#no words but have this pic to describe my reaction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oftenderweapons · 1 year

Text

In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 9.6k

Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact

Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.

Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.

One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)

Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours.

Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.

And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone.

At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat.

Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery.

You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram.

You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth.

Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see.

Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way.

Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world.

The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance.

“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”

Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why.

“I'm on my way back home.” You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest.

“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now.

“I'm coming home.” You repeat.

He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.”

“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment.

“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend.

You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers.

“Candy?”

“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call.

On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in.

On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen.

Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.

Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower.

The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be.

“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?”

You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more.

“Candy, love.”

You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours?

How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"?

Who is this man?

Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy?

“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you.

“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish.

This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with.

“Candy—” He starts.

“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.”

He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist.

Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass.

“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”

You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous.

“I reckon you saw the commercial.”

“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic.

Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?”

No. Not just anger.

Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone.

Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?”

You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.”

The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—

“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade.

“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum.

“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated.

“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.”

And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too.

“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.”

What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other.

“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.”

The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”

You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem.

His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone.

It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over.

He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”

You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you.

His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod.

“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m better. I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin.

“Pick me up,” you say softly.

And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom.

“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”

You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him.

He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day.

He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—

“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back.

His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better.

You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him.

You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin.

“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place.

He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.”

You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed.

He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it.

You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so.

“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.”

And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel.

“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow.

He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”

His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys.

He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein.

“Do you want—”

“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.”

He stares at you, flabbergasted.

“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it.

“Okay.”

You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly.

You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.

You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure.

“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass.

He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly.

This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk.

You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.

He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already.

“Go,” you repeat.

He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.

You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”

He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…

Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered.

And you close the door on him.

You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…

Oh, that, you think. And you get to work.

Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights.

“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you.

He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”.

He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does.

And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him.

“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet.

“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest.

“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief.

“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him.

“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show.

“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.

“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head.

“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”

“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut.

“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”

His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog

an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see.

It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts.

Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles.

“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face.

You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.”

He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you.

He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes.

“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds.

His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him.

“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly.

“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail.

“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.

“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating.

“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”

His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb.

“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him.

“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin.

“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need.

“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic.

“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him.

“I do,” you admit.

He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion.

“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious.

“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions.

“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap.

“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown.

You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts.

He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state.

“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped.

“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea.

“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.”

“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”

“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.

Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact.

“Guk?” You ask, worried.

“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”

You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.

“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”

“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout.

“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch.

“I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated.

“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you.

He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”

“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him.

He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.

Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand.

“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him.

He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”

“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth.

You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on.

“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.”

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you.

He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway.

You don’t oppose.

In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs.

You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.

You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy.

He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion.

He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious.

He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again.

“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.

“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know.

“Please,” you manage to say.

He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance.

As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells.

“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”

That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back.

You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard

as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take.

When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you.

“Are you alright, Candy?”

You nod and take some large breaths.

He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even.

“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice.

You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?”

“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf.

He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly.

You press your lips to his to distract him.

The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his.

Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment.

The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”

“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”

He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest.

He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms.

“Still jealous, love?” he asks you.

“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them.

“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you.

You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”

You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.

“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?”

“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment.

“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?”

He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you.

You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”

You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused.

“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat.

“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot.

“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk.

“And yet, you love me.”

“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.

You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down.

His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully.

“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think.

“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face.

You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers.

He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely.

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly.

He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”

You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around.

He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him.

He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.

You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface.

Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone.

Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge.

You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first.

His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches.

Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to.

“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting.

He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him.

“I’m gonna draw you.”

He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?

“Candy?” he calls, unsure.

He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided.

“What— Where—?” He’s confused.

And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for.

“Candy, for the love of—”

“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”

He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him.

“Please,” he whines.

“Just a minute.”

He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress.

“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines.

You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats.

You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head.

“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?”

You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react.

He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him.

He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen.

“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh.

“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?”

You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless.

He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently.

He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry.

Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?”

And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop.

He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle.

You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables.

He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either.

“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?”

You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.”

His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation.

“I'm sure,” you comfort him.

He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you.

You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath.

“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.”

His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars.

“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?”

You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does.

“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick.

“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.”

You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.”

The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth.

He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them.

“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you.

It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you.

You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you.

“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face.

His expression is lazy and satisfied.

Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours.

“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue.

You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May.

“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up.

“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.”

His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”

“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone.

“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”

He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more.

“Can I see the pictures in advance?”

He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”

You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”

He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”

You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back.

You shake your head. “Brat.”

And he kisses you. Just that.

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him.

He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now.

He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek.

Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass.

He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom.

A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery.

“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young.

You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”

His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet.

“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving.

“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably.

“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”

He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult.

“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again.

He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x candy #jungkook x yn #jungkook au #bts x reader #52 hertz #bangtansorciere #btswritersclub

2K notes · View notes

agustdiv1ne · 11 months

Note

hii congrats on 3k you deserve it!!! i love your works so much you're one of my favorite writers here <3 can i request for the event yeonjun + howl's moving castle + fluff and smut ? love you <3

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, smսt

wc: 3.2k

details + warnings: minors + blank/ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked, yeonjun as howl (take these two pics for reference,, phew), mc as sophie (but no defining physical features are described besides silver hair), this takes place after the events of the movie aka flying castle era, light dom/sub dynamics, vv soft sex, oral (f receiving), they are so in love it's sickening honestly

notes: starting this event off strong with one of my ults paired with one of my favorite movies...*visibly quaking* and ilyt nonnie <3 you're the sweetest

humming to yourself, you amble down the cobblestone path of a town far from the one that you once considered home. your dress brushes against your legs as you continue forward, the soft fabric rustled by a cool, gentle breeze characteristic of spring. above, clouds drift about the cerulean sky, the sun's rays gentle and warm where they kiss your skin. you soon spot the door that you had first emerged from when you had set out to complete a handful of errands earlier in the afternoon.

your focus on the door falters at the mouth watering scent wafting from a nearby stall, something saccharine and warm. perhaps one more stop is in order, you find yourself thinking as you part from your original path. your feet lead you over to the older woman overseeing the small stand surrounded by other passersby nibbling at the sweets she sells. the crow's feet around her eyes appear when she smiles at you, her chin-length hair a similar silver hue to your own.

“hello, my dear,” she greets, her voice soft and worn with time. as she continues, her hands work in tandem to package some of the treats that had lured you over. “how may i help you?”

you offer her a polite smile while you request four of the small, half-moon pastries filled with molasses-rich sugar and chopped nuts. steam rises from the ones that have just finished cooking, ready to be packaged for awaiting customers. she nods at you, smiling, as she quickly wraps up and hands the fresh ones off to a woman and her two young children to your left. the youngest hums in delight once he takes a bite, and the three of them head off down the road.

“your hair is quite beautiful, dear,” she says, the twinkle in her eyes signifying the truthfulness of her words as you place the correct amount of coins into her awaiting palm. “i’ve never seen someone so young with such a shade. it suits you well.”

“oh, thank you! that is very kind of you to say,” you reply, your soft voice imbued with surprise. while most do not comment, you have witnessed firsthand the gawking and stares of judgement that your hair has garnered in your travels. the hue is a reminder of the curse you once endured, but the fond memories it brings forth far outweigh any negative reactions you have received thus far. warmth fills your chest at the compliment.

she wraps and hands you your own pastries seconds later. bowing your head slightly, you voice your gratitude before you realize she has given you one extra. you attempt to hand one back to her, the others tucked into the basket hanging off of your arm. “ma’am, i believe you may have given me one too many—”

“nonsense,” she winks, pushing your hand back towards you. “consider it a gift.”

guilt swirling in your stomach, you try to hand her another coin. however, she refuses, shooing you away from her stand with well-wishes of safe travels. with a final shallow bow and kind words in return, you depart from the stall, your steps light and springy.

embarrassingly giddy after the sweet interaction, you scurry down the street much quicker now, eager to return home. home — it is what you used to call your family's hat shop, but now...now, home is what you call yeonjun, his youthful apprentice, kai, calicfer, heen, even the witch of the waste. they are your home, and nothing could ever exceed the joy that that truth brings you.

you remove one of the pastries from your basket, unwrapping it to take a bite, eyes widening at the sweet, syrupy taste that coats your tongue. delicious is the sole word that comes to mind. the warm delicacy only serves to heighten your mood, and it is long gone before you even reach your destination. you are tempted to reach for another, but decide against it. a hand wraps around the knob and twists, and suddenly, you are no longer in the town, but soaring high above in yeonjun's — and now, too, your own — flying castle.

“i’m home!” you call as you enter, using the heel of your boot to swing the wooden door closed behind you. though he is no longer confined to the hearth, calcifer sits there anyway; it has become habit after his years bound to yeonjun.

“oh, look who’s decided to come back!” he exclaims, flames growing brighter at the sight of you. “yeonjun’s been sulkin’ in his room since ya left — i’ve been dyin’ of boredom out here!”

you breathe a laugh at calcifer’s dramatics, looking for the young boy who is usually around when you return. “where is kai?”

“out. more magical apprentice-y tasks to do, i guess,” he replies, inspecting you as you set the basket down with pursed lips. “why the long face?”

“i got him a sweet from a stall, and it’s still hot,” you hum, beginning to place the produce and other items that you purchased onto the table. “i suppose you will have to warm it up for him later.”

“do i look like some kinda servant?” he asks, indignant. he continues to ramble about his now free status and how he doesn’t need to listen to you while you continue to remove items from your basket, placing the four remaining pastries to the side.

huffing, you finally wave the firewood you had bought for him. “how about now?”

calcifer gasps at the sight, his small arms appearing to beckon you over. he scoffs, “alright, c’mon, i’ll do it. should’ve just said you had that first.”

you swiftly gather a decent amount of wood in your arms and head over to him, handing him one after another to greedily chomp down. with each one, he grows a bit larger, brighter, his glowing yellow center expanding.

“at this rate, i’ll start likin’ ya better than yeonjun,” the fire demon claims through a mouthful of lumber, snatching another piece from the now dwindling pile that you hold.

“you already do, just admit it,” you quip, grinning down at him.

“admit what?” an inimitably deeper voice asks. head whipping around, you find yeonjun leaning against the doorway, lips quirked up in a smirk with his arms folded across his broad chest. a loose, white blouse envelopes his torso and is tucked into primly tailored trousers.

“oh, nothing for you to fret over,” you tease, well aware that he likely heard the vast majority of the conversation. he tuts, striding over to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, his chin coming to rest upon your shoulder as you present calcifer with the final piece of wood from your makeshift heap. the ends of his hair tickle your skin. he hums something low and quiet, pressing his soft, plump lips against your neck. calcifer, in turn, emits a nauseated heave.

“if ya gonna act all lovey dovey around me, i’ll just leave,” the ball of flame huffs, beginning to float in the air.

yeonjun chuckles, his arms pulling you tighter against him. “no need. i was meaning to steal this one away from you, anyway.”

“oh, great! just wonderful!” he sneers, sinking back down to the stone hearth and glowering at the man who leads you back towards the doorway. “spare my ears while ya at it!”

once you are alone, yeonjun wastes no time in pressing you against his silken bedsheets. he balances himself above you with a single forearm, his hips tucked between your parted thighs and hiked up dress. his lips waste no time in enveloping your own. slow, languid — he takes great care in savoring you, ensuring that you are as close as possible with his free hand cupping your cheek. his cheeky tongue slips into your mouth to curl against yours, causing you to exhale a muffled whine.

before you are able to slide your hands up his shoulders and around the back of his neck, he pulls away. staring up at him, you find chestnut eyes brimming with adoration. the sight of his disheveled hair and shiny, kiss-bruised lips sends flurries of butterflies through your stomach.

"“you taste so sweet, love,” he murmurs as he brushes his thumb against your cheekbone. his words dissipate the heady fog creeping into your mind, and you reach up to grab his hand.

“the pastries!” you exclaim with wide eyes. attempting to sit up, you gently push him back onto his knees. you catch the furrow of his brow, the pout forming on his lips, and you move to explain. “i purchased pastries for us to try while i was out — the stall owner even gave me one more for free! isn’t that delightful?”

yeonjun blinks. hard. how you are whining into his mouth one moment and growing distracted by sweets the next is quite beyond him, but it nonetheless causes an endeared smile to pull at the corners of his lips.

“you should try it while they’re still hot! i’ll go fetch one for you,” you continue, mistakenly taking his grin for excitement. swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stand and begin to scurry over to his bedroom door, him rising from the bed going unnoticed.

despite your newfound goal, your lover does not allow you to stray too far, catching you by the waist and pulling you back against him. his fingers weave together against your stomach, locking you in his embrace, unable to wriggle away.

“don’t leave me,” he pleads, and though you are unable to see it from your position, his tone betrays the pout that he sports. “i feel as if we haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“i’ve only been away for a few hours. you have survived much longer,” you giggle, reaching up to run your fingers through his onyx hair while he kisses up your neck, nipping the skin where you are most sensitive. you allow a quiet moan to escape, a shuddered breath following soon after when he does not halt his ministrations. attempting to pry his hands off, you say, “i’ll be just a minute, if you would let me go.”

whining in protest with his nose nuzzled against your jaw, his grip grows ironclad, the space between your bodies diminishing — and that is when you feel it: the hardness that presses snugly against your rear. heat floods your cheeks at the realization, and your struggle to escape comes to an abrupt end. “love, the pastry—”

“i’ll try it later. i’d much rather taste you at the moment,” he interrupts, voice low and breathy against your ear. the sheer desperation in his voice causes heat to pulse in your center.

he pulls you back to bed with ease, aiding you in your descent to the sheets. his hands bunching the skirt of your dress up reveals your stocking-clad legs, the fabric squeezing the meat of your thighs in a way that causes him to gulp. he slips his body between your legs, a position reminiscent of mere minutes ago, taking his time in running his hands up and down sensitive skin of your inner thighs, traveling dangerously close to your covered center. goosebumps raise beneath his fingers as a shiver slinks down your spine.

while his actions are drenched in admiration mixed with a soft sense of desire, it is too much for you to bear. overwhelmed with bashfulness, you hide your face in your hands. above you, your lover tuts, as if dissapointed with your choice. prying your hands away, he gathers your wrists and presses them into the bed above your head.

