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lovebugism · 5 months

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SAYING UGLY THINGS ON CHRISTMAS EVE WITH STEBE PLEASEEEEEEE

let's just pretend it's still christmas ok? hope you like it angel! — steve gets cruel when he's anxious, and with his parents coming to town, he's practically a timebomb (ditzy!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 2.1k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were only trying to help.

Really, you were.

Steve’s been stressing himself sick about his parents coming over, and you’ve been following him around with your heart in your throat, trying to help him before he totally implodes.

He’s always a ticking time bomb when his parents are in town. He doesn’t know how to be anything else when it comes to them. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than perfect because he’s terrified of his mom’s backhanded compliments and his dad’s sneering replies.

He always turns into his teenage self when he’s scared — and there’s nothing more terrifying than being a teenager again.

You know all this, so you try your best to be supportive when he gets in moods like these. When he’s on edge and fussing over every little thing. You help him dust the top of the fridge and organize the spice cabinet and wipe down all the windows — even though you know his parents won’t notice, or otherwise care, about any of it.

And then, when you finally get the buzzing ball of anxiety to cuddle up with you on the couch, you manage to screw everything up all over again.

His head is on your chest, wild hair still drying from his shower. You hear him sniff once, then twice. “What’s that smell?” he wonders, not entirely apprehensive ‘cause the TV’s got most of his attention.

“What smell?” you ask, more distracted than he is.

His weight on you is a comforting one. You pet him like a cat accordingly — one palm rubbing up and down the length of his back and the other curling in his hair. With your nose among the chestnut strands, you don’t smell anything other than his floral shampoo.

“It smells like something’s burning.”

You pull back from him and sniff hard once. It smells a bit smoky, like cooking something over a campfire. Because something is burning. Your heart plummets to your stomach at the realization.

“Oh…” you hum under your breath, blood running ice-cold.

Steve only tenses up because you do. Your warm hands on his body go suddenly rigid. His scruffy chin rubs against the chest of your sweater when he turns to look at you. His honey eyes twinkle with confusion and concern. “Oh, what?”

“I think that might be the turkey…” you answer in a tiny voice because you know what’s coming.

“The what?”

“I put it in while you were in the shower, ‘cause you were so worried it wouldn’t get done in time—”

“Shit, babe!” he blurts and pushes himself off the couch. He rushes towards the kitchen without another look your way. You follow behind him like a puppy and hopelessly try to explain yourself.

“—And then you wanted to cuddle after, so I laid down and totally forgot about it!”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” he scoffs and swings the door of the stove down. He flinches at the billowing gray smoke. He rises again and rummages through an adjacent drawer, in search of oven mitts.

Your face swirls with confusion. “No!”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I forgot!”

“That’s not an excuse, babe!” He grimaces as he reaches into the hot oven. The tray clatters to the stove with a smoking turkey on top. It’s not totally burnt, but it’s hard as a rock and charred all over. Neither of you are chefs, but you could probably guess it’s less than edible.

“Shit…” Steve huffs under his breath. His hands fall to his waist and he cocks a hip to the side, blinking at the molten turkey before him because he’s at a loss for what to do now.

You stand just behind him, cowering as you wring your hands together. You feel small, like a child moments away from getting scolded. “I’m sorry, Steve,” you murmur, voice wavering. “I just wanted to help—”

He laughs loud. A bitter scoff, at most. “Well, you did a great job of that, didn’t you?” he says with a sour smile on his plush pink lips.

Tears burn the backs of your eyes. You decide to blame it on the lingering smoke.

“I said I was sorry,” you insist in a tiny voice, trying your best to stand up for yourself. You fucked up. Both of you know it. Rubbing salt in the wound doesn’t help anything.

“That doesn’t fix it, baby!” he argues, hands gesticulating wildly when he turns to you. His chiseled features are sharp with anger, but you decide to count your blessings ‘cause he’s still calling you baby. He only uses your real name when he’s really upset.

“I’m gonna have to go all the way to the store and make it all over again!”

“I’ll pay for it, Stevie, it’s okay—”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“My parents are coming over tonight! And if everything’s not perfect, I will never hear the end of it,” he agonizes, voice fragile and close to breaking. His honey eyes go glassy when the red emotion slowly turns blue. “About how I can’t make it on my own, how I moved out too early— how I never should’ve moved in with you.”

His words sting a little bit, in the most literal sense. The very center of your chest starts to ache, like he’s shoved a red-hot knife into your sternum.

You try to shrug it off as best you can. “Well, who cares what your parents say?”

“I do! I have to, ‘cause I’m the one that’ll have to hear about it every goddamn day!”

His misplaced anger begins to build, like the looming shadow of a boogeyman. The weight of it starts to suffocate you. At a loss of how to make any of it better (because you’ve got a record of doing the exact opposite) you try to bring your high-strung boy down again.

“It’s just a turkey, Steve. We can make another.”

You prepare yourself for an argument, but Steve only huffs — so deep it makes his chest rise and fall. His head tips back as he rubs two wide palms over his face, down to his chin and back up again. He swipes his fingers through the still-drying strands of his unstyled hair and doesn’t say a single word.

His teeth are clenched tight. You can tell by the sudden sharpness of his jaw and the way his temples are slightly shifted. His eyes are still shut as he breathes in deep, rhythmic patterns. You can almost hear him counting to ten inside his head in attempts to calm back down again.

Steve is painfully self-aware of how hotheaded he gets when he’s anxious. Every little thing feels like the end of the world when he’s cranked up to one hundred. Problem is, he only realizes how cruel he’s being after he’s hurt someone with it.

That someone in question is you now. The sweeter-than-sugar you, the brighter-than-sunshine you, the well-meaning-but-sometimes-totally-careless you.

And Steve, on the other hand, is utterly troubled. He’s harsh, and he’s hopeless, and he loves you so much he’s not totally sure what to do with it all. Sometimes it scratches him like barbs. Maybe that’s why he confuses love and anger so often.

He thinks of his parents — how they were supposed to love him, how maybe they do, how they have a terrible way of showing it, and how he isn’t at all deserving of the way they treat him — and something inside him seethes. It burns somewhere deep within his ribcage and squirms like a feral animal trying to break free.

He feels trapped and he turns violent, like some kind of hurt dog. ‘Cause if he can’t be loved, then he might as well be feared. And sometimes he bites you, the warmhearted stranger willing to love something that doesn’t know how to love itself. And maybe that’s why he snaps at you when he’s so high-strung.

You love him the most, out of everybody in the whole entire world, and no one could understand all this quite like you do.

“You’re right,” he sighs when he comes down to earth again, arms falling to his sides when his shoulders are no longer tense.

The shades of red give way to something more golden when he looks at you. It makes his heart twist because you’re still looking at him the same way you were ten minutes ago — like you’re looking at the rest of your life in the flesh.

One more breath, and the worry slips away.

“Yeah, you’re right— it’s just a turkey— everything’s fine.”

You want to comfort him. Your wringing hands ache with the longing to hold him like you were before all this, with his cheek to your chest so your heartbeat can keep him grounded. You’re just not sure if he wants that yet.

So you linger in place and try not to implode with your yearning.

“I can get a storebought one before they come over if you want,” you offer meekly, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I don’t think they’ll know the difference if we just lie and say we made it.”

He laughs again. One snorted breath, but much more genuine this time. A grin blossoms like a pretty flower on his rose-petaled mouth. It’s impossible not to smile back at him.

“Or we can just, like, not say anything, and watch my parents pretend to like it,” he jokes.

“That’s evil,” you say, hiding your giggle behind your palm. “But then we’d probably have to eat it, too— to make it believable and everything, you know? And I don’t think I can put that in my mouth without gagging.” You snort a laugh at yourself, then grow strangely serious as you mumble, “That’s what she said.”

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. It paints the kitchen golden and makes your chest feel all sparkly. “C’mere,” he hums with a grin, throwing his arms out for you.

You gravitate towards him instantly, like he’s the sun and you’ve just suffered a terribly long winter. You hug him tight accordingly — suffocating, warm, and tender. He holds you back the same.

His arms curl around your back, wide palms spreading along the length of it. He noses at your hair and presses a gentle kiss there. “Sorry for yelling,” he apologizes, mostly muffled from where he’s holding you so intently. “You forgot. It’s okay. I overreacted.”

It’s still hard for him to apologize sometimes. Even when he’s in the wrong. Especially when he’s in the wrong. He grew up with parents who fought and then acted like nothing happened the next day. There was never any closure. Just bottled up feelings.

It feels good to be wrong — to acknowledge it and to still be loved after.

“I really was trying to help,” you mutter, burying the words into his chest.

Steve nods against you. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse—”

“You didn’t make it worse, don’t say that,” Steve interjects before the words can properly leave your mouth. He squeezes you tighter, in hopes it’ll make his words stick more. “You know I’d stress myself to death if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah. And if your parents came home to a corpse, that’d be really morbid,” you murmur gently.

Steve chuckles when he pulls away from you. He unwraps his arms from around you, just to hold your face in his hands. His palms are warm and softly calloused against your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs over the warm apple of them.

“It would be,” he concurs with a nod and a big, dumb grin. His honey eyes sparkle as they melt for you. “I’ll tell them that when they come over— that you singlehandedly saved their son. They’ll have to love you, then.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but it isn’t really. It’s true in a lot of ways. Way more than you know.

“Think they’ll still like me even if you don’t say all that?” you wonder meekly and with your nose scruched, peering up at him with a hopeful gaze.

“Oh. Yeah. Totally,” Steve scoffs without thinking twice. He shrugs like it’s obvious with his face twisted like he’s confused why you’d even ask. “They’ll fall in love with you the second they see you.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic,” you mumble, laughing under your breath.

You’re not nearly as confident as he is because you have no idea you’re made of flower petals, sunsets, and winter skies — all things delicate, tender, and impossibly loveable.

“I’m pretty sure it’s impossible not to be in love with you,” Steve insists, still cradling your face in his palms. It’s easier than saying that he loves you so much that he’d follow you anywhere — or that the rest of the world could fall apart, and he wouldn’t care as long as you were standing with him.

“I think you’re biased,” you tease with a quiet smile.

“I know from firsthand experience, babe,” he argues with a rosy smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m an expert on the matter, actually.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: blurbcember

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flowersofnaivete · 6 months

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#finally got my mitts on this #trent reznor #trentreznor #nine inch nails #nineinchnails #phm era #media #magazines #mine all mine

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kiss-me-cill-me · 5 months

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Follow Me Down

Pairing: Robert Fischer x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Dealing with Robert's advances feels like a full time job in itself. When he finally pushes you past your breaking point at a company party, you decide that it's time to teach him a lesson.

Warnings: Smut, hate sex, semi-public sex, mean reader, pushy/bratty Robert, kind of switch!Robert, S&M themes, oral (f receiving), face sitting, high heel kink, spit kink, choking, non-consensual creampie, name calling (including one use of "bitch"), workplace harassment, degradation, misogyny, mentions of drinking/alcohol, reader insults Robert by suggesting that he would spike her drink (but it does not actually happen)

A/N: Are New Year's Eve fics a thing? If not, they should be haha. I love New Year's Eve, so as a little early present, please enjoy this piece of absolute filth. Title was inspired by George Taylor's song Come Follow Me Down, which I listened to on repeat while writing the smut portion of this. Thank you for reading, and I'm wishing you all a great start to 2024!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Robert Fischer was the kind of man who had everything handed to him in life, and it showed. He was petulant, unserious, and thoughtless. Or at least, mostly thoughtless; he did possess the very annoying ability to badger the living hell out of someone in order to get what he wanted. And tonight, as was so unfortunately often the case, the focus of his one-track mind was you.

He was trailing after you now, either oblivious to or willfully ignorant of the look of annoyance plastered over your face as you tried to lose him. He barely had to hurry to keep up.

“Don’t be shy asking for my help with closing that big merger if you need it,” he told you.

You grimaced. You knew how to do your job.

“Robert, let’s not talk about work while we’re off the clock,” you said shortly, trying to make your voice as sweet as possible so that he wouldn’t have an excuse to comment on your tone.

You were at the company’s New Year’s Eve party. Ostensibly, this was the last of (too many) excuses littered throughout the year for the big wig executives to drink expensive booze and make fools of themselves on the company dime. And, annoyingly, it was also yet another opportunity for Fischer to try and sleep with you.

“Okay. Let me get you a drink then,” he offered.

You decided you were done being sweet. You stopped and turned on your heel to face him.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with my drink for two seconds, much less accept one you’d gotten your grubby little mitts on,” you hissed.

Robert made no indication that he understood what you were insinuating. Instead, he rested a hand on your waist, tugging you just a bit closer to him.

“Then I’ll escort you to the bar,” he said. “And I’ll even keep my hands on you, so you’ll know that I haven’t touched your drink.”

He was disgusting.

“Why don’t you escort yourself?” you shot back, shaking out of his grip.

You were abstaining from drinks tonight, wanting to keep your wits about you just in case Robert tried to get too handsy. Or, handsier than he usually was. This was a fairly frequent occurrence, and although you were used to it, it still pissed you off. Robert was nothing you couldn’t handle, but the arrogant rich boy attitude got old quick. It annoyed you that you couldn’t say anything without risking the job you had worked so hard for. Unlike him, you hadn’t been born into a world that put you automatically on a pedestal. On the contrary, it often felt like people were trying to kick you off the ledge.

Robert was walking behind you again, thankfully keeping his hands to himself even as he hovered at your heels, and you walked deeper into the party. All around you, drunken coworkers reveled and laughed. There was only about one hour left in the year, and by god the company was going to spend it drinking enough champagne to kill an elephant.

“Come on,” Robert called behind you, still trailing. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?”

You ignored him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. As you wove your way through the crowd, one of the higher-ups signaled to you.

You jumped at the opportunity, hoping that Robert would at least have the common decency to leave you be while you were talking to a man who was essentially your boss. But of course, rules and manners didn’t apply to Robert Fischer like they would to anyone else. As you talked with the executive about mergers and acquisitions, Robert stood directly behind you. Practically breathing down your neck. You had to bite your tongue when he placed a hand on the small of your back again. What the hell did he think he was doing?

After a few minutes, the higher-up - slightly intoxicated - excused himself and wandered off, leaving you alone again with the man who was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.

