#i ignored my studying in order to make sure i had it all written before he woke up but he doesnt know that so why is it even a factor

[sus-bee]

im normal no one look at me

[dyns33]

No Fear

Being a while since I wrote about Homelander. I want to do a second part for this story, but I'm not sure about the ending yet.

Homelander didn't have a soulmate.

That was what was written in his file, written by scientists who had brought him into the world, raised him in a lab, studied him for years, in order to make him the ultimate superhero.

If you had asked Y/N for her opinion, she would have said that they hadn't done a great job, and that the report could be thrown in the toilet.

For the most part, Frenchie's partners seemed to agree with this conclusion.

When he had called her to ask for a favor, she had hesitated. Vought was a big fish, and Y/N had never liked fishing.

The job paid well, as well paid as it was dangerous. But that wasn't the problem. because danger didn't scare her. She wasn't afraid of anything.

If she had to thank her father, it was for showing her that soulmates were bullshit, that no one should be trusted, and that there was no reason to be afraid.

The worst thing that could happen was death, relentless, certain, and since she had died in their basement during the time he had kept her locked up, there was nothing left to make her tremble.

If she hesitated, it was because she didn't know Frenchie's companions well, he wasn't always reliable himself, and she hated wasting her time with undoable jobs.

She had followed from afar the adventures of the small team against the big bad corporation that created fake heroes, and they had never really had any results.

For her part, Y/N didn't give a damn about the supes. She had no direct grievance against them. They were assholes like billions of others in the world, the only difference being that they were harder to kill.

Butcher's rage against Homelander was understandable, after what he had done to his wife, his soulmate. If he didn't try to stab her in the back to achieve his ends, everything would be fine.

The supe didn't have a soulmate, since he was superior to everyone, he came out of a tube and he had no soul. It was possible to use the information to hurt his fragile ego in constant demand for love, but nothing else.

It seemed smarter to avoid annoying Homelander, or even if possible not to attract his attention so that the job would go well.

But Butcher was not able to keep his distance nor his tongue in his pocket, to the point that his best enemy could recognize his scent on other people.

"How's dear William ?" Homelander purred as if everything was normal, while he was alone in the Vought elevator with Y/N, who had posed as a delivery girl.

"Dying but still a pain in the ass."

"I don't think we've met before. He recruits into his little gang of losers and they send them to get killed instead of him ? That's heartbreaking."

"Hmm." was Y/N's response who hadn't looked at him for a single second, focused on counting the time left for Serge's creation to hack the building's systems.

"… Excuse me, I'm telling you I'm going to break your neck."

"That's great, big guy. I would believe it if there wasn't a camera, no proof that I'm a criminal or a danger, and you didn't look like you were totally having a blast. This is my floor, bye."

She even had the audacity to pat him on the shoulder as she left, which left him speechless.

It had really happened without her thinking about it. The problem with being afraid of nothing and not caring at all about Homelander.

If she had been a little more interested, Y/N would have known that he hated being ignored more than anything, but that he was also very intrigued when people weren't scared in front of him.

Since he didn't have a soulmate, he quickly and dangerously latched onto people who made him feel something other than disgust.

It was Frenchie who had insisted on installing surveillance cameras in the small apartment she was renting for the duration of the mission, since she refused to stay with them longer than necessary.

Half-laughing, she had told him that he was a pervert. Since she didn't see the need for this surveillance at all, Y/N had never looked at the footage.

No point in looking at empty rooms or herself sleeping, the rare times she was there.

"Maybe you should look, love." Butcher muttered with a serious look that he rarely displayed, almost as if he was worried about another human being.

"Because you have access to the images ? Do I have to charge you a subscription ?"

"Haha, you're not my type. But obviously, you had an effect on the super cunt."

Since the elevator, Y/N had seen Homelander two or three times. They hadn't really talked, she had continued to talk to him as if he were just a harmless guy with a big maniac smile and his eyes that never left her.

There had been a tiny change the last time. A strange feeling in her chest, a buzzing in her ears, and Y/N had felt like he was coming, which was impossible.

With his vision passing through walls, his sense of smell and his obvious paranoia, Homelander also always seemed to know where she was.

That didn't explain his recurring presence in her apartment.

He had first come when she wasn't there. According to Billy, the supe loved doing that, to study the enemy, mark his territory, prove that he could do what he wanted.

Like a big cat, Homelander could be seen wandering around the rooms, touching absolutely everything, searching the fridge, testing the couch, sniffing her clothes.

Y/N wasn't going to pretend that it made her happy. But they were just objects, nothing really important. While he was having fun like a child, she could enter protected areas with the certainty of not running into him.

The problem was rather when he came while she was there.

Sometimes while she was showering, he could be seen through the window, or who remained in the entrance, staring at the wall, before leaving. It was ridiculous to feel uncomfortable, because he could see through her clothes absolutely all the time.

More and more often, he came while she was sleeping. Y/N had had nightmares for a large part of her childhood. It still happened sometimes, waking her up with a start, feeling stupid.

While she was tormented by her inner demons, her body continued to not give a damn about the superhero standing right next to her. Sometimes, when she was agitated, he would put his gloved hand on her cheek, as if he wanted to reassure her. You couldn't say that it had any effect, but it seemed to please her.

He didn't touch her as much as he could have. Most of the time, he just looked at her, standing more or less close.

Obviously, he sometimes talked to her. The video didn't pick up the sound, so it was impossible to tell what he was saying.

Homelander was in the middle of a long monologue when he strangely froze, leaning over Y/N, and kissing her without warning. A quick, simple kiss, so simple that it hadn't woken her up despite a slight flinch.

It had been several weeks already. Since then, he came regularly, almost all night long, and by hacking into a few surveillance cameras, it was obvious that he also followed her during the day whenever he had the chance.

Y/N had often had this strange feeling when he was around, without ever being able to determine what it was.

"… Shit." she murmured as she looked at the images.

"Shit indeed."

"This is going to be a problem, a real problem. I mean, he was already keeping an eye on Butcher, so now it's going to be impossible to move without that motherfucker on our backs."

"We could use that."

"No, Butcher !" Hughie said with his expression of constant worry that was bordering on constipation. "It's too dangerous !"

It took Homalander coming just to save her for Billy to admit that there was indeed a problem.

For the cunt to save him from the explosion of Stilwell's house to laugh and show him Becca and Ryan, okay. But for him to break the sound barrier, traveling all over town, just to catch Y/N, when he had no way of knowing she was in danger ?

That bastard was known for having no heart, but at that moment, he thought of his wife, he thought of what she had been through, and even if he didn't know Y/N well, he didn't want her to end up like that.

"You have to get out of here."

"And what ? I hide in a zinc-walled dungeon for the rest of my life, praying that he doesn't find me or that he gets tired of me ? Please, Butcher. Because he will get tired of me, I'm sure of it."

She wasn't sure. She knew these types of guys. For a long time, she had hoped that her father would come to his senses and let her go. Then she had stabbed him thirty-two times before burning down the house.

After several attempts, it was obvious that it would not be possible to do the same thing with Homelander. But he hated humans, it could only be a passing fascination.

A way to fill the boredom and emptiness, since he had no other women to harass, all the others having been killed or committed suicide.

Running away could have been a good option, since it would have indicated that Y/N was afraid and it would have been a disappointment to Homelander. But he could have still chased her away just for that.

"Why does it always have to end like this with you Serge ?"

"What can I do, chérie ? It's all your natural charm. You broke my heart the first time we met, so it's not that incredible that you seduced the great fucking Homelander."

"You fall in love with everyone. He hates 'mud people'."

"You're not 'people'. I shouldn't have brought you here, désolé."

Frenchie spoke to her as if she were already dead. The whole team looked at her with sad and resigned eyes.

The receptionist looked at her the same way when Y/N showed up at the reception of the ridiculous Vought tower, asking to see the flying cunt. In fact, the request had made the woman laugh at first, a mocking laugh, but she had still called Homelander's apartment, and that's where she had looked panicked.

But maybe it was more about the fate he had reserved for her for speaking badly to Y/N, and not for the future of the woman who got into the elevator, armed only with her courage and a small knife hidden in her shoe.

Homelander's bright blue eyes looked at it with a small smile, as if he found it adorable, before returning to her face.

"We need to talk." Y/N said calmly as she stood in the middle of the hallway.

"I think so."

And if at the end of their little discussion, there was no way to reason with him, then one of them wouldn't be leaving this apartment, even if she had a pretty good guess as to which one it would be.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 2

Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Looking for information on Klaus, you find your brother in the library and run into another handsome stranger.

Warnings: Sexual Tension, Dark Themes, Dante's Inferno, The Phantom of the Opera, Literary References, Delicate Touches

Word Count: 2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

You spent the next few days staring at the number written on your palm, the name ‘Klaus’ scribbled beneath it as the ink slowly began to fade with each wash. Putting the number into your phone for safe keeping, you continually fought the urge to call him and take him up on his tantalizingly generous offer. Just to be safe, though, you asked your brother to look up any information he could find on this playboy billionaire philanthropist, but he wasn’t answering his phone, which wasn’t like him. This either meant that he was buried in casework, that he was purposefully ignoring you, or something way worse.

You decide to go to the library and check his most likely location.

“Shit, sorry.” Austin looks at his phone to see your three missed calls and four text messages after uncovering it from his scattered papers on the library’s study desk. “I should have told you I couldn’t make it to your art show the other day, but Allan’s really kicking my ass with this one.” Your brother hurriedly takes the cup of coffee that you brought him, the bags beneath his eyes growing darker by the minute. “I really do plan on going to see it, I promise I will as soon as this case is over.”

Law school had really put your brother through the ringer, draining him of the light that used to shine bright within him. He’d said that once school was over, things would be better, but you’ll believe it when you see it.

“No, I get it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay when you didn’t respond. And you know what they say: ‘It can be pretty dangerous in the city after dark’.” You nudge him in the side, repeating one of his favorite phrases back to him in a mocking tone.

“Hey, I mean it when I say that!” He shouts in a defensive whisper, taking a sip of coffee with a grateful sigh. “If only I could show you half of the stuff I see at work without getting fired, I would…”

“I know, you’re just looking after me.” You ruffle his hair affectionately as you assess his messy work station. “You hungry or what?”

He rifles through his papers as if he’s lost something very near and dear to him, the crinkling sound seeming to drive him even more insane than anything. “Give me… forty-five minutes and we can get something to eat? Thai food?” He looks up at you, exasperated by the state of his workload.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “Forty-five minutes, and not a minute more!”

You turn away and leave him to his madness, silently exiting the most boring part of the library, walking through the science fiction and mystery sections in order to get to your favorite part; the horror section. You stroll through the alphabetized authors of terror, skimming past dozens of Stephen King novels before pulling out one of your favorites that had inspired a handful of adaptations over the years, all of them successfully paying it due homage. You’ve read it more times than you can even count, having collected a slew of copies of it at home, but none of them like this.

You admire the intricate cover of the hardback, smiling at the familiar sight of the white mask and red rose before tucking the tome lovingly into your chest. Knowing that the next forty-five minutes will surely fly by now, you turn down the aisle to find a quiet place to read, only to bump into a man you hadn’t seen there before.

He’s dressed in a three piece suit seemingly cut out of shadow and sin as an ancient aura surrounds him, almost as if he were as old as the city itself. His face, in turn, is just as timeless, reminding you of the old black and white Cary Grant movies you used to watch with your grandmother before she passed. Only he’s here now in living color, and it takes everything you have just to stop staring as a chill runs down your spine.

“Sorry,” you whisper shakily.

“Apologies are all mine,” his voice is deep and refined as he steps into your space, carefully placing the book back in its spot directly in front of you. “I wouldn’t want to create more work for the librarian.”

“This coming from someone reading Dante’s Inferno?” You finally say to break your awkward silence, noticing the famous title as he pushes it all the way in. “That’s a pretty heavy read for a Thursday night.”

He smiles with a low chuckle, eyes black as night glancing down at you before he deflects the attention away from himself. “And the Phantom of the Opera is such a light hearted story.”

“I find it comforting and romantic.” You defend the book in your arms with a grin.

“Is that so?” He tilts his head, taking the book from you without a hint of remorse before tracing the raised letters on the cover, almost as if to memorize the feel of them. “Two lovers obsessing over one incredibly talented beautiful woman? One driven mad with obsessive infatuation while the other truly has her best interest at heart?”

“So, you’ve read it?” You joke, noting the underlying bitterness in his tone despite his charming smile. This story’s personal to him, just like it is for you.

“Several times, yes.” He turns toward you, flicking through the pages as if he’s able to read them at superhuman speed. “Leroux really did know how to set the scene, didn’t he? A beautiful French city always seems to make it easier to fall in love.”

“Is that a fact?” You attempt to play it cool as he speaks so fondly of one of your favorite authors, drawing you in a little closer as he speaks.

“It’s a common literary device used in countless classics throughout the centuries, but I’m sure you already knew that.” He pauses, the dim lighting of the library making his dark eyes seem less imposing, almost sparkling as they look you over before scanning through the pages one more time. “Or maybe it’s the drama you prefer, the constant danger, the countless brushes with death that make you feel more alive than ever? Making the romance that much more palpable than if it were against any other monotonous backdrop?”

Jesus, is it written all over your face that you like a little bit of darkness with your romance? Is there a sign on your forehead that reads… What did the other man call you? Ah yes, ‘morbidly disturbed’? Was it so glaringly evident that you moved to this city to relish in the black magic you’ve heard so much about? Or maybe everyone else here is just as crazy as you are, no matter how elegant and put together they may seem.

“A little bit of both.” You decide to lean into the madness, slowly brushing your fingertips over his hand in order to catch him off guard just long enough to take your book back from him. “But what fun is romance without any stakes? It doesn’t make for a very good story, now does it?”

“I suppose not.” He smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he stares at you, warming you to the idea of opening up a little bit more.

“Or maybe there’s something to say about someone who is so in love that they’re willing to fight for it, willing to kill for that other person because they can’t imagine a world without it, without them.”

He raises his eyebrows as he considers your words, visibly tensing up as he clears his throat and shifts the weight in his hips. “The Phantom doesn’t kill for Christine, he kills despite her. It’s who he is at his very core before he even gets involved with her. He’s a ghost, a phantom, a monster.”

“A monster capable of love and empathy after he’s finally shown that in return.” You counter, now unsure if you came away with the correct message from the book.

“Ah, a truly hopeless romantic.” He grins, licking his lips before speaking again. “I didn’t think they still existed.” His eyes rake over your entire frame, taking in every inch of you as he allows the following silence to remain between you, hovering around you both in a heavy fog as the weight of it nearly takes your breath away.

“But enough about me,” you laugh nervously, changing the subject as you feel your cheeks begin to redden beneath his gaze. “What draws a man like you to The Divine Comedy? Are you the religious type, or are you just trying to figure out which circle of hell you’re doomed to spend eternity in?”

“Oh I already know that answer too well, I’m afraid.” He lets out a long sigh before leaning against the bookshelf. “But Dante’s work can be studied from a more worldly perspective on how the justice system deems their punishments worthy of someone’s crimes.”

“So you’re a lawyer like my brother. That explains the suit.”

He smirks again with a shake of his head, clearly amused by your failed attempt to figure him out.

“Well, a professor certainly wouldn’t get paid enough to wear a jacket or watch as nice as yours, so I think that Dante would place you in the… fourth circle, if memory serves me correctly.”

“A hoarder of wealth? Is that what you think of me?” He laughs, stepping in just close enough so that his smoky scent of cedarwood swims around the both of you, pairing perfectly with the musk of the leather bound books beside you. “And what other assumptions have you already made based on my appearance, young lady?”

Young lady?! Uh oh. Your eyes widen, the muscles in your abdomen tightening as his term of endearment triggers your brain to start trickling oxytocin into your bloodstream.

His answer, however, gives you pause, forcing your eyes to narrow as you take in everything about him. He’s not a lawyer or a professor, but he certainly carries himself like someone of equal or higher importance, like an executive of some major company that you know nothing about. He’s a mystery cloaked in a seductively elegant darkness, and you can’t help but want to get wrapped up in it.

“I ummm…” you trail off, fearing that the dim lighting is doing little to hide the deepening flush of your cheeks right about now. This man is way out of your league, and it’s only a matter of time before he realizes that you’re in uncharted territory.

“Well, as long as we’re going off of first impressions, I’d say you would fall into the first circle with the Greek philosophers… if you qualify at all.” Those onyx eyes seem fixated on you still, dropping down to your neck and chest before glancing back up at your face, spreading that blush up into your ears.

“The virtuous unbaptized?” You try not to laugh, wondering how it was possible that the man yesterday had thought you to be such a dark and tortured soul, while this one paints you as some sort of angel. They were both wrong in their own way, a single thread of truth holding each of their ideals together. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid that the second circle is where my most devious nature starts and stops,” you confess, feeling your heart race as he closes the gap between you.

“The sins of the flesh.” He smirks, clenching his jaw before delicately touching the spine of your book. “Unsurprising. I assume that a beautiful woman such as yourself is provided ample opportunities to get you into trouble there.”

“You assume correctly.” You let your mind wander about what he looks like underneath all those expensive clothes as he leans in further, the top of your book now pressing against his tie as his fingertips graze the back of your knuckles, forcing the hair on the back of your hand to stand on end.

“Alright, I’m done!” Your brother interrupts your conversation as he walks down the aisle, his messy work bag barely hanging off his shoulder when he spots your new friend. “Who the hell is this?”

The man gives you a somber look before clasping both of his hands over yours, finally looking up to address your brother. “Forgive me, it seems that I’ve lost my manners, I’m Elijah.”

[correlance]

Say what you will about the Charlie/Alastor (Charlastor) ship, but my God, the fanfiction "Similing Man" by MuseValentine, which was completed on 3 January 2022, so thoroughly called the following:

Alastor feeling insecure and threatened by Lucifer's power.

Alastor and Lucifer having a Texas stand-off over Charlie.

Alastor being a cocky little shit about it towards Lucifer.

The "oh shit" moment of panic where Alastor realizes that Charlie is the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, and then Lucifer going "have a seat" in order to intimidate Alastor, is also so hilariously well-written.

Art by SpicyUnicornPowder on Twitter.

Excerpt from Chapters 24-25:

The party was really turning up and he was trying his best to be mindful of the drinks so that not even a drop spilled. Thankfully, Charlie wasn’t too far away, and it looked like her mother had found her once again. Keeping a careful eye on the refreshments in hand, Alastor beelined his way back to her, where she smiled at him once more when he returned to her side.

“Oh, you’re back!” he heard her say, and finally safe and still, he looked up to once more greet Charlie’s lovely mother and engage in a polite conversation with the two ladies.

And that’s when Alastor realised then that there was somebody else with them.

And he froze.

“Alastor, I’d like to introduce you to my father….”

This was impossible.

A cruel twist of fate.

There was no way this could be so.

Alastor wasn’t sure what was going on now, but what he did know was that in the short amount of time since he looked at him, his heart started racing and his tongue went dry, as did a familiar but unsavouring tinge of anxiety hit his guts, causing his nerves to start going off the edge, making him feel like the smile he had on was starting to crack.

Oh, how he must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

No. He probably looked more like the night they’d first met when all bloodied and crazed from the high of two kills on that corner in Lafayette.

“…Lucifer Magne.”

Standing before him, short and blonde and dressed from head-to-toe in white in a showman-like fashion, was the Big Apple.

“Have we met before?”

Unfortunately for Alastor, it had to be thrown right at his face.

“No, I don’t believe we have.”

But life was funny like that, wasn’t it?

“Strange,” the man – Lucifer – remarked with a tilt of his head, eyes studying him curiously. “You’re an awful lot familiar. Swear I would have remembered you anywhere.”

The mocking glint in the man’s eyes, watching the way he was bluffing, it all made Alastor’s nerves go on a frenzy while he remained still and stone-faced. The man was bluffing – Alastor was made and he knew it. He knew the stakes that were at hand here for him, considering the circumstances.

“You might have heard of him, Daddy,” Charlie quipped with a smile. “Alastor’s a radio host. A very good one too!”

But under all sorts of circumstances, did it have to be the one where he turned out to be the father of his goddamn neighbour?!

“Oh! I thought you sounded familiar!” Lilith suddenly exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “You’re the one who interviewed our darling for her hotel! Thank you for helping her out with that, by the way!”

While Lilith was somewhat gushing, her husband only quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, although the look in his eyes gave away the indication that it was something he already knew.

“A radio host? My, how interesting,” he said in a tone that seemed marvelled although it was clearly not, turning more questioning as he inquired, “Is there anything else that you do, Mr. Carlon?”

Hearing the question that, without a doubt, held a double meaning behind it, Alastor finally broke out of his stupor and cleared his throat, not realising until then how dry his mouth was.

“Nope, nothing else at all,” he answered the lie as calmly as he could, ignoring the scratchy feeling of the dryness of his mouth. “I’m quite a boring egg outside of work, I’ll say.”

The Big Apple only hummed, which might seem out of being unimpressed if not for the fact that Alastor knew better to realise that’s the bunk and he was truly unconvinced. And why wouldn’t he be? The man had seen for himself what he did outside of work. There was no point lying to him, and it was disconcerting to be standing in front of him feeling so bare despite being decked out in his best suit.

Looking away from the eyes of the Big Apple, he turned to Charlie and handed her drink, taking a sip of his gin-and-tonic to quench the cottony feeling of his tongue, although the burn from the alcohol made him wince slightly.

Over her drink, Charlie eyed him in concern. “Alastor? Are you alright?”

Hearing her concern made his grin widened instantly as if it was reflex. “Oh, yes!” he lied through his teeth, “Just that this here’s some real strong hooch.”

A laugh was forced out of him to cover up that close slip-up of his demeanour, but one quick look at her and suddenly he found it difficult to look at Charlie in the eyes, throwing him off immensely. How the tables have turned considering usually he was the one making her look away. Unnerved once more, Alastor moved his gaze away from her, and this definitely did not escape her notice.

But then Lilith leaned in to look at him with worry. “Oh, goodness. Are you feeling alright? You seem a little flushed.”

