel's and Belgium's Foreign Ministers, his brother Salem said that they're okay with Mohammad being released later, as long as Hamas frees the female hostages. "It's hell what they're made to go through there." Just a reminder that Mohammad is one of the Israeli Muslim hostages that Hamas could have and chose not to release even during the month holy to all muslims, Ramadan.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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spectralscathath · 1 month ago

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Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 4- Sleepaway Pig

Stan and Ford didn’t expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not a stupidly cool biker, not weird phobias, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford’s smarts and Stan’s punching, there’s no mystery they can’t solve.

Ao3 Link

Stan sat on the gift shop counter, listening to Carla as she recounted her date night with Bud. Hurt a little bit, because Bud was the worst, but she was super excited to tell anyone so Stan would do it. He'd do it for her.

"And Bud said that the rest of the carnival will be here next week, for the week, but the puppet show arrived early. It really was amazing, you should check it out," Carla beamed, sitting on the other side of the counter. Stan felt his chest go ba-dump for reasons he'd never admit because it was embarrassing.

"Maybe we will." Just because it was paid for by Gideon and the Tent of Telepathy, didn't mean they had to go watch his act. "Puppet shows aren't real common in Jersey. Closest we got was this one fortune teller machine that smacked people."

"No way!" Carla laughed. "Wow, that sounds intense. The guy who did the show did seem off, but mostly in a 'really likes puppets' way. Harmless, really."

"Yeah, Jersey was for hardcores." Stan missed Jersey. Not Crampelter or anyone they knew, but he missed the taffy, the smell of salt, and he really missed the Stan O' War. "Maybe we'll get to the carnival too, we could catch a ride together?"

"Sure, I love doing stuff with friends." Carla smiled as the door jingled, looking up with her usual bright charm. "Hi, welcome to the Mystery Shack, home of the strange, bizarre, and unexplained. Would you like to book a tour- oh, it's you." Carla's smile fell to a frown.

"Hey, Carla." The guy who walked in had to be, bar none, the coolest-looking guy Stan had ever seen, a box under his arm. A leather jacket, boots covered in buckles and spurs, a bandanna tying back long blond hair, and part of a tattoo visible on the side of his neck, from what Stan could make out. He grinned toothily and pulled off his sunglasses. "Haven't seen you since you dropped out."

Carla put on a smile, and Stan had never seen her do that before. "Here to buy anything, Snakes?"

"Got a delivery." Jimmy winked. "Is the old man here?"

"Mr Pines?" Carla hit the Waddles-themed bell as she called out: "Package!"

"Is your name really 'Snakes'?" Stan had to ask.

"Jimmy Snakes." He got eye-to-eye with Stan, like a challenge. Stan didn't blink as Jimmy came into focus, an X-shaped scar on his chin and an intense look in his eyes that- wildly- reminded Stan of the gaze of the Jersey Devil when it was trapped under a net. "Who are you?"

"Stan Pines. I'm from New Jersey." As cool as he was, Carla clearly didn't like him, so Stan wouldn't either. "This guy bothering you, Carla?"

"Easy, tiger," Jimmy laughed and leaned against the counter like he owned the place. "We went to school together."

"You skipped two years and dropped out." Carla squinted at him.

"I got a coupla gap years in early, so what?" Jimmy rolled his eyes. "School's overrated, Stan here knows what I'm talking about."

"You got me there," Stan admitted. "Who the heck are you anyway?"

"I was summoned by the sound of a package, where is it?" Dipper walked in, interrupting any answer Jimmy would have given. "Oh- Jimmy, did you get what I asked for?"

"Sure did." He handed over the box. "You gonna sign for it?"

"Not to you!" Dipper smiled and took the box. "And the rest?"

"It'll be here." Jimmy winked and clicked his fingers, turning it into a finger gun. Stan felt that weird ba-dump that he got around Carla and it was terrifying and awful- dad was gonna kill him. Jimmy didn't notice though, sauntering out the door. "Later Carls. See ya round, Tiger."

"Bye." Stan didn't know how else to respond, able to still see out the window as Jimmy left in time to see him get on a real motorcycle, rev the engine loudly, and drive off like he was in a movie.

"Mr Pines, there are other delivery boys in town. My friend Tyler has a bike and is always looking for some extra work."

"Well, the thing is I don't pay Jimmy, so that helps. Thanks for the heads up, Carla, you're doing great." Dipper wandered off, all his focus on the box in his arms as he brought it to his office.

"Who was that?" Stan had to ask, panicking on the inside. Was he bad? Did this make him bad, that he had a- a- no, he definitely didn't. Boys didn't- what was going on? "Was that a real motorbike?"

"Yeah, Jimmy's real cool. Kinda dangerous though. He was a few years above me in school, and had a reputation. Y'know, delinquent, heartbreaker, always in trouble, and now he hangs out at that biker bar and there's rumours that he even went to jail for a little bit."

"Whoa." Stan was always in trouble too in school.

"He's bad news, Stan. Shandra told me and I told Susan and Tyler, and now I'm telling you: Jimmy Snakes is a snake." Carla pointed at him.

"Got it." Maybe it was just a weird fluke. "So- what carnival ride do you like best?"

Carla lit up and he got that ba-dump again. He'd call it that for now. Any other word was too big, too scary.

Whatever happened- it didn't. Stan was dumb, but he wasn't that dumb.

Right?

"So you're closed today?" Ford had to ask, making sure that the butter on his toast was spread evenly and to the corners.

"Yep! Shack's closed Tuesdays and Thursdays, unless someone books in advance or I get a two-hour heads up for a tour bus." Dipper poured out his third cup of coffee since Ford had woken up, hands clasped around a blue mug that read 'never trust atoms: they make everything up'. Ford liked the pun.

"You were open all last week though. And the week before."

"First two weeks of June are a special case, everyone gets that summer mood, people from town drop by to see what's new, I have a business model, I've got a list. I know what works, I've maximised my profits."

"Is profit all you think about?"

"I think about coffee too." Dipper grinned behind his mug. It was a very sly grin, with a trick in it. Looked familiar.

"I read it's not healthy to have too much."

"Don't believe everything you read, kid. Coffee is always good for you."

"Then can I have some?"

"No."

Ford groaned loudly as his brother walked in, Stan's hair messier than usual from the bedhead. Stan poked him as he went by. "What's with the grumpy face, grumpyface?"

"You have a grumpy face," Ford shot back. "What were you doing last night, you didn't snore at all." Stan always snored when he slept, therefore Stan wasn't sleeping.

"Nothing!" Stan got defensive very quick. "I definitely wasn't lying awake thinking about people."

"That's a really specific denial-"

"Toast?" Dipper set a plate down in front of Stan before pottering over to the sink, he rolled his sweater sleeves up, glitter bunching in the fabric folds, and wait- did he have a tattoo?

Ford would have to investigate. For now though, Dipper was busy washing dishes and humming away to himself.

"Thanks, Dip." Stan started smearing an obnoxious amount of butter on top, not even worried about the corners or the perfect butter-to-bread ratio. "Uh- I dunno. Nonspecific excuse?"

"I mean, if you really want me to drop it… okay." Ford knew Stan tended to think faster on his feet when it came to little lies, so for him to just flat-out say he had nothing meant a lot. "Shack's closed today, wanna do something?"

"Oh yeah! Carla said there's a puppet show in town, we should go!"

"NO!" Dipper's hands slammed down on the edge of the sink with a resounding thud.

Ford flinched, shrinking in his seat, at the same moment that Stan jumped down from his chair, shoulders squared and chest puffed. His bright-eyed snarl of challenge covered Ford's wide-eyed stare, and they both watched.

Dipper gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white and teeth bared, shoulders hunched up around his ears as he stared down into the sink, just… breathing. There was the sound of an engine pulling up outside the house.

Ford didn't want to break the silence first. Stan didn't either. His clenched fists were shaking at his side.

Dipper straightened up, shoulders rolling back with a grunt, before he looked over at them. Ford tensed even more, but Dipper looked instead like he'd been punched in the gut at the sight of them, visibly wincing.

"I- shi- shoot." He half-raised a suds-covered hand in their direction before he lowered it and then… sat down? He reached up to get a towel and wiped his hands dry, pulling a knee in and hooking the bottom of his sweater over it.

That was weird enough it snapped Ford out of the weird stillness he had, enough to tilt his head.

"I'm sorry, boys." Dipper offered, staring at the sleeves of his glittery cat sweater and tugging them back down his arms. "That was- frick. Shouldn't have done that."

"What was that about?" Stan barked out, ready to fight.

"I… okay, first of all, I'm sorry for yelling, that was wrong." Dipper looked anywhere but at them, tugging at the collar of his sweater. "Second- oh man, this is embarrassing, but I'm- I'm kinda afraid of puppets?"

"What the heck?" Stan's shoulders weren't so tense.

Ford was able to will his feet to move, hopping off his chair and joining Stan. He pulled out a notepad and pencil. Suddenly things made so more sense, and Ford could focus on answers and logic and investigating rather than anything emotional. "As in- a phobia?"

"Yep." Dipper was going red in the face. "Pupaphobia, look it up if you like."

"That sounds dumb."

"It's like your acrophobia- your fear of heights, Stanley," Ford reminded him.

Stanley scoffed, but he wasn't shaking anymore. Now he just rubbed his wrist brace, face pulled into a gap-toothed scowl.

"It's not rational," Dipper shrugged, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve. "Still. Yelling, not cool."

"It's okay." Ford reached out and took Stanley's hand. Stanley's fingers jerked like he was about to rip away, before relaxing. He was the only person Ford knew for sure wouldn't run screaming at the feeling of six fingers. "Phobias are entirely illogical phenomena, but they still have been scientifically proven. Some people just experience fear responses to irrational stimuli."

"Heights aren't irrational!" Stan glared at him and pulled his hand away. "I'm gonna see if Dan's outside."

Ford heard Stan's angry stomps, followed by the sound of the door unlocking and slamming. Dipper winced again.

Ford didn't want that awkward silence back and honestly? A yell really wasn't anything. It was just unexpected because Dipper didn't do that, but now they knew he could, so they could incorporate it into the list of potential reactions that Ford was taking notes on and were now prepared for the eventuality of raised voices in the context of a phobia. An entirely logical reaction to a fear response, it was just a scream with words.

Ford was done talking about it. "Some of your stuff is still in our room, what should I do with it?"

"Oh, right! I was gonna sort that, yeah, that'll take up a day, that works." Dipper gave the loose thread a tug before an incredibly guilty look crossed his face and he let go. Unusual.

Maybe Ford's notes weren't comprehensive enough about Grunkle Dipper and how he acted and reacted. He needed more data.

Well, if Stanley could manage a movie with their Grunkle, Ford could manage a productive task with a man who made a freakshow out of anomalies. As much as he hated the very concept.

"Can I help?"

"Sure? You don't wanna, I dunno, play outside?"

"I wanna help." He just had to go tell Stan.

"Dan invited him on a hike with the Corduroys?" Dipper glanced over from where he was pouring food into Waddles Jr.'s trough, reaching down to give the big pig a scratch behind the ears. "Happy breakfast, Wads."

The pig oinked happily and tucked in. Dipper smiled and leaned against the fence to watch him, the 'meow-wow' sweater swapped out for a yellow one with a pencil design. How many did he have? Ford's current list, started on the first day, had zero repeated entries.

"Yep. Stan said they'll be back after dinner." Ford joined him in watching Waddles Jr., still unsure of why it seemed to make Dipper look so content. All the lines in his face, especially the ones around his eyes, seemed a bit more relaxed as he watched the pig. "Are you okay with that?"

"The Corduroys are good people. Dan's a smart kid." Dipper adjusted the brim of his cap. "And if Wendy's with them, even better."

"Who?"

"Dan's mom. She's the coolest person I know." Dipper smiled fondly, but there was something sad there. Ford felt like he should take more notes.

"I thought you said the townsfolk didn't like you."

"Oh, they don't. But the Corduroys are neighbours, they live in the woods. Doesn't count."

"Do you have any other friends?"

"Eh." Dipper made a 'so-so' gesture. "I'm not sure I'd go that far either. If it wasn't for Dan she probably still wouldn't talk to me."

"Why?" Was Ford pushing too hard on the questions? He was never sure. Stan was better at picking up on people's breaking points.

"What are you, a cop?" Dipper laughed and ruffled Ford's hair. "What's with the interrogation?"

"I dunno," Ford tried to buy time the way Stan would, using 'I don't know' to fill a pause while he came up with an excuse. "You mentioned your phobia, and I realised I don't know much about you."

More than that, neither did the family. When Shermie brought it up, it had been out of the blue. Ford couldn't remember hearing much about Dipper throughout their childhood either, or at family gatherings, when they went. An artist in Oregon turned business owner, mostly.

If Ford thought back, mostly what he knew was what Shermie said in his pre-trip crash course. That Grunkle Dipper was Grunkle Dipper, and that he avoided the family for what Shermie said was a good reason.

"Don't know much about me." Dipper repeated. "Yeah… pretty much. Not too much to know, really. I fleece tourists and hate people."

"And puppets." Ford wondered if that was safe to say.

