#so sky is making fun of him with the costume | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

manicpixiefelix · 10 months ago

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 5.

Summary: Reader, Oliver, and the mortifying ordeal of being known. Plus clubbing, costume parties, and Oliver being a fucking tease.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: drinking/intoxication/drug use

A/N: 3148 words. now we're cooking with gas, folks! i might be too sleepy for a real author's note, but just know, as always, its unedited and i love you. have fun, please let me know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Can I be bold for a minute?" On the roof of one of the dorm buildings, you and Oliver are waiting for Felix. It's twilight, the sky painted lavender by the setting sun and encroaching night, and everything feels a little dreamy.

"If anyone would appreciate boldness, Ollie, it's me," you tell him blithely around the cigarette you're trying to light. Still, he's quiet for this one moment, watching the way you cup your hand around the little flame to shield it from the wind.

"How did you and Farleigh ever get so close, considering how he treats you?"

You're pretty sure you know why he's asking you, considering what few interactions he'd witnessed between yourself and Farleigh, but it's still unexpected coming from him. For a moment, your gaze flicks to him, eyes narrowed, not quite sure what to make of the interaction. When your gaze meets his, he's looking at you with that intent, inquisitive look he got in moments like these, moments he seemed to fish for information without seeming like that was what he was doing. The silence and look that you level at him seem to throw him off guard, and immediately he drops his gaze to his feet, swinging off the edge of the building.

"That is bold," you finally settle on, watching Oliver fidget. His ankles cross, his shoulders slump; again he makes himself as small as possible. You deliberately make your tone lighter when you continue, "what's got you worried 'bout me an Farleigh?"

"I mean, all I'm saying is that he was being nasty to you, but now you're both kind of acting like he wasn't."

It's true; since his apology that Sunday morning Farleigh had been keeping his word about not being too bitter about Oliver to or even around you and Felix. You, in turn, made a special effort to spend time with him, pay him attention, made him feel like your priority on occasion. Both you and Farleigh were well aware of what you were doing, but he always enjoyed your company and attention, so it wasn't like he was going to complain.

"Farleigh and I understand each other."

"He slept with your girlfriend."

"India's not my girlfriend."

"He- he keeps calling you a dog."

That hit a nerve. You hadn't realised he was paying attention to that back at the pub. You swallow hard and look out at the horizon.

"And?" Raising the cigarette to your lips again, you don't look at him as you take a very long drag on it, "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," you breathe out with the smoke.

"Doesn't seem like the way friends should talk about each other is all," Oliver says quietly, notes of apology in his voice; you can see him looking at you again out of the corner of your eye.

"Best friend, actually," you finally sigh, letting the tension drop from your shoulders and the moment. As you look at him over your shoulder, you give a faint smile in the face of his confusion, "we've known each other long enough that we can say pretty much anything we want to each other. Only problem is that Farleigh knows that pushing my buttons also pushes Fi's buttons, which is why he does it so often. He's a shit-stirrer, but you haven't known us long enough to know he doesn't really mean it," you tell him with surprising fondness in your voice.

"I'm sorry for prying," Oliver says earnestly, and you smile wider.

"I'm sorry for being so defensive; I realise how it must look from the outside."

Before anything else can be said, the door to the roof bursts open, and Felix greets you both with a hundred-watt smile and a packet of fish and chips in his hands. You descend on him like a seagull, swapping your cigarette for the hot food, tearing into the paper wrapping and settling by the wall at the edge of the roof near Oliver once more.

There's a beat where Felix is watching you and Oliver, his smile soft and fond and endeared, but there's something in his eyes that's been there since that lunched they'd shared at the pub -

"I shouldn't say -" there's a lot of things Felix shouldn't do that he does anyways. Considering his wealth, he could get away with a lack of self control, "I just genuinely didn't know, I mean I might have guessed- did you know?"

"Know what, Fi?" You're still in his bed, bleary-eyed and desperately wanting to go back to sleep when he'd come back from the pub buzzing instead of tired, as he'd predicted.

He'd spent the better part of the afternoon with his head on your chest, explaining the almost Dickensian tragedy that was Oliver's life. Sure you were listening, but you didn't have much to contribute other than faint noises of interest while your fingers carded through his hair.

There's something about the way Felix recounts all this information to you, the way he finds it salacious and heart-breaking all in one. You can hear in his voice that he'd captivated, that he's endeared by the struggle that has followed Oliver throughout his life. As much as you loved him, you'd watched time and again the way he'd fall for tragic tales and the people who'd recount them; Felix had a saviour complex, and it was the only thing the two of you had ever fought about.

Last year it had been Eddie, the worst of the bunch so far. Like Oliver but in the opposite direction; too much, too loud, too confident to hide his ugly secrets and desperation to be wanted. Eddie had been Icarus, taking for granted the wax wings Felix had given him, the good life, attention, a comrade who almost understood him. But he'd played with fire, played with Venetia too many times, and the wax wings melted. Not that you'd cared; you were the one who spotted them, you were the one that told Farleigh, you were the one who listened to Felix's furious rants every few days for the rest of that Summer. You'd never liked Eddie like Felix liked Eddie.

Oliver was different. You wondered if he was different enough.

Still, as much as you liked Oliver you could see it in Felix's eyes, hear it in his voice; he was already getting himself addicted to the idea of how much better he could make Oliver's life. But Felix had hated it the last time you'd pointed something like that out.

("Then why the fuck would I keep you around? Maybe it's because I don't pick my friends based on whether they're charity cases!")

So you keep your mouth shut. Maybe it's worth it for the way Felix smiles -

"I don't -" Oliver's fidgeting when Felix asks him to tag along to a costume party, "have anything to wear, really," he admits. Immediately Felix is offering to let him borrow something. There's a flicker that looks almost hungry in Oliver's eyes amid the gratefulness, and you wonder if he knows how many people would kill to get into Felix's pants. Still, he's humble, "you don't have to do that."

"I don't have to do anything," Felix shrugs with the easiest smile in the world. Then, in the next sentence, completely glossing over the act of kindness he looks at you, "tell me you aren't still expecting Farleigh to commit to that devil costume with you."

"He told me he'd put effort in this year -"

"He tells you that every year," Felix laughs, and you lean into Oliver's shoulder to explain.

"Me and Farleigh always organise to go to one costume party per year as an angel and a devil -"

"And every year," Felix rolls his eyes with a good-natured exasperation, "Farleigh wears some vulgar t-shirt and two party hats for horns, while Y/N puts weeks of effort in and wins best dressed every time-"

"Not every time," you protested, while Oliver looked faintly impressed, leaning back against you too.

"The only times you haven't won best dressed was if there was no competition to win," Felix points out, before looking past you to Oliver with an amused smile, "so I can't promise you a Y/N-level of costume, but it'll be more than two party hats."

"If you wanna give me two party hats, I'll wear 'em," Oliver says, hands coming up as if to placate the both of you. Instead, you grin wider, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"We'll make you all pretty, Ollie, don't worry."

Unsurprisingly, on the night of the party, Farleigh showed up to 'get ready' at your dorm, which meant him lazing on your bed, drinking and sharing his coke with you while you put arguably too much effort into your makeup. He, of course, is wearing two party hats, and t-shirt that simply says 'EASY', and though you pretend to be annoyed for all of five minutes, he gives a shit eating grin as you chew him out.

"Fool you once, shame on me, sure; fool you six times, that's on you, Y/N."

You flipped him off with a grin.

"There they are!" India cheers from the sofas where your other friends are gathered when you arrive to the party. Farleigh, on your arm, makes a show of his entrance, "not you, Farleigh, obviously." India rolls her eyes, but thankfully Farleigh wasn't too put out. Instead, he swans towards the group to claim a seat.

"Give us a spin, angel," Annabel insists with a coy smile, and you oblige her to the whistles and cheers of the rest of your friends.

"You outdo yourself," Felix told you fondly as you dropped into a beanbag by the sofa he and Oliver had been occupying.

Felix is looking at you, that kind of dangerous look when he thinks you're especially hot and there's only a thirty percent chance that the two of you will even make it to a dark corner. For just a moment, however, your gaze flicks to Oliver, by his side, and he's watching Felix too, absolutely rapt by the way your best friend looks at you.

"Only in comparison to Farleigh," you shake your head, forcing yourself to be Felix's self restraint, especially so early in the night, "besides, look at you; you've certainly grown into this since I last saw you try it on," and you leaned forward as best you could, looking across the circle of friends to the pretty, redhead in the slinky nurse outfit, "how fucking good does Felix look, Annabel?" You ask pointedly, and you can see Felix give a restrained chuckle before turning his attention to his own not-girlfriend, who seemed glad for the chance to gush about him.

Sitting back, you chance a glance once more at Oliver, and somehow aren't surprised to see him looking back at you. All you do is smirk, well aware of what you were doing.

Felix's clothes are too big on Oliver. The costume, though you're not exactly sure what he's meant to be, kind of wears him instead of the other way around. Felix, of course, looks all kinds of gorgeous as a police officer, while Oliver looked rather like he's wearing his big brother's hand-me-downs. But he's rolls up the sleeves and always looks up at Felix with these blue, doe eyes shining with gratefulness, and no-one else cares enough to comment either way.

You wonder if anyone else has noticed, the way Oliver's personality changes with his focus. It's not in large ways, perhaps others think its like a trick of the light, but the way he looks at others, the way he behaves, it seems to vary from person to person. Tactile, distant, closed off, hesitant, open, honest, warm, skittish, never truly the same with each individual. It's like he watches, figures out what people want to hear, what they want from him, and does his best to give it to them. It's almost painfully familiar.

Oliver gives Felix what he wants in a way you know you never can; Oliver gives him someone to help, someone to feel like he's saving. As long as Felix is happy, you tell yourself, that is enough, and it's easy to like Oliver in your own way. The only problem you've found is that as much as you like Oliver, as intrigued as you are by him, you can't quite get a read on him, what he wants, what your place may be in his life. He's always watching, always searching for something, but you're never sure of what.

So you decide to show him love, show him appreciation the way you know best.

More and more you choose to stay by his side when you're all out, at the pub, at clubs, either of you are not with Felix, or if you're not otherwise occupied by someone requesting your attention, you'll be with Oliver.

Tonight, at the club, a girl from town had been occupying Felix's personal space for the better part of an hour, and by the time he has her against a wall down a dark corridor, Oliver's absconded from the dance floor to get another drink, but hasn't returned. You find him skulking against a wall, half drunk pint in his hand, gazing out through the crowd. When you join him, when you follow his gaze, you can see the silhouette of Felix and the girl, his hand up her shirt through the haze.

"It doesn't bother you?" Oliver asks, loud enough to be heard over the music, but not by anyone else.

"The girls don't bother me," an easy, languid smile spreads across your face, "the girls love me," you amend, smile turning a little smug as you watch Felix and the girl whose name you can't even been be bothered to recall.

"Felix's girls?* Ever-hesitant Oliver, even here and now, sounds carefully demure amongst his curiosity, "do you -?" He makes an awkward gesture, but you read his intentions and laugh dismissively.

"No, no... well," you pause for a moment, "occasionally I have my fun, I suppose, but not like that; girls who are into Felix aren't traditionally into me like that, no," you shake your head with an an missed smile, "but that's why they like me, I'm not a threat, see?"

Even through the haze and flashing lights, you can see Felix's hands on the girl; he's warm and rough and the way he holds always feels so fucking secure -

Looking away sharply, you're surprised by how intently Oliver's watching you. Its genuinely startling, and though he seems to understand this but doesn't look away. For just a moment your breathless, caught up in the night and the jealousy and want for your best friend that you usually have much more control over - your own words echo in your head; I'm not a threat, see? A smug lie, a joke at all those poor girl's expenses since you knew they were never going to last.

Oliver's gaze burns when you finally look him squarely in the eyes; he knows.

"I get the impression people assume a great many things about our Felix," he wets his lips, casting his gaze to darkened hallway, to where you had seen Felix with his mouth on the neck of his girl of the night, but you can't look away from him. Our Felix. "And about you."

"And you?" Your tongue darts out, wetting you lips as you draw Oliver's attention back to you, tone flirty. There's something exhilarating about this man that you can't help but want to tease out.

"Not much to assume," he gives a faint smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm more the observant type than one whose observed."

"You make the assumptions."

"I make the assumptions," he actually smirks, a bit of that usual gentle hesitation that he approached the world with slipping for just a moment.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Do you have a lot of assumptions about Our Felix?" You tease his earlier wording, but once again his gaze drifts to your best friend, if he still is in the crowd. Them, quieter, almost as if you don't mean to you murmur, "or me?"

"Had."

"Had?"

"Had a lot of assumptions," there's a kind of mischief in his eyes as his tone takes on an air of nonchalance, "'bout him, 'bout you too." As he speaks, you step towards him, hand on his arm, moving steadily higher. He can feel it, you know he can, but all he does is smile wider, refusing to break your gaze.

"Like what, Oliver Quick?"

Leaning in, Oliver takes your face in his hands, bringing you close, sharing breath, lips inches from his.

"Like how they write Odysseys about your kind of loyalty," he mumbled, and you feel like his gaze alone could swallow you whole. There's a aching, yearning that you feel in this moment, when you crush your lips to his. It's quick and desperate, and he pulls back, "like how you show love with every fuckin' bit of that body of yours," this time he pulls you in and it's rougher, it's needy, he bites at your lip and you whimper against his mouth, press yourself against him, "like-" he kisses you quickly, "like- like-" but as you find yourself trailing rough kisses down his jaw, he seems to lose his train of thought.

"Yes?" You prompt with a laugh.

"Like how you're desperate to feel needed."

"Observant," you tell him softly, raising your head, arms still around him. In this moment, his expression is open, watching you, waiting for you to react, "more observant than anyone else."

"You wear it on your sleeve, sweetheart," he says bluntly, but something about being seen, about his unwavering honesty, that sets your heart beating, burning in your chest. Or perhaps it's that he called you sweetheart; it's rare that someone is so sweet to you.

"Then need me, want me."

"I do," this time when he kisses you, it's gentle, full of warmth and unexpected love, and the way he holds you close makes you feel so precious and desired at once, "but not like this, not now." And he's letting you go, despite the way your lips tingle and the damn butterflies in your stomach. You desperately want to cling to him, to ask him what the fuck he means, but he kisses you on the forehead and tells you to get back safe, wearing an almost smug, knowing smile, disappearing into the crowd. You can't even go after him, he's made you damn weak in the knees and all you can do is lean against the wall for support.

Felix and his girl have disappeared.

Your friends are still living it up on the dance floor, you're sure, but you have only one thought on your mind.

Oliver Quick is a fucking tease.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #head heart hand fic #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #manic writer

497 notes · View notes

heartsofminds · 1 year ago

Text

my life is changing every day, in every possible way

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” or It's Halloween, Bradley has a precocious eleven-month-old daughter, and he might be in love with her impromptu babysitter.

A/N: soooo here's a halloween thing that i kind of just threw together? i'm OBSESSED with bradley being a girl dad and just love this little girl i came up with (@gretagerwigsmuse knows that we love quincy in this household). anywho, enjoy some poorly written dadley and this super pointless halloween drabble? hope y'all had a good holiday and am sooo looking forward to writing more of this daddy/daughter duo !

