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crash-and-cure · 10 months

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Every Minute, Every Hour (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You were out. You were out goddamnit. How was he here?

A/N: Soooo.... It’s been awhile. Writer’s block is an absolute son of a bitch. So this is based on an idea I had and requested to @venus-haze a couple months ago and which I almost completely forgot about until I got this request and I decided two birds and all that. I also acknowledge that there was another similar request made a while back, to the person who requested it don’t worry, I do have plans for it.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), female mastubation, slight dumbification, and implied anal play. Brief depictions of choking. Touch-starvation. Mentions of Pregnancy. Referenced cheating on Elvis' part. Self-loathing. Stockholm Syndrome(?) Probably more that I am blanking on. Period-typical homophobia and closeted characters depicted. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: 19.8K

Masterlist

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You look like an angel (look like an angel)

Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)

Talk like an angel

But I got wise

You’re the devi-

It takes you longer than you would have liked to reach the radio and turn it off. And it’s only as you reach it do you realize how odd it looks from the outside when you see a customer looking at you funny.

“Not much of a fan,” you say with an admittedly pathetic smile on your face.

“I can see that,” he replies with an awkward smile, before going back to browsing the books.

You bashfully turn the radio back on and quickly try to turn the knob to anything even remotely comprehensible, but it’s just your luck that this is the only station you get decent reception on in the store. With no other choice but to simply grin and bear it you put the volume on low and return to reading your book.

You do keep an eye on your final customer of the evening, and hope he hurries up so you can finally close up for the day. Susan had been complaining about a migraine since lunch and Gina was caring for her upstairs and so it was on you to close up the shop on your own today.

You feel embarrassed to have been seen that way but that all falls away when you hear the shop bell ring, only to be immediately followed by tiny rapid footsteps and an excited little “mama!” and you grab onto the counter before your little two and a half foot terror can knock out from behind you. Which ends up being the right call as you feel her head butt your knees and locking her arms around them nearly knocking you down.

“Mama! Mama!” she squealed, practically vibrating, she was so excited to see you.

“Rosie! Rosie!” you say, equally as happy to see her though you do a far better job at reining it in. She takes your hands in hers as you crouch down to look at her, and take stock. Her hair is askew with the ribbons you had tied in place this morning holding on for dear life in her beautiful curls, her face is smudgy with what you’re hoping is chocolate, and one of her socks is just gone, but both shoes are in place so you can only imagine how your little hellion managed that. Overall this is the best condition Rosie has returned to you in, after a long day with Jenny.

“Mama, Aunty Jenny took me to the Candy store!” she says, showing off the candy bracelets on her tiny wrists.

“Really,” you say, shooting a look at your friend for giving her so much sugar before bed. The woman in question has the courtesy to at least look a little guilty about it, before giving a small laugh.

“Mm-hmm. And we saw Danny at the playground and we-we saw Uncle Lee’s friends, and then we listened to a lotta music, and we saw a movie about a wizard and there was no one else in the whole room, and then-then…” she rapidly rambles on but you pepper her face in kisses before she can pass out from the lack of oxygen. She giggles uncontrollably and tries to squirm out of your grip, but you gotta get in one good raspberry on her cheek before you let her go.

“Alright, why don’t you go upstairs and help Aunty Gina finish up dinner,” you tell her with a smile on your face. Her “help” in the kitchen is typically watching and holding spoons and spatulas on a step stool, but she’s at an age where she believes the whole dish would fall apart without her important contribution to it, so she goes rushing to the stairs.

But she quickly comes running back while taking the uneaten bracelet off of her wrist. “Danny said to give this to you for your birthday,” she declares. Ever since meeting Jenny’s nephew she’s seemed to hang on to every word of his, and though you’ve never met the boy he seems to be a good kid, always polite and saying hello through your daughter, but has, as you've heard, an extreme affinity towards spinning a few too many fantastical stories. But your daughter is far too young to see him as anything but a friend so you doubt you have anything to worry about as of right now.

She’s always so eager to tell you about everything, and you’re just as eager to listen. Your folks never wanted to hear anything from you, and you pray that your attentiveness will pay off one day when she is never afraid to come to you with your troubles. Maybe if you had that with your mother you wouldn’t be where you were.

“Well tell him I said thank you,” you say, as you pull it on your wrist, placing a small kiss on her forehead before she books it back to the stairs behind the counter. As you stand back up, to your surprise you find the customer now at the counter with a good stack of books.

“Sorry to bother Miss…ummm…” the customer says nervously.

“Love,” you clarify for him. “Y/N Love.”

He gives a shy smile at that, “Well Miss Love, I’m ‘bout ready to check out so…” he says gesturing to his tower of books.

“Of course,” you answer and you begin to ring him up. He’s got quite a few so at least he makes the extra time staying down here somewhat worth it.

“Whatcha readin’ there,” he asks you, pointing to the open book you’ve left to your side. You show him your copy of We have always lived in the castle. “I-is it any good?”

“I would say so,” you answer. Though that ending did hit a little too close to home, you think to yourself.

“So umm, d-do you like to read?” he asks hesitantly as he quietly adds a copy of the book to his pile.

“I’d be in the wrong business if I didn’t,” you joke, and he laughs a little too hard. “How ‘bout you?” you ask, wanting to not have an awkward silence, as you’re not even halfway through the stack.

“Yeah, I-I love reading though I don’t got a lotta time for it these days,” he says with a guilty smile on his face.

“Why’s that?” you ask, since it seems to be the only way this conversation could go.

“I-I just started my residency at Charity Hospital,” he says bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Sam by the way,” apparently realizing that he hadn’t made the proper introductions.

“Y/N,” you say, giving him a small nod and a smile. “And congratulations on your residency,” you're almost done with the final few books, but you may or may not be taking your time to finish them up, wanting to prolong the conversation you’re having for a bit.

“Thank you, and I- well, umm… I couldn’t help but overhear your daughter, but umm… Happy Birthday,” he says ducking his head, a bit embarrassed at his own admission.

“Oh, thank you,” you say, your face heating up slightly that he had heard.

“Your Husband’s a lucky man,” he says, though he does steal a quick glance at you, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.

So this is what it’s about, you think to yourself. “I’m actually not…” you trail off, and hope that he gets the message.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he stated before his eyes widened as he realized what he just said. “I-I mean not glad like I’m happy that you-you’re not married, bu-but glad li-like I’m relieved that I hav-haven’t been trying to build up the courage to talk to a cute girl for the past few weeks only to find out she’s married already.” he blathers on and you can’t help but laugh.

Your heart does flutter a bit at his confession. Everything about this feels like it should be perfect. Unfortunately for the both of you, you finally get a good look at his icy blue eyes that are a little too familiar for comfort, and it feels like your throat closes up.

You can feel your stomach churning (and not just from the baby that fills it) and cold regret for not buying an extra pair of socks as you sit at the Greyhound terminal in Nashville, your feet starting practically turning into ice blocks. That cold November morning you had made a show of telling everybody you were gonna make a quick trip down to the shops for some eggs, now you’re almost a full state away praying that the bus gets here soon, jumping every time a set of headlights passes by and you're just barely keeping dry underneath the metal canopy.

But for as cold as you are physically, your chest starts to heat up at the prospect that you’re so close to freedom from an even colder gaze. When the bus does get there you hardly sleep a wink afraid to let your guard down even now. You know how well he could sabotage your plans if he was so inclined, from small things like spoiling the surprise party you had planned for him to the major of ruining your chances to get into another school.

You know he’s half a world away yet that still does little knowing what the most loyal of his are willing to do for him. It’s not until you finally make it to the train station in Atlanta that’ll take you down to New Orleans that you finally give in to your heavy eyelids, willing to trust strangers with your safety, aware they can’t hurt you any worse than those you know have done.

You shake your head as you’re brought back to the present, and you hear him say something, “I’m sorry what?” you covertly wiggle your toes as you try to ground yourself and get sensation back in them as though you were just getting them out of the cold.

“I was just sayin’ there’s this club down on Bourbon that I been meanin’ to check out since movin’ down here, and I was hopin’ a local such as yourself could show me ‘round these parts,” he says, a nervous but hopeful smile on his lips.

For a moment you can almost imagine saying yes to him, how he would take you out on the town, how he would kiss you, how he would throw your daughter up in the air. How maybe you could be happy with him.

But like a looming black cloud, in spite of the lowered volume, you hear what the new station is now playing, clear as a bell.

Oh please come to my arms and say you'll love me forever

For with the dawn, you'll be gone

It’s almost as though He’s following you, serving as a constant reminder of what you did, and that you’re never allowed to imagine being with another man. You wordlessly turn off the radio before you’re forced to listen anymore. “Uhh, I-I’m sorry, I-I really don’t go out much,” you say, trying to shut this down as gently as you could.

“Oh-uhh, that’s fine I umm,” he says, pivoting hard. “I’m more of a movie guy myself, I hear he’s got a new one out, and we can go and watch anything but that,” he gives a small laugh pointing to the radio, but quickly drops it upon seeing your grim expression.

Without knowing it Sam just shut the coffin on any potential happenings between the two of you. “I’m sorry, it’s late and I gotta close up for the night,” you say softly, and he’s smart enough to take the hint.

“O-of course,” he says looking down at the books he has in his hands. “But can you promise you’ll think about it?” he asks as he reaches the door to look back at you.

Even before you open your mouth, you already know that your next words are going to make you lose a customer forever. “There’s nothing to think about,” you say, trying to feign apathy. Harsh as your words may be, you know this is far kinder to him in the long run as opposed to getting more involved with you.

You watch him leave the store with a sagging shoulders and a long face, before you feel a hand meet violently with the back of your head, and you swivel around to see Jenny with an exasperated look on her face. “So a handsome, single, doctor who loves to read, and doesn’t mind that you already got a kid, asks you out and you say…” she trails off, seeming to only get more offended with every dreamy quality he had.

“Don’tchu get like that Jenny,” you defend yourself, as you stomp to the door in order to flip the sign to closed and lock up for the night. “I’ve got a daughter to worry about and I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”

“Well newsflash Y/N,” she argues, “Rosie needs a daddy.”

You feel your hackles rising at that statement. “No she doesn’t,” you state firmly, not wanting to raise your voice, because you know better than anyone how easy it is to be overheard.

She deflates a little at your obvious fury at this line of questioning, before letting out a long tired sigh. “It’s just that… when we were at the park today… she asked me why she didn’t have one. And she… she just kept pressing,” she says obviously ashamed that she hurt you, but wanting to get across her reasoning. “What am I supposed to say to that? Especially when you won’t tell nobody what happened. I only got her to drop it when I took her to the candy shop.”

You feel guilty for snapping at your friend. Jenny Hodge had been an absolute godsend since you met her almost a year ago, when she and her new husband, Lee, had moved down from Alabama. Her arrival had coincided when Rosie started becoming aggressively mobile and insisted that running was the only way to get around anymore. And because she felt she needed practice with being a Mama before she had one of her own, she insisted on being your one and only babysitter, in exchange for free books every so often.

The story around the block is that you are were the young widow who “tragically” lost her husband in an accident before he ever had the chance to meet your beautiful daughter, and with no one in the world left to turn to, you ended up on your “spinster” aunt and her “good friend” Susan’s doorstep. And Jenny, since hearing your story, has by far been your most fervent supporter outside of this house, with her support primarily coming in two flavors: 1) helping you with your daughter so she isn’t so cooped up in the store while you work and 2) trying to set you up with any moderately successful man.

“Y/N,” she says softly. “I get that it’s hard to get back out there, but you need to think about the bigger picture, because it’s only a matter of time before she starts asking you.”

You know she’s right, and that’s the worst part about it. Your little Rosie Love is a stubborn one, not to mention smart, always has been. Didn’t want to walk because she wanted to run. Hated her diaper so much she learned how to unpin it when she was barely a year old. Wanted to try to feed herself when she first took to solid food, and would snatch the spoon out of your hand when she could. She’s broken out of every play pen she’s ever been in. Hell, she was almost two weeks overdue, and the doctors were forced to induce you, she didn’t want to come out until she was good and ready.