"And puppets." Dipper confirmed. "Look- it took me off-guard. I'm not actually against a puppet show. In concept."

"Okay." Ford decided to just start taking notes right now, climbing up and sitting on top of the fence as he pulled out his notepad. Even if he was going to besmirch the diary by writing in it- which he wasn't- this was too mundane for it. "So why don't you visit the family?"

"Grown-up stuff," Dipper stated. Shoot, that meant he probably wasn't going to tell. "I got one for you: why don't you like the Mystery Shack? When Shermie called and said you liked spooky stuff he thought it'd be up your alley."

Ford didn't want to answer that. He answered with another question. "So how well do you know Shermie?"

"Uh- not that well? I mean, he calls sometimes, sends letters. He's a good kid."

"But you don't visit."

"Don't like to leave the Shack." Dipper gave Waddles Jr.'s ears another scratch as the pig finished breakfast before he opened the pen to let the creature out. Ford decided to stay on the fence. He still wasn't sure Waddles Jr. was safe, he was big and pigs were apparently omnivorous. Focus, Ford.

"How'd you meet Shermie then?" Ford was missing something, a key piece of the puzzle.

"Jeez, must've been…" Dipper sat down on the grass with a huff, watching Waddles Jr. wander the clearing and enjoy the sunshine. "When you two were born, I guess."

Ford paused. "... Really?"

"Yep. I even got to hold you two." Dipper smiled wistfully. "Twins, how about that."

"And that's how you met Shermie?" Shermie, who also had a birthmark on his face, a red patch on his jawline that Ford once found out was called a 'port wine stain', which was a weird name to give something a baby could have. Maybe Grunkle Dipper felt a kinship there? Ford had seen the mark on his forehead, usually hidden by grey hair. Ford wondered if he'd ever feel that instant spark of 'I-know-you' with anyone. Probably not. Not even his own twin had six fingers.

"Yeah, I offered to babysit while your folks were at the hospital with everyone else." Dipper glanced at him as Waddles Jr. trundled over and snuffled Dipper's hair. Dipper wrapped an arm around the pig. "Seriously, what's with all the questions?"

"I don't know you at all and I'm here until the end of August, why wouldn't I ask questions?"

"... Okay, that's fair." Dipper used Waddles Jr. to stand up, stretching as he did with a grunt. "Ugh. My back. Don't get old, kid."

"That's not something I can just stop-" Ford started to remind him before an engine revved, a motorbike pulling off. A guy stepped away and pulled off a helmet, shaking out a mane of blond hair.

He looked like trouble. Ford instantly didn't like him at all.

"Old man," the biker smirked meanly and carried over a box that had been tied to his motorbike. "I got the rest of what you wanted."

"Jimmy," Dipper nodded and took the box. "Great work."

'Jimmy' looked at Ford and smirked. "Hey, tiger." And then the smirk faded, Jimmy pulled off his sunglasses, squinting at Ford like there was something wrong. Ford bristled as Jimmy's glare intensified, looking for something. "What the-"

"Oh! Yes, this is my nephew Ford. Ford, this is Jimmy, he met your brother yesterday."

That explained the weird look, but Ford still didn't like it. "We're identical twins, in case you're wondering."

"Huh." Jimmy raised a brow. "Freaky."

Ford officially hated this guy. He laced his fingers together just to make sure Jimmy didn't get a chance to count them. "You got a problem with that, buster?"

"Okay, Jimmy," Dipper's voice gained an edge. "You can go. Consider your debt closer to being cleared."

"Wow, thanks." Jimmy rolled his eyes. "What's it gonna take, old man?"

"Bye, Jimmy, we're going inside now." Dipper shifted the package under one arm and started shooing Ford towards the door. Ford went willingly, still glaring at Jimmy through his glasses as Waddles Jr. followed them in.

The door closed shut. Dipper locked it as well.

"Who's that?"

"Delivery guy, mostly. He owes me big, so I get him to pick up stuff for the Shack I'm too old to go get." Dipper set the box down and knelt, putting a hand on Ford's shoulder. "You alright?"

"I don't like him."

"No one likes him," Dipper shrugged. "But you don't have to like someone to work with them."

Ford shrugged off the hand. It sounded logical, but for once Ford was finding himself opposed to logic. He picked a Stan-like response, one that felt appropriate for the moment. "Whatever."

"Well. Dipper scratched the back of his neck. "Let's sort out your room. Waddles, you coming?"

"I don't want a pig on my bed." Ford didn't even want the pig in his room, but it was still Dipper's house.

"Wow I have way too much stuff," Dipper complained when they were about halfway through the pile. Ford had to agree. Stan might have liked 'cool junk', but Ford liked neatness.

"Why did you have to store it all up here?"

"It's an attic? For storing things?" Dipper pulled out a pile of old board games. Was that 'Don't Wake Stalin'? And Necronomiconopoly? He thought those games were banned in America.

"But we're here."

"Sorry, kid, I had short notice for this one." Dipper shrugged and held up the board games. "You want these?"

"No." Ford was going to stick with D, D & More D.

"Eh, they'll make a good attraction. I can say they're cursed. Or haunted. They're dusty enough to be. What do you think, Waddles?"

"Oink."

"Yeah, you get it." Dipper smiled fondly at the pig and set them down in the largest pile, the 'attraction-to-be' pile.

"Why do you talk to a pig? It can't understand you."

"Pigs are very intelligent creatures. And he's great for food scraps. And merchandising. Who's a great mascot?" Dipper patted the pig's head, getting a happy snorting sound back.

Mascot, cursed board games, Ford couldn't take it anymore. Everything they pulled out was suddenly an exhibit, or something to put in the Mystery Shack Mystery Prize barrel, or something else that made everything Ford cared about look like a joke. "Why does everything in your life revolve around that stupid fake museum?!"

"... I have to pay for electricity?" Dipper's brows crinkled up.

"You could do anything else, instead you're just a conman!" Ford saw real gnomes, and a real ghost, and a real monster truck, and Dipper just played pretend. "I'm ten times the paranormal investigator you pretend to be!"

"Take it easy, kid." Dipper looked at the bag of golf clubs he'd picked up. "Where did these come from? I don't golf."

"I will not take it easy! Why are we here, just free labour for your dumb shack? You don't know anything about us, you don't see the family, all you do is live alone in the woods like a creep and turn anything abnormal into a joke!"

"I'm not following this at all, I have to be honest, you're throwing down a lot of topics at once-"

"Am I gonna be your next exhibit?" He clenched his six-fingered hands into fists, finally saying something he'd thought from the moment they arrived and saw the shack.

"Whoa- hey, where would you get that idea?" Dipper tossed the golf clubs aside, head snapping to Ford.

"You put anomalies on display for money!"

"Yeah, fake crap- I'm not making a child an exhibit, what the fffffff- fragle?-"

"But that's what you think of anomalies! That they're all a big joke, a scam! You're just like everyone back home who thinks I'm a freak!"

"I don't think you're a freak-"

"Then why don't I know anything about you?!"

"Alright, alright. The reason I don't talk to the family is because I… man, this is awkward." Dipper tugged at the collar of the sweater he wore, eyes up at the ceiling. "I used to be called, uh, Mabel Pines."

Ford's rage sputtered out like a bad car engine. He blinked twice and adjusted his glasses. Did- did he hear that right?

"But- what?"

"Okay." Dipper sighed and patted Waddles Jr. "Most of town sorta knows- you might as well too. Maybe don't tell the family though? Shermie- and maybe your mom?- is the only one that knows."

"But. But Mabel's a girl's name."

Dipper shrugged in answer, eyes still locked on the ceiling.

"But. That would make you a-" Ford didn't even know. Well. He did. But those were words Crampelter said. Words dad said. 'Sissy' would be the nicest of them.

"Maybe don't finish that sentence?"

"... A freak." He finished quietly. Like Ford. Like the circus that helped him and Stan fight the Sibling Brothers. But… not like Ford. Not like the circus.

"... Sure. There's your answer." Dipper went back to going through the attic and pulled out a beaten-up old- "Hey, do you want to change the topic? Let's do that. You think your brother would like a punching bag?"

Ford sat down on his bed. "This… is a lot."

"I don't talk about it much. Don't need to. It's whatever." Dipper dug through the junk pile, very focused on his task. "What about you, you want anything from the pile? There's more board games."

"Chess?" Ford answered instinctively, thinking back to the morning after the Gremobile, full of pancakes and happiness and good dreams. Things weren't confusing then. He didn't get to play chess with his family, Stanley didn't ever remember the rules, so… nice to at least dream about it.

"Chess is fun." Dipper noted as he turned around, and Ford saw his face go pale. Like he saw something awful. Ford turned to look, but it was just the window. Weird. Everything about Dipper was weird.

But… he apologised when he yelled, and he watched movies with Stanley, and he answered Ford's questions in the end, and Shermie apparently thought so highly of him he knew they'd be better off here then home for a whole summer.

"... So why do you run the Shack?"

"Because it works. It's something I can do." Dipper set down a chessboard on the edge of Ford's bed and scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to the window again. "I don't… it's not to make fun of anomalies. And definitely not to make fun of you, no way. I think of it more of… more of a magic show? People know it's not real, but they still want to 'ooh' and 'aah' over it. It's fun."

"But why anomalies, specifically?" Ford's thing. He had to prove to Dipper that they were real.

"I like scary stories outside of standard Halloween hours. That's why it's all ghosts and cryptids and monsters." Dipper sat down on the bed beside him.

"Do you think I'm a freak?"

"If you are, you're in good company." He pointed at his forehead and pushed his hair back. "I got teased all the time for it. But… kids'll find, uh- they'll find a way to make anyone an outcast."

"It still hurts. It's not just my fingers. It's being a nerd. Stan could be normal if he wasn't getting into fights because I'm a freak. I don't understand."

"People don't like differences. And that's why I like Gravity Falls. Everyone here is weird. The Stranges are the only 'normal' family in town and they're still creepy." Dipper gestured dramatically after his air-quotes on 'normal'. "Though- could just be because they're bankers."

"Tad's kinda weird." Ford liked that. "But why doesn't the town like you then?" Was it because of- well. Ford wasn't sure how to think of that at all so he was not going to.

"Mostly just me being a jerk. Or other people being jerks. I'm not a people person."

"You're not that much of a jerk." Ford admitted quietly. "I'm… I'm also sorry I yelled."

"Don't worry about it." Dipper smiled at him.

"But you apologised."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm all old and wise and stuff. You're still a kid, you can yell all you want."

"I don't like yelling." Ford very carefully shifted over, and leaned his shoulder against Grunkle Dipper's arm. He didn't know what else to say, so perhaps he should do something practical rather than theoretical.

"Me neither. Not at family, at least." Dipper didn't move beyond a slight lean back. "You okay?"

Ford nodded. "... I still don't think I like the shack." But… a magic show was an easier pill to swallow.

"Sorry kid, but it's older than you, times two. It ain't going anywhere."

"Yeah." Maybe he just had to get used to it. Magic show instead a joke.

Waddles Jr. rested his big head on Dipper's leg, and Ford gingerly reached over to give him a pat.

"You can tell your brother if you want, I don't try and hide it, it's just ancient history to me."

"Okay. Thank you." Ford didn't like keeping secrets. Who did?

Dipper stepped over the moonstone powder that surrounded his unmade bed. It was functionally useless without the other ingredients, but the page on protection magic had been destroyed before he could finish reading it.

Still, it was something. He'd take a half-finished placebo.

He wasn't thinking much about that though. Ford knew now. Stanley too.

He hoped Mabel wouldn't mind when she got back. He wasn't an amazing actor, and Mabel was unique, more than that: she was world-changing, creative and charming in a way he wasn't. No way he could impersonate her in her entirety forever. The 'mad eccentric artist' really did a lot to cover for his decisions, at least.

But he could save his usual guilt spiral for another night. He had something he had to do first.

"Triangulum daemonium, obstructium ostium, lock-this-sucker-up-ium-" Dipper muttered, the ground-up moonstone powder glowing for a moment. The thin barrier wouldn't stop Cipher for more than a few seconds, but Dipper had other tricks, and this was just to buy time so he could activate them. That was also only if Bill managed to take him for a joy ride, which Dipper was… reasonably sure he couldn't do. Anymore. Fingers crossed.

"Bill, you jerk you better be here, I gotta talk to you." He said once he was always watching, even when Dipper tried to get rid of every eye he found. Sometimes they came back. Like the attic window for the boys' room, that had been a protection sigil. Mabel had put the same one on the side of the portal control system.

Dipper put a safety guard over it once he realised the heat it gave off. Imagine if he accidentally got a burn because someone didn't follow basic lab safety.

It had been a protection sigil in the window, now it was a triangle. It had never changed like that before. He didn't like it, it was like going into town. Eyes everywhere, even when he scratched them out.

He went through the rest of the bedtime routine, making sure to toss anything with a sharp edge far outside the circle before he collapsed down with a huff. His old bones ached from the day, especially his back. He missed being young and bounce-back-able.

Sleep found him quick, and so did his dreams. It had been a while since he was last here. Bill's visits had become sporadic, sometimes months apart, waiting for him to let his guard down. What he wanted? Dipper didn't know, but what he'd done was bad enough Dipper had tried every form of banishment he could think of.