“keep your hands there,” he orders, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with need. “or else i will stop.”

your heart skips a beat in your chest at his order, but you nod nevertheless. he simpers at your obedience.

“that’s my girl.”

and suddenly the desire to melt into a puddle washes over you. the words bring you back to the first day that you had encountered him; when he had saved you from two sleazy soldiers, flew you over the town square and helped you to a balcony before disappearing. that day, you had no inkling of just how drastically your life would change. how fate has landed you here, below that very man, in love with him...you have expressed your gratitude to whatever it is above countless times.

truly, you never thought of yourself to be one for praise, but your time with yeonjun thus far has unlocked a myriad of preferences you had never given a second thought to before. as the words echo in your head, you bite your lip to muffle a tiny whine.

chuckling, he lowers himself onto his stomach so that he is eye level with your center. a finger skates over the seam of your panties, sliding up your slit to press against your awaiting bud. all the while, his plump kiss and suckle their way up your thigh until he's nosing at the crease of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds. pulling away, he helps you slip the thin, soaked fabric from you with teasing touches until you are bare from the waist down, sans your stockings.

at the sight of your glistening core, he licks his lips, taking in the way you clench around nothing. you feel terribly exposed, like a sculpture in the center of a gallery, unable to hide. he coos at your trembling state. ever so sensitive, his little doe, even after so long. holding you open, his gaze travels back up past your heaving chest to your flustered face.

“eyes on me, sweetheart. want you to watch me.” he locks his gaze with yours as he dips down to trace your folds with tongue, reveling in the way your brow furrows and your lips part, teeth grazing your bottom lip for a moment. yeonjun is nothing if not a tease, however; he continues to repeat the same movements until you are battling with the urge to snap your eyes shut and burrow your head into the sheets, until you are pleading with him for more. conceding, he dips down to your entrance only to moan at your taste. yes, this is what he has been craving all day. his tongue dips inside for a moment before he licks a bold stripe up to your clit, his eyes fluttering closed while he takes his time in working you up. you cry out as the tip of his tongue slides under the hood, toying with the tiny bundle of nerves with practiced confidence. his lips do not stray far behind, wrapping around and sucking hard, basking in the choked moan you emit in response.

but it's not enough.

he pulls away for a moment, hands squeezing your thighs. when you finally meet his gaze, he finds tears lining your bottom lashes, little dewdrops that cause your eyes to shine brighter.

“sing for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft and hypnotizing. “as loud as you desire. when we’re in this room, no one can hear you but me.”

then, without waiting for your foggy brain to register his words, he dives back in with increased vigor, his lone goal being to make you fall apart, to cause you to let go those silly inhibitions that keep you as quiet as a mouse. he is more than pleased at the cries that follow.

while he loses himself in tasting you, you are falling apart. white-hot pleasure burns in the center of your stomach, a fire that grows hotter and brighter and causes you to grip the sheets harder with paled knuckles. it winds around you and spreads across the entirety of your being. with a mist-shrouded mind, all you can do is take what he provides, grinding against his lips. despite his warning from earlier, you reach down to thread your fingers through his hair and tug. this, evidently, sets him off; more beast than human, he devours you whole. he wants — no, needs your release. cum for me, darling, please cum for me — an unspoken plea, conveyed by his zealous tongue and lips, his grip on your thighs nearly bruising. and you listen, you listen so well despite his silence, the pleasure building and building and building and—

you shatter.

wailing, a supernova of pleasure overwhelms your body and soul, hot tears rolling streaming down your cheeks. your body no longer has a beginning nor an end — you feel as though you are floating above the bed rather than laying upon it, looking down at yourself, at the man betwixt your thighs, the care with which he extracts every drop of pleasure from your center, the patience he exudes while he delivers you back down to your true existence, back to him.

slowly, so very slowly, you return back to yourself, weary eyes fluttering open to find him hovering above you. his pupils hold profound concern, the rhythmic circling of his thumb against your cheek soothing to your mind. he's frowning, and you can see the gears spinning inside his head, wondering if he had finally gone too far.

“jjunie,” you whisper with an exhausted yet lovesick grin, pulling him close so that your foreheads press together — and with the melodic sound of your endearing nickname for him, the doubt, the guilt, festering deep in his chest vanishes. you spend a few moments gazing at each other, and you use the edge of your nail to trace his beauty marks while you bask in the presence of one another; just you and him, him and you.

leaning up, you capture his lips, something soft and sweet and unhurried that causes your heart to pound against your ribcage. the heart — it can be such a fickle thing, always changing, always setting its sights on shiny, new things. yes, it can be quite fickle, but nothing can dispute the undeniable truth of your eternal, immutable love for yeonjun, and his for you. you may change your routines and what you eat and the tunes you sing, but your love is forever frozen in time. “find me in the future,” is what you once exclaimed to him, and he had done just that — and so, so much more.

despite your exhausted mind, you find yourself craving more. the hardness of his cock presses into your thigh, and you grind slightly into him. he stares down at you, lips parted, silently inquiring if you are okay: are you sure you would like to continue? it's a wordless exchange, the way you reach down to stroke him over his trousers, the cheeky bite of your lip. with that, the mischievous grin he wore previously returns.

“you’re absolutely insatiable,” he laughs, returning his lips to your neck.

“oh, please. you were the one who wanted this in the first place,” you tease back before you’re squealing at the sound of ripping fabric. “yeonjun!”

“i shall mend it later,” he shrugs, eyes darkening as he greedily takes in your now bare bosom. “right now, however, there are much more pressing matters.”

perhaps the pastries can wait a wee bit a longer.

3k event masterlist | main masterlist

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #agust.nsfw #3k milestone celebration #💌 — jjun

271 notes · View notes

bloodhoundluke · 1 year

Text

secrets?

pairing: luke hemmings x f!reader (fc: claudia tihan)

a/n: hello dear people! 🎀 i haven't had the time to write basically anything, so here is another instagram blurb. i love doing these, it's so fun! in this blurb, y/n is a songwriter and she is assigned to have a songwriting trip with 5sos. the fans start to speculate if luke and y/n are dating. later, luke and y/n decide to go on a vacation together. ( Y/S/N stands for your ship name).

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, 5sos and 51,054 others

yourinstagram Song camp and late night hours

View all 1,506 comments

lrhcurls97 Are they dating??? Luke what are you doing there???? Who is this girl????

cakelm1_ OMG GUYS! Michael commented 'So there the blondie still is...' and deleted it right after?? 😳

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, michaelclifford and 39,214 others

yourinstagram Mama loves u (and MISSES U)

View all 949 comments

michaelclifford Still can't get over Moose's reaction to him lol

yourinstagram Omg it was hilarious!

yourbestfriend I can tell he misses you too...he's been cryin' a lot since you left 🥺

yourinstagram Stooop 😭😭

lukehemmings Cute 🐕

lrhcurls97 LUCAS????

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, 5sos and 49,201 others

yourinstagram Thanks for this opportunity fellas. Calum, Michael, Ashton and Luke, I loved working with you guys. You taught me so much. The passion you have for this job is admirable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Ps. And thanks for the occasional secret selfies you took with my phone.

View all 639 comments

5sos Thank you Y/N for working with us, you are so talented. We were a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes, but you tolerated it well. Love you! ❤️

calumhood Thank you Y/N, you're a literal sunshine!

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, yourbestfriend and 40, 693 others

yourinstagram This vacay got me glowin'

View all 509 comments

5saucymalum LUKE LIKED!!

yourbestfriend ILYYY BUBS 🥺 happiness looks gorgeous on you <3

5sos.updates

Liked by loveroflukey, lrhupdates and 1,894 others

5sos.updates Luke posted this on his Instagram with the text 'Love the view' and deleted it right after. It's speculated that the girl in the picture is the songwriter 5sos worked with a while ago.

View all 194 comments

lukeswildflower ALERT ALERT!! LUKE HAS A FINSTA GUYS

cashtonscherry LUKE???!!

loveroflukey i really hope she makes him happy ❤️

lukehemmings

Liked by yourbestfriend, 5sos and 706, 586 others

lukehemmings I heard vacation photo dumps are cool. The word itself is horrible.

View all 7,983 comments

michaelclifford You're ridiculous

lukehemmings C'mon man

5sosforlyf OMG THEY ARE ON A VACATION TOGETHER?? Y/N HAS TO BE THERE TOO???

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, yourbestfriend and 46, 901 others

yourinstagram Hi lovers 🤍 These past two weeks could be described in just three words: reading, sunbathing and eating. I've read so much that you just might call me the next Shakespeare (not really).

View all 719 comments

sgfg_1049 IF THEY REALLY ARE TOGETHER, LUKE IS A LUCKY MAN...LIKE WOW...i'm definitely a bisexual.

nitswdefender imagine y/n and luke reading together?? 😭😭

yourbestfriend never knew Shakespeare looked that good 🥵

yourinstagram I love youuu 😭💗💗

ashtonirwin Big love! ☀️❤️

lukehemmings

Liked by yourinstagram, 5sos and 689,024 others

lukehemmings Beer and a pretty view.

View all 6,991 comments

calumhood Enjoy the trip man!

teefsos THE TABLE IS SEATED FOR TWO????

5sos.updates

Liked by 5cashton, lrhupdates and 2,103 others

5sos.updates Luke and Y/N were spotted in Rome, Italy earlier today. Apparently they were in Greece last week and then traveled from Spain to Italy.

View all 240 comments

5cashton OMG!!!

vapory_cal I LOVE THEMMMM ❤️

saucymikey FIRST OFFICIAL Y/S/N PIC OH LORD I AM CRYING

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, ashtonirwin and 48, 183 others

yourinstagram Hi again...🎀

View all 753 comments

lukehemmings Hi 🥰❤️

y/s/n.updates THEY HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING THIS CUTE ASDFGHJKL

glitteryash my Y/S/N heart ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

lukehemmings

Liked by yourbestfriend, 5sos and 789,104 others

lukehemmings Pick the cuter winner.

View all 8,003 comments

yourbestfriend Hmmm lemme think… my bestie

yourinstagram Bby I love u 💘

5sos Definitely not Luke

yourinstagram LMAOOOOOO

lukehemmings HEYYY

a/n: ps. i just wanted to say that i came up with the usernames randomly, so if you identify yourself or something, it wasn’t intentional 🥺 hope u enjoyed this one!

#instagram blurb #social media blurb #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings fluff #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x y/n #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos x reader

315 notes · View notes

morgansunflower · 5 months

Text

Merry Christmas

Jason Todd X Wife! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language, angst.

Words:1220

Arthur's notes! I don't know if someone can actually anonymously recommend someone for adoption but in this story it's possible. Pic below is not mine! It's from webtoon only used to help set the theme.

Tyler ask Y/N a question which leads to Jason finding out what his brother did for him.

Jason and Tyler get back into the car having just gotten the papers for his wife to sign. Tyler smiled to himself hoping it would make her happy. Jason sees his son was obviously anxiously thinking about her reaction.

"you think she'll cry?" Jason asked Tyler

"oh yeah. You bawled for hours when I asked you to adopt me" Tyler reminded him

"I did.. Not bawl. It was just a few tears"

"if you call sobbing a few tears" Tyler laughed at his dad's denial.

Jason rolled his eyes. He, really was emotional that day. He still barely could believe that Tyler is his son. That he had all he ever wanted.

Christmas eve. The Todd family made their way to Wayne Manor. Jason parks the car by the other's.

She smiled to Tyler as he quickly left the car to run inside. Both her husband and her son avoided her completely. She wondered why. Unaware they both can't stand to lie or keep secrets from her.

"what are you two up to?" she casually asked

"sorry babe. I can't say a word. I made a promise and no matter how much I hate not telling you I gotta keep these lips you love sealed"

She chuckled softly kissing his lips she genuinely did love. The couple come inside greeted by everyone. Presents were being opened with hugs and loving words. Y/N sits beside her husband holding his hand. Tyler looks to Jason. He winked to his son.

"I got you something" Tyler said to Y/N giving her a, envelope

"oh sweetie you didn't have to get me anything" she sweetly said

Everyone suddenly became quiet as she opens it.

"read it out loud!" Tyler said watching intently

"ok.... Dear Y/N. I hope this means a lot to you, as you mean a lot to me. You make me laugh when I'm upset. You love me even when I lash out or do something I know I shouldn't. I was happy that you made my dad happy, but overtime you also made me happy. You helped me heal after losing my mom. You made cookies with me. You care about me and take care of me--" Y/N's eyes shake, she clears her throat "you are always there for me and you look out for me. I love you so very much Mom-" Y/N begins to cry, Jason holds her hand "with all of that said, that isn't enough to describe how amazing you are. I really want to ask you. Will you adopt me?"

Y/N dramatically nodded unable to keep still as she cried. Tyler hugs her tightly. She wraps her arms around him gently rocking side to side. She kissed his head. Jason smiled nearly crying himself. Everyone smiled to the family.

"merry Christmas Mom" Tyler said with a tear in his eye

"merry Christmas baby" she cried

After the papers had been officially signed. Tyler sat beside his mom holding onto her still. Jason made his way to the kitchen to grab a handful of snacks.

"you've been quiet" Bruce said to his oldest son

"I'm just glad it all worked out for him" Dick softly smiled eating a few chips

Jason stopped mid step listening intently, without being noticed by them

"you had a large hand in ensuring it would" Bruce said proudly to Dick

"it was just a little letter encouraging the adoption agency he'd be a good father..." Dick humbled himself.

