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inkskinned · 10 months

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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

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ellecdc · 2 months

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hi lovie !

I ADORE your writing and get so excited everytime you post 😭

I wanted to ask if you’re okay with writing a poly!marauders x reader fic where r is an overthinker and over analyzes small things. It brings r to think the boys are mad at reader so r begins to close off— happy ending w/ healthy communication, just them reassuring r

🤍you can absolutely ignore this!!

thank you baby! I'm so glad to have you here with me 😭 thanks for your request 🫶

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: insecurities, overthinking, belief of conflict, eventual healthy communication skills, men behaving rationally (that's how you know it's fiction) jkjkjkjkjk 👀

You knew you were overthinking; you could actually hear yourself spiraling as you chewed aggressively on your cuticles. You ran through every single interaction you and the boys had throughout the past few days and couldn’t help but come to the same conclusion every time.

They were mad at you.

And even saying it aloud made you feel silly because, really, what could you have possibly done that would have managed to upset all three of them without knowing about it?

There had been a few disagreements between the four of you since the beginning of the relationship; more specifically since you had joined the relationship.

The boys, it seemed, went through most of their more volatile fights prior to you meeting them.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t arguments. There were always differences of opinions, some hurt feelings, and learning everyone’s sensitivities and love languages etc. didn’t happen overnight; it took time.

One thing you were particularly thankful for was that you had yet to ever feel like the boys were ‘ganging up’ on you. Your argument always stayed between you and the participant of the conversation and everyone else opted to stay out of it unless they felt they could provide some helpful insight.

But for all of them to be mad at you without some big blow up happening? You couldn't imagine what would have caused it.

It wouldn’t have been anything you said or done to Sirius, as he was a very head strong person who preferred to face things upfront and head on. If you had done something wrong to Sirius, you would have heard about it.

James was a wild card since he usually wore his feelings on his sleeve, but he also had a tendency to paint a smile on his face and smile through the pain in order to keep the peace.

Remus was often stoic and the voice of reason, but you also knew he could be incredibly sensitive.

Oh god... had you done something to upset Remus? You must have...it’s the only rational explanation. He’d likely be telling Sirius not to say anything to you, and since Sirius struggled in biting his tongue, it would make sense that he opt for the “if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all” route.

And though James did tend to smile through the pain in order to keep the peace, he was also fiercely protective of his people – particularly when those people don’t seem inclined to stand up for themselves.

Oh god. Is this why they asked you to come over tonight? They wanted to talk to you...no, they wanted to break up with you.

By the time James opened the door, you had forgotten you even knocked. He was all bright smiles until he took in your form – he was disappointed to see you.

“Hello, honey. Come on in.” He said, though his words were stilted, sounding oddly scripted and rehearsed.

“Hey sweets!” Sirius called from somewhere in their flat, “have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah.” You called back, having to clear your throat when your voice came out gravelly. You could feel James’ eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

“Moony’s running late from work, but he’ll be home soon.” James announced as he ushered you into the living room.

You scanned your surroundings, cataloguing everything like it might be your last time in here.

You found signs of Remus’ love of trinkets and the oddities everywhere you looked, as well as signs of James and Sirius feeding into that by bringing him home things they’ve found as well. There’s a small pewter fox you bought on your trip to the coast sitting on one of the shelves of his bookcase.

Picture frames lined the walls; evidence of Sirius’ love for photography, his camera, and his favourite people.

And the god-awful pillow James found at an estate sale and insisted it have a place on the couch. It was ugly, it was lumpy, it didn’t match with anything else in the space, but it was James’ and he loved it.

Sirius came bounding into the room and rubbed at James’ shoulder affectionately, pecking a quick kiss to the crown of your head in hello before breezing by to head to the kitchen.

“He just got a home a few moments ago, he’s gonna heat up some leftovers for him and for Remus when he gets home.” James explained.

“Do you want any, doll?” Sirius called.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you!” You tried your best to sound upbeat while a horrid feeling settled in your stomach.

James seemed to feel just as awkward as you did; keeping his eyes dutifully on you whilst trying to appear that he wasn’t. His leg bounced anxiously underneath him as he leaned onto the arm of the grandfather chair he sat in – across the room from you.

It may as well have been an ocean worth of distance with the way it left you feeling.

Sirius returned to the living room a few moments later and made himself comfortable on the other end of the couch from you, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table after placing a glass of water directly on the coffee table. You wanted to chide him, knowing Remus would have him by the bollocks if he saw, but you didn’t know if it was your place anymore.

Sirius asked you how your day at work was and you offered him a vague “oh it was alright. Long. How about yours?” which started him on a long tangent about some of his more colourful customers today and how tiresome he found people in general. He and James shared some quips and anecdotes about worst moments in their various retail experiences, and you thought about how much you were going to miss this.

“Okay, what is going on?” Sirius snapped abruptly, causing your head to shoot up so quickly that you heard it crack.

“Huh?” You asked sheepishly.

Sirius’ brows furrowed as he stole a glance at James before turning back to you. “You’re being weird...what’s going on with you?”

But you didn’t get a chance to answer when the sound of the front door alerted everyone to Remus’ arrival. You hated that you visibly tensed at the sound of him moving down the hall.

“Hey bubs. Is she here?” You heard him ask James, since you and Sirius couldn’t yet see him nor he you from his position in the hall way.

You felt your face scrunch up miserably and quickly brought your hands up to shield your face, choking out a silent sob.

“Yeah.” James responded, though his voice was but a whisper as Sirius added a “whoa” at the same time.

“What did you guys do?” Remus cooed and made his way towards you having spotted your distress.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered miserably, both for whatever you’d done to cause this conflict between the four of you and also for your embarrassing display of emotions.

“What are you sorry for, dovey?” Remus asked softly as he knelt in front of you, gently taking your wrists and coaxing them away from your face.

“For upsetting you all.”

Remus’ brows furrowed beyond their worried state and into a more confused state as he turned to look at the other two boys in bemusement.

“Well, I don’t think any of us are happy that you’re so upset, love, but we’re not upset. You don’t have to apologize.” He pressed.

“I don’t think that’s what this is.” James input from his place across the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m not quite sure why you’re mad at me, but I’d like to talk about it with you and I promise not to do it again.” You cried, sounding disturbingly and embarrassingly close to begging.

“Mad at you? Is that why you’ve been such a weirdo tonight? You thought we were mad at you?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Don’t call her a weirdo, Pads!” James chided, standing from his chair.

“Why’d you think everyone was mad at you, dove?” Remus asked, ignoring the squawking of his boyfriends behind him as he forced you to hold eye contact with him.

“I... I don’t know, I guess things just felt kind of off this week and then...I don’t know.” You admitted dumbly. “And then I got here and, it just felt weird.”

“I’m sorry, angel.” James apologized, suddenly beside you having taken to sitting directly on top of (a very petulant) Sirius. “You seemed distressed and... I got nervous. Usually, Rem is the better one at handling these things, I wanted to wait until he got here to broach the subject. Sirius, though, has the tact of a bull.”

“So, you were just going to let all of us sit here awkwardly until Remus got here to save the day, huh? Not on my fucking watch.” Sirius groaned as he positioned himself to kick James not only off of him, but off the couch completely. This caused Sirius’ glass of water to topple off the coffee table and onto the rug below it.

“Nice going, Prongs,” Sirius spat victoriously from his place on the couch, “look at the mess you’ve made.”

“It wasn’t even my cup!” James defended.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that wasn’t on a fuckin' coaster, Sirius.” Remus reproached darkly, tossing the dark-haired boy a glare over his shoulder.

Sirius just smirked and then winked at you. “There you go, dollface, now everyone’s mad at me instead.”

“Awe, Pads!” James cooed from the ground before launching himself back onto Sirius. “Look at you, taking the heat off our pretty girl.”

Remus shook his head in exhaustion, but you could see a fond smile ghosting his lips from his place before you.

“Trust me, dove. You’re the least of our problems.”

You chuckled wetly and wiped the tears (and more embarrassingly, the snot) from your face. “I’m sorry. I feel rather silly now.”

Sirius, having given up on his instance to be the little spoon between he and James, looked around James’ broad frame in his lap to face you. “How about this; if we’re ever upset with you, we promise to tell you. If we haven’t said anything; it’s safe to assume we’re not mad. Okay?”

You nodded in agreement.

“And...” James continued. “Next time you find yourself feeling like this, maybe you can tell us, too?”

You nodded emphatically. “Yes, I promise. I’m sorry.”

Remus kissed the backs of both of your hands and stood from his knelt position in front of you.

“No more sorry’s, dove. We’re all good.”

James stood from Sirius’ lap to place a warm kiss to the space between your cheek and ear and whispered another apology for your being upset.

“Hey, Moons?” Sirius called.

“Yeah?”

“Are you heading to the kitchen?” He called with the sort of smirk that caused you and James to exchange a suspicious look.

“Yeah.”

“Can you grab me a glass of water, please?”

“Fuckin’ hell Sirius get off your arse. And use a sodding coaster.” Remus bellowed from the bedroom.

“See? You’re the least of our problems.” James repeated, stamping another kiss to your cheek.

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sweetnsour1 · 8 days

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10:53:01

Fluff, Bakugou x fem reader

Part 1 of 2

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I be kidding?” His tone had shifted. You could hear his brows and eyes furrowing at the strangled laugh you had shakily exhaled.

“How did you find out?” He had to be fucking with you.

“Um, the mission briefing...like usual?”

“What?” Shit, so he wasn’t fucking with you. You blinked away tears of frustration already threatening to leak into your voice. Stupid.

“Huh?”

“So, you’re really leaving?”

“Have to, beautiful.”

“But...”

“Yea, I know. I’ll miss you too.” His tone was getting softer with every awkward response you choked out.

“No, I mean...” You let the words trail off. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten the meaning behind this quickly approaching date. Your brain couldn’t even craft a way to bring it up without whining. You couldn’t do it. “Just be safe, okay?”

“The hell do ya think I am? I’m always safe.”

“Safer than your version of safe, please.” Your tone was firm as it delivered the familiar words, a ritual every time he left for a mission.

The memory of the first time you’d made the request came to you easily. He was in the doorway of your office, backing out, bumping his wide shoulders into the frame as he failed to smoothly exit. Red spread across the skin directly below his mask. You had thought you had overstepped, maybe he was upset that you questioned his performance. Your head had tiled to the side in confusion when instead he only said, “Yes, ma’am.” He landed a smack against the head of the blonde hero snickering behind him as he walked off, mumbling something about shutting up.

“Mmm.” You smiled. Maybe he was thinking of that day too.

“‘Mmm’ isn’t a promise.”

“I’ll be back before Saturday. Promise.”

“Back with all the parts you left with.”

“Ya gonna’ love me less if I don’t?” His words were obviously being spoken through a smile now, or a smirk more likely.

“Depends on what you lose.” A part of you melts at the chuckle let loose in your ear.

“Bullshit.”

“Mhmm.” You’re quick to agree but want to hear him laugh again. “If you come back hurt, I’ll just kick your ass for not listening to me.”

‘What if I come back without an ass?” His laugh is cut short as you hear a familiar voice inform him how that would be highly unlikely to count as coming back safe. The tone on the other end gets harsher as he tells the man with him to mind his damn business. You roll your eyes at the familiar sounds of bickering bubbling between the two heroes. You pull Katsuki’s attention back to you as you catch the sound of Deku’s mediating attempts only pacifying Todoroki.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

“Yea.” You quirk an eyebrow at the leftover hostility worming its way into his conversation with you. He hears it too, coughing back to a gentler version before he continues. “I’ll see you Saturday, beautiful.”

“See you Saturday.” Your words fall forward in a mumble towards the screen already reminding you that you’d ended the call. Fuck. Fuck.

“Fuck.”

You rolled your head forward; thankful it was still early enough in the day to start making all the calls you’d need to. You did a few of those dumb square breaths that your therapist swore by. It was annoying that it helped. A feline reminiscent stretch was the only other action you took before opening the most frequently used document saved on your phone. The twinge of regret at the sight of the bright orange header was promptly shoved aside as you began scrolling down to the vendors’ contact info. By the third call, you had quite a script ready to go as soon as someone picked up: Hello, sorry to bother you right before closing. I actually have you guys booked for the event tomorrow night. There’s been a change of plans and I would like you to deliver the (whatever they were in charge of) to (whatever organization could use it) as a donation instead of delivering anything to the venue. After that, it was always a short confirmation of details before you dialed the next number on the list.

The biggest loss was the venue...no, that was wrong. The biggest loss was not being able to get Bakugou’s birthday right AGAIN. You really weren’t sure anymore if the blame was with you or the universe or maybe Bakugou was a villain whose only agenda was to thwart your birthday attempts. Well, you were pretty sure it was you, but it was way past ridiculous at this point. His birthday had been a disaster or disaster adjacent every year since you’d started dating.

There was the first one where you got flustered when he had the audacity to go for the first kiss, getting you flustered enough to drop his gift, a very not waterproof limited edition and vintage All Might card, off the bridge and into the river. The next involved a mistake where you accidentally had Kirishima drop him off at the wrong address...not realizing there were two locations for the restaurant you two had your first date at. The one after, you ended up hospitalized for just a few days, missing his birthday completely because your dumb ass didn’t wake up in time. Although he technically had spent it with you, you just weren’t conscious. You both had work the one after that, so not really your fault on that one. But you did forget his present at the office and so ended up giving it to him the day after, so that part was your fault.

He was always annoyingly understanding about the trouble you ended up causing on the one day every year that you wanted to be the least troublesome. He would just laugh it off, thanking you for an unforgettable day. He’d call you cute or sweet or a menace. He’d say his birthday wasn’t anything to stress about.

His words would be so much easier to accept if he didn’t seem to feel differently when it came to your birthday. He never gave a gift late or damaged or less than perfect. He never messed up the date or time or location. He never forgot any part of his plans or goals for the day. It was always irritatingly more than what you would’ve imagined or expected. Not that birthdays were a contest, but...if they were, you were fucking losing badly.

You slid your phone further across the counter after your last call. This was supposed to be the year you got it right. You’d even enlisted a dangerous amount of help for a surprise party: Kirishima to keep Bakugou from finding out, the head assistant at their agency to get the scheduling information just right, Mina was charged with the guest list, Kaminari and Sero were assigned the entertainment (with final approval from you after a near x-rated disaster). You even had Midoriya help you decide on a present.

Everything was finally going to be perfect. You were so determined. You had even stupidly begun to feel safe in your victory. The party was supposed to be tomorrow. And now, he wouldn’t be back for nine days. Fuck. Fuck.

“Fuck.”

You pawed at your phone again, sending a quick text to Mina so she could notify the guests of the cancellation. You were already exhausted from the last half hour of calls and just wanted to crawl into the bed that was now dumber and colder and emptier than it was supposed to be. Before burrowing, you sent “code yellow” to the One Brain Cell group chat, following the ridiculous list of emergency code phrases made up by Kaminari. You didn’t think you’d end up using them, but here you were.