She, like someone else you knew, is capable of throwing a wrench into any plan you make. For as endearing as it can be, it is all the more frustrating knowing exactly where she gets it from.

With a long defeated sigh, you concede to her point and thank her for both her input and for being a good friend this past year. And maybe someday you’ll be ready to find another husband.

She has a wide cheshire-cat like grin as you say that, “And I’mma ‘bout to be a better one,” she practically sings. “Lee’s friend is in town, and I think you two would hit it off.”

“And I think we wouldn’t,” you state, putting books back where they belong.

“C’mon Y/N, I thought we were past this,” she whines.

“I did say someday, not today,” you emphasize.

“Y/N, your birthday’s comin’ up soon, and it ain’t like you’re gettin’ any younger. Besides Lee and I are already trying for a baby, so I ain’t gonna be so available much longer neither,” she says in a soft voice holding your hands in hers. “And you need to find someone you can rely on too, it’s not like you wanna end up like your Aunt Gina”

You say nothing not wanting to say anything incriminating about the relationship between your Aunts, as for all that you trust Jenny, you don’t trust her enough with somebody else’s secrets.

“Just promise me you'll think about it at least,” she pleads, hands clasped over your own.

What is it about people that, not trusting you when you answer the first time, and thinking given enough time you’ll come around?

Yet you're no better as you let out a long tired sigh, before ultimately agreeing, if only to get her off your back. Or so you tell yourself.

She tells you a bit about the man she has in mind for you, or more accurately she keeps insisting how perfect the two of you would be together. In her mind it’ll be love at first sight, how he’ll love and accept Rosie as his own immediately, how she guarantees that you’ll be married within a year and be trying to give Rosie a little brother or sister. You have to bodily shove her out the door by that point lest she get into any more specifics in her attempt to sway you.

Jenny’s a little older than you, but she is very much a romantic at heart, you suppose, though that’s the benefit of things going right in your life.

But your story went wrong.

“Why you in such a hurry to get out girl?” your accomplice would ask as he handed you the money (He had made it a point of order that you were never to handle any) the day before your escape.

“There’s someone else,” you say simply, because it’s true and if they were to ever betray your trust this would be worse on them than on you.

You got away with quite a bit back in the day like getting out of trouble for making out in a dark empty classroom by claiming to have been caught by surprise by your monthlies and now you couldn’t bear the thought of being seen like this. Or when you got hired by the library for the summer after you approached the front desk and claimed to be the new hire ready for her first day of training and nobody really bothered to check in with anybody else. Even that one time when you confidently strolled backstage at a music hall He had wanted to perform all to sneak them in through the back door and convinced just enough people that his band was meant to perform that night.

Your ability to make up stories on the fly and map things out in your head had led you to believe that you would make for a pretty good mystery writer. You had even tried to go to school to be one, though you told everyone it was to be a teacher, a far more respectable and womanly job.

Well not everyone.

He certainly knew.

Knew about your talent for planning and story-telling, and was practically always in awe to see it in action. But this recognition came at the expense that he was aware of your tricks and he always knew how to throw you off just enough to make any plans you made go belly up. Whether it was something relatively small like figuring out you were planning a surprise party to the major… like when you tried to end things the first time around.

He called you almost every night when he was on tour, and you had done your best to relay all that was going on back in Memphis. And in spite of his insistence that he wants to hear about it, you suspect that he wasn’t being truthful. He especially seemed disgruntled when you made any mention of doing anything with anyone else. Your friends, his friends, even your own family weren’t safe from his ire.

When He was here you would do everything together, yet now that you tell him about all that you’d been doing, there is a slight but noticeable edge when he speaks to you over the phone. Everytime you mention how you went to the movie theater or you went to the record store or the bookshop, it was almost always met with a solemn “we used to do that together.”

You would have gone with him, had your parents let you, and He knows that so you don’t understand why he’s so sore about the fact that you’re not simply sitting on your hands back home waiting for him to return.

So in an effort to spare his feelings you asked him about the things he was doing, you even go out of your way to say how happy you were when he was telling you about all of the fun things he had done on the road. You’re happy to hear it all and you thought

You miss him just as fiercely but you don’t want it to stop you from living.

But when you got your acceptance letter, you saw the writing on the wall. You both were going in different directions: you were going to be studying, were barely going to be home and his star just kept growing and growing each day taking him further out and making him harder to reach. You know you wanted this and you begin to suspect you may want it more than you want to stay with him, if staying with him meant being alone all the same.

This was only confirmed in the weeks leading up to Prom when you couldn’t get a straight answer out of him of whether or not He would be able to make it. It was on you to practically plan everything down to what he would wear, while his whole contribution was to show up- maybe?

Whether He did show up or not that night, you thought the result would be the same with you officially breaking things off between you two. But you still held out hope that at least if he did come you would have one last good memory.

And to your relief He does make it, but he’s a little off the whole night. Not in the sense that his mind is elsewhere, more like he’s trying to commit everything about the night into memory, and looking at you with sad eyes when he thinks you’re not looking.

It all comes to a head when you’re parked outside of your house, and you’re sitting in a loaded silence with him at the wheel. He’s gripping onto that thing for dear life and you’re wondering if maybe you should save it, but you think you know yourself well enough to know that if you don’t say it now, you won't say it ever.

So as he’s opening his mouth to say something, you cut him off with his name.

“...I-I got accepted to Southwestern,” you blurted out to him and He looked so confused at your admission, but you push through. “I start in the fall, so I’m not gonna be home much anymore, and with y-you being on the road so much, I think it best that we-”

“Marry me,” he blurts out, panic etched across his face.

Your jaw is left practically on the floor as that was the last thing you ever expected out of his mouth.

You would later find out that he went to Prom with the same intention as you did but it was in that moment that he realized you weren’t going to wait for him to come back did he want to lock you down. But you didn’t see that in the moment.

What you saw at the time was the declaration that he was just as committed as you were, and so overwhelmed by the love you still felt for him at the time, you had no choice but to give an emphatic yes to him.

“We’re gonna figure this out baby,” He promises with a kiss.

That was the first time you tried to leave him.

“-Danny’s a real good singer Aunty. He told me he lives in Neverland and one day he would take me and-and he told me this is the only place in the whole word that they sell peanut butter cups,” you would hear as you made your way up the stairs connecting to the apartment above the store. You look into the small kitchen where you see your little girl sitting on the counter talking her aunt’s ear off idly dangling her little feet while holding a spatula you're not entirely sure is necessary. Gina looks over to you and gives you a playfully exasperated look, and you simply shrug your shoulders before moving into the small kitchen to pepper your little one's face in kisses.

“Alright sticky missy,” you announce, blowing a raspberry on her cheek and swiping the utensil out of her hand as she trills in delight. “You go wash up for dinner now, ya’ hear, and go wake up Aunty, I think she’ll feel alot better seeing you.”

“Ok Mama,” she says. She is utterly fearless as she slides herself to get off of the counter, and lands on her feet below. You can’t help the swell of pride that bubbles up in your chest seeing it, how brave your little girl is. You hope that you can take it as a sign that you’re doing ok at this motherhood thing.

Gina likes to say that you were just as bold at that age with the confidence of someone so sure they can take on the world, and in quieter moments she’ll lament how you lost that in you. You would be offended if you didn’t already know when exactly you lost it.

She had always been your favorite Aunt until you were about twelve and and your father would coldly tell you she died and was in hell now. Rather than a funeral, the family got together to destroy her things and swear to never speak of her again.

That didn’t stop her from visiting you one last time and telling you she was moving down to New Orleans with her friend Susan. She would take you to your favorite bookstore one last time in Memphis and promised that if you ever needed a place to stay, to not even hesitate to come, because she knew better than anyone what your family would do to girls who stepped out of line.

For years the only evidence that she was even alive was the annual birthday and Christmas gift you would get from her all under the guise of Nancy Drew books stamped with the name of a bookstore all the way in New Orleans. You cherished them and it’s one of the few things you took after your parents kicked you out.

You only wished you had taken the offer when your father had kicked you out and you were forced to rely on someone else.

“So I hear you broke another heart,” Gina idly says as she starts scooping some rice onto a plate.

You let out a long sigh, “When did Jenny find the time to tell you?” You’re more amazed than annoyed considering she didn’t leave your sight once down stairs.

“Jenny?” she says, raising a brow. “No Sue told me earlier how Lou from King’s Cafe ‘s been askin’ after you.”

Lou who always had extra beignets to give away when you took Rosie for a walk in the mornings. He recently asked if you had ever been on the Algiers ferry, and how beautiful it looked at night.

…You’ve been taking a different route to the playground since then.

“Is my love life just everybody’s business,” you ask frustrated that you weren’t even given a five minute break from this.

“In this house: yes,” she states, a grin on her face.

“Gina if this is about me movin’ out, you can talk to me, I’m a big girl,” you insist, trying to deflect and not have to think about it anymore.

“Sweetheart,” she says solemnly, placing a hand on your cheek. I may not be your mama, but I do think that you need to think about what’s best for Rosie,” she insists as she puts place mats down on the table.

Gina’s a little closer to the situation than Jenny, as she had asked no questions as to why you all of a sudden needed a place to stay far from your parents with nary a husband or boyfriend in sight to take responsibility for the baby growing within you. She had also been the one to help spread the tragic young widow narrative, and for as much of a gossip she can be, you know she’s a steel trap for secrets that matter.

“What does me getting, or not getting, a boyfriend have to do with Rosie?”

“A boyfriend? Nothing,” she dismisses. “A husband on the other hand…”she says with a smile.

“Don’tchu come talkin’ to me ‘bout gettin’ a husband,” you say, handing her another plate of food.

She laughs at that, “It’s not just about you gettin’ a husband, it’s about Rosie gettin’ a father,” she insists amused at your mulishness.

“Not you too,” you mourn what you thought was going to be a quiet evening.

“I’m just sayin’ that every child deserves two parents,” putting the lid back on the pot.

“She’s got three mama’s,” you counter.

“No,” she says waving the wooden spoon in front of your face. “She’s got one mama and two grandmas that spoil her rotten behind your back.” You open your mouth to protest, until she quickly follows up with, “Oh speak of the devil herself,” as you see your little troublemaker dragging Susan by the hand to the table, whom you had to bully into taking a rest to somewhat alleviate the migraine she had been having for most of the day.

Your daughter can talk for hours if left unchecked and you're eager to hear all of it as she bounces from subject to subject at the dinner table. You had always felt somewhat guilty intruding on their space, but Gina insists nothing of the sort and Susan jokes that the two of them are getting the full kid/grandkid experience through you and Rosie, since the traditional way ain’t for them.

Between bites she regaled the three of you with all that she did today which included seeing a dog, the playground being shiny, spinning around so fast on the merry-go-round she almost went into space, made friends with some of the ducks, saw another dog, Danny gave her his popcorn, got a lot of candy from the candy shop, and gave some jelly beans to the last dog she saw today, but only the green ones she doesn’t like, and then feeling bad about it and giving it some of the red ones to even it out.

She doesn’t mention anything to you about asking Jenny about why she doesn't have a daddy, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the first break you’ve had all day. Some may say you indulge her too much, but all three grown women at this table know exactly how it feels to have their thoughts and feelings ignored, and you all had come to the mutual understanding that Rosie would never have to feel this way in this house.

“Mama, I forgot to tell you,” Rosie states after she shoveled the last of her food into her mouth. “Barbie got a new job today!” she delights as she thrusts the doll in your face.

“Really?” you say trying to match even a quarter of her excitement. “Is she mmm… a firefighter?”

“No!” she squeals, delighted in the game you play with her.

Making a big show of putting a finger to your temple and closing one eye, apparently deep in thought, you ask, “Is she a… detective?”