“Robert-” you started to bark.

“God, you’re sexy when you talk business,” Robert interrupted.

You were facing him again, his arm still wrapped around you possessively. You caught a whiff of bourbon on his breath. He certainly wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol had clearly loosened his tongue. Usually he wasn’t this forward. You frowned.

“And you’re an unprofessional prick.”

Your outburst almost seemed to shock you more than it did Robert. His expression never faltered, except to allow a small smirk to spread across his lips.

“Sweetheart, don’t flatter me like that,” he teased. “A pretty girl like you could give a guy like me ideas.”

He raised his eyebrows at you as he said “ideas,” lowering his voice a bit. You got the message.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear,” you said, trying not to speak through clenched teeth. “But the only idea I want to give you is to leave me the hell alone.”

Robert put his hands up, pretending to look wounded. Or maybe he was going for shocked. As if you hadn’t made it abundantly clear already just how uninterested you were. He took a step back, to your relief.

“Okay, I can see you need some time to cool off,” he relented. Finally, you were getting somewhere. “But can you really blame me for getting mixed signals?”

You had no idea what Robert was talking about, until he started pointing above him. Your eyes trailed up, and you saw for the first time a little sprig of mistletoe, hanging in the hallway. A leftover from the company’s Christmas decorations. Of all the places you could have been standing… When you looked back at Robert, your mouth was a thin line.

“What are you, twelve?” you asked.

He just smiled.

“Christmas is over, Robert,” you said coldly.

As you started to walk away, he called after you.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying!”

Fischer was right about one thing - you did need some time to cool off. Being around him made your skin crawl. It made you feel like you needed a shower and a guzzle of holy water, just to exorcize any lingering traces of him from your system. A gin and tonic would probably have at least some of the same effects. And you were craving one, but you reminded yourself that you needed to stay sharp. Robert had left you alone for now, but it was only a matter of time before he would be back. You settled for just the tonic.

Rubbing your head as you walked through the party, horribly bitter drink in hand, you wondered why you had even bothered to come. So much of what you did was for the sake of appearances. Anything to claw your way ahead. Though of course, even you had limits. Sleeping with Fischer would, ironically, probably end in a boon to your career. But you definitely weren’t about to let yourself sink to that level.

You looked down at your gin-less tonic, twist of lime bobbing lazily in the bubbles. Why were you even drinking this? It certainly wasn’t for the taste. You dumped the rest of your drink in a potted plant, and set the empty glass down on a table.

This party was a total drag. But, you figured, at least you wouldn’t have to go far to find a little solitude. One of the benefits of working for an insanely wealthy company like Fischer Morrow was that even mid-level employees like you got extravagant offices. Your high heels clicked against the tile as you strode off, eager to leave the maddening din - and Robert Fischer - behind.

You reached your office door, and instantly knew that something was off. Behind the frosted windows, you could tell that the lights were on. The party was on the floor below yours; there should have been nobody up here, much less in your private office. Maybe it was just one of the cleaners, working late. Well, no problem. They would be easy enough to get rid of, and then you could regroup and prepare yourself for the remainder of a night full of fending off Robert’s advances. You pushed open the door.

Really, you should have seen this coming. Of course it wasn’t going to be this easy to get rid of him.

“Robert,” you sighed. You took in the sight of him, sitting in your swivel chair and looking very pleased with himself. “Do I really have to ask you to get out of my office?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he taunted, effortlessly throwing your own words back at you. He winked, and you narrowed your eyes.

You walked over to your desk, large and shiny with a stained walnut finish. It was an expensive piece of furniture, and one that Robert somehow managed to look right at home sitting behind. As if he owned the place. Which was closer to the truth than you particularly liked to think about.

“Why do you enjoy doing this?” you asked, not expecting a real answer.

“I just like getting a rise out of you,” Robert said.

It sounded strangely honest. You leaned over your desk, staring down at him. Trying to size him up.

“You’re very mean when you want to be,” Robert continued, almost observationally.

You weren’t sure where he was going with this. Sure, you could be mean. It was part of the reason why you’d achieved the position you were in now; you didn’t advance in business by being a pushover.

Robert, you noticed, was currently staring down the front of your dress. You scrambled to stand up, and crossed your arms over your chest. The little pervert wasn’t even trying to hide it. You circled the desk, coming to rest on the side where Robert still sat, watching you calmly. You silently willed him to get out of your chair; to leave your office and give you twenty seconds of peace. He didn’t, of course, and so you took a seat on the desk, crossing your legs and tapping one foot in the air.

“So, what? Do you get off on me being mean to you or something?” you pressed.

Robert shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. For some reason, that infuriated you even more. You hated his smug face; that little smirk he was wearing right now that meant he was getting what he wanted. You had the sudden urge to slap him. Maybe that would teach him a lesson.

“And what about you?” Robert asked. “What do you get out of this?”

“Me?!” You were incredulous. “Christ. What could I possibly be getting out of putting up with you constantly bothering me?”

Robert shrugged again, and your desire to slap him grew.

“Maybe you get off on it too,” he guessed. “Being mean, that is.”

“You think I get off on doing this?” you scoffed. “Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”

“You’re the one who brought up getting off; not me.”

You were really going to lose it. You could barely see Fischer sitting in front of you now for all of the angry red that was swirling through your vision. He thought he could walk in here, sit at your desk, and then tell you you got off on being mean to him? He didn’t know how mean you could be.

“What’s your end goal with all this, Robert? You really think you’re gonna get to live out whatever twisted fantasy you’ve made me a part of in that sick little head of yours?”

“Maybe,” Robert said nonchalantly. You could feel him undressing you with his eyes.

“Yeah? What are you hoping to do to me?” you prodded. You didn’t care what you were saying anymore; you were way past the point of professionalism. “Probably tie me up and watch me try to fight you off, right?”

Robert looked up at you very calmly, holding your angry gaze as he answered you.

“I’d rather have you step on me with those heels,” he said.

You were taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“I said: I want you to step on me with those slutty little stilettos you keep waving in my face,” he repeated.

You froze. One foot was braced against the drawers of your desk, and the other was poised in the air, hovering just in front of Robert’s knee as he sat in your chair.

“What’s the matter?” Robert asked. “I warned you you’d give a guy like me ideas, didn’t I?”

Part of you was in shock. This was not how you had expected this interaction to go. But another part of you - a corner of your mind that you didn’t even want to acknowledge - really was turned on by the idea of putting him in his place. You grinned.

“What makes you think I’d do that for you?” you hummed, mocking him.

Before he had a chance to respond, you lifted your foot and pressed the sharp point of your heel against the fleshy part of Robert’s shoulder. His expensive suit jacket started to crease. You pushed your heel in a little more, pushing him back just an inch.

Robert’s eyes started to wander, trying to sneak a look under your dress as you sat in front of him, your leg lifted up to press into his shoulder.

“You’re a pig,” you told him, shifting your foot so that it was in the middle of his chest.

The new angle made it a little harder for him to get a peek, with your legs more pressed together. Robert’s eyes drifted back to your face, a look of restrained amusement dancing across his own features. He was trying to play it cool, but you noticed the way his fingers dug into the chair’s leather armrests.

“Just another pretty boy in a suit,” you continued, inching the toe of your shoe up toward his collar.

The point of your heel was right over his sternum, and Robert started to smile. He really was enjoying this, and the realization both repulsed and aroused you.

“Think you can take whatever you want. You need to be put in your place.”

You pushed back with your foot, making Robert’s chair roll a few inches so that you had space to stand up between him and the desk. You planted one foot on the floor, and the other directly over his crotch, pressing in with the dull toe of your shoe. The point of your heel rested on the chair in front of him, between his slightly parted legs. You weren’t trying to impale the poor man, but the devious look that Robert fixed on you as you towered over him almost made it look like he would have preferred if you did.

“Told you y’get off on being mean,” he teased.

You grabbed hold of his tie and pulled his face closer to yours as you looked down at him.

“Robert, if you think this is what a woman looks like when she gets off, I have some very bad news for you. Why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth is good for?”

You pushed away from him, climbing back up on the desk and spreading your legs. The tight black dress you wore rode up your thighs, and Robert instantly dropped to his knees in front of you. He hooked a finger into the crotch of your panties, using it to drag them to the side until you were on display for him.

“You can deny all you want,” he mocked, “but you wouldn’t be this wet if you really didn’t enjoy it.”

“Jesus. Stop talking,” you ordered.

You shoved his face between your legs, and his tongue eagerly came out to lick at you. You were wet - there really wasn’t any denying it - but you didn’t need him pointing out that fact as if he weren’t the one desperately lapping at your cunt. Robert was the pathetic one here; you were really just going along with things to teach him a lesson. If he wanted you to walk all over him, you would make sure he regretted ever crossing paths with you. And if you happened to get off while doing it - well, you'd just chalk that down as some much-needed stress relief. Dealing with Robert was exhausting.

You hooked your legs over his arms, pinning him in place as he balanced himself against the desk. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good at this. Very good. His tongue was lavishing you; his blue eyes never breaking contact with yours as he ate you out. The way he was looking up at you felt dirty and yet dangerously addicting, all at the same time. Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as your breath hissed through your teeth. Abruptly, you pulled him away.

“Get on the desk,” you commanded, a little out of breath.

Robert stood up, wiped his smug face, and started to climb up onto the desk.

“On your back.”

He laid down, swinging his feet up so that he was fully spread out across the hard surface. You reached up under your dress to remove your panties. Having him hold them to the side was only getting in the way.

You carefully got up on the desk with him, knees resting on either side of his face.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you scoffed, half for your own benefit.

“Think of it this way,” Robert smirked beneath you. “Isn’t it gonna make you happy to wipe this smile off my face?”

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

You sat down, putting almost your full weight on his face. Robert reached up to grab hold of your thighs, supporting you, and you were actually grateful for it even though it gave him an opportunity to grope at your ass. Your legs were getting weaker every second, and you could feel yourself tipping over the edge.

Part of the thrill was from being in such a compromising position. Before, if someone had walked in, there was a chance that Robert could stand up and you would be able to smooth down your dress in time to avoid getting caught. But now… well, riding a man’s face as he was splayed out on the desk beneath you was a little harder to recover from, logistically.

You ground your hips down, so tantalizingly close to coating his face in your release. Robert seemed to sense your urgency, and dug his fingers into your flesh, practically begging for it. His tongue dragged roughly across your clit, sucking with just the right pressure.

Your mouth hung open as you came, at first frozen in a silent scream and then moaning, sinfully, as an orgasm rolled over you. You seemed to shake from your shoulders down into your knees, and Robert’s tongue lapped up all of your arousal. He pressed his lips to your clit one final time as you slid off of him.

When your hips were straddling his, Robert sat up to hold you. His hands were hungry, grabbing at your waist as he tried to pull you closer and into a kiss.

“No kissing,” you choked out, putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

Robert didn't try to push past you, just paused and looked up at you with light, teasing eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart. It's New Year's Eve. You're not gonna give me a kiss at midnight?”

You swallowed, not trusting your shaky voice to respond without giving him more fuel to taunt you with. He didn't need it.

“Even after you already let me wrap my lips around your pretty cunt?”

Your hand on his chest pressed down, pushing him back onto the hard wood. Robert smiled again, proud of himself for getting to you. He really did know how to wind you up.

“You’re such a typical rich boy,” you spat. “So used to getting anything you ask for.”

“Usually I don’t even have to ask,” Robert corrected.

“Right. Other women just throw themselves at you?” You felt your hatred flare.

He gave you that knowing look again, but kept his smirking mouth shut. You noticed the way your arousal still glistened against his lips. The whole lower half of his face, actually, was drenched, and the sight of it sent a pang of renewed desire all through you.

Suddenly, Robert’s grip tightened at your waist. He bunched up the fabric of your dress, exposing you a little more, and forced you down onto his leg.

“Use me to get yourself off.”

Already impatient, his hands had started to pull at your hips, making you rock back and forth. The cloth of his suit pants brushed roughly against your exposed clit, still sensitive from his earlier treatment. But still, it felt good. Too good.

“Robert-”

You had opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“Mm, say my name, baby.”

He was so full of himself. Something snapped in you, and your hand flew up to his neck. As your grip tightened, Robert only threw his head back.

“Honestly, do you ever shut up?” you spat.

Despite yourself, your hips started to stutter against him, desperate to rub harder as the pressure started to build in you again. For whatever reason, you found yourself going along with Robert’s demands once more. Your hand on his neck squeezed.

“You really do get everything you want,” you hissed, teeth clenching against the ache that was rapidly growing between your legs.

“Not true,” Robert choked out beneath you. His voice was straining from your grip, but you could still hear the hint of satisfaction. “I haven’t gotten to stick it in you yet.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, and you hated how his words could affect you. You angrily took it out on him, pressing the hand on his neck down even harder. Robert hissed out through his teeth, then dissolved into a rough cry of pleasure.

“Fuck," you gasped.

Your grip loosened, suddenly, as a wave of ecstasy came crashing over you for the second time. It was unexpected and fast, taking you by such surprise that you fell forward on the desk a little, caging Robert’s face with your arms. Your stomach churned with embarrassment as the feeling faded, and you realized that just the sound of his voice had been enough to push you over the edge.

You looked down, and saw Robert’s eyes full of mirth. His face was flushed, blood rushing back now that your hand was off him. A few strands of hair stood out of place against his forehead. Honestly, he was a mess; clothes all wrinkled and normally-neat red tie knocked askew. You could feel yourself dripping. His very expensive suit pants were probably ruined. Although, that was really his problem.

“Tell me again how you don’t get off on being mean?” Robert rasped below you.

You were panting, and clearly in no position to answer him. But even if you had been able to speak, you certainly weren’t about to tell him that it had been his animalistic moan that really made you come. Robert started to sit up a little, keeping one arm around your waist.

“You hate me so much.” Robert’s voice was still slightly hoarse, but there was that tone of amusement, as usual.

“Poor little rich boy.”

It was all you could think to say, still trying to recover from two orgasms back to back. Robert gave you a look that was almost pitying.

“When are you gonna admit that you’re just jealous?” Robert purred.

You gave him a look of disgust, hoping your scowl would communicate everything that you couldn’t verbalize. Your head was still reeling, dizzy from the rush.