You then finally set your phone aside for real, pretending to set the urge to sulk along with it. This was part of the job. He was needed and that was a priority...helping people should come first (and it always did). Even if a selfish part of you, that seemed to get louder every time he was called away, wanted nothing more than to convince him to stay. The man you were in love with wouldn’t just give up his purpose or his morals like that. Not even for you. It was admirable. As a hero, you loved and respected that. As his girlfriend, it made you feel more jealous and selfish than you would ever admit.

You would just have to not suck next year.

Inspired by the request sent in by @mentallyablaze-writes

Masterlist

Part 2 coming soon

#Bakugou #Bakugou fluff #Bakugou x reader #pro hero bakugou #Bakugou imagines #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha Bakugou #bakugou katsuki #fluff

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rabbitbandit05 · 3 months

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Dangerously Yours (Vox x Reader)

I had this idea after listening to "Dangerously Yours" (1944) Masquerade episode on Spotify, and couldn’t help but write for it. I was originally going to write three chapters for it, but ive been very busy with college work and life so you can have the bullet points that was going to be the script for the story. This is also kinda piggybacking off my original post of "Y/N as a star", but this time with a twist. I hope you enjoy this post- and also reminder: My requests are open!!

Alastor and you both know each other from when you were alive! Not only were the two of you close, but you were cousins.

This story starts off with you, who is one of Alastors most trusted colleagues in hell (but are not an overlord). You are sent to the Vees tower to spy on them, and Alastor entrusts this task to you because of how closed off you are from the rest of hell and that no one should know you well enough to question who you are.

Not only that- but no one knows your familiar relationship with Alastor so they wont be able to use that against you.

In the event that you needed to escape, Alastors shadows would follow behind you from a distance to ensure your safety, and when you stomped you foot three times, you would be whisked away to a safe place.

With that all said and done, You make your way to the Vee’s tower on a day you knew a bunch of reporters would be there and questioning/ interviewing the Vee’s

People are naturally drawn to you (not in a hypnotizing way- but in a way you are able to alter your aura to have people perceive you in any way you want them to)

You end up making it a point to charm a bunch of reporters near the Vees tower to catch their attention. Not only that, but you play coy by pretending to not know the Vee’s and their influence. Now that really catches their attention because they are extremely prideful about their importance.

You claim it’s because you have barely left your old employer who kept her under a close watch and rarely let you use the internet/ technology (Not 100% false- you just preferred to stay away from the technology originally)

Not only do you catch the attention of the Vee’s, but you catch the attention of Vox in particular, Who (after watching your playful and intentional nature) is determined to make you into a super star.

Its all going according to plan, just as Alastor predicted. Something new and shiny shows itself to Vox and he cant resist trying to control it.

You agree to work with Vox for a certain period of time before you actually sign a contract with the Vee’s (so that you are granted time to get in and out quickly without having to sell your soul to any of them).

You start to slowly get info on the Vees and how they run things, as well as creating a way for alastor to take them all down. They each have their weaknesses that only those who are allowed close to them are able to see. Its easy to assume a persons weakness, but to evaluate and calculate the best way to ensure their down fall is the best course of action.

And whats that saying? Keep your friends close, Keep your enemies closer.

Meanwhile, while working for the Vee’s, you are becoming more known throughout hell and are rising in popularity.

You are the talk of the pride ring, with all the demons wondering where you came from and how you were so quickly able to captivate your audience. Only two demons on this side of hell are able to work such an audience after all- The radio demon and the Video demon.

Its inevitable that you and Vox start a relationship with one another (very lowkey ofcourse, with no knowledge from the public, however people still suspect it)

You know its fake, and somewhere deep inside, vox suspects its fake, but both of you cant help but lean into it regardless.

Its also inevitable that both of you develop feelings for one another, though neither of you can admit it…

Eventually your act comes to a head though- as Vox finally admits to you that he knows who you are and what your plans are- Its not hard for him to find whatever information he wants, and that includes about you. He did a “background check” on who you were before coming here and found out about how you are related to the Radio demon.

however as he confronts you, there is no aggressiveness in his voice, just an unsettling calmness that is even unusual for him…

You are forced to stray from the original plan and now must protect yourself and what you know.

You debate back with the video demon. He has it all wrong, that no matter what he does, he wont get the information he wants from you, and that you will end him if it comes down to it- if he forces you to (you both know this is a bluff but regardless, you refuse to die without a fight)

Vox doesn't argue with you- instead, he tries to get you to join the Vee’s and actually commit to being a star as well as joining him and the Vees in ruling. Forget Alastor, forget your ties to him or whatever debt you may owe him- he is giving you a choice that is up to you alone to make, and that is to join the Vee’s.

Afterall, he cant bring himself to exist in his unlife without you- essentially admitting he loves you.

He also admits that regardless of weather you join them or not, Alastors time as an overlord is coming to an end soon…

You can help but break down. Here you are given the chance to finally do something for yourself and act on the love you have for Vox- and you admit that to him, however you also confess that there will always be a part of you that wonders if he actually cares about you, or if he justs cares about the power you can bring to him…

Not only that, but your loyalty will always be deeper to Alastor than it is to Vox, and Vox’s loyalty to winning against Alastor will always be deeper than his love for you.

You end up stomping your foot three times on the floor, and then before Vox can say anything or move from his spot to stop you from leaving, you are engulfed in a circle of shadows and whisked away from the scene- ending up in your room at the Hotel. You collapse to the floor from the emotional exhaustion and heartbreak of it all-

maybe in another death you could have been together… maybe if you were born a different person in your life you could have been together, but you both died in your current forms and are the demons you are- and you cant change that.

Alastor walks up to you and ends up chuckling at your patheticness, as he helps hoist you up and walk you to the kitchen to make you something to eat to cheer you up. Maybe an old family recipe will bring you some comfort, and he can relish in your misery at missing home even more.

Vox’s mission to end Alastor becomes even more intense, as now he believes that ifd he kills Alastor, you will finally be freed from the guilt of being forced to follow and obey him, and finally be free to make your own choices.

Vox also never informs the other Vee’s about your betrayal, and insist you were kidnapped and he is working on getting you back.

The end.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin headcanons #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #vox x reader #headcanon

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hetalimagines · 2 months

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General headcanons for Alfred as a boyfriend (SFW)

Here's my first actual post on this blog, hehe... I can't find the ask but someone requested some Alfred headcanons, so here are my rambles about what I think he's like as a boyfriend!

He’s honestly not the most traditionally romantic person. Your relationship is more like friends who make out sometimes. But he does have his own little ways of showing you he loves you!

He’ll put together playlists of songs that remind him of you. They’re mostly loose connections, like maybe a song mentions your eye color, or the lyrics remind him of a date you went on together, or it just sounds romantic and makes him wanna kiss you. He likes to sit with you while you listen (to every single song), and he interrupts the songs a bit to explain why he chose them.

“This one had me thinking what if we were dancing in a ballroom together, and out of nowhere, bam! Zombies bust in. The door crashes to the ground! Our dance turns into one of those cool fighting scenes with the—oh, this part reminded me of the time I woke up early and you were about to fall off the bed. You had a cute bedhead.”

(You have no idea what the lyrics are at this point.)

Dates with him are pretty casual, more like “hanging out” than anything fancy. Maybe you stay at home and watch movies/play games, or you go out for dinner at a local diner, or you go do awful karaoke together, or you go and prank a friend together.

He’s happy as long as he’s with you. Bonus if there’s food and/or drink.

He occasionally takes you out to a more traditional restaurant and dresses for the occasion. They’re usually expensive, too. The food isn’t his preference (too complicated for his palate), but if it makes you happy, he’s all for dealing with it for just one night.

His primary love languages are acts of service and quality time. He’s always doing what he can to help you out (and feel proud of himself in the process). Whether he helps you run errands, runs a bath for you ahead of time, or fluffs your pillow before you get in bed, it’s all because he wants to make your life easier!

He gets a little jealous if you ever spend time with your shared friends without him, or if you spend more time with others than him.

He’s so excited if you take interest in any of his hobbies. Movies? He’ll ask if you want to co-write a script with him. (He’s very relaxed about what exactly ends up in the script.) Archaeology? He has so many random facts to dump on you, and he’ll be super impressed by any knowledge you have on it. Conspiracy theories? Time to watch a bunch of documentaries! He enjoys them despite their flaws, but lets you know exactly when something is false and what actually happened.

He tries to take interest in your hobbies, too, even if he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about. It could be the most boring thing and he’d still listen and ask you questions about it. If it makes you happy, he wants to know all about it.

Pet names from him consist of things like babe, dude (💀), honey, occasionally sweetie, (jokingly… mostly) prince or princess. It’s all over the place. He’ll call you honey and dude back-to-back sometimes.

He loves debating if you’re comfortable with it! But be warned, he gets very heated about certain topics. His sense of justice is important to him. Otherwise, he’s usually not serious about these debates and doesn’t care who wins.

He tries to keep things light and doesn’t usually let people see his more serious side. He’ll open up to you more over time, however. It’s really him letting a wall down and allowing himself to get closer to you.

Every now and then, he has days where he’s a lot quieter and calmer than usual. He just wants to relax, stay on the couch with you and watch movies or simply chat. Maybe a movie chattering in the background as he tells you about his childhood. He doesn’t try so hard to keep up this energetic, heroic persona.

He’s right back to normal the next day like nothing happened.

Likes to annoy you for fun. Not in a mean-spirited way. He just thinks your responses are cute and has poor impulse control. Poking your cheeks or ruffling your hair or playing an obnoxious song loudly on the stereo while he dances. But he’ll back off if you’re genuinely upset with him. He means no harm.

He loves if you’re willing to play along with whatever he gets up to. Maybe he’s decided he’s going to try and vacuum the whole house while doing a handstand on the vacuum. You can hold onto his legs to help him stay balanced.

This man is very impulsive and has a tendency to get himself hurt. Random bruises all over his body or a cut along his forearm. He bounces back easily, and doesn’t want to fuss over it, but he lowkey likes if you baby him about it. He’ll always say how it’s not a big deal and he can take it, but his heart does this little flutter when you show concern, and even more if you force him to take better care of himself.

He burns himself in the kitchen and you force him to run it under cold water. He’s swooning inside.

He likes to gossip about others, especially over breakfast. He can’t help it; he’s just nosy, and he always has an idea of what’s going on and how he can help out. Huge bonus if you gossip with him!

He loves to feed you, but the majority of the food he brings for you is burgers or tubs of ice cream. He likes to experiment with the burgers’ toppings and seasonings, but they’re all burgers nonetheless.

Every now and then, he does plan some big romantic endeavor. It’s like a surprise. You never know when it’s coming… You wake up one morning and find out he’s booked a week long cruise, your bedroom is filled with balloons, and there’s enough breakfast food on the table to feed an army.

He does this thing sometimes (often) where he swoops in and has to save you. A puddle on the ground? No need to fear! He picks you up and swiftly carries you over it. The safest place for you is in his arms. He’ll even lay down and let you use him as a bridge if you want.

A suspicious penny on the sidewalk? LOOK OUT, IT MIGHT BE A BOMB! Let HIM step on it before you get blown up!

He steps on it. Nothing happens. Better safe than sorry!

If you’re the more independent type, that won’t stop him from trying. He just wants to keep you safe and have you appreciate his efforts. Being disinterested or resistant will just make him try harder.

Says cheesy stuff like “happy wife, happy life” unironically. He’s also the type to use terrible pickup lines to flirt with you. Totally unaware of how bad they are until you start laughing.

He also doesn’t care that they’re bad. He’s just having fun.

Loves to give you his clothes to wear. Seriously. You want one of his hoodies? Try six of them.

You complain when one stops smelling like him so he puts it on, works out, then gives it back to you like :D! Fixed the problem!

He takes so many pictures of you guys. Videos, too. His phone storage is eaten up by it. His favorite thing is to take selfies together. Usually with some silly filter. Or an even sillier caption.

“me and the babe out shopping” and it’s a picture of you, holding a piece of fruit with the dog ears filter

He’s not the most physically affectionate, but he always gives you morning kisses and especially kisses before leaving the house. He also loves carrying you around (mostly bridal style) in his arms for no reason other than he can. A hand on your back, another on your thighs, your head pressed against his chest. He loves it.

He loves knowing you find him physically attractive! He worries sometimes about being too overweight, so any reassurance that you like his body helps. If you think he’s hot, and you’re hot yourself, that must mean he definitely is.

Has a tendency to call you hot, but he’ll call you other things if it makes you uncomfortable.

Occasionally brags about you and how lucky he is. Not as often as you might think. Though he gets oddly competitive if anyone acts like their partner is better than you and starts spouting whatever he can so everyone knows you’re the absolute best. No competition.

#alfred isn't one of my fave characters so i hope i did him justice ♡#hetalia #hetaila headcanons #hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #aph america #hws america #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #america x reader #reader insert #sugar

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @karamelcoveredolicity

Summary: You’ve been Elvis’ personal assistant since his Comeback Special in ‘68. Your work leaves you little time for a social life, but you don’t mind, you get to work for Elvis Presley, after all. When Priscilla leaves him and he finds out the truth about the Colonel, your relationship with him shifts drastically. And not for the better.

Notes: Reader is a woman, but there are no other specific descriptors. Obviously I don’t condone the behavior in this fic in real life. Please read and consider the warnings before reading this fic. All content that could be considered disturbing is under the cut. Let me know if warnings need to be updated or added. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Some sexual content that involves coercion, but nothing overtly explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Prequel | Part 2 | Part 3

You were fresh out of college when you snagged a job at NBC’s studio in Los Angeles as a production assistant. The first year or so was mostly getting coffee and answering phones, only doing real work on sets every so often. You ended up getting on the good side of one of the executives when you managed to find a pilot script that had gone missing. From there, you were working directly on sets, brushing shoulders with stars you could have only dreamed of meeting.

The highlight of your career as a production assistant came along when you were assigned to work Elvis Presley’s upcoming Christmas special. You thought it sounded a little corny, but at least you’d get to be in the same room as Elvis, the man whose face adorned the walls of your teenage bedroom.

The "Christmas special" became a covert operation to actually film Elvis’ musical comeback with as little interference from his odd and overbearing manager as possible. You felt like you were part of a team, something bigger than yourself, especially when Steve Binder had asked you to personally assist Elvis throughout production, spiriting him away when needed to avoid the Colonel.

"Me? Steve, I don’t know if I’m qualified to do that. I mean, he’s Elvis Presley," you’d argued.

"Y/N, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t trust you. EP needs someone reliable in the network right now," he said.

That was more than enough convincing for you, although when you formally met Elvis, you were shaking like a leaf. He was kind, taking the time out of what you knew was his busy schedule just to talk to you. Your professional relationship developed, and he began asking your opinions on aspects of his career unrelated to the special.

You were surprised when he had approached you before production was even over, offering you a position as his personal assistant going forward. Without hesitation, you accepted, giving NBC your notice as soon as shooting for the special had wrapped up. Your friends balked at the decision, but you had the last laugh when the special finally aired that December and set Elvis’ career trajectory skyrocketing again.

He had told you about his plans to tour the world, finally be able to go to Europe, and even Japan. He’d need extra help for such an ambitious undertaking, and you nearly cried when he said he saw something in you that made him know you’d be the perfect fit. The prospect of traveling internationally was especially appealing; there were so many places you wanted to visit, but couldn’t afford to go.