"that letter you wrote helped more than you realize. You never told Jason?" Bruce asked

"no I didn't.. I doubt he even knows there was a letter written for his behalf.. But I don't need him to know.. He's happy and he's OK.. He's not suffering that's what matters"

"that's what matters for all of you" Bruce smiled to his son

"I know Dad" Dick said with a small smile.

Jason couldn't breath. He swallows hardly and steps to the balcony. He shuts the doors, as the cold wind touches his face. Dick cared. He really cared about him.

Jason sighed heavily, knowing all he had done to his brother. He yelled at him. He even said he hated him. Dick didn't do his best in welcoming him back. Neither one made much effort until recent years and even then.. It wasn't the same.

Dick sees Jason outside by himself his arms folded tightly over his tightening chest. Dick opens the door, hoping Jason wouldn't shut him out. Jason quickly tried to force himself to relax but Dick knew something was definitely bothering him...

"hey, Jay. You ok?" he asked shutting the door behind him

"yeah.. Time to watch movie's?" Jason casually asked

"just a, few minutes.. Alfred sent me to rally everyone and you're the lucky last"

"lucky huh?" Jason scoffed to himself

"you're sure you're alright Little-wing?" he asked again

Just then Jason flashbacks to being Robin. He had ran off on patrol by himself without a word to Bruce or Alfred. Nightwing came home once the search had gone on for a few hours. Dick found his little brother holding his bleeding wound. It was the first moment they had together without arguing with each other. As Dick bandaged his wounds

"why do you care?" he remembers asking "you want to prove your better than me"

To which his older brother replied "Jay I do care. I know I've been a, lousy big brother mainly because Bruce didn't... Tell me about you at all and I guess.. I didn't know how to be a, big brother but I'm learning.. Just like you're learning going out on patrol by yourself is a VERY, VERY bad idea. Plus just so you know I was not the best Robin as you may think.. If you want to we can try this, again Little-Wing?"

Dick looks to Jason seeing that familiar guilted expression.. The same when he, was Robin...

"Jason talk to me" Dick pleads

"why didn't you tell me?" he sighed with dread, hating to sound emotional in front of his brother.

The detective then realized he had overhead his conversation with their Dad...

"I thought if I did you'd think it was only out of guilt but that was only a, slimmer of it.. I just.. I want you to be OK and to have the joy that I do.. Whether if you knew what I did or not didn't matter to me.. So long as you were OK"

"guess I owe you" Jason scoffed

"you don't owe me anything Little-Wing.. C'mon let's get in before they start looking for us" Dick encouraged "or start my favorite Christmas movie without me!"

"Dick every Christmas movie is your favorite Christmas movie" Jason accused

The brothers walk inside together headed for the family room. Jason playfully shoves Dick against the doorframe walking ahead into the room. Dick kicked Jason's ankle nearly tripping him. Dick was still startled as Jason moved to punch him but Jay stopped. Only wanting to joke around with him. The two brothers softly laugh, both making their way to their families.

"there you are big guy" Y/N greets to her husband as he sits beside her and he ruffled Tyler's hair "where were you?" she asked whispering

He shrugged with a small smile "just talking with my brother"

Requested taglist@too-strong-to-losee @asrainterstellar

#tyler blue hood #tyler todd #batfamily #Jason Todd X Reader #jason todd x wife! reader

135 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 14 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Blood. Assault in various forms. Miscarriage. Death/Mourning. Pregnancy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, y'all, cuz this one might knock you on your ass with its dramatic angst and give you whiplash after the last few chapters. Honestly, I hurt myself a bit with this one! *sob* Needless to say, the tone is a bit different here. Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics!

While I hesitated to make a part all in flashback, I couldn't seem to avoid it without creating a ridiculously giant chapter, and I also didn't want to make you wait that long, so here it is, complete with a cliffhanger!

Speaking of that, thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Life is kicking my butt a bit, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me!

Also, look out for some fun 1960 Elvis posts/reblogs later so you can get the full visual of his March 1960 glory, in case I haven't described it well enough LOL. I included a Rollerdome pic at the end as well.

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

March 1960

You shouldn’t feel nervous. It’s just Elvis. But having not seen him in person in over 18 months, or even really being able to talk on the phone, you wonder if too much time has passed, if too much has changed, if the man who went into the Army two years ago is still the friend you cherished.

You wait in front of Graceland in the icy March air with Jack and a multitude of other close friends and relations for Elvis to arrive, shivering in your heavy coat. It’s a strange limbo you all are in, this energy of the end of one thing and the start of something new and unknown. You can’t help feeling that everything is different somehow, that a new era has begun.

This feeling is compounded by the secret you are keeping. You had been wary to accept that your greatest hope is finally coming true, but after your appointment yesterday afternoon, you are finally starting to settle into the fact that new life is growing inside you. You haven’t told anyone yet, not even Jack, since Elvis’ imminent arrival has taken over everyone’s minds. While you have no need to be the center of attention, you also know that the news would get lost in Elvis’ return. No one could compete with Elvis for any sort of attention. It would be a losing battle.

Honestly, you are glad to sit with the knowledge on your own for a moment, to give yourself a minute to adjust to your new reality. And part of you is still quite scared that this could all be over in a flash. It’s still early, the doctor said, even though you were further along than you’d originally thought. But after two years of nothing, there is a piece of you that doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

Perhaps that is truly why you’re feeling nervous and it’s nothing to do with Elvis at all.

Everyone around you starts to buzz, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the police cruiser, lights and sirens and all, coming up the long drive. When it finally pulls up in front of the house and Elvis gets out, everyone explodes with liveliness.

It takes a moment for the small crowd to clear enough for you to see him fully. When his tall frame comes completely into view, you feel like all the air has been knocked out of your body. You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud.

He looks beyond incredible. So incredible, in fact, that your heart is suddenly fluttering in your chest like a schoolgirl’s. You have seen him in his uniform before, of course, but the last time, he was so miserable after the death of his mother that the uniform seemed like a prison, an unforgiving punishment almost. Of course, you’d also seen pictures for publicity and ones he sent home which would occasionally show him in his uniform. He always was handsome, to be sure, but now…now, something was different.

You try to put your finger on it because it really has thrown you for a loop. You aren’t some fawning, adoring fan, for god’s sake. But you cannot help but openly stare at the man in front of you. He positively glows. His blue eyes sparkle with the happiness of being home, but it’s not only that. Taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, he surveys the small crowd and his home with joy. The blue of his dress uniform brings out the reddish-blonde of his natural hair color and the blush on his cheeks. His hair is long again on top, grown out and curled up and mussed from his hat. Compared to the Army buzz cut, it is more reminiscent of his signature coiffed 50’s style, but somehow more mature yet rebellious at the same time. It suits him very well, you think, highlighting high cheekbones, long face, and his now quite chiseled jaw.

Elvis’ whole face is lit up with happiness, that signature grin white and wide, as friends and family gather around him. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy to see that smile again in person. When you finally catch his eye, you feel like the whole world stops. It’s ridiculous really, the way your heart throbs in your ears, but you swear his face changes almost imperceptibly when he sees you. You’re not exactly sure how, but it softens somehow, imbued with just a little more warmth than he’s already exuding. His eyes travel over you only briefly before Jack reaches out to embrace him, but in that short moment, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

Once his eyes leave you, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. You look down, clasping your hands in front of you, but when you look up again, Elvis is looking at you from over Jack’s shoulder. You are absolutely caught in his blue-eyed gaze.

Stop being stupid, it’s just Elvis.

Perhaps your sudden intimidation by your dear friend is that he left Graceland a boy but has returned a man. Even though he’s thin, it’s in a leaner, more carved, more refined way than before. He still retains a bit of his baby face, but his countenance is different, settled, more worldly.

After exchanging words with Jack that you are too overcome to hear, Elvis steps around him and comes towards you, his attentions focused completely on you.

“Hey there, y/n darlin’,” he says gently, his voice still heavily accented, high and bright.

“Welcome home, Elvis,” you say. It barely sounds like you, you think, too quiet and soft and breathless. You ring your hands nervously.

He begins to open his arms and you know he means to embrace you, and all of a sudden, you are certain you are going to faint. It’s as if you know that if he touches you, right here and now, looking as he does and with the way his essence is radiating around you, something will be irrevocably changed. Your heart flutters and your breath rate increases, and you almost panic as he closes the gap, those eyes of his looking at you in such a way that you feel completely, utterly exposed. You want to run away, but you are frozen to the spot.

Just as he steps up to you, he’s attacked from the side by his young cousin. The moment between you is thankfully interrupted, and you instantly step back and behind Jack as the boy wrestles Elvis.

“Jesus, kid, a little warning next time!” he shouts playfully, putting the kid in a headlock and rubbing his knuckle into his head. He catches your eye for a fraction of a second, his face somewhere between regret and chagrin at not being able to hug you. You manage a small smile, but practically hide behind Jack, grabbing his hand as you warily look on.

The horde gratefully moves inside, out of the cold late winter chill. The look that flashes over Elvis’ face as he crosses the threshold is one of trepidation, grief. You realize being home must come with mixed emotions; after all, the last time he was here was when his dear mama passed, and this was the home he’d gotten for her.

You’re not sure that anyone else catches how his breath hitches and how those pretty eyes become anxious. In that moment, you forget all about the strange reaction you had to him not a minute ago and you ache to go to him, to pull him into your arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

It seems like both forever and just yesterday that he wept in your arms on the stairs, bereft and inconsolable, as his mother lay in the other room in her casket. He had refused to leave her, petting her, and talking their baby talk to her for so long that they had finally placed glass over her to dissuade him. Even then, he had sat vigil by her side and as you all looked on in collective grief, as the concern for him and his deteriorating state was palpable. Almost no one was able to get him away for longer than a few minutes—first it was the Colonel near shoving him and Vernon out the door and into the arms of the vultures with the cameras outside. Then, Sam Phillips was able to console him for a bit. Jack and the boys and Anita all tried to pull him away, but they were only swept up by him to go see Gladys, and his tearful ramblings continued about how beautiful she looked and her tiny little “sooties,” and then his wailing and sobbing would commence once again.

His mama had always been more than kind to you, and you cried for her loss, but it was truly Elvis’ grief that had the tears rolling down your cheeks. But you hadn’t wanted to overstep your bounds. However, he’d stopped eating and drinking, and looked positively exhausted, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Eventually, you could stand it no more.

“Elvis, honey, I need you…” you’d said, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. He’d looked up at you sharply, eyes so bloodshot and filled with tears that the blue of his irises seemed unnaturally bright, his innocence and grief leeching out of them. You faltered then at the state of him, stumbling over your words, wanting to be as kind as possible. You cleared your throat, continuing, “I need you to come with me, sweetie.”

And somehow, against all odds, he listened to you, of all people. Wordlessly, he’d stood, drawing you tightly to him, his arm gripping your waist and his tall frame leaning on you for support, nearly knocking you over. You’d stumbled with him to the stairs, and he’d just collapsed into you, his head buried into your neck, clinging to you as if drowning in his grief and you were his life preserver. His heart wrenching sobs had silent tears flowing down your own cheeks, and you’d held him, petting him, cooing at him, your protective gaze shooing the onlookers away.

Eventually, after some time, he quieted. You could feel the heat of his head through the now-soaked top of your dress. “Oh, E, you’re burning up,” you’d said, feeling his face with your hands. He’d worked himself into such a state that his body was rebelling against him, and you’d whispered to someone nearby to call the doctor.

At that point, he’d had little fight left in him, and Jack and Sam had helped get him up to bed once the doctor had come. But he’d still clung to you, not letting you leave him once in his ornate, darkened cave of a bedroom. Elvis wouldn’t settle or let the doctor administer the much-needed sedative until you were in the huge bed with him and he was curled in your lap. You had looked to Jack wide-eyed for some sort of support, part of you feeling a little scandalized by being invited into Elvis’ bed, but none of the men knew what to do, and you were the only one so far that had been able to get him away from Gladys. You just got harried looks of bewilderment from everyone, and the doctor had just nodded to you, as if giving you permission to climb up in with him, doctor’s orders. Anything to calm Elvis down.

So you had, your heart breaking for him, confused as to why it was you who he needed, not Anita or Vernon or Jack. Regardless of how strange it was, you were his friend, and you’d do anything to help, no matter your own comfort. You’d stayed with him through the night, back leaning up against the headboard awkwardly, staying even after the sedative took hold because when you’d tried to leave, he’d still clung to you, heavy and feverish.

For hours you’d held vigil over him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, eventually drifting in and out of sleep, though any movement from him had you startling awake. And when you woke in the morning, stiff as hell, and Elvis blinked up at you with those huge, grieving puppy dog eyes, the pang in your heart was evident and confusing.

After those few horrid days, you never spoke of it again. You never asked him why it was you who’d been able to reach him through his grief, and beyond a whispered “thank you” in your ear before he left for Germany, he never mentioned it again. Not that you’d seen him for him to do so. Maybe that is why you are nervous, you think, because the last time you saw him, he was so utterly lost, and for whatever reason, you had been a lifeline in one of his worst moments. And that feels significant somehow, though you aren’t sure exactly how.

That look you see in his eyes now reminds you too much of that look from 18 months ago. But there are a bunch of family and friends between the two of you, crowded in the entryway, bustling with excitement, all seemingly oblivious to Elvis’ distress.

It angers you a bit, the way they all clamor over him without truly seeing him. You stand as rooted as he is, as if your being able to move is tied to him somehow. He looks at you then, sensing your gaze or your thoughts in that almost preternatural way of his, and you see the overwhelm in his eyes. The way the endless blue of them seems clouded over with pain and grief. The way they almost beg you to save him.

This, out of everything, gets you in motion, stepping towards him in the crowded space, but there are so many damn people that you can’t get to him. By the time you sidestep cousins and friends, you’ve watched as his face changes, a mask slipping over those handsome features so seamlessly that it takes you aback. You stop short, amazed at the way he now smiles and laughs at the antics around him, as if nothing happened.

You realize he must’ve had to do this to survive over there. There was no way he could show that kind of vulnerability during tank maneuvers or whatever they had him doing. He’s protecting himself, you think.