“You think you’re better than everyone else just because you have to scramble to get ahead? Please. You wish you had it as easy as me.” Robert’s hands came up to grasp at your wrists, holding you in place as he brought his lips close to yours. “But lucky for me, you’re not above sleeping your way to the top.”

Is that really what he thought this was? No. That wasn’t the reason for this. Inch by inch, Robert was bringing his lips closer to you. This bastard, thinking he understood you. Infuriated, you did the only thing you could think to do, and spit on him.

He stopped, but didn’t look particularly surprised. The trail of spit started to drip down his face, mixing on his cheek with the leftover sheen of your arousal. Calmly, Robert brought a hand up to his face and wiped off the efforts of your rebellion.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, sweetheart.”

In the next instant, Robert’s hands were at his belt, nimble fingers working the buckle. You noticed for the first time how painfully stretched his pants were. He had to be in agony. But, you thought bitterly, that was probably exactly how he wanted it.

“Here - why don’t you spit on my cock?” he goaded, pulling himself out of his briefs.

Your eyes blew wide at the sight of him. That certainly explained the amount of confidence he had. You struggled to shoot back a response.

“In your dreams,” you muttered.

“Don’t be like that,” Robert chided, pouting a little bit.

As much as he liked to act, you could tell that he wasn’t really hurt. Someone as arrogant as Robert Fischer could never be truly bothered by anything. This was merely an inconvenience. He pinched your cheeks between his rough fingers, forcing you to look down at his dick with your mouth open. A long, wet rope of saliva fell from your lips.

“There, was that so hard?”

Robert’s pinching hand left your face as he brought it down to rub at his length, hastily working your spit over himself.

“This is for your benefit anyway,” he winked. “Don’t want it to hurt you too much.”

You watched, almost mesmerized, as he pumped himself a few more times. Satisfied, he stood up, taking you with him. Standing in your heels, you were almost as tall as him, and he looked directly into your eyes.

“Now, do you want me to fuck you over the desk, or up against the wall?”

You almost couldn’t believe his audacity. You glared at him, a heavy, electrical silence hanging between you.

“Tick-tock, sweetheart.”

“Go to hell, Robert,” you answered.

“Well, then I guess we’re doing what I want.” He smiled. “How ironic.”

He lifted you up in one swift motion, and then your back was against the wall. The head of his cock was pressing into you, and the stretch was almost painful.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he hissed. “Just what I would expect from a stuck-up little bitch.”

His words stung, but not as much as the snap of his hips as he thrust into you, forcing a little whine out of your lips. You grit your teeth, trying to muffle your reaction.

“You squeeze me so good when you’re angry,” Robert laughed. “Fuck.”

His hands were digging into you, holding you up as he pulled out and then pressed greedily back in. Your head pushed back against the wall, overwhelmed by his size.

“What’s wrong, baby? Too much for you?” he teased.

“You- wish-”

Your words cut off as Robert fucked sharply into you again, then paused. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling his hips against you as you tried to hold yourself up. It only made him push deeper.

“Fuck, Robert-!”

You cried out, interrupting yourself again, and felt his lips brush against your neck.

“I didn’t even move that time, baby,” he smirked.

You couldn’t stand to see him so smug. Somewhere deep inside yourself, you found strength.

“W-what are you waiting for, then? Get to work, pretty boy.”

Robert grinned as he thrust into you, even more powerfully than before. You wanted to whimper, but bit your tongue. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You really are something else,” Robert chuckled.

His pace had started to speed up, and now he was pumping in and out of you relentlessly, each thrust pushing you back against the wall. Your body had finally adjusted to his girth, and you were almost starting to enjoy the stretch. Not to mention the way that his head hit a certain spot inside of you, nearly making you fall apart every time he brushed against it.

You were finding it harder and harder to suppress your moans, and every now and then one would slip out of your tightly-pressed lips. Robert seemed to speed up every time he heard you whimper.

“Fuck!” you swore, as he hit a particularly deep spot.

“You take my cock so well,” he grunted. Even trying to keep his cool, it was clear that he was only seconds away from release. “Now let’s see how you take my cum.”

“Not… not inside,” you panted.

“Don’t- fucking- tell me what to do.”

“Don't fucking come in me!”

Pressed against the wall, your options for retaliation were limited. Your legs could do nothing but wrap around him; his hands stopping you from putting your feet on the floor. Your own hands were occupied gripping at the lapels of his suit, hanging on for dear life as he split you open. Really, the only available part of you was your mouth.

Your lips bruised hard against his, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting hard enough that you hoped it hurt. Robert let out a muffled growl against you, and you sank your teeth in more.

Somewhere far away, a clock chimed and the party below you surged drunkenly. Robert thrust his hips into you one last time, and then you felt him painting your walls; cum leaking out of you as he held you, still suspended in the air. As the buzzing in your head started to fade, you realized he was smiling against your lips.

You jaw relaxed just enough for Robert to pull himself away. His lip was bruised; angry red from where your teeth had scraped him. He was even more disheveled than he had been, and, somehow, even more satisfied with himself.

“Ended up giving me that kiss anyway,” he rasped, voice still heavy from exertion and lust. “And right at midnight, too.”

You felt your hatred surge again, weakly. You were exhausted; barely able to keep yourself upright when Robert finally set you on your feet. He stepped away, leaving you to tug down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. A very difficult task, considering you still had fresh cum leaking out of you. Your eyes quickly scanned the floor for your panties. You would not stoop to searching on your hands and knees for them. Not until Robert left your office, at least.

Robert finished zipping his pants and replacing his belt, shiny silver buckle clicking under his fingers. He tugged at his suit, barely making a dent in the wrinkles, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Well, I would say ‘same time next week,’ but I think it would be easier to pencil you in at lunch,” Robert joked. “Maybe we can finally have that drink before I take you back to my office. You’ll have a really nice view of the city while I fuck you against the window.”

You really couldn’t believe the nerve. Although, by now, it should have been easy to expect no less from Robert. You walked right up to him and planted a finger in the center of his chest.

“If you think I’m ever having sex with you again, you’re twice as delusional as I thought you were,” you huffed.

Robert took one more long look at you, and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

#robert fischer x reader #robert fischer #robert fischer smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #LemmyFics

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nightdivinity · 3 months

Text

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 2

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, we die like men, reverse harem. This is getting sexual. I’m sorry.

Writer's Note: I live, I die, I live again. I’m trying to keep an even pace when publishing, I promise. It’s just that finals week knocked me on my ass. I’ve basically got to prepare week 9 and 10 before it. Graduation is also right around the corner. Besides school and work though, this has also been my only focus. Also, sorry to everyone who reached out. I promise I’m not ignoring the kind messages and everything. I just keep forgetting. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to do better. Also got to write a bio and start publishing the other things I’ve been cooking up. This series is still a top priority though. I’m going to be more consistent from here on out.

When you finally make it back to the manor after a day of detours and horrible karaoke that makes your insides warm and fuzzy, Duke doesn’t let you open your own door. All the being nice was making you itch, and you kind of were missing being a strong independent person. It’s also not that you didn’t give it the good old college try, desperately jiggling the handle to open the door that he child locked as you look out the window in disbelief as he laughed his ass off outside your door.

To get back at him, the both of you ensued the pettiest game of unlocking and locking the doors. You, holding the door closed when he unlocked it and tried to pull it open, and scrambling to the driver’s seat to keep that door closed as well. Would it be bad if you admitted you liked the way his smug pretty face grew determined and slightly irritated? Never mind the dimples, the tick in his sharp jaw had your mind skipping a beat.

It was all fun and games until Alfred, who undoubtedly was watching you from the window, opened the other door just as you held yours shut and taunted Duke. “Can’t even open a wittle omega’s door?”

You’ll never forget the feral boyish smile he gave before sliding over the moving van’s hood and gently pushing Alfred out of the way.

His big frame wedged the door open letting wind into the cabin with enough pheromones to make your eyes water. In a panic you start trying to move away from him as far as possible. Cue, Alfred opening the other door your back was against, and you almost tumbling out.

“(L/N)? Just what on earth are you doing?”, Alfred questioned.

You stare up at the old Beta and your savior. His gloved hand on your back keeping your from tumbling out of the truck cab and busting your head on the gravel. Something all three men on the property were undoubtedly worried about as they watched you dangle too close to the ground. Not that you ever saw the curtain drawing closed from the third story. All you saw was help. Because surely Duke would knock it off with Alfred here.

“I’m poking the bear”, you tell him.

A large mitt, exactly like a bear’s, wraps around your ankle and tugs you out of Alfred’s hands and towards the open car door with a slightly pissed alpha waiting. Oh no. New employment be damned, you are not going out like this.

You scramble for purchase as your dragged across the leather seat. Your fingers digging into the crevice between the driver’s side and middle cushion for dear life. Desperately you try to shake Duke’s fingers off your one good ankle.

“(Y/N), get out of the car. You’re probably hurting yourself right now while doing this”, Duke warns.

There was an unspoken “Are you stupid?” that hung in the air. With Alfred here, the big, dimpled grin has disappeared, giving way to grim determination as Duke looked as though he was five seconds away from peeling the truck’s metal frame apart just to get at you better. You didn’t know what to do, it was better when you two were playing. The air was lighter, and you could breathe and believe he had best intentions at heart. Now you couldn’t keep playing, because he seems to be getting angrier every defiant second you spend clinging to cushions. Which made you want to burrow under the seats even more, away, and safe from the anger.

What you hadn’t noticed was how his anger started the second Alfred intervened. It’s not your fault, a lot has been happening and pissed-off Alphas take priority. The old man did though, and backed the adequate amount of steps away after ensuring you would not tumble out of the cab. If it wasn’t for the promise he made to Bruce to chaperone, and to you when he hired you, Alfred would have taken up the offer the others had given him. A nice vacation, the first he would have taken, just to give you and the rest space to figure each other out. Based on the messages from the family’s missing members, it would have been smart to leave Gotham. Or the continent.

“Don’t tell me what to do” you say.

“Get out of the truck”, Duke replies.

“No. Fuck off. I’m grown up, I can get out if I want.”

“I’m seriously running out of patience (y/n)”

“Good. Leave me alone Duke.”

“Terrible things are about to happen to you.”, Duke warns.

You squint at him and stick your tongue out at him. You know he’s just full of shit and would never do anything to actually hurt you. Nor would he allow you to be in any real danger. He’s got a trick up his sleeve and the muscles in your stretched leg were taut, waiting for release so you can roll and limp away to safety.

There was hardly anytime for you to plan your next step before Duke wrapped his hand around your ankle and starts untying your sneaker.

“Don’t”, you squeal.

He ignores you and gives you another bright smile full of sunshine and mischief. Dear God, he was going to kill you with that look on his face. Totally disarming and distracting as you barely register the shoe and sock getting tugged off.

“I mean it Duke! I give up! Look, see? I’m letting go!”, you beg.

You unclench your fingers and start waving your hands in his face. Trying like hell to sit up and defend yourself. Unfortunately, the hood on your hoodie was caught on the seatbelt latch in the cushion. Preventing you rolling farther away or sitting up and smushing his face away with your freed hands.

“I will never forgive you”, you solemnly vow.

“Yes, you will, look at your face, you’re smiling. You’ve already forgiven me.”

“They stink, I haven’t changed my socks in five days.”

“That’s another lie, I know for a fact that your laundry has been washed.”

“And that’s weird. We’re going to revisit that later though. Let my foot go. I also haven’t taken a shower yet; I ran a five K this morning.”

“In what? Your dreams? You know, I think we should go back to begging.”

You give an enraged shriek that devolves into panicked laugh as he starts torturing every available space on your foot. It was not an enjoyable experience. You were scrambling and flailing to get away but couldn’t since he seemed to have super strength. He also barely swatted your thick cast covered foot you tried to jam in his face. Tears start leaking out the corners of your eyes as you giggle and beg and plead for him to release you. Not that he listened to any of it. He seemed perfectly happy watching you writhe.

The merriment came to about as abrupt and end as it started as a sleek black muscle car growled into the driveway. Duke dropped your ankle and crawled into the truck cab with you. As defective an Omega as you were, you still picked up on the spike of adrenaline and what you thought was panic although it was smothered by anger. You scrunch your nose at the onslaught of pheromones that made you want to bump up and rub against him and soothe in any way you could. Because no. You’re not that kind of Omega.

“Duke?”, you ask.

He must have picked up on the nervous twitching from you. Or the tell-tale patter of your little heart trying to produce enough pheromones to get you out of this situation. Enough to tell the Alpha that’s laying on top of you, tantalizingly close, so close you could hear the clack that the wooden beads in his dreads made as he pressed flush against you. I’m in danger, help me. Is what should have been leaking out of every pore. Yet, you were broken.

“Shh, don’t let him see you.”, Duke says.

That didn’t help the matter. Especially when Duke used his freakishly long limbs to pull both sets of doors closed as quietly as possible. What was happening? Was someone trying to attack Bruce Wayne, billionaire-philanthropist and notorious Alpha who also seems to be in close contact with the most frightening infected Alpha in the country. Merely the thought of the shadow you often saw cast on buildings as dominance battles were fought all over in the different Gotham territories was enough to make you shake. You never saw Batman. No one whoever truly interacts with him lives to tell the tales. So just what is Bruce Wayne that he seems to be in an alliance with such a monster?

“Bruce! Get out here you chicken-shit piss-poor excuse of a sire”, a booming voice shout outside.

A seismic level shockwave rocked through you, and you couldn’t suppress the litany of whines that escaped as you dug your claws into duke’s yellow and black muscle shirt. It was embarrassing, you felt like a pup again.

In all your years you had never come anywhere close to that amount of dominance that was coming out in waves that even rattled the windows. Whoever this was, he was bad news. Even Duke knew it.

Duke’s eyes were flashing gold in the sudden darkness of the cab. You were once again struck by the oddity, but this world is full of strange things. To be fair, you were mostly preoccupied with other things, and you had a feeling that if you started digging into what was going on at the place you were hired then you would truly fall down the rabbit hole.

“Stop moving”, Duke whispers.

His hand wraps around one of your wrists that you had thrown up against his chest. Just for a little breathing room, rather than being pressed face first in a scent gland that would have you dry humping everything in sight. Despite the abject terror at the situation unfolding outside.