As time went on, these dreams of foreign cities were replaced by sold out residencies in Las Vegas and adrenaline-filled tours throughout the United States, but you didn’t mind that much. Elvis had become a close friend to you, and you’d spent many hours just chatting with him in his suite or dressing room. It didn’t even feel like work sometimes.

You didn’t know what you’d be without him, probably still clawing your way up the ranks at NBC or another studio. You were his shoulder to cry on when Priscilla divorced him. Not that you necessarily blamed her, Elvis was by no means perfect, but he was your friend. Your heart broke further when he informed you of the Colonel’s lies and how much debt he’d put Elvis and his family in to fuel his own greed and gambling addictions.

You developed a habit of checking on Elvis in his dressing room after his Vegas shows, it was when he seemed to be most troubled, most vulnerable. The door was closed, so you knocked, making Elvis aware of your presence. You could hear a muffled "Come in," and entered.

Elvis’ dressing room was always in some state of mess despite the International’s housekeeping staff, with plates of hastily eaten meals and various glasses of half drunk alcohol strewn about the room. His elaborate costumes were either hanging on a clothing rack, or styled on mannequins.

He sat on the crushed velvet couch, his head in his hands. You noticed the empty whiskey bottle on top of the vanity and frowned. It wasn’t good for him, not with all the pills and potions Dr. Nick passed out like candy.

"You put on a great show tonight! Like you always do," you exclaimed as you approached him.

He lifted his head. "Y/N, you can’t leave me," he said, the desperation in his voice startling you. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he’d been crying. You couldn’t tell whether it was tears or sweat dripping down his face.

"Elvis, what are you talking about? Why would I leave?"

"Everyone else has. You see the news, I’m washed-up. No one cares about me anymore."

"I care about you. You’re so important to me," you said earnestly, sitting next to him and putting your arm around his shoulders. "I mean, since we first met, we’ve hardly spent a day apart."

That did make you feel guilty. You liked Priscilla, she was always kind to you, but you knew the distance must have taken a toll on their relationship. The drugs too, which you tried to curtail his use of to the best of your ability. For better or worse, you felt an obligation to take care of Elvis, especially now when he seemed more alone than ever.

Caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the change in the way he was looking at you, as if seeing a completely different woman from his personal assistant of nearly three years.

He engulfed you in a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You returned the gesture and swore you must have imagined feeling his lips press against your skin. Rubbing comforting circles into his back, you held him for what felt like hours.

"Maybe you should head up for the night," you suggested. "Take a shower and try to get some rest."

He lifted his head, opening his mouth as if to respond to you, but instead he nodded, getting up from the couch and walking over to the door. You followed, taking his hand in yours as the two of you stood in the hallway.

"If you need anything, you let me know, okay? I’m not going anywhere," you said, hoping your smile would reassure him.

"Thanks, darlin’. You gave me a lot to think about," he said.

His gaze was intense as he brought your hand up to his lips, giving it a kiss. You felt your face heat up at the gesture. He’d given you quick kisses on the cheek before, but this seemed more intimate.

Someone called for him, and he dropped your hand, clearly annoyed by the interruption. You used this as your opportunity to bow out for the night, letting him know you’d be returning to your own room in the hotel.

You took the elevator up to the floor just below the penthouse, where you and almost everyone else in Elvis’ entourage resided. Of course, your room wasn’t nearly as big as his suite, but it was nicer than any apartment you’d rented in LA. Elvis wouldn’t let you pay for anything yourself, from room service to use of the hotel’s many amenities, claiming it was part of your benefits as a Presley Family Enterprises employee. You could definitely see how his generosity played a role in landing him in debt to the Colonel’s "management company," so you decided not to overdo it.

Just as you were starting to get comfortable and wind down for the night, you heard your room’s phone ring over the sound of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing on the TV. You sighed, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up.

"Hey, Y/N," Jerry said.

"What’s up, Jerry?"

"EP wants to see ya."

"Oh, why didn’t he just call me?"

"Who knows. He just told me to tell you," he said. "I’m headin’ down to the casino."

"Alright, don’t have too much fun," you said as you hung up.

It was odd, Elvis knew your room’s phone number. You supposed he was busy with something else, and Jerry was the closest person around. You put your dress from the day back on, sliding into your shoes before leaving to go up to the penthouse and see what Elvis needed you for.

You were the only other person who had a key to Elvis’ suite at the International. When he’d given it to you, the two of you alone in his dressing room after one of his shows a little over a year ago, you accepted it with pride that he trusted you so much. Still, you never exploited the privilege, even knocking beforehand as a courtesy.

"Elvis? Jerry said you needed me?" you called out as you unlocked the door to his suite.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the televisions on the wall. You noticed Elvis sitting on the couch in his silk robe, with little else on that you could notice.

You gasped, turning away from him. "Oh—my, I’m so sorry, I’ll—"

"C’mere," he said, voice deep and smooth. He was still sweaty from the show earlier that night, his jet black hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He had a bottle of some kind of alcohol in his hand, which he placed on the coffee table in front of him.

You stood frozen in place.

"Don’t make me ask twice, darlin’. And lock the door behind you," he demanded.

With a ragged breath, you did as he said, hearing a pleased hum rumble from his chest when he heard the door lock. A commoner entering a throne room, you approached him cautiously, his eyes blazing as they followed your every move. You felt ten inches tall, and for the first time since you met, you were truly intimidated by him.

He let out an amused scoff when you sat on the far edge of the couch. "Closer, baby."

You got up, hesitantly sitting down next to him. He put his hand on your thigh, sliding the hem of your dress up higher and higher, until you placed your hand over his.

"Elvis, this isn’t appropriate," you protested.

He gave you a sly grin, his eyes hooded as he leaned over you, effectively trapping you on the couch. "I’m just tryin’ to make my best girl feel good. Don’t you think you deserve that for how hard you work? How good you are to me?"

"I don’t need anything. Just making you happy is enough for me," you said, hoping to quell whatever was bringing on this change in his behavior.

"It’d make me real happy if you just lay back and let me take care of you for once, huh?"

Unsure of what else to do or say, you nodded. Not so long ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before, especially when you first met him, in awe of how impossibly handsome he was in person. You’d actually felt bad about your fantasies when you got to know the man behind the star, charming and kind, who seemed to take a genuine interest in you despite your having no status in the entertainment industry. Maybe he really was trying to take care of you, recognize your devotion despite everything falling apart.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your panties. The cool metal of his rings on your thighs made you feel all the more sensitive.

Softly, slowly, the way the serpent must have spoken to Eve in the garden, he whispered, "Tell me you love me, and I’ll give you everything."

"I love you. I love you, Elvis," you whimpered.

The worst part was that it was true. You did love him, to a fault, you’d now come to realize, but you never wanted things to end up like this. There was no romance, no passion. It all seemed so desperate and dirty.

"I love you too, Y/N. It’s you and me now. Just us, baby," he panted, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders as he stripped you of your clothes. He shed his robe, and as you had expected earlier, wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Your head was spinning as he kept muttering ‘I love you’ while he kissed and groped you, his hands warming your skin as it made contact with the cool air in his suite.

You weren’t sure when you’d ended up on his bed, but at some point when he had nearly suffocated you in a kiss, he must have grabbed you by the hips and guided you over. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you grabbed for a sheet to cover yourself, but he caught your wrist in his hand.

He clicked his tongue. "I don’t think so, darlin’. I wanna see what’s mine."

Everything was a blur from there, and when you woke up that afternoon, you felt sore all over. You remembered you were in his bed, and tried getting up, only to be kept in place by his arms snaked around your middle, holding you against him. Grabbing one of his arms, you pulled it off of you, and then the other. Just as you were about to get out of his bed and as far away from him as possible, he stirred awake.

"Where do you think you’re goin’?" Elvis asked, his normally bright blue eyes, stormy and dark.

Your eyes widened, not expecting to be put on the spot like that. "Bathroom."

He nodded. "Alright, come back to bed when you’re done in there."

You grabbed your bra and panties that had been discarded on the couch, sighing when you noticed the zipper on your dress was now broken. Continuing into the ornate bathroom, you locked the door before you even turned the light on.

As the room was illuminated, your hand flew to your mouth in horror when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your neck and collarbone were littered with dark hickies, your waist and hips with finger-shaped bruises that almost looked like stripes on your skin.

With shaking hands, you reached for a cup, filling it with water from the sink and taking small, slow sips. You didn’t want to go back and have to face him, and decided to try to drag it out as long as you could. You slowly redressed, taking care of how sensitive your skin was. A few minutes had gone by, and you hoped he’d fallen back asleep so you could get the hell out of there.

Your heart dropped when you opened the bathroom door, seeing Elvis speaking on his bedside phone. He looked at you, a smile spreading across his face. Hastily, he ended the call and beckoned you back over to the bed.

"I ordered room service, should be here in a few minutes," he said. "I got your favorite."

"Thank you," you said. What else was there to say? ‘Hey, what the fuck was last night?’ You situated yourself in his bed, pulling the covers up over your chest.

With a gentleness he failed to display last night, he moved your head to give you a tender kiss on the lips. You kissed him back, but pulled away with a hiss when he placed his other hand on your bruised shoulder.

"Oh, baby, I went too hard on you last night, huh?" he cooed, caressing your cheek. "I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I’ll be more gentle next time."

"Next time?"

He didn’t notice you squeak out the question as room service had knocked. He got up from the bed, throwing on his robe as he made his way to the door. The room service staff entered the suite with their cart of food and drinks, but you kept your gaze cast downward, too embarrassed to even attempt to make eye contact.

He sat down to eat, but you hadn’t left his bed yet.

"Eat up, Y/N, before it gets cold," he said.

"Can I have something to wear? My dress broke," you said.

He seemed amused. "‘Course, darlin’. I’ll buy you a new one."

Elvis handed you one of his robes to put on, and you wrapped it tightly around yourself, wanting to keep your body as covered as possible. His hand was on the small of your back as he walked you over to the table where the dishes were laid out. Your favorite dish was placed next to where he was sitting. Did the International’s kitchen even make that?

The two of you ate in silence, which you were thankful for. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. Eating your comfort food improved your mood a bit, and you allowed yourself to sneak glances at Elvis when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You were so confused, about what had happened that night and your own feelings about him. You weren’t sure you could bring yourself to hate him, not when he caught you staring and gave you a boyish smile. He’d never acted the way he did last night before, and you couldn’t think of any time he indicated he was attracted to you, at least not that you noticed. You knew you needed time on your own to think.

"I think I’m going to head back to my room to shower," you announced when you finished eating.

"Why? There’s a perfectly good shower in here," he said.

"I need my shampoo."

"Just be down for the soundcheck at 6, alright?"

"Okay."

"I love you, baby," he said.

"I love you too."

You gave him a kiss and fled the suite, wasting no time in running to the elevator. You frantically pressed the button to your floor, and as soon as the doors opened, sprinted to your room.

Shedding the robe he had given you, you threw it across the room, along with your bra and panties. When you showered, you had scrubbed your body as much as you reasonably could, as if it would undo what had just occurred the previous night.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do more than stare at the wall, exhaustion washing over you. You were dreading the soundcheck, only three hours away, but you couldn’t claim illness. Elvis had just seen that you were fine, and you didn’t want any of Dr. Nick’s "medical care." You caked concealer and foundation over any visible hickies, and threw on a scarf for good measure, hoping to avoid any potential questions about where you’d gotten them if anyone noticed.

To your surprise, the soundcheck and next few days went smoothly, as if the encounter in his suite never happened. The only thing that changed was he’d kiss you in front of others, and introduced you as ‘his girl.’ The congratulations were sweet, but the claims from his band and the Memphis Mafia that they ‘knew it would happen sooner or later’ shocked you. Were you that oblivious to Elvis’ feelings toward you before?

On an afternoon before yet another Vegas show, he asked you to meet him in his suite. It sent a wave of anxiety through you, but you agreed, figuring what had happened a few nights ago was a one-off incident, the result of whatever had been injected into his veins before the show and the overwhelming feelings of loneliness he’d been struggling with.

You cautiously entered the suite, relieved to find the lights on, curtains open, and Elvis fully clothed, playing a tune on his piano. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he crossed the threshold to meet you.

"There you are," Elvis said, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Did I keep you waiting too long?"

"Y/N, darlin’, I had the best idea," he said, smiling the way you hadn’t seen in a long time, enthusiastic and full of life. You’d hoped the past few days had been a fluke, and he was back to his old self again.

"What is it?"

"You and me get married. Whattya say?"

Your face fell. Though he and Priscilla had been separated for a while, the ink was hardly dry on the freshly served divorce papers. It definitely wouldn’t look great publicly, but he was in no state to get remarried so soon, especially not to you. "I’m not sure that’d be a good idea."

"Why not?" he looked hurt, as if it had never crossed his mind you would answer with anything but an enthusiastic ‘yes’.

"I know you’re still hurting from Priscilla leaving, but—"

"But I have you. And if I don’t have you anymore then I—I’ll—" He stormed over to the glass case that housed his gun collection, which had only grown as of late.

You immediately rushed over, hugging him from behind in an attempt to restrain his arms. "I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you, Elvis. Okay?"

You panicked when you felt one of his arms pulling from your grasp, so you held him closer, pressing your face against his back.

"Why’re ya cryin’?" he asked, voice emotionless as he felt your wet tears bleed through his shirt.

"Because I’m so happy," you lied. Lied straight through your teeth.

You loved him, cared about him, but you were terrified and had no one to turn to. Everyone had either checked out or were content turning a blind eye to his increasingly troubling behavior. You supposed you played some role in letting things come to this.

Had you really been so engrossed in the glamour and chaos of it all to not notice? Whenever the topic of relationships came up, you’d joke that you were married to your job. Thinking about it more deeply, perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that your job was an all-consuming entity which overtook your life. You’d lost touch with your LA friends, mostly socializing with Elvis’ supporting band, backup singers and the Memphis Mafia. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to your family besides a quick phone conversation, and spending holidays at Graceland became a given. Your whole life revolved around him.

When you felt Elvis’ hand over yours, you resisted the urge to pull away. Instead, you relaxed your arms, allowing him to turn around and take your face in his hands. He wiped away your still-flowing tears with his thumbs.

"I knew you’d make the right choice, baby. You’re always so good to me," he said, his delusional joy evident on his face.

You nodded, hiccuping as you tried not to hyperventilate. You were trapped. Trapped like he was. He knew how horrible it felt, and yet he dragged you down with him. Misery loves company.

“I’m gonna call the hotel manager, let ‘em know to bring your stuff from your room up here,” he said.

“Okay,” you whispered. “That sounds great.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind as you watched your life being brought up, piece by piece in his–now your–suite. He went on about the wedding, and you silently wondered when he’d even have the time in his busy schedule. Your eyes drifted to the glass case that had just become the bane of your existence. Shotgun. It’d probably be quick, devoid of any ritual or intimacy; a witness, two signatures and a ceremonial kiss. That was all you’d get.