If only one of them stuck for more than a year or two. He could feel the echo of fear in his head already. But he had to push through. For the boys.

"Well, well, well, well, well, well, well! My old puppet, asking for my attention! I'm flattered!"

"You stay away from those kids, Bill!" Dipper pointed at him, the two standing in the middle of Dipper's dreamscape. Tall trees stretched high, blocking out the stars, even as he stood ankle deep in water, a stained tiled floor visible underneath. "They don't mean anything to you!"

"They mean something to you though! You just can't help yourself, Pine Tree, you get too attached." Bill poked Dipper's face and he swatted that grubby little hand away. "Rude!"

"I will end you, if you go near them." Dipper promised.

"Oh, you'll 'end' me, how many times have you said that before." Bill rolled his eye. "It's your own fault for takin' them in. They've got some nasty nightmares. Wanna see?"

"You stay out of their heads!" Dipper lunged at him, hands out as if he could wring Bill's geometric neck. Bill split apart and reformed behind him like a brick wall. The ground of the dreamscape vanished entirely, leaving Dipper falling through open sky. It was just a dream, but Bill's dreams were vivid, so vivid he couldn't even scream, the air ripped from his lungs by the fall.

"You don't have to worry about their safety though!" Bill sat in the air as Dipper fell, one leg crossed over the other as he sipped tea through his eye. "I've got big plans for Oyster and Sixer!"

"What do you want with us?!" Dipper tried to swing a wild haymaker at him, all it did was send him tumbling end-over-end. He was gonna barf.

"You still haven't figured it out? You're not as much of a 'smart guy' as you pretend!" Bill laughed, high and tinny.

"All I know is you terrorised this town!" Ground appeared, and it was getting closer. "I won't let you do the same to those kids!"

"Don't be jealous, you're still my favourite! In fact, since you went to all the trouble, I'll give you what you want! A whole night, just us pals, no kids! Like old times!"

Dipper hit the ground at maximum velocity and everything went dark for a moment. It would have killed him if it wasn't a dream. He coughed and sat up, no damage remaining. All in his head. It was just in his head.

"You're great for testing material on! I've had some nightmares I've been waiting to try out!" Bill put an arm around his shoulders. And another. And another. And another. The trees towered, looming. "You haven't hit REM in a while, Pine Tree! You're mine for the next eleven and a half hours!"

Dipper shook him off and took a step back, fear pooling in his gut. A second step, water sloshing around his socks. Eleven hours? No, no, nononono-

"Man I wish I could read your mind instead of just mess with your dreams! Your face right now is hilarious!"

He swallowed and tried to grab onto some of his quickly escaping bravado. "Shoulda- shoulda put it in the fine print."

"Amateur mistake on my part, right? You'd think I'd know better!" Bill cackled and pulled his cane from thin air. "Oh well! Least I can still mess you up in here!"

"It's not real though. It's just a dream." The only thread he could hold onto.

"Sure! But you still have to live with the memories! Hey, didn't you watch a movie the other day?"

Dipper's blood went cold. He swallowed. "N- no?"

"You did! I SAW you!" Bill pointed at his eye, wagging his other hand mockingly as he singsonged, "you missed one!"

Dipper's breath picked up, heart racing. "I'll wake up."

"Not tonight, Pine Tree. You crashed hard." Bill placed both hands over his cane before he twirled it like a showman. "Yeah! That's a good warm-up, we haven't done a movie marathon in a while! Let's start with all your favourites! The scary ones!"

Dipper's nerves gave out and he bolted, fleeing like a deer from a hunter. His socks splashed through water as the trees changed, the nightmare forming, and Bill's laughter echoed from everywhere.

"H A V E F U N"

"Mornin', Dip." Stan nodded at him, watching TV with Ford. They found some cereal for breakfast. Ford had milk with his, but Stan liked the crunch. They had plenty of arguments over soggy vs dry.

"Grunkle Dipper," Ford waved. He'd told Stan everything, and a lot of it went over Stan's head but from what he gathered: Grunkle Dipper wasn't that bad. Just a total liar. That was fine, they were used to it. "You slept in late, are you okay?"

"Mmf?" Dipper shuffled downstairs like a zombie, chewing the collar of his watermelon-themed sweater. He spat it out and blinked haggardly at them, wiping his mouth. "Hm...? Oh. Fine. I'm… fine."

"Wanna join us? We found a cool show, it's about a duck who solves crimes."

"The premise is entirely illogical but the mystery is really compelling so far." Ford adjusted his glasses. "I like that they provide the clues so we can use our own deductive reasoning as well. I think I know who did it- but I won't tell Stan because he wants to be surprised."

"I like the reveal." Stan grinned, swinging his feet off the edge of the couch. Going out and chopping wood with Dan and his family had been fun, they taught him how to tie interesting knots and climb a tree with a belt! He was even allowed to hold an axe! His muscles were all achey but that was good too, like the ache of a good fight. And Dan's mom was so cool, all tough and rugged but still nice.

"... kay. Lemme get my coffee and I'll join you," Dipper yawned and wandered into the kitchen, walking into a wall on the way.

"Jeez Louise, he musta slept rough," Stan commented.

"Yeah," Ford agreed, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Maybe he should drink less coffee. It can be bad for your sleep schedule, I read about it."

"Pfft. Nerd."

#gravity falls #dipper pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #bill cipher #relativity falls AU but Mabel is the author #dipper pines: local disaster man #gf #my writings

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 3 months ago

Text

Fragment Friday!

My sweet friend @romirola tagged me in a fragment chain! Here’s a few paragraphs from the first chapter of my Redacted firefighter AU!! (Which I promise will be posted soon!!) this is from Freelancer’s POV who has recently dropped out of Med school and become an EMT. Enjoy!!

—

Station 10-19 was nice, very nice. A huge locker room, individual shower stalls, full sized beds with pressed white sheets. The kitchen had two ovens, a huge fridge, and the biggest pantry you’d ever seen. The firehouses you’d visited while getting certified were much smaller, much less impressive. All of this must have cost a fortune.

“Shaw’s a master of budget balancing,” Vincent had told you that afternoon during your tour. “I swear, the dude spends hours sitting in his office crunching numbers. It’s honestly a little worrying.”

You’d met David Shaw in your interview, but Sam Collins was your direct report. Shaw was a big dude, but after meeting a few of the other firefighters, you just started considering yourself scrawny. The whole firehouse was full of mutant giants.

Everybody was nice, but Vincent acted like he’d just gained a new best friend when he’d introduced himself that afternoon. He was a tall, slender man with bright gray eyes and a sharp smile. You recognized his last name, Solaire. His dad was the chief of surgery at Daliah General, the only level one trauma center in the area. It was your top pick for your residency.

Solaire wasn’t a common name, but if Vincent was the son of a two time Harper-Avery winner, he didn’t show it. He moved with a cool confidence, and seemed to have that same confidence in you. He spoke to you like you knew what you were doing. Which, to be fair, you did. You just weren’t used to people treating you like it.

“Don’t let Sam’s grumpy attitude fool you,” Vincent grinned as he led you towards the ambulance. “He’s a softy. A bit rough around the edges, but soft for sure.”

You couldn’t imagine Sam Collins being soft, but you smiled and nodded anyway. Vincent showed you where everything was on the bus, and then reiterated the few things that you would likely actually use. The compression machine, the heart monitor, the AMBU bag.

When the first code blared in your ears just as Vincent finished shoving everything back into their assigned cubbies. He grinned and patted you on the back, jumping up to the front and hopping on the radio as he revved the bus’s engine.

Sam made his appearance a few seconds later, hopping into the bus and pointing you towards one of the two passenger seats in the back, strapping himself in. He nodded for you to do the same.

It was quiet for a long time. Vincent called a few things into the radio before shouting back to Sam.

“Single vic, third story apartment. Not sure the extent of the injuries. Landlord just found a blood trail.”

“Let’s prep for a GSW and a laceration.” Sam replied. He grabbed for a few things within reach and threw them into his jump bag. “BleedStop’s over your head, Probie, grab me a few.” He held out his hand. It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You jerked and reached up blindly, coming back with a few red and white packages.

“Are these standard issue?” You asked softly, flipping one over in your hand. You heard Vincent laughing from up front. Sam grinned.

“You were in medical school?” Sam asked after a few minutes. You nodded. “Internal medicine, peds…”

“Surgical.” You answered his unasked question. You ducked your head, looked away. Sam was quiet for a long moment.

“I was four years into my residency when I called it quits.” He said. When you looked up, he was focused on the computer output, a pinch in his brow. You didn’t dare ask a question, break his concentration, but something in your chest eased.

#firefighter story #redacted audio #Redacted asmr #redacted freelancer #redacted Vincent #Redacted sam #fragment Friday

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marksbear · 2 years ago

Note

How about sub yandere Steven who day dreams about reader and wants to be close to him. So how about they co workers and reader keeps losing stuff buts it just Steven taking them and keeping for himself. But reader notices that Steven use the same cologne as him but in reality Steven sprays it on his bed and fucks himself to the smell of him. And this leads them to talking and reader asks if they want to get dinner some day. Steven says yes and is so excited to hang out with reader so he then gets ready to hang with him. They had a great time but then Steven runs into Donna and pulls reader aside because he doesn't want to deal with her on his unofficial date with reader. But it leads to Steven ass on readers dick and he trys to subtle move trying to get as much friction as he can and reader notices and asks if they want to go to his house real quick. They go and steven immediately apologizes but reader says that he has liked him for quite some time. It's leads to Steven sucking reader off and saying how much he has been in love with him and reader fucks Steven and he says to promise reader to never leave him while running his nails down his back to really make sure this is real and to have a reminder of him and he doesn't want to stop.-🐻‍❄️

One of my favorite things to write. Steven and yanderes so I hope you enjoy! Took me a while to post this since I have been trying/ failing to walk with a few successes!

Warnings! stalker Steven, stealing, scent kink, delusional yandere Steven, SMUT, toys mentioned, y/n loves kids, creepy Steven. clingy Steven and possessive Steven.

SUB YANDERE STEVEN GRANT X MALE READER

Steven stares at his new co-worker across the museum. Y/n L/n. He was the new tour guide. He mostly works with the children and sometimes with the elderly folk.

Even though Y/n only been working for a few weeks Steven felt like he knew Y/n for years. He stalked learned almost everything about him. Like what's his favorite animal, food, color, holiday and almost anything that a boyfriend co-worker should know.

He knew that Y/n loved children with all his heart. He saw him a couple times when schools would visit the museum he saw Y/n give a few kids some money if they couldn't afford something or sneak them a few toys from the gift shop. So naturally Steven started to dream and imagine starting a family with Y/n. To one kid even to seven. Really depends on how much kids Y/n wanted.

Steven wanted everything to do with his new co-worker. Even changing his hours to match Y/n's.

One time Y/n had left one of his hoodies in the break room by accident. It was one of the hoodies Y/n would always wear if it was cold or chilly. So once Steven saw it laying on the back of the chairs he had to take it. He stuffed it deep inside his bag and clocked out early rushing back to his apartment. Once he was in his apartment he held the hoodie close to him laying on the bed taking deep breaths into it inhaling Y/n's sent as he touches himself.

That's when he started to take Y/n's things. Like pins he used, clothes like jackets and even extra shirts Y/n took to work, hats and etc.

But once he founded the cologne that Y/n used he was over the moon. He sprayed the clothes that were yours he took to smell like you even more. To the point almost his whole apartment smelled like Y/n and he loved it. Steven would spray a pillow or the sheets of his bed and either ride the pillow while inhaling the smelling imaging it was you he was riding or the dildo he bought that he guessed would be about your size and fucks himself with the toy while smelling one of your hoodies.

So all of that leads to now.

The week at the museum was gonna be busier than ever. Multiple tourists coming down to see the museum as well as multiple school districts coming down also. So almost every single worker was gonna be working today.

Steven and Y/n were in the back rooms unboxing new packages and sorting things out. The two were mostly quiet and just wanted to get the task over with until Y/n gets close enough to Steven noticing the same cologne brand he's currently wearing.

"Thought I was the only guy in the world to use that brand of cologne." Y/n points out catching Steven's attention. Steven begins to freak out in his mind that you knew everything he has done and opens his mouth to explain himself. "I always knew hot guys like us wear this brand." Y/n says playfully before leaning on one of the boxes.

"Ye-yeah! only guys like us..." Steven responds back pathetically with nervousness full in his tone.

"Y'know Steven. You're the only worker I didn't have dinner with already. Don't get the wrong idea that i'm a manwhore or something. I just wanted to get to know all of you and you're the only man left." Y/n tells him before adding. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me?"

"A-Are you asking me out on a date?" Steven asks with excitement. "I mean it can be. It can be a date or a simple hangout really depends on you." Y/n answers the question before giving his number to Steven as Steven does the same.

"See you later! I can hear the kids calling my name." Y/n tells him before giving Steven one last small smile before leaving the room.

TIMESKIP. Days later after the dinner since I'm a bit lazy.