Alastor was about to give a quick response of assurance if it wasn’t for the look on Lucifer’s face that cut him short. The blond man was eyeing him carefully, watching his expressions and his movements, the corner of lips tilted up in a smirk as if he was waiting for a slip-up from him.

“Why yes, you do seem quite flushed, my friend. I wouldn’t think a simple gin-and-tonic would have such a bite on you.”

If Alastor hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that he was just poking fun at what seemed like his incapability to hold down his liquor. But he did know better, enough to quickly catch on to the last bit of the sentence that sent his nerves on end for the umpteenth time.  

Against the sinking feeling of his gut, he forced himself to stretch his grin further as he waved a hand in dimissory. “No, I’m fine,” he exclaimed a tad bit louder than he would like. “And this sure is a hooker! Been a while since I’ve had a good drink!”

The liquor did taste good, probably the most top-notch quality that bootlegged could offer. But the taste was soured by this moment, how it was all a farce on Alastor’s part, as much as it may have been for Lucifer, the both of them eyeing each other intently.

And this definitely was noticed by Charlie, who watched them quietly, sensing the building of tension in the air that came from the both of them.

But that tension was broken immediately by Lilith, who seemed to not have noticed the exchange as she was busy looking elsewhere. “Darling, I see that Stolas has just arrived. Goodness, he seemed to have brought that little toy of his instead of his wife! How scandalous.”

For that moment, Lucifer moved his attention away from Alastor, smiling kindly to his frau. “Now, my love, we shouldn’t stick our noses into his business. Let him have his fun. Shall we say our ‘hello’?”

Seeing that this was the end of their little meeting, he moved to his daughter, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he patted her head affectionately, and Charlie preened at this loving fatherly affection. A sight that would have made Alastor glad to see her so happy if it wasn’t for the fact that it was almost unbearable to look at the both of them together now.

And then a hand came to his shoulder in a friendly pat, immediately irking him from being touched but unable to do anything about it. From the corner of his eye, the Big Apple was looking at him with his lips pulled back into that familiar chilling grin, hidden from his wife’s and daughter’s view and given specially to him.

“Relax, my friend,” Lucifer said cheerily, an undertone clearly noted, “Enjoy the party, yes?”

Alastor could only watch as he linked his arm to Lilith’s and walked away. Despite the noise and activity that was going on around him, he felt like he had hit a standstill in time, his mind racing down a trail of spiralling thoughts, unsure of what to think or feel at this moment, amazed yet disturbed that he didn’t know.

”Alastor?”

Charlie’s voice calling his name in concern broke him out of the almost train wreck of his mind as he turned to look at her with unreadable eyes that did not give way to the turmoil inside him.

“I hope you don’t mind Daddy…” she said reassuringly, looking quite fretful.  “He’s a little intimidating, is all.”

A ‘little’ was clearly such an extreme understatement.

[...]

“Have a seat, Mr. Carlon,” Lucifer gestured to the seat opposite his and his desk, and Alastor accepted the invitation willingly.

An intricate silver cigarette casing was taken out from his jacket’s inner pocket, popped open and held out to Alastor, who took one with a nod of thanks. A stick to his own lips and Lucifer took a lighter to graciously alight both their cigarettes.

Alastor took a second to himself to enjoy a much-needed puff as Lucifer circled around the desk back to his armchair. “Are you feeling better?” he asked politely, making himself comfy in his seat.

Exhaling another puff that seemed like a relief to his lungs, Alastor replied, “What gave you the implication that I wasn’t?”

“The look on your mug when you saw mine.”

And just like that, it seemed the smoke did no use to ease him any longer, watching as Lucifer’s face split into a wide grin, laughing softly with a shake of his head. And yet, this was not all that shocking to him, taking a silent breath to himself as he willed his tense body to move, leaning forward to flick the ashes of his cigarette on a nearby ashtray.

“So, we’re dropping the pretence now, I assume?” Alastor questioned blankly, putting the cigarette back to his lips.

 “You’re not really someone easy to forget, Mr. Carlon,” Lucifer noted casually with the flicker of his own cigarette ash onto the ashtray. “Or should I just call you ‘Alastor’, now that we’re very familiar with each other?”

“Call me anything you want. Either one’s my name anyway.”

Lucifer only hummed in agreement, and quickly after, a silence ensued. Both men did not talk, just sitting across each other, focus on only their own gaspers within the silence of the study. But while Lucifer was reclining on his chair looking elsewhere, Alastor’s eyes were fixed on him – watching, waiting, anticipating, even though he had no clue what to expect at all.

And that bothered him to no end.

“Come now, no need to be so tense,” Lucifer suddenly broke the silence in a reassured tone. “Did you enjoy the cake, Alastor?”

A strange turn of a conversation, but one Alastor kept up with as she politely shook his head. “Didn’t take a slice, sorry. I’m not a fan of sweets.”

Lucifer looked almost disappointed to hear that. “Oh? What a shame. It’s a lovely cake. Pineapple upside-down. Very fashionable. My wife picked it out.”

Taking a drag before exhaling smoke in a puff, he continued almost mellow-like. “Ah, my Lilith. Such a catch, isn’t she? How I do love her so dearly.”

Alastor only nodded along, keeping a polite smile on his face. Any egg would know better than to show much enthusiasm when a man was talking about his wife, so he kept the niceties to a minimum in this strange atmosphere, still simply watching and waiting.

“Do you know who else I love dearly, Alastor?”

And just like that, Alastor immediately felt his smile dropping just the slightest.

“My daughter.”

Lucifer took a last drag, smoothly blowing smoke out in a smooth stream before butting it out on the ashtray, and that’s when his eyes turned to look at him, narrowed into dangerous slits that seemed reminiscent of a snake ready to pounce.

“Which is why I want to know how exactly did she manage to wind up with you.”

If looks could kill, then Lucifer was intent to do so, withdrawing from under his desk a revolver.

The silence in the room could have been quiet enough to hear the way Alastor’s heart dropped right to the floor as he stared at the bean-shooter aimed right at his head.

Even after he felt the last bits of his cigarette turning to ash and falling to the floor, he was too frozen to even move to discard it on the ashtray. In his standstill, his eyes remained on Lucifer, whose glare only seemed more menacing against his grin.

“Well?”

“We’re neighbours.”

It was the truth, so what else could he have said other than that? But judging from the way his eyes widened in slight surprise, the answer clearly wasn’t what Lucifer was expecting. Then again, maybe it’s how he answered so blankly that threw him off. Alastor couldn’t be too sure at which.

“Apologies if it isn’t as exciting as you might think I had more dire intentions,” he apologised for no reason in particular, “but it is as simple as that.”

The revolver unwavering, Lucifer rested his head on his free hand, looking thoughtful. “That’s not really much of an answer.”

“She’s the one who invited me.”

“And there she was, looking so shy and bashful when she wanted me to meet you,” Lucifer said with a hard edge to his voice, as if the words that left his mouth left a disgusting taste on his tongue at the thought of it. “So, is this some sort of sick plan of yours, then?”

Without a doubt, Alastor was taken aback by the blatant accusation that was directed at him.

“To be completely fair, I had no idea that she was your daughter,” he explained. “I think you yourself could understand that from our very inopportune meeting earlier on.”

Lucifer laughed as if the memory of that meeting was humorous to him, and Alastor couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit peeved that he seemed to be laughing at him. He didn’t appreciate really being taken for a joke, even with a revolver pointed at right between his eyes.

“Well, now you do, so what then?”

“What makes you think I’d want to do anything to Charlie?” he countered back, almost challengingly as though to make a point for himself.

Lucifer may have definitely seen the agitation on his face, looking more bemused as he leaned forward, the revolver inching closer to Alastor’s head, but the radio host he remained calm, not even flinching in the slightest as he continued to observe.

“No need to play coy with me, friend. I’ve seen the stunt you’re able to pull. The way your eyes dilate with the thrill of the kill. Almost seems like you think of it as some fun game!”

Alastor couldn’t help but huff in amusement, his face not denying the truth in the man’s presumptions, which only prompted him to continue with, “So, is that what you’re intending to play with Charlie?”

The room fell into a hushed silence again, as Lucifer waited for his answer and Alastor staring blankly at him.

One would not have felt the spark of irritation that was growing within the man in the red suit. The way Lucifer prompted curiously, pressing him to spill, it admittedly agitated Alastor. He didn’t like having to be given the third this way, especially with the revolver pointed right at his face, as though mocking him into submission.

An inkling in him saw this as a sort of cowardice, that he’d have to whip out a heat just to have some show of power to intimidate him in the slightest. How absolutely obnoxious, he’ll say!

And so, vain and cocky in true fashion, Alastor couldn’t help but bite back even in the slightest, confident and without resistance, doing so with a sharp grin.

“If I wanted her dead, she would’ve been long gone before you even met me.”

Now, that definitely seemed like the wrong thing to say.

Alastor watched as the look on Lucifer’s face shifted, turning darker as his eyes narrowed, his grin starting to become a tad bit more tighter, clearly having a chord struck in him, the murderous intent burning more as the seconds passed by quickly.

Well, quite understandable really, considering he just up and dared indirectly said he wanted to have the curse on Charlie.

Yet, the words that followed the expression had no match at all.

 “You know, Alastor, you remind me of a deer.”

His darkening aura started to lighten up as he regained his composure, and the sudden change in the conversation only confused Alastor once more. He was probably getting whiplash from the constant turn of events that he had endured for the just the past hour or so, too stupefied to say anything now. No response came, only silence in waiting for the continuation.

“You don’t seem like so, but such a bravado that exists within you. So poised and elegant, like a buck with impressive antlers – an assertion of power and dominance. How you bring yourself so confidently that it seemed like you rule above all, that nothing could bring you down.”

A loud click suddenly resonated in the room, coming from the hammer of the revolver that’s been pushed down and ready for ignition.

And just like that, Alastor was startled, eyes widening as it darted to the tip of the barrel that was still aimed steadfastly in the middle of his forehead, focus only on that instead of the crazed grin on the Big Apple. It probably wasn’t loud, but he could hear the hammering of his heart resonate loudly in his hearing, almost blocking out the next seething words that followed.

“But put a gun right on them and it’s just an act, revealing nothing more than prey.”

[lovezbrownies]

Yandere!Chief of Police.

Character: Grim Ludenhart, 32, male, 199 cm/ 6'5 ft.

Pretty mild tbh, not too yandere but there is a future work containing your life with him after where it will be darker hopefully. also my ass did not read through this so whatever mistakes i made please ignore them thanks!

Minors DNI!!

Word count: 1725 words.

Content warning: Lying??, obsession, stalking, abuse of power, age gap (5 years- darling: 27, Grim: 32), implications of criminal activity.

Grim isn’t one for love, even the thought of it was unappealing for a while. Up until he met you. Grim was known to be a stoic man, however stoic he can be he was still extremely approachable. Ironically, Grim doesn’t care for anyone aside from his family. Grim would be less popular if these nobles knew what he actually thought of them, due to his job as Chief of Police, he and the rest of the Board of Chiefs of Xelera are required to attend every event and ball that Queen Nia hosts. Although Grim hates Queen Nia’s events he also likes to attend other events that nobles would host and invite him. He only ever goes there to make sure unnecessarily rich bastards keep up their support of the Police, as well as to maintain a good reputation among the nobles, he needs their support for whenever someone dares threaten his position.

All in all, Grim despises the nobles he’s constantly surrounded by, including the nobles he’d publicly called his friends. Which would be why he found himself here, in a tiny bar, sitting in a tiny booth, his real friends around him, all being middle class “peasants”. He liked it here, he can be the small town boy again with these people. ‘’So he cornered me, and mind you he’s doing all of this over a cake! He goes ‘Well, Grim, good to see you! Uh, you got that cake recipe written down yet?’ Blah blah, this man wouldn’t stop yappin’ i had half a mind to smack him right then and there and tell him my ma made it for me!” A roar of laughter goes off, as the laughing dies down Grim flags down a busser working at the bar. He couldn’t see them all that clearly but who cares, he’s just going to pay and leave after all.

Well, he did care, and so did his buddies as they witnessed Grim become awestruck as he talks with the server, an attractive young thing, possibly mid twenties. “Hello! My name is Y/n, is there anything I can help you with?” They greeted the table with a warm smile, a notepad in hand, waiting to be given orders to fulfill. Grim, awestruck, sat quite for a second before collecting himself when one of the guys he’s sitting next to nudged him. ‘’Ahem, yes, can I pay my bill please? Bill’s name under Greg Hart.” Grim cringed, wishing he hadn’t made up a fake name in this bar, if only he knew there was love around the corner. ‘Ah, giving your fake name to the gorgeous busser, how absolutely romantic!’ Grim chastised himself silently.

You nodded, smile as warm as the summer sun, ‘’Alrighty, I’ll get you your bill, does anyone need anything else however?” Your pretty eyes sadly cut contact with Grim to look at the rest of the table, while Grim had been completely fixated on you, even as you left he couldn’t get his eyes off you, the way your hips move, the way you swiftly move about the tables littered around the bar, the way you lean into the bar counter, the way your head tilts as you presumably ask for a Greg Hart’s check. Grim’s train of thought was caught off as the guy next to him threw their arm around Grim. “Well, looks like Grim isn’t interested in us anymore!” The group laughs heartily and Grim chuckles in embarrassment. 

Grim’s been a regular at that particular downtown bar since he’s started Cadet School, which would be now be 14 years ago, as soon as he turned 18 he had applied and gotten accepted. And out of those 14 years, the bar only just started getting better when you started working there. Grim had studied your schedule as well as he could, what shifts you had, whether you were closing or opening on a particular day. He knows everything about you, seriously, when he went to work the next day he managed to find your information after skimming through numerous pictures of other Y/Ns who were not you. Grim isn’t a slacker, so he sent over all of your records to his personal laptop to look at when he gets back home. And oh boy did he look! Grim didn’t leave a single record unread, spending hours going through your school records, your medical records, every job you’ve had, he learnt your family’s history entirely, safe to say he unfortunately missed out on seeing you that day at the bar.

Grim doesn’t like going to the bar during the weekdays because his job has always been top priority, yet here he was, chatting you up on a tuesday, the bar mostly empty as you two talk about everything and anything that comes to mind. At some points you’d get interrupted by another patron requesting help, and when that happens Grim liked to glare at them as hard as he could, eventually most regulars learnt to ask for whatever drink they want at the bar itself. Your boss also tried to lecture you on how you’ve barely been doing your job but one look from Grim had them scurrying away. 

He hates the fact you call him ‘’Greg’’, he has been chatting with you for 4 weeks now, although it really is his fault he couldn’t come up with a way to tell you that he gave you a fake name and he is actually a fearsome chief. Don’t get me wrong he has a spectacular reputation, he makes sure to have the people’s best interest at heart, but he doesn’t exactly look friendly, a tired set of lifeless eyes paired with lips that never smile has made people fear meeting him. But that’s okay! You know him now after all, you’ve seen him smile, his eyes still look tired but at least they have light in them now! Maybe you’d be open to him if he told you the truth, maybe you’d love him more if you knew about how much power he has! So, as charmingly as he could, asked if you’d like to come home with him after your shift, you know as friends obviously!

And you, charmed and ever so slowly falling for your favorite regular you agreed to his proposal, what you didn’t expect was finding out your regular was actually a chief, and the Chief of Police no less! You did freak out a little but Gre- Grim had calmed you down, told you he liked you and liked how you acted around him, “You are so cute, why would I keep coming to the bar and talk with you only if I found you disrespectful, hm?” Grim smirked at you, moving from the stove to you, standing to your left he leaned a closer to you, you were seated on his kitchen counter while he was cooking up something, you still weren’t sure what he was making but it was probably good.

You shrug, equally leaning closer to him, “Hm, dunno maybe you wanna eat me or something?” Grim chuckled lightly, a handsome grin on his face as he stared into your eyes, and by heavens was he gorgeous. His gray eyes twinkled under the ambient lights in his kitchen, his eyebags suit him so well it was almost unfair how much they made him even more attractive. “If I wanted to eat you, I would’ve already done so, dear.~” Grim’s voice was soft and smooth, masculine and deep, and oh so alluring. His head tilted slightly to the side, causing his hair to flop as well. You’ve always had this urge to touch his hair, to run your hands through it and put it in various different hairstyles, and so taking your chances you raised your hands up off of the kitchen counter and ran your fingers through his hair. Grim leaned into you, humming he closed his eyes, he seemed so serene like this, and his hair is so soft.

You sat there for a minute or so, just appreciating the man in front of you, still caressing his hair, his eyes closed, it seemed like he was so close to purring like a kitty, “I don’t think I’d mind it if you ate me, at least I’m being eaten by someone I like.” You hummed out quietly, yet this nice moment was cut short by him snapping his eyes open, grabbing the hand caressing his hair he brought it down, a little close to his face, which right now seemed a little pinkier than usual. “Y-you like me?” Your surprise was cut short, you laughed leaning into his shoulder.

 “Of course I do! Haven’t you noticed yet? Thought you were smart sir, Chief of Police!”  Still leaning into his shoulder you turned your head to have a better look at Grim, and quite frankly seeing him this flustered after watching so many interviews and speeches with Grim being completely expressionless was pure gold. Grim was staring at you, eyes wide but not meeting your own, eyebrows straight up, cheeks pink, and mouth slightly agape. You try to take your hand back so you can caress his hair again, but his grip tightens, seemingly getting out of his trance, Grim collects himself, he looks straight into your eyes, his eyes tender with love, he smiles gingerly, though his cheeks are still pink, it seems he’s gained enough courage to speak now.

Grim shrugged your head off his shoulder, cupping your face with his free hand Grim leaned into you, your foreheads now touching. Grim stares at you, looking deep into your eyes with such love it’s making you feel all types of flustered. “I hope you know I’ve never believed in love at first sight until I saw you, I- Can I kiss you?” Grim’s soft and honeyed words have you completely wrapped around his pinkie, he has now completely captivated your heart. You smile, nodding, mentally begging him to make the move, make you his. Little did you know that the moment he captured your lips onto his own you will forever be his, never being let go, and let’s just hope you don’t find out the things he has done and will do to make sure you stay his.

also bonus image :3

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʜ. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The problem? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, food and eating, insecurity on Bucky's part, and Bucky is probably written wrong. (Trying my best lmao)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

[Series Masterlist]

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

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘

🄳🄰🅈 1

It had been twenty minutes into the drive. Tony had specifically picked out a route for the two of you to follow, which was saved into your phone.

Neither of you had said anything since the whole 'who's-driving' thing. Part of you was grateful, but at the same time it just made the whole situation awkward.

As your playlist filled the car with noise, you attempted to just ignore him.

"What time is it?" You ask, quickly glancing at him. He tapped your phone with his flesh hand, reading the time as it opened up to your lock screen.

"11:00am." He answers.

"You wanna stop somewhere for lunch? There's a cluster of fast food places about fifteen minutes from us."

He nods.

When you get to the nearest fast food place, the two of you notice the long Drive-Thru line. "I know you don't like being in public or whatever," you begin, "but the line is super long. You wanna head inside?"

After a brief moment, he nodded again. Smiling slightly, you led the way into the restaurant.

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

Bucky sat across from you in silence, sipping on his drink. He wanted to make an effort, to try and befriend you, at least for this trip. The only issue is that he's not sure how.

After an insanely quiet argument disagreement at the ordering counter over who was going to pay for the food, Bucky wasn't ready to piss you off again. Especially after he had won said disagreement. He realized right after the two of you had sat down at the booth that you could've just ordered separately, but it was too late.

"Is it alright if I drive?" He asked as the two of you walked to the truck. He watched your expression, studying the changes in it. You were about to argue, but a yawn stopped you. "Sure." You answered finally.

Opening the truck door and hopping inside, Bucky buckled his seatbelt, listening to you do the same. He started the truck, watching you lean the passenger seat back. "I'm gonna plug in my phone. The route's on it." You say as you do so. "I'm taking a nap. Wake me up if you get tired."

"Alright." He drives in silence for a while. He can't quite tell how long had passed. It could've been five minutes or four hours. It was 9:00pm when you woke back up. "Good morning." You muttered. "You can't drive all night. How far out's the nearest hotel or something?" You picked up your phone, realizing there was no cell service. Checking the map, you scrolled around on it. "Two hours and forty-five minutes. Jesus--you look half-dead, dude."

He yawned, side-eyeing you. "I look fine."

"You look like Victor from The Corpse Bride. That's not 'fine', man." You countered. "Just find a place to pull over for the night. We're in the middle of nowhere, so there's probably a little trail or something we can drive down." He nodded at this suggestion. "Alright. Tell me when you see one."

Maybe fifteen minutes passed before you told him to slow down. "Right up there. Look." You pointed through the windshield, and he drove the truck down a small path leading to a little clearing in the woods.

"Just put it in park off to the side." You told him, and he complied. "Do you wanna sleep in the backseat or anything?"

He shook his head. "You can have it."

"I'm too lazy to crawl over the seat, and I don't wanna get out." I sighed. "I have a couple episodes of Dance Moms downloaded if you wanna watch it with me." You glance at him for approval as you pick up your phone. He doesn't stop you, so you pull up the show.

You grin as you successfully balance your phone on the shift stick. It was fun for you, studying Bucky's expressions. He even made you laugh once in a while, when his eyes widened and his brows furrowed at Abby talking to one of the moms.

Eventually, the two of you drifted off, Bucky making sure to turn off your phone before he fell asleep.

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

🄳🄰🅈 2

You woke up to the sun shining right into your eyes.

"Morning." Bucky said, looking up from his book. When did he get that? You considered it for a moment, before your brain fully woke up. He probably just grabbed it from his suitcase. Duh.

"Morning." You replied, checking the time. It was just a little past eight.

"I'm gonna drive for a little while." He said as he started the truck.

"Kate packed a snack bag for me. You need breakfast, Super Soldier." You reached into the floor of the backseat, grabbing the grocery bag and pulling it into your lap. "We got..granola bars, juice boxes, Goldfish, pretzels...And a bunch of other things. What do ya feel like?"

After he decided on a granola bar, you picked your breakfast snack of choice.