“Whatever it is, Bradshaw, you’re not excused this time.”

Jake Seresin slams his locker shut and shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The heel of his boot is kicked up, making a soft “thud” on the hollow metal as he leans his back against it. He crosses his arms to lie in front of his chest and adjusts his watch.

The small wooden bench screwed into the linoleum tile perches Bradley Bradshaw, who sits with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs and his back aching something awful. He softly grunts before he turns to release some of the pressure there. The resounding crack it makes causes Jake to grimace a little before his face returns to the snarky default position it always seems to have.

“I’m sorry I’m an adult? And have responsibilities?” Bradley rolls his eyes and traces his index finger around a watermark on the wood next to him.

He notices his Nalgene water bottle sweating and subconsciously picks it up, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dry the wet spots it left in its wake. Jake and Natasha watch him without his knowledge and share a knowing look with each other, but remain silent. Sometimes it’s hard to determine if Bradley’s behavior is because he’s in a vastly different life stage than they are, or if it’s just a Bradley thing.

Trying to figure it out makes everyone’s brains hurt so they often just let it be.

The blonde groans again. “You say it like flying a billion-dollar aircraft every single day isn’t a huge responsibility,” he licks his lips before throwing his head back, “Can you take that huge stick out of your ass for once and let yourself have fun?”

“I have a baby, shithead. I can’t just stop being a dad to go to a Halloween party.”

Javy slams his locker shut and prances over to Jake and Natasha. A wrinkle in his eyebrows starts to form as he thinks over Bradley’s statement. He finds himself standing next to Jake; his stance is identical and his bargaining skills are tuned and ready to be used.

“It’s hardly a party at all, man. It’s a costume, a couple of beers at Pen’s place, and maybe one other bar for like an hour,” he speaks and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Live a little.”

Bradley sighs; the puff of air housing a hint of playfulness and a hint of annoyance. He knows he’s already lost and that there is absolutely no way he’s getting out of it this time. And so help him God, he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but maybe what Jake and Javy are saying doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan.

It would be good for him. It would be good them. It would be good for Quincy, and if any of the parenting magazine articles (that he’s kind of ashamed to have budgeted for paying for the subscriptions, if he’s being honest) had anything to say about it, children thrive when their parents are thriving.

Besides, Penny and Mav have kinda been on his ass about it. Because yeah, she goes to daycare during the day and yes, she’s technically been around other kids and for sure has had her share of being around adults, but she’s one anxious biting attack away from being kicked out of daycare and all the people Bradley trusts (outside of Miss Charlene at the daycare who is a friend of Penny’s and was his babysitter when he was small) are up in the sky so he’s really running himself dry with options.

Natasha calls it separation anxiety but Bradley calls it a bond. Which is true, Nat had agreed, but it wasn’t just about Quincy being attached. It was also about Bradley being just as attached, if not more.

In the eleven months that Quincy Elaine Bradshaw had been on this Earth, Bradley hadn’t left her side for longer than four hours at a time.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had anyone to call his own before or if it’s a “Papa Bear” thing or if there’s some unexplained biological phenomena that won’t allow him to be away from his daughter without spiraling, but he hardly thinks its a problem. . . .

Except when he leaves on his lunch break to go see her at daycare and she’s in a fit of hysterics whenever his hour break is up and he has to return to work. Or when she’s eleven months old and has never slept by herself in her own room before (which is why his back is so fucked, but he’ll never admit it). Or when she’s biting kids and teachers because she’s so anxious she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

So, yeah. Maybe it is a problem and maybe the root of it all is guilt.

He can’t let his daughter out of his sight because he can’t help but feel guilty for raising her the same way he was and giving her a ghost that she never asked for – a parent whose approval she will always seek despite never knowing who that person truly is.

Something about that makes him feel like he has to make up time for two as a punishment for only being one, and being the one who can’t provide her everything she’ll ever need as a growing girl and eventually as a woman.

“I don’t know,” he says lamely. He wraps his finger around the loose thread on his t-shirt and pulls it in one fell swoop.

“Okay, fuck. You need to get out. What do you need?” Natasha pipes up, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to him.

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer but she cuts him off before he can. “What’s it gonna take? Do you need a sitter? A lobotomy? You need to live a little, dude.”

“Well, we know the sitter’s not the issue. The kid’s cute as shit,” Jake speaks up and Bradley scoffs.

“She’s so fucking cute,” Javy agrees and Bradley has to hide his grin despite being annoyed.

He helped make the cutest baby ever. Who wouldn’t be obnoxiously proud about that?

“Absolutely adorable. People are lining up to babysit her,” Reuben Fitch interrupts and joins the group of aviators which further puts a pin in Bradley’s desire to decline the invitation. Rueben doesn’t involve himself in Jake or Javy’s bullshit very often, but when he does, it’s evident that the idea isn’t absolutely batshit crazy.

Bradley gives him a playful middle finger before straightening his posture and coming to the realization that maybe Jake was right for once.

“Yeah.” Holy fucking shit. “Rueben’s wife would put her in her pocket and take her home if you let her.”

And the golden rule is that if Bob is game for something, then everyone else should be. So now he really has no excuse to not go out on Halloween night because he has the Southern Californian equivalent of the fucking Pope giving his two cents on to why he needs to go.

Fuck you, Bob Floyd for always being the voice of reason.

“See? Everyone agrees. You’re the odd one out so it’s only fair,” Jake taunts again. Everyone around Bradley seems to be shaking their head in agreement to which he realizes that he’s stuck and there’s no way he won’t be in attendance to the group’s Halloween plans.

“But it’s her first Halloween,” he tries to reason, “I can’t leave her alone on her first one.”

Javy sighs. “She’s not even gonna remember it. Yeah it’s a holiday but she’s not missing out on much. She doesn’t even have teeth yet.”

Jake laughs sarcastically. “Q-dawg’s been chompin’ away on all of her little daycare friends. Haven’t you heard?”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “Fuck you! I thought you left the room when I was on the phone with the daycare.”

“Her business is our business now, Bradshaw. Aren’t we allowed uncle duties?” Reuben teases. Natasha clears her throat to interrupt him. “And aunt duties?”

“Auntie Nat reigns superior and we all know it, but holy shit. She’s biting people? How is she more badass than her dad?” Nat goads and shoves the back of Bradley’s head playfully. She chuckles at how slow his head pops back up and he mocks her laugh and sticks out his tongue at her.

“Guys, c’mon. I can’t leave her with a sitter on her first Halloween.” Although he knows he sounds silly (and he feels silly saying it, too), his daughter is his best friend in some ways. Despite her not being able to walk yet and only having a vocabulary of a few words, he can’t help but know how deeply he loves her, and how much everything about her matters to him.

“Then don’t,” Bob says, “Just bring her to Hard Deck for like an hour and then you can run home, meet the sitter, and then meet us wherever else we decide to go.”

And sometimes Bradley hates how much sense Bob tends to make and wishes that he was wrong. That no, the Hard Deck isn’t a suitable place for a baby, and no, there’s absolutely no way Quincy would keep her cool while being there during one of the busiest nights of the year.

But he knows it’s a lie because her grandparents are the owners, everyone loves her and fights over having their turn to hold her or even catch a glimpse of a baby smile directed at them, and the fact that Quincy has been to the Hard Deck enough to have developed an affinity for diluted cranberry juice over the Mott’s Tots apple juice sitting in his pantry.

“Fuck, fine. But you’re finding me a fucking babysitter,” he speaks, pointing a finger between Jake and Natasha before standing up abruptly. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, knowing the only way he can make sense of the predicament he’s put himself in can be solved by seeing his joyous baby girl.

The sounds of muffled chuckles and shoes squeaking on the ground fill the silence of Bradley’s absence; all of their eyes flitting to each other to decipher if they actually made the most stubborn man alive give into their bidding with minimal effort.

“Did we just make Rooster. . .cave?” Reuben speaks, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. His thumb rolls his wedding band around on his ring finger as he waits for someone else to speak up.

“Huh,” Jake huffs, “I think we did.”

“So I’m guessing the lobotomy is out of the question,” Mickey ponders out loud, “Y’all better know a damn good babysitter.”

Natasha and Jake’s eyes widen in realization. They better find a damn good babysitter soon.

Carrying a baby is harder than it looks.

Bradley swears that his daughter is an eighty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a drooly and overly excitable eleven-month-old.

It's not the worst thing in the world, he figures.

But God, is she giving his arms a workout from the amount of times she’s tried to contort her small body to get a good look at all the ruckus and excitement going on around her. It’s when Bradley feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck that he realizes the costume he’s picked may not have been the smartest move; especially when no one seems to get what he’s supposed to be.

Secreting sweat by the gallon seems like an unfair exchange to be dressed in what he thinks is the greatest daddy-daughter costume of all time. The flannel shirt he has on and the overwhelmingly hot coveralls to go with it was a good idea in theory (that theory being how frigid the Halloweens he used to spend in northern Virginia were when he was a little kid).

He finally makes it to the saloon-style doors of the bar and is met with “Thriller” by Michael Jackson playing from the overhead speakers above him. Every surface seems to be decked out in cobwebs and dark purple and neon green spiders, and Quincy stares in awe at all the patrons meddling about around her before making grabby hands at the faux snakes dangling around the jukebox.

She almost slips out of Bradley’s grasp before being wrangled back to a stable position by her chunky rolled arms.

“Jesus, girl,” he gasps, swallowing the lump in his throat while Quincy giggles in his face. “You tryna kill me here?”

“Well look who it is!” Penny’s teasing voice sounds in his ears.

Quincy’s little eyes catch the figure of her faux grandma and she begins to squeal in her father’s ear before reaching her arms as far out as they can go; reaching and moving so frantically it looks as if she’s attempting to swim in midair.

Penny moves closer to them and raises her eyebrows. Her arms instinctively reach out and she grabs Quincy from Bradley. Her fingers trace the burgundy felt of her costume before she tickles the baby. Quincy erupts in a fit of laughs.

“What has your crazy daddy got you dressed as?” she teases, her elbow coming out to knock Bradley in his ribs playfully. “Are you an. . .apple?”

Bradley huffs and rolls his eyes. His gaze instinctively lands on his daughter who clasps her hands on Penny’s face and traces her chubby (and insanely sticky) baby fingers across her red lips. She puckers her lips and chuckles to herself at Quincy’s amazement of red lipstick.

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?”

Penny’s eyes flicker between Bradley and the baby she holds in her arms. The splotchy rosy cheeks and honeyed hazel eyes tells the tale of twins, and she’s reminded of the little boy she used to casually see around Fightertown all those years ago dressed in different variants of the same dinosaur on Halloween.

“Sweetheart, you’re saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” she starts, simultaneously giving her attention to Quincy and the million and one different things going on around her, “I almost thought she was one of the cement balls outside of Target but realized the red was too dark.”

He groans, his eyebrows furrowing together and a slight scowl forming on his face. Penny’s heart is warmed because his daughter has a propensity to make the same face when she’s frustrated.

A beat absent of dialouge passes. Hoots and hollers fill the silence as well as strangers stopping by to coo at Quincy before being on their way to the pool table of their desire. Quincy babbles and talks as if she’s a lawyer prosecuting a case and Bradley’s heart softens at how animated she is.

Her awkward tongue pushes out more saliva than what would be socially acceptable and the drool begins to gather on her face. He reaches out and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his flannel while she flops like a dead fish away from the makeshift napkin in protest.

God, this girl is so dramatic.

“I handmade it,” he says softly. He runs a dry part of his sleeve across her lips more firmly to ensure he had gotten all the wetness.

Penny hums in acknowledgement. “And you did good.”

And he doesn’t know why he’s expecting it; why he’s waiting on Penny (of all people) to see him picking a scab and rub more salt in the wound. He knows that she would never do that and he knows that most of the people (if not all of the people who he considers close to him) see him that way. He knows that people know he’s trying his best and that he’s doing everything he can.

Bradley knows but he just can’t make himself feel it, and he can never figure out why.

Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad without a “real” mom or dad to show him the way. Maybe it’s because he’s finally gotten used to having someone around who relies on him and needs him and loves him unconditionally, and he’s terrified of doing something that will make her sit on a couch in a therapist office and say the words that he’s trying his best to avoid: “My dad doesn’t love me enough.”

Bradley knows what it feels like to not be loved enough. Bradley knows what it feels like to not be liked enough. But Bradley doesn’t know what it feels like to not try hard enough, and that is something he is determined to never stop doing when it comes to his baby.

“You’re saying it like I didn’t though.”

Penny’s face falls and she shifts her gaze from Bradley’s daughter to him.

“Oh, Bradley,” she sighs, her open palm coming up to cup his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re an amazing dad and you’re doing a fantastic job.”

He grabs her hand with his and gives her a weak smile in return.

“Doesn’t feel like it, though.”

He’s usually not one for feeling sorry for himself. He’s never been too keen on throwing pity parties and inviting everyone he knows to them, and in all actuality, he doesn’t know why this bid for reassurance that he’s serving Penny is even coming up.

“No. Stop it. No,” she playfully chides, tickling Quincy to make her erupt into a ball of silent baby chuckles. “You’re an amazing dad and everyone knows it. You’re her world and that’s all that matters.”

Bradley opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to accept her compliment. He simply nods his head before the already loud noise of the bar is split by an even louder whistle.

His neck cranes around to see his group of friends waving him over to the pool table and the anchored weight of doom starts to sink in his stomach. He remains frozen with his hands in his pockets and his body emitting heat from his personal heater of rubber waders. He feels like a seven year old at the park again; his mother standing before him and wordlessly encouraging him to go play and make friends.

The high pitched scream of his daughter is heard as Maverick approaches. Both Penny and Bradley wince more and watch as his daughter mindlessly babbles and almost flies out of Penny’s grasp in favor of him.

Pete smiles to himself before grabbing her from Penny. She rolls her eyes at him and he playfully sticks out his tongue.

“Like father, like daughter,” he says, “M’never not a Bradshaw kid’s favorite.” Quincy sticks her chubby fingers near Maverick’s mouth and squeals as he pretends to bite them.

“Did the past fifteen years just. . .not happen?” Bradley quips. In the past, the snarky comment would have made Maverick freeze on the spot but since they’ve repaired their relationship, (and Quincy’s frequent stays at Nana Pen and Papa Mav’s on the weekends) the insult rolls off Maverick’s shoulders into oblivion.

“You’re making fun of the old timer, but I’ve been havin’ myself a grand ole time and you’re in the corner pouting like you’re in timeout,” he comments back, “Don’t you have friends or something?”

“I’m just – taking my time to get over there.” They all look as Jake lets out an obnoxiously loud holler after hitting the eight ball into the pocket to win his pool game. “M’trying to choose joy tonight.”

“And choosing bad costumes too.” Maverick holds his granddaughter out in front of him to get a full fledged look at her costume. She kicks her legs in the air gleefully before he pulls her back to his chest. “Who makes their kid the…Target balls?”

Bradley lets out a groan and rubs at his temples. “Oh my God! She’s a cranberry!”