Later that night, when Elvis had his next show, you stood off to the side of the stage, as usual. He was captivating as ever, and you hated that you still smiled when he sang your favorite songs and cracked jokes to the audience. He had the charisma to match his looks, and you mourned the dream man you had crafted in your mind before his true colors came into view.

“Now, before I leave tonight, there’s someone I want y’all to meet. She’s real special to me,” he began.

You felt like you were going to throw up. He wouldn’t. He never brought Priscilla on stage, and would only mention her during the shows she was actually present at. Then, to your horror he did just that, calling you by name and waving you to join him on stage with him. Frozen in shock, you stood firmly in your spot side stage, not missing the glare he shot you when it seemed like you were taking too long.

“Go on, girl!” one of the stagehands urged you with an oblivious smile.

You walked onto the stage, feeling dizzy and then dizzier. Hundreds of people’s eyes were on you, but none of them felt like they were piercing your soul like his were. You didn’t know what to expect from this new power play until Elvis got down on one knee, presenting you with a glittering diamond ring.

“Y/N, darlin’, will you be my wife?” he asked, with a lovestruck sincerity that almost made you say ‘yes’ without hesitation.

Still, you looked out to the crowd, hoping at least one of them would sense your discomfort. Instead, they broke out into taunting laughter when he said, “She’s just got a little stage fright.”

That was it. Say ‘no’ and look like a bitch while still having to marry him, or say ‘yes’ in front of hundreds of people, effectively killing any chance at arguing that he made you do it. Eyes watering, for the second time that day, you agreed to marry him. The crowd erupted in applause, and he kissed you, passionately like you’d always wanted. Like he really loved you. You almost fell for that act too, until he pulled you close, his lips barely brushing your ear.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he whispered, echoing the words of reassurance you had told him just a few days before.

With that, you collapsed in his arms, blissfully unaware of the still roaring crowd and pleased smirk that had spread across his face.

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere elvis

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joshs-big-toe · 5 months

Note

CAN YOU PLZ DO DOM! MIKE IM BEGGING

Hey guys, this request basically gave me free rein to do whatever I want, so please enjoy this toe-curling story I write here. This is going to be a longer one (word count: 4,919) so sit back and enjoy. This is basically pure smut so if you don’t want that, keep scrolling :) (also, Abby is not relevant in this story, so just pretend she is staying the week at a friend’s house if that’s something you're concerned about I guess lol)

Cw: heavy smut, dom! Mike, sub fem! Reader, deprivation, edging, jealous mike, possessive mike, sweet mike, dirty talk, HELLA EDGING, slight degradation, slight praise, mentions of CONSENTUAL somnophelia, slight fluff toward the end

Mike Schmidt, your boyfriend, supported your acting career with his entire being. Actuality, he was damn proud of you. No matter the role, he was on board, flooding you with support and affirmations. However, you had just gotten a role, your dream role, in this Blumhouse film, starring alongside an actor you loved: Evan Peters. You have loved Evan Peters since you saw him in Kick-Ass. When you got your script, you read through it. The storyline was amazing, but there was a lot of sex between you and Evan’s character. For the first time, you didn’t want to tell Mike about a role. You knew Mike more than likely would support your decision to take on this role, but nervousness filled you. Before you told Mike, you decided you wanted to think about it, hiding your script under your bed. Soon enough, the thought of the script slipped your mind and you moved on with your day. The day consisted of a tabling, meeting Evan for the first time, and getting to know the cast and directors better. It was almost time for Mike to go to work when you finally got home. You sighed, putting your bag on the table by the door after closing it behind you. “Mike, love, I’m home.” Silence. You were confused, his shift at the Pizzaria didn’t start until midnight. It was only 11:00 pm. “Mike?” You strolled past the living room into your room, seeing Mike on the floor, holding your script.

He looked up at you, a mix of sadness and anger filling his eyes. “What is this, y/n?” You were speechless, mouth hanging open slightly.

Your mouth opened slightly, trying to come up with what to say. “Mike, um, it's just-“

He cut you off. “When were you going to tell me about this? Clearly, you’ve had this for a couple of days now.” His voice was monotone, showing clear frustration.

“I was going to tell you,” you mumbled.

“Why didn’t you?” He set the script down on the ground.

“I was nervous, Mike. I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you would’ve just told me. Now I just feel like you lied to me, y/n.” He flipped the pages. “And of course Evan Peters. Really?” I nodded, feeling guilty for not telling him. Now keep in mind, Mike was never rude or controlling when it came to you, he just was extremely attached. He typically wouldn’t mind sex scenes, but he knew about your love for Evan, and immediately he was filled with jealousy.

“It's not real sex, Mike.” You said, hiding the redness that filled your face. He put his face in his hands, groaning.

“That’s not the point, y/n. The point is, you felt the need to hide this shit from me.” He looked down at his watch. “I have to go to work, this,” he holds up the script, “is coming with me.” He stood up, loading his pockets with his essentials and then grabbing highlighters, note tabs, and sticky notes from your desk drawer. Without a word, he kissed your cheek and left your room. His skin was hot against yours, making your body shudder. You stood there, unsure of how to even react. You heard the door shutting and the lock click as Mike left. You knew you were fucked, that you'd be in the doghouse tomorrow. Why did he want my script, you thought to yourself. You began to overthink the whole situation, making it difficult for you to fall asleep. You lay on your bed, tossing and turning. You texted Mike, no answer. You had no idea how long it had been before you heard your phone ding. It was Mike.

Mike: I hate how you kept that from me, not only is it one scene, but three? Multiple make-out scenes. Nobody else but me should be fucking touching you like that. All I can imagine is that angry sex scene, fuck y/n people are going to see you, hear you make the sounds only I can hear.

You read the text over and over again, slightly turned on by the jealousy but guilt-ridden. You knew you should’ve just told him. After a few seconds, your phone let out a ding again. You look down, seeing a video. You clicked on it, blackness filling the screen at first. You heard soft grunts and whimpers coming from the other side. Eventually, an image came into view making your hand fly to your mouth. The video consisted of him fucking his hand in the bathroom, rubbing his dick in a rough manner. You couldn’t make out what he was saying except for an exasperated ‘Is this what you fucking wanted?’ You felt an immediate heat pooling between your legs at the sight, at his moans and whimpers and unintelligible grumbles across the screen. Your body buzzed, you had never seen anything hotter in your life. Fuck. You knew this was the start of something you didn’t know if you were worried about or extremely excited about. He continued to write messages to you throughout the night. ‘I know you’re ready to take me. You’re such a naughty girl. You’re going to listen to me like the slut you are.’ You knew you weren’t going to sleep tonight, so you decided to go to your desk and work on some of the scoring work for the movie. Your mind is so stuck on the video, that you didn’t notice Mike walking into the house before he dropped the script onto your keyboard. He is home early. He kissed your neck, running his mouth down it before whispering, “I’m gonna show you, think about what you’ve done,” before mumbling something about a shower and disappearing again.

Looking back down at the script, you saw that it was annotated. Sticky tabs marking certain pages, as well as color-coordinated highlighted marks. You flicked through the script, realizing it was every single bit of dirty dialogue, make-out, and sex scene. On the back page, you noticed a sticky note that decoded his highlights. There was a yellow highlight mark, an orange highlight mark, and a pink highlight mark. The yellow one read ‘tonight’, the orange one read ‘tomorrow’, and the pink one read ‘day after tomorrow’. Fuck.

The First Night

Mike came out of the shower, only boxers covering him. His wet hair stuck to his forehead, drops of water slid down his chest. You stared at him, a deep red covering your cheeks. “Did you think about it?” You nodded, barely visible.

“Yes, Mike, I am so sorry I didn’t-“ He cut you off with a ‘tsk’ and shook his head.

“You need to learn your lines, don’t you? Knees, now.” This wasn’t him asking, you knew he was serious. He grabbed the script on his way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. You comply to his demand, getting on your knees and facing him. He handed you the script, repeating, “You need to learn your lines. So read them. The ones highlighted in yellow. His jaw was set, eyes an impossible shade darker. You took the script from him, scanning the pages for the yellow highlights. All dirty talk. The only thing highlighted for tonight was dirty talk. You were fucked. You let out a shaky sigh, beginning to read the lines aloud.

“P-please baby,” you began reading. He reached down, grabbing your jaw to make him look up at you.

“The only way you’ll learn is if you do it right, no stuttering. Again.” You could see the hardness in his boxers. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he slipped them off, grabbing his length. You cleared your throat, embarrassed.

“Please, baby I need you,” you started again, your tone was shaky. He stroked his cock slowly, shaking his head.

He stopped, mumbling a curse word. “You’re supposed to be begging, y/n,” he teased. “I thought you already read the script. Probably touched yourself while reading it too, huh? Again.” Your face was impossibly redder. You watched his hand run over the tip of his dick, squeezing it before pumping it faster. He let out a quiet groan, letting his head lull back slightly. You glanced back down at your script.

“I-I’m sorry, Mike, I-“

“If you make any noises or movements other than your lines, you’re starting over again. Now read it, y/n.” You nodded again.

“Please, baby,” you began, making your tone more whiny, needy. “Please, I need you. I need to feel you inside me. Please f-fuck me,” you stuttered out the words. A moan escaped his mouth, his mouth open slightly as he kept his gaze on you. You wanted him so fucking bad. Instinctively, you reached up to touch him. With his free hand, he slapped yours away.

“If you fucking touch me,” he paused his movements, letting out a shaky breath. “If you fucking touch me, I'll make you start over again.” He started up again. You could see his body shaking, telling you that he was close.

“Please,” you begged, it sounding more sincere than before. You started to reach down to touch yourself, trying to ease the aching in your core. He grabbed my jaw again, making me look up at him.

“Did I say you could touch yourself? As far as I know, I didn’t give you fucking permission. Again.” Once again, you relayed your line to him, not breaking eye contact, finishing them perfectly. You watched him, a loud moan echoing your room. “F-fuck,” he groaned out, letting out whimpers as he came, beads landing on your face and script, causing the letters and highlighter to bleed. He laid back on the bed for a moment, his dick still tightly gripped in his hand, chest heaving. Finally, sitting up, he pulled up his boxers and found a shirt to wipe his hand off with, tossing it back to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled. “Now get cleaned up.” With that, he kissed your forehead and got into bed, turning to face away from you. You continued to look at him, watching him breathe from under the covers. Looking back down at your script, I realize that you needed a new one now. You grabbed the shirt that Mike had thrown at you, wiping your face clean, and getting into bed. You turned toward him, he refused to look at you. You groaned, turning onto your side. You weren’t going to let him win this little game he decided to play with you. Throughout the night, Mike periodically woke you up, rubbing his hand along your heat, and kissing your neck. By the third time, it was 5 am you were fed up, grabbing his hand and putting it back. “Im not sure you’ve learned your lesson, y/n. So, no.” He rolled over on his side, falling asleep again. You groaned, willing yourself to go back to sleep. This was going to be a long few days.

The Second Night

Today consisted of a few more table readings, as well as a couple of preemptive press interviews to promote your movie. By the time you got home, it was 7 pm. You walked into your room, seeing Mike on his phone, barely glancing at you before going back to his phone. Seeing as your day was rough, you decided today was the day to officially apologize to him. You drop your stuff to the floor and make your way over to the bed. You sit on the edge, looking toward him. “Hey Mikey,” you start. He set his phone, sitting up to face you. “I um,” his eyes meet yours. You were unable to read him this time. “I think we should talk,” you mumble, refusing to look away from his eyes. He grabbed your neck, not too hard but hard enough to hurt you. His lips connected to yours, kissing you with a force that sent you spiraling. Your mouth gaped, allowing him to shove his tongue in your mouth, making you moan as your tongues danced. Without breaking the kiss, he got up, shoving you down on the bed. He finally broke the kiss and walked over to your desk, grabbing the script and tossing it at you.

“In the orange. Tell me what happens next.” You look at him, your eyes wide. You pick up the script, flicking through the pages until you reached the orange. “Out loud, sweetheart.”

“In this scene,” you pause, allowing yourself to read before you spoke. “Evan’s character and I um, he and I are supposed to make out while he…” You pause, not wanting to say it.

“Hmm?”

“He is fingering me while we ma- while we kiss.”

“Wrong. Try again.” He gave off a devilish grin.

“While w-we make out, Mike.” You whisper.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled as he made his way over to you, immediately attacking your neck and working at your jeans, sliding them off of you. You gasp, immediately grabbing onto his hair. You could feel yourself getting wet under his touch, aching for any sort of friction. You push your hips up against him. “Hands to yourself, love,” he growled against your neck. He grabs the script, shoving it into my hand. “Read it, tell me what it says.” His breath tickled my neck, sending chills down my spine.

“It- look I-“ You are unable to get the words out as his lips latch onto yours. He kisses you like he’s starving, taking you in as much as he can.

“Come on, sweetheart, read your little script. Memorize it. Know every noise, every movement you're supposed to make. And if you forget,” he pauses, twisting a finger around your panties, pulling them aside. “I’ll make you remember.” He grumbles, connecting his lips against yours again, sliding a finger inside you. He moves in and out impossibly slow, making you groan. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, letting himself in as your tongues danced together aggressively. You moan onto his mouth, prompting him to quicken his movements. He was holding you against him as he inserted another finger, curling them upward, hitting that special spot that made pleasure jolt through your body. Your head lolled back, a moan escaping your lips.

“F-fuck, Mike,” you whine.

“You're so fucking wet, baby. Fuck look at you, helpless under me.” He whispered. You allowed your eyes to close. He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, very gently. Your eyes opened, his eyes were full of lust. “Oh no, you're going to look at me as I show you the effect I have on you.” His lips connected to your collarbone, sucking on it until a purple mark appeared. His fingers kept hooking up into you, and you could feel the heat building up in your belly. You buck your hips forward as he whispers, “You really think you get to cum tonight? Not until you’ve learned your lesson.” Right before you were granted a release, he pulled his fingers out, standing upright and looking at you. You were a mess before him: face red and eyes glazed over. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking your arousal off of them. You lost.

“Oh god please Mike, please no I promise I won’t do it again Mike please I miss you I need you so bad-“ You rambled on, looking at him with puppy dog eyes, eyebrows strewn together. Instead, he chuckles and crosses his arms.

“You haven’t learned anything, so you don’t get me, nor do you get to finish. Understand?” You whined, laying back on the bed, covering your face. Your body ached for him, you wanted to feel him inside you again. He leaned over you, planting a soft kiss on your temple. He moved to your ear and whispered, “And y/n? If you even try to make yourself cum, you’ll regret it, trust me.” He kissed your cheek again before getting off of you and heading to the bathroom to take another shower. You groaned, rubbing your legs together trying to give yourself any kind of friction. As he was showering, you devised a plan. You could try and ride his thigh when he gets back to bed. Yeah, that should work. You laid in bed, and after about 30 minutes he finally returned, climbing in bed next to you. You smiled, rolling over and straddling his thigh, kissing his face. You slowly started to grind your hips against him, but he grabbed your hips before you could derive any sort of pleasure. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing, love?” You decided to play dumb.

“What do you mean, Mike? I’m just kissing you.” Who were you kidding, you weren’t even convincing yourself.