"There's a little town a couple hours out. If you want, we can just wait to get food and stuff until we get there." He suggests.

"Sure." You agreed, wondering why he wasn't being as asshole-ish as usual. "Sounds good to me."

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

You did end up reaching that town by lunchtime. The old and faded sign indicating so was perched off to the side of the main road. 'Welcome to Brandon Briar!', it read.

"We should just get a hotel room. My back hurts like hell, and we can just get back on the road tomorrow."

"Can you make it until the next town?"

"What? No. I haven't pissed since we stopped for lunch yesterday, Bucky."

He rolled his eyes, and you mentally took back everything you said about him not being an asshole today. "Look, there's a hotel right there. I will personally pay for the rooms, just get in the parking lot."

"You don't have to." He sighs, pulling into the hotel's parking lot.

You lift your suitcase and backpack out of the backseat, before heading into the lobby. Bucky follows as you approach the receptionist.

She's an older lady, some sections of her hair gray, other sections a warm brown. Her eyes match the brown, and she smiles when she sees the two of you walk in.

"Hello. Welcome to the Brandon Briar Hotel. How may I help you two today?" She asked, looking up at the two of you. She has wrinkles by the corners of her eyes, and smile lines around her mouth. Her voice is warm, as is everything about her. A quick glance to her nametag revealed that her name is Barbara C.

"We'd like two rooms, please." You smiled politely.

"Alright, and how long will the two of you be staying, dear?"

"Just for tonight, if that's okay."

"Wonderful. Is it okay if it's a connecting room? The festival always brings in a lot of tourists." She smiled proudly.

"Festival?"

"Yes, Brandon Briar has it every year. Here's a flyer, if you're thinking about attending." She slipped a brightly colored flyer over the counter, sliding it in front of you. The main colors, yellow, blue, and white, were eye-catching and pretty.

"Now, is the connecting room okay, sweetheart?" She asked again, though there was not a single note of annoyance in her voice.

"Oh--yes. That will be perfect."

You pay quickly for both of the rooms before Bucky--who had been standing behind you silently--could fight you on it. Barbara hands you the two key cards, and you hand Bucky one. Taking the flyer with you, you give Barbara one final 'thank you' and a smile, before heading to the elevator.

Bucky presses the button for the 2nd floor, where your rooms are. You study the flyer.

"This is pretty cool. It's like a 'this-town-through-the-decades' kind of thing. There's a 40's style dance thing tonight." You state, reading the first event listed. The festival is a week long, starting tonight, Monday, and ending on Sunday.

Bucky nods, yet he says nothing.

"Do you wanna go? It sounds fun."

"No." He answers simply.

"Why not?" You furrow your brows, confused.

"I don't dance."

"Okay, Chad from High School Musical." You side-eye him. "Please can we go?"

"Neither of us have anything to wear to it." He tries to reason as the elevator door opens. Walking down the hallway, you continue to argue with him. "I'm sure there's at least one store that sells stuff specifically for the festival. Barbara--the receptionist--said that the festival brings in a bunch of tourists, so they have to have something around here."

"We're both Avengers. We could be recognized."

"So? Either way, we're in a tiny ass town in the middle of nowhere. If we were recognized, it wouldn't even matter."

He looked down at his gloved left hand. He always wore thick jackets or long-sleeved shirts, paired with gloves.

"Nobody's gonna care." You reassured quietly. It was true that the two of you didn't get along very well, but you didn't think it was fair to make personal attacks. You knew his arm, and basically his entire past, really, were sensitive topics.

When you opened your room, you immediately rushed to the bathroom, dropping off your stuff by the door.

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

Bucky took off his gloves, stepping into the hotel room. Quickly opening the door that connected to your room, he sighed. He couldn't handle the stares from random civilians whenever he went jacketless. But the way you looked so excited when you talked about it...He wanted to go. He really did.

He looked at you when you opened your door to his room.

"I'll go with you. If you want."

"Really?" You grin. He nods, already regretting his decision.

"Come on, we gotta find 40's shit." You decide.

[underhousearrestblog]

forced to marry Aegon Targaryen

(summary) after becoming king, Aegon gives an order for you, Aemond’s fiancée, to marry him instead

(warnings) forced marriage... plus Aegon... so all that cute stuff... things that are cute on paper (or Google doc) but definitely toxic in real life...

(pairings) Aegon Targaryen x reader, Aemond Targaryen x reader (arranged, briefly)

(genre) dark romance so... fluff?

(reminder) Y/N – your name

(word count) 3657

(also) Stark!reader, she/ her pronouns used

(also) this is written as if the Greens always planned to take the throne

(also) I’m writing about a made-up Aegon – one who doesn’t force himself on women and is not a creep; let’s assume, for the sake of this imagine, that this Aegon is an innocent little virgin...

(also) flashbacks are in Italics

(also) for this particular imagine, I listened to Lana del Rey’s ‘Art Deco’ while writing – in case you want to listen to something while reading :)

(aaaand also...) English is not my first language so allow yourself to ignore any and all mistakes...

HAPPY READING!

Aegon wouldn’t feel bad at all for lusting after his brother’s fiancée. Why would he? Aemond and your marriage was arranged and after the announcement his brother had left you here, in King’s Landing, all alone and lonely. His excuse was that he had to start preparing for his duties as the future Prince Regent.

Aegon had to see you at his family’s breakfast table every morning. He, either lacking manners or downright ignoring them, stared at you openly and with no shame. Everyone else either ignored him or didn’t notice.

But people weren’t blind. They noticed Aegon’s lingering gazes. How he always brought you something back from his travels. How he danced with you at every ball. Hiding behind the excuse of ‘entertaining my future sister-in-law’. It wasn’t long before he had placed multiple knights to guard you 24/7 because ‘his brother apparently doesn’t care for your safety’. How he would get you a direwolf, even though he didn’t like dragons, let alone some overgrown creatures from the North. How every man had learned to never ask you to accompany them or dance with them, because the prince’s eyes would always follow you, making sure you’re not interacting with anyone else.

Aemond, your arranged fiancé, of course, even though partially blind, wasn’t stupid. He saw his brother looking like a half drunk, half kicked puppy every time Alicent brought up his and your marriage. How Aegon would quickly excuse himself and reach for the nearest bottle. In one of their training sessions, one of the rare times Aegon was forced to be stone cold sober, Aemond had brought it up.

- I can see how you look at my wife, - he said, putting his sword aside.

Aegon looked disgusted at the title.

- She’s not your wife, - he grunted.

Aemond looked at his brother smugly, trying to get out a reaction.

- Yet.

Aegon picked up his sword and lunged at Aemond who, being a better swordsman, blocked his attack laughing. He kicked his brother’s sword out of his hand and pointed his own weapon against his neck.

- Don’t worry, we can share her.

Just as expected, that made things worse. If looks could kill, Aemond would be dead were he stood.

- You won’t fucking touch her, - Aegon declared.

- Really, - Aemond pointed his sword at the ground and now was full-on laughing. – How are we supposed to produce heirs then?

Aegon hated being laughed at, especially by his brother. He couldn’t help his anger, though.

He gathered all he could of his breathing pace and forced himself to calm down.

- What if we make a deal? – he said, as soon as Aemond had turned his back to him.

Aemond turned back, looking amused.

- What can you offer me that’s better than lady Stark’s hand in marriage?

Aegon might not have studied politics or philosophy but he knew his brother. There was one idol he desperately tried to copy and there was one way to achieve that.

- I’ll give you Dragonstone.

Aemond looked almost surprised at his brother’s words.

- What?

- I know you want to be a copy of our dear uncle so, – he shrugged, - when I become king, I’ll make you the Lord of Dragonstone.

For a second, Aegon thought his brother might refuse. It was no secret that there were not romantic feelings between you two but he still highly respected you and took his time getting to know you. From your point of view, him breaking your engagement might come across as betrayal and he valued you as much as to-

- Deal, - Aemond said, a bit irritated that his brother actually knew him that well.

Aegon smirked. In no time you would be right where you’re supposed to be. With his ring on your finger, right by his side.

- A piece of advice, brother, - Aemond said, picking up his things to leave. – Don’t announce this before your coronation.

Aegon’s brows furrowed. He wanted to announce these news to you as soon as possible. He wanted to publicly announce that you are to be his wife.

- Why?

- She’s gonna run, - Aemond laughed as if it was obvious. – If she finds out she’s marrying you, Y/N’s gonna run.

***

Something had changed in your fiancé’s behavior. He no longer came to accompany you to events and dances, he no longer came to visit your after his returns from travels. You sometimes would see him at dinner with the rest of his family but that would only result in a polite nod and respectful ‘I hope you have a nice evening, lady Stark’.

Something had changed about your brother-in-law too. You seemed to run into him everywhere. Your chair at the dinner table was placed right next to his – at the head of it. His mother had stopped talking about your engagement all together – which you found weird but not as weird as the pitying looks she gave you. Nobody referred to you as Aemond Targaryen’s fiancée anymore.

After the night when king Viserys’ had passed, you found out about the Greens’ plan to usurp the throne. Not that you had any power to object but you had always assumed that crown would go to Rhaenyra.

As you stood at the stage of the throne, you once again were weirded out by the strange placement. Aegon stood in the middle with his mother on his right and you on his left, while your fiancé and your sister-in-law stood further away. You were in a trance by all the sudden change that you never noticed Aegon’s bright, happy smiles every time he looked at you right beside him.

It didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else though.

- I have a surprise for you, - Aegon leaned down to whisper in your ear, as everyone else called his name.

Aegon had always scared you. Not necessarily because you thought he was going to assault you or attack you but because he seemed way more intense than your own fiancé. You slowly moved your eyes to meet his. Seeing his pupils blown and noticing his heavy breathing, you gulped.

- I better go find my fiancé.

You had also noticed that every time you mentioned Aemond, it turned Aegon either angry or drunk. But this time smile appeared on his face.

- Of course, - he nodded, still smiling. – We can’t have your fiancé getting lonely. He wouldn’t like that.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you turned to look for Aemond. You noticed him a bit further with Haelena and something about them seemed weird too. Before you could get to them, you were stopped by queen herself with her hand around your bicep.

- Let us not disturb the married couple just yet, - her words didn’t register at first. – They got married just last night, you can congratulate them later.

Even though her words sounded all weird, arrogant and not making any sense, the look she gave you was one of pity and insecurity.

- Huh? – you looked back and forth between your fiancé and the queen. She seemed genuine and... sorry.

- Don’t they look beautiful together? – a deep voice whispered in your ear from behind.

You startled, yet before you could turn around, Aegon’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. You felt him press his mouth to the back of your head and inhale a shaky breath, inhale the scent of your hair.

A shuddered exhale made made you shiver. Even though your dress was made of thick fabrics, Aegon’s arm seemed to burn itself, brand itself around your waist. After he seemed to get enough of taking in your scent, he wrapped the other arm around your waist too and put his chin on the top of your head, trapping you against him.

You heard a satisfied and relieved sigh coming from deep within his chest, as if he had gotten his hands on a prize he’s longed for his entire life.

In a desperate attempt for help, your eyes searched for the queen’s, but she looked straight ahead. Only the nervous breathing gave away the fact that she even awknowledged you and her son.

- Mother? – Aegon’s voice, soft and careful just a minute before, turned cold and careless once again. – I kept my word. Now it’s your turn.

Queen Alicent seemed to brace and prepare herself. Just a second later any hesitation was gone and she turned around to face the cheering crowd with a joyful smile that could fool almost anyone.

Aegon turned both of you around to face the people of King’s Landing, still keeping his hold on you.

You felt your heart beating in your throat, as you caught Aemond’s gaze, as he stepped to stand next to his mother. Just for a moment both of your eyes collided and one second was enough to read emotions in his eyes.

Betrayal.

He quickly averted his gaze to the ground.

- The coronation of your beloved king is not the only joyful event of today, - the queen started, her voice shaky but the tone loud and meant to empower.

Unconsciously, your fingers tried to untangle Aegon’s grip on you - all efforts useless, his hold on you made of stone.

- We are celebrating the union of my children, Aemond and Heleana, - she proclaimed and paused for a moment.

A sudden realization unfroze your body, as you doubled your effort in breaking free. One of Aegon’s hands dropped from your waist, just to wrap around the front of your throat.

- Be calm, my beautiful bride, - he whispered in your ear.

You could feel the smile on his lips, as he pressed a hot kiss on the back of your neck, just below the hairline.

- ... and the union of king Aegon and Y/N  Stark! – queen Alicent finished.

Crowd erupted in cheers, as your blood turned cold in your veins.

- No, - your whisper was barely comprehensible even to you. – No!

Suddenly you were turned around to face the king. You opened your mouth to... You weren’t sure... Plead? Beg? Curse?

Before you could manage anything of sorts, Aegon’s lips pressed against yours, as both of his hands engulfed your face almost completely. The kiss was demanding. It was a brand. A claim. On you.

Both of your palms pressed against his chest, trying to push him away but with no awail. His tongue tangled with yours, as if you had practiced this dance a thousand times before.

That wasn’t really true.

However, the energy did give you a deja vu kind of a feeling.

You took in everything around you. You had been brought up with a certain fit-for-a-princess luxury around you, however this – all of this – was completely new to you. Your lady-in-waiting went ahead of you into the castle. You had stayed a bit behind to wait for your fiancé, prince Aemond.

- Is it too soon to ask for you to reserve a dance for me? – a deep voice said from behind you, teasing. – I do believe I’ll have to fight off some competition tho...

You turned around to see the teasing smile of a young man with blond, half-long hair. His towered over your frame but you didn’t feel threatened. You had been educated on the Targaryen family enough to know he was a Targaryen, but was this the one you were promised to?

- Prince Aemond? – you asked in an unsure tone.

The young man’s smile fell for a short moment but then it came back in the same teasing manner.

- I am told I’m much prettier than him... – he grinned.

- So... – your heart skipped a beat, - Aegon?

His lids lowered as his name passed your lips. A shiver went through your body, as the energy changed to something darker. The previous teasing smile was gone and was replaced by a vague smirk. He stepped closer to you, but before you could step back and tell him that an unmarried lady being alone with a man of his status is not a good idea, he spoke again.

- Would you agree to be my first dance tonight? – his pupils had dilated and his gaze shifted to your lips before returning to your eyes.

- I-I’m not sure...

Your first dance was supposed to be with your fiancé... right?

- I am a prince and you are in my family’s kingdom... – his voice husky and low, barely comprehendable to you. – I could just demand your company...

He had stepped close enough to look directly down on you.

- After you prepare the Stark princess for her engagement announcement with my brother, you could come to me... I’m sure she won’t mind...

Was prince Aegon really trying to seduce you or was this just a j-

Wait.

What?

The Stark prin...

You felt showered in ice cold water.

Taking a large step back, you averted your gaze and found Aemond quickly approaching from the castle’s entrance.

- I think you misunderstood, my prince, - you tried to fix everything before the damage was done. – I’m the-

- My lady, - prince Aemond bowed before you and took your hand to kiss it. – I’m sorry for making you wait. I hope my brother wasn’t too bad of a company.

All color drained from your face. You waited for prince Aegon to accuse you of seducing him or trying to bewitch him. As Aemond offered you his arm to lead you to your quarters, Aegon’s ice cold gaze froze on his brother.

- So... This is, - his voice broke off and picked up again; he pointed in your direction with his head, - this is lady Stark?

Aemond smiled at you politely and, in a deeply innocent, joking manner, said:

- Soon to be lady Targaryen!

Aegon’s gaze turned lethal. He stared daggers at his brother, his hands intervened behind his back. Aemond, either clueless or unbothered, turned to you.

- Let’s get you inside, shall we?

He turned to lead the way. Your eyes quickly shifted to Aegon who still stood still just one step away from you.

- It was, - you regretted the sentence, as soon as you started. – It was pleasure to meet you, prince Aegon.

His previously hard eyes turned just the tiniest shade softer. But there was something dark and malicious about his look.

- As it was for me, - his eyes, once again, dropped to your lips, - soon-to-be lady Targaryen.

You weren’t sure about lots of things when it came to him but you knew these words of his held a dangerous promise...

He suddenly let you go and you got good few steps away from him. His eyes dark and pupils dilated, lips red from the punishing kiss, hands – just seconds ago on your face – now laid motionlessly by his sides.

Your eyes were wide and heart wild, as you brushed the back of your palm over your lips, which was a mistake ‘cause his gaze immediately went back lower.

- You can’t do this! – you weren’t sure whether you were accusing or begging. – If my betrothal to Aemond were to become void, I’m to return North!

Aegon had the audacity to laugh. He looked actually amused. As if he knew a trick – or a loophole – you had no idea about.

- A Targaryen, - he grinned, looking so genuinely happy you felt deeply helpless. – Your father demanded that if your betrothal to a Targaryen was to be void, you are to return home... But, thankfully, that promise is about to be fulfilled.

All you could do was to helplessly shake your head. It was for a moment only though, as your temper came roaring right back.

People around you were cheering and your blood, cold just a minute ago, started to boil.

- You son of a bitch! – you took the remaining steps to get right into Aegon’s face. – You did this! You had no right to bend rules like that! That Targaryen was always meant to be Aemond!

You regretted your words, as soon as they left your mouth. Not for being untrue but because you made the mistake of assuming that Aegon had stopped seeing his brother as competition for your hand.

His face became a void mask. Smile fell and, with a simple gesture of his right hand, he invited a man from your guard closer.

- Please make sure the princess is safely escorted back to our quarters, - he asked, while not taking his eyes off you. – I will join you in a minute, dear.

Then, to add assault to injury, he bend down, picked up your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it, as if you were actual lovers. You ripped your hand away and turned around to be “escorted” to your room. The last thing you heard, before all that was left were the cheering of the townsfolk, was Aegon’s laughter.

Despite your relentless yet very futile attempts to turn the corner and be escorted to your own quarters, the guard strictly led you towards Aegon’s. That’s where you spend the next ten very short minutes, searching for any escape that could lead you outside the castle.

After abandoning that thought and deeming it not helpful, you sat down on Aegon’s bed and looked around his room. It was cleaner and more organized than you imagined. Which probably only meant he had planned all of this for much longer than you suspected. Which, however, only added to your discomofort.

Your hand subconsciously reached for one of the knives, left on his nightstand by the bed. It shook in your grip. More from anger than fear.

When the door burst open and Aegon entered, clearly in self-satisfied mood, you wasted no time pushing him against the door with all your strength and holding the blade against his throat, right below the Adam’s apple. Due to height difference, you had to reach up to get to his neck but you did your best.

He drank in your frame, pressed against him with no self-consciousness or distress. Exactly how he liked it. His eyes lazily travelled all over your face, hands coming up to your waist, instead of trying to break free or pull away the knife.

He gulped. More from lust than fear.

- You will let me go. I will leave and we’ll never ever see each other again, - you demanded, your voice suddenly hoarse and husky. – It’s for the best, Aegon.

Shouldn’t have said his name, you realized, once again, far too late.

He had always found your voice effortlessly erotic, however now – standing here and demanding things he’ll clearly never give you – he found you bewitching in a whole new way. His hands gripped your waist tightly, as he closed his eyes for a breaf moment to regain self-control.

- Aegon, - you tried a different strategy, forcing your eyes to water. – Please. Please, let’s make a deal.

He smiled and for just a moment you thought you saw compassion in his beautiful eyes. Then his smile turned wrong.

- That’s it, baby, beg,- he whispered. – Beg me to let you go and know that I never will.

Knife in your grip shook and you were afraid you were gonna cut him by accident. This time you felt tears gather in your eyes for real.

- Put down the knife, - he quietly demanded, looking into your glassy eyes.

You pressed it harder against his skin with new determination.

- No! – you tried to push him against the wall again but he was much stronger than you and, holding you by your waist, started guiding both of you towards the centre of the room with the knife still pressed against his neck. – I’m not kidding! I will kill you if I have to, Aegon!

- You better, baby, - he didn’t seem afraid at all. – The only way for you out of this room is if I’m laying in a puddle of blood by the time you’re out the door.

You stared dumbfounded and the knife in your grasp had slipped lower, no longer firmly pressed against his jugular.

- You think I wanted to be king? That that’s some big accomplishment for me? – he shook his head, amused. – The only reason I agreed was if I got to choose my queen.

One of his hands left your waist to gently take the knife from your fingers. You didn’t resist as he let it drop to the floor.

You knew you couldn’t kill him. You wouldn’t get away alive anyway.

- And I did. I chose you, - he pressed his forehead against yours, as you drew in a shaky breath. – Welcome to your new life.

[be-my-ally]

The first meeting, and other firsts.

An Empty Promises chapter! Crossposted on ao3.

Fic 1 references events that are technically sandwiched between two sections of this one but the main events there take place after this, and on the phone comes after both.

So this series is a little like my baby… and I’ve had this half-written for ~ six weeks while I became distracted with literally everything else. It’s entirely self-indulgent - just finally giving some backstory to fic 1 and on the phone. I have two later smutty, shorts in the works too - because, honestly, Elvis just constantly wants to spank reader (who is a whole 5/6 years younger than me so is ABSOLUTELY not an author insert, no way…) and uh, I really don’t have a problem with that. 

pairing: fem!reader x elvis (1964-5)

warnings: 18+, slight innocence kink, little bit of daddy kink, oral (p + v receiving) ... elvis reads reader's diary.

wc: 11.6k

You’d noticed him hanging around the past couple of nights, although you’d done your best to ignore him. It was difficult. His characteristic pretty face and charm drawing you in. He’d barely been through the door when you’d recognised him. Recognition came and with it, the sudden spike of adrenaline and nerves that made you almost too anxious to acknowledge him. You’d barely just had the courage to wave hello the first time, pleased that he was seated far enough down the counter that he was Louise’s responsibility and not yours - you weren’t sure you’d have been able to get yourself together as quickly as she had. He’d stayed for a single cup of coffee, black - although the envious looks he’d given to the cream and sugar on the table made you suspect this was learned behaviour rather than a true preference, looking like perhaps he had just wanted a few private moments to himself, before leaving pretty quickly and quietly. You assumed that was the first and last time you’d get to see him up close. You’d lain awake that night, regretting everything, wondering what could have been - at the very least you could have had a signed napkin or something. He’d been right there, you’d been able to see the comb-marks in his hair, where the strands had been split, the tiniest hint of a lighter brown at his roots, you’d been able to see his eyelashes - fluttering in pleasure at the heat of his drink. You couldn’t deny you’d studied him, even if you hadn’t managed to bring yourself to talk to him. Somehow though it had worked to your advantage; it must have been part of the reason he came back so many times in the following week - that so little fuss was being made of him in your quiet little diner. 