“No that was yesterday!” she’s practically buzzing to tell you, but holds it in to keep this game going.

“Oh!” you say, pretending to have a lightbulb moment. “She’s a wizard!” You know your daughter well enough, so you’re reasonably confident in your guess knowing that Jenny took her to see that Disney movie today.

“No,” she laughs, “She’s an actress, but she also sings in all her movies.”

“O-oh,” you say, genuinely caught off guard by that. “Why’s that?” It’s certainly not an unusual thing for a little girl to declare, but for your daughter it most definitely was. When she declared what Barbie was going to be it was always influenced by something she saw that day. Sometimes she was a baker, sometimes a ballerina, even one memorable time a bus driver, but this is a first. Even when she has seen movies with actors in it she didn’t quite understand the concept that those aren’t their real jobs on screen, and she would pick that, which is why you guessed wizard.

“Because Danny does that,” she declares, as she starts to make Barbie dance on the dinner table.

And then it made sense, your daughter’s friend, Danny, who according to Jenny, has a penchant for making up stories. To your daughter the boy’s been a cowboy, a soldier, he’s as strong as superman, can play any instrument, and now apparently is a famous actor.

You give an amused huff, “I see Danny’s at it again,” you state, as you take her plate. It’s a literal miracle that Jenny’s impromptu trip to the candy store didn’t spoil her appetite, and but you don’t know how much of an appetite she’ll have for dessert so you decide to just split a slice of King cake with her.

“At what mama?” she asks as Gina wipes some of her food off her face.

“He’s telling stories again,” you say as you bring Gina and Susan their dessert plates.

“No he’s not,” she states, furrowing her brow, and you can’t help but quirk a smile at how stressed she looks as you sit down. “I saw it myself.”

“I’m sure you did, but Honey, it's just… sometimes boys have a habit of telling… tall tales,” you suppose that’s the nice way of putting it. It’s a fine line you walk with her, wanting to have her believe in herself most of all, but also wanting her to not believe everything she’s told, especially by boys. You’re the textbook example of what happens to supposedly smart girls who get in too deep with charming boys.

“But it’s true mama,” she insists, raising her voice a bit.

“Sweetheart, I think he means, he wants to be that when he grows up,” you try to gently justify, as you subtly try to nudge the fork closer to her.

“No mama, I saw it,” she asserts, getting progressively more upset defending her friend. “He is a famous actor and he was singing and dancing at the theater.”

“And I’m sure he’s gonna be a big star one day when he’s all grown up,” you try to assuage how worked up she’s getting. “But I don’t think he’s one right now.”

“No mama!” she yells at the top of her lungs, angry tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!” You feel your stomach drop to the floor and she herself looks shocked at what she just said. She proceeds to cry even harder before turning tail and running straight into the room you share with her and slamming the door as hard as she could.

When you were far enough away, and somewhat comfortable in your new environment in Your Aunties home, the first thing you did was read nearly every book about motherhood you could find. You were determined to do this right as you had made the unilateral decision for your baby to only have one parent. So you decided as a means of making up for it you would be all the parent she would need.

Doubt creeps into the back of your throat that you made the wrong decision and that you in fact were not enough on your own and that she never would have done that if He were around.

“You want me to go talk to her?” Gina would ask after hearing your door slam shut.

As bad as you want to say yes from the exhausting day you’ve had so far, you’re not about to foist your duties as a mother off onto her right now. She understands but you don’t miss the pointed look she gives to Sue, as she walks away to clean up dinner, and you bury your hand in your face hoping if you wish hard enough this day will finally come to a close.

“I remember the first time I yelled at my mama,” Sue off-handedly says after a few minutes. “Always too scared that that wretched woman would beat me black and blue if I was ever less than perfect,” she takes a sip of her tea. “And she did just that when I got fed up with all her teasing about me getting a boyfriend.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“What I’m gettin’ at is… I was never comfortable enough with my own mother to be angry with her.”

“Am I bad at this?”

“You’re still new at this Hon,” she reassures you. “There's a big difference.”

Despite the fact that Gina was the one related to you by blood, Sue’s the only one in the world who even has an inkling as to what exactly you left behind. And that is only because she was a front row spectator to it.

You had managed to get permission to leave the hotel room for a few hours while He was on set that day. He had brought you down from Memphis, not wanting you so far out of reach and yet you were still pretty much kept confined. You had long since exhausted the books you had brought for the trip, and you were practically itching to get out.

Books were your only escape from this place. Where you could vicariously solve a mystery or meet royalty or stop a war or any other number of exciting things in your head. But inevitably you close the book and the story ends and your back in this fucking hotel room.

You realize by getting more books you're just masking a symptom rather than actually treating the illness. You couldn’t take it anymore and had begged Him to at least let you go to a bookstore to keep you occupied, because by that point you were willing to pay the price for it.

Sue had been the only one in the store the day but you hadn’t really taken notice of her, your eyes had been darting around everywhere trying to find Gina. Sonny was in there as well, as you were only able to bargain your way to being in here and picking out the books, but not enough to be able to enter the store alone. Sonny had been the one to pull the short straw and had been put on Y/N duty today. Usually that consisted of sitting in the hotel and making sure you didn’t go anywhere while also completely ignoring you.

Everybody knows the story of the last guy that paid a little too much attention to you. You still couldn’t look at raw ground beef without crying.

Outside of the occasional gathering you don’t really interact with anybody out of the immediate vicinity of home. It’s funny how He can put you in a room filled to the brim with his people yet make you feel so alone at the same time. It would be amazing if it didn’t make you feel so awful at the same time.

It’s a terrible thing He does, but it’s made all the worse that so many people can see what he’s doing keeping you prisoner and isolated and yet no one will ever dare breach it

If anything they actually help him as they all report to him practically what you did that day, do their best to talk you out of leaving the room, and even when you do insist on going off on your own, the men are quick to remind you that He won’t like it one bit. They won’t physically stop you, (they know the worst thing they can do is put their hands on you) but you know that’s where their “help” begins and ends.

At one point you even tried to play ball and asked for His permission last time you were in LA and you had wanted to go to the Griffith Observatory. You had asked in advance, agreed to only being there for two hours, and even gave in to being essentially chaperoned from a distance. Initially He had agreed to the terms and You thought you had done good and maybe you were finally coming to somewhat of a middle ground with him.

But in the days leading up to the trip He would ask for favors in return. They all just happened to be things you had refused to do for him up until that point. When you refused He would at first seemingly accept your answer, and then He would idly remind you of your upcoming trip before asking you again. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the connection and so you did what you thought you had to do for just the slightest taste of freedom.

Who are you kidding?

You practically begged and did tricks for Him like a dog for just the slightest bit of slack on your leash.

You could barely move the morning of the trip both physically and emotionally drained from what he had you do the night before, but you still persevered if only to make all that you went through worth it.

It wasn’t worth it.

Everything you saw that day was completely soured by what you had to do to get there. Every step felt like agony, and you had to make a conscious effort to not walk funny. And before you knew it the two hours were up and Red was telling you it was time to leave.

You don’t know what’s worse, the punishments or the favors.

You had to go the favor route today as otherwise he would have simply sent for someone to get you whatever books they could find, rather than letting you pick. You already know you’re going to get it when he finds out you went to a different bookstore than initially planned. You thought you could at the very least make it worth it by seeing one familiar face, but even fate denied you that as Gina was nowhere to be seen.

It was cold enough to justify wearing something to cover up most of the bruises, but that didn’t mean they were all hidden. You wouldn’t know it at the time but your skittishness coupled with the bruises struck a chord with Susan before you fully checked out of the store.

“I’m sorry if this sounds like an odd question but ummm…” you say, glancing around, making sure that Sonny was too far to hear. “Does Gina work here?”

Sue immediately tenses up, and you curse your caginess, as you reassure her that you’re Gina’s niece, Y/N. She seems to relax hearing that so at least she knows that you try to maintain a good relationship, sporadic your letters may be.

“What happened there honey?” she asks, gesturing to your wrist that has a ring of bruises on it, which you quickly move to hide. You internally curse yourself for your sloppiness. He doesn’t mean to hurt you but he tends to lose himself and be a little rougher especially when he’s worried about something else.

He’s been a little rougher for a few months now.

“Oh-ummm,” you steal a glance at Sonny, who was making his way to the counter. “Yes I am ready to check out.” Gesturing to the three towers of books you’ve managed to accumulate.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sue nor does she miss Sonny's statement of remembering the rules as to what you’re allowed to get, if her disapproving look is anything to go by. He’s fine with you reading but doesn’t like you reading books that will put “ideas” in your head.

You don’t exactly know what that means as the standards seem to change depending on His mood and it’s always a gamble as to what he will or won’t allow you to have. You fear the day He grows the same hatred for fictional men that he has for any man within your vicinity.

You're genuinely sad when it comes time to pay, (Well Sonny pays, He doesn’t like the idea of you handling money), and then Susan does something you could never have anticipated in a million years as Sonny grabs one stack and goes to put it in the car.

You wished it had been anybody but Sonny that day. His last girlfriend, whom he swore he was gonna make Mrs. Sonny West, had made the mistake of trying to befriend you outside of gatherings. She stopped by the house frequently just to visit and even invited you out to the salon.

And it was your mistake to believe you could have a friend that he would finally approve of. Friend or family, He eventually found something to disapprove of for everybody close to you previously. You thought that because she was already nominally part of the group, it would be fine to go.

He made it clear by the time you got home that it wasn’t.

You never saw her again after that and Sonny’s resented you ever since. You can hardly blame him, it’s easier to point the finger at you for not anticipating the unspoken rules, as opposed to the man who signs his checks and makes the rules.

You know that even the slightest toe out of line will be reported back to Him in the worst light. So you had to be on your best behavior.

“Y’know I highly recommend this book,” Sue says, sliding the book she had been reading at the counter to you.

Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.

“Oh thank you but I already paid,” you say, almost afraid of this conversation. “And besides I already have enough books.”

“Sweetheart you can never have too many,” she insists and without looking opens it up to the first page where you see a little handwritten note. She closes it up before you can see what it says and slyly slots it in the middle of a stack.

Later on when you feel sufficiently safe enough to look at it you nearly burst into tears.

In case you need help

feel free to call

(xxx-xxxx)

Such a small thing really, but it’s the most human connection you’ve had with anyone else but Him in a long time.

You spend the next hour or two committing that string of numbers to memory before you proceed to rip out that page, shred it, and flush the remnants down the toilet.

Even when you were burning the number into your brain, you never thought you would have ever had the guts to use it. Back when you thought you could accept what looked to be your fate.

It would be unfair to say it was all bad, after all there was a reason you did fall for Him in the first place. When you would read mysteries and He would listen to you criticize the culprits' plans and schemes and he would look in awe at how you would’ve gotten away with it. Or how fun it was to sneak out with him, your family none the wiser. Even when things got bad and it felt like He was the only one that would talk to you for days, you cherished it because it truly felt like he was your life line.

When things were good they were great, it was just when they were bad did you start to recognize them.

Things were bad a lot towards the end.

Gladys had been one of the few willing to go to bat for you, and perhaps the only one who He would listen to. She was the only one who could set him straight when he got huffy at the thought of you having some basic independence of being able to go outside and not needing to be watched like a child all the time.

She was the one you went to with your suspicions and early symptoms, when you were too afraid to go to the doctor that reported right back to Him.

She had also been the only one who knew your fears about having this baby. In your mind there were a total of two possibilities for the life the baby would live. One that they would live a life like yours, isolated within the walls of the house under their fathers obsessive gaze, never to experience the outside world. Or two He would hate the baby on principle and see it as just competition for your time and attention like he did with everybody else.

She did her best to try to quell your fears, trying to assert He would never do either of those things, especially, the last one.

But you saw it in her eyes how she knows how sour He would get when he would come home to find you playing with his younger cousins. How He gets when someone new so much as looks your way a beat too long, or has the gall to get your attention.