“Love you to pieces, kid but I think you need your vision checked. You can’t put a kid inside a red sphere and call it a cranberry,” his finger comes out to poke his granddaughter and he’s met with a giggle, “A quack doesn’t always mean duck.”

“Aren’t you, like, 5’4 –”

Penny interrupts the conversation with her hands and quickly grabs Quincy from Maverick’s hold. He flashes her a small pout and is met with the ice cold glare of his girlfriend.

“Bradley, go talk to your friends, babe. We’ll bring her over in a second,” she says, squeezing Pete’s bicep to drag him with her to the bar.

“But –” they both begin to complain in unison. Penny gives them a pointed look that immediately shuts them both up.

“Let’s go get some cranberry juice! How does that sound?” she asks Quincy who begins to smile and clap her hands in approval. Penny turns on her heel to head to the back while Maverick stands frozen in front of his nephew.

“Do you really think I’m only 5’4?” he meekly asks, genuine concern covering his face.

Bradley shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The paper “Ocean Spray” label he’s taped onto his waders bends and he mentally cringes at the crease he knows will probably be there.

“I mean, sometimes when you turn to the side it’s hard to imagine that you’re actually 5’7.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I said, let’s go get some juice!” Penny’s yells, annoyance dripping off her tone. Maverick claps Bradley on the shoulder before retreating to go accompany Penny in getting Quincy copious amounts of diluted cranberry juice.

With Maverick’s departure, Bradley realizes that he actually has to go interact with his friends. After all, they’re the reason that he’s here. But when he takes in the swell and dip of the loudness that is contingent on the World Series playing on the televisions around him, he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice tonight.

He imagines that he would’ve taken Quincy up the street to trick or treat at a few houses before her impatience and curiosity made her lose interest in the activity. They would have abandoned trick or treating and ended up on the couch where she would be cuddled up beside him with her feet tucked somewhere in between his ribs (because she seems to have a talent for finding the most tender spots on his body to lay) and stroking the tip of his mustache with her perpetually sticky fingers as she begins to doze off. They would be probably watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown before her bedtime came, and she would be read three books, tucked in, and off to sleep before he caved and pulled her from her crib and let her sleep with him in his bed.

While it’s mundane and certainly not what he would have considered the epitome of “fun” even two years ago, he feels a weird ache in his chest knowing that he’s missing out on that reality. But he has to snap out of it if he doesn’t want to be miserable and ruin everyone’s night.

Besides, Jake and Nat promised him free drinks all night and they already found him a babysitter and paid her for him. He’s in too deep to back out now.

Bradley takes a deep breath before approaching his friends and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears as Jake and Mickey scream as the Texas Rangers score their first homerun of the game.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Reuben teases, forcing a beer into his hand that had been on standby until Bradley’s arrival.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited,” he deadpans before moving around the group and telling everyone hello.

He’s met with joy and little jabs about graduating to “old timer” status that he playfully ignores. Bradley knows that they’re all just joking with him and that they mean no harm by their comments. Even he’s slightly surprised that he went through with coming out tonight; not to mention coming out while wearing a costume.

His eyes catch Jake slyly handing over a twenty dollar bill to Javy accompanied by a middle finger before he turns his attention to Bradley.

He can already sense the half-assed greeting he’s about to get from him before Jake even begins to speak.

“Got a lot of questions for you but I’ll start with this one,” Jake begins and Bradley rolls his eyes before he finishes his statement, “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

He groans before pointing to the crumpled “Ocean Spray” label taped to his front. “Fucking Christ. Does no one know where the fuck cranberry juice comes from?”

Jake laughs before taking a long swig of his beer. His ridiculous belt buckle and cowboy boots tell Bradley exactly what he’s supposed to be. Well, that and the fact that for as long as he’s known Jake, he’s always the same thing every year for Halloween.

Leave the Texan to always be a cowboy.

“My first guess was one of the guys from “Deadliest Catch” but since you wanna be a diva about it. . .I’ll just pretend like the Ocean Spray farmer was beyond fuckin’ obvious” he takes a long swig from the beer bottle he has in his hand, “But that’s not important. Where’s our girl?”

Bradley sighs and looks around near the back of the bar where he knows his baby is being given the spotlight by all the older Hard Deck patrons that can’t believe that, “Little Bradley Bradshaw has a baby now!” He’s known that he’s always had a knack for attention, but his daughter lives for the limelight. He’s never known anyone in his life to be so incredibly outgoing, nevermind the fact that Quincy is already the life of the party and she can’t even speak coherently yet.

“Pen and Mav took her to get cranberry juice,” he emphasizes the word and Jake rolls his eyes at him this time instead of the reverse, “They’re gonna bring her by in a bit.”

Natasha makes her way over to the two men; extra smiley and smelling like she had bathed in tequila. Natasha always parties hard but never lets it keep her down. Her ability to drink liquor like a fish and be perfectly fine the next morning has always been a mystery to Bradley. She’s called Phoenix for a reason, he knows.

“Bradley!” she cheers. Her dark hair is hidden by a copper colored wig and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if he hadn’t known her face so well. The green eye makeup and the plastic vines wrapped around her shoulders and legs cue him into the fact that she’s dressed up as Poison Ivy.

“Hey!” he cheers back, matching her enthusiasm.

“You’re the fisher guys from “Deadliest Catch”! That’s so clever!”

Bradley’s face drops and Jake begins to lose his composure beside him. Natasha’s eyes immediately soften with worry and she starts to search for the words to profusely apologize.

“No I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I swear it! I was just – I thought — I think that it’s really cool and the overall thingies look great on you! I’m so sorry,” she word vomits and Jake continues to laugh hysterically.

“Nat, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he speaks gently, “Just calm down a little.”

She takes a deep breath and Bradley can physically see her brain wipe the incident away as if it had never happened. He’s been her best friend for years and knows what she looks like when she’s close to being black out drunk. There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance she even remembers this interaction at all. She blinks blankly at him before getting distracted by the baseball game and almost topples over with how fast she turned her head.

Jake lightly smacks Bradley’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go grab her a water. You want anything?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t want Natasha to overhear him because they both know that she’ll refuse his help no matter what state she’s in.

He shakes his head “no” before hearing the clunk of his boots carrying him to the bar, leaving him and Natsaha alone in the pocket of the bar that their friend group has claimed as their own.

Natasha’s eyes follow Jake’s path to the bar and Bradley has to hide his grin and hold his tongue to not set her off while she’s so vulnerable. Natasha has always been the tiniest bit sweet on Jake but is too stubborn to admit it. Even with all the logical circuits in her brain turned off, she refuses to let herself ponder on this fact for longer than a few seconds. She catches herself staring at the blonde in a half-assed Halloween costume before she returns her attention to Bradley.

And just as expected, she changes the subject as if their earlier conversation had never even happened.

“Where’s Quincy Wincey?” she asks and Bradley chuckles.

Even with no coherent thoughts in mind, Natasha still loves his daughter and wants nothing more than to see her.

“She’s behind the bar with Pen and Mav. She’ll be here shortly.”

Natasha nods before opening her mouth again. “You know, you’re a great dad, B.”

Her sudden revelation takes the words out of Bradley’s mouth. He’s known Natasha Trace for nearly fifteen years and he has never known her to give out genuine compliments half-assed. He has half the mind to ask her what she means by it, but knows that it’s no use given the state she’s in.

All that matters is that she really means it, so he settles for a simple “Thank you” instead.

Jake announces his return by forcing a cup of ice water into Natasha’s hand which she gripes about but begins to drink anyway.

“Your daughter’s back there chummin’ it up, by the way,” Jake states simply and Bradley pauses.

“What do you mean?” His hands come out to rest on his hips.

“Well, for starters,” he begins, unwrapping a toothpick and putting it in his mouth, “She’s got people handing her candy and peanuts into a little paper bag. She’s being pretty efficient about it if I say so myself. Had half the mind to grab her from Mav while I was up there cause I wanna see her, but I didn’t wanna get in the way of her business efforts.”

“She’s what?”

“Paper bag. Candy. Peanuts,” Jake lists, “C’mon, man. Keep up!”

Bradley stalks toward the bar to go get his daughter. He’s not angry, in any sense of the word, but kind of disappointed given that she’s technically trick or treating for the first time and he’s not there to witness it. Part of him is starting to feel restless at his lack of interaction with her and wants her back in his arms immediately.

“Hey, don’t insert yourself in her business endeavors! Be happy your daughter is likable. We all know she doesn’t get it from you,” Jake shouts before returning his attention to the World Series playing out in front of him.

By the time Bradley arrives to the bar top, he takes note of exactly what Jake had seen upon his visit. There is his daughter with ruddy cheeks and a toothy grin absolutely hamming up her cuteness at some captains and their wives with Maverick holding her up so she can stand semi-confidently on the table. Her little fist holds a brown paper bag that Penny uses for her peanuts and is full with candy and crinkled due to her lack of a proper graspar reflex.

His daughter is a world class charmer and she has an equally charming grandpa to help her do her bidding.

“Bradley!” Maverick cheers, turning Quincy his direction so that she can have eyes on her dad.

Like magic, she abandons the little bag she was holding in favor of the arms of her father. He grabs her without hesitation and she glues herself to his side as if it’s her permanent position.

“You better not be making my baby a con artist, Mav,” he weakly threatens. He coos at Quincy and marvels in the way she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Hardly. She’s a people magnet, kid. Everyone would be happy to do anything she wanted them to do.”

Bradley sighs, knowing that he’s missed one of her milestones. This is the price he’ll have to pay forever with being a more than single parent with the kind of job he has. He swallows the disappointment down and saves it for later. He knows that it’ll come up another time anyway, so why even bother with addressing it now?

“You’re treating my kid like a Kennedy, Mav. Don’t get any ideas on how to sneak her onto base to get you out of trouble.”

Pete laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Can’t make any promises,” he simply says, “Don’t you have to go meet the sitter soon?”

Bradley groans at the gentle reminder his uncle is giving him. Maverick doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent in the slightest, but he knows what good parenting looks like. He had seen it with Goose and how much he had cared for Bradley in the very short amount of time he was given, there’s no doubt in his mind that Bradley is the best dad that Quincy could ever ask for.

But what he also knows is how perfectionistic and borderline obsessive his nephew can be. He deserves a break and a break Maverick knows will be spent in good company with people who love him.

Bradley deserves this, and he knows that Mav’s gentle reminder is more of an order telling him to be kind to himself.

He looks down at his watch and sees the little hand inching towards the eight. “Yeah. We need to get going.”

Pete leans over and gives Quincy a kiss on the head as a “goodbye” before shoving the paper bag of candy into her father’s hand.

He closes his hand around Bradley’s fist and gives it a firm shake. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.”

Bradley nods before bidding goodbye to Penny who is beyond excited at the idea of Bradley finally going out, baby free, for the first time since he found out he was going to be a father.

And when his daughter incoherently hums along to “The Girl is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney in the backseat, Bradley knows how hard leaving her alone tonight is truly going to be.

She shouts at him which he knows is her trying to get his attention to sing along with her.

“You ready, babe?” he asks, eyes flitting up to peek at her in his rearview mirror, “Because, the doggone girl is mine.”

Quincy bursts into a fit of baby giggles as he tries to ignore the feeling of impending doom brewing in his chest. He grabs a piece of chalky bubble gum from her candy bag and pops it in his mouth. He cringes as he chews.

Who the fuck gives gum to a baby?

Bradley doesn’t know why his heart is pounding out of his chest.

He knows that he’ll only be gone for two hours maximum and that Quincy will probably sleep the entire time anyway. She may be precocious and charming, but she loves bedtime more than anything, and from the active night she’s had, he’d be surprised if she even made it fifteen minutes before passing out somewhere on the living room floor.

He trusts Natasha’s judgement (and Jake’s, he’ll begrudantly admit) and he knows the sitter they found for him is nothing less than amazing. You’re a childhood friend of Natasha’s that had recently moved to the area and had been Jake’s date one time to the Navy Ball six years ago (which he had learned from an Instagram post dated from 2017).

And Bradley will say he doesn’t know much about you (outside of his deep dive stalk that he had done days before, but that remains beside the point, he thinks) but that would be a big fat lie. He feels a little pathetic to admit that he had created a faux LinkedIn profile to be able to look you up and see your credentials as well as finding every mutual follower you had amassed between Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Bob.

And it’s a little creepy, he admits, but he’s only just looking out for the safety of his daughter! Just because you know his friends doesn’t mean that he knows you (which he knows is wildly untrue given the overwhelming amount of Internet stalking he had done on you in the past week).

Bradley is burning a hole into his living room floor by pacing back and forth with his daughter in his arms. As anticipated, she’s started to doze off and he chuckles to himself. Quincy loves bedtime and that remains uncontested by the way her little lips are pursed and she lets out light snores.

The sound of a car door opening and shutting keys him into being aware of your presence and he scares you half to death because he opens the door before you can knock; your knuckles almost coming into contact with his chin had you not been paying attention.

“Oh,” you mummer, “Ummm. You’re Bradley, right?”

And you’ve never felt as dumb as you do now because of course he’s Bradley. You know what he looks like and the baby asleep on his shoulder and the last name “Bradshaw” printed on the doormat outside should be enough for you to deductively reason that that’s him right in front of you.

Not to mention, you’ve been Internet stalking him and know what he looks like for a fact because of the amount of photos Natasha has of him on her Instagram and in her story highlights. You had always found him attractive whenever your eyes graced those pictures, but that’s all it was; a fleeting thought that was never watered and was gone as soon as it was there.

But now that he’s in front of you, now that you’re getting a really good look at him holding a precious baby on his hip and somehow making rubber waders look amazing, your mouth starts to get dry and your heartbeat starts to quicken.

“You must be the sitter,” he declares and he mentally kicks himself for how cold he’s coming off. His nerves have a tendency to put him into fight or flight and the pressure of being in your presence merely adds to that.

He clears his throat when he notices your lips forming a thin line and rejection teeming from your body language.

Fuck. Why do I always do this?

“Oh! Uh – Come in,” he steps aside and closes the door behind you as you walk in.

From what you know about Bradley, you know that he’s a single dad who had a less than stellar record for wanting female companionship. When Nat would come to Williamsburg to visit you all those years ago when you were fresh out of undergrad and working as a TA, barely scraping enough money to pay your rent, she would lay on your floor and crone about how she had a friend who never seemed to be able to keep a girlfriend.

But he was amazing, she would insist, and he’s such an awesome person, she would say. Somehow though, Bradley always seemed to be heartbroken and searching for the next way to smash what little he had left of it into unsalvageable pieces.

Even though that was close to a decade ago, you know that the fact remains true when you peer across the pictures in his living room. Photos of a blonde couple and a dark haird little boy that you know are his parents. Photos of him with the infamous and insane Maverick. Photos of him with his daughter, but no photos of him and his daughter’s mother; let alone a girlfriend of any kind.

“So she’ll probably sleep the entire time. Don’t put her in her crib because she’ll scream bloody murder and not calm down for a long time so you’re free to keep her on the couch or put her in my bed,” he lays her down in the corner of his couch and puts the large blanket laying there on her lower half, “She’s allergic to strawberries but I don’t think she’s gonna be eating anything while you’re here and I don’t have strawberries in the house.”