“As good as you look doing that,” he paused, studying your face and biting his lower lip. “And as badly as I want you to continue, you won’t. Like I said earlier. No lesson learned.” In a swift movement, he hoisted your leg off of him. You were extremely embarrassed. He got what he wanted from you: You begged. Eventually, you were able to will yourself to sleep.

--------------------------

You woke up with a sensation on your thigh. “Mike?” You mumble in your sleepy state. There was no response, his arms were wrapped around your thighs as he trailed kisses down to your core. He pressed a kiss against your aching clit through your panties, causing you to groan out. Your hands found his hair, grabbing a fistful of it.

“You’re intoxicating, y/n,” he grumbled against you. He slid your panties to the side, running his tongue along your slit until he reached your clit. “Fuck,” he breathed out against you before sucking on you, causing your body to jolt. You were extremely sensitive, but god it felt so good. “God you make me so fucking hard,” he groaned, grinding against the bed.

“P-please mike,” you moaned out. “Please, I n-need to come.” You threw your head back in frustration as he pulled away, leaving a small kiss on your thigh before crawling back up next to you.

“Not yet,” he grinned before turning over and falling back asleep. You were on the verge of tears at this point. You were so fucking horny but you were afraid to do anything, you didn’t want to prolong the punishment longer than it was planned to be. Finally, after what felt like agonizing hours of laying and staring at the ceiling, you were able to finally fall asleep.

The Final Night

The next morning, you woke up to Mike on his phone. He looked over at you, an innocent smile on his lips. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. You were buzzing, your body craving some sort of release. You needed Mike. You were tired of whatever he was playing at. You just wanted to feel him, you craved the feeling of him inside you. He shifted his body to where he was on top of you. You felt his hard cock pressing into your lower belly. “Do you remember your lines we went over?” He ran his hands under your shirt, grabbing at your tits, causing a pleasure-filled sigh to escape your lips.

“I do,” you lied, trying to get him to finally fuck you.

“Good girl, I'm glad you remember.” He leaned down, kissing your neck. “Let's see if you still remember after I fuck the words out of your pretty little mouth.” He was quoting the script. Your mouth falls open slightly as you watch him remove his boxers, his dick springing free. He gave you a look, as if asking if it was okay. You give a soft nod.

“Please, M-Mike, I’m desperate,” You beg. He smiles, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

“You don’t get to look at me, understand?” He asked, slipping his shirt off and putting it over your eyes. “Only I get to look at you, looking at me would bring you too much pleasure.”

“Please mike, just fuck me please,” you groan. Without a word, you feel his cock slide into you. You throw your head back, gripping at the bedsheets and moaning. You hear soft groans and whimpers coming from Mike, making you impossibly hornier. He’s attacking your neck as he's thrusting into you with no mercy, “F-fuck mike please!” You cry out.

“Now’s your time, say you’re fucking mine, y/n.” You weren’t able to get the words out. You feel his thumb circle your clit as he continues ruthlessly thrusting. The familiar heat is building up in you, making you throw out a string of incoherent pleas and whines. You grab onto his arms, praying he’s going to let you cum. “Looks like I’m fucking the words right out of your mouth, huh? That’s such a shame,” he said, taking deep breaths in between his words. With that, he pulls out of you, moving his thumb off your clit. He removes the shirt off your face and looks down at you, seeing tears forming in your eyes. You groan, silently begging him to let you have your release. He wipes the tears from your eyes before giving you a soft kiss. He puts his boxers back on, getting off the bed and making his way out of the room, you presume to the bathroom to ‘finish himself off.’

“Mike p-please,” you whine. “I don’t want to wait any longer p-please,” He only shakes his head in response.

“Look at your script, love. Patience is key.” He walked out of the room, leaving you aching for him. You got up, stumbling over to your desk and picking up the script. You scanned over the highlighted parts. He is recreating this almost identically, you think to yourself. You look over the pink highlights, blushing at what you have coming for you tonight. Thank god you have nothing to do today.

-------------------

Your legs were buzzing and your skin was on fire. Mike called out of work tonight, making you hopeful. You weren’t sure where he was though. You were laying on your bed, reading a book when he came in, panting. You looked up at him. “H-hey Mikey,” you say sheepishly. “Where have you been?”

“I was on a run,” he walked over to you, picking you up and attacking your lips with his in an aggressive kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist as he picked you up. “Enough is enough,” he grumbled, pushing you up against the wall. His tongue pushes past your lips, you greedily taking him in as he roughly kisses you. As he uses the wall as leverage, he manages to peel your shirt off, grabbing at your tits as he is kissing and sucking on your neck. You lean your head back against the wall, letting your mouth fall open, small moans escaping. “You’re so fucking needy, you need this soooo fucking bad don’t you?” He teased you in between kisses. You were useless, seeing stars as he groped your tits. He’s basically eating you, lips traveling from your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, gingerly leaving kisses on the marks he gave you the previous night. His hand reaches between the two of you, pushing up against your core, rubbing you through your clothed cunt. You’re a mess at this point, your body reacting exactly the way he wanted it to. “Greedy, greedy, greedy,” he grumbled. You are nearly at your breaking point, that heat building up inside you once again.

“M-Mikey please, please just this once please I need-“ Those words cause him to speed up. You moan, feeling yourself come undone in his arms.

“Oh baby no, I’m going to make you cum however many times I want to make you cum,” he groans.

“Oh f-fuck, Mike!” You cry out. Your body tenses as you finally get your release. You grab onto mike, clawing at his back as you ride out your orgasm, moans and whimpers escaping you. Immediately, he brings you over to the bed, laying you down gently with your ass hanging over the edge. He strips you, immediately attacking your entrance with his tongue. You grab his hair, your hips bucking up onto him. “M-mike yo- this is too much, i-im so fucking sensitive I-“

“Its enough when Ive had enough,” he mumbles against you. His tongue runs over your folds, flicking against your clit periodically. He pushes your legs apart as far as they could go, spreading you open as he tongue-fucked you. You feel your orgasm building again, causing you to pull back slightly. It was almost too much for you to handle. Mike pulls you against him again. You whine and squirm under his touch, your vision hazy with pleasure. “if you don’t fucking be still Im going to extend your punishment, and I don’t believe you want that, do you, you pathetic mess.” Mike goes at it again. You tug his hair, making him whimper into you. His tongue flicks over your clit a couple more time before you finally tip over the edge, coming on his face. Your back arched as you rode out your orgasm, him planting soft kisses and nips on your inner thigh. Your body ached, but it felt so fucking good. Mike pushed you further up the bed, taking off his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his cock, twitching in anticipation. He gets on top of you, planting sloppy lazy kisses all over you before kissing you, sliding his tongue in your mouth. You immediately tasted yourself on his tongue. “Bet you can fucking taste what I do to you. Yeah? You understand you’re fucking mine right? Those pretty noises? Mine. Those pretty faces you make? Mine. The obscene words you say when you’re close? ONLY mine. No one else’s” You nodded your head quickly. “Use your fucking words, love. Put that pretty mouth of yours to use.”

“I-I’m yours, mike,” you moan through kisses. You continue to repeat those words when you feel him push his cock into you spreading you open, making you gasp. Fucking, finally.

“Fucking right you are,” he growls before attacking his lips to yours again. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. He thrust in and out of you at a sloppy yet quick pace, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room. Mike was letting out small whimpers here and there, struggling to speak. “What did you learn y/n? What did you learn from this experience, hmm? That’s you’re a slut for me? How you make me fucking horny by you just looking at me? How I want to fuck you so hard that the only word you can say is MY name?? Tell me my love, what did you learn?”

You start babbling “I- I learned never to keep things from you, fuck, H-how no amount of fake sex on the screen will change the fact that we fit perfectly together. How- holy shit M-Mike,” he didn’t let up. He was pounding into you. You were unfolding again. “how you know me so well. How you love me so well. How I’ll never lie about anything ever again. How I’m only yours. Only, y-yours, Mike.”

“Good girl. Goooood fucking girl” he said as he started peppering kisses all over your face. “My sweet girl. You’re so perfect, fuck. I want to breathe you in always.” He slowed his pace down, becoming more gentle. “I want you to feel safe to tell me things, fuck-“ He’s a groaning mess. In fact you were both a fucking mess. “I fucking love you so much.” You felt him twitch inside you, his eyes screwing shut. You felt it too, and finally, you spilled, clenching around him, moaning out his name. You felt him cum inside you as he tried to stifle his whimpers. You two stayed there for a moment, catching your breath. You wrap your arms around him in a bear hug, holding onto him tightly. He chuckles, kissing your cheek. “You did so well, you took me so well. You were so patient, you’re so fucking good,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. He rolls off of you, taking off his shirt to clean you and him up. He pulled you against him when he was done, wrapping you up in his arms. You buried your head in his chest. He rubs your back, making random shapes against your skin.

“Mike I’m really sorry. I never should have done that. I got in my own head and got worried. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He hugs you tighter.

“Love, I forgave you after night one. I just wanted to have some fun. See how you could come undone under me. It was fucking mesmerizing. Fucking beautiful.” He paused for a moment. “Y/n, you’re going to do so good in that movie. You always do. I can’t wait to see it.” Mike kisses your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, love. You never fail to amaze me with what you can do. Whether it’s school, your thousands of movie jobs, or how you take me…you always do amazing.” You smile against his chest.

“I love you, Mike.”

“I love you too, more than anything.” His words were sluggish. “Sleep?” You nodded, already drifting off. “Goodnight, my love.” You hum a response into his chest before fading into a, finally, peaceful sleep.

If yall made it to the end, thanks for reading, I appreciate your support for my page. You guys are literally amazing! Please forgive me for any typos, it is in fact 6AM lmao. Anyways, thanks again if you made it to the end!

#josh hutcherson #michael schmidt #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson smut #peeta mellark #fnaf mike schmidt

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ffeelann · 1 month

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HELLO THERE! 👋

Can you do a fluff rindou fic??? Where the reader pulls out a cheating prank on him? Thank you!!! I love your stories!!!! 💓

a/n: omg ty so much😭😭😭😭✨✨✨ uni is taking some time but I LOVE TAKING REQUESTS It makes me Happy yay. Btw I was súper sad while writing this but I ended up feeling better so💋THANK YOU WHOEVER YOU ARE.

Commissions and tips open too!!!

Warning: cheating prank(?, treaths but just a little, fluff, gn reader bc i'm used to it now.

—Ah, no. I wouldn't like to have you there— Rindou explained. He was, in fact, worried about you. He would have never wanted you to get hurt into some...thing? Some situation he would never love to put into words in your company.

But, sometimes, you could forget how he was when he first met you and, of course, how he was when he attracted you first.

—Uh, sure. He said he'd want me anywhere, anytime— you said, taking away your jacket and placing it into the closet.

It was just a tiny little immature comment. Everyone has them. Just a little joke you act out because it would suit the non existent script wonderfully.

But he was not answering.

He would have.

—what? Why do you stare like that?

—the fuck is 'he'?

—who?

—the one's who does wants you...?

—oh, so you don't want nor like me? Okay...

Rindou placed his hand on his face, hiding himself from the judgement of the moment. You knew you were just playing, but apparently he didn't.

He usually did, though. But... maybe those things he wanted to protect you from were... real stuff you needed to be protected from. Maybe that was making him stressed.

—y/n...

All Rindou could feel and see was his hand, until you took it away from his face to kiss his fingers and sit on his lap just to hug him more comfortably.

—It's a joke, it's a joke. There is no he. You're him.

He kissed your neck, burying his face on your shoulder.

—I hate you sometimes...— he said, caressing your back trought your shirt. You were always... you. And he could never be mad at someone who was just like you.

—no you don't, i'm funny funny.

—no I don't. And, by the way, funny the way I'd beat the shit out of...— "me?" You said, accentuating the jokingly tone without doing a single move. He would never touch a single hair of yours— y/n...

—I know, I know. I'll stop being funny funny.

You kissed his chin softly.

—don't. You can be funny funny. If someone does want to beat your ass, I'll make sure they can't.

You cupped his face on both your hands, caressing it with your thumbs. He wouldn't admit it, but if you stopped doing that for any random reason in the future, he'd be so lost.

—Rindou.

—what?

—can we just have a one cute couple moment without any random treaths to people who doesn't actually exist? I'd like to spend more time with you before you go...— when you said that, he kissed your hands, still caressing his face.

—sure. Are you hungry?

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emilym7411 · 1 year

Text

Just acting (D.O) Smut + Angst

Warnings🛑: smut- daddy kink (daddy is used once), pet names (doll, darling, baby), praise kink, cursing, unprotected sex (just wear a damn condom). Angst- crying, yelling. Fluff at the end =)

Requests are open🌻

🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤🦋⃤♡⃤🌈⃤🦋⃤🌈⃤

Dylan and I never got along. Since the first day I started working on the set of Teen Wolf, he's always had it in of me.

I have no clue why he's being such a dick about everything, because no one else is.

After 3 weeks of him being a total ass, I decided that I was going start being rude back to him.

*knock* *knock*

"Hey, uh you're being called to set." I told Dylan when he opened his trailer door

"They could've texted me, so why the hell did they send you to come and tell me?" He asked, looking me up and down.

"Do I look like a fucking mind reader Dylan?"

"No, but you do look like a stuck up bitch."

"Your mom should've swallowed you." I said, turning around and walking away before he could say something else.

As I made my way back to set, I heard footsteps running up behind me.

"You're a stuck up bitch and you're rude."

"Go cry about it." I told him as I kept walking.

"They should've hired someone else to be my love interest."

"I agree."

For some reason that made Dylan stop.

"Did you just say that you agree with me?" He asked, he sounded shocked. I turned around and looked at him, he had a shit eating grin on his face that I would give anything for, just to smack it off his pretty face.

"I don't see the issue with that." I stated

"You never agree with me. On anything."

"Look princess. We're about to shoot a sex scene together, the least we can do is try to be a little nicer to each other, just until the scene is over." I told him.

"Did you just call me princess?" Dylan asked. I rolled my eyes and continued walking.

Once we made it there, the director told us to undress and put on underwear. The underwear we were going to be wearing was the same color as our skin tone, so that we look naked, without actually being fully naked.

After we put on the underwear, we put our clothes back on and got ready for the scene.

It was officially time to shoot the scene, I was nervous, I mean who wouldn't be when they're about to have "sex" with Dylan O'Brien?

"And action!" The director yelled.

"Hey, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" Stiles asked as he looked at me. We where in Stiles's room, studying for a test we had tomorrow.

"Just thinking." I replied after a short pause "about?" Stiles looked at me curiouly, setting his book down to give me his full attention.

"You." I replied simply "what about me?" "Everything. I'm thinking about how hot you look in that shirt. I'm thinking about your lips and hands all over my body." "Baby, you should've said something sooner." Stiles said as he stood up and made his way over to me.

Dylan took off his shirt, I would be lying if I said it didn't make me even the slightest bit wet. I'm honestly embarrassed about how turned on I got from just seeing him shirtless.

"Like what you see?" That was not in the script, that was purely Dylan being a cocky asshole.