How you’re barely allowed to talk to other girls your own age and that’s only saved for special occasions when his friends bring their girlfriends and He’s otherwise occupied. And even then He has a penchant for just removing you from them just to have you sit with him, and you’re out in the awkward position of being the odd one out in his group.

How when you did gather up the nerve to bring up the topic of babies to him one night his answer was “I ain’t ready to share ya’ darlin’, I don’t think I’ll eva be.”

But your most hard-hitting evidence was what happened to your dog, Hardy. He had been an old stray you saw skulking around the property, and whom you took in when He was touring. Hardy didn’t have much of an interest in running around or playing fetch, just sitting by your side and eating treats.

Everything was good until He returned. You knew it was gonna be trouble the moment He walked through the door and saw you scratching the dog’s belly. Inspite of the fact that Hardy was usually tolerant of strangers, something about Him immediately put the usually placid dog on edge. You immediately got to work on trying to find some sort of compromise in regards to him, and offered everything from making Hardy a permanently outside dog to even being willing to have him be boarded with a family member while He was home.

You had asked Gladys where Hardy was the very next morning when you couldn’t find him anywhere, only to be told that He had taken him out for a walk. You didn’t have the heart to be told a lie when He returned alone.

He started taking you with him at that point, and you hardly knew a moment's peace after that.

Your attention is not your own to freely give away, let alone your affection, He expects it all to go to him. He did lord knows what to a dog that had had the misfortune of occupying some of your time when he was there, you hardly wanted to chance the life of a baby that would need all of it.

However in spite of all of that, you thought with her by your side you would be able to weather his reaction, whatever it may be. Even if your worst fear came to be and He didn’t really want anything to do with the baby, you could at least have someone to love the baby just as fiercely even when you were otherwise occupied by Him. It wasn’t necessarily fair, but you could somewhat see the function of it, and in spite of the weariness he’s instilled in you by that point, you were still reasonably confident in your ability to plan for the long term.

And then Gladys died.

And you were left to navigate the hardest thing you could face alone.

“Ain’t nobody ever talks about how hard this can be. Or how easy it is to mess up,” Sue continues as she polishes off her plate. “But maybe…” she prods. “If you had a partner to help ease the load, you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”

You groan at this point wanting to truly be done with this day already. “Not this again,” you bemoan.

“Honey,” she says with a firm but comforting grip on your shoulder. “I know a thing or two about leaving bad things behind, but I do think sometimes you need to let someone else in to help you recover,” she says. And almost like they rehearsed it, Gina comes in with a mug of tea, and a kiss to Susan’s forehead as she demands she go back to bed to rest up.

You want to argue back that you did a good enough job of recovering by yourself, but that’s hardly fair to say considering how you were about as helpless as Rosie herself that first year and a half you were here. You had thought that you would’ve been out of here maybe a couple months after giving birth, and been in a completely new place with no ties whatsoever. But the reality is that there’s no possible way you or Rosie would have survived without the help they were so willing to give.

And that’s all they’re trying to do now.

You take a minute to fully gather yourself, as you realize you being upset won’t help Rosie in the slightest. You also pick up the slice of cake, as you don’t want her to think she’s being punished for being upset with you.

You find her hiding underneath the blankets of the bed you share with her and you can only hear sniffling at this point. You try to approach this delicately, as this is new territory for the both of you, so you place the cake on the nightstand, crawl underneath the sheets with her, and allow for her to come to you. Luckily you don’t have to wait for long.

“Mama!” she cries as she buries her face in your bosom, her tears already soaking through the cotton material. “Mama, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t be mad! I’m sorry Mama! Please don’t leave.”

“Sweetheart it’s okay,” you reassure her, running your nails up and down her back, as it always did the trick of settling her down when she was a baby. “Mama’s not goin’ anywhere without you. I’m always gonna be with you.” You hardly put her down her first year of life, going against all the books and holding her at just about every possible moment, so you can hardly fathom where she got this idea in her head that you would leave if you got upset with her. But remembering what Jenny had told you earlier, you have the sneaking suspicion it is related to her noticing the lack of a father in her life.

“I’m sorry mama! I’m sorry…” she repeats over and over again, and for each time you make sure to reassure her that nothing she could ever do would make you leave.

Finally when she’s tired herself out and her eyes are red and raw do you finally speak. “Rosie, it’s okay to be mad, but it’s not okay to be mean, because you’re mad,” you say softly to her running your nails on her back, something that has always soothed her.

She rubs her eyes and wipes her runny nose before looking up at you again, and gives a groggy “I understand Mama.”

“Good,” you say, kissing her forehead. “Now can you help me finish this cake.”

You see her eyes widen before she eagerly grabs the fork and dives right in. With your help, it’s not long before it’s almost entirely gone and when she takes that final bite of the cake she goes wide-eyed sticking her fingers in her mouth to pick out the errant piece. “What’s this Mama?” she says holding the little porcelain baby up.

“Oh you found it Rosie,” you say excitedly, “This means you’re going to have good luck.”

“... Like a wish?”

“Sort of,” you answer.

She gives an excited shriek before she clasps the little figurine in her hands and whispers something almost inaudible to it, with the only recognizable words being “Danny” and “Neverland.” You’re slightly disappointed that your lesson hadn’t quite landed today, but you choose to leave it for now, as you don’t see the harm in wishing to go to a non-existent magical place.

Once teeth are brushed and pajamas are put on, Rosie settles into bed, but not before making sure you’re not about to break your long-held tradition of storytime. She’s the type of kid who when she likes one story she demands to hear it over and over again.

And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel.

The whole concept does unsettle you greatly, for how close it is to your story. But whatever qualms you have with the story you’re not gonna deny your daughter, because your problems are your own cross to bear, not hers.

As you read it you get to the part where the witch mother casts her out of the tower and she wanders the forests with her children. You wonder if Rapunzel ever found joy in those years away from the mother who isolated her, away from the prince who could have taken advantage of her. She survived not only on her own, but kept others alive as well. WHat did she do? Did she forage and hunt for her babies, did she find a village where she could work to support her family?

Sometimes you wonder if she did truly live happily after the end of the story, or if she traded one cage for another as you did before.

Your daughter is long asleep by the time you reach the happily ever after part of the story. She’s still in the habit of sucking her thumb at night, so you gently remove it, and put one of her favorite stuffies in her arms. And that marks the end of your daily duties, so in theory you should be able to finally fall asleep and be done with this day.

In theory.

In actuality you creep out of the bed you share with your daughter into the single bathroom of the apartment. Usually her steady breathing tends to be enough to get you to fall asleep, it’s been that way ever since she was a baby, but you’re left feeling agitated having had to think of Him more than usual today.

Not just because of the song on the radio, but Rosie’s outburst reminded you far too much of her father. It feels like the worst injustice that she mimics someone who isn’t even here.

Now that ain’t my fault now is it darlin’? A familiar voice whispers in your mind. You feel a shudder run down your spine at the thought of him, not to mention the way you shamefully feel yourself pool within your underwear. You slide down the bathroom door, out of sight of the mirror, as though that will prevent you from facing what you’re about to do. You even close your eyes for good measure as your hand reaches your folds and your fingers caress the slick outer lips of your pussy.

You had tried to ignore this part of yourself for so long. You justified it during your pregnancy, as your body had been making you want to do other stupid things like sleep right in the middle of the store or eat paint chips. Even after giving birth and your inner feelings remaining unchanged, you justified it by thinking you were just particularly lonely, and for all that he kept you isolated, you were never alone when you were with him. Or that he was the only man you ever knew that way so he’s all you had to go off of in order to satisfy these urges.

For as much as your mind curses Him for ever coming into your life, even after all these years, your body has yet to catch up.

You’re far from unique in your desire for him, but it’s especially shameful for you as you know what he’s truly like. It’s like scratching a mosquito bite, you may know that it’ll just make the itching worse, but dear god did it feel good in the moment.

But even that is far from an accurate description as you plunge your on fingers into your sopping channel in a poor imitation of what you remember.

You bite your lip in an effort to keep noises at bay but it just makes you concentrate on the wet squelching sounds echoing through the bathroom as you plunge your fingers into yourself. The sharp sting of pain forcing your mind back to where you experience the most of it.

“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he purrs, his jaw glistening from your juices having just made a feast of you for the past hour or so. He had made it a game to see how close he could bring you without actually letting you cum, something he tends to do when someone looks your way for a little too long, as though he means to re-establish his claim over you. That only he can give you pleasure like this but take it away on a whim if he chooses.

“No more…” you beg, new tears forming and following the trail previously set, your lips undoubtedly bruised from how much you have been chewing on them throughout. “Please,” your thighs aching from the death grip he has them in, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to feel in the morning.

“Alright,” he says seemingly conceding. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, he continues, “we’ll switch it up for tonight.”

He flips you over to your front, spreads your legs wide open again, and dives right back in.

You can’t help the way you’re left trembling from the memory, but what does shake you somewhat is the when you realize that it’s not simply the ghost of the memory that is making you feel that bruising pressure on your inner thigh, but in fact your own hand keeping it there.

Still the masochist within you that yearns for the ghost of a man you once thought you knew takes a hold and refuses to let go now that you’re so close to release. So you give in and continue your frantic movements biting down hard on your lip to prevent any errant cries from leaving, and grip onto your thigh for dear life, even now trying to deny yourself that you want him here with you.

As you’re coming down from your high, you fight back your tears of shame. Trying to remind yourself why you left in the first place. How for all the moments he made you feel amazing, they weren’t worth the amount of grief he caused you on a near day-to-day basis.

Grief he’s still causing you more like it.

You don’t think you could have written a better love story in the beginning. You met him when your eyes locked on each other from across your favorite bookstore back in Memphis. He had oh so shyly approached you and asked what you were reading, a bit starry eyed as he listened. Back then and arguably still the concept of a man listening to you was such a novel and unique thing to experience.

It progressed from there, hand-holding in the school hallway, shared milkshakes at the local diner, and Sunday dinners with his family. Of course there were the less than wholesome aspects of your relationship of stray hands when no one was looking and heated kisses after a particularly rousing performance.

Truly the hallmarks of the greatest love story the world had ever seen.

If only you knew how wrong a love story can go, because your story went very wrong.

You vividly remember your first time with him.

Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.

You were never supposed to find out about the other girls, well that’s not true. The newspapers sure knew about them but he had convinced you that it was all nonsense and that he would never do that to you. All of his friends knew, hell even some of their girlfriends knew, but ideally you were never supposed to find out.

But the only chink in the armor was that there was in fact someone who had wanted you out as soon as he stepped in. Fact of the matter is that he was practically giddy as he told you what your fiance had been doing on the road up until that point. You were heartbroken and humiliated as to what he did and even more so when you learned he had been gearing up to break up with you the night he proposed, but only stopped when he realized that you wouldn’t be waiting for him, once his career settled.

He had been calling your house non-stop and sending his friends over all with the mission to coax you into talking to him. Worse still he even got your own friends in on it and now you can’t have a single conversation with any of them that doesn’t turn into them telling you how sorry he feels for hurting you and how he desperately wants you back.

The only people, aside from his manager, that were happy at this development were your parents. They had liked him up until he started to really take off in his career, and they wanted none of the controversy, especially when it came to your squeaky clean, good girl image they had for you.

They’ve been walking around with the smuggest “I told you so” looks ever since you announced that you were done with him. If only they knew their good girl had been sneaking in her boyfriend for the past three years and had a whole routine for doing so.

But the downside to this is that He was just as aware of the routine as you were. And despite it having been awhile he evidently remembered enough as he stood outside your window, right after all the lights in your house had gone out.

“Get outta here,” you hiss at him, opening the window just a crack. “You’re gonna wake up my parents.”

“Baby I gotta talk to you,” he pleads, his face utterly heartbroken. Guilt eats at you, knowing how there were days you wished you could go back to not knowing at all. But then you get angry at not only him but yourself for these thoughts.