But it still rubs you the wrong way. The ease with which he switched emotions was disconcerting to you. Somewhat bitterly, you think that he certainly didn’t need your help through his pain this time.

Oh, stop, you chide yourself. He’s been home all of five minutes and first you wanted to run away from him and now you’re mad his grief isn’t crippling him? What’s wrong with you?

“Okay, okay, y’all, I need to go get changed! The press is gonna be here any minute,” Elvis chuckles and waves you all off, climbing the stairs. His eyes catch yours in the briefest of moments and you swear there is something unsaid in them. And then he’s gone, up into his room.

A shiver passes over you, your stomach flipping, and then a wave of nausea comes.

Jack sees you and comes over with concern in his eyes, cupping your cheek. “You alright, treasure? You look a little green in the gills,” he says.

“I…uh…my stomach is upset, sweetie. Excuse me,” you say quickly, the bile rising, and you make quickly for the bathroom down the hall. Once safely locked away, you rush to the toilet, sick. Luckily, once out, the queasiness passes quickly.

The doctor said this could happen, you think, looking at the reflection of your red face in the mirror. You rinse your mouth out and splash your face with cold water. It certainly has nothing to do with Elvis. That would be absurd.

It’s just the look in his eyes is haunting you and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just your hormones being in overdrive. Yes, that makes sense. You are on edge and not seeing things clearly. Or maybe too clearly.

After a multitude of deep breaths, you straighten your dress and hair, then head back out into the fray. You find yourself in an empty house. You wander about to find that most everyone has gone back outside to witness Elvis’ triumphant return to Graceland as procured by the press.

They have arrived, littering the snow-dusted lawn and taking photographs and recordings of Elvis as he sits in front of a huge guitar shaped cake. You peek over someone’s shoulder and your jaw nearly drops at the sight. Clad now in all black, his wool coat is appropriate for the chill, but his black shirt is open halfway down his torso, a large gold medallion resting on his bare chest. If he’d looked like the All-American boy getting out of that car not 30 minutes ago, now he looks like the perfect combination of sweet and sinful.

Oh, dear lord.

His chestnut hair is perfectly imperfect, a rogue lock falling over his forehead. You think perhaps he’s added a little shadow and mascara to his eyes, or maybe he’s just exhausted from the long journey home, but whichever it is, the slight darkness on his lids gives him a stunningly beautiful look, his blue eyes popping and dancing with a combination of mischievousness, aloofness, and candor. Somehow, he has retained the youthful swell of his cheeks while also now having a jawline that could cut glass.

As you watch Elvis pick at the cake, deftly putting pieces of it in his mouth with his fingers, the innocent gesture seems almost obscene and that lightheaded feeling comes over you again, this time with a swell of warmth.

You want to look away, you really do, but you’ve forgotten your friend’s natural charm, how his essence pulls even the most unwilling into his orbit. His beauty is one thing, but the feeling that surrounds him is another thing all together. It’s not just you caught in the pull, however. Friends and family gather around, too, though they are likely not experiencing the same type of reaction as you.

Oh, this is utterly ridiculous, you think. Elvis has always been pretty and alluring. Get ahold of yourself.

You think it must be the pregnancy hormones, the way your body flushes from head to toe just watching him eat his cake and play to the camera. You force yourself not to follow as they direct Elvis towards Vernon’s office for the press conference, his tall frame gliding across the lawn in the most confident and nonchalant of ways. He commands his audience as though he’d never left, born to be at the forefront of everything. Focused on the cameras, he does not see you, or so you think, until he catches you staring and quirks his brow.

This finally prompts you to move, turning away quickly and heading back into the warmth of the house. You are glad for the cold, as it gives a reason for your cheeks to be as red as they are, and it douses your heated body with a much-needed chill.

You are embarrassed by your behavior. Elvis is not some idol to be gawked at, not by you. Perhaps it is because you feel so removed from him in his absence, or it is the unasked questions that linger in your mind from before he’d left, but your nerves buzz annoyingly.

You manage to avoid him after the press conference, as he’s utterly exhausted from his trip back home and all it had entailed and sends everyone on their way with the promise of a party the next evening.

Later, lying in bed, you wonder what in the hell came over you. It’s got to be the nerves and excitement about the life growing inside you colliding with the trepidation of your friend’s return all at once. You also know that pregnant women have a multitude of strange physical symptoms, especially in the early days, which would explain nearly everything.

That must be it. It’s not about Elvis at all. It’s your body telling you that you are pregnant.

Finally.

The thought sends a flutter of a different kind through your chest. It’s one of excitement and hope and a little fear. You place your hands on your belly, imbued with a sense of motherly responsibility. You drift to sleep thinking of holding your child in your arms.

The party the next night has Graceland lit up in a way it hasn’t been in years. An air of celebration surrounds the place, chasing away any of the leftover morbidity from Gladys’ passing. You hold Jack’s hand tightly as you enter the mansion, that strange anxiousness from yesterday threatening to ruin your night.

Maybe you should have told Jack about the baby before you came, but no moment seemed quite right. Telling him before work would have distracted him and telling him before the party still seemed to be stepping on the toes of Elvis’ return. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him for sure tomorrow, you think pointedly.

The warm air of the house nearly overwhelms you, and the two of you strip your heavy coats and head towards the sound of Elvis’ boisterous laughter. Your dress is fitted only at the waist and not over the belly, which you are glad for, even though you are hardly showing yet.

You manage to find a seat in the corner with Jack far enough from Elvis that you can breathe, as the fact that he still looks incredible has not changed in the last 24 hours. Why you are so completely stuck on his shocking handsomeness and consumed by whatever prowess he is exuding, you still do not quite know, but it continues to affect you and keep you wary. Shaking off your unhelpful thoughts, you busy yourself talking with Anita, Pat, and the other girls as the men joke and play. After a while, this finally settles your nerves, but you are very conscious of not letting yourself get too close to Elvis as the night goes on, as if being too near will disrupt the tenuous equilibrium you are trying to maintain.

Later in the evening, you excuse yourself and head to the restroom. You can’t help but look in the mirror, rubbing your belly even though it’s impossible to tell yet. This puts a smile on your face, your sweet little secret. And this is how you exit, smiling, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Shit!” you gasp, jumping out of your skin at Elvis leaning casually against the wall across from you. Your heart gallops against your ribcage, one hand flying to your heart and the other to your belly in a protective gesture. “Elvis, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, y/n,” he says, pushing off the wall, eyes remorseful but watching you carefully.

You find yourself barely able to look at him with him being this close. You will your heart to slow, will yourself to act normal, but it’s like you can’t. You can’t quite meet his eyes, you can’t quite breathe and escape is all you can think of. You awkwardly gesture to the bathroom, thinking that it’s why he’s lurking in the hallway, and then you step away from him without another word.

“Hey, now,” he says from behind you, perturbed, “You wait just a damn minute.”

Elvis’ long fingers circle around your wrist, grabbing you, and it feels like fire. Startled, you turn back and look down at how he holds you firm. You hardly have a moment to process that he’s touching you before he’s pulling you into a room across the hallway. Yelping, you have no choice but to follow—he’s much stronger than you—and he holds fast as flips on the lamp and then shuts the door behind the two of you. He releases you, then folds his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Elvis…” you start, confused and shocked and trying to process whatever is going on.

“Did I make you mad or do something to offend you?” he interrupts, his voice laced with hurt. Those intense blue eyes of his lock you in place, betraying his churning emotions.

“What? No, what are you—?” you sputter out, faltering under his gaze and needing to look away.

“That! That right there. You can’t even hardly look at me!” he points, voice raising angrily. “You barely said three words to me since I been home!” He steps towards you and instinctually you step back, a hand flying to your belly, as the intensity of being this close to him has you completely overwhelmed.

His eyes widen. “Look at you, you can’t even be in the same room as me without skittering away like a little bird. I thought I was imaginin’ it for a minute.” Elvis pauses, looking you over. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly, the hurt palpable in both his body and voice.

Your heart aches at the sight of him like, forcing you to relax and be more mindful of your actions. “No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Elvis,” you breathe. You aren’t, truly.

“Then what did I do?” he asks with such childlike innocence, such hurt, that your heart breaks for causing it.

“Nothing, E, you didn’t do anything, I swear,” you insist, going to him, unable to bear the look on his cherubic face. You force yourself to get close, pushing through your silly fears.

“Why ya bein’ so strange then, baby?” Elvis asks, eyes scanning your face. This close, you realize you could fall and drown in their oceanic blue intensity.

How can you answer that? You certainly cannot say, “Yes, Elvis, I’m being strange because you came back too handsome and your charming presence overwhelms me, and I don’t know where I stand with you, and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

Your brain scrambles for an answer as the tension between the two of you increases to a level that has you sweating, and you blink up at him, flustered. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…I guess I am afraid that you’re different, or that things have changed too much while you were gone, or that it’s been too long and that you might not, I don’t know, you might not see me as your friend anymore?” you prattle on, the honesty in your words surprising you. The idea and the truth of it brings tears to your eyes.

His beautiful face softens, his mouth popping open as emotions flash over his features so quickly that you cannot grasp them completely. You feel utterly caught up in him, the loss of control and your feelings frightening you.

“Never,” Elvis whispers finally, “Never in a million years could that happen, baby.” The way he looks down at you is charged, confusing, intense.

Your heart flips. A rogue tear slips down your cheek. Stupid hormones.

You are close enough now that you can feel the energy of him pulsate around you. It makes your breath catch when he brushes the tear off your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. You’re not sure if you can bear him touching you more than that because it sends a shockwave through your body.

“So, you missed me?” he asks, a sideways grin beginning to widen on his face.

“’Course I missed you, you idiot,” you sniffle.

“Some way of showin’ it,” he jokes now, breaking some of the tension.

“Well, I’ve had some things on my mind,” you say pointedly. “Life didn’t stop just cuz you were in Germany, ya know.”

You don’t realize that your arm has been wrapped over your belly all this time. Elvis narrows his eyes at you, steps back, and then looks you over very deliberately. Self-conscious and confused under the scrutiny, you blush.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile spreads over his features and his eyes light up. “Congratulations, doll,” he grins at you.

He knows. Elvis, of all people, knows your secret after spending less than five minutes with you.

You are shocked enough that you don’t try to deny it. “I…How…?” you stutter out.

“You bein’ so skittish and protective, and the way you been holdin’ yourself this whole time is different. Explains that real pretty glow about ya, too,” he says, booping your nose playfully.

You blush harder. “Elvis, I just found out. No one knows yet, not even Jack, so don’t you dare go saying anything yet. It’s still real early,” you say in a warning tone.

Elvis nods, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Seriously, E, not a freakin’ word, promise me!” you say. He is a terrible secret keeper.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” he grins.

“Lord, with the way you’re buzzing, you’d think I was having your baby!” you laugh.

Something changes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quick that you can’t put your finger on it. He does still a bit, though, and you look at him quizzically. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you openly. The air has shifted once again.

“Well, we should probably get back out there. Everybody must be missing the man of the hour,” you say, clearing your throat and turning to leave.

Before you can go far, Elvis’ fingers dance over yours, reaching, as if wanting to hold your hand and pull you back but hesitating as if he shouldn’t. Your breath catches, an odd feeling blooming in your chest, like you are falling. You look back and down, seeing and feeling his fingers graze yours in such a strangely much-too-intimate way. He doesn’t stop, fingers brushing and winding through yours. You can’t help the way yours start to move around his in the now heavy silence. Your eyes raise to meet his, heart racing.

“Y/n, I—” he starts to say, voice low and gaze intense.

“EP!! Where the hell you at, man?” Red shouts from the hallway, startling you both, causing you to drop your hands as though they were suddenly on fire. As if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Elvis visibly shakes himself off and crosses in front of you to open the door. It opens a crack and then he stops, turning back to you quickly, mouth open as if he wants to finish what he was trying to say. He must think better of it, though, because he just shakes his head again and sucks in his cheeks before heading out the door without another word.

You pause, frozen to the spot, as your heart thunders in your ears. Befuddled, you try and process the last few minutes, try to piece out what the hell just happened. Your hand splays on your belly, your face hot and your body warm.

You were right, you think, a lot has changed. Everything and nothing, all at once.

After that, things move quickly. With Elvis’ new knowledge, you tell Jack immediately about the baby, pulling him aside at the party. He is thrilled.

A few blissful weeks pass. You’ve been feeling okay physically, just some nausea and lightheadedness, but your nerves are still a bit on edge. The strange moment between you and Elvis the night of the party lingers in your mind, just under the surface, and every time you see him, that odd falling feeling comes over you for a moment. It doesn’t help that when he sees you, something in him changes. It’s so subtle that you doubt anyone notices; in fact, you think you could be imagining it if not for the charged, unreadable look in his eyes. But to you he seems overly attentive to your every move, protective even.

You try and chalk this weird intuition and the way your body feels up to the pregnancy. Your body is changing a little each day, and maybe this is just a part of it.

Elvis has been enjoying his few weeks at home before everything starts up for him again, and consequently, so have all of you, finding yourselves pulled back into his orbit easily. He’s travelling down to Miami soon to be on Frank Sinatra’s show and then he starts filming his next movie in April. You have mixed feelings about this, dreading him leaving so soon again, but you also think perhaps it is a good thing to be away from him considering the tricks your mind seems to be playing on you.

Tonight, he rents out the Rainbow Rollerdome for an evening of what he dubs the “Roller Skating Wars.” You, of course, will not be skating in your condition, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from putting on a cute polka dotted dress and going to observe the chaos you know will ensue.

Jack, unfortunately, stays home, struck suddenly in the afternoon with a sore throat and fever. You tell him you will stay home and take care of him, but he brushes you off and tells you he’s just going to be sleeping anyway, that you should go and have fun. He practically pushes you out the door.

When you arrive at the Rollerdome, you quickly find the girls and plant yourself in one of the big booths with a coke, some popcorn, and some candy. Your cravings for sweets have been intense this last week, and you pick delightfully at the confections as you watch everyone skate around.