"Mmm, I always do." I said, staring up at him. That shit eating grin never leaving his face for even a second, not even he crawled onto his bed and ontop of me.

"God, you really are gorgeous." He said, kissing me right after. My hands went straight to the back of his neck, my fingers playing with his hair.

We pulled apart, he waisted no time in removing my shirt and bra followed soon after, along with my pants.

Dylan moved his lips to my neck, kissing, biting and leaving bruises everywhere he could. "Fuck Stiles." I moaned

"Thats it princess, l want everyone to know how good I make you feel." "You do, you make me feel so good."

I felt his hand move between my thighs, slowly inching closer to my pussy.

"Ahh" I moaned when he pressed his thumb against my clit. That was also not part of the script. And yet, I still threw my head back in pleasure at the feeling of him.

I didn't stop him, I didn't tell him to get off of me, because although I act like I hate him, i've been so madly in love with him for last four months.

But for now, all I can do is to enjoy the feeling of his lips against my skin and his hand between my legs, because I know damn well I'm not letting him know about my feelings for him.

"So fuckin' wet and all I've done is kiss you, its pathetic." He whispers in my ear, soft enough so that only I can hear.

Dylan pulled my panties aside, pushing two of his fingers inside me, causing me to arch my back as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of me.

We were both covered with duvet on his bed, the camera was still able to get all the shots that were needed, but no one could see what Dylan and I were actually doing.

"I need you." I moaned as I pulled at his hair again. "Someone's needy." Dylan replied with a smirk as he sat up, and looked down at me.

"You know, something tells me you're all bark and no bite" I said as I sat up a little, staring back at him.

"We both know thats not true doll."

"Mmm, do we though? Because it looks to me like you don't really know what you're doing."

"You shut that pretty little mouth of yours." Dylan said, the smirk on his face dropping, but the one on mine growing.

"Or what hmh? Are you gonna spank me? Punish me? Because if you are, please get on with it." Before I even knew what happened Dylan turned me around, face down and ass up before grabbing a fist full of my hair.

"You want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours"

I couldn't respond, I was honestly shocked by his change in behavior, so I only nodded.

"Words baby, c'mon, you had a lot to say a minute ago." He grabbed my hair even tighter, causing a whipmer to escape my mouth. "Do you want me to fuck that pretty little cunt?" He asked slowly, kissing my neck after each word.

"Yes." I practically moaned

"Mmm, good girl"

"God, just fuck me already. Please." With that, Dylan pushed my head down again, I heard him taking off his pants.

He came up behind me, giving my ass a hard smack before rubbing the spot he hit.

"Please, Stiles. I need you. Please." Dylan leaned down, whispering in my ear "are you sure?" "Yes." I whispered back. With that, he once again pushed my underwear out of the way and pulled out his dick.

He slowly rubbed the tip over my clit and entrance, before pushing in.

"Oh fuck." I moaned when he finally bottomed out. I clenched around him, causing him to groan.

"So fucking tight." He groaned. He started fucking me at a brutal pace, its a miracle no one caught on to the fact that we weren't acting and Dylan was actually busy rearranging my guts.

"Fuck, don't stop, please don't stop." I begged. Dylan could feel how close I was by the way I clenched around him. He pulled out and turned me over before slamming into me again.

"Cum for me baby, be a good girl and cum for daddy." "Ah fuck Stiles. I'm cumming." I moaned, scratching Dylan's back.

Dylan didn't stop fucking me. I could feel him twitch inside me. "Cum inside me. I want you to fill me up." I whispered in his ear, out of breath.

"Oh fuck Y/N." Dylan moaned in my ear as he came inside me.

Only after he pulled out did I realise what just happened.

"And cut! That was perfect guys! You guys can go get cleaned up and head home, that was our last scene for today." Russell called out.

Dylan practically ran to his trailer, leaving me on set, legs shaking and mind racing.

After I got myself cleaned up, I went over to Dylan's trailer, knocking on the door.

He opened his door, shock all over his face when he saw me.

"Y/N, what uh- what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you about earlier."

He moved out of the way, creating space for me to walk into his trailer.

"Why did you ran off like that?" I asked once he closed the door.

"I don't really know." "You're going to have to give me a little more than that Dylan."

"What do you want me to say Y/N? I was acting. Everything we did was just acting."

"It wasn't 'just acting' and you know it! You were balls deep inside me. That's not acting Dylan, thats you fucking me because you wanted to. Because maybe you don't hate me, maybe you're actually in love me and you're just to damn scared to admit it!" I yelled.

I was pissed that he couldn't admit his feelings, then again, I can't either.

"Fucking you made the scene more realistic. I don't have feelings for you. I never have and I never will. For the last time. It was JUST acting." Dylan said, his tone of voice getting madder with each word.

It hurt. His words hurt. But instead of crying about it or letting him know how much it hurt me, in front of him. I just nodded my head and left.

As soon as I closed my trailer door I called my best friend.

___Dylan's pov___

After Y/N left my trailer, I couldn't help but feel bad. I lied.

The only reason I've been such a dick to her is because I'm in love with her, i mean who wouldn't be. She's smart, funny, kind, gorgeous. She's my dream girl.

I don't know why I started being a dick to her, I don't know shy I continued being rude to her even after she was nothing but kind to me. Then she just, changed. She started being rude to me too. Thats why we are where we are right now.

When we shot that scene I didn't plan on actually fucking her, but I got lost in the moment, i just needed to feel her. I needed her, still do.

After a few minutes I decided to grow a pair and go over to her trailer to finally tell her how I feel and to apologize for everything.

___

"How could I be so stupid? Thinking he could ever love me the way I love him really is pathetic." I didnt mean to eavesdrop, but when I lifted my hand to knock, she started talking. She was crying.

Once she ended her phone call with who ever she was talking to. As soon as she did, I knocked on her door.

When she opened it, I looked at her eyes, they were red and puffy and her cheeks wet with tears. When she saw it was me, she tried closing the door, but I stopped it just before it closed.

"Please let me talk." I begged

"Fine. Talk." She said, crossing her arms over her chest, looking at me.

"I love you." I spoke after a few seconds of just staring at her. It was straight forward, but I just needed her to know how I feel, she deserves to know how I feel.

"Is this some kind of sick fucking joke, because if it is I swear to -" I cut her off by kissing her.

"I'm so sorry about everything. Ive liked you since you started working here and I don't know why I've been such a dick to you, but I just want you to know how much I like you and I really want to take you out on a date." I told her once we pulled away. "So Y/N, will you please go on a date with me?" I asked

She smiled and pulled me in for another kiss. "Yes." She said, puling away for just a second before kissing me again. "But you're going to have to do alot more that just take me on a date, to prove you're sorry for being a total ass." She said, smiling

"I promise." I said, smiling back at her.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊:*･*:.｡＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

#angst #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien angst #dylan o'brien fluff #dylan o'brien smut #fantasy #fiction #stiles stilinksi smut #dylan o'brian imagine #dylan o'brian x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski #fluff #teen wolf #actress #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi fanfiction

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novoaa1writes · 11 months

Text

(half) anniversary

img source

pairing(s): ramonda x reader, shuri x riri williams (background), shuri & ramonda (familial), shuri & reader (platonic)

summary:

“Oh. Um,” you pause, sounding taken aback. “Our six-month anniversary. Y’know, since we started dating?”

“That’s not an anniversary,” Shuri protests.

“I guess not technically,” you concede, “but to me, it kind of is?”

“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard.”

contains: fluff

(cross-posted on ao3.)

word count: ~1,900

rating: teen

warnings: cursing, fluff, reader being super moony-eyed and in love... i tried to limit the use of ‘y/n’ but there is one (1) instance of it in this

notes: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, but they aren’t referred to too much in the third person in this... this was a request i got post-ruth e. carter’s oscar win. and—look here; i actually wrote it! miracles DO happen! never give up, kids

— —

Shuri’s holed up in the lab on a Thursday afternoon, puzzling over improvements for Riri’s suit when she gets your call.

Without looking up from her work, she tells Griot to accept it. “What’s good?” she greets.

“Shuri!” your voice, bright with contagious enthusiasm, filters seamlessly through. “How are you?”

“Busy with work, as always. You?”

“A little stressed, but good. Did you eat today?”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “You sound like Riri.”

“Riri cares for you,” you correct with only the gentlest note of reproof in your tone. “I do, too.” A short pause. “Granted, somewhat less than she does—”

A flush threatens to heat her cheeks. “Yes, thank you.” Riri and her are… new, still. Your relentless teasing is less so. (She’ll never admit it to you, but it warms her to the core.) “What do you want?”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” Shuri grumbles, closing out the schematic on her screen in favor of another.

“Uh-huh. Anyway, listen. I called ‘cause I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Mm?”

“Ramonda and I have plans in Wakanda this weekend. It’ll be our six month anniversary!!”

Shuri nearly chokes on air. “What ?”

“Oh. Um,” you pause, sounding taken aback. “Six months since we started dating?”

“That’s not an anniversary,” she protests weakly. She has finally looked up from her work to give her full attention, staring incredulously up at the screen display as though she’ll be able to see you if she looks hard enough.

“I guess not technically,” you concede, “but to me, it kind of is?”

“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I want to do something nice for her. I want it to be a surprise,” you prattle on as though you didn’t hear. “So I’ve got a gift and everything, but I need your help.”

Shuri blinks. “Right…”

“I know she’s got her schedule cleared for Friday at least, but could you move some things around to clear up her Saturday, too? Without telling her, that is. I want her to have as relaxing a weekend as possible. She’s earned it!”

Well. Shuri can’t very well argue with that. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“God, you’re the best,” you enthuse. “I owe you one.”

“Nah.” Shuri waves the comment away, feeling a fond grin tug at her lips in spite of herself. “We’re straight.”

A snicker from the other end. “Good one.” Then: “Alright, I’ve gotta run. Don’t work yourself too hard, yeah?”

“No promises.”

“See you this weekend!”

“See you.”

The line disconnects with a gentle noise, leaving Shuri alone in her laboratory, her brain working a hundred miles a minute.

“‘Six-month anniversary’?” she mutters to herself incredulously, then heaves a quiet sigh. “Lesbians.”

— —

Shuri goes straight to her mother’s quarters.

“Mother!” she calls upon entering the royal wing.

“Yes?”

The curtains are open when Shuri arrives, allowing her to stroll right in. Mother sits at her vanity, reading through a document projected onto the mirror in glowing blue script.

Mother has just barely disabled the projection with a tap to the beads encircling her wrist when Shuri announces, “Clear your schedule. And start working on a gift, while you’re at it. It’s your anniversary this weekend.”

Mother turns to look at her, features mild but incredulous. “My what?”

“Your anniversary. With Y/N.”

Mother blinks. “It has not been a year.”

“It’s your six-month anniversary.”

“The whole point of an anniversary is that it happens annually,” Mother articulates slowly, like Shuri’s an imbecile.

Shuri sighs. “This is just what gay people are like, Mother,” she explains dismissively. “They called me just now. They have plans, a gift, the whole deal.”

Silent panic flits across Mother’s face, though she’s quick to smother it—there one moment, gone the next. “Bast,” she murmurs to herself quietly, so quietly that Shuri nearly misses it.

“It’s not too late. We can still make this work,” Shuri assures her, beginning to pace. “Now. I’ve got Griot compiling all activity on their Etsy, Depop, and favorite shopping sites over the past three months. If they’ve so much as looked at anything, we’ll know. Also—” She cuts herself off at Mother’s raised hand.

“Thank you, Shuri, but no thank you,” she defers, an inscrutable look on her face. Shuri hasn’t the faintest clue what she’s thinking. “I will handle it.”

Shuri stops mid-step and turns to give her a look. “What does that mean, you’ll ‘handle it’?”

Mother doesn’t waver. “It means that I will handle it.”

“You are very confident all of a sudden,” Shuri observes, gaze narrowed. “Is it jewelry?”

“Thank you for the offer,” she reiterates firmly, turning back to her vanity and appraising her reflection with renewed (read: feigned) interest. “But I am more than capable on my own.”

As cues to leave go, this one’s not terribly overt, but Shuri gets it. She begins inching towards the door, eyeing the woman up and down all the while. “You are not the best team player, you know?”

Mother slants her a stern look. “It’s my anniversary.”

Shuri smirks. “I thought you said it wasn’t an anniversary.” She’s nearly halfway out the door now, which she thinks is probably for the best. She’s pushed her luck enough for today.

(Or has she? )

“It’s not,” Mother calls back without looking.

Shuri lingers for a moment longer, long enough to say, “If you’re thinking engagement beads, I’d dial it back a notch.”

“Shuri.”

(There. Now she’s done. )

— —

Time seems to flow as molasses, making you feel like a fly encased in amber until Friday. You go through the motions of everyday living, barely present, and heaven help you but it’s not for a lack of wanting to be.

But, well—you can’t help it. You’re so very excited. And nervous. And excited.

But eventually, finally, Friday arrives.

When you clock out from work, Shuri’s waiting at the curb in front of a sleek black car with gold rims. You stop by the kitchens to grab the groceries you’d prepared over the weekend and bid your coworkers adieu before heading out. Bags in hand, you manage a wave, which Shuri returns with a shallow nod even as she continues speaking to someone in her ear. Riri, probably.

It’s a short drive to the warehouse, where you’ll board a Talon Fighter to fly the rest of the way. You know the drill; you’ve done it quite enough over the past 6 months. You’re content to tune out Shuri’s end of her conversation as she speeds down the freeway, wind in your hair and the sun on your face.

— —

When you arrive in Birnin Zana, it’s mid-afternoon.

You’re early. Ramonda will be in meetings for the next couple hours, but that’s all according to plan. You accompany Shuri to her lab to drop your things, chatting mindlessly all the while, before making your way over towards the kitchens.

The plan is clear in your thoughts, the recipes practically burned into your brain. You’ve been practicing for weeks, now—madombi and chicken groundnut stew. Ramonda’s favorite entrée alongside the flavorful stew she’s always professed to love. You’re no slouch at cooking, but you want it to be perfect. Only the best for her.

As you wash and rinse your hands thoroughly in preparation, you hail Griot. “Griot, bud, will you put my playlist on? The cooking one?”

Griot—bless him—obliges.

Falling into the motions is a pleasantly diverting task—browning the chicken, sautéeing the vegetables, kneading the fresh dough. The music is a constant aid, and the scents that permeate the air are immensely comforting in their familiarity. Minutes turn to an hour, then two; you hardly notice. You’re laser-focused on the task at hand, intent on making it all perfect—or as perfect as perfect gets, anyhow.

You don’t notice the clock striking 6:00pm, or the way Griot’s speakers lower their volume to accommodate—

A yelp leaves your throat as sure arms curl ‘round your waist and warmth presses into you from behind.

“S’thandwa,” Ramonda murmurs into your neck, her lips warm where they brush your thrumming pulse point. Gods above. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

Willing your thundering heart rate to slow, you let out a breathy huff and allow yourself to melt in the familiar embrace. “A bit,” you divulge, inhaling deeply to catch her scent—shea butter and lavender incense and her, her, her. “I suppose I lost track of time.”