If only all of your love for him had died the moment you found out, you would’ve had the strength to shut the window on him that night, and your life probably would’ve taken a very different course.

But no, you’re hurt and you felt that you had to have the final word. “Talk to one a your other girls,” you say as you move to close your window but he beats you to it and ends up opening it wider, allowing for him to fully step into your space.

“Get out,” you say severely. “Get out, or I’ll scream.”

“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.

“Don’tchu ‘baby’ ‘darlin’ me,” you whisper-yell.

“I swear things’ll be different this time round,” he pleads, clasping his hands in yours.

“I’m done with your nonsense, I want you outta my house and outta my life.” tears are already streaming down your face and you make no motion to wipe them away. If he’s gonna hurt you like this he deserves to know.

He looks at you. Truly looks at you and sees that you’re dead serious about this, that for you there is no coming back from this.

“Okay,” he says solemnly, looking down at you more defeated than you’ve ever seen him, unfelled tears doting his eyes, and his bottom lip trembling.

That takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it. “Good,” you say, trying to stamp down the urge to be mad that he’s not fighting harder. There is a hurricane of emotions going through your entire being, hating him and loving him at the same time, but you recognize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being able to sort through said emotions while he’s here.

“But…”

“But?” you say, confused as to what more there is to say.

“Let me have you,” he begs breathlessly, stepping closer to you, boxing you into the wall behind you. “Just for tonight,” he clarifies as though that’s gonna make it better.

That offends you but you can’t afford to raise your voice so you hiss at him that it’s not as though you didn’t offer when he was here. “I ain’t ever gonna forgive myself for bein’ so stupid and steppin’ out on you, I-I thought I had more time, tha-that we’d got the rest of our lives together,” he says his voice painfully small, and his eyes pleading with you to agree.

Your heart swells hearing his words, pleading with your brain to forgive him seeing how much pain the thought of never being with you again is causing the both of you. Another, unmentionable part is also hounding your brain to accept his offer if only for the fact that you had wanted this yourself for so long.

“If-If I do that…” you say in a low voice, your face burning as to what the both of you want but aren’t saying aloud. “Then you’ll leave and never come back?” though even as you say that you’re not exactly sure how you feel over that prospect.

“Just one night sweetheart,” he begs, giving you a quick desperate kiss to your lips. “One night to know what a life with you could’ve been like, and I’ll be outta yer hair forever,” he says with a quick peck to your lips.

He makes it almost sound romantic, not like he’s quite literally backing you into a corner, and coaxing you into something you’re not sure you want just so that you would finally know peace from him. But that's far from your mind as that little bit of contact does something to you and it’s like opening the floodgates for all the feelings for him you’ve been trying to bury.

It feels like you're transported to almost a year ago when, he would sneak his way back into your room after having said his goodbyes to your family and parking his car around the corner out of view. How you both move your blankets and pillows onto the floor to avoid the creaky springs of your mattress, how you both keep your voices low, and muffle most sounds with the pillows, how he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt before slowly undressing you, your body being treated like a present to unwrap.

Like this it’s easy to forget what he did, easy to forget the pain he’s caused when he’s treating you so sweetly. Kissing every inch of skin, nipping at your sensitive skin every so often, before laving at the bruising area with his tongue. You bite down on your lip hard, willing yourself to keep a cap on the filthy moans and declarations of love alike.

You had done things with him before but it had never felt quite like this. He had always been insistent that you wait until the wedding night for that, wanting to savor you and all you had to offer before the time came. Which made it feel all the worse when you did find out about those other girls. Your friends had tried to justify it by saying that he was just getting in some “practice” for you, but that hardly made it feel any better.

But the way he touches you, so sure of his newfound skills, it’s almost easy to forgive him. He treats you almost deceptively sweet, and for as hard as you try to keep yourself quiet, you admittedly don’t do a great job at it. But you manage to keep a good enough lid on yourself. But as it goes on it feels like he himself forgets that he had to do the same, as moans and groans alike continue to escape from his mouth.

That should’ve been your first clue that he was up to something, but by then as he continues to bury himself deeper and deeper into you, you can’t focus on much else. Had you been thinking straight you would remember he arguably has better control of himself than you do, as he often would tease you over it.

But in the moment that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you had on your brain was him, and how good and right he felt.

If you could go back in time you think you would’ve strangled your younger, far more naive self, as now in retrospect it became clear what he was planning on doing. He had no qualms to exposing what you had done already with him if it meant merely getting a chance to talk to you, why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to go full scorched earth if given the chance.

He continues his steady rhythm, and when he whispers in your ear, “It’s only ever gonna be you, darlin’,” you find yourself letting out a silent scream. Your eyes screwed shut, so lost in the pleasure of it all, you would only get the tail-end of the disdainful look he would give upon failing to get you to crack.

Still you vividly remember how conflicted you did feel in the moment, how for all that it felt good, it also made your stomach turn, for all the hurt he’s caused you yet how deceptively sweet he could be to you. It just gave you a serious case of whiplash.

But you were so focused on keeping as quiet as possible not even being able to fathom the heap of trouble you would be in should your parents ever find out. You could hardly fathom the agent of your destruction laid within you, but it wasn’t until it was too late did it truly click.

That devious look he had in his eyes, the one that spoke nothing but trouble. The very same look that seemingly first trapped you all those years ago when you caught it staring at you from across the bookstore. He picked up his rhythm, not allowing for you to fully recover, from the last time, as he pistons into you seeking out release for himself.

You were so dizzy in that moment you didn’t register how he raised his hand onto your night table, before quickly slamming it three times into the wall.

The very wall you shared with your parents.

Even in the moment you didn’t fully recognize what he had just done, everything sort of blurring together. Before you can even hope to get your bearings, he’s spinning the both of you around so that you now were on top of him, his fingers digging bruises into your hips, as he thrusts back up into you, no longer trying to feign tenderness, as he seems to rip another climax from you as he lets an unrestrained groan fall from his lips, while your inner walls tighten around him.

Even in your haze, you realize that this is bad, and you manage to gather yourself enough to slap your hand over his mouth, but that does little to muffle the singer. Especially as it seems as though he's hellbent to be heard. “What did you just do?” you ask unbelieving, frozen in fear even as you hear the muffled shouts of your father through the wall. You feel underneath your palm as his mouth curls into a grin, as he shudders and you feel his hot seed burn you from within. And that’s when you hear the powerful footfalls of your father burst out of his room before he slams open your bedroom door.

You can only imagine the image you make at that moment, naked sitting astride the nearly fully clothed boy you had sworn up and down for weeks you were done for good with. “What in the hell is going on in here!” your father shouts at the top of his lungs.

Everything after that happens in a blur of your fathers harsh shouts and the sharp sting that comes from your mothers hand across your face as she calls you a whore. By the time it’s all said and done you’re on your knees at the front door begging them to let you back into the house.

“Take her with you,” your daddy practically spat at him as he tossed you to your knees outside of what was once your home. “I didn’t raise no whores, and you seem to now be in the business a collectin’ them.”

You can almost hear the sound of a rattlesnake as his arm coils around your shoulder, laying his jacket over your weeping form like a gentleman. “Don’tchu worry baby,” he whispers in your ear.

He’s almost angelic in his appearance, playing the savior role well, having escaped your home relatively unscathed and in remarkably high-spirits for the situation. But you don’t have much of a choice in the moment, remembering Gina’s words of how easily this family will toss aside wayward women, but it never truly sunk in that you were liable to become one.

He would tell everybody that your daddy had thrown you out after asserting that you still wanted to be with Him in spite of all of that he’s done, and your folks practically disowned you for it. You let him say what he wants because you don’t see a point in telling the truth and if you’re being honest, part of you wants to believe it. It was a far more romantic story than what had actually happened.

As you’re coming down from your second and somehow less satisfying orgasm, does the guilt start to creep in. Even after all these years you still yearn for his touch.

But that is so much easier to admit than the alternative of missing Him.

It eats at you that you still think of Him like this after all that he did to you, and worse still it’s almost like you want him to come back.

Your heart practically leaps out your chest when you hear a soft knock at the door and for one horrifying second you think you’ve somehow summoned him to you.

“Mama…” you hear a small voice whimper behind the locked door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Mama, I threw up.”

You don’t know if it’s a consolidation of three different people telling you the same thing in one day, the culmination of your late night loneliness for the past four or so years, or the noxious fumes of the truly unholy combination of stomach acid, red beans, and Jelly Beans that you had to clean up in your sleep deprived state, but you come to the conclusion that you can no longer do this by yourself.

Being a mother tended to be enough of a deterrent to most men in the city, which didn’t bother you one bit, but it did make you feel all the worse when you did meet the few who were still willing even after learning about Rosie.

Sam or Lou may very well have been as nice and understanding as they seemed to be, but because of Him, you now look suspiciously at every man trying to get close.

Perhaps the women in your life were onto something and it is about time for you to move on with your life. Because if you resolve yourself to being for all intents and purposes a shut-in who never knew another man’s touch other than His, then you ran for nothing.

So it’s with a semi-defeated sigh that you tell Jenny the next morning to send over Lee’s friend to the shop while you’re working to “see how it goes.”

You do admittedly put a little more effort into your appearance than you would on an average day and you perk up every time a man who looked close to your age walked in. But if any of them were sent by Jenny they didn’t mention it.

You only ever had one boyfriend when you were a teen, so it feels more than a bit intimidating to go into this, but you can’t deny yourself a life anymore.

Afterall if you don’t then you may as well have stayed in Memphis.

The day goes by and of the few men that do enter the shop, of the few that seem interested in you, none of them knew who Jenny was.

It’s well past closing and feeling both tired and rejected, however the bane of your existence you call Jenny has yet to return, so you instead just flip the sign without properly locking up and hope they’ll be back soon. This isn’t necessarily unusual but you’re just eager for this day to end and hope that a nice cuddle with your daughter will be enough to lift your spirits.

But for now there are books that need to be out back.

Soon you finally hear the shop bell ring, but instead of the comforting tiny footsteps or the recognizable clack of Jenny’s heels, you instead hear an unfamiliar pattern of heavy footsteps over the low volume of the radio. You look between the shelves from where you’re stocking books in the back and while you can’t make out specific details you see what is undoubtedly the shape of a man standing at the counter.

“I’m sorry Sir,” you announce still from behind the shelf. “We’re closed for the evening, but please feel free to return tomorrow.”

“Oh I ain’t going anywhere sweetheart,” a voice drawls.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

You think you begin to understand at that moment why some animals will chew off their own arms to escape a trap. After all, what is a limb or two in the face of inevitable doom? And even when they do eventually die, they will at least go with their head held high knowing that they did all that they could, because better dead than captured.

But you stand there frozen, barely capable of breathing at a steady rate. You feel like every drop of blood has been drained from your body. Like someone reached into your lungs and snatched the air right out of them. Like your bones have lost all integrity and you’re only kept standing by the mere fact you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.

He is here.

Elvis is here.

Not only that but the footsteps getting louder tell you he is getting closer.

Fuck.

Your mind is going a million miles an hour to try to get out of this, but all of them fall flat when you remember your daughter is not here and if you were to run that would just leave her in his clutches. So rather than act on any plan, you walk out from behind the bookshelf, because there is no point fighting the inevitable.

You’re hoping your look isn’t so much deer in the headlights and more awestruck and in disbelief that he found you. Which is true to some extent as you thought you had been so careful all these years, so all you can muster out when you see him for the first time is a pathetic little “h-how?”

Your hackles raise slightly as you see him reach behind him, and to your surprise he pulls out an old battered copy of Nancy Drew. You’re so confused for a second until you recognize it as yours.

One of the many that Gina would send you periodically when you lived with your parents.

One of the many that had the name of this very store stamped to the inner cover.

One of the many you took with you when you were kicked out.

One of the many left behind at Graceland.

Fuck.