As the two leave the restaurant it's nothing but quiet. Laughter and jokes filled their presence as they walked around town.

Everything is going great until Steven sees his asshole of a boss walking up to him. Steven begins to panic from the fear that Donna would mess up their "date" Steven begins to think about solutions, but nothing good comes to mind and he just pulls Y/n aside standing in front of him ass against Y/n's crotch. Steven couldn't help but blush madly when he felt Y/n's cock against him.

Donna and Steven exchange boring and short conversations. Steven tries to hurry up the topic so she can leave him alone. But Steven couldn't help himself and grinds his ass onto Y/n's cock pushing against him. Steven prays into his mind that Y/n couldn't notice anything, but much to Steven's dismay he feels Y/n's dick become slowly hard and pushes against Steven's ass right back.

After Donna leaves Steven tries to move away from Y/n from embarrassment but gets stopped by Y/n's arm around his waist trapping him against him. "Let's go to my house real quick." Y/n says before pulling his arm away walking to the direction of his house as Steven quickly follows behind.

Once they reach the house and get inside Steven begins to apologize. "I'm sorry Y/n. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry." Steven apologizes putting his head down embarrassment.

"Don't be. I liked you for some time now Steven. Really I don't mind it at all." Y/n says waving off Steven's apology before cupping Steven's face with his hands before pulling him in for a deep kiss.

The two makeout and grind onto each other's hands moving around on the other body as Y/n guides Steven to the bedroom. Once they pull away from the kiss Y/n sits on the bed as Steven immediately sinks down to his knees. Steven tug and pull on Y/n's belt before taking it off and pulling down his pants alongside his boxers in the process. "So...Big." Steven blurts out it awe staring up at Y/n's hard cock. Steven gives Y/n's cock a few small kisses before trailing up making sure each spot has been kissed before giving the tip a big kiss before sliding the tip inside his mouth. Steven moves his tongue around the tip licking every single spot before sucking on it. Steven uses his free hands to pull his own pants and underwear off before slowly prepping himself.

Steven begins to bob his head up and down on Y/n's cock breathing with his nose as he looks up at Y/n making eye-contact. "Stop being so shy Steven. Go down deeper." Y/n tells him putting his hands on both sides of Steven's head messing with his hair and massaging his head.

Steven doesn't get told twice as he goes down deeper onto Y/n's cock gagging and choking as he does it. Stevens eyes begin to water feeling Y/n's cock hit the back of his throat. "Only a few more left baby. You're doing so well." Y/n coo's letting Steven go down at his own pace.

Finally Steven reaches the base and tries to pull back up, but gets pulled right back down by Y/n. Y/n grips Steven's hair pulling him up and down fucking Steven's throat.

Steven gags and cries on Y/n's cock becoming desperate for air. Y/n pulls Steven up letting him breathe. Steven gasps for air tears running down his face as he fingers himself faster. "Again...Do it again." Steven weakly asks looking at Y/n with tearing eyes. Y/n lets out a stiff laugh before opening Steven's mouth wide with his fingers before moving them out of the way in one swift motion he pushes Steven's head down onto his cock catching Steven off guard.

"Watch the teeth baby." Y/n says moving Steven's head back and forth. Steven begins to hollow his cheeks and uses his tongue more. Steven feels Y/n's cock twitch inside his mouth, so he looks up at Y/n listening to his moans. Y/n throws his head back in pleasure feeling his orgasm nearing.

Steven desperately wants to taste Y/n he begins to focus more on sucking him. "Stev-Steven! I'm about to cum! I'm goin to c-cum! Fuck!" Y/n warns letting go of Steven's head and putting them on the bed to stabilize himself. Steven bobs his head up and down even faster. "I'm cumming! oh fUck I-I'm cumming!" Y/n moans out closing his eyes shut as he cums deep inside Steven's throat.

Steven chokes from trying to swallow it all at once. He pulls his head away from Y/n's cock swallowing whatever cum he has in his mouth before going back to Y/n's cock sucking out the rest of it before licking his cock clean.

"Jesus Steven." Y/n says breathing heaving as he tries to calm himself down after the intense orgasm he had. Steven finally pulls away from Y/n's cock before scrambling himself up straddling Y/n's waist. "I love you!" Steven blurts out catching Y/n a bit taken back. "I'm in love with you Y/n. I- I think we are made for each other and I know that we have to be soulmates." Steven confesses not even caring about the way Y/n is looking at him crazy. "I've loved you since I first saw you. Since the moment you started working,"

Y/n thinks back when Steven first saw him was when he stole some candy and toys for a kid when he thought no one was looking. After Y/n gave it to the kid and looked up to make sure no one saw him he met Steven's eyes glued on him.

"Really?" Y/n asks in total confusion. Y/n only had confessed to him hours ago and heres Steven confessing his love for him.

Y/n puts his hands on Steven's hips moving him off of his lap and onto the bed moving his thighs to a side before crawling between them lining up his cock at Steven's entrance.

Y/n decides to waste no time and thrust himself fully into Steven causing a loud moan from Steven. Y/n thrust were at a steady pace not to slow or fast just wanting Steven to get used to his size. "He's way bigger than the toy..." Steven thought to himself while moaning helplessly holding onto Y/n for dear life. Steven runs his hands and nails on Y/n's back scratching it a few times. He wanted to make sure this wasn't something he was daydreaming about.

Y/n L/n the man that he loved too much. The man of his dreams was actually inside him, kissing him, hearing him and near him was real. Steven was in pure bliss as Y/n rocks his hips back and forth into him at a harsh pace abusing his hole. Steven lets out loud gasp every time Y/n cock grazes his prostate. The toy he used so very often wasn't as big and deep inside him like the real the thing. Steven couldn't believe it himself that he was getting dicked down by the man of his dreams.

Steven buries his face into the crook of Y/n's neck inhaling his scent and becoming enhanced by it. He wanted this to never stop. Y/n holds Steven's hips still as he fucks him merciless. Y/n bit down onto Steven's shoulder giving him a hickey earning a gasp from Steven. To Steven that meant that Y/n was claiming him. That Y/n was marking his territory.

Steven was so deep inside his thoughts not even noticing that he came all over himself and Y/n. Steven moves his hands to Y/n's face cupping his cheeks with his hands catching Y/n a bit off guard. "Promise that you'll never leave me." Steven says looking into Y/n's eyes. Y/n hesitates before responding "I promise. That I won't leave you." Steven smiles ear to ear once he hears the words fall out of Y/n's mouth. Y/n goes back into fucking Steven abusing his lower half like its nothing.

With a few more thrust Y/n cums deep inside Steven while kissing Steven deeply as his thrust slows down and becomes softer. "You came inside?" Steven says out loud with joy in his tone. In Steven's mind since you came inside him it has to mean that you want kids with him and to get married! "Yeah I did. Sorry if that's a problem." Y/n says about to pull out but Steven stops him by wrapping his legs around Y/n's waist. "No! D-don't pull out. I love you being inside me. W-wait I mean I just love you in general not just your dick!" Steven blurts out panicking a little thinking that he gave Y/n the wrong idea.

Y/n lays down on the bed and moves Steven on top of him cuddling him. Steven lays his head down on Y/n's chest while wrapping his arms and legs around Y/n's body keeping him in a tight hold.

"I love you Y/n. I love you so much. I think we should never be apart never ever apart. We're going to get married then start a family!" Steven says looking up at Y/n with bright eyes.

Y/n looks down at Steven thinking to himself. "What the fuck did I get into."

THE END!

#steven grant x male reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant #yandere x male reader #yandere steven grant #marvel x male reader #yandere marvel #x male reader #male reader #moonknight x male reader #moon knight #yandere marvel x male reader #the bear club

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suraemoon · 11 months ago

Text

A Starry Night in 1956

Link to Part 1: A Sunset in 1956

It isn’t necessary to read Part 1 to understand this fic but hey it doesn’t hurt. ^^^

Warnings: p in v smut, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), angst, argument, reader has a panic attack in a crowd, descriptions on uncomfy clothes, some objectification of the body?, edging, unfulfilled wishes of finishing inside a woman, teeny bit of masturbation, any more pls let me know

WC: 13k (please bear with me lol about 5k of it is smut)

A/N: The story takes place in Florida in August of 1956. But unlike Elvis’ real life Florida shows during this time, instead of a theatre I’m imagining an amphitheater, park type of venue, like a music festival? if that makes sense. This is my first time writing smut, go easy on me. My inbox is always open for requests if for some reason you trust me with your ideas. Ahhh enjoy.

The starry night’s humid Floridian air was the cozy homestead of not only the expected water vapor but altogether meaningless, patient chatter. The laughs and small talk of people all with a common goal and interest: to see the Elvis Presley perform before them. The Elvis Presley so nationally loved by friends and schoolmates. The Elvis Presley so naturally hated by parents and guardians.

A passionate performance ranted and raved about, a controversial performance complained about and loathed, fit altogether in such a delicious little package for anyone so free in their judgment and beautiful rebellious lovers who have gotten their hands on the wave of Rock n’ Roll. The bow of this gift was a handsome man at its forefront. The poster boy of it all.

You’ve had the privilege of getting to know and love Elvis ever since you were sat at desks right next to each in elementary, in the days when the world was blissfully unaware that the foreman of a cultural movement was in school learning times tables. Seats that would eventually get moved due to disruptive chatter and giggles from the two of you, but the bond built that day could never let up or separate. Now you get to share the gift that is your best friend with the world, for better and for worse.

The year is 1956. Elvis and his band are touring and performing for adoring audiences all around the country and of course he had to take you, his “bestest girl”, with him to every single stop on the road.

You remember the now-fond, then-scary day when in the comfort of your childhood bedroom of your baby blue family home in Memphis that Elvis first proposed the idea that you come with him across the country.

——————— A few months ago ————————

It was a little while after you and Elvis had come up from dinner. After putting your dishes in the sink and thanking your mother again for the meal she prepared, the two of you quickly but politely and calmly made it a mission to get back up the stairs and into your bedroom like you had done so many instances before. It started when you were little, yawning and waiting patiently to get dismissed from the dinner table to get back to playing, sometimes getting yelled at for trying to race each other up the stairs to see who can get to the top first. Now that the two of you are young adults, you are obliviously unaware at how the urgency to get to your bedroom might look to any bystander. The bystanders being your confused, furrowed brow parents.

It was a vulnerable sunset, the orange hue of golden hour pouring into your window as the only new thing allowed to enter your frilly, pink bedroom. A bedroom whose decor hasn’t changed for years.

The two of you had planned to go page by page through your copy of the high school yearbook from your graduating year, reminiscing together on past experiences and gossiping about where everyone is now. You can clearly recall the moment when you finally were able to wriggle the yearbook from your full well-loved bookshelf, dusting it off and holding it in your hands while Elvis whispered from his spot on the pink, stuffed-animal filled bed behind you his plans about going away to do performances and his hope that you will accompany him. You dropped not only the book you were holding onto the cold hardwood floor but also the smile decorating your face as you turned around to face him.

“What’d you just say, Presley?”

You knew exactly what he muttered. He whispered loud enough to know you could hear him. You were both aware of these quiet facts. Quickly, you scurried over to your bedroom door to grab the doorknob and close it, an action that your parents did not allow when Elvis was over, but at this moment the pure necessity made you not care at all.

His voice was louder and shakier now, his accent getting thicker as he hurriedly tried to explain and convince you all in a few seconds. It was as if the last train was about to leave the station and he's trying his hardest to get you on board. His leg bounces against the bottom of your wooden bed frame.

“I know, I know. It sou-sounds crazy b-bu-but Mama is worried sick about me going and I know she’ll feel better if you’re there with me. I’ll feel better if you’re there with me. You just gotta, you gotta come with me, Satnin. You don’t know how much I need ya, honey. I really do. Never needed ya more than I do now.”

You force words to come out of your mouth in response to this confession of his. He’s never needed you more.

“E-Elvis I can’t just up and leave. What about…”

The tone of his voice has done a 180 and is now trying the best it can to portray calm and certain. The falsehood that everything has been figured out, the hope that everything will be okay. The need that everything will be okay. It’s apparent to him that you need assurance in this moment but his words are not only spoken to you; they are a message of comfort to himself, a plea to the Lord that what he has taught himself to think is actually the plan, that what he has grown to believe is indeed the truth.

“We graduated a while ago. We’re grown now. Ain’t nothing stopping us but ourselves. That’s what I had to tell myself. The only one that’s stopping you is yourself. It’s all doubt.”

You start to pace around the room, your feet going from the softness of your small carpet to the stable hardwood. Every thought and uncertainty is filling your mind at rapid speed and they’re pushing to spill out of your mouth restlessly as if your brain can’t seem to keep them all contained in one spot.

When you regain the ability to form sentences you stop in your tracks to look at him, your racing thoughts are even faster as words.

“I’ve got a family too, Elvis. A loving one just like you do and your mama wouldn’t be the only mama worried. My mother would be more than worried and I can’t imagine leaving her and no way my daddy would just let me roam the country either. You know him, you know how he is.”