Ramonda’s arms tighten ever-so-slightly at that, her thumbs stroking the juts of your hipbones in something like apology. “Mm,” she hums. “You’ve been busy.”

Affection blooms in your chest, warm and big and true. “I wanted to do something special.” Your breath catches in your throat as you turn to face her.

She’s divested her isicholo for the evening, leaving springy, short-trimmed strands of platinum-blonde on display. A deep purple halter gown frames her elegant figure, its corset clinging to her like a second skin. Her makeup is light today—lips painted a deep, rosewood red; eyelids accentuated with black liner and dusky eyeshadow. It’s a simpler ensemble than those she’ll don on any other day; the diminished tension in her shoulders is evidence of that.

It matters not; the effect is the same. You are absolutely enamored of her.

“Darling,” Ramonda’s low, bemused voice draws your attention. “You’re staring,” she admonishes, guiding your gaping mouth shut with a gentle touch. The twitch in painted lips betrays her amusement.

You don’t have an answer for that—no witty retort, no comeback, nothing. You lace your arms around her shoulders until you can clasp your hands at her nape, voicing, “Can I kiss you?”

Ramonda presses her lips to yours in lieu of answer, all slow and gentle and mild until it’s not—until her kiss turns insistent and you’re parting your mouth to let her in, dragging your tongue against hers, nipping at her lower lip to coax forth a shuddering exhale. Arousal sparks a lit match in your belly, burning a fiery trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

It takes all your will (and then some) to pull away, but you manage it. Heat prickles along your skin. “Right, so…” you trail off breathlessly, chest heaving. “I made dinner.”

Ramonda chuckles, dark eyes alight with mischief and want. Her lipstick is barely smudged, but you’ll take what you can get. “Is that madombi I smell?”

A broad, bashful grin splits your features at the hopeful lilt to her tone. “Maybe.”

— —

Dinner is everything you hoped it would be. The madombi comes out perfect; the stew is even better. With the table set, candles lit, you usher Ramonda over. She brushes a kiss to your cheek when you pull out the chair for her, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, baby” that makes you choke on air.

Flustered beyond belief, you scurry back into the kitchen to whip up mojitos—one of two cocktails you can actually make—for the pair of you before taking them to the table. Ramonda accepts hers with a pleased hum.

With steam rising from both dishes and nothing left to fuss over, you take your seat, too.

“Shall we?”

— —

end notes:

i enjoyed writing the dynamic between shuri and ramonda, and also shuri and reader. did my lil heart some good

anyways. love to receive requests and then just vibe with them for months before actually sort of doing them... like to be clear, mostly, requests end up going unfulfilled due to my selective writing preferences and ever-limited time. but i stand by my mission to populate the ramonda x reader tag—singlehandedly, if need be!

s’thandwa | love, sweetheart

sources:

queen ramonda | an additional source to inform upon ramonda’s character and canonical background... it seems she comes from south africa in the comics, and considering the use of isiXhosa in the cinematic ‘verse, i’ve decided to write her using the corresponding terminology when necessary

traditional south african dress | i used this in my previous ramonda fic in order to determine the implications of the traditional south african headpieces, as i understand the isicholo worn by queen ramonda is typically worn by married women in south africa, and i didn’t know if i wanted to have her be married or not in this. but as i understand it, her headdresses (in the 2nd film in particular) are also worn to indicate her queenly status, so i kept it

royal talon fighter (wakandan aircraft) | the wakandan aircraft in which shuri and reader travel to wakanda. appears in black panther, avengers: endgame, and black panther: wakanda forever.

“illuminated signs: style and meaning in the beadwork of the xhosa- and zulu-speaking peoples” | an article from african arts (vol. 36, issue 3) by gary van wyk. an interesting insight into exactly what it says on the tin!

chicken groundnut stew | typically attributed to west africa, though several variations exist across the continent. ingredients often include chicken legs, peanut butter, sweet potato, garlic, and ginger, among others.

madombi | traditional african steamed dumplings. the link leads to a youtube video demonstrating the process!

— —

link to masterlist

#queen ramonda x reader #ramonda x reader #marvel fic #reader-insert #stuff i wrote

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

i got you (ccg universe)

words: 2,757 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request): would loooove to read your take on reader x protective austin. notes: this is part of the ‘coffee cart girl’ universe but can be read alone. masterlist on my sidebar! :) warnings: some uncomfortable situations tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff

Despite the Elvis filming ending, that does not mean life completely settles down. There are interviews, events, dinners, things Austin is automatically invited to and included on and…by being his girlfriend, it makes you his continuous plus-one. And while that’s definitely something to get used to, you don’t exactly hate the vibe that the title carries whatsoever. You don’t go to everything but it’s nice to be included? Thought of—seen. There’s a space slowly being carved in Austin’s life where you can definitely fit. Especially with this whole movie script thing happening for yourself, you’re both figuring out how to manage your lives again, things are exploding in a good way…but it doesn’t mean it’s not a bit chaotic.

Leaving an audition building, you take in a deep breath as you pull your phone out of your coat pocket, your text message thread with Austin still open. You tap on his profile picture to call him, walking slowly down the street as the line trills. A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth as he answers,

“’Lo?”

Your face pulls together in a wince, you didn’t realize how late it was, “Shit did I wake you?”

He clears his throat and you can picture him shaking his head with that boyish look he has, half asleep, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. It’s adorable to think about for sure,

“No, I was just dozin’.” And that’s a complete lie but okay, “How’d it go?”

You hum, your head tipping back slightly towards the sky as your boots click on the pavement, “It was incredible—I mean, nerve wracking at the same time? You’re essentially finding a person to represent your thoughts and words and just…everything you’ve put into characters and their development together,”

You shake your head because you’re rambling. Austin’s obviously been through the interview process before and the auditions that come after that. He knows exactly what you’re talking about…and yet, it’s so different coming from your end. Writing a script, watching people actually want to fill the role. You’ve got a great producer who loves your work, an even better boyfriend who believes in you—it’s just hard to imagine that it’s all coming down to actually happening.

A movie of your script. Never would have thought that when you decided to run coffee on the set of Elvis. You know you’re lucky and that Austin helped a lot when it came to editing the script and reaching out to someone you could share your work with but…you’re also trying to lean into something he’s told you countless times: you deserve it.

“It’s surreal,” You finish with a laugh and Austin hums in response, you can hear the smile in the tone of his voice without even having to see him.

“M’proud of you.”

You smile, your stomach fluttering at the sentiment. You can’t wait to come home to him, crawl into bed, allowing him to draw you close and into a kiss. Perfect way to end a wonderful day. “Thank you.” It’s almost a whisper, something so genuine and intimate that it’s difficult to share outloud over the phone.

“I’ll be there in about ten, okay?”

Frowning and slowly coming to a stop, you shake your head, “Austin, I’m practically to the subway—you don’t have to pick me up.”

“Well walk back,” There’s some shuffling on his end of the phone, most likely making sure he has everything including a wallet and car keys, “It’s late Y/N, I don’t want you takin’ the subway.”

There’s this double-edged sword in which you want to tell Austin you’ve been taking the subway since you were a teenager and that it’s not a big deal—by the time he makes it down here to pick you up, you’d be home already. At the same time, your heart warms at the protective gesture.

Sighing dramatically, you turn to face the direction you just came from. “You want me to walk back?”

You can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice, “I want you to walk back,” He confirms, “We can find an ice cream shop still open on the way home—or grab a late-night pizza, whatever you want.”

Raising your eyebrows, you begin wandering back towards the audition building, switching your phone from one ear to the other, “Are you bribing me?”

“Definitely.”

A soft, amused laugh leaves your lips, “See you soon.” Before you end the call.

Regardless that it’s been a long day and you just want to be home, you’re touched by the fact that even though you woke Austin up and he has an equally busy day tomorrow to get rest for, he wants to make sure you’re safe. A smile tugs the corners of your mouth, shaking your head as you look down at your phone and tap the ‘Find a Friend’ app—he’s already on his way. And okay, you definitely wouldn’t say no to pizza, he knows you.

It doesn’t take long before you’re lingering outside the audition building, tipping your head back to look up at the structure. You still can’t believe all of this is happening—the fact that you not only wrote something that other people are compelled by but that it’s going to be filmed. And honestly? you’re not expecting some sort of box-office hit, you’re just honored that it’ll be in theaters and seen.

Austin’s support has been everything. That’s what really matters to you.

You tug on the handle of the building but it’s locked, which you assumed, so you lean against the brick and check your phone again. Eight minutes out. Humming to yourself, you look through social media (briefly, that’s still not something you’re used to) before putting your phone away. The street is pretty empty for the most part, except there’s this guy walking down across the way. Business suit, tall, blonde. Something inside of you makes you avert your eyes, one of those innate things women sometimes learn automatically when it’s dark and you’re alone in public. The only thing that makes you look up is the sound of footsteps getting closer.

This guy is crossing the street. You swallow, straightening your shoulders, trying not to look directly at him but he’s approaching you,

“Excuse me, you know where Grand Street is?”

Clearing your throat, you lean up off the building slightly, “Uh, I think it’s down two blocks.” You motion with your arm in the other direction, where he’s come from, which…doesn’t make you feel any easier.

He hums and nods, looking down the street and then back at you. His eyes definitely sweep over your form. “Waiting for an Uber?”

There’s this chill that dips into your stomach from the question alone, “Boyfriend. He’ll be here any minute.”

He smiles and there’s this moment where you think he might back off but he takes a step into your personal space, which causes you to take a step back right into the audition building. “I could wait with you; this isn’t the best area to be alone.”

You have no idea what possesses people to think like this and you can’t help but wonder what kind of man he is—does he have a family? Siblings? Did he happen upon you and see you alone and figured he could get away with something? Or was he out scoping the area just looking for someone he could harass? Either way, panic surges in your bloodstream. You attempt to get your phone out and walk away,

“He’s actually around the corner, goodnight.”

Before you can even take a step in the other direction, he grabs your shoulder, hard, and forces you against the brick which digs into your back. Your phone fumbles right out of your hand and clatters to the sidewalk. The thing is, you’ve taken self-defense classes before—you know how to kick, to throw a punch, what to do if someone pins you, and yet you feel utterly defenseless. Everything you’ve learned right out the window.

“You know, I was nothing but nice.” This guy snaps, suddenly all the supposed charm washed away from his voice.

There’s an attempt to push him away but he’s taller, stronger, can more easily manipulate your body against the brick wall. A strangled cry leaves your throat and all you can think about is the fact that he hasn’t hit you yet because one punch will knock you out, you know it. And Austin, he floods your senses in such a way that you almost cry out for him.

“Stop!” You screech, pulling at his suit and manage to rip a button off.

“You bitch, that was expensive.” He squeezes your arms so hard, definitely will be bruises, a choked cry escaping your throat as his leg slips in-between yours, forcing your knees apart.

His hand is moving and you panic, start clawing at him, anything you can—

A screech of car tires, suddenly the weight is gone, he’s pulled back from you. You can barely see through your teary blurred vision even though instinctively you know exactly who it is. Austin throws a punch, something hard that cracks, and the guy in the suit stumbles to the pavement.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Austin snaps, “Now.”

There’s a brief moment where the guy considers the opposite but he takes one look at you, spits blood from his mouth onto the pavement, and turns to briskly walk away.

Austin is quick to turn towards you, his complete demeanor changing as he gently touches your shoulders, “Hey look at me,” He cups your chin, running his thumb along your cheek, “You okay?”

The question is so simple and yet when you look up into those blue eyes of his you just burst into tears, the dam breaks wide open. There are the remnants of fear there but also just complete relief that he’s here, that you’re okay. Austin wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his chest and holding you as tight as he can without hurting you. The force of you clutching onto him almost knocks him a step back and he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Shh,” He whispers, stroking through your hair, “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Pressing a kiss to your hairline, he draws back just enough to help you walk to the car.

The car ride and walk into the apartment is quiet, Austin doesn’t try to ask questions or pry, just allowing you to soak into your thoughts and feel whatever you’re feeling. You appreciate it but at the same time, you almost wish he’d distract you. You know you’re teetering this line of…feeling so ridiculous and ashamed for allowing this thing to happen to you, especially since you’d almost boasted about being able to take the subway without any issues, and on the other hand—it could have been so much worse? So why are you so shaken up?

Yet at the same time, you understand that…stupid and pointless shit like this happens to women all the time and you can own your emotions—that you’re scared, still trembling, trying not to cry anymore. You shed your shoes and your jacket, feet padding against the tile as you make your way to the bathroom. There’s a large part of you that wants to close the door, hide, shut Austin out but you don’t. Can’t. Running a hand over your face, you glance at yourself in the mirror—a mess, bloodshot eyes, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed. Grabbing a washcloth, you run it under warm water before washing your face, Austin leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, soft eyes on you.

“I don’t need to hear ‘I told you so’.” You mumble, sniffling. You toss the washcloth to the side where the hamper is and you can feel rather than see Austin tense up because,

“Y/N, you know I’d never say that.” He gently reaches for your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist. You hate that you wince, a kneejerk reaction moreso than pain.

Swallowing you turn towards him, not quite looking into his eyes, instead reaching for the fabric of his shirt to play with between your fingers. A grounding point for yourself—you’re unsure if you want to shower or just…crawl directly into bed and not get out for a little while. Maybe both.

Austin runs his hands along your arms, carefully, moving to tug your shirt over your head. You don’t protest, allowing him to set the fabric aside on the sink. You’re not looking in the mirror, but instead at your boyfriend’s face, and you can tell with the hardness like ice in the blue of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw that you must be beginning to bruise.

“Doesn’t hurt too bad,” You lie and Austin shakes his head, looking like he could hit that guy all over again.

Speaking of, you pick up one of his hands and run your thumb along the knuckles, pressing a kiss right above them. Nothing a warm washcloth won’t fix and then an icepack overnight. You have a feeling that his knuckles are the least of Austin’s concerns.

There are a few silent moments shared here, Austin picking up another washcloth and soaking it in cool water to ghost over the red marks on your arms and you decide a shower can come tomorrow, you just want to sleep. The whole late-night pizza thing kinda got derailed anyways and your stomach is in knots.

Putting lotion on afterwards, Austin brings you in one of his t-shirts to change into from the bedroom, lingering in a way that’s comforting. You change your clothes, taking your bra off and sliding the soft material of the shirt up and over your head. You swallow, pulling your hair out from underneath the fabric before rubbing the back of your neck.

“I just stood there.” You blurt out and his eyebrows draw together.

“Hmm?”

“Like I—” You shake your head, eyes flickering up to Austin’s, “I’ve taken self-defense classes and if you hadn’t been there,” Or had been five minutes later, “I just stood there.”

“Hey,” Austin’s voice is concerned and warm, reaching for you with it along with his hands, “It’s not your fault, alright?” A choked sound leaves your lips that sounds a little bit like a laugh because how can you not feel responsible for that? Even though deep down you know Austin’s right. Those classes are never quite like the real thing happening to you.

Austin breathes out, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. He runs his thumbs along your cheekbones, leaning down to press several kisses along your face—jawline, nose, forehead, cheeks, before pulling you close. His arms wrap around your shoulders, creating a cage against his body. You can’t help but close your eyes, breathing in the comforting scent you associate with him—sandalwood and something distinctly Austin.