You want to kick yourself both for being so careless in your haste to leave, but you have no time for that as he says, “I ain’t as smart as you baby, but I figured out your breadcrumbs eventually.”

He thinks you wanted him to find you.

Didn’tchu though?

“E-Elvis…” you whisper, the single name somehow feeling wrong as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve avoided even thinking about it all these years, as though if you try hard enough you’ll be able to purge him from your mind and thus from your life. As though simply uttering it will somehow summon him.

That theory isn’t disproven as he, as usual, wastes no time in getting straight to what he came here for, his long legs carrying himself to you as he moves to engulf you within his arms. You stave off the immediate instinct of putting your hands up and allow this to happen, remembering what used to happen when you would deny him.

He even goes so far as to spin you around, and you lose your footing and have to rely on him in order to not face plant onto the floor. But this works all the better to create the image of the long-lost lovers joyfully reuniting after so long.

But as he gazes into your eyes, it isn’t fully complete until he leans down to capture your lips. You would like to say you had to force yourself not to flinch away, but even you would know you’re not that good of a liar.

It’s a kiss for the ages truly, both all-consuming and yet leaving you longing for more. The pitfall of having denied getting close to anyone these past few years now show themselves full-force as you on instinct lean full-force into his touch, and welcome his kiss, even fully knowing how precarious your situation is.

All these years you never could’ve imagined how much you could miss touch- how much you could miss his touch. The kiss itself isn’t even broken until he roughly moves you against the bookshelf and forces his thigh between yours and your left gasping for air as you feel him for the first time.

And you can’t help the little whine that leaves your lips before you gather yourself once more to look him in the eyes.

“Did’ya miss me sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips.

“I…” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ve thought about you every night.”

This is not a lie.

His fond expression doesn’t crack an inch as you say that, but before you can sigh an internal breath of relief, you feel a tight grip on your wrist as well as on your jaw.

“Then where’ve you been all these years,” he says, low and dangerous.

It’s certainly not an unfair question to ask. But you’ve been prepared to answer this question since the moment you stepped foot outside of Graceland for a quick errand.

You don’t know what he knows yet, and that’s terrifying.

“I…I…” you say in a quiet voice, all your years of preparation failing you when you needed it the most.

In the back of your mind, though you are loath to admit it, you think you always knew this day was coming, that he would find you, and the only thing you could do was to try to lessen the blowback you would experience. It’s why yours and your daughter’s last name is Love. It’s why you never tried to get involved with another man. It’s why you even made that goddamn deal in the first place.

“I’m going to disappear,” you say, casually taking a sip of your tea, not truly a fan of the taste, but lately it’s been one of the few things your sensitive stomach could handle. “And you’re gonna help me do that.” You couldn’t just ask anyone for help on this, you were surrounded only by sychophants who would do practically anything for Elvis, so you had to look elsewhere to the person whose only side he was on, was his own.

“And why would I help you?” The Colonel said, idly stirring his coffee, but obviously trying to mask the spark of interest in his eyes. For as much of a slimeball as he can be, you would be a fool to not acknowledge that he’s a decent enough businessman at the end of the day to recognize a good deal when he sees one.

“Because you want me gone as much as I wanna be gone,” you state. He hated that Elvis kept you around, even more so when Elvis made it clear he had no intention of staying a bachelor once he finished service.

Truly under any other circumstance he would be the last person in this house you would confide in, but though your desires were very different they did often run parallel. Something you realized when he talked Elvis out of eloping right before he got shipped out and into a long engagement. Truly the greatest boon you’ve been given since you’ve gotten here, the lack of recognizability or association with the rockstar will serve your purposes all the better.

“Can’t argue with that logic girl,” he says, taking a bite out of the muffins you had baked this morning as a peace offering to him. “Why do you even need my help?” he questions.

“Because I need someone to make sure that he doesn’t ever find me,” you declare, you had practiced this in your head so many times, too afraid to ever voice it aloud or write it down should any of it get back to him. Even an Ocean away you still feel his breath on the back of your neck, with the only safe place being inside your head.

You had excused yourself from following him to Germany by feigning sickness with the promise that you would join him as soon as you felt better. Which wasn’t hard to do considering your symptoms before he left, left you practically bedridden.

Ever since you figured out your… condition (it felt too scary to even think in your head, let alone voice out loud), your mind had been running rampant with all of the possibilities of how he would react. None of which you're willing to risk coming to fruition.

“And if I said No?” he asks, but from the look in his eyes he’s all but ready to pack your bags himself. Part of you feels guilty to leave the boy you once loved with such a man, but you have bigger things to worry about now.

“You’re absolutely free to say no, Parker,” you assure, but he’s savvy enough to know that’s not the end of it. You don’t know whether it’s you mimicking the late Gladys Presley, or something that comes natural with becoming a mother, however you do know you need to assert yourself now of all times, not just for your sake but your baby’s. “Regardless of your help or not, I’m gonna to leave. Now whether I’m gone for twenty minutes or twenty years, will all depend on you, but know that this will also determine how long you’ll be able to keep your position as Manager.”

He seems to bristle at your words, “And how do you figure dat Lil’ Miss?” he says with a dangerous look in his eyes as you seem to threaten the only thing he happens to care about. But once you do explain it he looks at you with no small amount of respect in his eyes as he mulls over your plan. “Quite devious,” he comments, literally tipping his hat at you. “I think I’m beginnin’ to get what he sees in you.”

You're far from proud of your plan, and the slimeball’s admiration of it doesn’t help either, but you know for a fact it will work, and Parker is gonna make damn sure that he doesn’t ever find you.

You made that plan practically bulletproof, but you never factored into account that you would choke in the moment that it truly matters. “Elvis I…” you trail off, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, clutching your hands on his shirt to keep yourself somewhat steady, trembling from the effort it takes to maintain that makeshift barrier. You’re either about to give the performance of a lifetime or… or…

You can’t think like that otherwise…

This has to work.

Your brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to remind yourself that you have to make this work if you have any hope of getting out of this without him ever having a chance of finding her.

But in real time you watch as this notion turns to ash in your mouth.

You feel as your blood freezes in your veins when you hear the door slam open only to be followed by the familiar little dashing footsteps. Your heart drops into your stomach as you hear your daughter stop dead in her tracks and you want to throw up at the thought of him laying eyes on her. This is truly what all your nightmares have been building up to, but even they paled in comparison to the reality of what would actually happen.

“Danny!!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, before sprinting right into the arms of the man you were so desperately running from. You’re too shocked to do anything about it at the moment, and only watch in horror as something beyond your worst nightmare plays out before your very eyes.

Even when your instincts kick in to keep her away from him, he casually moves your hands out of the way as he easily scoops her up and over his head, practically playing keep away as you try to take her back. “Is today the day!?!?” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck as best she could, giving him a kiss on the cheek, none the wiser at the danger the two of you were in.

“It sure is baby girl,” he says with a mile wide grin on his face. “Why don’tcha go pack everything you’re gonna need in Neverland?” You don’t miss the way his eyes slide your way, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.

She squeals in delight, as she jumps out of his arms and makes her way to the stairs, completely oblivious to your state.

Everything your daughter ever said about “Danny” suddenly makes a whole lot more sense, and you can’t help but want to kick yourself for not paying attention. You thought she was safe with Jenny, you want to throw up at the thought that you unintentionally sent her into the lion's den without her.

She doesn’t even have the decency to face you in that moment, seeing her right outside the window, in Lee’s arms -or Charlie as you would later learn- pointedly not looking in.

You don’t have the luxury of being mad as you feel his attention focus back on you in that moment.

“Now…,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, tenderly grabbing your chin, wiping away a tear. “You wanna try again, sweetheart,” he grins maliciously, knowing you’ll have no choice but to be “honest.”

And that’s it you have only one card left to play and you pray whatever forces that have written the story of your life will be merciful and let this plan work as you hoped it would all those years ago.

You fall to your knees and begin to sob uncontrollably into your palms. It’s actually easier than you had initially hoped, it in fact takes more effort not to cry when you think about him. It’s a miracle you’ve been able to stay this intelligible up to this point.

“Elvis,” you cry, trying to sound as pathetic and heartbroken as you possibly could. “Elvis I-I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter trying to really sell it. “He-he told me that you kn-knew and you didn’t want me anymore,” you hiccup for good measure. “Ho-how you couldn’t have a baby weighing you down, and that-that if I ever came back, he would make sure I would lose her for good.”

You start to hyperventilate, but it’s far from intentional, as you know your very life is at stake in this moment. If he doesn’t believe you… you can’t think like that.

You know him well enough to know that he won’t believe your words specifically, but he does believe in the world he’s created in his head. That regardless of what you feel, what you say, or even what you do, you love him and want to be with him- always. It’s just others preventing that from happening. It was the women who tempted him on the road, and then it was your family speaking poison in your ear, and then it was the men he couldn’t trust to not look your way. It was never you personally, regardless of how he would sometimes lash out at you, you wanted to be there because he wanted you to be there.

In the back of your mind when you had just barely begun to formulate leaving, you knew it would be foolish to believe there wasn’t a chance, no matter how slim, that he would find you. And you knew that it wouldn’t go without punishment should he ever find you should it ever occur. So you had to formulate a plan not just to leave, but how best to set yourself up if he ever returned.

(There have been some nights that you lay awake believing that you prepared so well not because you were paranoid, but because it was an inevitability.)

You hear his clothes shift as he kneels down before you, and he takes your chin into his hand though much gentler this time.

“Who’s ‘he’” he demands, voice as cold as a tomb.

He’s buying it, you think, though you have no time to celebrate. You let out a truly pathetic little blubber through your tears, purposefully unintelligible trying to sell the emotions.

“Who?” he asks, softer this time around, but no less urgent.

“The co-” you cut yourself off taking a deep steady breath. “The Colonel,” you whisper as though you fear speaking his name aloud will bring him to this very spot.

Parker’s far from innocent but you feel a slight twinge of guilt that his downfall would be for something he didn’t do as opposed to all the things he had done. But you can’t think like that anymore, it was gonna be either him or you.

Someone would need to suffer because of what you did, and you would be damned before it was you or your daughter.

And so Parker is now the villain who cruelly kept you and your daughter away from him, and not that you wanted so desperately to get away from him that you practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. But it seems like a fair trade. Parker loses his job, you lose your life. Maybe not in the literal sense, but in all the ways that matter you’ll be gone.

You don’t relax at all when you feel him gently cup your face in his hands to softly wipe your tears away. You look upon the devastatingly handsome man, as he looks as if he means to take you in his arms to never let you go.“Don’tchu worry baby,” he says, wiping your tears away. “You don’t gotta worry bout that rat bastard no more.” You let out a small cry, hoping it sounds more out of relief than out of devastation to his words. “So now you and Rosie can come home,” he states with a delusional smile on his face.

Despite the fact that you knew this would realistically end one of two ways, you can’t help but balk at the words. You try your best to smile at his words, but even you realize how hollow that gesture is, in spite of the part you know you’re meant to play in the moment, between the two of you, only one of you is an actor.

He’s having none of it as you feel the previously gentle hand cupping your face wrap around your throat. “Now. You. And. Rosie. Can. Come. Home.” he grits out, his grip around your neck tightening with each word emphasized.

He knows what your answer is, no doubt he’s just trying to rub salt in the wound knowing that it’s not a choice he’s giving you. This is all the proof you need that he doesn’t fully believe you, but is willing to play along. Leaving may have been forgivable, staying away for so long is another matter entirely.

He’s just punishing you for not being as enthusiastic as you should be at the prospect of coming “home,” as you should be.

You’re not playing pretend well enough.

“Mama!” Rosie squeals excitedly and when he lets go, you turn to see her making her way back downstairs, her favorite blanket now a makeshift rucksack of what you assume to be all toys dragging behind her. “Mama it worked!” she said, as she ran full tilt toward you, holding something in her palm. “Danny’s gonna take us to Neverland today.”