The second time he’d come in with a group - all men, that had burst through the doors loudly; you’d looked up to frown at them for making such a racket when you’d noticed him in the middle of the crush. He’d looked up at you and you’d smiled shyly, your knees wobbling less this second time. You’d still had to take a deep breath before coming around to the two booths they’d squished themselves into, building yourself up for the faux nonchalant air you hoped you could give off. You’d managed to make it through their order without embarrassing yourself, although you know you blushed when you overheard one of them asking if they should “take out that pretty waitress?” You were the only one still working out front. But whoever had said it never materialised at the counter - and they’d left as raucously as they’d arrived not long after.  

The third time he was drawing attention to himself - not intentionally but he had come at a far busier time of the day than the strange hours he’d come in in the past and well, he was pretty conspicuous despite his clear efforts to look smaller. Still, he’d signed everything anyone thrust at him, and had seemingly happily chatted and flirted with the girls that flocked around him. You felt awkward that you had a desire to join the gaggle of girls surrounding him, embarrassed now that you’d seen him not once, not twice but three times, and never said a word directly to him, to go over and ask for something as trivial as his autograph. Louise had left a little over ten minutes ago though, and with her the other girls who had turned out to be her friends, and now he was alone and you could see his cup was empty. You took a deep breath before heading over with the coffee jug to offer him a refill. 

“Uh, would you, sorry - hello, would, could I - would you like another refill?” You tentatively manage to spit out, your hand shaking slightly. You pointedly don’t look directly at his face, staring at the cup on the table. He sounds amused when he replies; 

“That’s mighty kind of you honey, thanks.” You go to pour, immediately splashing some on the table - although thankfully not on him. Although that may have been more becuase of his quick reflexes shifting his legs quickly out of the way.

“Oh, no, oh - gosh, sorry, let me just grab a -”  You wipe it up with a napkin as you cringe, but when you start to walk away he grabs your wrist before it could leave the table. 

“Could you - stay a while? I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” It’s the first time you look at him properly, and your breath catches in your throat, he’s so pretty. It’s startling to see him up close in person, so used to seeing it through the glass of a television screen or inanimate on a record sleeve - to watch his face change, his nostrils move as he breathes, his hair shift as his head moves is as intimate a thing as you could think. As you study him you notice that maybe the difference is in the makeup; the ability to see his pores, or the softer hair, falling into his face but either way he looks younger than he usually does. But at the same time, more solid, less transient and three dimensional - you can’t imagine refusing him a thing, especially with his eyes staring into yours, so much bluer than they looked on the screen. You nod, and he gestures to the seat in front of him. 

“If - if someone comes in I’ll have to go - I can’t, I’m saving for college -” You look around nervously as you take the seat, but there’s just an elderly couple in the back corner booth and a workman on a stool - no-one who needed assistance or who hadn’t been served. He nods, agreeing, as if he could possibly understand the desire to keep a job out of necessity. So you sit there and talk. He’s polite, in that wonderfully southern way, but you can tell from the way his eyes glint, and the corners of his mouth turn that he’s also got a mischievous side that he’s trying to repress - that he’s trying to impress you somehow. It makes you squirm in the booth seat - how on earth could Elvis - Elvis who a few months ago was rumoured to be dating Ann-Margret be possibly trying to impress you? You don’t even know how he’s been managing to sneak around, be so on his own, how there’s not bodyguards and press. You’re a little town just outside of Memphis so it wasn’t like it was far for him to travel for a hint of anonymity, if that was what he was trying to achieve. But why he’s even in town at the moment is a mystery to you - shouldn’t he be off in Hollywood filming, or doing press? Why would a man of his age and position would even be interested in you. Sure, you’ve got enough self-awareness to know you’re okay looking - with enough make-up and your hair done you’re usually pretty satisfied; but you’re not California - not movie-star cute! Still, somehow he makes you forget your self-doubt when you’re lost watching his lips move as he talks. He looks you directly in the eyes, so hard that you’re always the first to look away, it’s difficult to handle the intensity of his gaze. But he’s chatty and kind, and doesn’t wholly monopolise the conversation - although you wouldn’t mind if he had; his life endlessly more entertaining than your own. So, despite your slight discomfort and nerves you sit there, and talk, and your celebrity crush rapidly blossoms into a real life crush right in your chest in real-time. 

A week later, you’re going mad - falling hard. Even though you berate yourself for it - for getting ahead of yourself, for falling so easily - for so many reasons. You’ve seen him twice more at the diner, and by sitting elsewhere from the other boys, and ensuring he speaks only to you, he’s made it pretty clear you were his main purpose in coming. You would regret the fact that he’s not been coming in everyday, cursing whatever kept him, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve spoken to him on the phone every night. Sometimes twice a day, often little inane chats that mean nothing, but somehow everything. 

You’ve never had a boy who talked to you like he did, like you were his friend. You wonder if you should find it weirder, that he likes this kind of talk, the kind of talk that you know how to do. You’ve always found boys so different - you’ve never known what to say to them. Found it awkward to know what to say without being accused of flirting, or alternatively being too aloof. But with him it’s easy - you chat about your days, he asks you what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking - he asks you about your friends, the daily dramas and who’s seeing who now; despite only knowing of them for such a short time he always seems interested in what you have to say. It’s novel in so many ways, to have someone care what you have to say, your parents were supportive but dismissive and you often felt on the fringes with your friends. Although you notice, but don’t think too much of it - his voice distraction enough, that whenever you try to bring up anything of a more serious nature, perhaps something you’d read in the paper he always tells you the same thing;

“That’s not for you to worry about darlin’.” So you don’t, in fact you stop worrying about a lot. He seems to be taking care of a lot of things for you.

He’s charming and handsome and flashy - famous, in a way that you struggle to wrap your head around. Wealthy in a way you can barely comprehend - he’s already sent you flowers and expensive dresses and had, just yesterday, palmed you a little box with a wonderfully thin, gold chain and heart pendant. Jewellery - jewellery for a girl he’s just met. And you know you’re getting ahead of yourself, you’ve only really known him a week or so but suddenly you find yourself hoping when he calls you doll, or baby or little girl that you’re his doll or baby, or that actually you’d be his girl. You know its too early and if she wasn’t already then your momma would be worried about you catching feelings this fast but you just can’t help it he’s just so, so… everything. 

You’re leaving work, slightly later than usual and you hurry across the dark parking lot towards the sidewalk that would lead you to the short walk home. But when you’re halfway across you suddenly notice that he’s waiting for you, leaning against his car. He’s dressed up in black on black, his hair slicked up and back, and he looks so sleek and suave and just plain attractive that your tummy flips when you see him. You do a double take, not expecting to see him stood there so casually and you rush over to him. He kisses you on the cheek in greeting, like an adult - which, you think, you are but it still felt like you were playing grown-up most of the time, and you can feel the blush rising on your cheeks where his lips had touched you. His light hold on your waist. It’s the first time he’d done anything quite so obviously romantic. He opens the door and gestures you in,

“Thought I’d take you out?” You agree easily, it’s not too late that you’ll be expected home and even if you were there was no way you’d turn down this chance. But as you sit down and he goes around the car the thought pops into your head that maybe he didn’t mean any of it romantically, after all, why would he want to take you out? You’re probably misinterpreting everything. You silently panic, until, as he starts to drive away he glances over and grins at you; one of those grins where he looks more boy-next-door than movie star, and reaches over to pick up your hand, holding it in his and placing them, entwined, on his thigh. It’s that exact moment, as you stare at your joined hands, that you know you’re ruined. You’d give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d continue to grip your hand in his like that. That there’s no coming back from this now - even if he only means to play with you or toy with your feelings you’d allow him, that if he wanted you to be his girl at home, like you’d heard he’d had - or one of his easy girlfriends, you’d agree. You’d agree to whatever tiny scrap of attention he would bestow on you that might recapture the tummy-flipping excitement, the immense happiness of having his attention on you.

He takes you out for a simple dinner, you’re actually a little surprised, he’d assured you that your dress was fine (although you were thankful you’d changed out of your uniform) so you weren’t expecting too much, but you were still surprised it wasn’t anywhere fancy but just simple good food, that he’d clearly enjoyed with gusto and a Pepsi to wash it down with. But, as you’re growing to know and understand him a little better you’re starting to realise that often it’s the simple things that remind him of home that he likes the most - he’d almost cried at a slice of pie in the diner, saying it tasted just like one that his mother liked. And now, dinner over, you sit there in a dress he’d sent you only a day before, that you’d decided against saving for best when another had arrived the next day, slightly lost for words. What do you even have to say to him that could interest him? He teases you about this, clearly understanding or simply used to girls going silent around him;  

“What’s keepin’ you so quiet tonight? You just too busy thinking how cute I am?” He grins at you like a little boy, and you can’t help but return it. You relax, teasing him back, 

“No - just thinking about how I should shimmy out the window in the bathroom.” He looks shocked for a a second before breaking out into infectious laughter; clearly not expecting the response. When you both stop giggling he puts his hand on the table, palm up, and waits for you to put your hand in his. When you do, he clasps it tight, turning it over, and examining your hand - he tuts at the bitten nails, but flips it back over without mentioning them further. He holds onto you when he speaks next. 

“I want to make it really clear baby, in case I haven’t been so far. I don’t want you to misunderstand. I, -uh, I really think I could like you a lot, and I wanna get to know you more. I think I already do, doll, but I - I really think I’m already fallin’ for you a little. I’d like to do this again - take you out, and the like?” You hesitate he’s so overwhelmingly in a different world to you that you can’t imagine why he’s suggesting this - as much as you want to agree. You worry your lip as you think of what to say, his eyes boring into you. 

“You won’t… you won’t be ashamed to be seen out with me? I’m a waitress Elvis, and I’m not even in college yet - I’m not like those other girls, I’m not an actress or anything; and I don’t wanna be.” He shakes his head, 

“I’ve had them other girls honey, and I want you.” You look down at your still intertwined hands and you don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t know how you’re going to respond. 

“Sure Elvis, sure, we can - give getting to know each other a go.” You want to question him, ask him about the other girls you hear he has, hasn’t he brought that girl over from Germany? But you can’t bring yourself to mention it, slightly worried that it might remind him of something, make him rescind the offer.

He wordlessly picks up the check, leaving ample cash although he made you simultaneously frown and laugh at the absurdity of it all when he confesses that he had no idea how much he left and that he doesn’t usually carry his own cash so he has no idea how much anything costs anymore. He opens the door for you as you leave, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole time, and asks 

“So what’dya say? Wanna come back with me - be my girl? Wanna take you home?” You stop, in the parking lot. That wasn’t quite what you’d discussed before. 

“You want me to be your girl El? You sure?” He nods, hurrying back to grip your hands in both of his, looking at you deep into your eyes, pleading with you.

“Want you to be all mine baby, want you to come back to Graceland with me, we can play house honey, we can - look, I just - I take care of what’s mine and I just want you… want to treat you real nice.  You won’t have to save or work anymore - you can, you can just do whatever you like.” It’s far more than you’d considered possible, but his blue eyes were so convincing and a tiny furrow forms in his brow that you just want to smooth out by any means possible. You almost don’t consider the implications of what he’s offering - far more than his girl, he’s offering you everything. 

“Well, ok then.” He pauses with his hand on your car door handle, still holding one of your hands, 

“Well, you don’t sound too enthus’astic ‘bout it.” He doesn’t sound pleased, and it causes butterflies to immediately form in your stomach worried that you’ve upset him - you’re desperate to reassure him - to please him again and you shake your head, 

“No, no, I am, I promise - it’s beyond my wildest dreams, but uh- it’s just, you’re gonna have to convince my daddy yet first. He still wants me to go ta college - you know, make a real woman of myself, and I don’t see how that fits.” He smiles with utter confidence; 

“Don’t-ya go worrying that little head of yours on that, I’ll deal with all that when it comes round to it.” He kisses your knuckles, before opening the door and pushing you in, walking around to the other side. You’d noticed before that he liked to touch you - it seemed to be his way, indiscriminately brushing his fingers over whatever he could reach. But now that you’d given him some form of permission his hand doesn’t leave your thigh the whole drive home, except for a moment when he catches your hand again, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles before bringing them together onto his thigh again. Much the same as the journey there.

You’ve never had this casual closeness with a boy before. Your tummy is flipping nervously the whole drive home - you can tell it’s entirely normal to him, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you aren’t also used to it. It feels grown-up, adult, in the same way that his kisses on your cheek hello make you feel mature despite your age. You don’t realise he can tell this, in the shifting of your legs beside him, the way that you hold his hand a little too tight. And you also can’t tell that he likes this, but he does. He pulls up, half a block away from your house. 

“Don’t want the neighbours peepin’ baby, or your Pa comin’ out here with a shotgun.” He offers as an explanation when you look over at him puzzled. You wonder what on earth for, when he’s leaning an arm over the back of the seat, and wrapping it around you, pulling you in closer. Your thigh starting to overlap his. He looks down at you, at your lips, and you look back at his, nervous all of a sudden. 

“Are you gonna, you gonna kiss me Elvis?” You whisper, nervously. He nods, 

“If,” he rubs his neck a little bashfully, “If that’s alright with you, honey, I sure would like to.” You rush out an agreement, curling into his hold. He presses a hand to cup your chin, fingers brushing your neck, and brings your heads closer together. He smiles when you’re close and you’re almost giddy with excitement - you still can’t believe you’re about to kiss Elvis, and you’re trying not to think too hard about it, or worry yourself, but he grasps hold of you, in complete control, and suddenly you’re utterly confident that the situation - that you are in safe hands. When your lips finally do touch it’s not like a kiss you’ve ever had before, although you’d only had two, but in comparison it’s not at all like the wet slimy kiss of Trevor or the tentative pecks of Bobby - it’s soft but unyielding and damp but not wet. It’s how you think it should feel, being kissed. You imagine it’s how champagne feels, the fizz building up in you. It makes you want to get up on the seat, kneel closer, as close as possible, it makes you feel alive. Your eyes close and you’re lost in the sensations as you contemplate who it is you are kissing, and consider how he got so good at it. He’s a gentleman, not forcing anything into or on you, just going with what you’re signalling. It makes you squirm in your seat against him, tingles being sent from your chest to your stomach. He leaves you chasing him, breathing heavily still and leaning across the front seat, when he pulls back. He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back again. You sit like that for a few minutes, his arm still wrapped around you, leaning against his chest. You would have expected your mind to be racing, but strangely you’re calm, and can’t think of much beyond how much you enjoyed that, how much you can’t wait to do it again. After a little while he shifts you slightly, although his arm remains wrapped around yours and he wordlessly puts the car back into drive, coasting down to to pull up to your house. He gets out when you arrive, rushing around to open your door for you, and you pretend to be calm about it but inside you’re screaming, “Oh god, he kisses like that and he’s still such a gentleman - such a nice boy.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you off to the front door, 

“Next time I come through - I’ll come in baby, wanna see your little room, but for now I’ll call ya honey,” You nod, looking back at him sliding into the car again,

“You promise El?” He looks back at you through the open window, holding his fingers up in a scout salute,

“I swear it baby, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” 

By the time you collapse into bed, your mind alight with the events of the evening, you still can’t quite believe it. You look around the room - trying to picture Elvis stood there, it’s difficult to picture him amongst your school awards still on the wall. Or laying on your bed - your stuffed animals dotted around. Still, you think as you snuggle down into your comforter, soon you won’t need to imagine - he’d promised you. 

——

It’s just barely a week later, and you’re having a rare few days off from the diner while they were closed for renovations - a fact you were particularly happy about when you received a phone call from Elvis letting you know he was ten minutes away and asking if you were alone. You had of course immediately agreed, although afterwards panicked in having such little time to prepare, thankful that your mother had gone to visit her sister today while your father was at work. 

You rush to open the door when you hear him knock, thankful that he’d rang ahead to warn you that he was passing by and that you’d had the small chance to tidy up a little, and freshen yourself up even if it was in a hurry. You couldn’t help but just stand there when you opened it, still in shock at seeing Elvis stood there on your doorstep - tight trousers and short sleeve blue shirt slightly open, looking like he’d just stepped off of a film set. He lets you gawp for a second, face filling with mirth before interjecting a moment later -

“Well…, aren’t ya gonna invite me in?” You stared, but nodded and you open the door all the way but before you can take a step back he was squeezing past you, apologising as he brushed against you as he walked in. You peer out of the door before you shut it tightly - trying to make sure no neighbours had been watching him come in, unaccompanied, into your house when they surely knew your parents would be out. When you turn around you catch him glancing around your entrance way, peering his head through the archways into the kitchen and living room and he nods approvingly, 

“Nice little place you got here doll.” You smile, pleased that he approves but also slightly embarrassed at his qualifier - you know it’s small, nothing special, your parents never had much money to spare although you were always treated well. 

“Oh well, I know it’s not like - like where you live but …” He interrupts you before you can go any further, shaking his head.

“Oh no, no, honey. You misunnerstand me - up til a couple’a years ago I’d dream about a lil house like this one - we never had much either.” 

You smile back at his bashful expression. “Oh well, then. Glad you like it!” You do a little curtsey, and then immediately inwardly cringe. Why on earth did you just bob like that. He smiles at you, as if you’ve somehow just endeared yourself to him further but then glances up at the stairs,

“So, uh, you gonna show me your room?” He nods his head at the stairs and you giggle back at him, teasing him. 

“My! How forward you are Mr Presley. Wanting to see a girl’s room before you’ve even taken her on a second date!” He winks at you, before taking the stairs two at a time, his forearms flexing as he grips the handrail. You’re not even wholly sure what is so attractive about it but you can’t resist simply watching the back of him, trousers and shirt tight on his skin, as he runs up.

“Yep! That’s me, now you gonna make me guess or you coming up too?” You laugh, following him up the stairs - suddenly nervous about its girlish decoration; you’re an adult (although admittedly, only just) but you take comfort in the familiarity of your childhood room, the same patch of stain from the nail varnish you spilt when you were thirteen, the marks on the doorjamb tracking your height, the familiar bed linen - a mismatched selection from all your major life stages, one pillowcase from a set when you were seven, another from when you were twelve, underneath your newest ‘grown-up’ set. The quilt your mother made you atop it all. You rush ahead of him to nervously lead him to the door and turn back to apologise about the childish decor only to flush, watching him inspect the wooden letters on your door - oh god, how embarrassing - you start to stutter out an explanation, 

“Oh gosh, they’ve been there so long I forget they’re there - I don’t know why we even bothered with them, there’s only one of …” but your apologies falter on your lips as you watch him trace them almost reverently.

“I like ‘em baby - ’s cute, lets everyone know where you are. Could have found your door all on my own.” He turns his attention back to you and the room and you watch him take it all in. He glances over at your bookshelves, school books still stacked in them, and over at your bed with the little painted daisies on the wooden frame, the pile of teddy bears at the foot. He sneaks a peek over at your dresser and you follow his eyes where you see a scrap of white hanging half out of the drawer, your own eyes widen and you rush to close it with faux nonchalance from a knock with your hip. 

He smirks watching you, but ignores it and you watch him go to take a closer look at your desk. You perch on the bed, waiting for him to have looked his fill and turn his attention from the room to you, but he’s distracted by something on your desk. He picks up a leaf of writing paper from where you’d left it out - to dry - your daddy won’t buy you the fancy paper with the designs already on it just to send to your friends who live right around the corner so you paint them on yourself; little trailing leaves and flowers on the borders. You freeze as he stares, examining your doodles with a little furrow in his brow - he can’t possibly remember. 

“Say…doll, haven’t I received a letter like this?” Surely not. You had hoped when you’d sent it he would read them but you hadn’t really expected him to - fully assuming most fan letters would be tossed out pretty much as soon as they were received. You certainly never would have expected him to remember a letter that if you remember rightly yourself was sent over a year ago. You stutter out a response, 

“Oh, oh, no, no. I think you must be mistaken, no, no I would nev-“ He interrupts you, completely ignoring your protestations. 

“Yeah, yeah I remember, wasn’t it something like,” He puts on a high-pitched voice in an attempt at imitating you, “My mama won’t let me play your records anymore, says you’re a … what was it, a bad influence maybe?” He shrugs,  “Seems to be most of the time anyway.” He laughs and then continues, gesturing with his hands, pacing in front of you “ ’S all coming back to me now, didn’t it go ‘but, when they leave I always put you back on the player, I just can’t help myself - your voice makes me feel things, I tingle.’ ”He returns to his normal voice again, “Weren’t it somethin’ like that?” You cringe away from his laughing eyes, you can only think to protest it but you know as soon as you open your mouth you’ll give it away but you try to do the best you can, 

“Wow - I don’t think that was me, but do you really remember so many?”  He laughs at your attempt, shaking his head. 

“Yeah honey, I remember all the real cute ones doll. especially ones that say ‘sometimes I touch myself and think of you!’ Lord! What would your mama think of that!” You squirm, mortified. 

“Oh no, no I really think you must be mistaken!” He smirks at you. Putting the sheet of paper back down - he stalks towards you and crowds you on the bed. You lean back and he follows, placing his body almost entirely over you, forcing you to lie almost completely back. You think he’s about to kiss you and your eyes fall shut in anticipation only to feel him move away a moment later - the pillow moving behind you causing your head to slip lower. 

“Well - let’s see shall we?” You blink your eyes open and they immediately widen as you see what he’s holding - the diary from under your pillow. You sit up, reaching out for it. 

“Oh no! Elvis! No - no, give it back!” He holds it above your head laughing as he pushes you back, keeping it out of your arms reach the whole time. 