Elvis has a silly grin plastered on his face as he wheels up to your table, his hair so long and fluffy on top that it bounces with him, product keeping it standing nearly straight up. On anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but with Elvis being Elvis, it just seems to highlight how incredibly handsome he’s become. Honestly, he nearly takes your breath away in his dark polo with the popped collar, his eyes electric and dancing, his face long and jaw chiseled.

At least you know that you aren’t the only one noticing the change in his looks, because the other girls seem to blush and smile more as he looms over you all, the skates putting him nearly six and a half feet tall.

“Ladies, everybody got their skates?” he drawls charmingly.

Everyone giggles and there’s a chorus of “Yes, Elvis!” as they show off their skates. For a moment, you are a bit upset that you can’t skate, but that is quickly banished by the excitement of the life growing inside you.

“Well, go on then!” he motions, and the ladies scurry, happy to be summoned.

After they clamor out of the booth, Elvis looks at you more seriously.

“No skating for you tonight, right?” he asks protectively, cobalt eyes narrowing.

Your heart does that falling thing for a moment before you respond. “Nope, feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much!” you smile.

He nods, pleased by this. “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him,” he asks, looking around.

“Oh, he’s at home, sick. Booted me out of there. I think he was annoyed at me hovering, to be honest,” you chuckle.

“You gonna be okay over here? I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Elvis says, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll come and watch you all here in a minute. My back’s bothering me a bit, so I’m fine to sit for a spell.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, brow furrowing, as if sensing something about you that you couldn’t sense yourself.

“Yes, E, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Now, shoo, and go have some fun, but for god’s sake don’t go killin’ yourself or anyone else out there!” you laugh.

Elvis looks at you in that unreadable way of his for a moment, then a wide grin spreads across his face. “No promises!” he shouts as he skates away.

You let out a breath after he leaves. His presence is still overwhelming to you, no matter how much you try to logic it away, so for now you are just accepting it. Such is living a life with Elvis in it.

Your back really is starting to bother you, which you attribute to the obvious, and after a few minutes alone, you realize you would rather be around people than not. You get up from the booth, then a wave of dizziness overtakes you and you grab the edge of the table for support as you blink away the spots in your eyes.

You wonder for a moment if you might be coming down with whatever Jack has, but your throat is fine. After a moment, the wave mostly passes, so you make your way to the skating rink to watch the group from the sidelines. There are a few people on the sidelines, and you have fun making small talk and watching the antics in the rink. After a bit, most of the girls come back out as Elvis and the boys are getting pretty rough, and part of you is a little glad Jack isn’t here to get injured.

You ignore the ache in your back (it’s just something you’ll have to get used to, after all) and another wave of lightheadedness hits you as you all head back to the table. You are starting to feel distracted, your stomach churning now a bit, too, and you remind yourself that being pregnant isn’t necessarily a picnic. You feel a bit claustrophobic now, shoved in the booth with the other ladies, and excuse yourself to the restroom, thinking it might be time to go home.

Something’s wrong, you think, a feeling of dread coming over you. Forcing yourself to breathe, you remind yourself again and again that you are just pregnant and these are symptoms of that. You pause at the water fountain to drink, hoping the water might settle your stomach.

As you are bent over, someone zips behind you on skates, then suddenly you feel a hand groping your backside.

Yelping, you choke on the water and jump, turning around.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” a man you don’t recognize leers at you, way too close for comfort.

“Excuse me,” you say haughtily, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, making your lightheadedness even worse. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Naw, you’re the prettiest girl in here. Why ya all by your lonesome?” he purrs at you, the sound setting off every warning bell in your body, adrenaline clashing with your dizziness and churning stomach. He leans down, as if to try and kiss you and you push him back.

“Leave me alone!” you say, your voice raising in both volume and pitch. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs you hard and presses you into the wall. You think you might vomit all over him.

“Don’t be like that! All I want is a little kiss,” he says, one wandering hand groping your chest as his lips come at you.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it!” you shriek, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his disgusting mouth roams over your face and neck. Your body betrays you, though, your back throbbing, weakness overcoming your limbs, and you can’t fight him off. You curse the fact that the bathrooms are so far back from the rest of the group, and you pray that someone hears you.

“Get off of me!” you try to scream, but he’s trying to silence you with his hand. Panic overtakes you now as you realize this man is going to hurt you, but in your current state, you are unable to fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” You hear the low growl before the horrible man boxing you in is yanked backwards and sideways, his eyes bulging in surprise. You gasp as you watch Elvis collide with the man, his momentum from how fast he must have been skating sending the man flying.

The man stumbles and rolls, flailing and falling, and Elvis looks like you’ve never seen him before as he spins around. His eyes are dark and lethal, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his chest heaves with his breath. He looks terrifying, his focus singular, and you are almost afraid for the man. Almost.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Elvis growls again, pulling the dazed man upright by his shirt. “What the fuck were you doin’ to her?!” he yells, pulling back his arm and then socking the man in the jaw so hard you can hear the crack. The man is stunned for a moment, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth, but he recovers, taking a swing at Elvis.

It barely grazes him and doesn’t even phase Elvis, who seems possessed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch her!” Elvis shouts, then punches the man in the face again, hard, sending him flying.

Things are happening so fast, you can barely process it. You can hardly breathe, the waves of dizziness pouring over you, making it hard to focus.

Elvis goes for the man again, and suddenly you are fearful he might kill him because he seems so blacked out with rage. Elvis hits him again and the man falls to the floor in a heap, bloody and bruised.

“Elvis, Elvis, stop!” you try to call out, but your voice is too quiet, wavering, and he is too far gone. You need to stop him before he does something he cannot take back, and you know something is wrong with you because you can’t get your body to move the way you need it to.

It’s then that a sharp, searing pain burns in your abdomen, and a primal scream bursts from your lungs. A shockwave of agony rolls through you, knocking the breath from your body. It’s so sudden and all-encompassing that you see red, and you clutch at your belly, your head spinning, fearing the worst.

The baby.

Your cry finally snaps Elvis back to reality because he’s with you in a flash, fear and concern flashing over his features, replacing the fury that was there mere seconds ago.

“Y/n! Y/n, what is it? Did he hurt you?” he gasps, looking you over as tears stream down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath, and your heart is beating too fast. Then, you feel hot liquid spread from your belly downwards, life spilling out of you, running down your legs. You feel sick as you look down, Elvis’ gaze following your own. That’s when you see the dark red begin to stain your dress and your stockings.

It’s over, it’s over, the baby, oh god, runs through your head, a dismal chant in your mind. You look at Elvis with resigned horror, but you are feeling so lightheaded, you can barely focus on anything. Even the pain starts to wane and feel distant. You know this isn’t normal, even for a miscarriage. Something is terribly wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you hear him beg, his hands on your face, your shoulders, his eyes wild with terror now. “We need help over here!” he bellows, never taking his eyes off you.

They are so beautiful, those crystalline eyes, those dark lashes, you think absently as you begin to slump over.

You are somewhat aware of his strong arms catching you as he slides down with you to the floor. They feel so warm and comforting, you think. You blink up at him, your vision starting to dim.

“Y/n, no, don’t you dare, you stay w-w-with me, b-baby,” Elvis says in a panic, shaking you, pulling you into his lap. A sharp metallic smell permeates the air. “Somebody c-call a damn ambulance!” you hear him shout. You can hear the terror in his voice, in his stutter, and you wonder why he’s so scared. You’ve never heard him this scared.

“Elvis?” you whisper. You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard.

“Yeah, b-b-baby?” his voice shudders. You can feel his chest heaving as he presses you into him, rocking you, tucking your head under his. He always has to be moving, his energy always vibrating around him.

“I feel so strange…” you say, and you do. You’re aware of the pain but it feels so far away. Everything feels far away except for the heat of Elvis, which feels like a blanket around you. With the warmth pouring out of you, you start to feel cold.

“I-I-I know, baby. Come on, you stay awake, now,” he says in your ear as your eyes start to close. He shakes you again. You force them to flutter open. You think whatever is happening must be really bad if he’s so scared.

“Tell Jack I…I love him,” you breathe quietly, just in case.

“You tell him yourself, damnit,” Elvis chokes out, pulling you in closer.

“Thanks for…being…my friend…so good to me,” you say, but it’s not enough. You can’t seem to get the right words out, your mouth filling with cotton. You bring your shaking fingers up to his cheek, your face is buried in his neck, his smell surrounding you. He smells so nice. He feels so good wrapped around you. You’re not nervous to be near him anymore, all of that seems so silly now. Your hand drifts and you feel his full lips under your fingertips. They really are as soft as they look.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore and blackness starts to swallow you, your hand falling onto his chest, but you feel unusually calm.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I love you, y/n, please, I love y…” Elvis whispers pleadingly in your ear.

His quiet, startling confession fades away and is the last thing you hear before the world goes completely dark and silent.

Elvis at the Rainbow Rollerdome, March 19th, 1960

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

454 notes · View notes

ludinusdaleth · 9 months

Note

"ludinus-is-athodan theory fuel" tell me more about clues from a cookbook 👀

(i had written half this down when tumblr glitched on me. thank you so much functional app)

well,

im assuming based on your wording you know the theory, but a quick rundown for any passersby who doesnt have context:

athodan was an aeorian mage who studied rejuvination/reversing & speeding up time's effects, utilized the luxon to do so, and helped formulate the t-dock. ludinus is an arcanum-era mage who knew how to keep himself alive "over 1,000 years" and knows how to utilize the luxon to time travel, a feat deemed near impossible & achieved only in small entireties by essek & caleb, 2 unknown mages (who turned to dust right after or were never heard from again), and artagan (but he is an archfey who could manipulate his domain - so this may be an entirely different idea). and if i shared my sheer amount of evidence for ludinus being aeorian, we'd be here all day.

an aditional little detail i like is ath- means an "absence", ie an athiest, and -dan seems to be an elven suffix in exandria ie vax'ildan. so an atheist elf. by name alone it feels a fun tidbit.

ive long rotated this theory in my brain - since the day we learned about athodan, in fact. with every similarity we get the more feral about it i feel. so imagine my reaction picking up exquisite exandria - a cookbook - and finding THIS:

seems like near nothing at first, im sure, but if you're as obscenely obsessed with this theory & ludinus & athodan as i am, you pick up a few really insanely small details:

-obviously the reiteration of athodan's attempts at rejuvination/reversing aging

-the strange significance of him of all fucking people having a drink. most things named after people in this cookbook are either legacy characters or someone who would reasonably have created food/drink. why athodan?

-the sheer amount of fruity, citrusy shit in this. why is that significant? ludinus obsessor here to tell you - ludinus adores citrus. twice in campaign 2 (in his tower in c2e88, in the wind of aeons in c2e99), he is described beside a set of/serving the m9 a sweet citrus tea (not relevant here but the flavor is specifically mango. not important but). so he clearly has the same taste as athodan.

-(image not from the cookbook as i didnt take a pic of it, but i do have a pic of my mocktail take on it)

....

THE DRINK IS LUDINUS'S FUCKING COLOR BRAND. YOU LITERALLY ADD THE CURAÇAO FOR BLUE.

all of these alone would pretty much mean nothing. but together?....

anyway that's my tedtalk! i am so normal

#long post #critical role #critical role meta #ludinus da'leth #alcohol #drink #van speaks #asks #athodan #exquisite exandria

37 notes · View notes

destinymanticor · 1 year

Text

Tag 9 People You Want to get to Know Better

(^・ω・^ ) Thank you for tag me 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

@avomorg @bumblebeeenby

Currently reading:

Well, according to fics, only on AO3 26 pages of subscriptions... ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

But I can mention from AO3 "Fractures"

From Ficbook (!rus), I can only note "Truth is a cave" by chiwich

Oh, if I’m rereading book with infernal detectives (1991) (!rus), which fell into my hands back in 2012-13

I don't really remember the events where I got it from. I just remember that I picked it up on street, for some reason a "garbage bin" pops up in my head, but it definitely doesn't seem to be from it, right (⓿_⓿)???

Favorite color:

if roughly specified, they will be dark green, silver, ~terracotta, and purple

Its hard for me to describe in words, so I'll attach ~approximate pic for colors

i like all colors

except for bright red shades, especially when there is a lot of it or if it is an accent color..... like

that's why I usually not use bright red in the arts, even when draw Kai -- I dim red a bit

oh what is there? ah eah

Last song

well I'm hooked now on (╯▽╰ )

"Dear Wormwood" -- this is pretty related to the end arc for one of my OC now ahah

"You're the Only Thing in Your Way" -- this one for one of those AUs "that I probably donno how write"

"Lemon Demon - Modify" -- its just fun music + funny animation 🔪🔪🔪

Last movie:

Does the Lego Ninjago Movie count? when I watched it for screenshots? I just don't remember the last time I sat down and watched it just for the sake of a movie.

"Ирония судьбы, или С лёгким паром!" in new year i don't count

Sweet/spicy/savory:

I really like sweet, milk chocolate, jelly and various caramels. I also really like sweet and sour things, especially if they cause a reaction like in cartoons, but in reality. But there are few of them, so lemons and kiwis will help me (○｀ 3′○)

I love spicy, of course, jalapeno, chili, and other spicy peppers

not against wasabi and horseradish (although for me they mostly differ in the burn duration and resting speed)

savory doesn’t evoke special feelings, like okay, not insipid and okay ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Currently working on:

A small animation like "into the game". I have the first part sketch-animatic, but it seems to me that with the second part I put too much information for timing

some pictures for 14 february

and a small picture with butterfly 🍋

(ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ) wow how many txt

Tagging:

!!! (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ @sunnylighter @sebilini @quiznak-ofgrayskull @howuart @peachyninjago @pixanefan @emisnt2 @tokaywineandcheese @kdragon107

✨✨✨

sorry if you had something like that, I have a worse memory than a goldfish, and the attentiveness like stone ༼ ◕_◕ ༽

#txt #tag game #oc #post

102 notes · View notes

lovepollution · 1 year

Text

TMMM finale thoughts

SPOILERS UNDER HERE

Oh god, they opened with the Lenny stand when he’s spiralling and my heart hurts 💔 Luke absolutely nailed it however and needs another Emmy like, now.