He pauses, wracking his brain for more information to tell you that wouldn’t just be him retelling his daughter’s entire life story. “Oh! This is kind of weird, but if she wakes up and won’t go back to sleep, just play “The Girl is Mine” –”

“The Paul McCartney song?” you question. Your eyes search his face and are full of amusement. He can’t help but feel his chest flutter at the little glimmer they give off.

Focus. You can’t flirt with the babysitter. What’s wrong with you?

“Well, it’s Michael Jackson’s song featuring Paul McCartney but yeah. It usually calms her right down and she’ll settle enough to doze back off.”

He knows that his daughter is more than quirky. Sometimes he settles for the word “particular,” but he knows quirky is the right one to use.

You start to laugh a little. “That’s so –”

“Weird?” he inserts, “Yeah, I know. I’m raising a sixty-year-old but there could be worse songs. Be grateful she’s phased out of only wanting to listen to “Break Free” because there’s nothing worse than listening to EDM on a loop at three AM because she won’t fall asleep unless it’s playing.”

You shake your head and agree. “Well, I promise that we’ll behave ourselves and not get into anything too crazy. She’s adorable, you know, so if she asks, I don’t know if I can stand it to say no.”

You can’t flirt with her dad. You can’t be the babysitter that’s trying to get banged by the dad. What’s wrong with you?

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see to that. Her sitter is pretty cute too so I think I’d be pretty forgiving.”

And fuck. Is he, is he flirting with you?

You’re left speechless before his phone rings and he rolls his eyes before grabbing it off the entryway table.

“Hang on a sec,” he says before swiping across the screen to answer. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m on the way.”

He grabs his keys and starts heading toward the door, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear and you have to stop yourself from drooling. “Calm the fuck down, dude. I’m leaving like right now. . .Yes, I’m literally walking out the door – Can you chill? I’ll be there when I get there?”

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble.

She spots you and immediately lifts her arms up, telling you that she wants to be held. You graciously comply and coo softly to her and marvel in the way she instantly koalas to your side as if she had always had a spot there and had always known you.

Part of you thinks that it’s fate. That in some way, you’re meant to be in her life and meant to stick around but you know that this silly schoolgirl thinking will only get your heart smashed to pieces. You decide to ignore it.

Besides, Natasha would kill you if you ever expressed to her how hot you found her other best friend.

Some things just aren’t meant to be.

Bradley jogs into the next bar that his friends had decided to go to with a slight smile on his face. He scans the crowd and spots Jake and Bob trying to hold up a beyond inebriated Natasha.

“You’re awful happ — Oh dear God. Don’t tell me you screwed the sitter,” Jake greets and Bob looks away bashfully once the statement leaves Jake’s mouth.

Bradley mocks him before helping them guide Natasha to a booth.

“Can you ever just say "hello" like a normal person? Do you always have to be bitchy?” he remarks.

Jake lets Natasha rest her head on his shoulder and looks down to check on her. “It was just a comment. You know we picked her because we wanna set you guys up, right?”

Bradley’s world stops. He raises his eyebrows and feels his mouth go dry.

“You what?”

“I mean, she’s cute. She’s smart. She loves kids and she obviously didn’t vom on you from getting a look at your face, so I assume it went well,” he starts listing his reasonings on his fingers, “You also bounced in here like you have a can of jumping beans shoved up your ass so you’re giddy about something.”

Bradley scoffs. “I do not have anything shoved up my a– Why do you care so much about who I’m seeing?”

Jake looks at Bob who starts to shrink a little in his seat. He instantly knows that the set up wasn’t all just Jake and Nat. It was probably the entire squadron.

“We want you to be happy, dude. I mean, this is a good opportunity for you and for Quincy,” Bob starts and Bradley knows that he needs to listen and take it into actual consideration if he knows what’s good for him.

Jake and Natasha are class A meddlers, but everyone else getting involved shows how much this matters to him.

“You’re doing great and I know for a fact I’m not half the man you are, but you also gotta cut yourself some slack. You have to let yourself be happy, too. Life isn’t all just about sacrifice, you know?”

“And we made a reservation for you both at that one rooftop restaurant downtown. There’s a $250 cancellation fee so you kinda have to go,” Jake adds and Bob facepalms himself at their friend’s lack of tact.

“You did what?”

“Also she thinks you’re hot. She texted Nat about you ten minutes ago and she’s way too drunk to respond so we did for her and as of now, “He totes thinks you’re hot too. Make a move when he gets back.””

Bradley’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to say.

“Thank us when you’re getting us together about the proposal.”

There’s something about the way that life flashes before your eyes and there’s never anything you can do about it.

You can take photos or collect trivial keepsakes. You can talk about the events in past tense and have the story change slightly every single time the words leave your mouth. You can dream about it in watercolor memory and try to make sense of it all.

But no one ever tells you what it means when you’re standing before your daughter, a dark haired beauty with such elegance and spunk that it’s impossible to put a label on it, as she embarks on a journey to truly be her own person.

No one ever tells you how to cry so you don’t smudge your mascara. No one ever tells you the hole in your heart this day will give you but the rainbow of joy that supersedes it when it’s all said and done. No one ever tells you how all the times she had a nightmare or scraped her knees or needed you sit at the forefront of your brain.

And when you stand before your daughter dressed in a white dress and getting married to the love of her life, you can’t help but recall the night that you fell in love with her and remember the little baby she was all those years ago.

So around all the orchids and wedding guests and happy tears, you settle to retell this moment in the only way you know how.

“The first time I met my daughter, she was dressed as a cranberry.”

And somehow, that statement is all you need to explain the love between the two of you.

678 notes · View notes

purplealmonds · 5 months ago

Text

My Mononoke and Sky: CoTL fandom wires getting crossed because I just got back from a Sky art exhibit/panel and the newly revealed Mononoke's worldbuilding lore confirms the existence of multiple medicine sellers.

So I made some Mononoke-inspired Sky kids to get it out of my system. Or would it be considered a Sky-inspired Medicine Seller? 🤔

Some design insights and lore below the cut!

Sky-Kusu's haircut and tunic are modeled after a moth's. For the uninitiated, in Sky we call new players "moths" because they fly awkwardly and are attracted to bright lights.

The gold necklace around Sky-Kusu's neck resembles both anime-Kusu's necklace and Sky's Season of Revival pendant. He probably arrived in this realm while that season was running.

Sky-Kusu's cape is shaped like a butterfly (which he has an affinity for) and emblazoned with Sky mural patterns. I made it blue as a nod to anime-Kusu's kimono and the Beta Cape, a cosmetic gifted to playtesters. Sky-Kusu's existence predates that of Sky so that's thematically appropriate.

Instead of carrying a medicine box, Sky-Kusu has a large butterfly pot. These butterflies are a silvery blue as a nod to kitsunebi- foxfire- which is said to contain the life force of a kitsune which Kusu is often associated with. Butterflies in Sky help rekindle light, which is especially crucial for Sky-Kusu because...

Sky-Kusu only has one "Winged Light" - his "Hyper" form- hence the sun dog halo around Sky-Hyper's head.

Sky-Hyper's haircut is honestly just an aesthetic choice. It's one of my favorite hairstyles in Sky, and allows for some fun patterning in the buzzcut area.

Sky-Hyper's costume design is heavily inspired by his movie counterpart's. However, because Sky doesn't allow cosmetics that reveal too much of the skin, he's also wearing what's essentially a modesty tube top and leggings lol. It has the unintended side effect of making him appear more feminine-presenting, which I'm not entirely bothered about.

The markings on Sky-Hyper's skin are inspired by his original markings and star constellations. They're colored silvery blue for kitsunebi. Coincidentally, a lot of spirits in sky are also tinted blue. Hmmm...

The Winged Light scattered throughout the Sky realms deeply unsettle Hyper. They are so much like him, yet have no personality or minds to speak of. Soulless batteries. Although it is to their detriment, their shared body subconsciously rejects these Winged Lights.

This leaves them quite vulnerable to dark creatures in the more dangerous realms. A solid blow from a dark dragon knocks 5-7 Winged Lights out of an unfortunate sky kid. If Sky-Kusu gets hit with his single winged light...

Because weapons are forbidden in Sky, I swapped Sky-Kusu's exorcism sword out with an exorcism...lantern-on-a-stick? It has a little bell and tassel attached to it too!

Since the exorcism sword is traditionally modeled after a fearsome creature, I made the lantern's color palette match that of a dark dragon. At its full power, it can "exorcise" an entire shard eruption in a single blow.

Normally, the exorcism lantern's light isn't "unleashed" unless specific conditions are met to exorcise entity. However, in the Sky realms where light is freely given and shared, the lantern can be lit by other sky kids but burns a weaker flame akin to a sky kid's candle.

Because of this perpetual fire, Hyper cannot fully fall into dormancy. This is fine. He keeps Sky-Kusu company in this strange new world.

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #sky cotl #thatskygame #モノノ怪 #kusuriuri #medicine seller #purplealmonds #fan art #crossover #2024

237 notes · View notes

kaiser1ns · 4 months ago

Text

#. FESTIVE FEVER

featuring 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝗼 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight suggestive. what better way to get a festival discount than participating in an eating challenge with the undefeated togame jo, it's on the house.

The delicious aroma of various foods and the sound of laughter and chatter from the crowd at the festival filled your nostrils. You wandered through the bustling stalls, eyes catching sight of Togame Jo behind one of them, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you watched him serve customers.

"Jo-chan!" you called out, approaching his stall. "Do I get a special discount for being your favorite customer?" Togame looked up, his emerald eyes lighting up at your appearance. "Ah, Y/N-chan." he replied his speaking tone even so slow, leaning closer over the counter. "Come to try the best takoyaki in town?”

“You mean the most overpriced takoyaki in town,” you shot back playfully. "You know I can't just give away food for free, but I might make an exception for you if you can beat me in an eating challenge."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "An eating challenge with the undefeatable Togame Jo?"

"Yeah," Togame said with a slight grin, "If you can out-eat me, not only will you get your meal for free, but you'll also earn some special costumer rights."

"Special costumer rights you say..." You thought about it, the offer was tempting because imagine the extras that you will have — free food, drink and to spend time with him. "You're on,"

The challenge began, and a small crowd gathered to watch. Plate after plate, you both ate not backing up, not even drinking water, but to everyone's shock, you outpaced Togame, finishing the last plate with a triumphant smile. He stared at you, wide-eyed, surprised, dumbfounded, and not to mention he was very impressed that you out of everyone beat him in his own game.

"I can't believe it," he muttered, taking a napkin as he wiped himself, then he wiped the corners of your mouth too, making you blush in the process. You were so sweet, so focused on beating him that he had stopped looking at you, you didn't hear it from me but he didn't slow down on purpose, "You actually beat me."

You grinned, getting up from the chair and putting his glasses on, "Looks like I’m eating for free tonight."

True to his word, Togame let you eat to your heart's content, and as the evening wore on, he found himself enjoying your company more than the festival. Flirting back and forth, laughter and playful comments here and there. You knew your worth, and it was clear that Togame was captivated by your confidence and charm — pricey as the takoyakis.

As the festival began to wind down, you stayed to help Togame close up his stall. The night grew quieter, and soon it was just the two of you, as the other stall owners already closed. You sat on the table counter, checking your phone when you felt him standing between your legs.

Looking up, surprised, as Togame gently took your phone and set it aside. He placed his hands on your waist, squeezing it with his now cold fingers, making you arch your back as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, faces inches apart. If Sakura was here he would be a blushing mess, while Suo and Nirei would try to calm him down. You know how he is sensitive to romance, right?

"Thank you for staying, Y/N-chan." Togame whispered against your shoulder, his voice husky. "I’ve never had this much fun at the festival before."

"Neither have I," you admitted, and without another word, Togame leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. Your heart raced as you kissed him back, the fireworks began to explode in the sky, painting the night with vibrant colors, mirroring the fireworks in your hearts.

The kiss deepened, and you felt his fingers tighten on your waist, pulling you closer. Your body responded eagerly, pressing against him, needing to feel more. Togame's hands slid up your back, his touch leaving a trail of heat despite the cool night air. You could feel his heart pounding as fast as yours, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you both gasped for air, foreheads resting together. His eyes were full of desire and longing, and you could see your own longing reflected in them. "I can't get enough of you," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer.

"Then don't," you whispered back, capturing his lips again, more passionately this time. Togame responded with equal fervor, the feeling of his lips moving against yours once again, God, you are irresistible, the warmth of his body, and the sheer intensity of the moment made you forget everything else. It was just him and only him.

You melted into the kiss, feeling Togame's arms tighten around. When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, as your faces illuminated the night sky full of colors and emotions. Staying like that for a while, enjoying the peaceful silence and the warmth of each other's embrace. The festival may have been coming to a close, but for you and Togame, the night was just beginning.

#✧* ꜝ wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker anime #wind breaker manga #togame jo #togame jo x reader #togame x reader #windbreaker #satoru nii #togame jo fluff #x reader #wind breaker x you #wind breaker x y/n #jo togame #jo togame x reader #jo togame x you #jo togame fluff #wind breaker fluff

205 notes · View notes

rabioa · 6 days ago

Text

Dress Up!

Alastor x Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

A nice and slow morning with your lover, Alastor. You both try to figure out what couples costume to wear for Halloween. You both come to an agreeable conclusion, after all, he always believed ivory was a pretty color on you.

TW: Nothing I think lol

This is my late Halloween special. Remember to stay hydrated and to not eat too much candy at once!! <3

It was a nice peaceful October morning. You were curled up in Alastor's lap, nursing a nice steaming drink. He was settled into his comfy chair, a cup of coffee in his hand. It was a slow yet cozy morning for you two, the fall equivalent of lounging in a lazy river. The weather outside was dull red and chilly to the bone. It beat winter, but it was still cold. The dreary outdoor weather was the perfect indoor weather.

His arms rested on the arm rests, providing a comforting sort of cradle for your body as you snuggled up to him.

“Halloween is coming around,” you began, catching his attention. You tilted your head up, catching his expression. His eye brow was arched high, a bemused smile on his face as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Hmm, I suppose it is, dear. We can carve pumpkins if you'd like? The roasted seeds make wonderful snacks,” he proposed.

A mischievous smile grew on your face. You faced forward, opting to not look at his face. “That's a great idea. We can decorate the hotel for Halloween. But, what about Halloween itself? It would be a pity to skip out on the festivities,” you mused, gently guiding the conversation into whatever tomfoolery you had planned.

To be honest, it was way too early in the morning for your shenanigans, but Alastor had always enjoyed your odd sort of chaos. You shifted in his lap, turning around so you straddled him.

Perfect, now he was totally trapped and helpless against your mischief!!!

His head was tilted to the side, boosting your courage through his curiosity. You silently noted the adorable way his ears stood. One was lax, flopping down, but the other was at attention, almost like an antenna facing the sky.

“And what festivities would you propose? I know Charlie intends on hosting some sort of Halloween party. Are you suggesting we attend?” he watched you take a long sip of your drink, leaving him waiting.