“Honey…”

It’s like you don’t even hear him, your brain doesn’t have the space to process that he spoke, “What about all I’ve got here, Elvis? My job at the diner? I told ya that promotion is coming soon. Oh God, I know it is, I’ve been working for a while. I can’t just quit and lose all that progress I made! Brother done moved out to live his life and my parents are gonna be here all alone without me.”

Your feet stop their parading right in front of him, both of your hands on the side of your face like they’re the only thing keeping your head on. Your eyebrows furrow in wonder of why he isn’t trying to combat your words, confused on the fact that he doesn’t seem as concerned as you are.

Elvis decides to gently take both of your shaky hands into his, leading you to sit down on the bed next to him. Your poodle skirt lifts a little in the back just for the top fabric to pool around you and settle back down on the comforter, the breath you take in lifts and settles just the same.

He consoles in almost a whisper, “You don’t gotta worry about all that. It’ll all be alright. We’ll be together.”

“I know we will but….” His thumbs start moving back and forth in a soothing motion, cutting you off.

His voice picks up more, “Please? Come with me? All we’ve been through together, we can’t lose that now. I’m s-so scared of losing that, of losing you. I need to take a piece of home with me. Something to keep me stable, to keep me going. You always do. Every new place I go, I’ll have my Memphis with me.”

He gestures exasperated to you, his Memphis.

You take a long sigh, have all of your years of friendship culminated to this moment? The only movement in the bedroom besides the rise and fall of breath is his steady thumb on the back of your soft hand.

There is a few minutes of uneasy silence before you speak up looking not at him but instead at the glow of the shaded lamp on your nightstand. “How long will we be traveling again? I need to know how much to pack.”

“Well. New dates and venues keep being added and uh—Wait a minute....That means you're coming?” He glances at you, eyes sparkling full of hope.

You stare back at him with a smile, hope matching hope. A soft laugh almost makes your words a melody, “That’s what it means.”

“Oh, Memphis!” Elvis quickly traps you into a big, bear hug as if all of his pent up emotions have been waiting to be released. He’s squeezing you like his life depends on it, his arms around you to hold and keep you close. You giggle at this sudden action as excitement fills the air and fear clouds your mind. But, it’s a good kind of fear. It’s an anticipation that cannot be tamed.

————————————————————————

That day was a while ago. The Colonel has taken Elvis and his band (you and the Memphis Mafia buddies that have tagged along, he has taken begrudgingly) around different parts of the USA. You’ve gone to venue after venue, drove mile after mile, and it was far from done. Tour life has its ups and downs for everybody and it’s proven that the lifestyle is not for the weak of spirit. You have experienced exhilarating parties and contagious laughter that made it so you never wanted the sun to set and the nights to end.

There have also been days that the homesickness stays sitting in your belly, tears threatening to fill your eyes if you thought too hard about Memphis or stared too long at the family picture you kept safe and secure in your bag. An emotional rollercoaster when you come across it while quickly taking something out.

Many had come out for this night’s concert, one of many that Elvis would perform in the sunshine state of Florida. You watch observantly as the crowd around you waited in the open-aired park venue with waiting breath and time-passing fidgets.

It managed to cool down significantly from the heat that coated the early hours of the afternoon, to which everyone was thankful because it hopefully meant less fainting from screaming girls. The fanatic women didn’t have to worry about the sun beaming down to work against them, only Elvis’ attractiveness filling their soul, making them swooningly dazed. Pure anticipation kept the atmosphere thick where the temperature had let up.

You were full of anxiety as you stood alone in the middle of the crowd. You shifted from foot to foot, hand tugging on the edge of your tight black pencil skirt. It hugged your lower half like a glove would and had to be at least a few inches shorter than what was seen as decent. You know that your daddy would have a fit if he saw you dressed like this.

These recent stops have been hardest on your heart, hardest on your mind. It has been too long since you’ve touched your mama’s face, too long since you’ve heard your daddy’s belly laugh. Too damn long since you’ve seen the familiar, calming blue paint of your Memphis home. The same home you were brought home from the hospital to, the same home you left to go on tour.

We’ll be together.

His words have seemed to do nothing but haunt you lately. You’re together all the time, that’s true, but you only seem to be wholefully acknowledged when he remembers you exist. Nowadays, the only long conversations you have are when he needs someone to vent his emotions to and happens to recall that the girl he drags along with him is not only a pretty thing to look at but is also his best friend. You don’t even know if the best friend part still holds up anymore but it hurts too much to even imagine that being the case. If you think too hard about it, you would no doubt throw up right on the lady next to you’s shiny heels.

You play with the strap of your blouse, is it tighter than when you put it on? Is that possible? Well it had to be, no other explanation. You’ve never felt so uncomfortable in a top.

We’ll be together.

He’s together with girls that aren’t you. You shouldn’t be mad about it. You can’t get angry at it, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no reason to commit to you but now your life is centered all around him. You can’t help the jealousy that fills your mind like a bitter perfume whenever you see him flirt or kiss a random girl. Several beautiful girls crowd around him at each stop, eager to get their hands on Elvis Presley. You sigh knowing that you could never hold a candle to them. If your light shined as bright as there's, why weren’t you his? You give polite, tight-lipped smiles when asked to hold the camera and snap fan photos. You stand there awkwardly shifting back and forth on your feet, playing with your hands in the moments succeeding when he starts smooching all over them with that signature Elvis-style charm after the flash leaves and the picture is snapped. Who knew that there were so many model-worthy women just sitting in Suburban towns waiting to have their lips kissed and boobs grazed by Elvis Presley?

Some nights you find yourself alone under the stars and locked out of your and Elvis’ shared motel room, the only place that you know can be yours in such an uncertain existence. In your place is a gorgeous woman from the party the Memphis Mafia insisted that you all go to after an already long night.

Well, you technically can’t say the lucky woman is “in your place” because the activities occurring on the other side of that lovely door are things you can only dream about Elvis doing to you. There have been many nights where you’ve thought about sneaking in the bed next to yours to feel him in a way you’ve never had. Even if it’s just for sleep.

The reason you two even share motel rooms in the first place is Elvis’ desire to keep you safe and in his line of vision. Away from the access of creepy men roaming around these unfamiliar cities and even some of his Memphis Mafia friend group who think it’s fun to hit on you sometimes. He keeps you close but not too close. You’re stuck in a limbo of not knowing where you stand with a man you’ve grown to know so well. You know with every ounce of your heart that Elvis cares about you, there is no doubt about that, but you don’t know how he feels about you. It leaves you feeling dumb and knowledgeable. Disoriented and understanding.

Little does he know that sometimes you do get tortured sometimes, by no one but him. A mind game he doesn’t even know he’s playing. It leaves you broken, what’s the point?

In the crowd, your hands shake with nerves as if you are the one about to perform. The expensive gold and diamond bracelet Elvis bought in New York and presented to you under the old oak tree in your backyard makes a clanging sound as it moves with your motion. It seems tighter than it was when you put it on earlier. To take your mind off of both boredom and anxiety, you use all of your concentration to unhook the tiny gold clip and you make it looser a few notches. The bracelet had looked so out of place the night he gave it to you; the shine of the metal contrasted with the pastel fabric over your skirt. Though you are sure that the little diamonds throughout the chain shined brighter that night when you were sitting next to Elvis, maybe the light from the sun, maybe the light he radiated.

The jewelry went perfectly with your look tonight. Elvis has been picking out your outfits lately. They have gotten so mature, so grown up, so sexy.

———————— A few hours ago ————————

Elvis’ jaw dropped when you stepped out of the small bathroom looking like the epitome of a Hollywood bombshell in the outfit he had bought for you. He ignored the urge to pat himself on the back with how it all came out. “Wow, honey. You’re tryna kill me, huh? Do a spin, you have ta.”

It’s a tight blouse, a lower cut than you would even think about picking up from the rack but he was glad that could convince you to put it on. Your chest is lifted and displayed perfectly among the bright, satin blue fabric.

He’s used to your lower half being covered beneath the layers of poodle skirts or swing dresses but the tightness of the black skirt was practically nude compared to your usual style.

Some of your body is left to the imagination, how he likes it, but seeing the true outline and curves of your figure was like getting a glimpse of heaven.

You giggled and did as much of a spin as the tight fabric of your skirt and your heels allowed you. “Do you really like it?”

He looked at you, shocked that that’s even a question. “Are you kidding? Like isn’t strong enough of a word. Imma have to beat fellas away with a stick.”

“You’re gonna get jealous? Maybe I should use all my flirting skills tonight. I might meet a nice Floridian boy, you never know.”

“No such thing as one. You should go look at yourself in the mirror though. Might make your head a little bigger but it would be a shame if you didn’t see yourself.”

Your jaw was the next to drop when you got a good look at your full outfit in the mirror. No way the woman staring back in the reflection was you. It had to be someone else.

“Seeing what I’m seeing now, honey?”

You made sure to do every step of the process how Elvis liked it. You had taken his suggestions on how to do your hair and not one strand was out of place. The dark makeup was his idea as well, you’d usually never apply this much. The outfit topped the whole thing off.

“Oh thank you, Elvis! You’ve got a good eye for these types of things, you really do. You’re the bestest. Should pick out my whole wardrobe, that’s how much I like it. It’s beautiful.”

He replied simply but perfectly, making your knees weak as he did it, “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes tried to meet Elvis’ baby blues in the mirror but couldn’t quite catch them because he was too busy staring at other things. You watched him scan you up and down with those famous bedroom eyes, lidded as in a trance, and you were sure that you could pass out right there. He’s never looked at you with such fever in his eyes before and oh how much you enjoy it now that you’ve had a taste of it. You aren’t sure if you should kiss him or slap him as he lustfully and not so subtly stares at your legs, your hips, your waist, your boobs. His eyes only leave the mirror to look at your backside, not visible in the glass.

Little did you know, you were the manifestation of everything he had worked towards, a physical representation of how far he’s come. His childhood best friend dressed like a leading woman on the big screen…because of him.

At that moment he remembered, a thought provoked by a thought, an incident years back when the two of you were playing and running around the plush grass of your backyard, the blue paint of the house was brighter back then and the birds chirped a little louder. The wooden swing was still intact with both ropes on the tree, aging this story correctly, and your favorite activity in those days was to swing and jump off. One day, Elvis was sitting on the ground watching you demonstrate the skill that was jumping off the swing and the precision it took to get it right. When you leaped, he watched as your skirt went up in the air to act as a parachute, giving him a view of the white cotton panties you wore under your skirt. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed pink. Years later he can look back and laugh at how innocent and curious he was.

You got up, grass stains on your knees from the jump, and was quick to sit next to him, “Elvis?” You stop trying to catch your breath. “Wasn’t that amazing! I’ve been practicing and yours might not be as good as mine yet cause you are just starting. You gotta time the jump just right..”

You rambled on and on not yet noticing that your friend hadn’t responded yet when suddenly you stopped, noticing his red cheeks. “Elvis? Is everything alright? You’re looking a little pink.” You poked each of his apple-red cheeks with your finger and giggled.

That was the first time Elvis saw you, or anyone for that matter, in such a way. There was a weird pang in his heart, a blush that didn’t want to tame, and a fast shaking of his head when you asked what had gotten him so flustered that he wasn’t able to speak for a whole minute. Years later, he’s the one dressing you.

He smiles to himself at the memory. You saw each other grow up. Elvis started to notice you wear makeup. Your eyelashes magically got longer, little did he know at the time that this was due to mascara, something that has since become well acquainted with. The pretty pink blush that you used to only have when you were flustered and embarrassed stayed permanent on your cheeks as if normal. Over the years, he noticed how your tops started to fill out more, something he felt bad about taking glances at in those teenage years when he had the hormonal urge to stare. Well he still has those urges at 21, but that’s beside the point. Your face has matured into its features. You’ve always been pretty but have you always been this gorgeous?

He’s taken out of his own head when he feels you turn from the mirror and hug him, he uses his hand to pet your head lovingly and follow the shape of your hair.

———————— 20 minutes ago ————————

All those thoughts he had a few hours ago while getting ready in the motel room lingered in his head when you last saw each other about 20 minutes ago. He looked over at you once more backstage before sending you out to join the crowd waiting. “Go out there and enjoy the performance, honey.”

You have gotten used to being a backstage-dweller, watching from the sidelines getting a view that few others would ever have. The only downside was not being able to see all of Elvis’ pretty face while he performed but that stunning side profile was enough to keep you satisfied.

“I can’t just stay back here? No crowds…no sweat…no pushing. It’s nice”

“You think I dolled ya up for you to hide? I wanna see you while I’m performing. Spending all your time behind the scenes you can’t get the full picture. Might forget why you’re here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t know why I’d say it if I wasn’t sure. Do I have a reason to lie?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But that’s what I answered, honey.”

You huff, “Fine.”

————————————————————————

This series of events is how you ended up in your current situation.