You see the little porcelain baby from the king cake and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere else. But you know better than to believe in wishes.

“Can we go now?” she says, her little hand grasping one of Elvis’ fingers and shaking furiously. “Now please,” she begs, before he scoops her up into his arms and propping her on his hip. He holds her close and you're forced to face what you have been ignoring all these years. The shape of the nose, the way her lips curl in such a specific way, there is only one place she could have gotten all of that from. It feels like just your luck that your child would be practically a carbon copy of the man you so desperately tried to get away from. Really it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out.

“Now hold ya’ horses yittle,” chucking her under the chin in a far too familiar manner, as she giggles in his arms. “Yer mama’s gotta get ready herself.”

“I… do…” you say, playing along, trying to keep a cap on your distress for your daughter's sake. “I-I gotta pack a few more things baby,” you say, giving her a kiss on her forehead, hoping she misses the tears in your eyes. “I’ll b-be right back.” you manage to stutter out.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his voice so saccharine sweet it makes our teeth ache. “We’ll be right here.”

As you turn around you feel a hard smack on your ass, and you fully stop, burning in humiliation that he would treat you like that, especially in front of your daughter.

The humiliation only further ramps up as you walk up the stairs, and you can feel the slick already gathering between your thighs. Less out of titillation you believe and more out of a defense mechanism, knowing what will more than likely happen the second he's able to get you alone.

Or is it?

It doesn’t feel real as you step into the upstairs apartment, you see Gina at the stove and Sue filling out a crossword puzzle, her glasses threatening to fall off her nose, none of which suggests they have any idea of what’s going on downstairs. You’re almost angry about that, like it would’ve been easier to walk away from them if they had also been in on it as well.

“Where’s Rosie so eager to rush off to?” Sue asks idly, not looking up from the paper.

“Oh ummm…” you say, trying to think on your feet for a decent enough lie. “ Sh-she’s going to a sleepover with-with Jenny.”

You’re usually a better liar than this, but him being so close again has you all out of sorts tonight. Not to mention your mind is running rampant with all the worst case scenarios possible at the moment with the most egregious being that he’s gonna take her and run, forcing you to chase him down the same way he’s undoubtedly done for you these past few years. You’re practically feeling every second tick by, fearing the longer you take the greater the chances will be that they’re both gone.

Is that how he felt when he was away from you? A small voice in your head asks. It’s an awful roiling feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if the person you loved most wasn’t where you left them. Would he be so cruel to do that to you?

“Did that fella Jenny setchu up with ever show up?” Gina asks, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Ye-yeah and… and I’m gonna get dinner with him,” you swallow, the lie tasting like bile in your mouth. As you turn to your room, already mentally mapping where the important documents were in your bedroom, preparing to pack a few outfits for Rosie, and whatever other odds and ends you would need.

Your answer catches Gina off guard, and Sue immediately looks up from the paper sharing a look with your other Aunt. “Ain’t that a little fast, Hon?”

“Maybe…” you say, hesitating as you try to hold back your tears.

“Ya don’t gotta go if you ain’t ready for it,” Sue says behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder, that you flinch away from. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong If it’s still a little too early for you.”

That’s the worst part about it. You know they would fight tooth and nail for both you and Rosie if you just asked. But you know the type of mess Elvis can and will bring into this house should you decide to fight him on this. After all they’ve done for you, keeping them out of the type of spectacle he brings is the least you can do.

“I have to go,” you say sternly.

One look at your squared back shoulders and your far away look they know there’s no stopping this. You hold back your tears as you accept their hug and accept their well wishes. You say your goodbyes promising to be back soon, unsure if you will ever see them again, and you put on your biggest fakest smile as you let go of them, wanting to at least leave them with one happy memory.

Relief floods your entire being seeing her at the bottom of the steps, only for the dread to return seeing him there with her. Especially when you hear the story he’s telling her. You don’t miss the glance he steals your way before focusing on your daughter once again. “I thought to myself, ‘thas the girl whose gonna be mine.’”

“Like-like love at first sight,” Rosie asks, and you can practically hear the stars in her eyes.

“Exactly yittle,” he drawls out. “Took her awhile to figure it out though but she learned eventually. Now we’re all gonna go home.” His eyes slide right off her and cut directly to you. Her eyes follow him and she quickly scurries off of him to reach you.

“You ready Mama?” she asks you as she takes you by the hand leading you to the door where you see a car parked right out front. It may as well have been a hearse in your mind.

You pick her up and you look down the darkened streets and you briefly flirt with the idea of just sprinting and never looking back. But the hand on your elbow guiding you to the car puts a halt to those thoughts.

You still don’t know how much of your story he does actually believe, so you sit yourself down in the car without so much as a fuss and resolve yourself to your fate. Though that doesn’t stop you from seating yourself in the middle and placing Rosie by the window, as you still aren’t totally out of the mindset of keeping her as far away from him as possible. Neither of them seem to mind as she eagerly presses tiny hands up to the glass in awe of the nightlife of New Orleans, while he slithers an arm over your shoulder bringing you closer to him.

As you contemplate what your life will look like from now on, you pass by so many places you’ve become familiar with these last four years, but what nearly breaks you are the unfamiliar places. Record stores, movie theaters, restaurants, and so many other places you avoided all due to an irrational belief that he would somehow be there. You did your best to limit your time in the outside world to only when you absolutely had to be out.

Maybe that’s why you were so willing to trust Jenny and her altruistic generosity to watch over your daughter and take her places you were too anxious to venture to.

You caged yourself into your new seemingly better life, but you didn't live at all. You were hiding. Always so afraid that he would somehow find you, you neglected to live. You put yourself in a different cage and convinced yourself you were free.

“Mama? Mama, why are you crying?” your sweet little girl asks.

But you’re gonna do what you’ve always done for your daughter. What you’ve always done when it comes to Elvis. You’re going to play pretend.

“Mama’s just so happy we’re going baby,” you say with a solemn kiss to her forehead as his grip further tightens on your shoulder.

“I know what’ll cheer you up!” she declares and completely unaware of the salt she’s about to pour on your wounds, she pulls something out of her little rucksack. “Danny, do you know the story of ‘Punzel?”

“Can’t say that I do darlin’” he says, eyeing you over her head. She sets the Grimm fairy tale book down on her lap and opens it to the worn pages she’s seemed to memorize by heart. She proceeds to read to the both of you, in the sense that she recites the story she’s heard maybe half-a-million times before word-for-word, going off pictures more than the actual words on the page to know where she’s at in the story. You try your best to focus on the book for your daughter's sake, but it’s nearly impossible to do when you feel Elvis' familiar bruising grip on your inner thigh.

You shoot him a look and grab a hold of his wandering hand, trying to signal for him to stop and pay attention to Rosie. He gives a mirthful smile to you as he feels the slick there and seemingly tightens his grip in retribution, as though he wants to get a head start on re-establishing his claim over you. You in response bite your cheek and bear it, until at one point it nearly becomes too much and one lone tear rolls down your cheek and onto the page of the prince wandering blindly through the forest.

Your daughter is far too sweet for her own good, as she notices this and gives you a gentle pat on your cheek, trying to comfort you the same you’ve done for her before.

“Don’t worry Mama,” she reassures you, mirroring what you’ve done for her when a story gets her a little too worked up. “They always live happy ever after.”

You give a shuddering sigh as Elvis finally let’s go of your thigh. You clutch onto that little porcelain figure in your pocket and hope she’s right.

You make it to Memphis in record time, Rosie having long since tired herself out, is wrapped securely in your arms, but you’ll find no suh peace with his arm coiled around your shoulder as he sadistically whispers how Rosie’ll have a blast meeting the rest of his family while the two of you get “reacquainted,” of course he used more colorful language but you don’t want to have to think about that for right now.

When the familiar gates come into view

“Ahh, my baby missed home that bad,” he whispers, giving a deceptively sweet kiss to your tear-stricken cheek. “Why don’tcha hand the ‘lil one over to me and you just head up to bed and get ready for me?”

Despite the questioning lilt in his tone you know for a fact he’s not asking. And so going against all of your instincts screaming in your head, you let go of your daughter and watch as he takes a hold of her. To your relief she’s at the very least on the same floor as you, but you can only hope that she, at the very least, will sleep through the rest of the night, because you doubt he’ll let you out even a minute sooner than he has to.

The bedroom has changed in many ways since you’ve been gone, though the most striking thing was how your side of the bed looks as though it were converted into a little shrine for you. Small baubles and trinkets you left behind on the stand, you even find an old nightgown of yours on your side of the bed, the last thing he ever saw you in. It doesn’t fit you like it used to, having and breastfeeding a baby will do that to you, but you put it on all the same knowing he will want to see you in it.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, seeing your breasts straining against the silk material and the bruises peeking out beneath the scandalously short hemline, it really does settle in that this was all inevitable. This is the very same image you saw the night before he left for Germany.

The same image that confirmed your decision to leave in the first place.

This moment, feels like the dread you always felt when getting to the last few pages of a book. As things were wrapping up and you would have to face the harsh reality of your situation...

You’re back in the fucking hotel room.

You won’t even have the luxury of daydreaming of your escape, because there is no world where you leave without Rosie, and he knows that. He knows she’s the reason you ran, and knows that without her you’re never gonna run again. That’s why he went to the lengths he did to endear himself to her first before you ever had an inkling as to what was going on.

Your thoughts turn to Jenny, and how you entrusted what you loved the most to her, only to have her spit in your face by turning around practically handing her over to him on a platter. Either she knew that he was her father and didn’t bother to question why you were so desperate to get away that you faked a whole other life, or she didn’t and handed over your daughter to a stranger. You don’t know which is worse.

You also can’t forget how she was perhaps the most vehement about you dating again, which you can’t even begin to understand if she was working for him the whole time. But you can’t put it above him that he wouldn’t have Jenny push the issue if only to further twist the knife if you ever did take up her offer. As though to remind you that you never had a chance of moving on.

Because it always goes back to him.

You want to hide from it all and you give into the urge, and crawl under the silky sheets of the bed, for all the good it will do to protect you.

Monsters don’t hide under your bed. They crawl into it. Those are your last conscious thoughts as you feel the bed shift

“Welcome home Satnin,” he whispers before you feel the sheets being ripped away from you.

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delicateflowerss · 1 year

Text

Scary Love (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Tyler Galpin is a nice guy, always remembering your coffee order, and making sure to ask how your day is. So, when he asks you out, you don't have a reason to say no. Right?

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, slight violence, mentions of murder, blood, manipulation, obsession, pain kink, blood kink, dacryphilia

Word Count: 4.5k

Another person dead.

A bear attack, or that’s what they’re calling it.

It’s hard to fathom a bear did that, tore that man from limb to limb. But you’re not one to look under your bed for monsters before you go to sleep.

So, if the police are saying a bear did it, you have no reason to doubt them.

Even if it leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

At least no one else is that worried, the people of Jericho going about their everyday lives like people aren’t being slaughtered in the woods.

You tuck your hands in the pockets of your jacket, shielding them from the cold weather.

You set your eyes on the building in front of you, stepping into much warmer air. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills your nose, and a slight smile forms on your lips.

The Weathervane is your sacred place. Any worries instantly leave your mind when you walk through those doors. You can just sit in your favorite booth, sip on something hot, and not have to think about anything that is bothering you outside these walls.

“The usual?”

You’re met with a familiar voice. The same pair of bright eyes peeking under brown curls that you see almost every day.

“Yeah. Thanks, Tyler.”

You flash him an appreciative smile as he starts making your latte.

You can’t say you know Tyler Galpin that well. You went to school with him, always knew of him, but never really ran in the same circles. It wasn’t until he started working at the Weathervane that you two really spoke, usually just small talk. But it didn’t take long for him to start remembering your order.

“What are you up to today?” He asks as he sets down your cup on the counter.