Like a fly to honey, he fell for your trap. Of course you knew he was just humoring you and going along with whatever you wanted, but it was still nice to pretend you were some master manipulator. Perhaps you were secretly a master manipulator, after all you convinced him to date you.

“I don't see why not, ah- but it’s a costume party. You can just show up without dressing up! So, what if we do those couple's costumes? Imagine! You can be butter, I can be bread. I can be salt, you can be pepper. You can be Joker and I can be Harley!” You proposed ideas, the concept of a couples costume had been brewing in your mind ever since fall rolled around.

He seemed bemused, a grin on his face. “Costumes? Dear, I believe I'm already a demon. That's enough of a costume, is it not?” He countered.

You groaned. “That's not the point! Its for fun! How about we go as a vampire and helpless maiden?” You pouted.

“Darling, I'm a cannibal. That's basically a vampire. And you're already a helpless maiden to my charms. There's no need for a costume like that,” he teased, sipping his coffee as he enjoyed your offended expression.

“Little red and the big bad wolf?”

“Your cheeks are red enough, and I’m always ready to devour you. No point in dressing up as what we already are.” You ignored his flirtatious and flustering words, as he always said such things with the most innocent expression, as if he weren’t having the time of his life making you blush.

“Ugh, you're impossible! Corpse bride?”

“Hmm? What's that, dear?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head once more.

He startled slightly when you suddenly grabbed his face with your hands. “Oh you sweet summer child. We need to get you culture. Tonight we are having a movie night. I don't wanna hear any objections,” you decided. “I'll be Emily, you'll be Victor.”

He cupped one of your hands on his face, gently easing it off to instead intertwine your fingers. “The title has bride in it. Does that mean you're the bride and I'm the groom?” He pressed a charming kiss to your hand that never failed to make your heart go pit-a-pat.

“Yup. I get to wear white and everything,” you grinned, seeing him genuinely consider it.

“I suppose its an acceptable costume…” After all, he always believed ivory was a pretty color on you.

#hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel

97 notes · View notes

once-upon-an-animation · 5 months ago

Text

People using “it’s a kids show!” as a defense for the PJOTV show makes no sense to me for many reasons, and one of the reason is that if the show’s questionable quality is a result of it being for children, how then do you explain or justify the removal or weakening of so many elements that kids enjoyed about the books in the first place?

You know one thing kids like? Cool action scenes, and yet most of the action scenes in the show were pretty lackluster. They were over within seconds, and largely replaced by conversations and exposition.

You know one thing kids like? Cool outfits and cool costumes, yet the costuming for the characters, especially the gods, was extremely bland, uninteresting, and devoid of any charm or personality.

You know one thing kids like? Humor. And yet the humor in this show was also very lackluster, especially in the way of Percy, who’s supposed to be a funny, snarky, and witty protagonist, and yet this depiction of him was incredibly dry.

You know one things kids like? Relatability. And yet you watered down or even straight up excluded so many of the character’s relatable traits, especially the depiction of ADHD/dyslexia, Grover’s shyness and cynical yet funny remarks, or Annabeth’s crush on an older friend figure or hear tearing up when it was time to leave the dog, or her grabbing Percy’s hand when they first get in the Underworld because she was scared.

You know one thing kids like? Bold personalities. Yet, so many of the gods are missing the elements that made them bold and memorable, and they just seem like nothing more than a bunch of grumpy adults.

You know one thing kids like? Mystery and suspense. And yet every chance this show had to build some, it was killed on arrival by the insistence that the characters needed to know everything.

You know one thing kids like? Funny references and fun twists. The Underworld was supposed to be set up like airport lines. The entrance was supposed to be a record studio named DOA (Dead on Arrival). Chiron was supposed to be in a fancy Italian suit and shoes. Each of the cabins and thrones on Olympus was supposed to be uniquely constructed and colorful to depict each god’s domain. And yet all of that got eliminated.

You know one thing kids like? Places and adventures that feel grand and magical. And yet, when it was time to show off grandeur at the Lotus Casino, we took away all the sky diving and reverse deer hunter games and replaced it with exposition, and activities that don’t seem magical in the slightest. And we didn’t even get to watch the characters play and be kids.

So how, just how, do y’all get off saying that we should go easy on the show because it’s “just a kid’s story”, and yet the show neutered most of the elements that endeared kids to this story in the first place?

#pjo tv crit #pjo tv adaptation #rick riordan #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #pjo tv show

174 notes · View notes

hugshughes · 1 year ago

Text

seven E. Edwards

Ethan Edwards x fem!reader

synopsis - you and Ethan, your best friend since you were seven, finally admit you're in love with each other.

wc - 5.7k :O

contains - so much fluff LORDDDDDDDD. curse words, eating/drinking, kissing, making out, reader has long enough hair for a braided ponytail, a little suggestiveness (twenty year old boy has dirty thoughts about his best friend sigh), underage drinking. oh reader has a late summer birthday (end of July-August), and two older brothers sorryyyyy. LMK!!!!

an - EDIT - that one paragraph that was in first person... why didn't u guys tell me. are we even friends anymore???? unedited. i'll do it tomorrow i promise. hey guys.... sorry it's been like almost 3 weeks, I love you I swear. there were midterms then halloweek so like I had to be studious then I had to be slutty so it was a long two weeks. also i wanna be fr friends with more fic writers on here yall r so cute. ANYWAY THIS WAS PROBABLY MY FAV SO FAR. i am an ethan girl to my core and it shows in this. people keep requesting behind my back pt.2 and i promise it's coming guys im just grinding this celebration then i'll be doing other stuff! may or may not have given Ethan and reader the same costume me and my man wore this weekend🤭. ANYWAYS ENJOYYYYYYYY!

please picture me in the trees. i hit my peak at seven. feet in the swing over the creek.

Lake Moraine, Alberta, Canada. Summer, 2009

You were freshly seven years old as you ran around the backyard of your family's summer house with your best friend, Ethan. It was the first summer you ever spent with the Edwards family, but it was perfect.

Your parents got along great, you both had older brothers who quickly became good friends. And you got your best friend for 3 whole weeks to ride on the boat, play tag, swim, make s'mores, and do anything else you wanted to with.

Your moms loved joking about how you two were destined to be married from the beginning. They saw the way Ethan was completely mesmerized by you even as a seven-year-old boy. He followed you around like a puppy and did everything he could for you. You wanted to play hide 'n seek? He was already counting to 40. You got scared of the summer fireworks? He held your hand and convinced you they were exciting and fun.

Your moms also saw the way you were obsessed with him. It was always 'Where's Ethan?', or 'Is Ethan awake yet?' all summer long. You didn't go anywhere without him. You pouted like crazy whenever he would go to play street hockey in the driveway with the older boys while you sat on the porch with your parents.

i was too scared to jump in. but i, i was high in the sky, with pennsylvania under me.

That summer was something you thought of often, it was perfection. Running around playing with your best friend all summer as a seven-year-old was the best thing you could've ever asked for.

When you guys were double your previous age, fourteen years old, you were still as close as ever. You went through it all together. The summer of 2016 was the summer when Ethan realized he had a crush on you. It was also, the summer you got boobs, but the two things were only semi-related.

Ethan found himself being insanely flustered by you and everything you did. When your hand brushed his while walking down the dock to the boat, when you kissed him on the cheek after he'd given you your birthday present, a silver necklace with a small solid heart pendant. It was a necklace you still wore today.

It wasn't until the next summer though that you realized you were heavily infatuated with the brunette. Something about him had changed, instead of him being this seven-year-old boy in your mind, he was fifteen, he had gotten muscles, and his hair was shaggy, and your hormones went crazy over it.

You and Ethan had a lot of fun that summer, you drank for the first time, which both of you ended up throwing up from in the backyard while your parents and siblings slept. Ethan had broken your heart for the first time the next year. He left the summer house 2 weeks early to go to a camp his new girlfriend begged him to go to. And him leaving 2 weeks early had him leaving days before your birthday, which hurt the worst.

You broke his heart even worse the next year when you brought your new boyfriend to the house. The house he fell in love with you in, the house you fell for him in. He hated that summer, he and the girl from the summer before had only lasted until the fall of that year, and Ethan realized he really was in love with you. But then your family drove up and you got out of the car with him, the guy that Ethan immediately made his enemy.

That summer was okay for you, and it sucked for Ethan. Your boyfriend left you unimpressed that summer, he wasn't the most polite guy, and was very much uninterested in the fun stuff you loved doing every summer. You remember how he went to sleep and left you alone watching the fireworks you had grown to love so much. You broke up with him over text the day you got back home. You weren't heartbroken after that, not like you were the summer before.

Neither of you had gotten into relationships since then. You'd both been too consumed by each other, you both knew no one else would fulfill you like the other would.

And so you were best friends, you hung out whenever you could, you went to all of his games, you went to proms and homecomings together, as friends. When Ethan committed to the University of Michigan, it became a school you were obsessed with getting into. Your application and essay had the most detail and took you the longest. You remember when you got an email in your inbox from the umich admissions office.

are there still beautiful things?

You couldn't open it. Not without Ethan. You grabbed your phone and moved your laptop off your lap and back onto your desk. You called him, your leg bouncing anxiously as it rang. He picked up after five rings.

"Hey Angel,"

Angel. He'd called you it since when you broke up with your first boyfriend, he told you that you were an angel and that guy didn't deserve you. And then it just stuck with him.

"My response for umich is here. Can you come over? I don't think I can open it without you here."

"Fuck yeah, give me like ten minutes."

You let out a deep breath, you were scared. You didn't think you would get in. You had the grades for it, and the extracurriculars, but you just had a pit in your stomach over it.

"It's gonna be okay Angel, alright? You're getting in. I love you, I'll be there in a little."

"Okay, I love you."

He hung up, you sat anxious at your desk, before closing your laptop and moving to sit on your bed. You heard his car pull in, the black jeep that brought you two to school every day, the jeep that drove you guys to the drive-in movies once every month, the jeep that you two drove to the lake last summer.

Your brother let him in, you heard him take his shoes off and run up the stairs, taking two at a time. He opened your door, smiling big at you before closing it behind him. You couldn't even smile at him, you felt like you were gonna be sick.

"Don't look at me like that. You need to stop acting like you won't get in."

"You don't know that though, Ethe. Tons of kids wanna go to Michigan, and tons of kids aren't gonna get in."

"Well we don't care about those kids, do we? 'Cause you aren't them, you're you, and you're perfect."

You just stared at him, you couldn't do anything else. All you wanted to do was kiss him, but again, you couldn't do that.

"Now where's this acceptance email at?"

You pointed to your closed laptop. He grinned and turned to grab it, climbing over you with his free hand to get onto your bed. He opened your laptop, typing in your password, and seeing the email at the top of your inbox. He turned and looked at you, his hand finding yours.

"You know it's gonna be okay no matter what, right? Even if you don't get in, which you will, but even if you don't that won't change anything. You'll go to Iowa and you'll love it."

You took a deep breath and nodded, squeezing his hand. You nodded towards your laptop, gesturing for him to click the email. You lean your head on his shoulder, heart racing as he moves your mouse to the email. He clicks the email, then the link included in it. He reads a sentence under his breath before stopping. You weren't reading it, you had your eyes closed. Ethan jumps, shouting and burying you in a hug, resulting in your laptop falling off your bed.

"You did it! We're going to Michigan together!"

You just hugged him so tight. You were so thankful for the admissions officer who had read your essay, which may have included Ethan's name a few times. Not because he was going for hockey, but because he was your best friend. You two both hugged for a moment, before running downstairs to tell your family.

sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won't tell no other.

That was one of your favorite memories with Ethan. Now it was over three years later, you guys were juniors in college and you were still just best friends.

Tonight was the first night of Halloweekend, as you call it. You had a duo costume with Ethan, you were a referee and he was a hockey player. It was basic, you both knew that, but it was fun, and Ethan had no problem with how good you looked in your black little Lululemon skirt when you had tried your costume on for him. You guys had barely any time to get ready because of the game against Lindenwood earlier in the day. You were both getting ready in your apartment, so you could go to the party together.

You had only had your skirt and black sports bra on when Ethan knocked on your door, calling your name to let him in. You ran over to the door, excited to see Ethan and congratulate him on the huge win. When you opened the door Ethan's heart jumped, the sight of you in your incomplete outfit made his teenage boy hormones go crazy.

"Hi Ethe! I see you aren't ready yet."

You gave him an annoyed look, because he said he would be dressed when he got to yours.

"Well you aren't exactly in your full outfit either."

You blushed when you really realized you hadn't even thought about not having your shirt on when getting the door. You waved your hand and quickly turned away from the brunette, going back to your room, Ethan hot on your heels.

You quickly grabbed your shirt and sat back at your vanity, pulling it over your head and tucking it with your skirt letting it sag out a little bit. You quickly did your makeup, while Ethan sat on your bed and watched his phone.

"Ethe, if you don't start getting ready I will literally hurt you."

He looked up and let out a wannabe innocent gasp, claiming he "literally doesn't have to do anything but change his shirt". You shout at him again and he calls you by your mother's name, to which you gasped and threw your eyelash curler at him.

He finally gave in and started getting ready. Your eyes were practically stuck to him when you watched him pull his t-shirt off, his toned upper body on full display in your mirror. Your pupils were dilating while you stared at him.

Ethan wore his own navy Michigan jersey over a white sweatshirt, it was basic but he was happy he didn't have to do much. He laid back down on your bed once he was finished and watched as you put your hair back.

You'd gotten your hair in the ponytail, but you'd done the braid multiple times and it still just didn't look right. You sighed then looked at Ethan in the mirror, finding him already staring at you, then asked him the big question.

"Ethey, baby, can you please braid my hair?"

Baby. You'd called Ethan baby and he couldn't handle it. He quickly nodded, stuttering out a yes and jumping up from your bed to stand behind you at your vanity. He quickly separated your hair into three, looking at you for approval, like you hadn't taught him to braid your hair at 11 years old.

and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you.

You smiled at him and slightly nodded, not shaking your head too much. He smiled a little bit back at you but was too focused on twisting your hair into itself to look in your eyes.

"Hair tie."

You smiled to yourself when he mumbled it to you, so incredibly focused on his work in your hair. Like it was the most detrimental thing he'd had to do today, like he hadn't played a big hockey game hours earlier.

"And... You're perfect."

He mumbled this as he tied off your braid, turning your head to show you in the mirror. You smiled at him grabbing his hand behind your back and rubbing your thumb over his, thanking him physically, since it was his love language.

your braids like a pattern, love you to the Moon, and to Saturn.

You stood from your vanity, sliding your sneakers on and grabbing your whistle to hang around your neck. You and Ethan both went out of your room and stood in front of the large mirror you had set up in the hallway. You deemed it time to take photos, but not before you unzipped the quarter-zip of your top so you could see your cleavage on pretty full display. The second you did so Ethan knew he was done for the night.

You guys took some photos and then you guys started walking to the party because it was only a six-minute walk from your place. When you arrived at the party, you guys were immediately pulled into a group of hockey players.