“Where do you get off siccing Dick on me in the middle of a meeting?”, the man demands.

You didn’t hear the heavy manor door creaking open. So you had no idea just who this man was talking to. During the struggle with Duke earlier and the tickle fight, you didn’t see Alfred. You doubt the man stuck around during the shenanigans. Which begs the question. Just who was he talking to?

“Really? The silent treatment. You really are too scared to face me huh?”, the unknown man says.

Oh no. That sounded right outside your moving truck. No, nonononononono. You could feel the anger coming off him as it made your teeth chatter.

Your worst fear came true as the driver’s side door, above your head, was ripped open. No. It was ripped off the truck cab in a screech of metal that had you cringing and trying to burrow farther into Duke away from it. You were still stuck on the damn seatbelt thing that was jammed into the back of your neck. All you could do was look up and try not to burst into tears.

Because the man who just opened your door was death. You were teetering between pissing yourself from fear, and trying to control the inappropriate lust that was starting to ride you hard. Because damn. That voice, that dominance, paired with that attitude and face. My God, it’s like he was made perfectly for you. Or any Omega really. A fact that was cemented when the stern bluish-grey eyes that stare down at you flash a crimson red. Sploosh. You seriously needed to get your head checked.

“(Y/N)?”, mystery man says.

“How do you know my name?”

“Bruce told us he got you. Shit. I thought he was just pulling his usual shit”, he swears.

You were about to question who he was and what all was going on, but Duke beat you to it.

“(Y/N) this is Jason. I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would ever come back home. Speaking of what are you doing here Jason?”, Duke says.

Jason straightens, his eyes flashing another dangerous candy apple red color that brought another bout of hot oozing warmth where it definitely didn’t need to be. Not that you needed to worry about it. Like you said, you were broken. Although you couldn’t help but wonder if being by lethal amounts of Alpha fueled testosterone would kick your damaged hardware into gear. Food for thought at a later time.

“I have just as much of a right to be here, if you checked your phone you would know what was going on. Bruce… interfered with a business interaction of mine when I refused to come back to the Manor.”

“So you decided to just go ahead and give him what he wants, really Jay?”

“No. I’m going to kill him. First though, get off of her.”

The callous way he mentioned killing your employer was chilling you to the bone. You bet he could do it to. From the heavily muscled frame that was subtly flexing, his old brown leather jacket creaking as it strained. He took to cracking his knuckles as he stared down at you both. Too make matters worse, there was a small scar that twisted the left side of his face in a permanent smirk as it ran up from the corner of his slips, across his high cheekbones, and disappeared above his ear and into that thick black hair. Hair that contained a curious white streak that made you want to take a closer look. Not that you would. You were smart. Everything about this man shouted danger.

While Duke was massive in his own right, Jason looked as though he could rip linebackers in half for funsies. You believe that those thick corded thighs that your eyes had zeroed in on, the ones that his frayed jeans were struggling to contain, those are rugby thighs. Once again, it’s not your fault, you were born to be this pervy to those of the Alpha secondary gender category. Just like Deltas were made for Betas. This is all evolution's fault that you wanted to climb a psycho killer like a tree and purr. Ooooh, maybe you could get Duke to wear a firema- nope. Annnnnd you’re done. You seriously need to focus if you’re going to somehow finesse your way out of this situation.

“What are you going to do? Make me?” Duke says.

You almost think he’s teasing Jason, then you hear the bite of a challenge to an invading Alpha. Dear God, it’s almost like you’re a kid on the playground again. This was so not fun nor was it sexy. Especially with you sitting so close to the crossfire.

“I said, get off.”, Jason start growling.

Oh good, now we’re slowly becoming dogs. This is great. Totally not borderline psychotic in any way.

“You didn’t want to come back, so you don’t get to have her. Back off Jay.”, Duke warns.

“No one here gets to judge me; you know the reason why the family is so broken is sitting up there. Plotting. If I had known- well- doesn’t matter. Get off before I rip you to pieces. I might till do it, send a fun little message to our psycho father by spreading his precious new pet’s blood all over the front steps.”

“Isn’t that what Dick said to you when you met?”

“Say his name again and I will make good on my promise.”

“Can I just say one thing?”, you ask.

The tension was getting so thick you could cut it with a cheap plastic spork. Honestly, you suspect they could’ve just kept going all night if they had to with the witty one-liners. You were getting tired though, and all this negativity was not good for your heart.

“Hon, not right now, I’m winning.”, Duke tries to shush you.

First of all, how dare he shush you. You had just as much of a right to talk as they did. Duke is different from most Alpha’s you’ve met. The silent prejudice was still hanging in that back of your mind though. Omegas are useless without Alphas. So be a good little one and sit there and be pretty. Don’t ever think of talking. You know he’s not like all the other assholes you’ve encountered. What he just said though started ringing those little alarms that told you he might be though.

“No, you’re not.”, you pause and notice the slight smirk across Jason’s scarred face, “Neither of you are. Can I please get up and get my boxes in while you two have your pissing match?”

Jason lets out a surprised bark, and you give him brownie points for keeping his mouth shut besides that.

“I’ll let you up, once he goes inside.”, Duke tells you.

“No. I want to get up now.”, you say.

Duke’s next response gets cut off as you watch Jason reach over you and grab Duke’s dreads. There was a slight struggle, but the comforting weight of Duke’s body between your thighs is gone within seconds. You almost miss it. You almost feel bad when you finally wrench your hoodie free and look out the truck door and see Duke on the ground with Jason’s hand around his throat. It was ok. You can tell no real weight was being put behind it. It was just one Alpha gently reminding a younger one to submit. You’ve seen this shit all the time.

You also weren’t going to lie; the dominance was definitely starting to rev your engines.

“Please don’t kill him, I need his help with the boxes and my wheelchair”, you call out.

Jason turns to look at you, the red in his eyes damning as he stares into you. Oooh. You can have a lot of fun with that. Maybe you can ask him to pretend to be your sleep paralysis demon that has his wicked way with yo- nope. No roleplaying. No playing with these Alphas in any sexual manner. You need money and a place to stay, and while sex is nice, everyone always moves on to more compelling Omegas that aren’t broken. Besides, you’re pretty sure these Alphas don’t know their strength. Nope, you’re good without all the heartbreak and hospital visits if you go down that route.

“Boxes?”, Jay asks.

“Yeah, I’m moving in, didn’t anyone tell you?”, you ask him.

“No. They just told me- nothing. I’ll help, you don’t need shit-for-brains”, Jay says.

He gets up, slightly pushing Duke’s face to the side and into the muddy wet gravel. You can’t help but wince and give Duke a sympathetic look. Not that he was paying you any mind. His lovely brown eyes were now a liquid gold that screamed revenge. You just pray that he can hold off long enough to get your wheelchair from the back.

“What- what happened to her?”, Jay asks.

“Motherfu- get my chair”, you boss.

“She got chewed on at one of Cobblepot’s clubs”, Duke tells him.

“Shit, none of the others know huh.”, Jason sighs.

He runs his hands through his hair, and you’re stuck looking at it again. It looked fluffy and silky. Of course, it would put you in a trance, the same as the wood beads in Duke’s dreads. You might actually have a thing for hair now that you thought about it.

“No, we’ll have a war when they do.”, Duke replies cheerfully.

“Why?”, you ask. You were genuinely confused as they kept talking circles around you.

“Don’t worry about it Hon. Let’s get you inside”, Duke groans as he gets up from the dirt.

Jason reaches in and lightly grabs your good wrist as he pulls you out. You willingly let him, marveling at that the body made from the gods. Would it be bad if you reached around and gently pinched his ass? It’s just curiosity. So much muscle, how much fat?

Duke looks slightly peeved when he grabs the chair from the back and notices you in Jason’s arms. You couldn’t help but give him a slight smug wave from the safety of King Kong’s arms.

“I like the bell, maybe we should find some streamers for the back too. There’s no way she’ll get lost.”

And just like that, you lost it as Giant 1 and 2 dissolved in a fit of giggles. I’m going to kill them. Hopefully before your hormones and pheromones killed you first. Because damn it, you did seize the opportunity to smack the ass of the jack ass.

That ass is not only iconic and slightly hard, but it jiggled a little too. This is going to be so much fun living here.

#abo batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yeaaaaaaah it's getting yandere #vamp!batfam #chapter 3 is written #I just need to make the bio and post headcannons first #hopefully before spring semester starts #also been playing arkham knights #been a big inspiration to me a little with this story

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starryschoolgirl · 6 months

Text

Just A Man

| A Soldier's Song Installment |

Summary -> As the weeks leading up to Elvis' deployment to Europe begin to dwindle you and Elvis try to help your son understand what it will mean. Meanwhile, inevitable tensions between you and Elvis are pushed to the side as the two of you figure sex is better than facing your issues, especially with such little time left together.

Warnings -> mention of family death, domestic fluff, flirting, mention of war, pre-deployment, Elvis being a young dad & husband, (much needed) sex with 50s Elvis, angsty undertones, smut, kitchen sex, swearing, foot kink, stocking kink, almost footjob(?), breeding kink, oral (f. receiving), unsafe sex

WC -> 5.8k

A/N -> So this is more of a prologue to the actual events of which this au series is based upon, to sort of give a glance into what life was like before Elvis gets deployed to Europe, I hope you enjoy it! In the next installment, we WILL see Elvis in uniform. This is an installation of the A Soldier's Song AU

“That one made my hand hurt Frankie!”

The little boy giggled at his daddy’s shocked face.

That battering of a baseball against a leather mitt is all that kept you company on the back porch of your home. Watching the two boys, your two boys, in the yard tossing the ball back and forth puts a smile on your face, but as you turn your head to the empty chair next to you that smile falls ever so slightly, missing the warmth that often emanated from that chair.

Elvis had been at basic training when she passed and was only able to make it back in time for her funeral, but even then while you were a wreck he remained as strong as he could. He held you in one arm and held your little boy in the other as the service proceeded.

You’d only had two grief-filled days with him before he went back to finish his basic training, you couldn’t even figure out whether or not he’d really come to terms with his mama because it all happened so fast. And now you’d only have a few final weeks with your man, all crisp and in shape from basic training, till he was off to a poor war-stricken country in Europe.

With that in mind you remembered to smile, in the knick of time too as Elvis looked up at you after running to pick up the stray ball that had rolled along the grass toward the porch due to your little boy’s poor aim.

He stared up at you like the school boy he used to be, and said with that tone of voice you’d often heard since he first laid eyes on you, “Hey there Cutie”

And like the school girl you used to be, you’d blush and only offer a small smile as you waved him off, “Go play with your son”

Elvis gave you that look, he wanted to say something he couldn’t say in front of young ears. He got up, ball in one hand while he wore his leather brown mitt on the other, with each step up the wood porch his smile grew, you could feel his curled lips on your cheek as he leaned down to kiss it.

Then quietly he’d murmur in a cooing, baby-talk type tone,

“Daddy wants to play with Mama though”

You rolled your eyes and put a placating hand on his clean-shaven cheek. After leaning forward to press a quick peck to his lips you spoke quietly with that same baby-talk curve to your voice,

“Daddy can play with Mama when Baby goes to bed”

Elvis smiled softly at you and mumbled out a soft and assured, “Alright”, before stepping away to go back down onto the grass, giving Francis, or as Elvis nicknamed him, Frankie, an underhanded toss of the ball.

You turned one last time to the other chair and the empty cushion on it, you couldn’t look at it anymore. Thankfully you were needed elsewhere as you could smell the roast in the oven drift through the window of the kitchen out onto the porch.

After going inside as you tended to the food you could watch Francis and Elvis play about in the yard, it was quite big, but the two of them only remained within a small portion, part of the reason could’ve been because Francis couldn’t yet throw very far.

The sun was setting and the light practically flickered off of Elvis’ hair. Now being in the army he didn’t bother with that black dye, it would just be washed out as soon as he was back at base after all. And it wasn’t like he’d be making movies or releasing songs anytime soon, no not with what he was on his way to do in a few weeks.

You could just barely hear Elvis’ voice as he praised your son, “Frank my boy you might be the Babe Ruth of your generation if ya keep at it”. You couldn’t help but shake your head with a smile, Elvis talking to Francis as if the four-year-old knew who the Babe was and as if he knew what the word “generation” meant.

It was in Elvis’ nature to talk to children in that way though. He always treated them like little adults. You couldn’t recall a time when Elvis didn’t speak to children that way. His mama had made fun of him for it when Francis was two and he could only remark, “Frank is just people, like you and me are just people”

Oh goodness, you thought of her again.

You don’t think a day goes by when you don’t think about her. Elvis’ mama was a godsend, truly. And while he’d never open up about it, you know it’s affecting Elvis immensely. She was so involved in your life ever since you entered Elvis’ and she was always sweet and welcoming.

You could think back to a time not too long ago when after you’d eloped with Elvis and announced the news of your pregnancy at the young age of 18, your parents kicked you to the curb, but she welcomed you with open arms.

At the time Elvis was still driving a truck he hadn’t yet become the “movie star” that he was now. But despite the financial struggles of her Presley flock, Gladys happily welcomed another bird.

It was just a few months ago, before the whole fiasco of Elvis getting drafted and sent off to basic that you’d had a conversation with her in this very kitchen about that.

You told her how appreciative you’d always be toward her for being so welcoming to you, and she told you with an arm around your shoulder, “I’m a mother Hon, it’s only natural. The two of you were babies when ya had that itty bitty boy of yours, I couldn’t ever leave y’all out in the rain, you know that”

You knew no matter what Elvis would have stuck beside you, you knew he’d always be there to hold your hand. After all, you were mothering his child. But it helped so much more that his mother would be on the other side of you, holding your other hand to help you in whatever way you would allow.

Things were slowly returning to normal within the home, her lack of presence isn’t as pronounced, but that’s because she lives through memory now as more time passes, it’s almost like she’s not gone.

You hope that’s how Elvis viewed it. His stone face didn’t leave any slack for a crack or two, and for once it was getting hard to read him. But you’d continue to hope that it isn’t a facade and that he is okay. Yeah, you’d hope with all your might that your man was doing okay.