“Oh, no, no no.” He’s laughing at your struggles, “Gotta check my sources! See if you’re lyin’ to me little girl. One of these days you girls will find a different hiding place, gotta make the most of it.” He manages to grab hold of your wrist holding it across your body, catching the other between the two of you - pinning you against him - his chest on your back, and holding you with ease. He flicks the book open as you cringe against him. As if it couldn’t get any worse it immediately opens to a page addressed not, as you normally did, to ‘dear diary’ but to one of a few that you’d written ‘dear Elvis,’ across the top. You moan as you can feel the delight radiating off of him. 

“Now then - looks like we won’t have to search very hard! Ooh hoo hoo!” he crows at you - “Oh my!” he fakes outrage, humming as he reads the page - you hope against hope it’s the one where you explain that you’d snuck out to see a film of his your mother had banned you from, and not a different particularly memorable entry. 

“No way! Elvis - this ain’t funny no more! You gotta, gotta let go of me. Give me the damn book back!” He laughs at you, 

“Now, now don’t you be getting too big for your britches little girl, I ain’t afraid to soap that mouth out.” He tickles your side and you giggle, although you feel a sudden surge of heat run through you, as you finally manage to break free. “No, no, where’dya think you’re going.” He sits on the bed patting his thigh and grabbing your wrist again pulling you around. “Back here on daddy’s knee, gonna read you a little story.” You squirm, but nonetheless sit where you’re told. You can’t deny, despite your mild embarrassment, that you’re enjoying yourself. 

“Now it goes something like this - ‘Dear Elvis, Today was a rough day at school, Susie and Bryce started going steady and she told me she let him touch her in his car last night! Even though she knows I liked Bryce last year!’ I never will understand why girls get so caught up in liking someone who someone else once liked - why does it matter? Anyway, ‘I worry sometimes that I’ll never find someone who wants to go steady with me. I’m just not pretty enough, or tall enough. Or maybe it’s just because everyone knows I’m going to college.’” 

You cringe at his reading out of your inane chatter, and you’re pleased when he hums and seems to be skipping along the page - hoping against hope he was growing bored. But you can feel his sudden smugness, and you just know that written on the page is not a story about you sneaking out to go and see Viva Las Vegas. 

“Oooh, here’s where it gets good little, ‘This evening I went around to Natalie’s place - her parents were out, and she put on your new single, she was trying to convince me that the Beatles were so much better, but I think we’re just gonna have to disagree - they’re not even attractive.’ Well darling, at least I’ve got that going for me.” He laughs. “ ‘The thing is though, on the single there’s another song that I’ve heard before, but I don’t think I’d noticed the end -  you make all these noises and I don’t really understand what happened but after I got home my panties were so damp through that I had to change them! Just from your voice!’ You start to squirm again, knowing what he’s about to read, 

“Elvis - I really think, this is enough now - this is private, I don’t -” He just talks louder over you though, 

“ ‘I’m still really wet, in fact, but that’s probably more to do with the fact that I couldn’t help but touch myself. Even though I heard the pastor say it’s a sin.’”  His voice is dipping lower as he talks and his hand is brushing your upper thigh close to where you can feel the heat rising from within you, both from a hint of shame but mostly from arousal. His voice is deep and low in his chest and it hits you while you sit there that you’re on Elvis’ lap which makes you squirm all by itself. 

He hushes you, “Shh, darling, not done yet, hold still.” And he holds you by his grip on your waist, fingertips gently stroking your side. You can feel his own heat burning against your leg, and you suddenly realise that’s his penis. A man’s cock growing against your own warm heat. You’re not as innocent as you were in that entry a year ago, but you’re not experienced yourself at all and pretty much all of your knowledge is secondhand from your girlfriend’s and their older sisters. You wriggle again, “Now, now let me finish.” He coughs dramatically, flicking the pages out as you whine. 

“ ‘Sometimes I touch myself and I slip a finger in, I know I’m not supposed to but I just can’t help myself just thinking of you - of what you could do to me, god I’d do anything to be touched by you, just once.’ ” He skims the rest of the page, and softly closes the book, “Well baby, how does it feel to be touched by me?” His hands rub up your thighs and your eyes slip closed in pleasure as he watches your reaction, nudging them so far up that he’s almost brushing your panties. Your tummy flips, almost on the verge of being nauseous, as you try to catalogue the feelings. He removes his hands and you open your eyes catching your breath, but then he’s leaning back and pulling you down with him. He kisses you, in a way that you’ve never been kissed before, all tongue and teeth.

Then, he starts to kiss down your neck. You’ve never thought of any part of you as super sensitive but suddenly it feels like all your nerve endings are alight, feeling sparks as his lips trail down to your collarbone. You wiggle against him, feeling his large hand span across your back, fingertips pressing in as you push closer to where his leg has slipped between yours. Unable to stop yourself grinding against him a little bit. Your dress catches slightly and it means that for a brief moment the only thing between your warm wetness and his trouser leg are your thin cotton panties and you can feel the rough fabric rub against you, an involuntary moan escaping you. 

 “Baby, you gettin’ that feelin’ again?” You nod frantically, and he laughs - “Well,” he looks over at the alarm clock on your bedside table, “I don’t reckon we’ve got time to do anything about it now - not got time for you to finish -  not before your parents get home.” You stare at him, blinking owlishly, you know, you know how babies are made, you’re not stupid, know that men can do things about it but - 

“What…What do you mean? You can…do things about it? I can… finish?” He groans, his head falling back against the pillows. 

“Oh!” He groans again, “Lord help me - yeah baby, yeah you can - can make you feel real good; you never? When you told me you touched yourself - it never felt… better?” You shake your head at him, 

“I never got very far - didn’t have a clue what I should be doing and it made me awful hot and sweaty, and and it felt terribly tight and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be and my parents are only the other side of this wall.” He moans so hard it’s almost a keen, swearing; 

“Oh God. Oh goddamn. I swear, we haven’t got time now, really don’t have time but I’ll see you real soon, come back over when your mama and papa are home, gotta few things to discuss with them, then when I’ve got you all to myself I’ll teach you. Show you how you do it.” You immediately brighten up, forgetting your embarrassment in your excitement. 

“Oh would you! I thought there must be something to it, but maybe it was just - just something some people did and some didn’t. ” You lean back down, catching his lips again. But then you pause suddenly, your insides twisting for a different reason, “Um, but Elvis, I don’t - don’t want you to get uh expectations or be dis’pointed, I’m not, not sure if I’m - I’m not sure I’m ready for, for sex. I’m not, not sure I wanna before, before I get hitched.” He looks in your eyes for a second before nodding, 

“No darling, I know. Don’t you worry about it, that’s good, little one, you’re such a good girl for me - just gonna wait until the time is right huh, daddy’ll know when that is sweetheart, don’t you worry about that at all.” You can tell, looking straight into his eyes, that he’s being sincere and something in you relaxes. He pulls you back in for a slightly more chaste kiss, moving his thigh just enough to resettle the pressure and cause you to rut against him again. He lets you rub against him again for a moment before sitting up and pulling away. 

“Now baby,” he starts with a plea in his voice, “how’s about you let me have a little somethin’ - just to …uh tide me over in the meanwhile?” You furrow your brow, unsure what you have to offer him, 

“Well sure, maybe, I mean I don’t have -“ He jumps in before you can say anything else, interrupting you and talking fast like he’d been planning his moment on when to ask for this thing - like it was something he’d been thinking a while. Like a child sat on Santa’s knee, desperate to convey their desires. 

“Could I have whatever it was peeking out of your drawer earlier?” You flush bright red from the chest up, surely he knows - 

“Elvis! Those - those were my, my panties!” He grins wolfishly, mischievously at you, 

“Well I know that doll, why’d you think I want ‘em?” You stand up to go and get them, although you still can’t imagine why on earth he’d want them. 

“Here ya are - they’re not. Not special or nothing - but sure. I suppose.” He glows at you, and you’re still embarrassed but can’t help beaming back at him, watching him tuck them securely in his pant pocket. He stands up, looking over at the clock again. 

“Really gotta go now honey,” You nod back at him a little sadly and start to head down the stairs with him. At the threshold to the front door he pushes a hand against it, preventing you from opening it for a moment and instead curls a hand around your waist, pulling you towards him again. You look up at him biting your lip a little, he pulls it from your mouth and keeps a hold of it with two fingers, 

“You behave now ’til I see you again, alright baby?” He looks sternly at you, but his eyes are bright, playful, and although you can’t even imagine what he thinks counts as misbehaviour nor how on earth he would know anyhow but still you nod; 

“Of course!” He leans down to you - far more chastely than before, just a simple press of his lips on yours.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” You nod again, and he leaves. You breath a sigh of relief as you close the door behind him, watching him hop into his, oh gosh, wow, totally inconspicuous, bright Cadillac all you can think is god, you can’t wait to put this in your diary. 

——

The night you moved into Graceland was nerve-wracking. It had been scary enough to be introduced to his father, to his grandmother, but you were also terrified for other reasons. You knew that he hadn’t pressured you before but surely he’d want something in return for having you in his house. For keeping you. But you were wrong again. You’d gone to bed that night, anxiously peering at his ludicrously decorated bedroom when he’d led you in, and he’d tucked you in and pulled you into his arms with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the forehead. Since that first day, he touches you all the time, so physically affectionate that even though you knew it was genuine it felt like he was going out of his way for some reason. Just so that he might brush against you, or have to place his hands on your waist and move you. Anywhere you were sat, he or you would be practically on top of the other, his hand on your thigh or your hand being placed on his. He holds you, all night long, and it’s only the second night when you anxiously kiss him, desperate to at least make-out like you had been doing back home. He allows it, but pushes you away when you reach for anything further, tucking your hands into one of his and pulling you close, lulling you to sleep with your head close to his heartbeat. 

The end of that first week was memorable for several reasons. The first, and the cause for the rest of them, was that he’d thrown the first party since you’d been at Graceland. You’d enjoyed yourself immensely - getting dressed up with him - he’d even helped you with your makeup, steady hand tracing your eyeliner. And the night itself had been magical, stuck by his side as he effectively showed you off - dancing together and meeting his friends. He’d been roped into singing and his clear enjoyment of the night had only increased your own. The second reason you found it memorable was that before the party you’d opened the wardrobe in your room and discovered an entire rail of new dresses, all perfectly sized to your exact measurements and style. The third was Elvis slightly tipsy (despite him not allowing you to have more than a sip) or perhaps just high off a good night, clutching you to him, your back to his chest and whispering in your ear; 

“You just gotta, gotta say no if you don’t wanna, darling. Not gonna push you - ‘m not like that I promise.” He punctuated his point with a hand rubbing over your stomach, gently, soothingly. You’d stilled at his words, and he’d followed it up with, “Wanna…go upstairs? Let me teach you a few things?” You’d paused in your turning around, and he’d moved his head closer to yours, his lips practically touching your ears. He’d kissed the patch of skin just below as he’d continued; “Be my good girl? Let me show you how?” He’d brushed his other hand down your arm, gently, and you’d been pulling away and up the stairs before he could say goodnight to the others. 

Which took you to now, stood in the middle of the bedroom, uncertain really as to what you should be doing. Should you get undressed? Take off your shoes at least? A moment later he’s entering himself, and shuts the door behind himself before striding over to you, capturing your mouth with his. His hands brush against you, but seem to gently hover, and it’s not until you make a little whine does he press them against you, holding you close with a hand on your back, the other coming to cup your cheek and chin. His tongue slips into yours, and you moan as you come up onto your tiptoes, desperate to stay as close to him as possible. He bends further, kissing your cheek and down your neck, sucking down when he reaches your exposed collarbone. You lean into him even further and he wraps both arms around your middle lifting you up, and carrying you over to the bed, even as his head was still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the skin rising, burning and stinging as he bites down, leaving a purple bruise where he had been, feel his soft, gentle tongue lapping at it and easing the sting as you let out tiny noises of pain and pleasure. 

He puts you down, laying you back, and one of his hands comes around to your waist, stroking across your stomach. It feels like his fingers are burning through your dress, and his fingers - though slender and delicate when you see them on a steering wheel or holding one of his cigarillos, feel huge and heavy as they span your tummy. He kisses you again and you arch into him, and when he pulls back his lips are wet and redder than usual, plump and pillowy soft. Yours feel bitten and sore, tender in the best way. He sits up, pulling his hand out from underneath you, and you gaze up at him. He groans as he looks back at you, 

“Oh lord, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.” You raise onto your elbows, 

“Like what?” He doesn’t reply, but looks away and takes a breath, when he turns back to you his eyes are bright with playfulness.

“Right, dolly, time to let daddy play with you,” You don’t know why that flips your tummy, if it’s his use of ‘daddy’ in this context, or ‘play’ or even him calling you not just a doll, but a dolly. But it does. He pulls you up, and turns you, deft fingers unbuttoning the back of your dress’ bodice as he does so, leaning down to press precious little kisses - no more than gentle touches of his lips - down your back when he exposes each tiny sliver of skin. He reaches the skirt, unhooking the button and lowering the zip at the waistband, allowing it to fall open and he eases the little straps off your shoulders. The dress falls to the floor, and you step out of it, you’re immediately self-conscious stood there in just your slip, in its almost sheer silkiness, but its not long before he’s hooking his fingers into the hem, and pulling it up and over your head. He stares for a moment, at you stand there in just your soft cotton bra and panties and you wrap an arm around your middle. He frowns, 

“Don’t, don’t hide from me. Just let me look at you.” You blink at him, lowering your arm although a blush rises up from your chest. 

“ ’S emnbarassin’ E,” He shakes his head at you, tsking as he does. 

“Nothing embarrassing about it baby, letting your daddy look at you like such a good girl.” He glances at your panties, staring for long enough that you shift a little, “I love white, you got more like that? Or do I hafta go out and buy you some more?” You wonder what’s going to happen to these, but you know that the majority of your underwear drawer looks the same. 

“No, no, they’re… most of ‘em are like this,” He groans, and has seemingly reached his limit for keeping his hands off of you, moving to touch your hips and run his fingers over your newly bared skin. Goosebumps break out as he touches you and you shiver at the contact. He pats your stomach, before running his hand down to the top of your waistband. He runs his fingers over it, gently, feeling where the fabric rests atop your soft springy curls, and then steps back again. He goes to strip off himself, having discarded his jacket somewhere downstairs - untucking his shirt and pulling it off. As his chest is revealed you can feel your face flaming again - as if it wasn’t already seriously red. He laughs when he looks over at you, 

“God baby, you can’t have any blood left in your body - ’sall in your little pink cheeks.”

 He throws the shirt to the chair in the corner of the room. He pushes his trousers down, confidently stepping out, he doesn’t kick them aside like you expected a boy might, instead bending, giving you a perfect view of his naked backside, to pick them up, folding them in half and slinging them over the same chair as his shirt. You feel free to ogle at him, considering he had done the same mere minutes before and you’re stuck wondering how people go about the day knowing this is what people looked like under their clothes. You never believed it would be something that you would find especially attractive, you knew men commented on women and girl’s behinds but you never thought it happened in reverse, didn’t think you’d suddenly be overcome with the urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh there. 

When he turns around you can’t help but stare straight at his crotch. You’d seen one before, in your biology textbook and once in a magazine that Natalie’s brother had stolen from their father that you’d all crowded around and giggled at, although not for very long before you’d had to quickly replace it as you heard his father’s car on the driveway. But never had you seen one in real life. You’d felt one, through a boy’s pants as you’d sat on his lap at the diner, you’d felt Elvis’ in fact in much the same way, but even when he’d gently stroked you over your panties you’d never gone so far to touch him unclothed, or even through a fabric layer. You didn’t really know what to expect. But his cock was rosy and already stood a little to attention, where it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as you’d always expected them to be. Somehow, even without having anything to compare it to you could just tell it was a pretty. You immediately reach out a curious hand, and as he steps towards you, looking amused, you wish you could stop the words tumbling out of your mouth; 

“Gosh - I’ve uh, I’ve never seen one in real life….” You try to stem your burning curiosity but you can’t stop yourself “What’s it feel like? Can I, can I touch it?” You pause, remembering your manners,  “Please?” He nods laughing and gets himself within reaching distance of you. He places his hand over yours, gently gripping them together, his palm on the top of your hand and guides it towards him. You’re surprised at how smooth it feels, you don’t know why, you didn’t expect it to feel so soft although it’s also a little wrinkly almost and  you’re slightly surprised because he seems to have more skin there than the guy in the magazine - it encases just below the head of his cock which is now popping out of the little folds. He lets go and your hand just rests there for a moment, before you squeeze a little, releasing and running your fingers gently over it. 

““El, that’s, it’s so soft.” He laughs at you, pupils dilating as he looks at your fingers dancing over him. 

“Not for much longer doll,” and he guides your fingers back to him. 

“That’s it baby, nice and gentle,” You continue to stroke him, briefly, before he’s putting his hand back down, pulling yours off, “Just need, sorry baby, I know this is dirty, but just need, a lil help here. You gonna wrap your hand around me?” You nod, confused as to why he’s turning your palm up, “Ok, honey, I just need a little, needs ta be a little wetter.” He looks you in the eyes, almost like he’s asking permission, for what though you don’t know - but clearly whatever he was looking for he found because he’s pulling your hand closer to his face. You’re stunned, mouth open, when he brings it to his mouth and licks it, a damp wet stripe being left, before pulling back and spitting straight into it. You recoil a little, but your thighs clench as your core jolts. You blink at him, still shocked, as he pulls you back to his cock, wrapping your now wet hand around him again. 

“Ok baby, that’s it, that it’s not too tight now baby, that’s it - oh, just there,” When you brush a thumb over the end of him he moans, so you do it again, and stroke just behind it. “Just a little tighter - oh lord - just make that yittle fist a little tighter darling, up and down now, oh that’s it.” You follow his instructions, and his hips jerk a little in response, you can see his stomach muscles under his soft layer of gentle fat clenching and tightening in pleasure. “God, what a clever girl you are. Learnin’ so fast.” You continue for a moment, until his cock is fully to attention, practically bobbing against his stomach. 

“You wanna, wanna say a proper hello to him? Gonna give him a little hello kiss? Go on baby, he’s waiting for you - say hello to little Elvis. He’s so excited to meet you.” And admittedly little Elvis bobs as if he’d overhead the conversation, and from the leaking from the tip he does look excited to meet you. So you obediently bend over to press a little kiss to his rosy pink head. He lets out a little groan, that seemed almost involuntary and he apologises as he pushes you onto your knees in front of him, 

“Not really right to do this to a girl - but uh, I suppose, if you’re my dolly, then… it’s fine right?” You don’t have any experience in what you’re about to do, but you’re not so sheltered that you don’t have any semblance of understanding of the act - and you have nothing against it, so you nod again, once again stunned momentarily silent by his surprising actions. You look up at him, from between his slightly spread legs - peering up at his tight chest and nipples, to his smooth, visible, neck to where his blue eyes are practically burning a hole into you. You swallow before trying to find your voice again; 

“It’s more than fine,” You pause for a moment before considering what he’d said earlier, “daddy.” He moans, his leg jiggling a little, and you watch as little Elvis twitches in response. 

“So you’re gonna be a good little girl now, right? Do as I tell you?” You nod, he exhales, slowly before starting to instruct you.“You can start by taking just the very end into your mouth, just hold it there for a second.” You do as he says, leaning forward with your mouth, and he sucks a breath in, loudly, as you brush your lips against his tip. You go to move down a little more, and he stops you with hand on your head, “Just, just give me a second, honey, gods, you feel so fucking good.” You still - “If you wanna, you can just, just reach down below, darling, gotta treat all of me nice - just - that’s it baby, nice and gentle with them little fingers.” He praises you as you reach around to fondle at his balls for the first time. He pushes a little further into your mouth, before pulling out most of the way - telling you now, 

“Need you to just, just lick me a little baby, no, no - keep it in your mouth, just move your tongue around a bit, oh lord, that’s it right there baby,” He makes a high-pitched whine that you can feel rush through your body from where you’re connected. He puts his other hand around to poke at your cheeks, “Look up at me, that’s it.” He moves his hand to pull yours from his thigh and wraps it around the base of his cock. “Go on, what you can’t get in your mouth you can keep touching.” A moment passes, and he’s telling you, “ Ok hollow your cheeks little one, gonna suck me in, then you’re gonna just relax and let me, let me just fuck that throat and mouth of yours.” You follow his instructions, and he grasps the back of your head to keep you bobbing on him at the exact pace he wants.

“Now, now baby, since its your first time, you haven’t, haven’t gotta swallow it if you don’t wanna - but you may as well have a little taste - don’t want, don’t want it going anywhere but down your little throat in future.”  He holds your neck, keeping you in place, as he thrusts into you - practically into your throat although he’s careful not to go too deep, but you still struggle to breathe a little. He grows slightly more erratic as he chases his pleasure and you’re glad when he pulls back so that just the head is still in your mouth, letting you take a deeper breath in. 

When he shouts, “Oh god, that’s a good baby, fuck, fuck doll, I’m cumming baby,” you’re able to just have the tip in your mouth - which makes it easier to hold his cum without choking on it. You taste a little before pulling back, holding it in your mouth, your tongue recoiling from the texture. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered with E.P on the corner, telling you slightly huffily, “Ok, that’s it, just spit it out there.” You do, embarrassed at the unladylike behaviour, and he takes it from you looking at it with distaste as he balls it up and flings it in the direction of the ensuite. 

He looks down at you, “You did so good baby, such a quick learner aren’t you! So good!” You can’t help but squirm, your own arousal peaking with the butterflies in your belly again, pleased with yourself, but then slightly worried when he strokes your cheek, expression not as soft as before before starting to haul you up from your knees. Barely giving you time to stand before pushing you backwards onto his bed. “But next time, honey, I’m not havin’ you spit it out whenever wherever ok? So you’re just gonna have to learn to take what I give you.” You’re wide-eyed looking at him, you’re not entirely sure that’s something you want, but he does know best, and you’re desperate to please him so all you can do is nod and agree. 

“Uh-huh, of course, just - just gotta get used to it I guess daddy,” He hums back at you, pushing you to lie flat on your back. 