The cold barricade is the only spot of cool under waiting torsos as you are only two rows back from being able to count the dust of the stage. You take a glance at the curtain stage left, trying to get a glimpse at the man who sent you out here. It’s to no avail as you are just a little too far back and the curtains have no give in their ability to stay closed. Your right hand goes up to cover your chest in defense when while looking to the side you catch one unsuspecting girl’s boyfriend trying to pass the time by staring at you a little too intensely. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead a long time ago. Girls look at you with disgust as if you were planted as an opener for their boyfriends to gawk at; boyfriends who only came out to make their gals happy, their hair styled in the hope that she’ll pretend he’s Elvis later on tonight. Some didn’t care or acknowledge your existence at all which made you wonder if these “stares” were all imaginary. Just your mind trying to protect you from something not happening. No way they weren’t real, if they weren’t you wouldn’t be so itchy right now, and your breath wouldn’t be so heavy even when the humid air is giving you nothing to work with.

You felt so desirable and confident when Elvis was eyeing you at the motel, what happened? Maybe the realization that you’re attracting the wrong people. You aren’t desired by the man your heart yearns for most. All dolled up to be a woman created for you to be, a woman that you knew that if you thought hard enough, if you worked hard enough you can one day become. The shell had been made for you to fill in seamlessly and it was still uncomfy. And oh how much you wanted it.

The lights go down and rogue screams of excitement accompany it. The lights are back up in a few seconds and there he is in all his glory, Elvis Presley. He still has that radiating quality that can be seen in the dark, a boyish smirk that causes women to shriek, hair that except for a few pieces in the front would be flawless. His suit is a little oversized but still perfect. He didn’t look real and every time you see him perform you are taken back as if it’s your first time ever laying eyes on him. Like a flower, Elvis blossoms like a flower in spring while on stage. It’s where he shines the brightest. He’s the boy you’ve always known transformed into something more than just potential. It’s the best version of himself, being in your happy place will do that to a person.

You focus on fawning over the man on the platform as if he’s the only thing that matters. The only interior taking you abruptly out of this reality is a push….not a push, a shove. It’s the group of younger teenage girls behind you trying to get closer to the stage. Someone else bumps into your shoulder as you look over. You can feel people’s breaths around you, the sweat, the sticky warm air, the heat of it all mixing together. It was never roomy on the grass, but the bubbles of personal space subconsciously given in to everyone in the crowd popped in that moment and the people just started getting closer and closer.

It was like a sea of magnets attracted to one thing and you wanted to yell at yourself for picking a spot as close as you were to the stage. Your breath quickened as screams got louder and louder, more and more overwhelming. Are these girls next to perform? How are they getting up to those octaves?

A man holding his woman’s hand, trying to get his gal closer to the front, had to have not seen you in front of him as he pushed through. It was at this moment that the loosened gold bracelet sitting around your wrist flew off and landed on the grass next to you. As you reach to pick it up, tears making your vision blurry, the front of a lady’s heel steps on it, the delicate chain snapping. Your gasp was full of fear and surprise, it was as delicate and small as the bracelet. Either the shock was too pure to come out of your mouth and instead went down to your heart or the sound was drowned out by the noise surrounding you. Maybe both. You were too small to be heard.

The offender walked away quickly and nonchalantly as if the metal of your most beloved possession was as soft as grass. Frozen in place before continuing your mission, the seconds you spend bending down to pick it up from the ground felt like hours. Gasping for air as if you were underwater, your shaky hands reach for the bracelet, now split into two pieces of chain. You grab onto whatever you can, fist turning white and the journey back up was even tougher. It felt like your throat was closing up like the pressure changed from the ground to normal height. No breath you take is deep enough for an efficient amount of air. Why can’t you breath? Your nose stuffs up and your lips shake in a shiver. The stampede of hormones is well past by now, you aren’t squished, no ones touching you but at this moment everything feels too close. Everyone’s focus is on Elvis, no one is even acknowledging your existence but it's still embarrassing to feel the tears travel down your face, getting ready to stain the surface.

Not knowing what else to do, you start to hurriedly walk the opposite direction of the stage, trying to find anywhere to go that wasn’t there in the grass. The only time in your life that you are trying to escape that silky Southern voice. You give a small “sorry” here and a tiny “excuse me” there as you make your way past people too entranced by Elvis’ performance to notice that someone was talking to them. Your voice was so weak and shaky that your mind made you doubt if they could even hear you over the noise, doubt if the words came out of your mouth to begin with.

Your walking leads you away from the crowd and your journey ends next to the water fountains outside the restrooms. This mundane spot is where your tired mind decides is good enough refuge to sit, not caring one bit about what you would look like to an observer.

The far away side view of Elvis Presley giving his all on stage and the crowd of people elated below it is more beautiful from back here. Your head leans back against the brick of the wall of the small restroom building. There’s a hope that the act of laying your head back would allow you to take an actual full breath despite the soreness of your throat, a hope that laying your head back would prevent the tears in the corners of your eyes from flowing down and ruining your makeup despite the immense emotion filling your mind.

Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying. There is no reason for the tears. You didn’t die, you didn’t get hurt. But it still hurts. Nothing happened to you, why are you such a scaredy cat? An overdramatic pathetic girl, a jumpy sheep who’s crying wolf, a…

Breathe.

Your view is up and all you see is the stars. It’s a starry night in Florida, the type of starry night that would give Van Gogh the inspiration to paint a masterpiece. The stars are small dots, all could be mistaken for the others accompanying the dark blue. All except for one. One star is larger and burns brighter than the others, if you stare long enough it vibrates in the sky. It shimmers, it gleams, it gives warmth, it gives hope.

For the first time since it was laying on the ground you decide to look at your bracelet, or what was left of it. After opening your fist, besides a few pieces of grass, you see a gold chain split in half. When looking closely at the small diamonds decorating it, you notice that one of them is missing. All of a sudden your lip quivers and your eyes gloss over as if getting the same queue. You glance over at the stage, the one star that can bring you comfort doesn’t even know you are hurting, he isn’t here to protect you. All alone your vision focuses on him with all its might, his moving figure is a little blurry through watery eyes but he’s there and that’s what matters.

The performance takes 5 minutes and 5 hours at the same time. You watched the whole show, your knees up and head resting on crossed arms as the tears dry in your face. It’s when he exits the stage to roaring applause that you get up from your spot on the ground. You know from your time backstage that when Elvis walk’s off out of view from the crowd he is no longer a figure floating on adrenaline, he’s your tired, sweaty best friend who you provide with a water bottle and a hug. You need to see him, you’ve felt alone and abandoned for so long, you need Elvis.

Determinedly, you walk as fast your wobbly legs and painful heels will take you. You are able to easily get past security to get backstage because the man standing in all black guarding the entrance was able to recognize you from when Elvis sent you to the audience earlier. By the time you get to the crowd of crew and band that you’re sure Elvis is in the middle of, your calves are burning with exhaustion. Your eyes move frantically in their search and finally you see him, he has a beautiful glow making him stand out in the pack of people.

You run up as soon as you see him, almost rolling your ankle as you fall onto him, arms enclosing his body with a tight hug. “Elvis!” You thought the tears had run out a while ago but there was something about being in his embrace, feeling his warmth and presence, being filled with his scent that makes every emotion that you experienced alone rise up again inside of you. You sob into his blazer, not letting him go.

At first he’s shocked thinking that fan snuck her way backstage but he hugs regardless, immediately recognizing that it’s you. “Satnin? W-wh-what happened?”

“Oh Elvis, I can’t be out there anymore. It was so scary and there were so many people crowding and I was bout to fall and trip. A-and my clothes are too revealing, they gotta be. People kept looking at me but not the way you look at me, it was real different. I just wanted to be around ya so you could protect m-me but you were performing! I didn’t know what to do…I was all alone. I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

He’s never seen you this vulnerable, this broken. “Did someone hurt you, baby?”

You pull away just a little to look up at him, your face is puffy and red from crying and Elvis swears you’ve never looked so small. You look so young, cheeks and big eyes reminding him of the little girl he met all those years ago, not the femme fatale prototype he saw in the mirror just a few hours ago. A broken girl in a woman’s clothing. Pure Memphis was in your eyes, reminders of simpler times.

“I was so nervous, Elvis. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Honey, I asked ya a question. No one hurt you out there right? Answer me ‘cause if some bastard put his hands on ya, I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

“No! No one hurt me. I was just so scared…I was just so scared. And look!” You show him the fragments of what once was bravely in your hand. “I broke it, Elvis. I’m so sorry. You got it just for me and it must’ve been so expensive and it fell off my hand and broke. O-one of the things is gone and I don’t even know if I grabbed every piece of the ground. That’s why you can’t buy me stuff, Elvis, I told ya that. I’m too clumsy for nice, fancy things.”

“Shhhh…shhh, baby. We’re going back to the room. It’s all gonna be okay. Forget the damn bracelet, it don't mean anything to me. You’re alright and that’s all that matters. You’re okay now, you’re safe now.”

Elvis puts an arm around your waist and guides you through the crowd, ignoring everyone who tries to talk to him except for a few words when asks, not asks tells, one of the guys to drive the two of you home. He quickly opens the door to a car, rushing you in with him to head home.

Home being the motel. You two are miles from Memphis , the home your heart longs to see again.

The ride back to the motel is quiet. The most quiet it has ever been when the two of you are around each other. The car drives there fast but the journey home always feels shorter than the trip you took to go. That is what keeps the world spinning, if not, hope would be lost too soon.

Within what seems like the blink of an eye or the very long blink of your tiny little car nap, you arrive at the dimly lit sanctuary. Giving the driver a small “thank you”, you and Elvis get out of the car simultaneously and walk silently to the room assigned for the both of you, he opens the door to let you in first.

Immediately after walking in and locking the door, Elvis takes off his blazer, the button up he's wearing underneath now on full display, and he throws it on a chair. You walk over to the bathroom, a dim shade of yellow filling the room after you turn on the light. The reflection in the mirror was horrifying, there was a stark contrast from how amazing and put together you looked earlier. Your mascara is smudged from tears and you try your best to rub the residue off with your finger. Your cheeks can be easily compared to red apples and your lipstick is in need of a reapply. Aware of the fact that you look like a hot mess but not having the strength to do anything about it, your attention goes back to the broken bracelet that you’ve had in your tight grasp ever since it was picked up from the floor.

Elvis sits down on his bed, rubbing his eyes as if deep in thought. The silence of the room can be described as comfortable only for the fact that it differs from the loud noise of the venue.

Giving up in your attempts to put all of the pieces of the bracelet together on the counter, you sigh and turn around to head to the main bedroom. It’s when you see Elvis that you’re reminded of everything and all the emotions start to well up again.

You have to tell him. Break it to him easily. Make up your mind.

Your mind stays fast and something is on the tip of your tongue, your lips quiver and in an ill attempt to display conviction in your statement, it instead comes out in a broken, quiet, and tear stained whisper,

“I can’t do it anymore, E.”

Elvis looks up, his hands dropping from his face to fall on his knees, his voice shows true confusion at your sudden words, “What?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t, Elvis. It ain’t me.” Your hands gesture to yourself, not only the Elvis-picked outfit but all the tears and tiredness apparent as well.

He shakes his head unseriously as if this is all too ridiculous to be real, “What do you mean it ‘ain’t you’? We’re making it you. You just gotta get used to it.”

“You always say that but it ain’t working, I’m not the type of girl you want me to be. I need to go home, I just wanna go home.” This last statement comes out as almost as plea, like a little kid’s complaint when they don’t want to go to school.

“So you’re just gonna leave me? Just like that?” He decides to stand up, questions coming out of his mouth defensively. You hate hearing the tone of disappointment in his voice, it’s as if you are unjustified, unreasonable.

“I’m not leaving you…”

“You’re leaving me.”

Face to face, you look up at him, tears threatening to roll down your face again at his harsh and direct accusations. “Elvis, I’m so tired, so exhausted. I wanna be here for you, I want to be everything you want…You don’t know how bad I want that, how bad I need ya to be happy with me b-but…”

“You’re going back to Memphis? This is so outta the blue, honey. This is coming from nowhere, you’re happy and all of a sudden you wanna go home.”

“I’m sorry, Elvis. I think it’s best that I go home. There ain’t no place for me here, no purpose for me being here, no spot to fill.”

“Leaving this…”

His voice is firm in his words and his hand moves around the room as if you forget where you were and then he continues, “..is leaving me. My life is different now. You can’t just quit when it gets hard. I need your support, you don’t know how much I need you here with me. Don’t just up and leave. I make sure you’re alright, I buy you all this fancy shit, I accommodate for ya and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m doing it for my folks and you. That’s what I’ve always told ya, what I’ve always told myself. It’s for Mama, Daddy, and you. That’s it. All of this ain’t for me, it’s never been. Let me satisfy you. This is your place, that’s the spot you’re filling.”

The sound of your voice raises and your tone has changed to match his in attempts to defend yourself, “Don’t act like I’m abandoning you, Elvis. I’ve supported you ever since I met you. I don’t need fancy things to make me happy, it ain’t about that. I don’t need you spending a dollar on me. I’m just a regular old girl from Memphis and for some reason your mind thinks I’m someone else.”

“You’ve always been you. Ain’t no other girl like you. You know that you’re special, I’ve known ya for so long.” He reassures you as if stating the obvious, something you should know and not be doubting. Something that for some odd reason you have seemed to forget.