-----

Dinner was quiet, whenever your voice, or Elvis’ voice, or Francis’ voice didn’t fill the air, love would keep you all company. Of course as always Elvis got on Francis about playing with his food, having grown up poor Elvis was more sensitive to matters of waste such as that.

But if that was the stress high-point of the evening, then you could call it a good evening.

And as you now sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on Francis’ blanket-covered knee while Elvis kneeled on the floor next to the short, small children’s bed, you had a soft smile play on your lips as Elvis talked on the subject of him leaving in a few weeks.

Elvis and you had been explaining night after night to Francis what would soon happen, why his daddy would be going away for a while and what would happen after. After talking about it quite a bit within the first month of knowing about Elvis’ draft you and he decided it was best to be very open on the subject to make it less daunting when Elvis suddenly left home.

And after Gladys’ death you had to explain to Francis that his daddy’s absence would be different from his grandmother’s absence.

“Ya g-gonna fight bad guys Daddy?”

Elvis smiled and brought his hands up in fists, then with a few shadow-box moves which made Francis laugh, Elvis assured,

“You betcha, gonna give the bad guys one of these! And one of these!”

The little boy laughed, his laugh too big for his body as he bent over on the bed and held onto your arm with both his little hands.

After his precious giggles subsided, Francis sat up and asked curiously, a glimmer of what must’ve been a child’s worry in his eyes as he asked with that stutter that his daddy used to have,

“W-what if the bad, bad guys hurt yo-you Dad-Daddy?”

Your smile fell slightly as you and Elvis made eye contact at the suggestion. Of course that is something that you and Elvis had been careful approaching when it came to explaining this sort of thing to Francis.

You couldn’t explain it without truly worrying the boy, you felt tears prickle your eyes at just the thought. Elvis knew of your worries, he knew that quite a few of the girls you were friends with down at the beauty parlor had husband’s overseas, and that a few of them had gotten the dreaded telegram, along with a folded American flag.

He knew all too well your worries as he’d spent many nights being the one to soothe you back to bed. When he’d feign sleep even though he knew you’d spend mornings staring at him, just wanting to look at him as if you would soon lose this view.

Of course if he had died at war it might be different. Having been in a few films and sung a few hit records, he feared that if he died you might find out about his death through the newspapers. You would either find out through that, or as Elvis heard, on rare special occasions they’d send something much more personal, they’d send chaplains and military officers to tell the grieving widow in person.

Elvis hoped if he died he’d be that special occasion, that way you wouldn’t be alone when you heard about his death, the same way you were alone when you saw his mother in her state of death.

“Well,”

He started before getting up, and sitting next to you on the bed. He wrapped an arm around your waist and reached a hand out to rest atop yours which rested on Francis’ knee.

“Listen buddy, that sort of thing might happen, but ya don’t gotta worry. Your daddy’s strong, and he’s gonna get home to you and Mama. He promises.”

Your lip quivered as you tried to smile. Elvis could feel the way your hand tensed under his, he quickly pressed a kiss to your cheek and mumbled quietly for his little family to hear,

“And ya know I’m not a liar, I wouldn’t piss on ya leg and tell ya it’s rainin’ now would I?”

You abruptly turned your head toward Elvis’ crude analogy and hit his shoulder lightly making him laugh as Francis giggled at his daddy using a “nasty” word.

As Elvis laughed he stood up and pulled you with him, leaving enough time for you to kiss Francis goodnight before taking you with just a tug of his arm around your hip.

As you reached for the lamp next to your son’s bed your spoke softly,

“Get a good sleep Frannie”

Once you and Elvis were making your way out of the room he teased you softly with his hand still resting at your hip, “Wish ya would stop callin’ him such a girly name, his name’s Francis”

As soon as you closed the door you laughed softly and pointed out, “So he’s Francis when I call him Frannie but he’s not Francis when you call him Frankie?”

Elvis shrugged and popped out a “yup” as he guided you down the hall. Just before reaching the bedroom you told him you remembered you still had some dishes to do and made a B-line to the staircase to head toward the kitchen.

After getting down there and getting the dishes loaded you found yourself standing in front of the sink, staring down at the soapy dishwater with not a thought in mind.

It was Elvis’ voice that pulled you from your trance as he spoke, “Baby?”

You jumped slightly and turned around to see Elvis throwing you a confused half-smile, his red shirt from earlier was off and he was left in just black trousers and his wedding ring. There was a dampened towel on his shoulders, the tips of his hair were slightly wet, likely from having just washed his face.

You sighed softly with a smile at the sight, “I’ll be up in a minute Handsome, just getting some things done”.

Elvis’ neck stretched slightly as he saw the dishes were washed and now laid on the drying rack, he then turned toward the stove to see that the leftovers were put away. You didn’t have anything to do.

He took a few steps forward, till he could comfortably rest his hands at your hips.

“Looks to me like everythin’s been done, why don’tcha head upstairs with me?”

You took a moment to look around and realized he was right, quick on your feet you slid away from his hands and walked over to the oven and opened it, you gestured a hand toward the inside,

“I haven’t cleaned the oven out yet”

Elvis’ eyebrows furrowed as he shook head and mumbled with a hand on his hip,

“Honey, ya never clean the oven out till the 1st of the month, I mean unless things have changed that much since I’ve been at basic…”

You sighed softly. As you gently closed the oven door Elvis walked over to you with a small frown, his hands finding their place at your hips once again as he asked,

“What’s goin’ on Genevieve?”

You bit your lower lip softly, whenever Elvis called you by your name you knew he was serious, there was no wiggling your way out of it, especially now that he had you pressed back against a kitchen counter, his hands gripping your hips with resolution and a look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t letting you go without a fight.

With a shake of your head you looked away from Elvis, suddenly deeming the drying rack a few feet away to be a better view than your half-naked husband. Elvis’ head followed your gaze and suddenly it was him you were looking at again.

“I just, I wish you would stop doing that…”

Elvis looked confused as he ran a hand through his uncombed hair. He really looked different from a few months ago, his jaw was sharp and his cheeks sort of caved in, but not in the way a waif’s would. His hair was a crisp, fall-ish brown, and his body was cut in a way that felt a little foreign.

While he was naturally slim and tall, he was usually still soft and smooth around the edges. You’d realized his first night back from basic that his body was more sharp and angular, and you worried they weren’t feeding him properly. But as he’d been home a week or two now, his body remained sharp and cut, and now your worries were on your own lacking areas, you knew your food couldn’t replace his mama’s but you’d swear if his mama were here, he’d be back to his soft and squishy self.

“Stop doin’ what Hon?”

As your eyes lingered over his body more you’d completely forgotten what you’d first been talking about as you changed the subject by asking, “Are you still hungry?”

Elvis laughed softly and titled his head to the side, “What are ya talkin’ about?”

Your lower lip quivered in worry and concern, it seems all the dulled emotions you’d been feeling lately came together to overpower your own emotional maturity as your lip wobbled pathetically. As Elvis saw the sight his smile fell and his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he bent down slightly to look you head on. “Oh, Baby, now,” He cupped your cheeks with his hands to keep you from turning away from him.

There was a soft incredulous laugh that left his lips, “Why are ya cryin?”

As Elvis pulled you close to him, you could feel his body shake with each laugh that left his lips, you knew what he was thinking, it was what he always thought (and sometimes said) whenever you started crying, it was-

“You women and your emotions…”

And just as you would everytime, you’d hit his chest with all your might (which would only evoke another laugh at your pitiful effort) and mumble into his chest wetly, “Stop laughing at me Elvis Aaron Presley.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t laugh anymore Mama, now what was it you wish I would stop doin?”

Your arms around his waist tightened slightly as you thought back to the original topic of discussion. Elvis gave you a moment as he rubbed his chin along the top of your head, ruffling your hair in doing so, but you didn’t care enough to mind.

“I just wish you would stop pretending you’re this indestructible force Elvis.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke,

“Well, I gotta make sure my son knows there ain’t a man better than his Daddy, ya know that Hon”

With a soft sigh you pulled back enough to look Elvis in the eye while your arms remained around his waist.

“I’m talking about with me, Elvis. You do that same thing with me that you do with Francis. You talk to me like I’m a child- Like, like I don’t know what you’re going into, like I haven’t been reading the papers”

Elvis’ smile flatlined as he listened to your words. You continued on.

“I’m your wife Elvis, I know that you’re not some indestructible being.”

As Elvis' eyes lingered away from yours, you placed a hand on his cheek to regain his attention as you could tell he was searching for ways to change the conversation.

“You’re just a man Elvis”

There’s his way out. Elvis bit his lower lip before breaking into a smile as he stared down at you. His hands that were wrapped around your waist fell down to each globe of your ass, giving you a soft squeeze through the fabric of your dress. The abruptness of the action caught your attention as your eyebrow lifted in suspicion and confusion at what he was doing.

Here you were pouring your heart out and he-

“Well, I can admit I am just a man, and a man’s got needs ya know?”

He had a boyish smile on his lips as he said the last part quietly, as if he were a child trying to tempt his mother into letting him get his favorite piece of candy. You knew how this would go, it would go as it always did. You and Elvis would avoid this topic and go on to avoid a few other topics, then in a few weeks or a month you and him would get into a huge argument of all the topics combined just to kiss and make up.

It’s happened often within your relationship, hell, you and him hadn’t fought the entirety of your pregnancy with Francis and on the day your water broke, all hell broke with it as you and Elvis got into a huge argument. You almost gave birth in the house because you refused to have him be the one to drive you to the hospital.

But that would be fine for now, especially when he smiled down at you the way he was now.

Your previous pure look of concern had washed away with a defeated smile as his hands continued to knead the flesh of your ass like dough and his smile only dug into his cheeks further, almost bringing back that full look of them.

With a fond tinge to it, you sighed out,

“You really are just a man”

He brought his nose down to nuzzle against your cheek before pressing his lips against the soft skin, murmuring, “Your man”

“Mhm, my man”

You began to giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips dragging from your cheek down along the sensitive skin of your neck. You tried tucking your chin into your neck as you continued to let you squealed laughs.

Elvis let out a soft playful growl as he spoke into the skin,

“Flutterin’ around like a bird”

To stop your incessant wiggling Elvis tightened his arms around your waist, his nose changed locations from the crook of your neck to the dip of your collarbone till it landed in the deep neckline of your dress, snug between your breasts as he nuzzled himself into the skin, trying to get a whiff of you in your purest form.

The smell of you at the end of the day, the light scent of your perfume that somehow lingered late in the day mixed with whatever sweat had tried to grace your body, it was a smell he couldn’t get enough of.

His lips began to press gentle little kisses at the inside of both your breasts as he tugged at the neckline a bit more, trying to give himself more ground to cover with his lips. You laughed softly and buried your hands in his brown locks as you pressed numerous kisses atop his head.

You could hear him mumble where his head was buried between your breasts,

“Mm kiss me Baby…”

You laughed softly and between pecks on his forehead said, “That’s what I’m doin’”

He finally came up, his eyes lidded slightly as he murmured, “I mean really kiss me”, before kissing you with the same lips he just worshiped the skin of your tits with.

You hummed into the kiss with delighted surprise at the hungry tenderness of it all as Elvis’ body backed you completely against the kitchen counter. He felt around blindly for the counter behind you as he refused to break the kiss and then with two gentle pats to the back of your thighs you jumped up just slightly for him to pick you up by the thighs and push you onto the counter.

Elvis’ hands quickly worked the fabric of your dress, tugging it up till it pooled around your waist and as he pulled away from the kiss to look down between the two of you he was left with the sight of your legs, almost completely bare except for your seamed stockings that ended at your thighs and were held up by the garters connected to your panties.

His hands glided along the thin fabric of your stockings along your calves and thighs, he loved how they felt. You couldn’t help your smile as he admired you. When he stepped back he could pull one of your legs up nice and high so that he could see the seams on the back of your stockings that ran up your legs, giving the illusion that you had much longer legs than you really did.

All his focus was on that leg that he had stretched above your head, pointed to the heavens as he stared with admiration. You, his own point of interest, had betrayed him as your other lonely leg that dangled from the counter stretched forward to dig lightly at the bulge beginning to form in Elvis’ black trousers. Elvis’ brows creased and his eyes closed as his mouth opened to let out a low, heavy breath.

“Oh, Mama…”

Elvis’ grip that held your foot high had loosened at the undoing of his usually calm and collective nature within the act. “Mhm?” You took the opportunity and brought your other foot down to join in on the pushes and presses of your feet into the growing bulge.

He only repeated with a breathy, more defeated voice,

“Oh… Mama…”

His head fell back slightly and his legs looked to be going a little slack, knees bending in the slightest as his hips pushed into the pressure of your feet.

It was only when you attempted to dig your foot’s heel into Elvis’ groin did he make a move, spreading your legs apart and pushing his way between them with an eagerness. His hands were quick as he unclipped your garters, followed by the rough yanking of your stockings off your legs. You were thankful you had stabilized yourself onto the counter with your hands otherwise he might’ve yanked you off it right along with your stockings.

You figured you’d help him as you lifted your ass up and began to shimmy your panties off, having to bite your lip to keep back from whining at the cold slap of the counter against your thighs and warmed heat. As Elvis turned to look at you, his mouth was left slightly agape, he could never get used to the image of his wife being all pliant and pretty for him.

The men he used to work with as a young truck driver told him to never get married to a girl he liked, because when women became wives they lost their appeal, they became prudent and too good for casual sex with their husband. Oh how wrong those men were.

“Spread ‘em f’me Hon”

You obeyed as you watched Elvis kneel down, he had enough height on him to where even kneeling down he could easily be face to face with your bare cunt as you sat on the edge of the counter.

From below he made eye contact with you again and murmured,

“Spread those as well Baby”

You let out a breath at his words, feeling a heat spread from your chest up your neck from the embarrassment of where he was referring, but you’d listen. Your hand hesitantly danced down your body before landing at your cunt, and with a soft, wet sound, your pointer and index finger spread the lips of your pussy apart, giving way for Elvis to see the white discharge that was just edging out of your entrance, you had practically sprung a leak down there.

“You’re so pretty Baby…”

He looked up at you to make sure you knew it before steadying himself by gripping the sides of your thighs before pressing his head further between your legs. His aquiline nose ran along your core before anything else, but his tongue and lips were quick to follow as he licked a stripe up the center.