“Mmhmm. Ri-ght, ok, baby, your turn now, just lie back and let daddy take care of you.” He pauses, as if remembering something - “Daddy’s gonna get serious now, give you a real introduction - make you finish.” He smooths his hands down the sides of your chest and stomach, goosebumps forming as his fingertips trail down, until he reaches your thighs, where he pulls them up, so your knees are bent and your legs spread. He bends down, holding your thighs down and open, to press a kiss to the fabric separating his mouth and your body. He, laps at it, sucking at the material - the wet spot that was already there growing larger as he adds his damp spit. You wriggle about but he keeps you in place with one hand on a thigh, holding you open, and the other on your stomach, a solid weight pinning you in place. Your panties have gone practically see through by the time he leans back, looks down, and hooks two fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off of your thighs. He looks at them for a moment, at the combination of his spit and your sticky wetness coating the other side before throwing them also in the direction of the chair. 

“They’re mine now too baby.” You shake your head at him - you’ll have no underwear left at this rate. 

“Elvis. You’ve already had a pair. I don’t know what you want them for anyway! Told you that last time!” 

“You’re mine aren’t you?” You nod, you’ve been moved into his house haven’t you? How much more obvious do you need to be? “Well then, they’re mine too.” You gape at him, you can’t really deny his slightly misguided logic - not without setting yourself up for failure. You go to protest again, but he hushes you, “Stop arguin’ with me, little girl, not gonna get you nowhere.” He pushes your thighs back apart, “I ain’t gonna start something I can’t finish,” and your final protest dies on your lips when he presses a kiss against your mound. He moves his lips down, gently placing another kiss at the top of your vulva. 

He licks a stripe down you, opening you up with his tongue, you can feel a gush of wetness at the act, and it seems that he could as well as you feel him smile against you before spearing his tongue a little way into you. He strokes your inner thighs, tickling the little fold where your legs meet your body. You shift to be able to look down at him. He’s been running his hands through his hair too much while you’d been getting him off that it’s no longer slicked up and back, but fluffy and gentle as you move your own hands to clutch at him. You pull gently, and he leans back just enough to look up at you through his dark, eyelashes at you. The sight makes you clench, and when your head goes backwards again, after he moves a finger to swirl around your clit, moving ever closer to the exact spot, you suddenly catch sight of the back of his head in the mirror on the wall opposite. You let out a noise you’d never heard yourself make before and you can’t take your eyes off of him. From the angle, you can’t see much below his shoulders - but it’s enough to send you, along with the physical stimulation, teetering towards the edge. When he finally, moves his finger to touch you directly your hips thrust up of their own accord, and you grind down on him when your body returns to the bed. His lips return to you, and he laughs as he reaches up to blindly pat at your face, he pulls back laughing - “Your lips cold baby? Or my hand hot?” You stutter out a response, really not certain of the relevance of the question, 

“I, I don’t know! But can you, Elvis I’m so close, daddy please.” He shakes his head smiling and returns to your pussy with renewed vigour - firmly licking you out and playing with you. You can’t think of anything but the sensations, of how slippery you are, of how wet and soft while simultaneously gently rough his tongue is. He shies away from slipping a finger in, simply teasing around your entrance - although this reticence isn’t shared with his tongue which continues to fuck into you at a rapid pace. 

You squirm, feeling suddenly desperate - although for what you didn’t know. He holds you right at the precipice for a moment, and you thrash, tense, until he resumes the exact same licking pattern as before, rubbing at your clit as he does and its like you’ve been released, shuddering and shouting out his name; 

“Oh god - Elvis, daddy, that’s - unnh-” Your words cut off into non-verbal noises, huffing out quick breaths and moans as your body quivers. He finally pulls away after you’ve gone stiff in the bed, letting your body relax back from its arched position as you struggle to catch your breath. He runs his fingers over your folds, “God you’re so wet baby,” you squirm, feeling it cool into a thin stickiness on your thighs. He kisses your thigh, spreading the wetness from his lips, whispering - “Such a good girl for me baby - you like that? Your first one?” You can’t do much more than nod in response as you tremble lying there but you manage to murmur out, 

“Yes, god, yes I liked it.” He hums at you, 

“Well go on then baby, say thank you to daddy. Don’t forget your manners now.” You gasp, heat flooding you again although you’re too tired to want to do anything about it. 

“…Tha-Thank you daddy.” He kisses the top of your mound in response and pats at you one last time, before he heaves himself up and leaves. When he comes back he’s dressed in a set of black silk satin pyjamas, carrying a little nightgown for you. He dresses you like you were the dolly he described before, manhandling you into the nightie. He rolls you off of the comforter, allowing him to pull the covers out so that he can clamber in underneath, cuddling you into him. He cocoons you in his arms, clutching at you, and you suddenly feel safe and secure after abruptly feeling unmoored. A tear slips out, for reasons that you’re not quite sure of, and he tuts, holding your head to his chest. It’s not long before you, listening to his steady heartbeat, fall fast sleep.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Shmuel | The Cost Of The Truth | Romantic

Dialogue prompts: “I didn’t know you could love me like that” & “I will never be enough for you, will I?”

When both you and your father Nicodemus take an interest in the Preacher Shmuel so despises, your marriage is bound to collapse.

Requested by Kacey, Mae & Katie 

You don’t like having to sneak around your own home, but you have no choice. Upon returning to your house from visiting your parents, you’ve slipped upstairs to the study without making a noise. 

Once there, you take out whatever you had been hiding underneath your cloak. A small scroll, able to fit inside the palm of a hand, sits between your fingers, unsealed. As you look over your shoulder towards the door, a sigh of relief floods you as you find yourself completely alone. 

You unravel it, thumbing at the inscription on the parchment. Your father’s hand is all too familiar as you swallow hard upon reading what he has written. A report about Jesus of Nazareth. It is detailed, hastily scribbled as if he had been afraid to be found out writing such a thing, and quickly rolled up into a scroll without allowing the ink to dry, causing it to be a little smudged here and there. In spite of its messy appearance, the report can still be read clearly. 

Nicodemus had pushed it into your hands upon your departure with a whispered order. “Don’t show anyone.” Not your mother. Not your husband. Nobody. A member of the Sanhedrin cannot be seen voicing a decree of faith as strong and scandalous as your father’s. 

Your heart swells and beats for every word about this Preacher from Nazareth, Who is so much unlike any other prophet that had brought the Word of God to the people. Words and actions so unlikely that there was no other explanation but for Him to be the Messiah, the One that had been promised - a proclamation that would not sit well with the religious leaders. After all, it meant that everything everyone had ever believed about the coming of the Messiah would turn out to be false. A dangerous mixture of pride, dogma and tradition lingered at the horizon. 

Downstairs, the door opens and closes. “Darling, are you home?” Shmuel’s voice fills the home, and you quickly hide the letter in one of the drawers, straightening yourself out before heading for the door of the study. 

“I’m here.” you greet him, meeting him in the hallway. He removes his headdress and grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles. “How was work?”

Shmuel sighs. “It was difficult today, but Yanni and I are making progress. We’re going to get some members of the Sanhedrin on our side so that we can finally tackle the issue from its root.”

“Issue?” you feign ignorance.

“Jesus of Nazareth.” Shmuel says the name with such disdain that it causes your throat to run dry. 

Your husband mistakes the draining of colour from your face for fear of the Preacher in question. 

“Don’t you worry, my dearest. He will not be a problem to our people for much longer. Everything will go back to normal before we know it.” 

He squeezes your hand, then frowns a little as if realising something. 

“Have you prepared dinner yet? I can’t make out any distinct smells of food.” 

You quickly force a smile on your face.

“I was about to start. I’ve visited my parents, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah. How are they doing? How’s your father?” 

You let out a sigh. “He’s recovering slowly but surely.”

Shmuel gives you a smile as he ushers you towards the kitchen.

“That’s good to hear. Now, let me tell you that I’m starving.”

“Okay, I’ve received the message.” you sigh, part of you relieved that he doesn’t  inquire further about what you had discussed with your father. As he heads to the bedroom to change into something more casual, you start working on dinner. 

— 

A while passes and Shmuel is talking about Jesus more often than not. The letter from your father still burns inside the drawer of your desk, calling out to you, waiting to be shared. However, Nicodemus had meant these words for your eyes alone. It feels heavy on your heart. You love Shmuel, you truly do, even though your marriage had been an arranged one. The fact that you cannot share your newfound faith with your own husband is like a burden in and of itself.

A flurry of memories has been dancing around inside your mind lately, consisting of your first years of marriage to the rabbi whom was just a student at the time of the wedding. A pious, diligent and ambitious young man with a soft smile that made you weak at the knees. When Nicodemus and Zohara made the right arrangements with his parents in Jerusalem, you were overjoyed to hear the news. After all, you had plenty of friends who married men they ultimately didn’t grow to love even after years of being together. You already knew that you loved Shmuel before the entire topic of marriage even came up in the first place. 

And it turned out to be a good match. The pair of you grew to love one another deeper as time went on and you really felt like you and him were equally yoked. Everything about what you felt for him was visible even in the little things you did for him. Not only were you a homemaker who never complained about his late hours at work, but you did small things, too, like baking him a cake for his birthday or stitching up holes in his clothes before he had even noticed them himself. “I didn’t know you could love me like that,” was something Shmuel tended so say every so often, for it was a mystery to him how you could show him such genuine appreciation. “A love like this is something I didn’t know even existed.” 

Until a love greater than that suddenly seemed to exist, too. A kind of love that was different from the romantic type of bond two people could form with one another. A spiritual, divine love. A love between God and mankind, rooted in undeserved mercy and grace. 

A love that according to you can go hand in hand with your marriage to Shmuel, but a love that according to him cannot coexist. 

It tears at your household and rips it apart at the seams. No longer equally yoked. You are fully aware what choice you might have to make, even if it meant ripping your own heart to shreds. Your marriage has been crumbling. Shmuel knows — suspects something — but he doesn’t outwardly say it just yet.

You adore him. You’d do anything for him. He’s still the man you want to grow old with, to father your children, to have it all with. 

But for that to happen, something has to change. Sooner or later, it has to change in order to—

“—What is this?!” Shmuel barges into your shared bedroom one morning still in a state of undress. If he didn’t have such a furious look on his face you’d have snorted at the way his beard is trimmed only halfway. 

“What is what?” you look up from brushing your hair, turning to him to face him better. He hands you a letter all too familiar and your heart sinks into your gut like a heavy stone to the bottom of the Sea of Galilee. “It’s a letter.” 

“I can see that.” Shmuel hisses. “But to whom, and from whom? And the contents? Not to mention the location where I found it! It seems like you deliberately hid it from me.”

For a moment, you consider telling him off for fingering through your personal belongings, but you know you’ll only end up arguing even more than this will cause you to. You swallow hard, but don’t feel any shame. “My father wrote to me.” 

“About Jesus of Nazareth. And you happened to forget to tell me?! Especially that he believes the words of this heretic? Because that is what I’m getting from this message!” He throws the parchment into your lap and glares down at you. 

No guilt tugs at your heart — only pity, and the wish that things were different — and you let out a long sigh. 

“Shmuel, listen. My father and I have been talking about Jesus for a long time, because there is a lot to be said about Him, both His words and actions, and my father has been—” 

“—Believing in that heretic! That’s blasphemy and he should be brought before the Sanhedrin! Your father could get stoned for this!” 

“He knows the rules— Just listen to me, Shmuel! You have always greatly respected my father and his words, why not now?”

“Why not now— Are you even hearing yourself, (Y/n)?! Jesus is a heretic! A blasphemer!” 

“And what if He is not? What if that everything you knew about the Messiah turns out to not be true?!”  

Your husband grits his teeth as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“And what if He is? He claims to be the Son of God! You… You don’t believe in Him, do you?” He shakes his head, pointing a finger at you. “Tell me you don’t, (Y/n). I love you, but I can’t be with a woman who…” 

His voice trails off, but he has said enough for it to sting you to the very bone. You swallow away the lump in your throat. Your silence, Shmuel realises, speaks volumes. “You… Have strayed from the path of faith.” Something shifts in his gaze. Something you’ve never seen on him before. You don’t like it one bit.

“No. Quite the contrary - it’s been gaining its true meaning. Now that the Messiah is here—”

“Do not call Him that!” 

You stand up firmly, meeting Shmuel’s gaze, almost standing chest-to-chest with him as you look up unwavering. 

“You do not get to dictate who I do and do not believe in!” 

“You’re my wife, (Y/n). You should listen to your husband!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“No, you have no idea what you’re talking about!” 

The two of you lock eyes. Your heart clenches inside your chest painfully, for you don’t want to argue with him, nor do you want division in your household. 

“Where is the Shmuel I know?” you whimper, “The kind man who was eager to learn from my father? The one my father spoke so highly of, because you were always so keen to put the Word of God into practise more than your peers? What happened to you?” 

“I could say the same thing about you.” Shmuel hisses, “Where is the respectable woman I married? The one who was always so happy to see me after a long day at work, who always listened to me talk about anything, the woman who always prepared me dinner and was there for me when I needed her?”

“She’s still here.” you counter, “But the way you have been acting ever since Jesus showed up is not the man I know and love.” 

“Things change, (Y/n).” Shmuel sounds sharp and almost accusatory.

“I know.” Your voice wavers, tears brimming on your eyes. “I know.” 

When Shmuel gives you an expectant look, you don’t reply to it. “So… Are you going to do something about it?” He frustratedly asks.

“About what?” 

“Going back to being the woman I used to love.” 

Used to love. 

Whereas you had not let it cross your lips, for you still loved him deeply, Shmuel was suddenly more firm on where he stood. 

“Used to?” your voice breaks. “So you don’t…” you trail off, not daring to say it out loud.

“I can’t. I can’t love a follower of that heretic. A follower of the Man claiming such ridiculous things…” 

Shmuel’s own dark eyes are swimming with tears as well. He refuses to spill them in front of you, not wanting to show weakness or vulnerability, not even when your entire marriage may very well depend on this moment. 

“This is heresy. You are a weak-minded fool falling for the words or a lunatic. Choosing His words over your own husband’s. I can’t love a woman like you.” 

That does it. The tears fall and roll down your face as you choke back a sob.

“Take it back. You don’t mean that, take it back.” 

For a moment, you see a flash of guilt cross his face. It hardens just as fast.

“No. I will not fail this test Adonai is putting me through right now.” 

“Test?!” you gasp, offended, “Shmuel, don’t be ridiculous! How could you ever even consider that this would be God’s way of testing your faith—” 

“—Because you’re just like them!” 

With widened eyes, you stare at him for a long moment. “Like them, huh? I… I will never be enough for you, will I? You won’t even hear me out as much as you’ve heard out Jesus. You have made up your mind already.” 

Shmuel steps closer to you, glaring down at you. 

“I want you out of my house.” 

“Very well.” you whisper, knowing it’s better to sleep about it for a night or so, taking a little distance to process the situation. 

Your heart is heavy as it teeters on the precipice of shattering inside your chest. Your husband’s eyes drill into you as he watches you start packing a few essentials.

“Your family deserves all the shame coming your way.” Shmuel spits like his words are poison, “Both you and Nicodemus are a sham. I hope it was worth it, losing everything we had for this…. This heretic Preacher.” 

You close the flap of your bag and pull it over your shoulder. “I’ll be headed towards the inn.” you say, “Will you come and get me when you’re ready to talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll be sending you away.” 

Shmuel is looking at you with so much hatred in his gaze that you suddenly doubt if you’ve ever been married to him in the first place, or if he’d ever truly loved you at all. 

“Okay.” you whisper. It would make following Jesus around the cities somewhat easier, you suddenly think, but it’s accompanied by a bitter hurt that clenches inside your chest and sends a wave of nausea through you. “I’ll see you around, then. I… I love you.” 

“Don’t you ever say these words to me again, woman.” Shmuel hisses. “You’re just like the rest of them, you Jezebel, you—” 

You close the door behind you, trying to fight your emotions as you refuse to hear him yell these lies told right into your face any longer. Shmuel does not yank it open again, instead stares at the wood for a long while, unable to stop his own tears.

With a heavy heart, you head for your father’s house, your blood rushing inside your ears as you head through the streets, feeling torn to shreds. 

For a moment, you halt to rest and look up at the sky, drinking in the sight of the moon. Your tears glitter in its light. Looking over your shoulder, you hope Shmuel will come running, to follow you, to keep you from leaving him and begging for you to tell him more about Jesus, and that he believes that He is the Messiah…

…But he doesn’t come.

The alleyway remains empty. 

“You know the truth, even though it offends you.” you whisper into the darkness, “Now it’s up to you what you do with it.” 

A silent plea to the man you love so deeply. 

Shmuel cries silently in the hallway and gazes out of the window, hoping you’d round the corner, praying you’d return straight for the door, to tell him that you’ve made a grave error in your judgement and that you want to be with him over anything else. That your beliefs had been muddled by pretty lies and that you’d do anything to get back on the path of good faith.

The road leading up to your home also remains void of you. 

Shmuel looks up and looks upon the same moon.

Three hearts break that night.

[sallow-tales]

Strong and Sweet – Garreth Weasley x GN!Reader

Summary: Modern coffee shop AU; The ever lovely Garreth Weasley catches your eye from behind the counter of your local cafe. Pure fluff.

A/n: Once I got this idea into my head, it would not leave, so here we are. It's been edited, but only lightly. This is genuinely the longest fic I've ever written, I'm usually a sucker for short and sweet, but not in this case. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral, but once again let me know if you catch a mistake. Also, the topic of the paper is incredibly self indulgent. With love, your friendly neighborhood anthro major <3

Word Count: 2897

You let out a sigh, fingers pressing almost painfully to your temples as you stared at the screen in front of you. You’d been trying to write this damned essay for hours, but the words didn’t seem to want to get out of your brain and onto the page. Not to mention that nearly every potential source you found was useless to you for one reason or another. 

The article currently open on your computer began to swim in front of your eyes, words blurring together as you tried to read them. As much as you wished you could take a break, you’d procrastinated this paper for far longer than you should have, and you were now to the point of questioning if you’d even be able to get it done before the due date. The due date, you realized, that was now only six hours away. Why’d your professor have to be special and make things due at 10pm on a Tuesday, instead of midnight on a Sunday like a normal person?

Dragging yourself out of your train of thought took more effort than you’d have liked as you once again tried to read through someone else’s science. You were slightly more successful this time, but once you’d gotten through the next three paragraphs, you let out a frustrated groan. There was no sense to this study–it ignored nearly all precedent and was trying to test a theory that anyone with common sense would know to be impossible. 

You slammed your computer shut in mild frustration and closed your eyes, taking a breath to calm yourself down, only for your meditation attempt to be interrupted by a familiar voice. 

“Careful now, doll. If you get much more frustrated you might start throwing things, and as much as I love having you here, I’d hate having to clean that up.” Your eyes open and you glance up to look at the redheaded boy standing over you

Your face relaxes as your gaze lands on him. You couldn’t be stressed when he was smiling at you like that.

The two of you had first met in this very coffee shop at the beginning of the term–him behind the register and you desperately needing some caffeine to get through your first week of classes.

“Give me something strong,” you’d said when you walked up, and he’d given you a playful salute in response.

“Yes ma’am, one americano coming right up.” 

His playful demeanor and charming smile had you grinning right back at him despite your exhaustion. When he’d handed you your drink, though, you couldn’t hide the grimace that crossed your face. You needed the caffeine, but boy did you hate the bitter taste that it left on your tongue.

“You should have told me you didn’t like it straight when I took your order.” You weren’t expecting to hear his voice and you looked back at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“You asked for something strong, but you didn’t have to take my first suggestion if you knew it wasn’t something you’d enjoy. Tell me what sorts of flavors you like and I can make you something you’ll actually drink.” You could tell he was eager to make you something new, though you weren’t sure if he actually wanted you to like it or if he just wanted to show off; either way, you rattled off your usual order, and some likes and dislikes, answering his questions when he asked and before you knew it you had a brand new cup in front of you.

This time when you took a sip, you practically moaned. It was spectacular. “How the hell did you do that? I don’t think I’ve ever had something this good in my life.”

His cheeky grin widened. “What can I say, I’m great at what I do. Though if you’d told me from the get-go that you like it strong and sweet, I could have just given you my number and been done with it.” His wink that followed sent flames through your cheeks and you’d turned your head to try and hide them.

Despite his flirtatious remark upon your initial meeting, nothing more had ever happened. Well, except for you developing one of the biggest crushes you think you’ve ever had in your entire life.

Against your better judgment (and to the chagrin of your wallet), you found yourself back in that cafe nearly every single day, always hoping to see his green eyes glittering at you from across the room. You knew the crush was stupid, but you didn’t blame yourself for it. How could you? It wasn’t your fault he was so ridiculously charming, and handsome, and kind. Nor was it your fault that he somehow always seemed to know exactly the drink you needed for your current mood–after that first day, you’d never had him hand you something unsavory again… well, at least that was intended to be enjoyable.

Every once in a while you’d come in during a particularly slow spell, when there was no one else around and Garreth–alongside his coworkers–were clearly extremely bored. It was days like these when you’d get to try his little experiments.

You’d see him furrow his brow, deep in thought, and then wander from place to place in the store, tossing various syrups, powders, and milks together in incredibly interesting combinations. Yes, interesting was definitely the word to describe them; sometimes they were spectacular, but other times… not so much.

“Oh my god, Gar, this is absolutely disgusting.” 

He had called you over a few moments prior, insisting you try his most recent mixture. You didn’t know what was in it, but it wasn’t good. It was almost slimy in texture, and the flavor certainly left something to be desired. Through your wince, you saw the twinkle in his eye. The bastard knew it wasn’t going to be good but he had you try it anyway.

Attempting to hide the grin that threatened to poke through, his face had twisted into a look of mock betrayal. “How could you say such a thing? I poured my heart and soul into this. You wound me, love.”

Your heart had nearly stopped at the nickname but you did your best to play it off, grinning at him. “Well, perhaps you should pour a little less of it next time, that might help with the texture issue.” He’d scoffed at you playfully, and the memory of his playful expression is still one of your favorites.

His expression was eerily similar as he stood beside your little table, eying the books you had spread about from your research. 