“That’s the problem. You’re so focused on what I represent, how I make you feel. I’m not some memento from Memphis that you can carry around in your pocket like spare change. That don’t make me sound like a person. I’m all alone. I’m surrounded by so many people, been places I’ve never stepped foot it in, and I’ve never been so lonely. You don’t give me a second thought. I’m only here when it’s convenient for you, when it’s convenient for me to exist. That ain’t friendship. I’m only here when you’re struggling, I’m struggling, Elvis.”

His voice gets even louder and at this point it’s almost like a contest of who can outdo the other in loudness of volume and truth of defensive statements. “You don’t think I’m lonely? You don’t think it’s overwhelming for me too? Everyone thinks life is all good and dandy for Elvis Presley. Sun is shining all the time when you’re tryna support everyone. It’s all fun and games when you get all the pressure on your shoulders, the attention from everyone, the press hounding ya…”

You can’t help but roll your eyes in annoyance and throw your hands down in exasperation, “Here we go again. You’re the only one going through things. We’re all just planets going around your sun. No one else is allowed to feel? I’m trying to get you to understand what I’m feeling and it’s all about you again.”

The smart choice would be to calm the situation down but your honor can’t let you. To you he is the Elvis you’ve known for years and years, one that isn’t any better than you.

His face gets a deeper shade of red as if you have finally struck a nerve and he points his finger at you accusingly, “You aren’t gonna disrespect me like that. Acting like I’m some selfish bastard.”

“I never said that-” You back up as you realize it has started to get too serious, too real. You’ve never had an argument this momentous and your voice reflects the shock.

“That’s the last thing you’re gonna do, woman. If you wanna spend all your time in Memphis, do that. Live your whole life sitting in that same ole house, I don’t give a damn.” Annoyance seeps out of his voice and you aren't sure if it’s stubbornness or irresponsibility that makes you keep arguing.

“Why am I an extra in your life, Elvis? My whole life revolves around you and you don’t give me the time of day. I hate that I’ve taught myself I’m only good when you’re around. It makes me sick to my stomach. What happened to ‘we’ll always be together?’ We haven’t been for a long time now.”

“Then why do it in the first place? Why let me drag you around if you’re gonna nag and complain about how miserable you are? Why say yes?”

“Because I love you Elvis!” At this moment his face softens immediately.

Your voice breaks into a cry as the strong walls you have built up from the ash have broken down again, “A-and I’m so scared, I’m terrified. Everything’s changing and I’m terrified of losing ya. I wanna make you happy, I want you to love me. But maybe I’m not cut out for it. I’m not good enough for this life.”

He reaches out to hold your hands, “Don’t say that—”

“I wish with every bone in my body that I was but I’m not. I can’t be the girl that you want me to be. Maybe you’ve grown from needing me and I’m still stuck. But if that’s true I gotta sort it out alone, I can’t hold you back.”

In this moment his lips touch yours and you are taken aback for a second from shock, immediately you close your eyes and kiss him back just as passionately. The kiss is years of pent up emotions and years of confessions unsaid.

He pulls away, puts his hands on your hips to stabilize you, and speaks confidently, “I love you, Satnin. I always have and I always will. If I haven’t been showing ya that recently then I’m real stupid. You’re all I want you to be, I beg ya believe me. I don’t know what kinda girl you think you can’t be, but we’ll sort it out.. I’ll make sure we see it through because I love you. I’m in love with you and my biggest regret is not telling you sooner.”

You’re at a loss for a verbal response so your body’s natural instinct takes over and it’s your turn to kiss him, both of your hands cup his face as your lips take ownership of what they’ve always wanted. It’s just as passionate as the kiss you two shared prior, but this one is full of heat. His hands roaming up and down your body feeling anything he can as his lips focus on yours just adds to the friction.

It’s a desire that fills and energizes, a desire that refuses to be tamed just by the touching of lips and moving of mouths. The tension in the room is different from the cold atmosphere of a few minutes ago; it’s dirty, it’s sloppy, it’s sexual. The seconds of kissing turns into a few minutes of a make out session, one that has only occurred before in your fantasies. You’ve both been standing for a while but neither of your legs are tired.

The kiss is only broken when Elvis moves his hand to your ass and after a squeeze he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms do the same around his neck.

He whispers seductively in a tone you’ve never heard him use with you before, “I’m gonna show you how much I love ya. Just you wait. I wanna make it up to you.”

He carries you over to his bed and places you gently onto the soft sheets. Elvis kneels down on the ground in front of you as you lay, biting your lip in anticipation. His hands go to take off your heels, the ones that were killing your feet earlier but adrenaline dulled the pain. “Don’t want your little sooties to be all sore now.”

You blush light pink at the baby slang for your feet, the softness of his words contrasting from the passionate feelings of this moment.

It’s when he comes back up from his spot on the ground to lean on top of you on the bed, the veins on his arms showing themselves off beautifully as he holds himself up, that you realize the seriousness of what’s about to happen.

His lips move from your mouth, down your chin and to your neck. At first it starts with little ticklish pecks, then sucking on your skin that is sure to leave marks all over you in the morning. It isn’t until the first small moan escapes your mouth that you realize the seriousness of the moment. Your back instinctively arches as he moves to your collarbone; it’s as if your body has known for a while what’s going to happen, what it wants to happen, and your brain has just unfuzzed enough to catch up. He wants to have sex with you and you want to have sex with him too.

The arch in your back gives him the cue to lift you even more up to reach the zipper on the back of your top. Your heart pangs and he lifts his mouth from your skin when he notices the way you shiver at his touch on the small of your back. “I-Is this alright? Are you comfortable with this? I don’t wanna move forward if you aren’t comfy.”

“This is more than alright, Elvis. You can keep going…please.” He nods without saying a word and uses his right and unzips your top seamlessly, it’s like it was meant to be taken off this way. The only non gentle part of this process is him taking the top in his hands and looking at it before throwing the garment across the room. This took you by surprise at first but he did buy it for you, so you suppose it’s his to take off and throw. Before you know it your bra is unclipped as well and the room’s cold air hits your warm chest making you shiver again.

“Wow, honey.” Elvis’ licks his lips as he takes you in. Your breasts move up and down with your breathing. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding ‘em from me…”

He bends down and gives each of your breasts a long kiss, evoking a small giggle from you. His mind compares your laugh to the most beautiful of melodies.

His eyes bounce back and forth between your giggle-induced bouncing breaths as he begins to talk to them. “She’s been covering yall up? Hiding you two from Elvis? That aint fair ain’t it?”

“Elvis stop that.” You give a small eye roll as the laughter vibrates your whole body and the smile on your face lights up the room.

He smiles as he gives your nipple a small nibble in order to get another reaction from your body before looking up at your eyes again. Your blush reminds him of a pretty picture, “It’s like ya locked me out of heaven.”

You laugh at his exaggeration, “You’re too much.”

“You’re just enough.” He kisses your lips again.

He moves his mouth down your stomach and stops when met with another roadblock: your skirt. He just shakes his head and the zipper is undone faster than the one that was keeping your top together. You lift your ass to help shimmy out of the fabric and with Elvis’ help it rolls down your legs to drop on the ground between his feet.

The sight he sees below him at this moment is one he has only seen in his wet dreams, one he has moaned about when erections snuck up on him, one that makes him get even harder in his pants then he already is.

You lay before him with the cutest shade of pink flushing your face, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him awaiting his next move, your chest fully exposed as if inviting him in, and the only item of clothing still keeping some sort of mystery from his eyes is the cotton white panties on your bottom half. It’s the only thing that he isn’t quick to take off once it gets in his way, it’s like a gift on Christmas. A special present you’ve been anticipating all year, for him longer.

Your blush gets even redder in embarrassment as you assume that he’s looking at the growing wet spot dampening the fabric, staining the sea of innocence. It’s one you can’t explain, a wetness that you only get when around him. One that makes you clamp your legs together subconsciously whenever an innuendo hits the right spot. It’s one that calls for obliviously necessary panty changes when you rush to bathroom expecting your monthly blood, to pull down your pants and find out that the “blood” is a pool of translucency.

“Can I take these off, honey?” His fingers play with the upper band of your underwear restlessly, waiting for permission to get exploring a new world. Lewis and Clark getting ready to explore Louisiana. Settlers waiting to go travel west in the search for gold. Elvis doubts that any gold buried in California is a good comparison to the teasing quality of your snatch against the see through white veil of your panties. He looks at you patiently, you’re the fucking American Dream.

You nod your head shyly at him, still unsure of the fact that you’re about to be truly exposed before him. It’s a vulnerable state in which all humans come. Adam and Eve weren’t aware they were naked until after they sinned and you’re about to eat the apple.

Unexpectedly, Elvis shakes his head at you as if you got an answer wrong in class and he’s trying to lightly break it to you. He will break it to you, firm but encouraging, dominant but soft, “Nuh uh. Gotta use your words, baby. Be a big girl and answer me, I need to hear ya say yes. You usually ain’t got no issue with that. Such a talker and now you’re as quiet as a dormouse?”

“Yes. You can ta-take them off.” Your quiet voice doesn’t beat the dormouse accusations and you can’t help but be embarrassed by your weak stutter but you are all the way sure that you want this. You’ve never wanted anything more.

“Thank you.” Elvis wasn't gonna fight you on that, he was a racing horse ready for the starting gate to open, a hungry tiger waiting to pounce. After hearing the sweetness of your consent, there never was a sweeter sound, he gently but efficiently pulls down your panties, exposing yet another part of your delicate body to the cold air. With the same fate as your black skirt, your panties start to be rolled down your legs but instead of letting them reach the ground, Elvis lifts both of your legs slightly to grab the white fabric and put it in the pocket of his pants. He knows that the pants won’t stay on for much longer but even when they eventually fall to the floor, his party favor will stay secure.

He does a full look over you again from your face down to your pussy, a sight that for a while he thought he’d never get the blessing of seeing in person. A sight that there are no words to describe quite right. His voice is breathless as he speaks to you, “You’re gorgeous.”

You’re too focused on looking at his concentrated face to notice his fingers going to touch your soaked cunt, a high pitched moan of surprise leaves your mouth. Not only surprised at his tender fingers touching the hissing heat, but surprised at how fantastic it feels. The two fingers making contact are the perfect balance of soft and calloused. They go back and forth, exploring your pillowy pink cunt like it’s a new guitar waiting to be tested out. Even with just a few seconds of touch, your arousal coats him welcomingly already. “All this slick is for me? I did this to ya? All this for Lil’ Elvis, he’s a lucky guy.”

“Al-all for you, Elvis. Always for you.”

Elvis in all his experience knows exactly where to go to make you twitch in satisfaction, the tiny bundle of nerves is the sweet spot. His fingers move in a circular motion, his fast pace never tiring. Your moans start to pick up and Elvis swears it’s the best sound he’s ever had the privilege to have heard in his 21 years of living. The moans are soft and breathy for the most part, here and there you let out a deep alto coming from your core.

“Oh, Elvis!” The first yell of his name is like ecstasy for him.

As if suddenly aware where you are, a motel room, not a floating cloud in heaven, you bite your lip to be careful. You can just imagine the weird stares you’d get from people in the morning, especially the ones that know it was your high voice disrupting an otherwise peaceful late night.

As if noticing those satisfying, constient noises of pleasure being muffled, rather terribly, Elvis looks up from your distracting pussy for the first time in a while. His fingers never stop their circles on your clit. “Let me hear ya. Don’t keep those sweet noises from me, darling. Don’t ever do that.” You're amazed at how he can multitask, a small reprimand comes out of his mouth while his fingers give the most pleasing feeling in the world, all simultaneously.

Remembering faintly behind the wispy clouds fogging your mind the loud sounds that you’ve heard from other guests while staying in random rooms around the country, your concerns manage to string together a sentence. “Th-the walls are thin. People can’t hear m-me.”

People can hear you. They can hear you well, what you meant is that you don’t want people to hear you but the words didn’t quite come out that way.

“You want em to hear ya moaning and screaming? Gonna up the ante, doll?”

“N-no, no! Don’t wanna…don’t want them.”

“Oh. Well t-those folks don’t matter none. Nothing matters right now but you and me. Me and you.”

To drive this idea into your mind, to take your worrying head off of consequences, one of Elvis’ fingers makes his way inside of you gently. Your walls naturally squeeze around his finger and his cock pulses in his pants in pure jealousy, Lil’ Elvis getting impatient for his turn. His long finger curls just a bit before sitting still inside of you for a second, your button hissing at being left abandoned. He moves his finger in and out of you gently as he speaks, “Jeez, baby. When was the last time someone touched ya? You’re as tight as a virgin.”

You freeze in that moment, for you are a virgin and he senses this immediately from your hesitation, the way your bright eyes widen and long eyelashes flutter as if a secret just became uncovered. From your reaction you’d think he started fucking you already. “Elvis…I-I…”

“Oh. You are…? A w-while ago you were with that…thought you were….Never mind that. I know I gotta give ya that extra attention now. I’m gonna get ya prepped for me, honey. Ju-just wish ya would’ve spoken up and let a guy a know…It’s a big thing for ya pretty head to keep secret.”