You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling and tilted your head back to stare at the ceiling, the blank ceiling, boring enough for you to be able to focus entirely on the sensations Elvis was filling your body with.

As his tongue poked and prodded at your entrance you let out a cacophony of back-to-back breaths. As he moved his lips lower, his tongue now scraping along that gap of skin between both your holes, his nose was enveloped entirely by your entrance, and you could feel it inside of you.

Then his fingers on one hand reached toward that little nub of nerves that rested atop your pussy like a pretty bow, and like an expert he could easily undo that bow with the twists and turns of his index and middle finger.

That is what made you squirm and squeak, hushing out a high-pitched,

“Elvis..!”

His answer was a hungry hum which only pushed you even further as the low baritone of his hum reverberated in your pussy. “E-Elvis..!”

Your hands burrowed greedily into his hair as you contradicted yourself, while you made it seem like you wanted him off you, you only pushed his nose further and further into your entrance, you might suffocate him at this point. It was as if his life was in the hands of whether or not he could make you come.

You attempted to drive your hips further into his mouth as he pulled you closer with that hand still gripping your thigh.

As his fingers strummed your clit like the strings to a guitar your breathing got uneven as you felt the incoming of those waves of pleasure that only your very own husband could pull from you.

He groaned loudly into your heat as your grip on his hair became painful to the man bearing it, but he’d continue on till he got you to your release.

“Oh fuck Elvis..! I’m, I’m…”

Your hands entangled in his hair began to drive his head completely home as you let out a guttural moan, the pleased pitch cutting off as you’d reached the peak of your pleasure.

Your entire body felt limp, not even having enough strength in your hands to continue holding onto his hair. Elvis’ head remained tucked away long enough for your dress to fall over onto his head and hide him away as he finally pulled away for air.

You watched with tired eyes as his hands came up to pull the fabric off his head, he had the biggest lazy smile gracing his lips as he looked up at you, and for a moment you had a hard time deciphering whether or not the dampness on his face came from his sweat or your own pleasure, you settled on it being a mix.

“I make ya feel good Honey? Played with Mama just right, hm?”

He slowly stood up and brought the fabric of the dress up with him.

“You always do Elvis,”

He hummed with a smile and brought the wrung up fabric to your mouth with one hand and tugged your chin down with the other, leaving room for him to set the fabric between your lips for you to bite down on.

“Good, now, you’re gonna help Daddy feel good too now right? Gonna sit still f’me right?”

You hummed, “Mhm”, feeling eager to please the man after the trip he just sent you on. Elvis smiled down at you as he watched you hold the fabric between your teeth.

The fumbling of Elvis’ hands undoing his trousers was momentary as he’d become a bit of an expert at undoing his pants in the years you two have been married. You watched with blown out eyes as his dick shot up against his pubes and stomach as it was freed from the confines of Elvis’ pants and underwear.

Your legs were already spread and ready, your hole was already warmed up and loosened, you were his for the taking.

As Elvis took a step forward he tugged you just slightly closer to him before lining his uncut cock along your hole. Then he pushed in. His eyebrows creased from the pain of needing to be patient at this part, trying to find a good balance of needing to be watchful of your expression while wanting to watch as his foreskin begins to prematurely slide back before he’s even completely inside of your warm pussy.

“It’s goin’ in smooth Honey? N-no burn or anythin’ right Baby? I can keep goin’?”

You hummed out a quick, “Mhm”, with an eager nod of your head, and you could see the relief spread along his face at not needing to wait, because to be quite truthful he wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

Elvis kept a hand on his base as he guided the rest in and when he was fully in, his arms wrapped around your waist tightly, practically pulling you off the counter as he wanted to be as close to you as possible while he pressed kisses along your neck.

“Fuck Baby, feel so good,” He groaned softly as he pulled out slightly just to shove his way back in, eliciting a used squeak from you as he did so. “Think that I still haven’t broken ya in properly after bein’ at basic f’so long huh?”

You could only moan softly at his words as you kept the fabric of your dress clenched between your teeth. As he repeated a similar motion he mumbled into the skin of your neck,

“It’s alright Honey, we’ll make more room in there, make more room for a little one or two…”

You wiggled slightly only for his body to press impossibly closer as he spoke through gritted teeth, “Just need ya to sit” he pulled out just to harshly press back in, evoking a whimper from you, “still.”

Elvis’ thrusts became fuller and more drawn out with every second that passed and every moan that left your lips. He was a chatty lover, and while he liked to believe he was talking you through it all, it was really himself he was talking through the motions of sex. He had a strange anxiety when it came to sex that had only shown itself since his takeoff in the entertainment business.

“Gonna fill ya so full of me, gonna leave a piece of myself here to watch over ya Honey,”

Your noises continued to be muffled by the fabric that was becoming soaked in saliva from being kept in your mouth for so long.

The build-up of precum that had been filling your insides made for a wonderful lubricant, even better than your body’s natural one. Elvis’ hips continued to thrust roughly into you. As the speed doubled, even tripled, Elvis’ breaths and voice got raspy.

You were certain he’d bruised your cervix by now, but the desperate rasp of his voice left you as gooey as your insides were.

“Shit, this is it..!”

Elvis buried face into your neck and you felt the heat of his breath sprawl across your skin as he groaned throatily. The animalistic, rhythmic pace of his hips dying down to slow downward grinds. He slurred out as he came down from that peak of pleasure,

“So good… So fucking good…”

Finally as his body came to a rest you spit out the fabric and inhaled as much air as possible through your mouth.

As Elvis geared himself to pull out, your arms wrapped around his neck abruptly as you held him close, mumbling a soft, “Don’t.” as you did so.

Elvis’ body felt stiff for a moment as he asked with hushed concern,

“W-why? Did I hurt ya Hon? You know you’re supposed to tell-”

You stopped his sentence short with a quiet,

“No, you didn’t hurt me. Just, wanna be with you a little longer. You don’t mind do ya?”

Elvis let out a breath of relief to hear that. He’d never want to hurt you. So in that moment of silence he held you close and buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting his nose linger on that pulse point that he watched you apply perfume on every morning for the past 4 years.

And you carded your fingers through his hair, kissing the skin of his head as a form of apology for how rough you were with it earlier.

His voice was like honey, sweet and thick as he assured,

“Of course not. I wanna be with you all the time, otherwise I wouldn't have married ya”

You smiled and remarked into his hair,

"Smartass..."

To which he fondly mumbled,

"Cutie"

This was more a passion piece, just because I really wanted to write something involving those pictures, seriously he's such a dad.

The masterlist will be posted and linked as soon as I get up from my nap! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!!

Taglist Lovelies: @suraemoon, @drtyelvisfantasy, @mydarlingelvis, @astral-eyed-cat, @lialocklear, @obsessedvibee, @sexystarfish, @everythingelvispresley, @thebardotreincarnate, @prettyprissyblvd

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billthedrake · 18 days

Text

FAMILY BUSINESS

"You want another, son?" Frank Mazza asked as he and his son Anthony sat in the living room of Frank's townhouse. Thursdays after work were generally dad-and-son time, a chance to catch up outside of work. It was pretty much the same every week. Two beers before Tony went back to the "luxury apartment" he shared with his girlfriend Becky. The TV on mute as ESPN or some sports game played. Conversation drifting between small talk to serious matters and back to small talk.

Every Thursday Frank asked his son if he wanted a third beer, and every Thursday Tony declined. Frank gathered Tony wasn't pussy whipped or anything, but the two had shared enough guy talk to know the 24-year-old never liked to miss a day when it came to sex and if he came home too late, or too drunk, Becky wouldn't put out.

The Mazza men had shared a lot more guy talk lately.

Tony lifted up his bottle and gave it a glance before finishing it off with a final swig. The kid had the killer Mazza smile and those soulful brown eyes that made him a ladies man in high school and in his fraternity days at college. "Yeah, sound good, Dad," he said. "Though I'll have to take an Uber or something."

Frank cracked a grin and patted Tony's knee with his big mitt of a hand before he hoisted his beefy body up. "You're always welcome to crash in the spare room."

Tony grinned. "You ever gonna put away all my football trophies?" he laughed.

Frank chuckled. "It's still your room, Tone... I guess a father never gets over the empty nest thing."

Tony rolled his eyes some but didn't lose that Mazza smile. "Empty nest? Dad, we see each other practically every day. More than after the divorce."

Frank winced a little in the grimace. That had been tough. He still didn't know if he'd made the right move divorcing Janice when he did. It killed him to think he'd put his son through that and selfishly he knew it had made his relationship with Tone a lot tougher for a lot of years. "Yeah," he said softly.

"Come on, Dad," Anthony objected. "I didn't mean it like that."

Frank nodded and went to get two more beers. He felt relieved when he came back and indeed Tony was in one of his relaxed, happy go lucky moods.

"Long day," the son said as he took a sip.

"Now you know how I've felt all these years," Frank said. It wasn't that Frank Mazza didn't value being a family man, but he'd always been a workaholic. He loved being in the provider role, maybe, and certainly loved the satisfaction of an honest day's work, maybe it was more satisfying than the emotional connections he sometimes had a hard time with in marriage.

Anthony shrugged. "I don't mind the hours when I know I'm working for myself."

Frank grinned. He was 44 now and thick-muscular Italian looks were now more clearly handsome. Gray temples set off his tan face and his otherwise dark hair. And his clean-shaven scruff made his dark complexion more alluringly masculine. "You know... I didn't expect you'd come back and join the business," he said, opening up with that third beer.

Tony grinned. "Yeah, Dad. I know. But I never had a doubt I wanted to... I mean... you worked hard to build the business up, I wanna do the Mazza name proud."

Frank worried he was going to get emotional. He and Tone had a rough patch when he was in high school, and he knew for sure that once the kid went off to college and got the degree his father never did... well, Frank expected Tony to never look back.

Instead, Mazza Contractors became Mazza and Son. They joked that Frank was the Brawn and Tony was the brains. It wasn't like his son wasn't muscular in his own right - a former tight end in high school and a regular devotee of the gym these days, Tony was downright buff. But he had a Bachelors in Business Administration and a good head for accounting. Tony was already the one interfacing with clients, generally well-to-do suburbanites looking for an upscale kitchen or bathroom remodel job. More than Frank, he knew how to talk those fuckers' language and how to placate demanding Karens. And when needed, Frank would show up to assure them of that blue-collar work ethic.

"So..." Frank said, changing the subject. "Becky not expecting you home?"

Tony shook his head. He had a look that was a mix of wounded and defiant. "Nah, we broke up."

"What?" the father said. Maybe because Tony had rekindled things with his high school sweetheart after graduation, he expected this one to last. "Sorry to hear, son."

Tony shrugged. "It's all right. It kind of sucks, but I was the one to call things off."

Frank leaned forward, his brown eyes showing that parental concern. "Can I ask what the problem was?"

Gone was that Mazza smile as Tony explained. "It's just... you know how Becky is very independent. You know, the career woman type... I don't know, Dad... I think I need someone more traditional."

"Traditional?" Frank questioned.

Tony grinned. "Yeah, you know, kind of like you and Mom. The wife staying home, taking care of things, the man being the bread winner. That kind of thing."

Frank patted Tony's shoulder in reassurance. "I know times have changed," he said. "But I'm pretty sure there are some traditional women out there."

Tony nodded. "Probably, yeah."

Frank leaned in and sais in a quiet, conspiratorial tone. "Just be careful... some of the traditional girls... well, they sometimes expect to be spoiled some. Particularly if they're pretty."

Tony laughed. "I know Mom was a princess, Dad," he said. "You don't have to mince words."

Frank clapped Tone's firm shoulder and withdrew his hand. "Guess not. Look... I made a promise I was never gonna speak ill of your mother to ya. But I'll just say there were times I wish I'd been supported more at home. After a ten hour day, sometimes a man just wants to be pampered a little when he gets home, you know?"

Tony's eyes met his. "That's it in a nutshell, Dad. It's just us guys, right?" the son asked as a prelude to what he was about to say. Not all fathers and sons talked openly about sex, but Frank never seemed to have any hangups, and since Tony had first gone to college they reconnected almost like buddies as much as family.

"Yeah," Frank assured him. "Just us guys."

"Becky was nice and all... and in my way I loved her, Dad. Still do.. but, fuck... I'd get home from the office and she'd be yammering about all her work crap and I'd just want to kick back and get a fucking blowjob."

Tony's crude words didn't shock Frank. Just as Frank's never shocked Tony.

"I hear ya, son," the man said. "Your old man's not one to be handing out dating advice, but you should find a girl who likes giving head and doesn't mind giving it."

Tony grinned. "Had one girl in college who did. But she was a stuck up bitch," he said. "She thought she was slumming it by going out with an Italian dude... I guess we both used each other."

Frank grinned. He had a good idea which girl Tone was talking about.

But his son's train of thought had already moved on. "Well, it's a hell of a lot easier with guys."

Frank's eyes went wide. He'd had a couple experiences like that under his belt. But the father-son chats had never gone there, not even in their most buddy-buddy candidness. "You done that, Tone?"

His son took a sip of beer and nodded. "It's easy as ordering fucking takeout, Dad," he laughed. "You go on your phone, see what's on the menu, pick out a cocksucker... and then it's pick up or delivery." His accent was now half North Jersey, half generic college-bro, but as he talked crudely, his thicker Jersey side won out.

Frank laughed. His mind was going to where he tried not to let it go. To the idea of his own son's cock and some man servicing it. "Easier than when I was your age," the father blurted out.

Now it was Anthony's turn to be surprised. "You done that, too, Pop?"

Frank blushed, but he didn't want to seem like the shy one. "Well, maybe a little younger than you... before I married your mother... sure, but it was more buddies helping each other out, you know?"

Anthony gave a half-shrug, half-nod that said he'd never had that kind of arrangement with his friends. Then his lips curled into a naughty smile. "You, uh, interested in some fun, Dad?" he asked.

Frank gulped. His mind was definitely going somewhere it shouldn't. And at that moment he wished his only son wasn't so goddamn handsome.... "Whaddya mean?" he asked softly.

Tony pulled out his phone and swiped to open it. "There's one guy who always drops everything when I hit him up," he typed the phone screen a couple times and looked up. "He's really fucking good, Dad... my favorite lately... I'm sure he'd be up for taking care of you, too."