It’s great to see Susie and Lenny interact, especially soft and caring Susie 🥺 Oh how I’d have loved to see Susie manage him 😩 And Midge hiding chainsmoking backstage because she can’t bare to see him that way. 😩💔

Poor Susie heartbroken over Hedy. Some fantastic stuff from Alex this episode, I so hope she gets an Emmy too for s5 because it’s so deserved.

You know what’s good about TMMM ending? I don’t have to tolerate Gordon Ford ever again - except maybe in fic where he can either be treated as he should or made into a better character lol.

Midge’s Gordon Ford victory dance was so cute 😄

Moise and Shirley are always great and the shower thing was sweet. 😆

You know what’s the other good thing about TMMM? No more Joel and ASP’s weird attempt at redeeming his character. 😒 I mean “You are amazing” just because he finally does the bare minimum to finally accept being used in her act? Ugh.

Really having trouble seeing how Midge being on the Gordon Ford Show is super exciting? I think the season long build up has made me not care. Proud Abe however is wonderful. 🥹

Nice rundown of past seasons events from Rose via the device of her naming Midge’s lies lol.

Rose and Abe’s cab search was just a chance to have a big continuous shot and show how much money Amazon spent on the show, but it worked. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Oh god, the paper from the fortune cookie that Midge puts in her dress - with the Chinese restaurant flashback coming, I see where this is going…

Of course they had Midge put no relationships in her act. 😒

The Chinese restaurant flashback 😩😩😩 “My head turned a long time ago” 😩😩😩

Midge and Joel wedding pic on Midge’s desk in 2005…like, wtf? 😖 It is nice to see Susie and Midge friends again however.

That was the ending?! THAT WAS THE ENDING?! NO MORE LENNY?! Fuck that. No wonder Luke said his three words to describe the finale were “I’m so sorry”. 😠😠😠

It would have hurt, but I wanted to see Midge’s reaction to Lenny’s death ffs. 😡

Alright, I have to sleep now, but I’ll sum my thoughts up thusly:

#the marvelous mrs. maisel season 5 #the marvelous mrs maisel #the marvelous mrs. maisel spoilers #tmmm s5 spoilers #the marvelous mrs. maisel

38 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

Frankie Finds Your Fanfic

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish" Morales, no specific pairing.

Summary: That’s it, that’s the story.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, allusions to sexual acts, male masturbation, pillow humping, probably a bad representation of posting things on Tumblr, Frankie posts dirty pics.

Note: It was just too good not to. Thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime for the original inspiration and @fuckyeahdindjarin for sharing it so I could absolutely tumble down the rabbit hole:

I was also thinking about Frankie having a nsfw tumblr blog where he posts pics and gifs of himself and there’s this one girl using his gifs in her steamy stories and he gets the notifications every time and of course he starts reading them eventually.

I wrote this in two hours like a rabid raccoon and it’s both of your faults.

This is my Sex Worker!Frankie finding your spicy fanfic, because it’s way too meta if he found my own. Writer is gender neutral and story is unspecific except for the fact that it does have a sex scene (also not described beyond Frankie being representative of a character). Feel free to imagine whichever story of yours would make you the happiest.

Takes places before the events of Something New while Frankie was still doing sex work for Pope’s.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

It was Pope’s idea. Something to boost Frankie’s confidence, show him that people like and appreciate his body. Frankie had balked at the idea, years of warnings against posting naked pictures on the internet for anyone to find screaming in his mind. But Pope sets up a Tumblr account for him, a burner email and no personal information beyond an age disclaimer, and now Frankie has an empty blog at his disposal.

“Don’t use it to get clients, it’s too risky,” is Pope’s only warning. Followed by, “Have fun, stud.”

Frankie isn’t sure how to begin. He doesn’t want it to be too lewd, so he starts small. A picture of his hand spread wide across his bare chest. The span of his fingers shows off their size, the curves of his chest a hint at his physique. He posts it with a short caption - like what you see? - and immediately closes the app. His heart races for a second, which feels strange because he’s done much riskier things in his life. A slightly spicy photo is low on the list.

He forces himself not to look at his phone for the rest of the evening. If nothing comes of it he’ll delete the account in the morning. Distracting himself with television and a late-night walk, he finally turns the phone over.

4 hours had passed.

His post has over 200 reactions.

Frankie stares at the numbers, numbly scrolling through comments of “HOT” and “yes sir!” and other even more blush-inducing phrases.

Okay, he could see the appeal.

After a few weeks of posting to rave reviews (one photo of his hips, cropped before you could see anything too salacious, was the frontrunner for most reblogs), Frankie’s confidence was mounting. He’d gotten several comments about posting GIFs, and where before he would have balked at the idea, now he’s debating what his first one should be. He enjoyed the more artistic cropped shots of parts of his body, several in black and white being his favorites. But if he was going to be honest with himself, he’s already decided what to do. He just has to pluck up the courage to record it.

It takes him a whole evening, a shot of tequila, a hot shower and some fiddling with lights to finally press record on his phone. Crawling up onto the bed, he positions himself to be in profile, his head cropped out but the rest of his body on display, bare save for some small black boxer briefs. He shuffles to widen his kneel and pulls the pillow he dug out of the closet against his crotch. Posting up on his arms, making his biceps bulge as they take his weight, he begins rolling his hips against the pillow. It’s not as good as it could be, but Frankie knows it’ll accentuate the cords of muscle in his thighs, the sensual roll of his hips mimicking how good he can fuck. He doesn’t need much footage, but he tries to vary it up so he has something to choose from. When he fists the pillow and presses it harder against himself, a spark of pleasure makes him snap his hips a few more times.

Feeling like he’s gotten enough footage Frankie moves to end the recording, but the ache of his half-hard cock makes him stop. Instead he pulls the pillow away and pushes his hand down his boxers to fist his cock, leaning back so the camera can catch his chest heaving, how his hips chase his hand moving lewdly under his boxers. His practiced touch makes him cum quickly. As a final touch Frankie stands facing the camera, dragging his boxers down just low enough that he can almost pop out before cutting the camera.

His face is beet red as he rewatches the footage, picking out the little 5-7 second bits he thinks are the best. He posts the first one the next day, a loop of him fisting the pillow and rutting against it, and waits with nervous anticipation.

350 interactions in two hours.

Frankie can’t help but smile.

It’s a Friday night, no work for Frankie (in bed or otherwise) so he’s relaxing on his couch with a beer and flipping through Netflix for something to watch. His phone is next to him, so when the little Tumblr notification pops up he takes a peek.

It’s them again.

Frankie hadn’t realized when he started posting GIFs that people could actually add them to their own content. When it first happened he’d hearted the original post, and kept doing so when he saw his GIFs used in fun and spicy ways. There were a few that he was partial to, and seeing them reblogged as inspiration or used in GIF sets gave him a fun little thrill of pride.

This was a completely different situation.

When Frankie was first notified he wasn’t sure what was going on. It looked like the OP had used his GIF as a header for a text post. As he investigated he figured out it was for some fanfic of a show he wasn’t super familiar with. A quick Google gave him some context - a movie with Pedro Pascal, who Santi had told him he looked a little bit like. Frankie didn’t quite agree, Pedro was darker-haired and had a fuller beard, a sharper jaw, but he could draw some parallels. Curiosity piqued in him, but squinting at tiny words on his phone screen was making his head hurt. He hearted the post for later.

He meant to go back to it but kept forgetting, instead adding more of his own content, fulfilling some requests, and working. He occasionally saw them post something else - another chapter, or a oneshot - and it would remind him to check it out, but time or forgetfulness kept that task at bay.

It’s not until tonight when Frankie sees that they’d followed him, a blip of a notification coming through, that he pulls out his iPad and clicks on their profile. He navigates to their masterlist, meaning to pick one at random but there’s a decent amount of content. He starts clicking in and seeing which story summaries speak to him, smiling when the header image is one of his. He’s posted some tame content as well, and seeing those softer photos and GIFs also being used warms him.

He finally lands on a story that looks promising - a concept he likes, one of his favorite GIFs used as the header, a decent length - and clicks into it. His lips part as he reads the prose. It’s good writing, immersive and intriguing. Frankie finds himself devouring the story, swept up in the plot and watching the main characters come closer to one another. There’s action and romance and funny bits that make him smile. He hasn’t read something this good in a long time.

He probably should have noticed the warnings. When the story becomes more explicit Frankie’s face flushes, one hand coming down to subtly adjust himself in his pants. Now it’s becoming clear why they used his GIF as the header. As he follows along, Pedro’s character emulates the GIF Frankie so kindly provided. The connection pulls him deeper into the scene, his hand rubbing over his chest as he tries to concentrate. The prose still holds his attention, but now he’s warring against arousal at the sex scene playing out. Frankie has seen his fair share of porn, but this was surprisingly hotter than anything he’d watched. It’s easy to put himself in Pedro’s place after seeing his own body used as inspiration, and as the scene unfolds Frankie finds himself having to take a few breaks to look up at the ceiling.

Jesus fucking Christ, people just put this scorching hot erotica on the internet for free?

It feels strange to slide his hand into his pants at the descriptions of what his character is doing, but it’s hitting all of his buttons just right and then some he didn’t know he had. He’s pleasing his partner in ways he knows and loves, but he’s also being introduced to new and creative ideas he’s never thought of. As the tension mounts Frankie bucks up into his own hand, trying to last but it’s too intoxicating. The deep intimacy of being in these character’s minds, seeing how they fulfill each other’s fantasies, has his eyes blurring, words swirling together as he cums hard and breathtakingly fast.

Holy shit.

Maybe he should take notes next time.

At his next appointment the client is a little nervous, asking for Frankie to take the lead. The scene that he read, and several subsequent ones he’d devoured, comes to mind.

“I have something we can try. Let me know how you like it.”

And she does. Loudly. Many times.

Frankie feels like he has a lot of reading to catch up on.

END

The story continues in Easy Like Any Morning

#frankie morales fic #triple frontier fanfictions #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #sw!Frankie #prolix fics

370 notes · View notes

horizon-verizon · 11 months

Text

Helaena & Aegon's Relationship -- A Book Reader Explaining How They Got Some Truths or Conclusions Out of an Unreliable Narrator/Account

Also can be found on Twitter HERE.

*HEADCANON*

Art Credit by fkaluis

There's really no reason to think that F&B is unreliably telling/twisting this moment, as this part is told through Munkun/Orwyle, Orwyle who was there to witness Alicent putting out this search party for Aegon to get him quickly crowned.

QUOTE of Helaena about Aegon's Whereabouts (in case pic below is illegible, not sure about pic quality)

Yes, Orwyle was writing to paint himself as non-complicit/innocuous as possible to avoid execution during his imprisonment.

Yes, Helaena is reported to be a "pleasant", seemingly non-confrontational person.

Yes, there is the possibility that he wasn't in the room when Helaena answered the searchers.

However, again, what we know of Aegon, his raping, his philandering, the fact he wasn't present and in the room with Helaena and had to be looked for maybe a few hours before being found and then found with a 12-year-old (he was in his early 20s), speaks volumes about their relationship alone. We do not hear anything that shows Aegon was even involved in his kids' development or nurturing or hung out with them, just because.

Meanwhile we absolutely, at least, know that Viserys kept Rhaenyra close to him at the feast while Aemma was alive, & even more so after he named her heir. (Viserys has got his own parenting issues even with Rhaenyra, but he was definitely loving towards Aemma & Rhaenyra and was present. Rhaenyra would have remembered him as putting in that parental effort).

We absolutely know that Baela and Rhaena, Aegon III and Viserys II & all the Velaryon boys were close with, trusted, or worshipped Daemon by:

Jace trusting him with Dragonstone and the Seeds

no would-have-been-used-against-Daemon rumor; not even rumors of contention between any of them (same guy -Daemon- that people feared? Plz they'd be talking)

Baela being described as the female version of Daemon, or her going through mourning him by being "wild" as Aegon's council saw it

Rhaena herself having Daemon's fire (fear of reaction to her 1st husband's death, love for attention, etc)

Aegon III likely naming his daughter after him & Daena naming her son (the Blackfyre) after her grandfather Daemon (indicates Aegon expressed his love for Daemon to her)

And there is absolutely no indication that Aegon II's relationship with Helaena mirrored anything like Jaehaerys x Alysanne/Daemon x Rhaenyra/Alyssa x Baelon/Aemon x Jocelyn/Rhaenys x Corlys. The Targ/Valyrian couples have the most romantic stories of the ASoIaF universe (as told by narrative).

Even in the more contentious couples' (of my list) earliest, most romantic years. Not a one. No reports of longing glances, hushed conversations ignoring the rest of the room as if they were in a bubble, screams of pleasure, tender arm holding, flying their dragons together, no famous words of affection or appreciation of the other's attributes. Nothing.

And Helaena being a "pleasant" person does not negate the ability to establish boundaries, fight back when alarmed/annoyed/feeling intruded on, or had some Targaryen pride herself. Or have some self-possession.

So really, we absolutely can & should take as fact, that Helaena said what I quoted about Aegon not being in her bed.

QUOTE of Helaena before Jaehaerys' Death

Aegon & Helaena, despite some people's insistence, were never close & were never in love & were never a true couple. And Aegon was never a good father, nor a good husband or person all on his own merit.

Anyway, back to the prime point: we as readers have managed to understand characters, their motivations, relationships, etc even though the entire account of the Dance and before the Dance/war IS made up of many sources w/agendas 7 biases before we look at "So Spake Martin"/"The Citadel 'ASoIaF' Archive"--or anything like those--websites.

But of course, some people already know & acknowledge some FACTS about these characters from these sources, but will thump their way into ad-hominems and divergent tangents just to avoid it & affirm themselves.