“I got you,” He says against the shell of your ear, pressing another kiss directly below.

You nod your head, squeezing him, allowing yourself to slip into the warm safety of his embrace.

When nightmares visit you that night, and they’re worse than you can possibly imagine, Austin utters the same thing. You’re pulling at the sheets as you twist and turn, a small whimper leaving your lips as Austin wakes up and gently touches your side—

Jerking awake, you squirm away from his touch, breathing heavily in the dark, fingers dragging the sheets into your fists,

“Y/N, just a nightmare,” He murmurs, voice caked with sleep. There’s a distant feeling of guilt from waking him but right now you’re just trying to get your heartbeat to stop hammering in your ears. Running your hands over your face, you turn to face him, Austin’s hands running through your hair to pull it away from your skin.

“Just a nightmare.” Austin whispers, drawing you close with a squeeze of your hip.

Swallowing you nod, wiping underneath your right eye where one tear falls. You allow yourself to be drawn closer, fitting against his chest, under his chin. Your eyes fall closed with a sniffle, arm stretching around his slim waist and breathing him in, settling yourself.

“I got you.” He assures again, drawing circles into your back, breath warm along the shell of your ear. You memorize the calm pattern of his breathing, helping you with your own.

You believe him and it eventually lulls you back to sleep.

If ya’ll can’t tell by now, I really love writing hurt/comfort lmao hope you enjoyed! :) thanks for reading.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

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absolutebl · 2 years

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I've been showing a good friend BL twice a week since early pandemic. She's seen a lot of the best stuff, and recently finished To My Star 2. We were discussing how the seme/uke and top/bottom perceptions affect how the characters are portrayed.

With TMS2, I commented that the scenes we get to the end where they keep switching who is big and little spoon felt like a tasteful way to show that they were versatile. We also noted that Pat and Pran are never shown in a way that confirms their positions.

Does your spreadsheet track anything regarding top/bottom presentation, and do you have thoughts on BL and how it presents this?

Verse Characters in BL

What an interesting question.

Well I would argue that Fighter & Tutor are the only Thai BL couple who are explicitly verse, in their case they talk about it openly in terms of "showing ownership" which is pretty clearly code for who fucks whom. As in, the idea of being taken or taking (invasion) = ownership. Trust a BL script to use the language of war for an act of communication and connection.

My spreadsheet doesn’t track this because it’s so rare. I remember a couple other times getting very excited about it (other than Why R U?) but not which shows.

Okay here’s our biggest example:

Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese shows them verse (explicitly depicts the sex act both ways), but it’s one of Japan’s discussions about the nature of identity and intimacy and possession. It could actually be argued that the whole movie is a debate of what seme/uke means and does to its characters, what obsession means, how long term devotion without consequences of boundaries corrupts. It’s kind of like the very dark version of what could have happened to the characters in My Beautiful Man if they had never managed to find each other and reconcile (and Hira learn to accept and express himself). The leads in CMDoC are genuinely at war, so the lens showing us who fucks whom as an expression of who is winning the narrative battle at that point in time.

Look, I don’t like this movie, but apparently if it’s Japan I’m always going to have a lot to say.

I mean there needs to be enough self aware queerness in the BL to realize this should even be addressed - otherwise just slap seme/uke on it and conflate personality with sexual preference (SIGH).

Also the BL has to somewhat follow the characters into the bedroom, and it would need to be higher heat which, in and of itself, is pretty rare.

So I did a heat ranking, then a ratings sort (since I’m more likely to rate verse characters higher) and here’s a short list of ones for which a case for verse... could be made.

Why R U? - Fighter & Tutor (no question - couched in a request to “prove/show ownership”)

My Day - Ace & Sky (also I think this is pretty clear via their sex scenes - they were the other ones I was thinking of, also they engage in some fun light kink, I LOVE these two)

To My Star 1 & 2 - implied by the cuddling debate in 2

Bad Buddy - actually they imply, when asked at one point, that it’s still open to debate between them, so we don’t know what they settled on but given their dynamic, probubly verse

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line - ZiXuan & YuHao, I mean YuHao's fantasies go both ways so I think he, at least, is verse

Mr Cinderella - mostly because of the linguistic grappling, but also both actors have a history of the seme role (clearly also implied top) in their other BLs, they swap tropes around a lot too in this one

His the movie - it’s just... not important

Ai no Kotodama - I actually think they have a kinda conversation about this, it’s been a long time since I watched it though, and 2010 = intentionally confusingly vague about everything

Boys Love - right so there’s a bit of an underpinning dialogue about this in both installments. In both cases I think the “teacher” is meant to be the bottom, but also the student is so desperate and so needy there’s an implication that he would do ANYTHING, including alter his whole identity (even sexual preference as a top) in order to be with the object of his desire, which is part of what makes their love destructive - it cannot and does not conform to... anything, least of all seme/uke (which at the time, when present, was always conflated with Top/bottom).

Either of KarnNat’s pieces, I mean I think Nat is meant to be the catcher, but they don’t act their higher heat scenes that way, it’s extremely mutual, and power exchange back and forth in terms of who kisses whom and stuff.

Frankly, any of the couples who have no seme uke are open to debate since in Thai BL especially Top/bottom = Seme/uke (it shouldn’t, but in the narrative it’s implied). BL couples where there is no seme/uke

Be Loved in House: I Do - YuZhen & ShiLei, maybe

Double Mints - fuck ‘em, though

Ingredients

My Tee

Wish You

Second Chance - PaperFah

Seven Days

So Much in Love - North & Onsah, there’s no seme/uke in this Thai pulp, but it’s so much a pulp and so confusing I’m not sure if that’s intentional or just failure of narrative clarity and poor acting

Your Name Engraved Herein - I am NEVER watching this movie again, but from my recollection of the characters’ behaviors, maybe?

Gameboys 2 - I have only seen discussion here and the previews, but I think they make this pretty clear in conversation and behavior

Hey Rival I Love You - certainly entirely up in the air in all ways

Love is Science? - Mark & Ouwen, I think the flip flopping of who’s on top/in charge in their sex scene implies general experimental willingness, shall we say?

HIStory 3: Trapped - TangYi & ShaoFei, possibly, ShaoFei is hesitant because he’d scared, but that’s of the implications and intimacy of being a couple, not really of sex. After all he runs away when TangYi is too nice and gentle with him.

I honestly think My Engineer 2 should go there with RamKing. They are perfect characters and actors to do this with. But Thailand really doesn’t have the guts.

Other pairs who I think can and should rep verse?

First & Toru

PokeTongue

MaxTul could absolutely portray verse. Why they haven’t yet is a weakness of Thai BL and y-novels inability to stop heterosexually vomiting all over their gays.

Weirdly? EarthMix, I think they could and should do a bit of a FighterTutor sitch in Moonlight Chicken.

Crosses arms.

Impress me, GMMTV.

A reminder:

So top/bottom/verse is difficult because it means we follow the characters into the bedroom AND have a glimpse into their penetration preferences, that means very high heat, and there is (statistically) less of that in BL.

As opposed to Dom/sub/switch which plays into personality and correlates better (but not perfectly) to a seme uke dynamic because it is about who has the power to make decisions.

And my definition of Seme/uke - which is the character showing the most narrative drive to consummate the relationship (physically or otherwise) = seme.

Finally:

Sexual preference does not correlate to personality! Please stop this. I put it to you in het terms:

If you are a straight women who likes to ride reverse cowgirl style does this show up in your personality as you walk around in your day to day life? No it does not.

So a boy likes to fuck or be fucked - that’s like cake verse pie, it doesn't say anything about how aggressive that boy is in relationships. And prying into that dynamic is tantamount to me asking you about the details of your penetration preferences. (Which, to be fair, I probubly would, but I'm a curious, rude, intrusive shitmonger.)

Also, it behoves me to add, plenty of gay men do not like penetration at all. Plenty of straight women don’t like it. Or don’t like vaginal but do like a-play. And plenty of straight men like to be pegged. A-play has to do with how sensitive you are, how relaxed, how prepped, how much lube, whether you find the idea a turn on when applied to yourself, how self conscious you are, and a host of other factors.

Puts proverbial soap box away while reminding you that soap = also to be used prior to such encounters.

(source)

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years

Text

Papers (Songfic)

Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Requested by Anon:

“I don’t know if requests are open or not, but this is the anon that requested the songfic from Hadestown! After you posted the fic, I wanted to wait a bit before asking for a possible continuation of it based on the song Papers (“You’re not from around here, son…”) from the same musical where Dark finds out the D/A with Mark and he finds out about their deal. Would you want to write something like that?”

I'm so so so sorry this took so long but I love that you keep requesting Hadestown songs bc I love the music. I just have to actually get around to listening to the entire soundtrack at some point lol

Also, this one is laid out a little bit differently than my usual songfics. Basically instead of having the lyrics break up certain paragraphs and stuff, I interlaced them with the dialogue (and some of the "narration" 👀)

Warnings: Actor is an asshole but like we been knew, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Word Count: 1337 (oh my god I wish this was a lie how tf did I manage that)

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Stage crew dashed to and fro, positioning props to perfection and preparing the set for filming. It was a hive of activity. One person frantically ran around trying to give the right coffee to the right performers. Another brushed makeup on Mark’s cheeks and forehead. You even spied two sneaking off together. Even after so long, it still all made your head spin.

How long had it been since you were set free? Since you made that deal? Everything all felt like a blur.

Mark had indeed taken you to dinner, but it wasn’t exactly what you expected. By the end of your ‘performance’, you were agreeing to a fake proposal and being dragged deeper into the acting world. He promised to show you the ropes; take you under his wing. Perhaps that’s why he came up with another production: A heist.

You felt out of place navigating your ‘lines’ and actions around actors built to play their roles. These people were professionals, passionate about their jobs and what they’ve been hired to do. You were being suffocated in a situation you couldn’t get out of.

“You remember your lines?” You opened your mouth, but Mark cut you off with an arrogant laugh. You didn’t have any lines. Not spoken ones, anyway. “That’s the spirit! Just follow me and make sure you don’t mess this up. We’re behind schedule on filming enough without you-”

“Quiet on set!”

Mark grumbled as he was cut off by the director. The small bit of satisfaction you felt was quickly washed away with one of his signature grins. He straightened his hair back and prepared himself to act. He really did live for this.

“Alright, aaaaand ACTION!”

Mark pumped his fists excitedly. “Yes! Okay! Awesome! All right, okay. This is gonna be great! And don’t you worry about a thing because our watches are still synchronized, which means that…”

Your mind zoned out as you listened to him go on and on. He loved giving himself long paragraphs to recite. Maybe it was just to show off how brilliant he was. You followed your queue, turning away so Mark could be dragged away and eaten or killed or whatever. You turned back and, yup, there was his flashlight. You looked down the hall he was supposed to go down and-

Wait. This wasn’t in the script.

“Uhm, Mark?”

Your voice echoed in the darkness. There was no more set. There was no more crew. This darkness looked too familiar; too similar to the mirror you were stuck in. But there was no going back.

Lining the walls of the hallway were portraits. It only took a moment to remember who each face belonged to. The chef. The butler. The detective… William. A deep chill ran down your spine, joining the heavy emotions resting at the bottom of your stomach.

All of them were there. You remember the butler, crying over that mess in the cellar. The chef, who threatened you every time you so much as glanced in his direction. Abe, your partner in solving the murder. And William. Your murderer. A pink moustache was crudely painted over his portrait, and nothing in your memories could answer why. But you remembered falling over the banister. The way he reached out to grab you. And then waking up… And…

The final portrait at the end of the hall was of Mark, back when everyone was alive. Back when the only worries you had involved poker and drinking. The paint flaked away and fell to the floor, disintegrating into ash.

“It’s… good to see you, old friend.”

That voice…

You turned to its source. A man in a white suit, rimmed with red and blue. His skin was grey. All of him was grey. Yet even through the strange aura surrounding him, you knew. You knew exactly who this was.

“Damien?”

A blue afterimage of himself glitched to the side at the sound of his name. It was gone as soon as it appeared. His lips formed a tight grin. “I don’t go by that name any more.” The strain in his voice, in his entire body, softened as he fully took you in. “It’s been so long, my dear district attorney. I was so worried about you.”

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” you repeated back to him. Your emotions were laid out on your sleeve. Your face contorted with confusion and sadness and longing and betrayal. You were angry, but you wanted to run into his arms. You were so sad, you missed him so much, but you wanted to stand your ground. You took in a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he stated. “I did come back for you.”

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. You left me in the mirror. You stole my body. You left me there for years, Damien.” He flinched at the name, but said nothing. “You have no idea the hell I went through, waiting for you to come back for me.”

“Then let me make it up to you,” he began. He stepped forward, hand outstretched carefully, as if he carried an olive branch. “Let me free you now from Mark’s silly games. You can stop running around in endless circles, making choices that mean nothing. You can be free from the hell he’s putting you through - be truly free, once and for all.”

You frowned at the poor, naive entity before you. “You have no idea, do you?”

A frown took over his own hopeful expression. “What-”

“There you are!” A voice, energetic and irritated, split the darkness. You didn’t need to turn to feel the man’s presence behind you, glaring daggers over your shoulder at not-Damien who did so right back. “What are you doing here?”

Dark’s entire form tensed up. His hands found their place behind his back. Glitches and afterimages shot out from his body. “I’m here to free them,” he growled.

Mark’s laugh, as cocky as ever but laced with menace, sounded next to your ear. You nearly cringed away from it. “Who do you think you are?” Even his voice was interwoven with incredulity. “They couldn’t go anywhere even if they wanted to.”

You turned and placed a firm hand on Mark’s chest. “Stop.” It was weak, pleading. If anything, he was spurred on more by your weakness.

“Stay out of this, dear attorney” he mocked, “the adults are talking.”

The entity snarled, egged on by Mark’s dismissal. “I’m not going back alone,” he threatened. “I came to take them home, and I fully intend to.”

Another raucous laugh. “Oh, you don’t know?” Cold eyes full of amusement looked down at you, as they always have and always would. You avoided his gaze. Another pair of eyes stared at your back, waiting for answers you wished to avoid giving. “When you abandoned them, I gave them a deal to get them out. You weren’t coming back around any time soon to free them, were you?”

Dark grit his teeth.

“They signed the deal themself,” he sing-songed.

“You’re lying.”

“And now,” he spun you back around to face your old friend, arm wrapped around your shoulder to keep you close, “they belong to me.”

“It isn’t true.” Dark eyes met yours, pleading for a different answer, for a different truth. He came back to rescue you; free you from the world Mark trapped you in. But, after all this time, it was still his fault you were here. “What he said-”

“I did,” you cut him off. Your voice was thick. Your eyes burned. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I do.”

Mark’s sickening grin appeared right over your shoulder, his face pressed right next to yours. You visibly flinched, and oh how Dark longed to rip you away from that son of a bitch. But his feet were glued to the spot. His shoes were filled with lead.

“Now,” the actor began, “go back to where you came from.”

---

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@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat

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