"I don't know, Tone," Frank said, caution kicking in.

But his son was undeterred. "Come on, Dad, it'll be fun..." Then leaning back, he flashed that Mazza smile to his father and asked, "when was the last time you got laid?"

Frank shook his head. "I'm not sure this is something a father discusses with his son."

"It's just us guys, Dad," Tony countered. "How long?"

Frank blushed again. "Eight months."

"Jesus fucking Christ," his son swore. He went back to messaging the online cocksucker. "You're definitely getting some head tonight."

The burly, blue collar man thought he'd be pissed at Tony for being bossy like this. But he was secretly glad. He needed to get out of his comfort zone. Maybe Tone was onto something, using guys until the right woman came along. And he even more secretly he felt a thrill at seeing his normally good-kid of a son have a naughty sexual side. A take charge side.

"There," Tony said with a laugh as he set down his phone. "Told ya. He'll be over in fifteen minutes."

Fear came again to the Dad. "Is he... um gonna do both of us? At the same time?" The idea thrilled Frank but scared the hell out of him too.

Tony shook his head. Eyes meeting his father's for that brief moment of illicit knowledge passed between them. Tony imagining that incestuous scenario but he laughed it off. "Fuck that would be wild... ha, no, we'll take turns. He knows you're my dad, though... I think that turns the fucker on... hope you don't mind."

"No," Frank replied quietly. Then looking into Tony's brown eyes, he asked, "He's good, you say?"

"The best," the son replied. He nudged Frank's arm. "Seriously, he's gonna put those high school buddies of yours to shame."

Frank was still nervous when the guy showed up. Ian was his name. Good looking, gym built gay dude in his late 30s. Surprisingly comfortable being led in by Tony.

"Ian... this is my Dad. Dad, this is Ian," Tony said. Weirdly confident and relaxed. "Ok, if I go first? I could fuck a hole in the wall I'm so horny."

Frank felt a tightness in his crotch. He'd shared guy talk with Tone, but never seen his boy quite like this. He just gave a nod and watched his son lead Ian down the hall.

The wait was interminable. But was really five minutes tops. Then Tony strutted in, face flushed, a smile showing. That recognizable just-got-laid relaxation on his face.

"Your turn, Dad. He's waiting in my room for ya."

"Thanks," Frank said, standing up. He considered backing out, but he was too turned on now. He wasn't as nearly self conscious as he should have been by the hardon his son could see or the smirk Tony flashed when he saw it.

Ian was waiting for him all right. Sitting on Tony's old bed, surrounded by his son's old stuff that Frank kept in that second bedroom, all the posters and the football trophies. The man was unzipped and had a cock in hand and a horny look on his face.

"God, I can't believe this," the cocksucker said.

Frank didn't know a lot of gay guys, but this guy was rearranging a lot of his hang ups fast. He looked at the guy's dick. The first he'd seen up close and personal in a long time. He shut the bedroom door and locked it. Then turned to Ian.

"Ok, if I suck you?" he asked. He was almost too chicken to ask, but he knew he'd never get a chance like this again.

Ian's eyes went wide in surprise for a second, then he let go of his prick, a solid tool nearing seven inches and standing ramrod straight as the man leaned back on his arms on Tony's bed. "Sure, man... go for it."

Frank Mazza was running on adrenaline. The way he crouched down and got in place. Like he'd seen chicks do in porn. He was like one of those bimbos, he thought, but the idea didn't scare him like he thought. It turned him the fuck on.

"God yes," Ian hissed as Frank started taking that dick into his mouth. "Suck me, Daddy."

Hell, this was fucking with Frank's mind. He bobbed faster and deeper. He choked some and Ian had to tell him to go slower. He did and gradually he got into a good rhythm, a nice balance between speed and depth.

THIS felt incredible, the father decided. Not like those truth-or-dare experiments or those BJ swaps with his high school buddies. This was raw intense sex between meen. Frank was 44 and just now discovering how right this felt for him. He sucked more furiously, happy his gag reflex was holding off. Barely but holding off.

Even as cum pulsed into his throat. Ian didn't bother to announce his orgasm. Didn't matter: Frank would have swallowed that load greedily. He almost didn't want to relinquish that prick, but Ian was getting sensitive.

"Damn... you should definitely treat your son to THAT," he laughed. "That's some great head."

Frank leaned up. He was beyond thinking straight, he was horny as hell and hard in his jeans. "What?" he asked.

Ian grinned. "Dude, you're both such pervs... Tony couldn't stop talking about you the whole time I blew him."

"For real?" Frank asked excitedly, not concealing what he wanted the answer to be.

"For real," the man assured him. Then reading the older man's face, he added, "That turns you on, doesn't it?"

Frank nodded, tears welling up a little, but his dick hard as steel.

Ian grinned and reached down to rub Frank's crotch and unbutton him. "I wanna suck you too, man... first son, then father... total fantasy on a silver platter."

Frank grunted and nodded. And then watched as an experienced cocksucker crouched down and slowly, expertly brought him off to a deep cum.

The two got straightened up and Ian got a suddenly sheepish look on his face. "If I give you my number, will you let me know if anything happens between you two?"

Frank could tell the incest thing was a big turn on for this guy. But was feeling less comfortable now. "I don't know, man."

"Come on... just take my number. You don't have to tell me anything too private. Hell if you just wanna hit me up for some no-strings fun, that's cool."

"Yeah," Frank relented. He had to admit that idea was appealing.

Ian gave a quick wave as he walked past Tony. "Later, man."

"Yep," Tony half waved and went back to watching sports.

Frank realized he had a similarly primal look of sexual satisfaction his son did a while ago. But as he sat down, he realized that maybe something more had transpired that evening. That maybe the genie was out of the bottle.

He looked over at his son. He had the Mazza nose and jaw line, along with some of his mother's good looks. Tony was a stunner, all right, just the kind of young stud that was just "nice" and approachable to get women to put out.

Frank thought about what it would be like to suck his son's cock.

Tony caught his father looking. He glanced over with a wink. "Ian's good, right, Dad?"

Frank blushed and nodded, turning his attention back to the TV and picking up the beer for a much needed gulp. It was half-warm but he didn't care. The man was parched now. "Yep, Tone," he finally replied. "Like you said... the best."

#drakestories

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nochukoo97 · 8 months

Text

when you show that jungkook is your man

main work: venom

word count: 680+

You watched from the corner of the room as Jungkook sparred with Woojae, boxing gloves making contact with the mitts.

There were a few other people training in the gym as well, but they were mainly on their own. However, you definitely didn’t fail to notice a certain someone ogling at your boyfriend from the corner of the room.

Yubin practically had heart eyes as she stared at Jungkook, his muscles still prominent through the loose shirt he was wearing, you couldn’t help but feel a little agitated at the sight of her drooling over your boyfriend.

“Okay, nice work today Jeon, you’re done,” Woojae pats him on the back, taking off his mitts. You’re about to get up to walk to your boyfriend, but someone else beats you to it.

“Jungkookie~” She bats her lashes at him, wrapping her arms around his, “Do you want to hang out after this?”

“I can’t, I’ve got plans,” He attempts to shrug off her grip, but she relents. He had plans with you, to be specific.

Your blood boils at this sight, didn’t she at least have some form of personal space? It made you mad to see another girl, especially her, cling onto your boyfriend like that.

“Can you not touch him like that,” You walk towards her, sending daggers at her as she scoffs.

“Why? Jealous? Just because he gives you private lessons, doesn’t mean I can’t do all this, who are you to tell me that anyways?” She rolls her eyes, attempting to pull Jungkook away from you, but he stays planted to the ground.

Jungkook awaits what you’re about to do next, he can feel your anger radiating from you as you fume in front of him. As much as Yubin had been annoying him, it was amusing to see you react this way.

“I’m his girlfriend,” You deadpan, pulling her arm away and standing in between them as you cross your arms.

Yubin doesn’t take this lightly, “Yeah right, stop trying to fake stuff just to keep him to yourself,” she scoffs in disbelief, “Jungkook, she’s lying right?”

“No?” He frowns at her, pulling you closer to wrap his arms around you, your head leaning against his chest as you smile proudly at her.

“She’s my girlfriend,” He laughs, watching as Yubin’s mouth drops to the ground, eyes widening in shock.

“What? How? When did you-“

“Two months ago, during my match, he’s mine so back off,” You giggle, pulling Jungkook to head to the couch, leaving her in shock.

“That was cute,” Jungkook whispers, tucking a strand of hair away from your face as you sit closer to him on the couch.

“That was not cute,” You grumble, “I wanted to punch her seeing her cling onto you like that,”

“You’re mine anyways, no need to get jealous,” He chuckles, leaning in to peck your forehead affectionately.

You spot Yubin glaring at the both of you from the other end of the gym, so you decided to take this opportunity to prove it to her.

You climb on top of his lap, leaning down to kiss him as Jungkook wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. He knows what you’re doing, it’s entertaining to see you become more and more bold everyday.

“Baby, I think you should wipe down before we go home,” You break apart from the kiss, tracing lines onto his chest as you tell him.

“Yeah? Wanna do it for me?” Jungkook manoeuvres you out of his lap, hands reaching for the hem of his shirt as he pulls it over his head.

He turns around, bare back exposed as you grab a towel and begin wiping him down. You make an effort to step aside, letting a certain someone catch the view of your boyfriend’s back, red angry scratches scattered here and there from your nails.

Turning around for a split second, a smirk tugs the corner of your mouth as you watch Yubin stare in horror at your boyfriend’s back, evidence of your doings all over.

Jungkook turns around, grabbing the towel from you and putting it aside, before putting a new shirt back on. You can only smile proudly, hoping that Yubin would finally know her place.

taglist: @sparklingocean @idkjustlovingbts @moonstar127 @babybella337 @ane102 @synnfulqt

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #venom!jk

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teyums · 1 year

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His Secret Admirer (Part Three) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part two | part four | bonus chapter

wc: 4.3k

a/n: here is the well awaited pt 3, I didn’t know it could get more angst-y than it already has but boy I was wrong. the next part will be the final part to the series, prepare for sh!t to go down y’allll 😗

contains: soft + angsty neteyam, lots of emotions so buckle up fr, some language (not much at all), familial conflict

“~~” resembles a time skip or a POV change

Neteyam rarely got angry. But after witnessing Eyiti purposely say what she did to hurt your feelings, he felt anger bubble deep in the pit of his stomach. He so badly wanted to chase after you as he watched you walk away, but he couldn’t risk having her run to tell her parents that the olo’eyktan’s son had disrespected her. This was what he faced on the daily, people holding his future over his head with no regard of how high he had to jump just to get it back. He was trying his hardest to keep his parents in a good mood, so when he would tell them about you they would be less inclined to deny his pleas and actually hear him out. If he went after you, it would squash all of his hopes of ever being yours. He whipped his head around to face the unapologetic girl in front of him, not being able to conceal his repugnance.

“Why did you do that?” He spoke through gritted teeth, jerking his arm away to remove her grimy mitt from his skin. “I did not promise you anything. My parents do not speak for me.” He brushed his arm, trying to expunge the feeling of her touch.

“Oh, but I think they do ‘Teyam.” She cooed with a pout that was far from genuine to shield the smug that lied behind her lips. “They said you’d talk to my parents, so that’s what you’re going to do. Unless, you want me to go and tell my father about your little girlfriend. And now that I think about it, I don’t even think I heard your parents mention her. Is that allowed?” She already knew the answer, her question was only a threat.

Everything began to add up in his mind. Why her behavior would change so suddenly- trying her hardest to gain his attention conveniently at the time you would come around. He had never once felt the urge to injure a woman, and he still didn’t, but he was definitely tempted to tag Kiri in on this conversation and support whatever method of action she chose to take.

He wished he could have told you in that moment that being her date was never his idea. But he was just as stunned, it hadn’t even been brought up to him before Eyiti revealed the information in front of the two of you. There his parents went again, making decisions for him knowing he would have no choice but to follow through. His heart felt like it had been stomped on, even more so at the thought of how badly you were hurting right now. He had no intention of leading you on, and you probably hated him for doing just that, even if it were accidental. In fact, he planned on agreeing to the Ikran ride, taking the two of you somewhere you wouldn’t be disturbed and asking you to be his date to the festival. But everything went to shit, like usual.

He exhaled sharply, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that would have this brat running to make his life more of a living hell than it was already becoming. He dodged Eyiti’s attempt at grabbing his hand to lead him along, shooting her a piercing glare. If looks could kill, the village would be planning her funeral right about now. “I can walk just fine on my own. And stop calling me that.”

He entered her family’s home with as much respect as he could muster, grudgingly taking a seat once realizing his parents had already arrived. There was nothing he could do to stall this any longer. He kept his stare avoidant, anything to distract him from the conversation at hand. There was a drastic amount of space between him and Eyiti on the mat, which Jake had not failed to realize. The voices around him sounded like they were underwater as he tuned them out. He toyed with the intricate details on his armband while they spoke, all he could think about was how this was the last place he wanted to be. His mind was anywhere else but here. The image of you talking with Ta’olu reappeared in his mind like clockwork, regardless of how many times he tried to erase it.

“Neteyam?” Neytiri’s voice repeated for the third time, sending him a warning glance once noticing he was out of it before she proceeded. “Do you agree with the date chosen for your ceremony?”

No, absolutely not. He didn’t agree with the date chosen, he didn’t even agree with the woman chosen.

Eyiti never paid him mind years ago until the day she found out what he would grow up to be. She looked at him like a piece of meat and he knew it. Not that he ever craved her attention; when she would speak he would simply imagine she was someone else. You were the only girl in the clan who saw him for who he truly was. Just a man wanting to fall in love like everybody else. Was that so bad?

Neteyam abruptly rose up from where he sat and cleared his throat, effectively cutting the conversation short with an unexpected answer. “I am sorry, I refuse to mate with Eyiti. I will only accompany her to the festival, as that has been promised by my parents. But no one other than me will have a say in who will have my heart.”