Ethan went to get you both drinks once he knew you were safe with his friends. You stood between Luca and Mark as you watched Ethan head off into the crowd.

"So, when are you two gonna admit you wanna fuck?"

Your eyes bulged out of your head. You turned and slapped Mark's chest, hard. He snickered along with the other boys around you.

"One, there's freshie ears around us, and two, we are never gonna do that, so shut the actual fuck up."

Mark shook his head, another laugh leaving his mouth as he pointed at Ethan, who was talking to one of his friends on the way back to your group.

"That kid is obsessed with you. Don't you think it's weird he literally hasn't gotten a girl yet, when he's got hundreds of girls here that would drop dead if he even said a word to them? He only likes you."

It was your turn to laugh, you knew that couldn't be true. You looked at Mark and rolled your eyes, it was honestly irritating hearing him say stuff like that at this point.

"Please, Mark. No chance. He's been my best friend since I was seven, if he liked me, he would've said so by now.

"Well you've liked him for forever and you haven't said anything, have you?"

You couldn't respond because Ethan was back, handing you a can of something. You thanked him and rubbed his hand, like always. He always received physical touch the best, especially as a thank you, it was funny to you because it was so incredibly similar to the golden retriever all of his fans called him online.

passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long.

You didn't stray far from Ethan for the first hour and a half, watching Rutger and Luca demolish in pong for a while. Then you saw some girls from your classes who you loved so you went to say hey to them and ended up talking for awhile.

After a little bit you and one of the girls you were with both had empty drinks so y'all got up to head to the kitchen.

"Oh my God babe, I saw your Insta story of you and your man, y'all are so hot together, and your costume is top tier."

You laughed at her, blushing madly.

"He's not my man! He's just my best friend, but thank you I picked our costume out."

She gasped at you, stopping abruptly.

"No way he isn't your man! He looks at you like he wants to tear your clothes off every fucking second!"

"Shut up! No he doesn't! He does not like me like that."

You both turned the corner laughing and you almost halted in your steps when you realized what you were seeing. It was Ethan, standing and laughing with this one bitch you knew, her name was like Diana or something. She had her hand on his chest as her head flew back at one of his jokes. All you knew is you'd seen her try to talk to all of the hockey players at parties since your freshman year, even though most of them were 3+ years younger than her because she was a grad student and at least 25. Then you realized what she was wearing, she was dressed as the fucking Stanley Cup. You wanted to die.

"See, not my man."

and i've been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted. your dad is always mad and that must be why.

Your voice got quieter as you said it, your stomach now had a pit and your eyes looked so disappointed. You don't know why you let Mark's word get to your head, because obviously there was never gonna be anything between the two of you. You left and told Bri you were going to the bathroom, trying to find an empty one.

Ethan saw as you quickly turned into the kitchen, disappearing into the crowd with your friend. He'd also seen the terrible look on your face. He was immediately worried, not even thinking for half a second about the, in his opinion, annoying fake blonde, practically pawing at him, that he ended up being intercepted by on his way to find you.

He quickly tried to follow you but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist. He pulled his hand from her grasp roughly and gave her a bewildered look.

"Wait Ethey! Where are you going? I wanna take a picture with you, we're matching so cute!"

He didn't even look at her, trying to find the back of your head in the crowd.

"No, don't call me that."

"Ugh, okay Ethan. Well, come here let me take a picture of our matching costumes."

"No thanks I'm already matching with my girl, and we're not even matching. A college player wouldn't have a Stanley Cup, doesn't even make sense"

He mumbled it to her, still pushing away from her as he finally got her to get her hands off of him. He immediately pushed into the crowd of the kitchen, desperately looking for you. He finally spotted the black and white stripes of your shirt and the braid he had done swerving in between people. He followed you, knowing calling your name would do nothing in the loud house. He watched you walk into the bathroom of probably the only empty hallway of the house, and he waited outside the door for almost 10 minutes before knocking.

"Sorry! I'll be out in just a second."

Your voice sounded dull, he was definitely worried about you.

"No it's just me, just wanted to know if you were okay. Are you?"

"Oh Ethe,"

You opened the door from your spot sitting on the counter, letting him walk in.

"hey, sorry didn't mean for you to be worried about me."

You tried to smile at him, but he could tell something was wrong. He sat by you on the counter, your thighs pressed against each other as he looked at you, concern filling his face. You wouldn't look at him, your face would give it all away if you did, and you knew it.

i think you should come live with me, and we can be pirates.

"I can tell something's off. What is it? Did someone say somethin' to you?"

You laughed a little, and it confused him even further.

"You'd be surprised at what's got me upset. It's stupid anyway so don't worry your pretty little head, alright?"

Ethan planted his hand on your knee firmly, urging you to look at him with a 'Hey.' You looked up at him for a few seconds before looking around the dim bathroom to distract yourself.

"Just tell me, Angel. Nothing you say is stupid to me."

Of course, he pulled out the Angel card, he knew you would do whatever he asked if he called you Angel. You looked up at him with an unamused face raising your eyebrows for a second before sighing, looking anywhere but his brown eyes.

then you won't have to cry,

"Mark was just saying stuff earlier and then-"

"What did he say? Did he make you upset? I know he's my teammate but I don't care I'll-"

"Ethan Edwards! No, Mark didn't make me upset. It's different than that, it's a whole big thing, and I just don't know how to talk to you about it."

Ethan thought the worst immediately. Well, it probably wasn't the actual worst, but it was the worst thing that could've happened to him.

"Does Mark like you? Did he tell you that?"

Your eyes went wide, and you could've laughed at Ethan's obliviousness.

"No, Ethe. That is definitely not what he said."

He looked at you helplessly, he was so confused. He didn't know how to do the one thing he wanted to, comfort you. He sighed shrugging and shaking his head, he was getting irritable. He stood up from the counter, exasperated.

"Then what is it? Why are you so upset? Can you just please tell me Angel? We tell each other everything baby."

You were gonna scream, he called you baby. He called you baby and you were about to tell him you were head over heels in love with him. You took a deep breath, looking away from where he'd stationed himself directly in front of you, hands on either side of your thighs as he leaned close to you, still worried.

or hide in the closet.

"I just, I'm like, Ethan you're my best friend and I know it's terrible of me to do this but I really fucking love you, like more than that like I'm in love with you and I know I'm a horrible best friend-"

Ethan cut you off by kissing you. Ethan Edwards was kissing you. Ethan Edwards had his hands cupping your jaw, was tilting his head, and kissing you. You were stunned, you didn't kiss him back for a few seconds out of pure shock, and then you realized what was happening. Your hands were gripping his wrists as he held your face. Your legs opened so he could step in between them to be closer to you. His hands moved from your face to your hips as yours went to his neck when you deepened the kiss, it turning into a full-on makeout.

You pulled away, heavy breathing as you stared at Ethan, eyes wide and exasperated.

and just like a folk song,

"That was fuckin' great, Goddamn."

You closed your eyes and let your head fall to Ethan's chest when he said that, laughing at his stupidity. His arms quickly wrapped you into a hug, squeezing you tightly as he laid a kiss on your exposed neck.

"I love you 'like that' too if it wasn't clear before."

our love will be passed on.

"Really? I didn't notice."

He poked your sides at your sass, laughing as you wiggled and squirmed in his grip. Ethan then had a thought come to his head that peaked his curiosity.

"Wait, if that's what you were all stuck on then why were you so upset?"

You brought your arms down from their place around his neck, ready to talk through your annoyance with your hands.

"Ethey, seriously? I was walking with Bri and she was literally telling me we look like a hot couple and that you look at me like you wanted to tear my clothes off and then we turn the corner and I see you with that mega bitch with her hands all over you, acting like you're a fucking comedian."

please picture me, in the weeds. before i learned civility.

His eyes widened at your confession, his cheeks were dusted red when you told him about how Bri thinks he looks at you. He started laughing as you let your green monster out over the girl he didn't even know’s name.

i used to scream ferociously, any time i wanted.

"Angel, that got you all upset? That is crazy because that girl was the most uninteresting, fake, batshit person I've ever had to speak to. She kept trying to say that me and her were matching but we literally aren't, 'cause like why would a college player have a Stanley Cup? Doesn't make any sense. But, I told her I was already matching with my girl anyways, so."

"Your girl?"

You raised your eyebrows at him faking ignorance. He rolled his eyes at you and shook his head, his large warm hands rubbing back and forth over your hips and thighs.

"Well, now you're officially my girl. But baby, you've always been my girl, c'mon now."

i, i.

Your face was so hot and you literally couldn't even speak. You opened your mouth to speak but promptly closed it sucking in a deep breath. Your heartbeat was so fast. That was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard anyone say, and it had an effect on you.

You couldn't look into his eyes anymore, the mix between what he'd just said and the feeling of his hands rubbing over the tops of your thighs, sometimes 'accidentally' hitting the hem of your little skirt was too much. You hid your head in his neck while he smiled so big, it was almost annoying.

"Christ, Ethan."

"What baby? What's got you all hot 'n bothered?"

"Shut the actual fuck up."

He was laughing, hard, which made you blush even more. You pulled your head from his neck and brought your arms around his shoulders to kiss him again, a little bit needier than the first one. His hands stopped their movements, their placement underneath the edges of your skirt making you go crazy.

"Fuck, you're perfect Angel."

His words went straight to the pit forming in your stomach. You moaned into his mouth in response, and Ethan promised himself he would do whatever he had to do to make you make that noise again. Ethan was two seconds from pulling your shirt off of you when there was a bang on the door, causing you to jump, squeezing around Ethan's shoulders.

"Hun, are you alright? You've been in there awhile!"

It was Bri, you let out a sigh of relief, loosening your grip on Ethan and nudging him to the side, sliding off of the bathroom counter.

"Um, yeah I'm alright! Uh I'll be out in a sec!"

"Kay-kay!"

You turned around and gave Ethan a wide-eyed look, while he laughed at you. You turned from him and looked into the mirror, flattening your baby hairs and straightening out your outfit. You gave Ethan a 'you ready?' look to which he nodded and you unlocked and opened the door, halting when you saw Bri standing near the door waiting for you. Ethan bumped into you at your abrupt stop and when Bri looked up and saw two of you, she squealed.

"Oh em gee! Girl, I knew it!"

sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart won't tell no other.

She ran away from you two back to the house, most likely to tell your girlfriends. You two giggled at her and then turned to walk back into the party.

Ethan pressed his hand against your lower back as he guided you through the crowd and back to the group of hockey players now in a different spot than you remember. When Mark noticed you two, when he noticed Ethan's hand, he immediately lit up smiling.

"Hey guys, long time no see, huh?"

and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you.

You immediately went red as Ethan smirked annoyingly. You both sat down next to each other, Ethan's hand lingering on your thigh while you guys conversed with your friends for another half hour or so.

Eventually, Ethan was getting bored and wanted you all to himself again. He leaned over and layed his head on your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

"You wanna head out baby?"

You turned to look at him, nodding and wrapping your hand in his. Ethan stood up first, pulling you up with him.

"I think we're gonna head out. I'll see you guys tomorrow, alright?"

The guys nodded, bidding you guys goodbyes and waving. Mark shouts an extra loud goodbye to you, teasing you about your conversation earlier, to which you stuck up your middle finger to him behind Ethan's back.

Once you guys stepped outside you immediately started shivering, dropping Ethan's hand to rub your hands over your arms. You were cursing yourself 3 hours ago for not taking a jacket. You didn't even think about the fact that it would probably be almost freezing when you left the party, and your referee shirt and little skirt weren't helping at all.

Obviously Ethan noticed, he always did. He immediately started stripping on the front porch of the house, and you were bewildered.

"Ethan! What the fuck are you doing?"

He was shirtless on the street, he tossed you his hoodie before putting his jersey back on, smiling at you.

"Gotta keep my girl warm."

pack your doll and a sweater, we'll move to India forever.

You gratefully put the warm sweatshirt on, snuggling up into the soft material. Then, you snuggled up into the side of your boyfriend. Your boyfriend. Seven-year-old you wouldn't believe you, she'd be so confused. Fourteen-year-old you wouldn't believe it either, saying you never had feelings for Ethan, he was just your best friend. But sixteen-year-old you? Well she would be squealing and kicking her feet because you were dating him, the only boy you'd ever really liked, loved. The one boy that made you happy. He was so perfect, and you'd known he was perfect since you were seven.

passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long.

905 notes · View notes

voxslays · 16 days ago

Note

Hi ;-) may i request a request a Vox x Reader Scenario where they decorate part of the Vee Tower Halloween Style like but reader female tries to hide all the crawed Pumpkins in the middle of the night cause they remind her of her killer back on earth and she is a bit nervous it repeats and Vox catches her middle of the Night carrying some Pumpkins towards the elevator?

Hi anon! Thank you for your request! This was rlly fun to write. Hope you enjoy! <3

UNDERNEATH THE SKY

Featuring >>> Vox x Reader; In which, You and your husband Vox are decorating your penthouse for the spooky season, when Vox unknowingly carves a pumpkin that reminds you of the day you died.

It was October. You and your husband Vox were decorating your penthouse in spooky decorations. You and your husband had always loved Halloween. Whether it be the costumes, the spooky treats, or horrifying decorations, there was always something to enjoy. You were taking out some black bats to hang on the ceiling, while Vox carved pumpkins. He was surprisingly good at it, making complicated designs. One year, he made a replica of the Vee’s tower on one of the white pumpkins you had bought, but complained that it wasn’t the traditional orange one and threw it away.

You watch as Vox carefully etches intricate designs into the pumpkin's surface, his skilled hands guiding the knife with precision. As he works, he glances up at you hanging the bats, a rare vulnerable smile playing on his lips. Pausing his work, Vox calls out to you, "Hey, doll. Come here for a sec, would you?" His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the showman persona he usually exudes. “Coming!” You say, just loud enough for him to hear from the other room, as you finish pinning the bats to the ceiling. You carefully climb down the ladder and push it gently against the wall.

As you approach, Vox wipes his hands on a nearby towel, puts down his sleek ‘Voxtek brand’ carving knife, and beckons you closer. "I need a second opinion on this," he says, turning the pumpkin so you can see the design he's carved. You look at his pumpkin design in horror. It’s a man holding an umbrella out to a woman. Innocent right? That’s what you thought just before you died.

It had been a rainy night, you were covering your head with a jacket while running to shelter from the pouring rain. A strange man had come up to you and offered his umbrella. He walked you to your apartment, thinking he deserved an intimate reward. When you refused, he strangled you to death. Vox notices the sudden pallor of your face and the way you recoil from the pumpkin. His brow furrows with concern. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." The overlord sets the knife down and reaches out to steady you, his touch gentle despite his powerful presence.

You gently touch your neck with your hands, rubbing circles around where the man’s hands had been that night. Pushing your feelings aside, you put on a smile. “Yeah, it’s nothing. It looks great.” Vox's gaze lingers on the spot where your hands are rubbing, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. He knows that touch, that gesture. It's a habit you have when you're feeling anxious or distressed, and it's one he's seen countless times before.