“Garreth! I didn’t realize you were here, I never saw you walk in.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been here for hours. I would’ve said hello earlier, but you looked focused and I didn’t want to bother you. However,” he paused, “it was about time for my break and I noticed you looked only inches away from violence, so I figured I should come intervene. Distract you with my relentless charm and all that.” His grin was contagious, and you found yourself smiling fondly at him.

“You should well know by now that I’m a pacifist,” you quipped back. “Violence would never be my first reaction. You wouldn’t have anything to worry about until after I’ve wallowed in self despair for at least 30 minutes.” He sat down in the chair opposite you and it’s not until he placed the cup and plate on the surface in front of you that you realized he’d been holding them. “What’s this?”

“A refill, and some sustenance. Figured you could use them, based on the fact that I haven’t seen you move in the entire time I’ve been here.” Your heart gives a little squeeze at the gesture as you take in the items. He had, in fact, brought you another coffee and the pastry that he by now knew to be your favorite.

“I can’t accept this, Garreth. I didn’t pay for them.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. Don’t bother resisting, you know I won’t stop pestering you until you’ve eaten.” 

You relented with a sigh, taking a bite. “Happy now?” you mumbled.

He smirked at you. “Happier. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s frustrating you so much. Maybe clearing your mind of it will help you make some progress.”

You proceeded to rant to the ginger about the articles you’d been reading, the roadblocks you’d been encountering, and the various other issues you’d been having.

“I don’t know why it’s so difficult for people to have some common sense, y’know? It’s not so hard to realize ‘Hey, perhaps if you can’t sex an individual via this bone without population specific numbers, perhaps we shouldn’t try to sex an individual of an entirely different species.’ You’d think that’d be easy!” Garreth nodded along, a small smile playing at his lips. “And this one!” you gestured to an article on your computer, which you’d reopened part-way through your rant to show him evidence of your problems, “in this one, they try and argue that grave goods can be used to accurately sex an individual, which might be fine in some populations, but it’s a know fact that gender and sex variance is a common occurrence in this population.”

You finally paused to take a breath, and you realized that you didn’t really have much more to say. “And… and yeah that’s about it actually. There you have it.” You glanced up at his face, mildly surprised by the expression he harbored. It seemed to be a combination of amusement and… fondness?

“I do hope you know I don’t know what any of that means. Do you feel better though?” He rested his chin on his hand, hair falling just slightly in front of his face.

You immediately nodded in response. “Yeah, actually. Loads. Thanks.”

“My pleasure, love. Now, I do believe my break is over, so I should get back to it, but good luck on your paper. I believe in you.” A wink was sent in your direction before he turned and walked back behind the counter, deftly tying his apron behind his back.

With that, you dove back into writing. You were almost surprised at how much easier the words came to you now that you’d gotten all the swirling irritations out of your brain–before you knew it, you’d surpassed the page minimum, wrapped up all your thoughts, and read through it a few times to make sure there weren’t any errors. Thoroughly pleased with your work, you grinned and threw your hands up. “I’m done!” You turned your head around, searching for the smile Garreth was surely throwing in your direction. You weren’t surprised to find you were correct. “And with…” you turned back to check the time, “45 minutes to spare!”

Wait a second…

45 minutes to spare… that meant that it was 9:15. You turned to glare accusingly at Garreth.

“Don’t you guys close at 9?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Technically, yeah. I was supposed to kick you out 15 minutes ago. But you looked so focused and I could tell you were close to done. I didn’t wanna be the reason you lost your stride. Besides,” his usual cocky grin came back to his face. “I’m not sure you could rob this place if you tried.”

The boy turned back to mopping the floor, ignoring your huffed “hey” in response. You began packing up your belongings in a hurry, trying to get out of his hair as quickly as possible. Despite your efforts, though, he had still managed to finish closing before you were completely ready to go. 

“I’m so sorry Gar, I really should have been paying closer attention to the time. I didn’t mean to be an imposition.” You rushed the words out as you exited the building in front of him. His only response at first was a small huff of amusement.

His words came a minute later as he turned back to lock the door to the building behind him. “As if you could ever be an imposition. Any time spent in your presence is time well spent.” You couldn’t even begin to process what those words meant as you took in the parking lot, empty except for one single car. A string of curses swiftly left your lips. If you’d thought yourself stupid earlier when you struggled to write your paper, it was nothing compared to how stupid you’d felt in that moment.

You’d completely forgotten that you’d taken the bus today. And in your time-blindness, you’d also forgotten that the bus stopped running at 8.

You glanced over at Garreth beside you, and let out a frustrated sigh at his barely concealed laughter. He knew that you sometimes took the bus, and by the lack of car in the parking lot belonging to you, it hadn’t taken him more than a moment to figure out what was going on.

“Don’t look so down, it’s not like I’d let you walk. Get in the car.” You immediately began protesting, not wanting to burden him any more than you already had this evening. “It wasn’t a question, get in the car. It’s too far back to campus for you to walk during the day, let alone at night. I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I let a pretty individual walk home alone after dark. Get in.”

You conceded with a sigh, walking around to the passenger side door. “You think I’m pretty?” you grinned, trying to joke away the nerves you felt at getting in his car.

Sure, you’d become pretty close throughout the term, but your interactions had always, always been limited to that building. And now here you were, getting into a car with the guy you’d been crushing on for months. 

“If you’re just now noticing, then maybe you’re dumber than I gave you credit for,” came his snarky reply. He got in the car and grinned at you over the console. You hoped he couldn’t see your cheeks turn red in the dark. His gaze held yours for a beat too long and you looked away nervously. He cleared his throat before starting the car. “Where to?”

You directed him to your place, basking comfortably in the silence of the car in between instructions. Against your better efforts, though, you also found yourself staring at him. It was such an odd thing to find attractive, you thought, but the sight of him driving made your heart do a flip. 

You were admiring how his gentle features looked under the red of a stoplight when he turned to glance at you and caught you. “See something you like?” 

“And what if I do?” You replied, lips quirking into a smile. You had no idea where this bold streak came from, but you weren’t complaining. He didn’t reply immediately, focused on turning into the parking lot of your building. He parked, and then turned to you. 

“I’m less concerned about the ‘what if you do’s and more concerned about the ‘what if you don’t’s if I’m being honest.” Your face twisted slightly in confusion as you tried to decipher his meaning.

“I- what? I don’t understand.” Stumbling over your words, it took you far longer than it should have to realize how much closer he’d gotten to you. 

“What I mean,” he said lowly, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that if you don’t, you need to tell me now because otherwise I’m about to do something really really stupid.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you said in reply. “I see.” You wet your lips nervously but didn’t move away from him, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips. “Well, there’s not really a good way to know if it’s stupid or not until you’ve done it.”

Apparently that was all the approval he needed, because the next thing you knew his lips were on yours and his hand was cupping the back of your neck and a low whine sounded in the back of your throat. This was happening. Oh my god this was happening.

He pulled back after a moment, panting just slightly. He was nervous, you realized. You’d almost never seen him nervous before, but right now, in this moment, you were sure that’s what the expression on his face was. 

You let out a soft giggle that apparently eased his nerves, causing him to break out into a wide smile and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, was it as stupid as I thought it was?”

“Verdict is still out,” you said with a grin. “I’ll have to let you know tomorrow. You work?” 

“Same time as usual, yeah.” He chuckled at the smile on your face as you unbuckled yourself from the car. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to let you know then. And maybe after you’re out, we could go get dinner or something. If the jury rules in your favor, that is.” You grin at him over your shoulder as you get out of the car.

The last thing Garreth sees as he pulls out of your lot is you pressing your fingers softly against your own lips, grinning like an idiot. And though he’d never admit it, in his head he was doing the same.

[jaegerjackoff]

The Doctor | Part 5 | The Mandalorian

< PART 4 | Part 6 >

SUMMARY: The Mandalorian makes his departure. The Doctor has visitors.

PAIRING: slow burn Din Djarin x afab!reader

(no physical descriptions or y/n; has vague relatives, a surname, and backstory/personality)

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, implied needles

WC: 1.6k+

A/N: I'm so excited to share this lil bit! 😌 I haven't written any action-y stuff in a while so I hope this is up to par. Also, kinda rawdogging this - I just finished, slapped it into grammarly to catch my big mistakes, and decided it's time to post. Enjoy!

-

Sure enough, the Mandalorian kept true to his word. 

You saw him and the Child off around dusk, padding through damp grass to where the Razor Crest first touched down outside of town. By some shred of grace, you were allowed to carry the baby, whose little hands touching your face in a gentle goodbye nearly brought tears to your eyes. You would miss him and mourn the ambiguous could be of his guardian.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem mad but locked down in what little he let on. You regret speaking impulsively – you should have just rattled on about something mundane, like the plants you were harvesting or the weather. Anything else, rather than asking questions that are none of your business, especially with a bounty hunter. You wipe a hand down your face, realizing how lucky you are. Though (vaguely) familiar, you don’t know the Mandalorian. For all you know, you were toeing a fine line in asking.

When the light of the thrusters fades into the distant blue-grey atmosphere, you trudge back through the treeline into town to pick up something to eat, as much a treat as it is to placate for the severe misstep. You find yourself entwined in an unwilling conversation while waiting for Yvret to finish your order, dismissing what questions that come your way about “Mando” with a shrug and crooked smile. 

Where is he going? (I don’t know.) 

Why did he leave so quickly? (I don’t know.) 

Will he be back? (I don’t know.) 

He was nice. (I know.)

Opening your mouth last time earned you knowledge of someone tantalizingly new and adventurous: a wounded, russet-armored man who took a chance on a sparsely populated moon that a stranger suggested he visit for his poor healing. That Mandalorian provided you the tiniest, secondhand morsel of a life you would pursue the remainder of your university stint. 

The bounty hunting part frightened you at the time, though the rest satisfied a deep itch you’d always had. Of wandering. Adventure. Freedom. Your formative years were spent mostly on rebel bases, so you craved it. But you couldn’t – shouldn’t – participate in the alliance. It was too dangerous. In the name of the education your parents so kindly sponsored, you placated yourself with field schools on far-off, less habitable planets to study robust and sometimes dangerous plant life.

When your second field school wrapped up, you traveled home from university one last time before the destruction of Alderaan. When an invitation to transfer to Naboo was extended, you were already assimilated into a role with your father. Resigned yourself to the moon, studying its flora in your free time, back to restlessness. (You couldn’t bear to tell your father.) Now, look at you.

So — you’re blissfully unaware as far as the townsfolk are concerned. Not ignorant and torn up over crossing an easily-assumed boundary. Hopefully, you can keep it going; otherwise, you might never hear the end of “running off that nice fellow, Mando,” were they privy to your last few tense hours.

Once home, you soak. Eat in the tub. Pull yourself out sluggishly. The toll of the day is weighing on you now, manifested in the dull ache of your lower back and the fuzz around the edges of your consciousness. You consider calling your mother to seek comfort from a loved one parsecs away, but disappointedly put a pin in that when 2-1B pipes up that it’s definitely too early on Yavin 4. Instead, he urges you to go to bed, sweetening the deal by offering to settle in your room for the night. You can’t complain.

With 2-1B sat in the worn armchair opposite the bedside table, the gentle whirring of parts dissolves into a white noise that lulls you into easy slumber.

-

You wake to persistent knocking at your front door. Blearily – foolishly – you half-hope that the Mandalorian will be there, green baby tucked under an arm. You’ve run to the clinic in slippers enough times that you pull on a pair of boots and a soft coat on your trudge to the door. 2-1B follows behind, in case you’re needed.

The door slides open, and you pull the zip high on your coat, covering your throat from the bite of morning air. Two men stand on the stoop, expressions pleasant despite their grizzled appearance. You look between them, and they look at you. For a long moment. They don’t look hurt, and you definitely don’t recognize them. They glance at one another briefly. You try to keep an open posture.

“How can I help you?” You ask finally, uncertainty curving your brow.

“Have you seen our friend, Mando?” One asks, proffering a puck from his pocket. Sure enough, it fizzles alight with the Mandalorian’s likeness, helm shimmering in its image. You want to roll your eyes but resist the urge – whatever Maker is out there really won’t give you a break right now, will they?

You look at his hologram closely, knitting your brow. “That could be anybody with a helmet on. Got a holo without it? Or a name?”

“’S all we got, miss.”

“Then I’m afraid not. I’ve read about Mandalorians but never met one,” you sigh wistfully. You think you’re selling it. “I’ve heard they’re rare.”

“That’s funny ’cause we know you have.”

Hopefully, the chill that ripples down your spine isn’t too noticeable. “And how would you ‘know’ this if it were true? This is a small moon, a small town. Locals don’t take kindly to strangers.”

They share an amused look, one bouncing their brows at the other, before their steely gazes return to you. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” One says, and has he taken a step closer? You take one back, hand resting on the doorframe.

“I dunno. It was pretty simple.” The other sighs, clicking his tongue in faux disappointment. Slowly, they begin their advance. “This is a town of old scuds, sweetheart. A lil’ strongarming and a few folks mentioned our buddy stayed here, in your place. You have history.”

You blink, having to stifle the pang of hurt. Fear. You care so kriffing much, and it’s inevitable they can glean as much from the wild look in your eyes. Their smug expressions, like they’ve won, make your skin tingle and tears prickle the corners of your eyes.

“If by history, you mean the one time we met ten years ago, sure.” You scoff automatically, cheeks feeling hot now. You aren’t sure what you expect, keeping up this crumbling farce for someone you really have no clue about, but you’ll feel lucky with your life and all four limbs. At least you’ve got a med droid. (If they don’t disassemble him for parts). “He’s got shitty red plate armor and a shiny helmet. That’s all I’ve got.”

It’s a stretch – you don’t know how long he’s looked like he does – but the dated description is enough for their eyes to meet briefly, providing you with an adequate enough window to retreat and slap the door closed. It’s so unbelievably stupid, but now that adrenaline propels you forward, it feels almost thrilling, like what you once chased. Almost because, this time, you’re dealing with bounty hunters sent for a Mandalorian instead of a carnivorous plant or two.

“Come, quickly!” You hiss at the droid, bounding down the hall and opening every door, hoping to slow them down. They pound on the door behind you, shouting indiscernibly.

“What is the plan?” 2-1B asks, looming protectively as you slide the blaster rifle out of its case, now laid out on the bed. Transparisteel shatters distantly as they probably crash through the most accessible route: the great window in the living room.

“I’m going to stun them when they come in. Then I need you to sedate them.” You whisper shakily. “Maker, we should have a real plan for this.” His eyes flicker as you check the gas canister and rise, fingers flipping a small switch near the trigger. There’s no time for affirmation or reflection because you can hear one fast approaching, the tread of his boots sloppy compared to the light-footed Mandalorian.

2-1B flanks you at the ready as you brace the rifle at your shoulder, finger hovering. The rush is making your face numb, and fingers tremble somehow harder. The mere moments drag into hours, and you focus on the corner where they should emerge.

At the first lick of dark fabric, your body pulls tight, and you take the shot. It’s the one who held the puck – he collapses in a heap, blaster skittering away by sheer force. 2-1B pivots the tiniest bit, and you nod. He pulls the man out of sight from the door.

You wait some time before the other comes around – or, it feels like a while, the roaring staccato of your heart practically drowning out any noise from the rest of the house as he rifles through things. Calls his partner’s name once, which you immediately forget. 

When he’s down the hall, you speak, “F-fine, I’ll tell you where he’s going! Please, just don’t hurt me.” The sob that forces its way from your chest is genuine, tears flowing freely. The man to your left makes a low sound, wide eyes staring at you, and his partner sounds to pick up the pace. You almost don’t get him in time, firing simultaneously. He drops hard. The bolt he fires is hot, melting the fibers of your jacket to your shoulder, where it grazes past and burns into the wall behind you. You’re sure it hurts, but you can’t feel it yet.

You finally let out a long breath, shoulders sinking. The rifle drops to your side, held by its sling.

< PART 4 | Part 6 >

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[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Tsien Chiang

Domain: I’Cath Domain Formation: 732 BC Power Level:💀💀💀💀⚫ Sources: Domains of Dread (2e), Islands of Terror (2e)

Previously, I wrote about Malus, the boy who hated all of nature because his druid father ignored him. This extreme rebellion continues with Tsien Chiang, a woman ignored by her father and decided she hated all those of the male persuasion just to spite him.

Tsien was the princess of I’Cath and though she was intelligent and beautiful, her father saw no worth in her. Naturally, this resulted in an overlooked child who studied many subjects forbidden to her – war, necromancy, and toxicology. I suppose this was before her obsession with the number four as I am sure she would have chosen a forth course of study.

In Tsien’s land of Kara-tur the character for the number four is the same as it is for death. Four winds bring storms, heat, ice, and dust. Four curses are written upon the scrolls of the gods: pestilence, despair, malice, and ill fortune. Superstitious beliefs entail that one who can unravel the secret of the number four may also learn of the secrets of life and death. Did Tsien ever find out this secret? Well, she certainly tried.

Tsien crafted a tincture made of four deadly poisons that she administered to her father who died in extreme agony. Upon his death, she enchanted her mother and 3 brothers turning them into helpless idiots and Tsien was named the ruler of I’Cath.

Tsien ruled her land with an iron fist. She could have used a bit of a velvet glove approach as well, but I can appreciate the tight grip she had on her people.

Of course, despite how tyrannical and evil one becomes, one always obtains a fair amount of suitors whether they want them or not. Tsien would wait until she obtained four suitors then bade them to fight to the death, promising to wed the survivor. She wed four times through this ceremony of hers, ending the life of her husband and obtaining another when she saw fit. Through these marriages, she bore four daughters.

Three of these daughters inherited their mother’s evil and they were named Scream, Hate, and Spite. The fourth, however, was a pure spirit with a voice loved by the gods and was named Nightingale. I wonder if her mother had named her Malice if she would have turned out differently?

Tsien became one of the most feared and hated rulers in Kara-tur, but there was little to be done about her for, unlike Drakov, she was a military genius and a powerful sorceress. Any attempts at defeating her, she easily repelled. Unable to dethrone her, the surrounding lands offered her gifts in attempt to gain her favor. She was given fruit trees, which she killed all but four and transformed them into malicious, cursed creatures.

Tsien also demanded a tribute of four sacred bells. She transformed these bells, placing her daughter’s spirits within as well of a piece of herself in order to hold their souls’ captive. A rather unique method to make a phylactery though as obvious as the giant, golden dragon skull my tormentors ‘gifted’ me with. Whenever the bells toll, they bring about great evil, except for Nightingale’s bell, of course. Trapped within these bells, Tsien has complete control over her daughters bodies and none of them, daughters nor mother, ever age.

As the daughters received suitors, Tsien put them to the same ritual combat she had placed her own suitors and over time she created a palace made out these suitor’s bones. The carpets of her palace were made of their hair and the walls painted with their blood. The shear amount of suitors it must have taken to create such a place leads me to belief that perhaps all the men of her land were the complete dullards Tsien saw them as, given more kept on attempting to win the hearts' of her daughters.

The three evil sisters delighted in their mother’s cruelty. Nightingale, however, took pity upon those her mother tormented and pleaded with her to stop, but only received her mother’s cruel hand. Each time she was beaten, the gods sent a warning the Tsien, which she ignored.

However, it wasn’t until she had beaten her daughter four times for questioning her four times that the Mists came for her and brought her into the mist surrounded I’Cath.

I’Cath is only inhabited by Tsien and her four daughters, four evil trees, and four cursed bells. She dwells in her Palace of Bones with her three evil daughters and trapped Nightingale’s body within the summit of a high tower with stairs made from the ‘broken promises of men’ and thereby endless.

Though Tsien does not realize where she is and she rules over a land of no one, she is quite formidable. Not only is she a powerful sorceress, but our tormentors have gifted her with the ability to take on the form of a treant. The only way to destroy her is to destroy the bells that contain her and her daughter’s spirits.

[lightdragon789]

Other inserts backstory/facts Pt 1. Peyton Cooper

So, I’ve decided to give facts and a bit of backstory about my other insert characters, cause I had fun making one for Nash. Breaking it into parts cause I got like… 9 others to talk about (not counting Nash cause he’s already got his fact sheet.)

So, here we go!

Starting with my sea loving tall boi, Peyton!

Backstory:

Peyton grew up with parents who were already marine biologists and he wanted to be like them. Going out to the beach with them and picking up trash and collecting sea shells. He even tried to save an injured baby turtle when he was 7. Thinking if he could save it, he could be a great marine biologist like his parents. Which didn’t go over well as the turtle's fin kept getting worse. It led to Peyton telling his parents and thinking they'd be mad at him. However, his dad tells him that while he's upset for Peyton not telling them. He is proud that he had the courage to come to them for help. Making Peyton promise to never be afraid to ask or help others in need as it's always hard for most people to do. Peyton promised and made sure to keep it.

As he grew up, his career choice never changed and he studied hard in school. Soon his aunt and uncle had his cousin, Jackie and he loved her ever since he held her as a baby. Promising to be the best cousin in the world to her. The two becoming best friends as they grew up. But when Jay turned 5, her mother abandoned the family to "find herself" and left Jay heartbroken. Peyton made sure to be there for his cousin and being there when he needed him. Helping to sing him to sleep as well as to comfort her when she thought they would leave her too.

He got accepted into a college to continue his study in marine biology. Wanting his degree and interning at his parent's marina. However, things went south as his dad was going through liver failure. He was getting more frail and weaker by the day and Peyton spent as much time as he could with him. Working on essays and other school work with him. His dad told Peyton that he had a gift for him when he graduated and if he didn't live long enough to see it. That he'd open it once he got his diploma.

Peyton kept that promise as his dad passed away a few days before his graduation. He kept his head held high as he got it and once he and his family got home. He opened his father's gift which was a pocket knife. On it was a turtle with an X over its fin and on the back was the words "Never forget" on it. Peyton cried a lot once he saw it and was comforted by his mom, uncle and cousin.

Peyton soon moved to a different marina after his father’s passing as it didn’t feel right to work there without him. He moved to another state and worked under his boss Mr. Wood, who he doesn't get along with. Despite Peyton's effort to try and be civil, the two just never got along.