The mouths of everyone in the room fell to the floor but Neteyam stood strong on his declaration, excusing himself from the conversation and walking out of the tent- leaving Eyiti as stunned and embarrassed as she had made you feel earlier. Jake and Neytiri immediately rose to go after him, apologizing for his change of behavior as much as they could while her parents consoled their daughter who was now sobbing dramatically.

He didn’t want to accompany her to the festival at all, but declining her as a mate, and forcing his parents to meet someone new all in one day was probably not the best idea. His plan was to show up with Eyiti, then ditch her in roughly ten minutes after her parents saw them together, slip out unnoticed and find you. He’d have to get Tuk in on the plan to serve as a distraction, which shouldn’t be too difficult for him. Neteyam was a stickler for being a gentleman, but he couldn’t care less about that witch’s feelings.

His legs were sent into a slight run-walk as Jake forced him into their family home by the back of his neck. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair before turning around to face his father who was nearly red in the face, already knowing what was next to come.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much you’ve embarrassed us? Our entire family? In front of the parents of the woman who is supposed to be your mate?” He yelled a string of questions, his finger pointed out of their tent to clarify exactly what he was referring to. His eldest son stood unamused. Silent and withdrawn. His physical body was here, but his mental was somewhere unknown. His head was turned to the side, his face not even so much as flinching at his father’s words. He simply laughed to himself, dropping his head towards the floor and mumbling incomprehensible sentences to himself.

“And what are you laughing at? Which part of this is funny to you?” Neytiri chimed in, looking at him with such disbelief it would have hurt his feelings, had he found the will to care. There was no more approval he strived to seek from his parents.

“Answer your mother when she’s speaking to you, boy.” Jake growled, Neteyam’s ears perking up.

“I am not a boy.” His eyes shot up, challenging his father with zero hesitation in his tone. Neteyam had it to his wits end with his parents trying to control every aspect of his life. Elder or not, he was no longer going to let them have a say in who he chose to love or how he chose to live his life. “You heard what I said.” His accent was apparent. “I will not mate with that woman. And I will not apologize for loving another, my heart belongs to [Y/n].” He stated strongly, lifting his chin to indicate confidence in his decision.

Neytiri blinked in astonishment, her voice sputtering while she tried to find a way to continue the conversation with words instead of knocking him over his head. “And what makes you think we will allow you to mate with someone we do not know? Someone we have not deemed fit for you? This girl will be Tsahik, Neteyam!” She hissed.

This. This was the issue. His parents were so concerned about status in the clan that they let it overshadow their own son’s right to happiness.

“I have tried so many times to tell you! She is special, I swear it. You guys won’t listen to me.” He extended his hands to the pair in a pleading motion, his voice growing louder with each word he spoke and a slight crack in his pitch giving away how much this was all starting to affect him. “Dad wasn’t even one of the people when the two of you mated, it went against everything the clan knows. You cannot judge me. And I couldn’t care less about this stupid title. You can give it to Lo’ak, for all I care.” He spat, leaving them right where they stood and storming out of their home.

He was right, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Jake wasn’t a real na’vi when he first arrived, he was an avatar driver with an aborted mission. Neytiri was promised to another, but went against her parents and mated with him anyway. They both went against the rules because their love for each other was so strong, just as he was now. How could his own parents blame him for wanting to find true love just as they did?

“Neteyam!” Neytiri gasped, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth and tears forming in her eyes.

Jake immediately turned to comfort her, pulling her into a firm hug and rubbing her back. “He doesn’t mean that, I know he doesn’t. He’s just upset, I’ll talk to him.” He held her as she cried into his chest, wanting to go after Neteyam but knowing he couldn’t leave his wife alone after what had transpired.

By the time Jake had soothed Neytiri and ran out after his son, he had already set out into the air on his Ikran without another word spoken.

Neteyam soared through the purple-tinted sky aimlessly, allowing the bond with the animal to reach deep into his heart and figure out where to take him. He winced at the thought of how he had addressed his mother, the look on her face after what he said. He was fed up and couldn’t stand to argue any longer, his voice was not being heard no matter how loud he spoke and it had pushed him well over the edge. By the time he realized what he was saying, it was too late to take it back and the damage had already been done. He felt the innate urge to turn around, to run to his mother and apologize. But he was tired of doing the right thing all the time. For once in his life he just wanted to be able to make a mistake like everybody else could without it seeming like the end of the world.

His father’s voice calling his name could be heard through the speaker connected to the neckpiece they all wore for communication. He curled his lips in annoyance, hooked two fingers under the band and snapped it off his neck with ease. He pitched it into the air without another thought, letting it fall to the ground below him. He had no idea where it landed and he couldn’t care less. He didn’t want to be bothered anymore.

He allowed the wind to flow through his braids, the cold, crisp air hitting his cheek and helping in keeping him grounded. After what felt like a short journey, his Ikran slowed and prepared to land in the open field by the Tree of Voices- a place for prayers to be heard. He eyed the giant willow tree, ignoring the heavy weight in his chest. He dismounted from the bird, gently pulling his braid to break tsaheylu and smoothing a hand up its rough back, followed by a tender pat to calm its spirit. He hadn’t been here since his parents brought him to visit the ancestors, when he was younger. There had been nothing he wanted enough to call upon Eywa for, and his duties rendered him far more busy than he had expected, which left almost no time for a casual visit.

He trailed a hand along the delicate, elongated tendrils of the tree as he walked- taking a brief looking around to make sure he was alone before he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He reached over his shoulder to pull the long braid from behind his back, taking hold of one of the tree’s branches in his other hand. He watched closely as his queue reached for the branch, wrapping itself around and making the connection that would allow Eywa to hear his pleas. He could feel the intense spiritual energy coarse through his veins, allowing him to let his guard down.

His head lowered and his eyes came to a close. He had so much to say but didn’t know how to phrase it, didn’t know how to start. Neteyam was not familiar in asking for things, let alone help. He was always made to do everything himself, made to figure it out on his own like a true leader. Every moment in his life boiled down to preparation for what was yet to come, so much that he didn’t even know how to handle the emotions that would arise in the present. He was constantly running, motivation carrying him forward. But now he questioned the purpose of the race entirely. Had he ever stopped to ask himself if this was what he wanted?

“Eywa, I have come to you to ask for help, if you’ll have me.” He started, his voice merely a whisper as he continued. “I don’t know what to do.”

Going against his parents was ultimately going against everything he knew. It felt wrong. Forbidden. But giving up on his feelings for you felt even worse. At this point he didn’t care what would happen, he’d bare with having his potential title stripped from him if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

His eyes shut tightly in attempt to stop the tears he dreaded welcoming. His throat burned and a lump began to form that felt nearly impossible to swallow. He didn’t want to cry, not after he had tried so hard not to. He hadn’t in years, and he knew if he allowed himself to break down in this moment it would only lead to bringing up every other emotion he had succeeded in bottling up for so long.

Neteyam’s shoulders began to shudder and he shook his head in resistance at the shiver that struck through his body, but ultimately failed at putting up a fight. A sob finally erupted from his trembling lips and he brought his free hand up to shield his face, as if he were afraid someone would see him in such a vulnerable state. He sat in the bioluminescent flora around him, simply allowing himself to cry, something he hadn’t been able to do in years. The pressure of being the perfect son had finally gotten to him. He was aware from time that it was slowly creeping up, taking an immense toll on his mental health and he tried his best to outrun it. A slight miscalculation on his end, you can never outrun the inevitable. He had never expected it to break him down in such a way, his body physically feeling weak and hopeless. He was completely conflicted, knowing it was always best to follow his heart but it went against his coding to disappoint his parents.

He felt the presence of Eywa and his ancestors calm him, the pace of his breathing gradually returned to normal and the beating of his heart followed soon after. He wiped his face dry with the backside of his hand, regaining his composure while gathering the will to carry on with his prayer. “I have never asked anything of you until now, because nothing has ever meant more to me than this. Until I met her, I hadn’t known the true meaning of happiness, what it felt like to be alive. And now, we’ve found our way back into each other’s lives and I cannot let her go. Not again.” He felt an ache deep in his chest, fearful that even saying these words out loud would turn them into reality.

“I fear that I have disappointed my parents greatly. I said some things I am not proud of, and I am not sure if I can take back the damage they have caused.” He sighed, his eyes opening and his head raising to peer at the sky above him. “I know she is special. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it, deep in my bones.” With his hand placed over his chest, it balled into a fist against his skin and he begged with everything he had left in him.

“Please, allow them to see her the way I do.”

~~~

Had it not been for your mother that day, you don’t know what you would’ve done. The walk back to your tent was unforgiving as you tried to hide the tears that were forming once more, not out of sorrow, but of pure disgust. The speed in which you declined Ta’olu’s invitation was utterly comical. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t consider it for a second, but all the faith you had in his proposal died as soon as you found out he was only inviting you to make the same girl he ditched you for in the past, jealous. You wished you hadn’t even stopped to give him the time of day because the whole encounter only made you feel worse.

You pushed through the fabric that served as a doorway to your home and crossed the distance that separated you from your mother, sinking to your knees and tears flowing from your eyes when she wrapped her arms around you without question. “I’m too late, Mama.” You hiccuped. Your tears felt like acid on your cheeks and it hurt to even speak. You hated crying, especially over something like this. The entire process of being upset, realizing your emotions, then having to find an outlet to rid them- revolted you.

“What happened?” Your mother looked down at you, her eyebrows furrowed with concern and a hint of apprehension. Her head moved to the side with an understanding sigh when your crying picked up at the nature of her question, resting her cheek against the top of your head and stroking your hair. She quietly shushed you, rubbing your back to aid in comfort. Your fervent emotions shrouded your will to elaborate.

You sniffled, inhaling a pathetically shaky breath and forcing your voice to come together and make words after a bit. “I’m too late. He’s found someone else.” Saying it out loud to her made it all the more real. You couldn’t stop your heart from clenching when you admitted the truth to her. In all your years of loving him, your mother had never had you come to her with anything he had done that wasn’t positive.

She slowly pulled away from your embrace, but only to look into your eyes as you spoke. She needed to make sure for herself that she was hearing this correctly. “No… How? The two of you were just together only two days ago.” She sounded as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Eyiti,” You shook your head, wiping the tears that had fallen without your permission off your face with the heel of your hand, annoyed at the fact that more appeared no matter how hard you tried to settle yourself. “She’s his date to the festival tomorrow. He’s probably talking to her parents about it right now.” Your voice got quieter, your shoulders slumping down as you sulked and studied the palms of your hands- staring at the lines etched into your skin as a getaway from your feelings.

Your eyes shot up when you heard your mother breath out a sigh, it almost sounded like she was *relieved*. She quickly geared up to explain once the expression on your face became one of slight betrayal and confusion.

She shook her head and laughed quietly, “There is still time, [Y/n]. Her being his date does not mean they are promised to one another. But it very well could, if you do not take your chance tomorrow.” She used her thumbs to clean the tears that had rolled down the side of your face, cupping it in her hands afterwards. “Did you bring what is needed?” Her eyes were soft and seeing her calm expression somehow helped you in doing the same.

“Yes, I…” You blinked to clear your vision, opening your mouth to speak but settling for a nod of your head. The small bag was brought around to your front, holding it open so she could see inside.

A grin from her was all that was required to strike you with the ambition you didn’t know you had left.

Your fingers were sore to the touch and swollen after hours of carving the marbles and stones you had found into small beads. The process was intricate and painstaking. It required delicate hands and utmost patience. Had you tried to speed up the process you were at risk of cracking the material directly in half, rendering it useless. And after doing just that almost three times while trying to rush through, you had absolutely no more room for error.

You used a thin twine to weave the beads together, crocheting intricate rows of stitches between the material to hold it together, making a clasp that would be easy for him to take on and off on his own. Your mom had taught you how to make jewelry and garments years ago, you eventually surpassed her in skill. You hadn’t the desire or need to make something for a while, but the talent you possessed remained. You constructed his gift with unbelievable precision, your eyes strained from barely taking time to blink. But you were still incredibly nervous that it wouldn’t be to his liking.

Unknown to you, Neteyam loved everything you did, even if it was as simple as breathing.

You couldn’t thank your mom enough for helping you with this. She had given you a deadpan look the tenth time you expressed gratitude, so you figured ten was a good number to settle on. You felt silly even asking, so you were more than appreciative that she had offered. At first, it was hard for you to understand why she had been so supportive. Then she explained to you that when she were head over heels for your father, she had no one to lean on but herself, not even her own mother. She was more than willing to help her daughter win over the one she loved, because all she wanted was to see you happy.

Eclipse had long passed, the sun tucking itself away after a job well done and the moon announcing its arrival with how the night now encapsulated the village. The necklace was finally complete. One could tell how much effort went into it just by looking at it, it was beautiful. The beads were varying shades of brown, orange, and red- Neteyam’s favorite colors to wear. You honestly had no idea why you decided on still making it, without even knowing how this whole thing would play out at that. There was a small part of you that feared it would go to waste after what you witnessed earlier, but there was an even bigger part of you that since rediscovered the hope you previously lost.

How dark it had become outside skated past you without notice until you finally looked up from the spot your eyes were locked on since this afternoon. The both of you had even skipped dinner just to make sure you finished in time for tomorrow.

“How are you even still sitting like this?” You collapsed backwards with a exhale of great fatigue, your eyes fluttering closed against your will and your back crying out in relief. You knew hunching over in the same exact spot would hurt, but you had no idea you’d come out of it feeling a hundred years older than you already were. “Do you think he will like it?” You mumbled, sleepiness hurriedly overtaking you.

By the time your mother turned to respond, an array of faint snores could be heard. Had you not been so exhausted, you would’ve awoken at the sound of her laughing due to your mouth hanging open obnoxiously. She smiled at you with nothing but endearment, gingerly lifting your head to slip a cushion under it and draping a light blanket over your body that was now curled into a fetal position- a mindless endeavor to seek warmth. She leaned down to kiss your temple, pushing a few braids from your face so they wouldn’t disrupt you. “He will love it.” She whispered.

a/n: y’all knew i wasn’t gonna make her accept Ta’olu’s invitation that’s toooo cliche for my liking 😭 also you literally have the best mom she’s so sweet

This chapter was so emotional to write omg! but can we talk ab the fact that Neteyam finally stood up to his parents about you, need a him in my life fr 💔

Please like + reblog if you can, it’s much appreciated! 💞

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