He steps closer, his voice lowering. "Talk to me," he says softly. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" His hands reach up, gently pulling yours away from your neck to hold them in his own. He steps closer, his voice lowering. "Talk to me," he says softly. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" His hands reach up, gently pulling yours away from your neck to hold them in his own. “I’m just tired.” You say, in an attempt to deflect.

Vox hesitates, clearly torn between pressing the issue and respecting your wishes. After a long moment, he nods slowly. "Alright," he says, his voice heavy with unspoken concern. "But we're not done with this conversation." The two of you walk up the steps, to the top floor of the penthouse, walking into the large master bedroom. You both change and get ready for bed in silence. You lay down, and wait for Vox to join you. Once he does, you watch his screen dim as he falls into his sleep-mode.

As the room grows quiet and the rhythm of Vox's breathing deepens, you find yourself unable to sleep. Your mind is consumed by thoughts of that night, of the man who took your life, of the secret you've kept buried all these years. You quietly get out of bed, making sure to not disturb Vox from his gentle sleep. You feel the cold of the marble floors, as you close the bedroom door and silently make your way down the stairs, into the kitchen. For a while you just stare at the pumpkin, your mind playing cruel repeats of the event that night so many years ago.

The clock on the microwave reads 3:17 AM. The house is silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. You feel a chill, wrapping your arms around yourself as you continue to stare at the pumpkin, lost in thought. You silently carry the suprisingly light, carved pumpkin to the penthouse elevator, making sure to not make a single noise in fear of waking up your husband. You didn’t want to have to explain your actions to anyone tonight. The elevator doors slide open silently, revealing the dimly lit interior. As you step inside, the doors begin to slide shut, casting the grand entrance hall into shadow once more. But as the doors are about to close, a hand slips between them, forcing them back open.

“God dammnit.” You quietly curse, trying to hide the small pumpkin behind your back. Vox stands in-between the navy blue elevator doors, his expression unreadable in the low light. He takes in your furtive posture, the pumpkin half-hidden behind your back, and his eyes narrow. "Going somewhere?" he asks, his voice low and controlled. You stay silent for a moment before speaking up, your hand still holding the pumpkin behind your back. “No…?” You speak almost as if it was a question.

Vox steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He reaches out, his hand closing around the pumpkin you're attempting to hide. "I think you were," he says, his voice firm. "Care to explain what you're doing with this at three in the morning?" “I-” You try to form words, but the heavy lump in your throat stops you. You can feel tears welling in your eyes, and quickly pouring down your cheeks.

Vox's expression softens as he sees the tears streaming down your face. He sets the pumpkin aside and pulls you into his arms, holding you close. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. "Talk to me. Please." And so you do. You tell him how the man that night offered you his umbrella, how he walked you back to your place. How he expected a sexual favor in return, and when you declined, he killed you.

Vox's body grows rigid as he listens to your words, his expression darkening with each revelation. By the time you finish speaking, he's angrier than you've ever seen him. His hands tighten around you possessively, as if to shield you from the horrors of the past. “It’s stupid.” You cry. “It’s just a pumpkin.” Vox's jaw clenches, and he presses a fierce kiss to your forehead. "No, it's not," he says firmly. "And anyone who dare lay a hand on you like that deserves to burn in hell." His flatscreen face glows with rage. Vox carries you back up to the bedroom, cradling you in his arms like a child. He sets you down gently on the bed, then sits beside you, taking your hand in his. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his voice low and raw.

“I was trying to forget.” You say, wiping the tears off your now damp cheeks. Vox nods slowly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I understand wanting to forget. But keeping secrets, even from me, it hurts us both in the end." He cups your face, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "You're safe with me. Always." You sniffle. “I’m so sorry. I love you.” Vox's expression softens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "I love you too," he murmurs. "And I promise, no one will ever hurt you again. Not on my watch." He pulls you close, wrapping his arms protectively around you. Vox watches over you as you sleep, his expression a mix of love and determination. He vows silently to protect you, no matter what it takes.

119 notes · View notes

lustnhim · 13 days ago

Text

“goo goo muck.” — vamp! elvis x reader

note: happy halloween y'all! / warning: elvis is a…vampire! religious themes, mentions of the occult, death, violence, blood and biting (obvi), dub-con, p in v sex, no protection, fingering, mirror sex (you can see elvis though!). / summary: his bloodlust is getting harder to control, especially when he sees you late one night.

October 31st, 1970.

“Well when the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Vampires. Such a childish thing to believe in Dracula and Nosferatu, even that Vampira gal, foolish and inaccurate depictions. Hellish, bloodthirsty creatures, kings and queens of the night, seductive and sinful. How perfect that Elvis Presley was a vampire.

Halloween was a day that went by with little recognition, Elvis had never celebrated it when he was a kid course’ if any kids decided to make their way to Graceland he’d give em’ candy and had taken Lisa trick or treating a few times before the divorce- but other than that nothing. It was a particularly lonely day, nothing going on, no plans, but he had hoped for that. Certain days were better than others, he could contain his thirst for long periods of time- raw meat did him wonders, but every now and then he’d get that feeling that he couldn’t quite push away- that urge to just pull someone off the street and drink them dry. He hated it with every ounce of his being, he knew that if he were to die, a fate worse than eternal damnation would follow him- still, he prayed to God every night for forgiveness, begging for any kind of comfort from his savior.

As the hours ticked by and the night grew darker, Elvis found himself restless. The hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his cursed existence. He paced the halls of Graceland, his footsteps echoing through the empty rooms when a loud ringing filled his ears, the phone. Picking it up he cleared his throat, “Hello?”-- “EP! It’s Red, you oughta come out tonight with us, you can’t stay cooped up in there forever!” Red complained, before Elvis could even say anything more. “I ain’t feelin’ too well tonight-” Elvis started before being interrupted, “C’mon! Look, we’ll be down at the bar on Elm- me and the rest of the boys. It ain’t as fun without you.” Red said, the sound of loud drunken laughter coming from the background as Elvis let out a groan, his arm clutching his stomach gently as he looked outside, the sky deep shades of blue and purple, “Fine. I’ll be down in a few.” Elvis hung up the phone with a sigh, his stomach churning with the familiar pangs of hunger. He knew he should stay home, lock himself away until the cravings passed. But Red's insistence wore him down, and the prospect of a night out with his old friends was too tempting to resist.

He threw on a long black and red jacket and headed out into the cool October night. The streets were alive with Halloween revelers, their costumes a riot of colors and creativity. Elvis walked briskly, trying to hurry and get down there- which took a bit longer than usual since the amount of people on the street stopping and getting what they could from him. He regretted this immensely. He could smell it, hear the sound of their hearts beating in his ears- his stomach growling widely. Eventually he made it to the bar and was immediately engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke and the clamor of raucous laughter. Red and the boys were already several drinks deep, their faces flushed and eyes glossy. They greeted Elvis with hoots and hollers, slapping him on the back and pressing bottles of beer into his hands to which he only took one, he didn’t like drinking too much. Elvis forced a smile and took a seat at the table, his eyes scanning the room. That's when he saw you, sitting alone at the bar, nursing a whiskey sour. He could smell you. So strong. A deep floral scent, your heartbeat steady, he could even hear the blood coursing through your veins. Elvis' mouth watered, and he felt his fangs elongate in his mouth, pricking his tongue gently. Shit. He usually could control when and where they came out, but not right now, he couldn’t- “Whatcha’ lookin at EP?” Red asked, and Elvis jerked his head forward but he knew Red had seen him staring. “Ohh, I see. Go talk to her man, get some.” He nudged and Elvis’ jaw clenched, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes darkening with hunger and desire. He could see the way your pulse raced beneath your delicate skin, the way your breath quickened as he stared. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingers. But he hesitated, knowing the danger he posed to you. Instead, he downed his beer in one long gulp, hoping the alcohol might dull his senses and quiet his thirst. "Think I'll take a walk, clear my head," he muttered, rising from his seat. Red and the boys nodded, too caught up in their own drunken revelry to pay him much mind. Elvis made his way towards the exit, his steps purposeful and determined. He knew he should leave, put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. But his feet carried him past the bar and straight to you instead. You could feel eyes on you and when you heard footsteps coming towards you you turned around to see him behind you. “Nice Elvis costume.” You smiled, studying the man that had approached you. Elvis laughed nervously, careful to try not to reveal too much of his mouth. “Ain’t a costume darlin’...” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your hair fell, your pretty neck on full display. Letting out a choked sound you looked over him a few more times, “Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath but of course, Elvis heard it. “Mind if I sit with ya, honey?” He asks, knowing that he shouldn’t, knowing that the feeling in his stomach is only growing more noticeable and how horridly his fangs were pressing into his tongue. “Yeah, of course– Sorry, I just..” You stammered, wholeheartedly shocked that he would talk to you- or the fact that he was even out of the house, you hadn’t seen much of him in the papers since his divorce but he seemed to be doing fine despite looking a bit…tired? His eyes twinkled behind his sunglasses as they raked over you, drinking every bit of you in.

He sat down, moving gracefully. A smile plastered on his face as he motioned for the waiter to bring him a drink. “Lone on halloween?” He asks, making you snap back into what’s happening. “Huh? Oh, yeah- unfortunately.” You respond, moving your glass around in your hand, the ice clinking gently. Elvis' eyes gleamed in the dim light of the bar, his gaze intense and unwavering as he studied your face. "Well, that's a shame. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be all alone on a night like this." He leaned in closer, his warmth radiating through the cool air between you. His voice was low and honeyed, sending a shiver down your spine despite the chill of the October night. You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was, of the way his fingers tapped against the table. "I-I'm not usually alone, just this year it worked out that way..." You stuttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse raced at his proximity, at the way his eyes seemed to bore into your very soul, and he- he was hungry. It was getting much worse, your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear it, and your smell. God. He couldn't get enough of it. Elvis breathed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of your blood singing in his veins. ‘Holy hell, what am I doing?’ he thought, desperately trying to control his raging thirst. His eyes flicked to your neck, transfixed by the pulsing rush of blood just beneath the surface. “Well that’s no good…I’m be more than happy ta’ give you some company. “ He smiles and you really can’t believe your ears. “I-I’d really like that ...thank you Mr.Presley.” You respond, dumbfounded. Elvis struggles not to smirk too wide, his fangs pressing into his tongue. His stomach growls unreasonably loud and he clears his throat, finding it impossible to ignore any longer. Maybe if he can just find someone real quick...”Scuse’ me honey…I’ll be right back.” Elvis got up abruptly, looking around the bar before making his way to the bathroom, leaving you at the table to babysit the drinks.

Elvis swung open the bathroom door, lunging himself at the sink and splashing a bit of water on his face before opening his mouth. His fangs had caused his mouth to bleed, the taste of iron filling his mouth, only aiding to his hunger. “Goddammit.” he whispered under his breath as the door flung open, a young man in a cheap werewolf costume stumbling in, his body swaying as he maneuvered his way to the sink beside Elvis. Elvis' fingers dug into the porcelain sink, his nails scraping against the smooth surface. He could see the way the man's blood vessels pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin. The man stumbled, his hand coming up to grip the edge of the sink as he swayed on his feet, his werewolf mask slipping slightly to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes. Elvis' fangs ached, his gums throbbing with the need to sink them into warm, pulsing flesh. The man laughed, a slurred, drunken sound that sent shivers down Elvis' spine. "Man... you're freakin' the hell outta me!" The man stammered, his voice muffled by his mask. He reached up, tugging the mask off to reveal a face flushed with alcohol and sweat, his eyes wild and slightly crazed. Elvis swallowed hard, his throat clicking as he tried to force down the rising tide of thirst that threatened to consume him. “S-sorry my boy.” Elvis said, and the man almost fell down- Elvis caught him and helped him stand a little better but the man was obviously too drunk to even know where he was. “Here man, lets…lets sit ya’ down for a moment.” Elvis said, sitting down the man on the floor, he looked over to the bathroom door and thanked God there was a lock on it. Turning it he looked back at the man who was still giggling idiotically. “Man- You look stupid with those fuckin’ teeth in!” The man exclaimed and Elvis let out a low growl. God, this guy was insufferable. “Yeah, well I can get em’ to go away soon.” He said and the man shook his head letting out small hics before Elvis took a deep breath. Fuck, this guy didn’t smell half as good as you had, a pitiful drink this guy was gonna be. Elvis's nostrils flared as he leaned closer to the drunk man, inhaling deeply. The scent of cheap beer and cigarettes assaulted his senses, far less enticing than the sweet, floral aroma of the woman waiting for him back at the bar. But desperation was setting in, his hunger becoming more insistent with each passing second. "Shhh, it's alright son..." Elvis murmured, his hand coming to rest on the man's shoulder, feeling the prominent pulse point beneath his fingers. "Just relax now." The man's eyes were glazed and unfocused, too inebriated to comprehend the danger he was in. "Wh-what are you... ohh fuck..." He slurred, his words trailing off as Elvis's fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him against the wall. Elvis's breathing became shallower, his chest constricting as the thirst raged within him.

With a low growl, he buried his face in the crook of the man's neck, his sharp teeth grazing the smooth skin. The drunk man let out a strangled gasp, his eyes widening in fear and confusion. "Wait... what... stop..." He choked out, struggling weakly against Elvis's iron grip. But it was no use. Elvis was far too strong, driven by a primal instinct that superseded all reason. With a swift, violent motion, he sank his fangs deep into the man's throat, piercing the delicate skin and plunging into the warm, pulsing blood beneath. The man screamed, a high-pitched, agonized sound that was cut short by the rush of blood filling his mouth. Elvis drank greedily, the coppery taste of the man's essence flooding his senses and momentarily quenching the fires of his thirst. The drunk man's struggles grew weaker, his body going limp in Elvis’ arms slowly draining him. Elvis had gotten good at this, drinking enough to keep him satisfied but not enough to kill them– do doubt the guy would be sick n’ sore but not dead. Elvis drank until there was nothing left, until the man's heartbeat faded to a distant, barely audible rhythm. Then, with a shudder, he pulled away, licking the crimson stain from his lips. The bathroom was eerily silent, the only sound the slow, rasping breathing of the dying man at his feet. Elvis stood up on shaky legs, his vision swimming as he stumbled towards the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to clear the haze of bloodlust that clouded his mind. "Dear God..." He whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of horror and satisfaction. "Forgive me..." But even as he uttered the prayer, Elvis knew that there was no true repentance, no absolution for the monster he had become. He looked at the man, at the bruises forming around his neck, the eyes staring accusingly at him and he walked over to the man, placing a hand on his head and prayed that he would make a quick recovery.