#helaena targaryen #aegon ii #aegon and helaena #fire and blood characters #fire and blood comment #fire and blood #helaena's characterization #aegon ii's characterization

28 notes · View notes

velnica · 8 months

Text

FFXIV Write 2023: #26 Last

Explicit | Sanson/Guydelot | 1691 words

A/N: Part of Singing Along to the Start of Forever, my Modern AU. Mentions of sexting, sending nudes and delicious things the boys get up to when they can’t sleep in the same bed.

The first time Sanson had sent him a mildly suggestive pic, Guydelot’s heart rate had jumped several beats. He’d been away on a concert tour in Thanalan and missing Sanson terribly that the mere sight of Sanson’s bare chest, grainy and poorly-lit, nearly sent him into a complete tailspin. Of course he’d joked about partners sending their musician boyfriends something nice while they were away, but never in a million years did he imagine Sanson would actually do it.

There was decidedly a lot of sexting in their chat history that night, raising the bar for their long distance sex life.

The first time Sanson sent him an actual nude was the first time they had video sex. It was Sanson’s turn to spend a few days away for an interview. Not far, just to Castrum Oriens in Ala Mhigo for a research piece on the Autumn War. Guydelot had been throwing some bachelor’s dinner together of pies and chips when a picture of Sanson, clearly naked in his hotel bed, appeared on his screen. Immediately he pressed the video call button and needless to say his dinner was cold by the time he ate it.

The first time Sanson had sent him a lewd photo, he was on stage in Ishgard and didn’t see it until well past bedtime. Worse, he couldn’t do anything about it on account of sharing a room with Estinien and Aymeric—he’d never live it down if they found out. The earliest he could be alone was before lunch the next day, when he furiously stroked himself to a picture of Sanson gripping his cock until he came hard under the warm shower. When he saw Heustienne in a cafe nearby afterwards, she'd just looked at his flushed face and teased him until the tips of his ears were on fire.

Sisterly instinct was a terrifying thing indeed.

That night he sent back an equally explicit picture and a new tradition was born: for every night that they were apart they would take turns sending a photo, and the recipient would either have to video call back if their time zones aligned, or they'd have to describe—in great detail—their reaction.

Well, it turned out that Sanson, if he really wished to, would make a great erotica writer. So much for him thinking he had no gift for verses—each successive line he sent made Guydelot's collar hotter and hotter and by the time he finished reading he couldn’t even remember what good sex felt like before Sanson entered his life.

They continued this tradition for a while, both enjoying this new phase of their relationship, until that one fateful day when Guydelot thought he was going to have a stroke in broad daylight.

It was far too early in the morning and they’d just arrived at their hotel in Kugane. Fjora was talking—in perfect Hingan—to the concierge whilst everyone else slouched on the available sofas after more than half a day of flying. Guydelot had collapsed next to Ysayle, who was trying her best to fan herself with her boarding pass. True to her nickname, the ice queen was having decidedly less than great time dealing with the sweltering Hingan summer. Only Estinien seemed to be wholly unbothered by it though he’d kept his hair up in a bun anyway to combat the heat.

Fjora’s voice suddenly sounded a little tight and Guydelot grimaced, though he had no idea what was happening, it was clear that there was an issue or two about their rooms. With a sigh he pulled out his phone and connected it to the free hotel wi-fi; might as well browse some trashy news while he waited for everything to get sorted.

The connection had scarcely been established when his phone suddenly buzzed. ‘Don’t open until you’re alone’ the message had said. It then buzzed again and a blurry preview image came up. He grinned. Right, he’d been away technically overnight, and Sanson obviously couldn’t wait to send this picture. Oh, this should be good. He debated excusing himself away but one: he had his back towards a wall and two: everyone else was too busy browsing their phones too so he angled himself even more away from his bandmates, threw caution to the wind and clicked on the preview.

A loading bar appeared and Guydelot realised it was a video instead of a photo. Well, this was new, Sanson had never sent him one before; he always maintained that he didn’t like hearing his voice recorded. The bar filled up a few seconds later and it started playing automatically, showing a close-up of Sanson’s very much naked body.

His choker suddenly felt a size too small.

The camera shook for a moment as Sanson fiddled with it. Once he was happy with the position he moved away, showing Guydelot a backdrop of their bedroom. They’d finally decided to move Guydelot proper into Sanson’s room, and sealed the deal by going bed shopping together. Warmth seeped into Guydelot’s chest as he remembered how he’d flopped onto their new mattress, giddy at finally having enough space for his limbs to spread and stretch only to find Sanson looking at him with deep adoring eyes. He had smiled then and in return Sanson climbed atop him and kissed him thoroughly until he lost all sense of time.

They baptised their new bed multiple times that night.

Sanson re-entered the frame and sat on the bed. He straightened his legs, showing Guydelot a perfect view of his toned abs and thighs… and his proud, erect cock.

Guydelot’s cheeks burned and he wished his uncomfortably tight jeans could magically disappear right then.

There was a flutter of noises as Sanson rummaged for something behind him and when his hand came back into view, Guydelot audibly choked. Sanson was holding a turquoise-coloured dildo, which glistened with lube in the low light of their bedside table. Slowly he reached down between his legs with his other hand, slipping his fingers into himself with a sigh, stretching and prepping so he could comfortably take on the sizeable toy. His mouth dropped open in pleasure and when they moved, Guydelot could hear his name clearly as if Sanson was right there—

He turned his screen off and slammed his phone down, heart racing a malm a minute. His breaths came out hard and hot through his nose and his face felt like it was on fire. His throat was drier than the desert. His nerve endings buzzed incessantly, like he had far too much energy and no outlet for it to go.

Gods, what the fuck was Sanson thinking? How could Guydelot act like a normal person after seeing… after seeing THAT.

Next to him Ysayle scrunched her brows in concern. “You alright? You look like you just ran a bloody marathon.”

Aymeric piped up, “Did Sanson send you an angry message or something? That was him, right?”

Fuck fuck fuck, he forgot to lower his volume—

Hearing their voices Estinien perked up. He scanned Guydelot up and down, zeroed in on his extremely flushed cheeks, noticed the way he’d put away his phone as if he’d been burned and then smirked.

“Oh, he wished he was running a marathon right now.”

Guydelot wanted to glare at Estinien but all he could muster in his frazzled state was a squeak. Shite, he’d definitely given himself away now.

Estinien’s smirk deepened and he opened his mouth for another teasing, but thank every deity in the universe, Fjora walked in at that exact moment, delaying Guydelot’s doom.

“Managed to convince them to speed up our check in for a reasonable fee. I’m sure you’re all dying to get in the warm shower—what’s so funny Esti?”

“Oh nothing,” Estinien snickered, “Hey Aymeric, mind if I crash in your room for a minute? Need to see if your upgraded pad is worth the money for next time.”

Aymeric stared at him confusedly, “Uh, sure.”

“Excellent. So which room key is whose?” he asked Fjora, who just tilted her head in pure confusion but handed out the keys anyway. Ysayle had her own room, whilst Fjora and Haurchefant had theirs. Guydelot and Estinien were bunking together whilst Aymeric decided to splash out this one time and got a room with a view. All set up the group piled into the lift.

Just before it stopped on their floor, Estinien slung one arm around Guydelot’s shoulder and whispered mischievously into his ear, “You owe me one.”

Guydelot nodded his thanks, hoping he didn’t look far too eager doing it. Estinien just released and pushed him towards the door with a wink. “If you’re gonna have a shower, it better be free when I get back.”

“If that’s the case, don’t get back for another hour—at least,” he clapped back. The last thing he heard before the elevator closed was Estinien’s howling laugh, and Ysayle chiding him for making excessive noise this early in the morning.

As soon as he was alone, Guydelot sprinted towards their room. Hurriedly he opened the door before throwing his bag onto the luggage bench atop his already delivered suitcase. His shoes and clothes followed and then he dove into bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand like a lifeline. Heart still racing he turned the screen on and was greeted by the lovely view again. He wound back a few seconds and pressed play, and this time there was no need to hide anything.

“Guydelot…” Sanson moaned as he pumped his fingers in preparation.

Guydelot gulped loudly and grabbed his own cock. He wondered why Sanson didn’t like hearing his own voice so much, to him it sounded like the most beautiful music ever created. Another moan rumbled through the speaker and he let himself be carried away towards bliss. Oh, Sanson needs to reenact this video in person when Guydelot gets home, he’d beg if he had to.

The dildo came into view again and a brilliant idea popped into his head. Guydelot smirked wickedly.

He was definitely gifting Sanson a silicone moulding kit for their anniversary.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv #my fic writing #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #guydesan #bard boys #I had to write this one down #I can never pass up the opportunity #to make Guydelot suffer #Technically I flipped the prompt #And wrote about a bunch of firsts lol

14 notes · View notes

archive2394934 · 2 years

Text

You know that post I made here? I finally got around to rewatching the episode and I took some pictures to show what I was talking about with Brenner taking special notice of Henry and Eleven, particularly his reactions toward Henry. Also notice the way Brenner's reactions are not so much curiosity as much as they are annoyance toward Henry? Or at least thats how they read to me which is interesting, imo. The following scene, when Eleven beats two shows the same stuff

AND for extra interest, Brenner's behavior while he has Henry tortured is also similar. I'm not sure how you would describe his stance and expressions here. He seems annoyed and exasperated but also kind of apprehensive? Which may indeed point to my little "theory" that Brenner was having Henry tortured in order to prevent him from being able to intervene while the other test subjects attacked Eleven (Not that I think Henry could have helped much without his powers but the other subjects probably wouldn't have tried to harm Eleven and/or would have stopped their attack if Henry popped up). Which would really mean Henry was telling the truth about everything.

Bonus: There is blood on Henry's uniform so this wasn't some "light" tasing or anything they were really giving it to him, which is fucked up! Behind the scenes pics have shown Henry was bleeding from his ears and nose. If the whole literally losing consciousness wasn't enough to indicate how heavy handed and kind of outrageous this actually was.

Nextly, someone went to the effort of making a very good gif set of this so here is some gifs from the scene where Two is "punished" while Brenner tells them not in these words that just because they show talent doesn't mean they are "safe". Again this kind of backs up everything Henry said about how he was trying to help Eleven. It seems he knew Eleven was in danger and tried to save her, like, genuinely. It seems he thought if he gave her tips to help her improve she would show the kind of "talent" Brenner wanted to see, thus protect her. It didn't work this way however and it seems this scene with Two being punished (not to mention Henry's own pretty brutal punishment prior) seems to be the moment it really resonates with Henry that talent has not spared any of them abuse and it will not spare Eleven from Brenner's plans against her. IN FACT, as Henry admits, it seems to have only made it worse.

Final thought? Henry Creel did nothing wrong. But no, seriously, I actually think its a bit interesting how it seems there was potential noticed within Eleven and Brenner planned to harm her to bring it out, but Henry tried to step in and bring it out of her without hurting her and Brenner takes some type of issue with this? Technically Henry was kind of helping. He was helping Eleven bring out her powers without anyone getting hurt. A little odd that this isn't what Brenner wanted? But then we've literally seen Brenner torture Eleven, a scared little girl, for the great crime of not having the heart to kill a cat so that tracks, actually. Which LIKE I ALSO SAID in my post about this, it seems to work toward being like a TWIST in the story that shows HENRY was the one with actual benevolent intentions and behavior toward Eleven. Brenner was the one instead trying to hurt and use her the whole time (like he did to henry) Side note, I think this makes complete sense not just from a I'm here to apologize for Henry Creel angle but also from a "this shit canon stop acting like he's evil for no reason" angle because moreover it makes sense that Brenner would have fully encouraged antagonism and competition between the other numbers. Keeping them enemies with each other, competing with each other and keeping this weirdo lord of the flies hierarchical environment between them meant they couldn't essentially unionize against Brenner. Brenner being mad and concerned that Henry had the audacity to treat Eleven kindly and with friendship feels to me that Brenner wanted to ensure none of them had supports outside of himself. It massively helps him in keeping his control of all of them. So yeah, hope that all makes sense I'm sure someone can probably word it better but there you go.

#henry creel #vecna #001 #peter ballard #stranger things analysis #I don’t want to apologise for Vecna’s murders – I’m not sorry

67 notes · View notes

orcelito · 7 months

Text

Ok on why ITNL 15 was so technically difficult.

Under a cut for ppl who haven't read it & wanna keep it a surprise

So writing traditional action ends up feeling like choreography. I plan out the steps following the motion that feels the most natural. It can be tricky sometimes, but mostly in figuring out how to describe an action I see in my mind. Overall, I end up writing traditional action really quickly actually bc it's Fun and Exciting and it Flows

What went down in ITNL 15 was not traditional action. Really, it was an unconventional torture scene.

So the trickiness came from multiple things. First & honestly one of the hardest things was getting into the head of a madman. Someone who will gleefully kill a lot of people just to hurt someone psychologically. Someone spiteful, sadistic, and just having so much fun with it (but also not Actually having that much fun, bc he was also just Really Angry)

First time writing him, too. So I had to find a new character's voice On Top of exploring the whims he would follow when literally torturing someone.

And then we get to the actual actions of it. There was no choreography because there was no dance to it. No flow of motion. There was a Burst at the start of the interaction, but then it all just Stops. Vash is forced to take it at Legato's pace as he toys with him.

That was a huge part of how tricky it was. Following the thread of where Legato was taking it & being unable to push things along with Vash. Vash was just along for the ride, existing just to be toyed with. Falling right into Legato's expectations with his reactions...

Except for two parts. And these were some of the trickiest.

When he managed to break out of the control Just A Little Bit. And then when he's on his knees, emotionally stripped bare, and decides to go for the one jab that he knows will Hurt Him just as a stubborn "fuck you", since he didn't have any other way to take autonomy in that scene.

He pays for it. The paragraph where Legato broke Vash's nose was the one that took me 50 fucking minutes to write. Which, on that note, I can show a screenshot of my working through it!