Having a bigger duty and responsibility on his shoulders after learning that you’ve never taken a cock before, Elvis knows he’s gotta take extra time with you and he has any complaints about that. Even if you weren’t a virgin, he would’ve been mindful with you anyways for it was the gentleman thing to do. Elvis Presley might be a horny man, a horny man who’s cock wants nothing more to be buried inside of you fucking you senseless, but he’s not selfish son of a bitch.

He wiggles and works a second finger inside of you, your eyebrows furrow and eyelids close at the sensation. As he sets his pace inside of your pussy, your moans get louder as if building up to something. You make no attempt to hold them back, but even if you tried there’s no way you could for the pleasure was too strong.

“Elvis! O-oh…yes, yes!”

“There you go…Let all that shit go, all those bad thoughts. Atta girl.”

You feel something build deep inside of your lower stomach, it’s like a fire being fed. When Elvis feels your walls start to clench, he stops and immediately slips out of you. It’s quick and easy since you are so slick.

What you didn’t expect more than his touch leaving you was an anger building inside of you. Your brows furrowed in confusion and your voice was quick to implore him for answers, “What the….? Why’d you stop? You can’t just—”

He chuckles, making you more annoyed. “Shhh….Imma give ya what you want, Imma give ya everything ya need.”

In his kneeling position at the edge of the bed he adjusts a little and moves his head down so it’s face to face with your cunt. “Such a needy girl with an even greedier pussy. Greedy for something it don’t even know.”

You whine as your body shimmy’s down further, desperate to meet his mouth. He puts his hands on your thighs, opening your legs more and keeping you stable at the same time. “Both of you are whining for me, huh? I’ll take care of ya.”

In that moment he kisses your cunt with a small peck and your mind flips on itself. His laugh vibrates your pussy. He’s amused by the fact that if that tiny kiss made you jump you had a bigger surprise waiting for you and oh he couldn’t wait to show you. He’s the only one who knows what’s coming next.

Elvis’ mouth makes contact with your cunt again, eating you out with unending strokes of vigor and passion like it’s what he was put on this earth to do, he’s close to the finish line of something he’s been dreaming of accomplishing for a long time: helping you reach your finish line.

Your legs bend around his head, encasing him in paradise. Your left hand meets and intertwines with his right one, holding hands is such an innocent gesture at a time like this but it’s so perfect. In contrast, your right hand grips the sheets with whitening knuckles. “Yes, Elvis! Just like that….Oh Lord.”

His tongue has no mercy as it devours you, he’s like a starving animal. Your hips, also chasing, buck up to meet his mouth halfway. He works you perfectly and it isn’t long before the storm starts to brew in your lower tummy again, like lightening is waiting to strike.

“Please, please, oh please, please.” You don’t even know exactly what you’re pleading for, just some release, some finish.

“I’m…I’m...oh my God.” Your words serve as a strong caffeine as Elvis starts to suck on your sensitive clit and that’s when the band breaks and you reach euphoria. A wave of satisfaction floods your body like the ocean, it's a feeling so foreign but so instinctual, new but always meant to be. Your moans are easily the loudest they’ve been so far and your legs start to shake intensely. The room seems to spin around you as you start to see the stars, the same ones you saw decorating the night sky outside. Elvis licks and sucks you through your high, tasting the sweet honey of your release on his face as your legs close tightly around his head, making him go deeper.

Moving your hips against him to ride out your finish, your body feels limp as you try to catch your breath. Elvis lifts his head and looks at you with a grin, an attempt to lift your hand to wipe his face is a failure since your hand shakes as soon as you bring it up and ends up falling right back on the sheets. He licks his lips and comes back up to kiss you.

His grin is boyish as if proud that he was the one to make you feel that way. The first man to give you an orgasm, the first man to make you writhe and moan, the first man who’s name is screamed by that parted mouth of yours. Hopefully the only man to ever make you do those things. His mind will remember this in the future when met with any of your smartass remarks, eye rolls, or teasing. Is it wrong for him to love that? Too damn bad he’d say.

He whispers in your ear, thick southern drawl and all, “You feel better, mhm? You were being so good for me, honey. You taste like some honey too, no doubt.”

Your voice is as shaky as your legs were just a second ago, “I l-love you, Elvis.”

“I love you too, baby.”

A need to give back fills your heart and you somehow manage in this jelly-like state to sit up, your hands going towards Elvis’ pants. When you cup the hard bulge in his trousers, his head falls back with a groan. “F-fuck…see what you do to me?” You nod, amazed at the fact that you are the reason for his arousal. When he unzips his pants and pulls down his underwear with them, he is as hard as a rock, standing at attention because of you.

After taking off his bottom garments, he kneels on the sheets of the bed and goes to unbutton his white dress shirt as you stare at his cock. Assuming that this is the first one you have ever seen, he isn’t all anxious but is instead proud of Lil’ Elvis and the gawking reaction he is getting from you.

The only time you had seen a penis was in middle school sex education class but that was only a drawing of one. It was 9am and the black and white non-detailed sketch of the male anatomy was met with giggles by your immature classmates. For you it was met with a yawn considering the time was 9 in the morning and your only objective in that time slot is to stay awake.

Fast forward to the present day sitting in front of a hard cock, the one belonging to Elvis Presley, was nothing short of fascinating. This one differed in some ways from the one you were shown years back in class, not only was it more detailed and quite a bit bigger, but there was extra skin covering the tip. This observation interests you and with curiosity getting the best of your racing mind, you bring your hand up to wrap your fingers around the thick of his length and pull just a little bit of skin back gently with a soft up and down motion.

When you do this, your glimpse at a pink tip and a bead of liquid forming in the slit was just a small glance because Elvis twitched around you immediately, a small moan. In fear that you’ve hurt the man you love, your hand immediately draws back as if he was a stone that burnt you.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt ya, E. I should’ve asked, I really should’ve. You asked before—”

“Honey, honey!” He cuts your worries off. “It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me. I-It’s ju-just felt really good. The way you got all shaky when I kissed ya all nice? It’s the same thing.”

“Oh.” Just a simple motion would help him reach that dream-like state you were in just a few minutes ago? It seems like women were more complicated.

You weren’t oblivious to the fact that many women took cock inside their mouths to pleasure their men. You’ve overheard Elvis and his Memphis Mafia talk about women “giving them head” which you have assumed is a girl making them fall apart with just her head. There’s only one hole on the face big enough to please so your mind decided to fit the puzzle pieces together on its own, unsure if your puzzle matched the truth.

If you knew how to perform this critically acclaimed “head giving” you would in an attempt to satisfy your already watering mouth, but in fear of the unknown you decided to stick to what you’ve been told feels good. You decide to keep pumping him, up and down, up and down. His voice is breathy with encouraging praises. “J-just like that, baby. So good for me. Making me feel so nice…so nice.”

It’s pure vulnerability sitting across from each other fully naked, you pleasing him right after he pleased you. It’s when your fingertip goes to swipe at the beads decorating the slit of his red tip that he stops you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna finish me quick if ya keep on. Now Lil’ Elvis may not mind either way, you’ll find out he’s a horny thing, but it’s better if I’m in ya. I wanna be inside ya. Lay down, honey.”

You do as he says and lay down obediently, trying to mentally prepare yourself by taking deep breaths.

Part of him wanted to take you from behind, fucking you fast and rough until tears form on your face, tears of pleasure this time. But knowing what he knows about your lack of past experience and wanting to see your face as you take him for the first time, he’ll have you lay down comfortably. He has no problem at all either way, he’d even be pleased if the night ended right here without him coming to that sweet finish. A day ended after eating you out is a day well spent in his book.

“Imma go real slow. It might sting a bit cause you’re all fresh and new down there but you’re a big girl. My strong little satnin, I know you can do it. You’ll take me.”

“Okay.” You remember his demand earlier to use your words to respond and you do so.

He leans over you, getting in a good position to enter. While rubbing his tip against your cunt in preparation, edging you both in the process, he swears that he could finish right there easily.

You look down at the spot where you are to connect with amazement. Knowing for a fact that Elvis is anything but a virgin, you trust his skill and watch his process. It seems planned out prefectures and oh how glad you are to have a perfect man. No one on earth is perfect but Elvis Presley is so perfectly Elvis Presley. The things he excels at never disappoint.

You feel the burning plunge of his entry and immediately both hands go to grip as much of the white sheets as they can. Once he has the tip in his eyes go up and down interchangeably, watching both your face and your pussy while you take him. It’s better than any movie.

He continues on his slow journey inside of you. Meanwhile, you’re a pain you’ve never felt before, no way things are supposed to go up there. No way things are designed specifically to go up there. If they were, why is it so big?

His voice is breathy and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. “F-fuck…Tight ass pussy. Sucking me in.”

Your groan is a mix of pleasure at his words and of pain at the impaling you’re experiencing. For a split second you think about looking away, like not watching the needle go in you at the doctors office, but you can’t.

He’s only about half way in when you convince yourself that there is no way you can take more.

“It hurts like hell, Elvis. S-stop, just for a second. I need to breathe..I can’t breathe.” He halts the second you say stop and his attention is strictly on your face, his eyes full of concern. Tears start to form in the corner of your eyes as your breath starts to pick up.

“Breathe, baby. It’s alright. Take your time.” The only thing he wants more than bottoming out is for you to be comfortable. He wants to go deeper, he wants to fuck you until you can’t remember your name but his love and concern for you comes first always.

“I don’t think I can, Elvis. It’s too big, it’s huge.” These comments come not as an attempt to enlarge his ego (they are in fact doing that) but of actual concern for the state of your situation.

“Shhh…it’s gonna fit. God didn’t make men and women not fit with one another, he made us perfect. You just gotta relax or else you’ll just tighten up again. Don’t mess up our progress, honey, it’ll hurt even more.”

It’s hard to relax when you’ve got the long lost cousin of metal pipe piercing into your body. You don’t say that aloud though. With a deep breath you continue, “Okay, you can keep going….just slow.”

He heeds your instructions and continues plunging into you with small rolls of his hips until he bottoms out with a loud grown, officially balls deep inside of you. You two moan simultaneously as he starts moving in and out carefully. Beautiful waves of pain and pleasure perfectly balanced move through your body.

“Fuck. Just like that.” Truth was you weren’t doing anything but moaning and arching your back, but that was all he needed. Just your body responding to his.

Your hips going up involuntarily to meet his thrusts is a signal for Elvis to go faster and that he does. He moves deeper and harder inside of you, one hand showing its veins as it grips the soft sheets next to your head and the other gripping hard onto the bone of your hip.

“Oh my God, Oh my God…” You gasp and bite your lip. Everything about this is so vulgar but so beautiful. Two beautiful bodies focused on nothing but making love. A moment like this is something you’d dream about at night and then in the morning sun pray to God for forgiveness from such thoughts. Now you are yelling up for mercy in a different way.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his rhythmic thrusts never slowing. “It’s Elvis, honey. I’m the one doin’ it to ya.” You moan from the vibrations of his voice against your skin. His lips move smoothly to your neck, sucking on your skin to mark you as his own. He’s the one who ruined you and he wants the whole world to know.

As he makes a masterpiece of your neck, your hands grab onto his back, fingernails sure to leave red tracks. You’re both making your presence known on eachother’s bodies. Your cunt makes its satisfaction known with loud gushes going hand in hand with your loud moans. There is no vibrato left inside of you.

“Elvis! Oh yes!”

The man orchestrating it all lifts his wet pink lips from your collarbone, breath heavy. “So perfect. You’re made for me, I’ve always known you were made to be mine.”

“Mmmm….”

“I’m so cl-close….I’m gonna….” He wants to finish inside you, it would be his first time coming inside of a woman unprotected and he wants that special woman to be you. But he can’t. He knows deep down that it would be one of the most irresponsible decisions he could make. It would be a selfish decision.

It wouldn’t be in your freshly-fucked best interest, it wouldn’t be in his new careers best interest, It wouldn’t be in the best interest of the fans having to wait for Elvis Presley to get off of paternity leave.

If only he could fill you up without getting you pregnant. That’ll have to be a fantasy between him and his fist.

Quickly, he pulls out of you to prepare for his impending release giving his cock a few pumps to try to replace the warmth from your pulsing walls with his hand. Finally, a stream of white liquid comes bursting out of the slit of his and you watch with short breathed awe as his immediately head leans back, mouth moaning your name over and over like a prayer.

You’re the one who made him feel so good that he reached the clouds. Knowing that it’s Elvis’ turn to see the starry sky, experiencing the same state of bliss that you were able to encounter earlier, makes your heart so happy.

Your belly now is feeling a different type of warmth. it’s his release making a mess of your stomach, spurting like paint all over you. As soon as it’s all out of his system, Lil’ Elvis giving the show its last encore, the man in front of you cups your face into his hands and kisses you. He rolls to lay his body next to yours, your lips now the only parts still connecting.

Elvis pulls away and both of you try to catch your breaths.

“I love you, Satnin.” He whispers softly.

You respond back just as gently, “I love you too.”

That was…an experience. If you got this far thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoyed. My inbox is always open for questions, comments, and concerns. I take requests but there is no guarantee I’ll get to them. (they’ll probably give me inspiration to write more often though). Call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me. Adieu my loves. ✨

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