The blood had left, but that pestilent feeling was still there- it always would be. With a shake of his head, he threw away the remnants of his impromptu bathroom sink cleanup and stepped back into the bar, his eyes immediately finding you still sitting at the table. God, you’re so beautiful he thought as he felt his eyes widen at the sight. His lips spread into a grin and he shook his head slightly, making his way back over to you- you had waited for him. “Sorry bout’ that, honey.” He says, sitting back down, noticing that you had already drunk your drink. “You wantin’ another?” He asks, pointing at your empty glass. “Ah, no I’m all good now– Actually, I think you should finish your drink and you give me that company you so kindly offered earlier.” Bold. He could tell that you were nervous, your heart was beating so fast…like a scared little lamb. “Well, I spose’ we can- I'll take ya to Graceland, how's that sound honey?” Elvis cood, taking his whiskey and drinking it in one quick gulp before sitting the glass down with a soft clink. “Sounds perfect.” You responded, standing up- Elvis hesitated for a moment studying you, how small. He towered over you. Smiling down at you Elvis motioned for you to follow him, the two of you starting out of the bar when Red drunkenly, “You be careful with that one, EP!” Which made the other boys laugh, Elvis promptly flipped them off and the two of you stepped outside. Elvis had not realized how late it had gotten, the streets were practically empty apart from the few teenagers who still roamed the streets. “You drive or walk, honey?” He asked, looking over at you. The wind had blown your hair, exposing your neck and he swallowed hard. His stomach wasn’t growling, his fangs not stabbing his lips, why did he feel so…hungry? “I walked– I don’t live far from here.” You said, looking over at him, he still looked so tired– his eyes masked behind those sunglasses. Why was he wearing them at night…just a quirk of his, you guessed. ”Alright honey, Graceland ain’t far either…let’s get goin.” Elvis guided you through the quiet streets of Memphis, the moon casting an eerie glow on the sidewalks. Despite the late hour, the air was still thick with the lingering humidity of a Southern October night. Your shoes clicked softly against the pavement as you walked beside him, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of late-night revelry in the distance. As you walked, Elvis's hand brushed against yours, sending a spark of electricity through your body. You jumped slightly, startled by the contact, but his touch lingered, warm and reassuring. He gave you a sideways glance, his sunglasses hiding his eyes but his smile evident even in the darkness."Cold?" he asked, his drawl more pronounced in the quiet of the night. “Just a bit…” You responded, holding your arms together, your cheap ass ‘costume’ which really was just a flimsy sparkly dress did very little to keep you warm. “Here honey.” He said, stopping and pulling off his coat, handing it to you. Hesitating you looked up at him, he looked…really good. His arms looked nice and strong, and that white undershirt fit him perfectly. “You gonna take it?” He drawled, shaking the coat in front of your face before you took it, marveling at how heavy it was. “Thanks…” You replied and Elvis nodded. He seemed a bit distant, like something was bothering him, did he not want to take you back to his place anymore? Had he already lost interest?

Elvis watched as you slipped on his coat, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The fabric enveloped you like a warm embrace, the collar engulfing your delicate neck. You looked so small and fragile wrapped up in his coat, the sleeves drowning your tiny hands. Like a little doll he could just pick up and carry away. In a way, he was. Taking you to his home, knowing that the gnaw in his stomach was starting to come back, knowing that your smell was enough to drive him insane. How irresponsible he was. As Graceland came into view Elvis watched you longneck to see more of it– he chuckled to himself as the gates opened allowing the two of you in. The grand gates of Graceland creaked open as Elvis led you onto the sprawling estate grounds. Elvis placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you up the long, winding driveway. The warm glow of the mansion's exterior lights cast eerie shadows across the lawn. As you reached the front door, Elvis turned to face you, his shades reflecting your wide-eyed expression. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Welcome to my little slice of paradise, darlin'," he murmured. "Something tells me you're gonna fit right in here." His hand left your back and grabbed the doorknob, the heavy wooden door swinging open to reveal the lavish interior. Plush carpets and ornate furnishings greeted you. Elvis gestured for you to enter before following behind. The door slammed shut, making you jump and the air seemed to press down on you from all sides. Elvis watched you intently, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Now, I’d say it’s warm enough for me ta’ take that coat back from ya honey.” Elvis coos, sliding his coat off of you and placing it on the rack, looking around the house you feel a bit tense, it's quiet but comfortable– but being alone with Elvis still makes you a bit uneasy. “How about…you an’ I head upstairs huh?” He asks, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on a small table beside the stairs, his baby blues hiding something dark. "Upstairs?" you ask hesitantly, sudden butterflies swarming in your belly. Upstairs meant privacy, intimacy. Away from prying eyes and judging ears. Away from any chance of rescue or interruption.

Elvis took your hand, leading you up the stairs. He began to feel a bit dizzy, the scent coming off of you much stronger now, clearing his throat he stopped at the top of the stairs and motioned for you to go on. “You go on ta’ my room, honey. I’ll be there in a second.” Elvis' heart races as he watches you disappear down the opulent hallway, the sway of your hips hypnotic. He leans heavily against the banister, fingers curling into the polished wood. This is madness. He knows it. But the hunger, the craving, it consumes him. The scent trailing from your skin is like a siren's song, luring him ever closer to the rocks. "Dammit." He curses under his breath, voice strangled. He runs a hand through his slicked back hair, black locks falling over his forehead. Sweat trickles down his neck despite the cool air. He straightens up, square shoulders back, determination set in his jaw. Elvis strides down the hallway, the click of his shoes echoing off the hardwood floors.At his bedroom door, he pauses, hand hovering over the golden doorknob. He takes a deep breath, centering himself. He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. As he opened the door he saw you facing away, your gaze fixated on what was on the vanity in his room. He had entered quietly, whether he meant too or not. He walked slowly towards you, his heart pounding, his stomach growling and his fangs drawing blood from his own lips. Moving with gentle swiftness he was right behind you and you didn’t even know. You didn't even know. Elvis took a moment to appreciate the view before him. Your delicate frame, small in comparison to his own imposing figure. The way your dark hair tumbled down your back, framing your pale neck. The way your dress hugged your curves perfectly.. His mouth watered at the sight, his fangs elongating, staining his bottom lip with crimson drops of blood. He reached out a trembling hand, running his fingers along your shoulder. Your skin was so soft, so warm. Like silk caressing his worn, calloused flesh. Slowly, almost reverently, he trailed his fingers down your arm, feeling you shiver beneath his touch. “E-Elvis…you scared me.” You breathed, something was wrong, you felt…scared. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, seeping into his own cold, dead flesh. It was intoxicating, addictive, and he wanted more. Oh, how he wanted more. Elvis' head dipped, his nose brushing along the shell of your ear. "Ya smell so good, darlin'. So sweet." he whispered hoarsely, his breath ghosting over your skin. His fangs grazed your earlobe, nipping gently and drawing a gasp from you. “Elvis…?” You whimpered, and he let out a moan. What was he doing? Elvis didn’t even know. You could feel his heart beating against your back, his mouth slowly opening then shutting against your flesh, small pricks of something sharp threatening to break through your skin. Elvis’ mouth moved along your neck and you shivered, his grip on you was strong enough to leave bruises you were sure. “Gonna be okay honey..” Elvis groaned, finding the sweet spot on your neck making your knees buckle but he kept holding you up. His hands moved from your hips roughly to cup your breasts, that flimsy dress doing very little to conceive them. He could hear you breathing much heavier now, your heart beating so fast, your smell getting stronger. Just…a …little…more…

Your body involuntarily thrashed against him, but your arms stayed pushed against the side of vanity, unable to let go, unable to move– it was like you were frozen. Elvis moved quickly, his face still nuzzled into your neck, his lips trailing feverous kisses along your skin. You felt yourself melting into his touch, his hands groping you and rolling your nipples between his fingers. The mirror in front of you showing it all. His hand moved to the top, taking a hold of the straps in his hand he tore them, the dress falling down with ease. You were shaking, shaking so badly. Elvis loved it, as you began to speak he moved his hands to grip your hair, jerking your head back real hard so that your neck was on full display. Looking at him from the mirror your chest heaved as you caught sight of his face, eyes blown and wide, muscles strained and mouth hanging opening, pearly white fangs protruding from his mouth and just inches from your skin. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mirror, how foolish you felt– stripped naked only in your panties from one motion, hair jerked back and body frozen in place. “Only gonna hurt for a second honey…” Elvis groans before kissing your neck softly, his mouth opening as his teeth slowly pricked through your skin, small drops of blood already forming. Elvis shuddered violently as the first coppery taste of your blood flooded his mouth. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, sharp fangs slicing deeper into your tender flesh. The pain made you cry out, struggling weakly against his iron hold. "Shhh, it's alright darlin'," Elvis purred thickly around a mouthful of your essence, "Just relax 'n let it happen. Let me in." One hand released your hair to stroke soothingly down your side, trying to placate your panicked thrashing. The other remained wrapped around you, keeping that perfect bite aligned. He swallowed deeply, savoring your unique flavor before finally pulling back. Crimson drops welled from the punctures, spilling down the graceful column of your throat to dampen your heaving breasts. It was the most delicious sight Elvis had ever beheld. His body vibrated with pure primal lust. With a growl, he spun you around to face him. You felt weak, your head was dizzy and you struggled to breath– but something felt…odd. Your heart was beating alarmingly fast and you could feel something flowing through your veins. Suddenly, almost in an instant your body collected itself, the dizziness fading and you felt more alive than you ever had been, your neck stung as you placed a hand on it, feeling a sizzling pain as the wound faded away. Elvis grabbed you by your shoulder with a growl, forcing you forward, bending you over the vanity. “F-fuck…” He whimpered as he pulled down your painties to your ankles, your puffy cunt on full display. “So…perfect…” He whispered as two fingers plunged their way inside of you before you could begin to protest.

Your breath caught in your throat as Elvis' moved inside of you. Shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you, making your knees buckle and vision swim. It was almost too much to handle at once. Elvis seemed to sense your overwhelmed state. "Easy darling, breathe through it," he coaxed roughly, fingers still pumping steadily. "Gonna get this tight little cunt ready for my cock." Each press and curl made the fire building in your core flash higher. Your eyes squeezed shut, lower lip caught between your teeth as you fought to stay upright against the vanity. The scent of arousal mixed with your blood hung heavy in the air, making Elvis' nostrils flare. He knew you were close already. "Look at yourself, honey," Elvis demanded darkly, head nodding to the mirror. "Watch me finger fuck this sweet pussy 'til it's drippin' for me." Wide eyes fluttered open, locking with your reflection. Bright red cheeks, hazy eyes, and a dazed expression - you'd never looked so debauched before. Seeing yourself in such a compromising position sent another bolt of pleasure through you, only worse that he was still fully clothed. "That's it baby," Elvis purred, relentlessly working you through it. Your legs shook like crazy, barely supporting you. The newfound intensity of your body's reaction left you sprawled bonelessly against the vanity. Elvis withdrew his coated fingers, bringing them to his lips for a leisurely lick. "Gonne be mine forever." he promised as you stayed bent over the vanity, breathing heavily, you raised your head to see him holding his shirt up as he fumbled with his belt before quickly pulling it off, his pants soon to follow. His erection sprang free, slapping lewdly against his stomach with a shiny sheen of pre-cum dripping from the tip. He stroked it lazily, smearing the clear fluid up and down his length. "Gonna fucking wreck this pussy," Elvis growled possessively, fisting his cock in clear anticipation. You could only whimper, gaze transfixed on his hardness. It was so large, easily more than seven inches long and thicker than your wrist, uncut and pooling. Watching him touch himself with such obvious enjoyment only served to stoke your own growing need. Elvis gripped your hips again, thumbs digging into your already bruised flesh. The vanity creaked ominously under the added weight as he pressed against you, his substantial girth a searing line against your sensitive folds. You gasped sharply at the promise of what was to come. "Mmmm, look how wet you are," Elvis rumbled appreciatively. "Soaked and swollen for me already. Such an eager yittle thing." The tip of his cock kissed your entrance, spreading your juices as it went. Your whole body trembled with pent up tension, every nerve on fire and begging for relief. Common sense screamed at you to struggle, to get away before this went too far...but your body craved more. Burned for something only he could give you. "Please," you heard yourself whisper brokenly, sounding distant even to your own ears. "I need..." "Shhh, I know darlin'," Elvis soothed, his voice a sinful caress. "Gonna give this greedy cunt exactly what it wants. Gonna fuck you 'til you scream." Then he was pushing in, hilting himself inside you with one brutal thrust. The sensation of being so completely stretched and filled snapped you out of your daze, a scream tearing from your throat. It was too much all at once, the pleasure and pain blending together until you couldn't tell them apart. Muscles clamped down hard, fluttering wildly as your body fought to adjust. "Fuuuuck yes," Elvis snarled, not giving you a moment to recover before he started moving. Each snap of his hips drove him impossibly deeper, thrusts short and powerful as he claimed your mouth in a brutal, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue dominated yours, mimicking the actions below. Nipping and sucking at your lips until they were puffy and swollen.

Your cries were muffled against his mouth, breath ragged as he kissed you through your first orgasm. It crashed over you with devastating force, back arching and toes curling as your inner walls spasmed rhythmically. Elvis groaned gutturally, hips stuttering as your muscles rippled around him. "Fuck, you're milkin’ my cock so good," he gasped, dragging his lips along your jaw. "Wanna fill this cunt up… wanna have you be all mine forever, no one else's.” He was delirious with lust, all primal need and animalistic intent. Your blood bonding had triggered something deep within him, pounding into you mercilessly as his balls drew up tight to his body. It was too much stimulation, the excessive pleasure edged with pain pushing you quickly towards a second peak. Pressure coiled in your lower belly, egged on by the obscene squelch of his cock plunging in and out of your cunt. Building, building...you teetered right on the cusp. "Elvis!" you sobbed wildly, knowing he was close too. He redoubled his efforts, angling just right to peg your g-spot dead on. "Come for me baby, come on my fuckin’ cock." And with those words, you shattered. Pleasure detonated behind your eyes, every nerve ending singing in blissful release as Elvis followed right after. His final thrusts grew erratic as his orgasm overtook him. Thick ropes of seed painted your inner walls, you could feel everything. The sensation of Elvis' hot cum flooding your insides sent you spiraling into another mind-blowing orgasm. Your pussy clenched greedily around his spurting cock, milking him for every last drop as he grunted and cursed, emptying the last of his release deep in your womb. "Holy shit," Elvis panted, hips twitching with the aftershocks. "Never came harder in my life." He collapsed against you. Slick flesh still joined intimately together, you both struggled to catch your breath. Your thighs trembled with exhaustion. Elvis' softening length slipped free from your well-used hole with a wet squelch. Cum began seeping out to trickle down the insides of your quivering thighs.Slowly, unsteadily, you straightened on weak knees. Every muscle protested and screamed in protest. It felt like you'd been fucked for hours instead of minutes. Arousal still buzzed along your nerve endings, your clit throbbing between your legs. Elvis' seed coated your inner walls, cock sliding out slick and shiny.Elvis grasped your hips, turning you around briskly. He pushed you down into a sitting position on the vanity bench, “What…what did you do to me..?” You whispered to him, looking at him was heavenly– you felt so close to him.

“Made sure you wouldn’t be lone’ on Halloween again.”

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!! this is 9 pages long on my google doc making it my longest fic to date 😓 i rlly hope y’all like this i’m sorry if some doesn’t make sense or if there’s grammar or spelling issues i tried sooo hard 😭🖤 also i had it scheduled for midnight n’ it didn’t post m’ so so sorry 😢

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisiana @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @faeolwen @slayingjd @iloveelvisss @theelvisprincess @fairybloodsucker

99 notes · View notes