Final paragraph: Legato's face twisted in instant fury. His hand tightened harshly in Vash's hair, using it as a grip to bash his nose into his knee with a sickening crunch.

And the progress pic ^ lmao. Something I do while trying to puzzle out wording is push the old version down & start working on a new version, but not deleting the old yet in case I wanna switch back or otherwise re-use any of the wording.

There ended up being about 15 of these discarded lines. 111 words of discarded text. Until I finally settled on the version in the thing.

Another thing I focus on a lot while writing is the motion of the words, and that was so much of the struggle here. Such a simple moment, you would think. He's just breaking his nose. But describing it in a way that is Concise while also communicating the gravity of it AND the motion of the words themselves. It's a lot to consider. And it's such a miserable moment for Vash, it was so hard to get it to a point I was satisfied with.

I'm pretty proud of how the scene turned out, in the end. Maybe not 100% perfect. There are definitely a few points that feel held together with duct tape and tooth picks. Then other parts where I'm just like "holy fucking shit, I wrote this???" An interesting combination, but I feel like that's writing in general.

And! It seems like my work paid off! People seem to have enjoyed the chapter, which makes all the work feel a lot more worth it. It's a nice feeling to know all that time is appreciated.

Yeah . A Lot went into this scene. Definitely out of the bounds of anything else ive written before. But I think I can confidently call this a success 😌

#speculation nation #itnl shit #wow this ended up being a lot more words than i expected #talked a good amount about my writing process in general too #but yea. if ur curious about That Scene of ITNL 15 at all. this post is for You

6 notes · View notes

screampied · 30 days

Note

Vegas my friend, omg I’m so late!!! My work was literally fucking me in each hole and beating my ass these days, but I FINALLY read sukuna x toji fic 🤤 Can I start from the end tho?? That ending?? Where is this your reaction pic with this white guy and his stupid ass bicycle on the wall, because istg that was my face when I realised the ending 😶‍🌫️ Ommgg I believe in Tojikuna and I know Toji gonna bend this ass over happily but I kinda feel bad for reader 😞 Like come on, can y’all fuck later or smth, I’m still here, hello? 🤨 Ok but anyway, you ate so bad, I fear. I looove it, like their frenemy vibe?? The way Toji called us “my girl”?? Sukuna calling us “princess”??? 😓😓 And the first part when Sukuna was eating us out and Toji fucking our throat 🥺🥺 You described it soooo goood, I’m gonna pass out rn 😥 And THANK YOU for pushing “sucking Toji’s nipples” agenda, because that’s the only way to live. I need to suck all of their tits, man 😞😞 Thank you for the meal baby, I want to give you a kiss, this fic got my pussy expanded I swear, have a good day!! 🩶🩶

(P.s. I love the way you chose words and synonyms for your works. English is not my first language and thank to you I always expand my vocabulary, you got me googling what the hell is “Suaveness” lmao, and they say reading smut is not helpful!! 🤨)

this entire ask made me SOOOOO MOTIVATED U HAVEEEEE NO IDEA 😭😭😭😭😭😭🥹 omg !! don’t apologize hehe i understand <3 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

are you talking ab this picture BAGAHAHA. noo ikr like poor reader 🤚🏽 she just wanted two cawks but they just had to fuck around and “fight” with each other omg. the embarrassment i felt too like WHAAAAAAT. phew im glad you think i described everything good, threesomes require so much detail but if you think it was good, thank you sm 😓😓😓.

ABSOLUTELYYYYY i’m always gonna push the sucking toji’s nipple agenda igu <3 GRAAAA if it made your pussy expand then that means i did my job 🧖‍♀️🧖‍♀️🧖‍♀️🩶. of course, feel free to give me anyyyyy more ideas bc im so willing to whip up more stuff, especially for tojikuna hehe

#answered 💌#🧁#AND BABAHAHGKG THANK YOU #english is not my first lang either so this makes me happy 😞🩶#suaveness hehe such a sexy word #right . . smut can be educational too! 😋🤚🏽

5 notes · View notes

insecuregodcomplex · 10 months

Text

here's a bunch of thoughts i have about the book and the movie and how they do/will/might tie together or not !

very much mostly for me but if you want to interact u can

RWRB Movie Anticipation List

i started keeping notes on what i could envision with and what i hope for in the movie as i embarked on my latest reread, and tried to organize it below. this is mostly for me and my own keeping track of things but feel free to interact

(spoilers from promos and things ahead)

(Book) Chronological Thoughts Ahead of the Movie

key red - i'm expecting no orange - faint hope blue- it's in the movie and may not directly be from the book yellow - i could see either way OR i'm thinking about it specifically and it could be used differently green- confirmed in the movie pink- quotes/words i would love to see/hear in the movie

I wonder if the "don’t get caught" etching is at all included (not thinking likely, more of a book thing)

London Luck and Love in soundtrack (not thinking likely, it's too small of a thing)

Alex’s backstory with Henry’s pic (it's useful in the book but not sure it's of use in the movie)

Meet at climate conference and Alex is snubbed by Henry (this is in the movie apparently in place of Rio) — flashback? Or just mention or starting the movie with (?)

Nora (rather than June) dancing with Henry (?)

idea: the cake scene is Alex trying to poke at Henry’s facade as he describes in the book and he is like come on have some cake don’t you want to try it and then forgets it

parallel: (in case we don't get the book line) "I think you are [obsessed with me]" (first meeting) to "lifts/I know that too sweetheart" (re: ndas)

would love if we can have Henry’s “fuck” from cakegate because it's the first time ACD hears him swear (possible but tbd, extraneous)

the "ride the dead kid sympathy into a second term" line (possible but tbd, extraneous)

idea: after “takes the cake” Ellen could have the “please tell me another joke” line from the book

Zahras “sun shines out of his dick” and it’s even embellished (we know we're getting it)

if they do the fact sheets I hope they include Great Expectations because of the email explanation (?)

shoutout fact sheet clip with the 6 ft 2 moment (still tbd of above)

idea: Alex is in a muscle tee for the cornettos scene. I think (although we aren’t getting rumpled pajama Henry listening to sad music - sad!) it will still be a caught off guard moment — maybe even retaining the Nora FaceTime that Henry interrupts ((not to analyze but this from a visual POV gives more of a linear timeline imo where we don’t see Henry with his guard down til later, literally)). Sad for no glasses but similar vibes of a small (important) detail in the books that doesn’t necessarily need airtime

cornettos is happening

will Henry’s depression be explicit at all? either of their mental states im curious (?)

"Always great to see this guy!!" (we know we're getting it)

hospital scene with Claudette (we know we're getting it)

we know we're getting some sort of acknowledgement/apology for being a prick during the hospital closet scene but how much of the dialogue will be from the book? (?)

on that, there's been mention of ACD speaking on “the importance of young men ‘with a Z in their names’ being able to see people like themselves succeeding in the world”...could that be part of ACD's explanation of the H/A parallel but also how Alex "isn't even white like [his mom] is, can't even pass for it"? (?)

“no booty calls” when Henry and Alex exchange numbers (also is this when he does the peace signs? part of why I could see this line being said then - either way, H's reaction is exactly right) (?)/(?)

“omg make out already” comment (if not also the "this guy" gif equivalent of the fist bump gif) (?)

curious to see what they do with President Mom pizza dinner? if there will be the pool hustling story with Alex and Oscar? and then that leads into the campaign position like in the book? (?)

the first texts. Like. Yeah — one does not foster a lifelong love of star wars without knowing an “empire” isn’t a good thing ? I am lowkey impressed ? (?)

Nora teasing Alex about texting Henry (?)

we know we get the turkeys THANK GOD

could we get the nods of his parents calling him Claremont and Diaz in certain moments (?)

Christmas call to Henry (featuring Bea?) (?)

NEW YEAR'S PARTY AND THE FIRST KISS (Get Low is confirmed) (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD

my own thoughts: I’m just excited to see how they do Alex’s “oh.” kind of transition and hopefully into a convo w Nora — we see that she “totally privately called” their kiss so

so with the changed Liam/Raf character will that character serve a purpose as Alex figures out he's bi? (?)

"the night is young ma" clip, is that state dinner?

RED ROOM state dinner kiss!!! (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD (is that still of the forehead touch in there idk - regardless we know we get Amy and the kiss)

sooo after that they hook up (and i'm assuming that's where the clips from the trailer are from) and then would be the "i wouldn't mind doing this again" scene

tack room - at least the aftermath (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD

above - the eating dialogue is good and maybe served into that still (from the !!first!!day!!) of them in a cafe or maybe “Paris" do we get France (?)/(?)

"is that a hickey?" from Zahra (?)

The names call!! And the gay kings! And the first time we get “baby”! And the talks about family and queerness and coming out (?) also confirmed Henry loses his father in the movie

will someone say to Alex "he's your match" its so good (?)

good morning strumpet (?)

Karaoke. Don't Stop Me Now.!!!!!!! (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD (bathroom? we saw the close friends and the challenge prompts the song...) "bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry"??? -- also it's in Texas right so it'll be later? with the lake?

their first penetrative time

“So, this is the gang now, huh?” (?)

will we get acd fighting for southern states thats !!! mml and casey both southern kids! (?)

I don’t think will have time for Wimbledon...although maybe something similar but in a different context, idk (?)

so we've gotten stills of them at a piano...do we get our beloveds at the piano post wimbledon even in a different context... (?)/(?)

we’re getting DNC hotel hookup but does this mean we get Henry surprising Alex too (will we also see like. People noticing him at the hotel bar? Alex and Nora going on a date and Henry goes on a date with some random girl?) ((??))

->->-> Casey said "originally they were outed by an annoying British tabloid reporter" (x) which im curious if that's the raf/liam character. also is that where we get the shot of them in robes smiley((??))

"Someone else's choice doesn’t change who you are…most things are awful most of the time but you’re good" would love. to hear.

“Getting into international relations” “technically” could very likely be in there as well as dont tell mom bc we know we get "you putting your dick in him" quote

ACD coming out to his mom!! the clip was released - is the pizza for the presentation (he doesn't say bisexual in the clip and we know MML cares about it...is that to come?)

Ellen’s “feel forever about him” (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD

How are they going to do history huh (email/VO?) (i do have a mental picture of TZP typing it and giving us that Moment)

will we get henry's story from his email? im not expecting it but also it's when he says yes to the lake so maybe?? would be happy!

we get the lake. we get him leaving. we get so much from the lake. (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD

is there a way we will get to know the moment alex realizes he's in love? or moreso the part where he tries to tell henry? (same with you carry too much/i know?)

so the Bea/Henry stroll and "do you love him""what difference would it make if I did" and also "at least youll never be king" is after that im guessing... and I'm not positive where "Prince Henry belongs to Britain" goes...is that his "i've been trying to be happy my whole idiot life"?

Alex in Kensington. (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD - two thirds Alex POV one third Henry POV (apparently in light of Kensington) ?!?!

what lines from kensington will we get?? Obtuse fucking asshole? when have i ever pretended to be anything but in love with you? i never imagined you'd love me back? then fucking have me? we can find a way to love each other is in the trailer...you treat me like I do?

v&a. them dancing living out henry's fantasy gn. (ty perfume genius can’t help falling in love) And then. The airstrip (we know we're getting it) THANK GOD (addendum: pls "i completely fucking love you") ALEX GIVES HIM HIS KEY

I know we get emails but how much of chapter eleven do we get (I’ll throw up if we get Waterloo)(or the list)(or most any of them tho).

Shaan and Zahra have to be a thing in the movie.

do we get “Sería una mentira, porque no sería él.”/"It would be a lie, because it wouldn’t be him." in some capacity. pls

the email from alex after the luna fight is so beautiful to me but idk if we will get it?

I know we get the email released of course but do we get “I need to talk to my son” and everything with it?? Please.

On that ^ can we get Nora and Ellen and Oscar hugging/being there for him after the immediate release of everything

decision to go public and the Shaan/Zahra reveal - how?

also that still of H and A on the stairs hugging is that when they find each other ("i wont lie not about this not about you"?) - they look too sad in it or i would say it's after they settle with the queen but on that it's different in the movie (king, i dont think catherine is in it...)

bea’s sponsor monologue. It means so much to me but it doesn’t necessarily move the plot forward although it gives some background to Henry (at least as a kid who lost Arthur) so ?? -- also "you need to understand this" and the explanation ugh it is so good and i understand if we only have it in the book. but. ((one more thing - could be used as part of Henry's POV just saying))

wait yeah. that's when he does "on purpose" which isn't CRUCIAL but like. crucial for the book!

we get the king and philip and pleading. we know we're getting it of course!

for what it's worth that's the bravest son of a bitch (?)

"look at this" clip of Bea just like her showing them the BBC coverage of support (?)

Never tell me the odds mural. Idk about copyright and things but god. Imagine. something?? like it?

history huh shirt??

ACD’s speech word for word from the book transcript (possible but tbd, technically possibly extraneous to include it all but...)

super curious about Nora and the whistleblow and no Raf, if/how they'll go about that?

those early bts photos of TZP in the lilac…maybe a scene im not thinking of (or just them being together) but ??is it them sitting for the Royal portraits??

Alex and Nora’s little planning for their futures — could also then see Henry and Alex’s pic which would be cute but who knows

will we get Ellen's victory speech? (lowkey in my mind's eye i see a cut to of firstprince going home as she's speaking, then shift to them officially when she steps off stage ... but idk how closely this part will be stuck to yanno tbd)

ending lines being “we won” like in the book (?) - just Henry and Alex as the end, maybe not that dialogue exactly ? (not sure if they would have an entire other set just for a scene but also maybe??)

point here ^^ is i dont really know what the end is going to be but i know i will like it <3

thank you matthew thank you taylor thank you nicholas thank you all <3

#v watches rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb #rwrb movie spoilers #rwrb spoilers #long post #red white and royal blue #i did something similar for tsats release and it was cool to screenshot my thoughts before i experienced it yk #v obsesses #red white and royal blue 2023

7 notes · View notes