Peyton is a nonchalant guy who does things his way. Which can lead to people seeing him as lazy but he’s very hard-working just super chill about it. He'd also (once all his tasks were done) go out to the beach in order to continue picking up garbage and helped beached animals. Mr. Wood has tried to get him written up for this but Peyton wasn't breaking any rules. So, he couldn't really be written up for anything.

He became good friends with everyone, especially with Dr. Erick Evander. The two hanged out a lot, to the point where people thought they were dating. But they'd both stated that they didn't like each other in that way, but it didn't stop everyone's teasing words.

He also got to rehabilitate a black tip reef shark who he named, Mina and Peyton was the only one she trusted. As she always scared off other employees. So, Wood told Peyton to stop his "lazing around" going to the beach and focus on his actual work. Peyton then decided that day to take his journey to the beach on his lunch break. He also left his phone with his friend as it was dead, ignoring how he had to carry it in case he spotted something unusual. Wanting to spite Mr. Wood.

To which, he meet an unexpected friend and began a wild journey.

Facts:

Peyton is 33 years old, is 6’4 and goes by (He/They) pronouns.

Starting off with a silly fact. Seven of my inserts were made via my dnd dice. Three of them Jay, Matthew and Peyton were made up on the spot or inspired. Everyone one else was a dice roll, which helped me experiment with different character designs.

Peyton loves using nicknames for himself and others. It’s his love language in a sense. Which I headcannon that Peyton never says his name out loud during the Merfolk series. Just goes by Clemmy and whatever other nickname. (Examples: for Mr. Wood, he calls him Big B, for Jay, he calls him Jay-B and he has a lot of nicknames from others.)

Jay and Peyton are cousins, who are very close and see each other as siblings. Due to their upbringing.

He often times (when he’s done with caring to sea life and writing reports) goes outside to the beach to see if any sea life needs his aid. Also, does it to spite Mr. Wood.

He’s a vegetarian, as he has some meat allergies.

He also has a bit of a hero complex, though he always denies it.

He has shark bite scars (on his side and thigh) from trying to wrangle a dolphin out of netting and they attacked smelling some blood off the dolphin.

When talking to Zef and Sera in Merfolk form. Peyton always sits down or lays down. Knowing he’s already quite tall and wanting to be at their level.

He is bisexual, Greyromantic and Non-Binary. (He/They)

Next I’ll do either Avery or Matthew!

Hope you guys like this ^^

[silentprincessandsweethibiscus]

This weeks fic almost didn't get done, so its a lot shorter than i would have liked, but here is my entry for fsff, pumpkin spice Sometimes, all you need is a good conversation.

The front door slammed open, and Red strode in, an air of displeasure rolling of the fae in waves. “I never want to hear the words pumpkin spiced latte ever again.”Vio looked down at the two cups in their hands with an exaggerated frown. “So then, I’m guessing you don’t want this.”Red rolled their eyes and held out a hand, making a gimmie motion with it as he dropped her bag on the table with the other. “Shut the fuck up and give me my caffeine, Vi.”

“Here, here, don’t take my head off.” Vio handed one of the cups over with a laugh, holding their own to their chest as Red took a sip of his.

There were a few moments of pause as she enjoyed the latte, before it responded. “Mmm, pumpkiny goodness.” Looking at the familiar logo on the cups for the first time, he frowned. “Hey, Vivi?”

“Hmm?” Vio looked up from their own cup, still just holding it absentmindedly. “Yeah Red?”

“Who made this?”

There was a pause, as Vio debated on how to answer. “My absolute favorite barista, why.”“Because if you tell me you ordered in to have me make it before I left I might start reevaluating the last century and a half.” Red shifted, one hand going to rest on their hip while he gave her partner an exaggerated pout.

“Good thing I wasn’t going to say that.” Red raised an eyebrow at them. “Alright, fine. But in my defense, I though you had already clocked out.”

Red scrunched his face further, leveling them with a glare that anyone who didn’t know her might fold under. Luckily for Vio, they did know it well, and instead just responded with a half hearted smile, until Red finally beamed back. “Yeah, that’s fair. They held onto me for almost a whole extra half an hour, since Blue got stuck in traffic.”

“Blue?” Vio looked up at the name, surprise written all over their face.

“Yea, Blue.” Red raised an eyebrow at them. “I know you’ve heard me talk about him before? She’s the cute afternoon manager that always takes over for me, and complains about her partners ganging up to prank him?”

“Blue, the werewolf?” Vio could not believe the coincidence, grilling their partner to be sure it was the same person they had met this morning. “With the blonde pigtails, dip dyed black tips that make them look like paintbrushes.”

“Alright, now I know somethings up. because I never told you that. But yes, Blue the werewolf.” Red responded with a laugh. “Oh and the dye is new. I think one of her partners did it like, last night.”Vio nodded in agreement, before continuing on with their point. “Biology is one of his partners.”

“No fucking way!” Red’s excited grin was infections, but Vio wasn’t done just yet.

“Yeah.” They put their coffee down. “And you will never in a million years guess who the other one is.”

“Who?” Red clutched their own drink closer, excitement and confusion both clear on his face.Vio paused, wanting, but unsure of how, to explain who Red’s crushes’ boyfriend was. After a moment, they decided to just rip the band-aid off. “Green.”

“Green.” Red tilted her head. “As in, as in, Green?”

“Yeah.” Vio’s answer was more of a sigh, then an actual word.

“No fucking way!” Red’s giddy excitement had been replaced with something much more steady. “Vio! That’s awesome!” Vio’s response was a dry chuckle, that had Red frowning. “That is a good thing, right.”

“Yeah, yeah, its a good thing, Cherry.” They finally took a sip of their own drink, making a face and putting it down immediately after.

“Buuuuut?” Red pressed. He knew his partner well, if it just left it be, they would go into their study and ignore whatever part of this was bothering them. “Something about its still eating you.”

“Nothing new.” Vio offered Red a morose smile. “I guess seeing the ghost of the fiance you accidentally killed is bound to drag out some bad memories, is all.”

The smile Red gave back was equally somber, as she put her own drink down and moved to pull Vio into a hug. They leaned into it, wrapping their arms around Red’s lower back, to avoid his wings. The two of them stayed like that for a few moments, before Red whispered. “What did Green say about it?”

Vio’s laugh sounded of unshed tears. “He looked like he didn’t even realize it had been me who did it, but he said it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s right.” They kissed the top of Vio’s head. “You never should have been left alone right after turning. None of that was your fault.”

“You and I both know that’s not entirely true.” Vio pulled back just enough to look up at Red. “I’m the dumb ass who decided it was a good idea to go chase down a vampire a week before my wedding.”

Red chortled at that. “Yeah, well, that may have not been the best idea, but what happened after you were bit is on the vampire who did it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why they even let me live at all.” Vio added with a shrug.

“I dunno,” Red smiled at them, “But I’m really glad they did.”

“Yeah, me too.” Vio frowned again, clearly thinking. “Does ‘till death do we part’ still count if we’re both already dead?”

Red raised an eyebrow at the question, amused half grin on his face. “You know, I’m not sure. Maybe we should look into it.”

Vio gave her a goofy smile back. “Yea, I think we should.”

[mias-small-den]

Some small story I made (its chapter one only, the rest might be revealed in the future). I wrote it a long time ago so please don’t make fun of it

During my whole life I've been a younger brother, my older brother would take care of me, and my parents would love me, everything I did was to make my brother accept me and respect me. We had a good relationship, but it was clear to both of us that there was a clear hierarchy between us and there was a natural process of interaction. Then he went to university in another country, and I spent my last two years before university mourning the fact that now he was gone, and I could only see him three times a year.

This summer it was time for me to choose where to go to university and, even if I miss my brother, I wouldn’t be able to study the same thing as he is, I'm just smarter and want to go to a higher education. I decided to go to a small town with a not too prestigious university but good enough for what I need.

Today is the day I start university and I've never been more nervous, my next four years are going to be spent here and I don’t know if I'll like it, if Ill like the teachers or the other students, “what if they make fun of me?” “What if they don’t like me?” “What if I'm not good enough?”

—Shut up- whisper trying to not get noticed which didn’t work since immediately someone looked at me like if I was crazy

—Great, now they think I'm crazy

The bell rings and I start following the crowd going forwards, I get pushed on one side and shoved in the other but eventually I find myself in room “Homeroom VII” which I think is mine, I check the paper and see written on it “Homeroom VII” and decide to walk in

The room is a boring room with maybe 20 seats, it has a stage in the front and the desks are ordered in a square kind of way with the back row missing (4 times 5) with three extra seats in the first row right in the three central columns. I swiftly pace to the back of the class and decide to sit down in one of the corners, I take out a notebook and prepare to take notes. Then I look up to notice that I'm the first one in class, except for a teacher

—Good morning Mr. …

—Mr. Ivan sir

—Interesting name, Ivan, I like how it sounds

—Thanks sir

There’s a long pause before he tries to start some small talk noticing how awfully quiet, I am

—They are always late; you must be the only student who got here on time

—Ummmmm yeah— I say while taking a look around

—And it's not even in the middle of the year, this is the first day, this is the day you should be early

I decided to ignore him and started sketching some random drawing, it was a picture of a girl, a really attractive girl

Shortly after the other students started walking into the class and taking over the desks front to back, which relieved me a lot. If there’s one thing, I hate is having people near me, I just can’t stand anyone, I don’t know why but the people I know are already used to it, unlike these strangers.

There’s only one person in front of me and a backpack at my side from the person at the other side of it, I'm glad he did that, didn’t really want to sit next to him

—Hello class, I'm going to introduce myself and, even if I did this every year for the last fifteen years, I can’t get any better at it- A small giggle comes out of the others -My name is Mr. Nikola and I'm your homeroom teacher for this year. I'll be setting your grades and taking care of the complains the teachers make of you so make sure to have me on your side- another giggle emerges but quickly dies out -There’s a couple of things we have to take care of before we can talk about your lives—

He checks his notes on the teacher's desk and at that time, people start talking to each other and I continue with my small drawing, it looks pretty good to be honest but it's not my best drawing yet after all, it's not made with that intention.

The guy in front of me pulls out his phone and I notice a weird tricolor flag as his background image, don’t think it's of any country. Maybe I should ask him what flag it is, nope, bad idea, no unnecessary social interaction.

He turns around to catch me looking at his phone over his shoulder and looks at me with a different face, I don’t think I've ever seen it before

—What country is that flag from— I say shily and instantly regret it, it sounded terrible —Oh, this? This is no nation, it’s the…- The teacher asks for silence and my classmate turns around to look forward abruptly ending our conversation —The first order of business is to discuss the dorms, each one of you have to choose one person from this room to be your roommate, the person can change if you discover you don’t like each other but it’s a long and complicated process so please be careful choosing The whole class gets up and starts looking for a roommate, except me, I just stare down and keep drawing. I see people walk up to the person I have in front and ask him to be their roommate (mostly girls, God knows why) but he says no to all of them for some reason. He continues to sit down and look at his phone, five minutes later he pulls out his headphones and starts listening to some music through one of his ears. A minute passes before he looks at me and asks if I want the other headphones. I notice time stops and I can’t believe this, why did he want ME to do it? He probably has all the friends he needs, probably everyone is his friend, he doesn’t need me. What do I do? Do I say yes? No? What the fuck am I supposed to do? I didn’t see this coming. “Ok” I manage to say, even if I didn’t want to actually say it. He pulls out the other headphone and I put it on my ear, it's some nice music but I never heard it before, I might ask for the name later but I'm not sure if that’s the best idea right now. I decide to look at him and I notice why everyone wanted to be with him, or at least part of the reason, he’s wearing a white sweater with some scribbles written on it, too messy to actually read but they still add a nice effect to the overall look, he’s also wearing glasses with an interesting design and he has probably the best hair to ever exist. —Ivan and the other kid, I'm marking you two as roommates— says Mr. Nikola We stare at each other for five seconds before he shouts, “No problem, sir” and then he continues to look at me —Ok everyone, back to your seats, I'm going to hand out the keys to your dorms and you organize yourselves, ok? He starts walking down the rows handing out the keys to everyone and then he reaches our table and looks at the headphones —I can’t let you have those in class —sorry sir, won't happen again— Says my roommate taking his out of his ear and stretching his hand out asking for the other one, I pull it out of my ear and hand it to him and then Nikola hands us our keys and tells us we can start going to our room We got up and started walking down the hallway towards a map nearby, our room is on the third floor not far from here, maybe three minutes away. The rest of the way is silent with the occasional looking at something we find interesting. Once we get to our room, he pulls out his keys and starts to open the door. The room is around 32 square meters and it's organized with the two beds at the sides and two desks in between the beds, there’s also a closet on the wall next to the bed. The walls are white and there’s a window right in the middle of the wall opposite the entrance that brings in a nice light, the floor is a nice dark brown made out of some sort of artificial wood there’s also a bathroom at the end of the room (in a separate room) and a small kitchen at the other side. It seems the rooms were made to be parallel and simple, maybe it's to be able to build many of them quickly. —I haven't introduced myself right— my roommate asks as he takes his jacket off —Nope —My name is Erik and I guess yours is Ivan? —Yup —Can you give more than one syllable answers? - he jokingly says —Nah man, not going to happen A second passes but it feels like eternity, why did I say that? It sounds so terrible. I get distracted as he pulls out a map of Europe right before WW1 with an incredible amount of detail, both with the borders and the railways and a really cool vintage style

—World War one, right? —Yup- he responds joyfully -I really like maps from this time period, they really show some interesting borders, right? I catch myself staring at him while he hangs up his map, it's weird. I immediately say yes and continue looking at him, I can't seem to take my eyes of him, he’s just… too perfect. We stand in silence for a minute while he hangs up his map and then he turns around to look at me —Wanna watch a movie? - He asks with a shiny smile that covers up his face —Um yeah, should I pull out my laptop? - I answer nervously —No need, I brought a projector I stare at him for a moment as he bends over to pick something up from his bag and then pulls out a small box, he opens it and pulls out a small projector —There’s no school today and even if we should make sure we know where everything is I'm too tired to do it, it's been a long day today. So, what movie do you want to watch? I think for a second and then decisebly say Star Wars, movie four His face lights up when he hears the last four words come out of my mouth, just like if I had just told him he won the lottery —No way, you like that too? —Of course I do, who doesn’t like Star Wars? —I love it, but my family didn’t like it at all, they found the movies boring and unrelatable so I couldn’t really watch it with them, and I didn’t get enough time straight to watch a whole movie, so I never really had a chance to watch the movies honestly He pulled out his laptop and I logged into my Disney+ account for him since he didn’t have one (and now that were roommates, I guess we share those stuff) while he connected the projector, after that we both sat on my bed and pressed play. Thirty minutes in I looked at him casually just to catch him looking back, we both smiled and then he moved his hand a bit more towards me, I looked down, then back up, he smiled at me, then I put my hand on his, it was soft and warm and nice to touch. I looked back at him, and we smiled at each other for a solid minute with the movie playing in the background. At that moment we heard a knock on the door that shattered our moment. He quickly jumped up while I stopped the movie, he ran to the door and asked who was there and a feminine voice answered: it's me, Matilda, weren’t we going out today? He turns to me and asks if I want to come —What? Me? Um nah, I'll stay here- I answer nervously —Ok, no problem- he says as he walks towards me -you can continue the movie if you want

Then, out of nowhere, he leans over towards me and puts his head against mine, he stays like that for a second and then gives me a kiss on my forehead

[bi-bard]

Taylor Swift Songs that Would Describe a Relationship with the Corinthian - The Corinthian Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Taylor Swift Songs that Would Describe a Relationship with the Corinthian

Pairing: The Corinthian X Collector!Reader

Word Count: 1,482 words

Warning(s): mentions of murder, make-out scene

Author's Note: Is this an excuse to use "Blank Space" because I really liked the idea? Absolutely.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

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

Blank Space

So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames You can tell me when it's over, mm If the high was worth the pain

He had started as a target.

That's all.

Another cute little game.

My entire scheme had gone perfectly. Not that I wasn't expecting that, I had grown very efficient at my plan. It also helped that those I tracked down also tended to be very stupid. Or happy to play the role.

Until the Corinthian.

I didn't know his name at first. I hadn't bothered to ask. I didn't think I was going to know him for long.

I had put on my same old act. Innocent and naive. Trusting to a fault. It seemed to work more often than not. Unsurprisingly, there are many people who get their rocks off to the idea of having someone that was inexperienced.

It wasn't until I had gotten him to my little hideaway that things took a turn.

I had gotten to the last step. Just moments away from what I had truly wanted.

I had straddled him on the couch, my lips pressed to his like there was nothing else to focus on. He didn't seem to care about anything else. I had to keep myself from letting a smirk cross my lips as I kissed him.

As my lips moved to his jaw, I slowly moved one hand into my jacket, sliding my blade out of my pocket. I let the blade find the skin of his neck, resting there.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” he muttered, a low chuckle falling from his lips.

“Oh, I’m nothing if not interesting,” I said, assuming he thought this was just some weird kink thing. “Gotta have a bit of fun.”

I slowly pressed my hand forward, grinning as I waited for the knife to pierce the skin.

“I wouldn’t do that, darling,” he warned.

I hummed, ignoring him.

“Darling,” he continued. My eyes dragged up to his face again. He slid his glasses up to give me a view of the two sets of teeth sitting where his eyes should be. “I really think you should stop.”

“Look at that,” I pulled the blade away so I could properly study him. “And you called me interesting."

He didn't reply.

"Tell me your name.”

“The Corinthian.”

I felt a shiver go down my spine as the word left his mouth. The Corinthian. A name of legend in my world. I bit my lower lip as I adjusted in his lap, my arms moving around his neck.

“I’m honored to have you in my trap,” I said quietly. “A legend right in my home.”

“You’ve heard of me.”

“Anyone of note in this world has,” I replied. “The Corinthian. The name with over a century worth of history. I have always wanted to meet you.”

Another chuckle as he adjusted his glasses to sit back on his face properly. God, this man was tempting.

“They say your name was passed down through the generations,” I continued. “But I’m going to assume that your eyes aren’t your only little special feature.”

He leaned closer to me, holding my back to make sure I didn’t fall off the couch. “And what is that other special feature?”

I leaned forward, letting my lips graze his. “It’s always been you.”

“Good guess,” he muttered, not moving back but refusing to press his lips to mine fully. “What do they call you then?”

“Many have taken to calling me Cupid.”

“I should’ve guessed… the innocent act to lure people, the color scheme for the outfits, I bet if I looked at your blade, I’d see some cute art on the handle… Darling, you are brilliant.”

“I’m honored.”

There was a pause.

“I can’t just let you leave this place. You know that.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “How about a deal?”

“A deal?”

“A… partnership,” his hand ran down to my leg as he spoke. “We can help each other on solo projects. Take on a few projects together. What do you say, darling?”

I let out a chuckle before stabbing my blade into the couch behind him and kissing him properly. He kissed me back immediately. This was more than just a partnership. For better or worse. We burn together or not at all. It was a dream.

“Take me hunting,” I muttered against his lips.

He pulled away enough to look into my eyes. “All in good time, darling.”

I grabbed his jaw to ensure he didn’t look away from me. “Better make the wait worth it.”

Don't Blame Me

For you I would cross the line I would waste my time I would lose my mind

I knew it was stupid. In my gut, I had that lingering idea.

But as I saw the man that I loved being reduced to ash and dust, I threw all sense of logic out the window.

"You son of a bitch!"

The man in black- Dream, I would later find out- was too busy staring at the small skull that was all that remained of the Corinthian.

I could've run. Left the room before he ever saw me. But I didn't. I was going to stay right there.

"You don't understand the world that you were dragged into," he said.

"You made a nightmare and then destroyed him because he wanted more than his assigned role," I replied. "He was happy. Proud even. But you didn't like that because it didn't follow your little rules."

"He was feeding on humanity."

"How does that make him different than almost every human in America?"

Dream's jaw clenched as he looked from me to the rest of the crowd.

Something in the air changed. He forced them to feel the pain and guilt of every person they had killed.

I watched the rest of the room crumble in on themselves, reduced to nothing more than small piles of pain. I didn't feel anything.

"Unaffected," Dream muttered as he stepped toward me. It was a statement, not a question.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"You'll suffer a different punishment then," he continued. "Eternal sleep."

"I will turn your realm into your personal hell," I warned him. "And that is a sincere promise."

Dream didn't speak. He just blew a handful of sand in my face.

And I was gone. In the realm of the dreaming forever. Now, one step closer to the Corinthian than I would've been if I was left in the world of the waking.

Like I said, people got their rocks off on naive. I never said what I had to be naive about.

King of my Heart

And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa And all at once, you are all I want, I'll never let you go King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa

I knew very well that the Corinthian doesn't sleep. Someone who ran from the dreaming realm wasn't going to willingly go back so easily. But he would still stay next to me when I fell asleep.

He would never admit why, but I had a few theories. Well, two in particular. One was that he thought it was a good way to protect me from harm. The other was that he simply enjoyed the company. He didn't want to be alone when I was tired.

I found the second reason comforting. More comforting than the first. It meant that he chose to stay by my side, not that he felt like he needed to be there.

That's all I could think of when I woke up one morning.

I found myself curled up against the Corinthian's side.

I looked at him through tired eyes. He was something else. Beautiful. Gorgeous. It was verging on unfair.

"Finally," he said when he saw that I was awake. He went to stand. "Come on. I have an idea for us-"

"Wait, wait," I stopped him, grabbing onto his arm. He relaxed back into the pillows, looking at me. "Sorry, I just... I need to say something."

"Don't leave me hanging, darling," he replied.

I sat up so I was sitting across from him. I reached forward and grabbed his hand.

"I... I love you," I said.

I couldn't remember the last time someone had made me nervous.

"I fucked it up, didn't I," I asked. "We had a fun little partnership kind of thing going and I fucked it up-"

"I love you too," he cut me off.

"Really?"

"Don't believe me, darling?"

"I... I didn't mean it like that, I was just shocked-"

"Shh," he tapped his index finger against his lips before tugging me toward him.

I smiled as he pressed his lips to mine.

I definitely believed him.

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