A small sigh leaves your lips. “I wish I could hang around here today, but my mom really wants me to run some errands for her.”

“Bummer,” he says, laced with sarcasm. A smile traces his lips.

“I guess my life could be worse.” The smile on your face says you’re joking, but your voice is sucked dry of any humor.

He doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he pretends not to. You hand him the money for the drink, fingers brushing against his.

You don’t think too much of it, grabbing your cup. “Thanks again, Tyler.”

“See you later, Y/N,” he calls after you. You’re already walking out the door.

Cluelessly, you walk across the street, not noticing how he watches you through the window.

There’s an uneasiness that has settled over the town, even if no one wants to acknowledge it. Whispers are starting, quiet gossip wondering if it’s really a bear that’s responsible for these attacks. People want to point fingers, blaming Nevermore, the school for Outcasts that lies on the outskirts of town.

You’re not sure what to think, grouping yourself with the people who don’t want to speak or think about it at all.

So, you keep your eyes on the pages in front of you. The sun has gone down, the red neon sign in the window now illuminating the words you’ve been reading all afternoon.

You don’t realize how late it is, or how you’re the only person left at the Weathervane. Besides Tyler.

You don’t know it until a mug being set down in front of you makes your head snap up.

“Thought you might need a refill.” Tyler looks down at you and the empty cup on the table. “I made it decaf,” he adds.

Your hand inches towards your wallet.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” he assures as he sits in the booth across from you.

You move your hand away, relaxing. “Giving me freebies now?” An amused smile on your lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get used to it.” The tone in his voice matching yours.

Your smile doesn’t leave your face even as you sip your latte.

“Is it good?” He asks, motioning in your direction.

“The coffee or the book?”

“The book.” Before you can respond, he continues, “I mean it must be, you haven’t been able to stop reading it since you got here.”

You laugh but end up narrowing your eyes at him. “Does that mean you’ve been watching me?” Humor still seeps into your words.

He blinks, sighing, almost taken aback.

“I guess you caught me.” He straightens back up, his eyes on you as a smirk slowly spreads across his face. “But how could I not?”

Now it’s your turn to be taken aback. Any hints of a joke, gone. Your smile falls a little, realization creeping in.

He notices, concern creasing his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” You’re quick to remedy the situation. “It just… caught me off guard,” you finish.

“That I like you?”

You don’t expect him to be so forward with you.

“We just don’t know each other that well.”

“That’s true,” he says, furrowing his brow like he’s deep in thought about something.

A few moments pass before he says anything else. “We could fix that.” He searches your face for any sign of hesitance. “You could go to the Harvest Festival with me tomorrow night?”

You inhale, looking over his face, finding how hopeful he is. There’s nothing wrong with Tyler. There’s no reason for you not to go out with him. He’s attractive, nice, and now gives you free coffee. You’re just surprised that he likes you.

“Okay.”

You see him relax, like he just let out the breath he was holding. A grin is back on his face.

“Great. Pick you up at eight.”

You smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt, pulling a jacket over it. You’ve been thinking about your date with Tyler all day, nervously waiting for it. You check the time, noting that he’ll be here any minute.

You head downstairs, finding your mom on the couch, watching some stupid reality TV show.

“I didn’t know you were going out.” Her voice rings out over the TV.

“I thought I told you I was going to the Harvest Festival.”

She turns down the volume, her attention more focused on you now.

“You’re going alone? Are you sure that’s a good idea? With everything that’s been happening-.”

“I’m not going alone,” you cut off her rambling. You continue at the sign of confusion on her face, “I’m going with Tyler, he’ll be here soon.”

“The sheriff’s son?”

You nod yes.

You can see her visibly relax. The worry being replaced with joy.

“Oh, that’s great, honey.”

The doorbell ringing saves you from anymore explanations.

“That’s him. Bye mom!” You call out, opening the door to your date.

“Have fun!” You hear before shutting the door, stepping outside to greet Tyler.

You don’t think you’re ready for any awkward introductions just yet.

The air around you is buzzing with excitement. People around you jump from ride to ride, from food stands to carnival games.

You didn’t expect Tyler to be such a gentleman. Out of all the dates you’ve been on, you’ve never had a guy open the car door for you, but Tyler did.

Once you two got to the festival, you’ve been on almost every ride. He made sure to buy you cotton candy, which you offered to pay for, but he insisted.

You two ended up playing some game where you try to pop balloons with a dart. Tyler was determined to win you a stuffed animal. After a few tries, he finally did. Or maybe the guy working the game just felt bad for him. You’re not exactly sure.

You cradle the teddy bear in your arms as you wait in line for the Ferris wheel. It’s been nice to get to know him more and for him to know more about you than just your coffee order.

Your eyes roam over him as he looks off into the trees ahead, where the festival stops, and the woods start. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

He must feel the weight of your stare because he catches your eye, face brightening. Your cheeks get warm at getting caught.

“Next!” The man working the ride, yells out.

You sit close to him as the ride starts to move, your thigh touching his. You try to ignore how warm he feels next to you.

“This has been really fun. Thanks for taking me,” you say, trying to slice through the silence.

“Yeah. Thanks for coming with me.” He has that boyish smile again. “I was worried you were going to say no.”

You shrug, a little unsure of how to respond. “I’m glad I didn’t.” You tighten your hold on your teddy bear. “No guy has ever won me a stuffed animal before,” you laugh.

“It took a while, but I got it eventually,” he says, chuckling.

“I’ll cherish it forever.”

His green eyes soften at your words. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you, like you’re the only thing of importance, not bothering with anything that’s happening around you.

Something flutters in your stomach as you feel almost embarrassed to hold his gaze. The moonlight shines off his curls and you can feel him lean into you.

Your eyelids flutter as his lips ghost over yours. His fingers find the back of your neck, and his lips finally capture yours. You match his movements, his thumb reaching up to your cheek to slightly caress it.

The kiss starts slow and gentle. But his fingertips press harder into your skin as he deepens it, licking inside your mouth.

It surprises you a little, the kiss beginning to feel hungry.

Teeth sinking into your bottom lip knocks you of your daze. You pull back from Tyler, your finger wiping the part of your lip that hurts, only to look down and see a bit of blood.

You don’t notice how he already licked away the taste of your blood on his own lip.

“Sorry, Y/N. It was an accident.”

You hear him apologizing, sincerity in his voice, but you catch a glint in his eye.

You decide to brush it off. He was just caught in the moment.

You reach over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s okay.” Your smile causing the guilt to leave his face.

A loud boom moves your attention to the night sky, colors dancing on the black canvas. His hand reaches for yours, squeezing it as you both watch the fireworks.

Tyler lied.

Ever since your date with him, you’ve gone to the Weathervane every day. He’s made it a habit to give you your coffee for free, pretending he never said he wouldn’t.

You and Tyler have wordlessly decided to take things slow. There’s hasn’t been any real conversation about it, but you can tell that he respects your boundaries.

When you went over to his house for a movie night while his dad was at work, Tyler didn’t try anything. The closest he got to you was him wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

It’s not like you don’t want him, but you feel like you moved too fast with your other relationships, and they didn’t turn out so great. So, you want to prevent anything souring between you two. Tyler’s a good guy, something that’s pretty rare to find.

You mostly enjoy talking to Tyler when the Weathervane empties. The only people there are you two, occupying a booth and feeling like you are the only ones that matter.

He’s told you all of the stuff you wouldn’t tell someone on a first date, like that he goes to therapy, and how he wishes his dad talked to him more, or more about one thing in specific.

The death of his mom weighs heavy on him. You can tell it’s a touchy subject for him. He stops himself from talking too much about her, an emotion passing through his eyes that you can’t name.

The only thing you can do is tell him you’re there to listen when he’s ready to talk about it, comforting him with a squeeze of your hand.

Whatever darkness that rolled over him, is now gone, returning to the Tyler you know and see every day.

You’ve wanted to ignore it, pretend that everything is fine in Jericho, believe that the police had everything under control.

But when another person is killed, it’s hard to ignore the danger that surrounds the town.

“Everything okay?” A deep voice takes you out of your thoughts. “You’re letting your coffee get cold.” You look down at your untouched drink.

“Just thinking.” You don’t hide the uncertainty in your voice.

Tyler doesn’t hesitate to sit down across from you, his elbows resting on the table.

“About?” He asks.

You shift, trying to figure out how you’re going to articulate your thoughts to him.

“It’s sad.” You look up, meeting his eyes. “The people dying,” you explain.

He waits for you to continue.

“I guess I’m just scared. I haven’t really wanted to think about it… but now I am.”

He considers your words, sympathy written on his face.

“It is… scary.” He pauses. “But it is only happening in the woods. Since it’s a bear-.”

“Some people are saying it’s a monster or something,” you interrupt him.

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. That’s just what people are saying,” you say defensively. “I mean you should know.”

His eyes narrow, confusion on his face, and before he can say anything, you clarify.

“Your dad. Hasn’t he told you anything?”

“I told you. My dad tells me nothing.”

You lean back in the booth, sighing.

“I don’t like being in the dark either, but you’ll be okay.” You feel his thumb rub circles on the back of your hand. “Just stay away from the woods.”

Tyler’s warning echoes in your head as you drive down the empty road. Tall trees surround you, the headlights on your car illuminating the darkness in front of you.

You silently curse at your mom for making you go to the next town over, just because the store in Jericho was out of something she so desperately needed.

It was daytime when you left, hoping you’d be back before it got dark. But dread filled you as you watched the sun sink past the horizon.

What’s worse, is your car had trouble starting before you began your drive home. The grinding noise making you cringe. It finally worked and now all you can do is clutch your steering wheel and hope for the best.

You’ll be home soon, the outskirts of town starting to look familiar to you.

But is familiarity comforting in this case, or the opposite?

You keep your eyes on the road, but your brows furrow when your music turns off. Your headlights next. Finally, your car stopping in the middle of the road.

You step on the gas, nothing happening. You try turning your car on again. Still nothing.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Your worst fear has happened. Now you can only hear the sound of your breathing as you look around in the darkness.

You turn your phone on, the screen lighting up the car. Before you can call your mom, you find the sealing of your fate in the corner of your phone screen. “No Service”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You throw your phone down onto the seat next to you, your jaw clenching.

You consider your options, either stay in your car and risk freezing to death or try to walk back to town and risk getting brutally murdered.

You know there’s something lurking in these woods but freezing to death feels more likely right now.

You make sure to grab your phone before stepping into the chilly, night air. You wrap your arms around yourself as you look around, beginning your trek to town.

You stay on the side of the road, the rustling of the trees in the wind makes you feel uneasy. You don’t see any sign of anyone or anything.

You used to not believe in scary stories. You never had a problem with any of the Outcasts you met, never thinking of them as “monsters.”

But now you’re not sure. You feel like you have to keep looking over your shoulder. Now you think any of those stories you heard as a kid could be true.

A loud scream stops you in your tracks, your blood turning to ice.

You look in the direction of where you think the scream came from, only seeing the rough outlines of the trees.

You check your phone again, grimacing at the fact you still don’t have service.

You want to run away as fast as you can, but guilt washes over you, unsure if you should leave someone to die with no one around to help.

Taking a deep breath, you step further into the trees. Out of all the dumb decisions you’ve made, this will probably be your dumbest, or your last.

But you can’t help but put yourself in that situation. You would want someone to come to your aid.

You try to keep your footsteps quiet, but they crunch down on the fallen leaves. You wince at the noise.

You try to find where the scream could have come from, but you don’t see anyone.

Until you hear something coming toward you, something loud and big. You stop and listen, eyes widening when you see the silhouette of something you could only see in your nightmares.

Before it gets too close, you hide behind the tree closest to you. You try to steady your harsh breathing, but as you hear it start to go past the other side of the tree, a loud breath escapes you.

You slam your hand against your lips, trying to quiet yourself. But it’s too late, the monster stops, almost like it’s anticipating your next mistake.

You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for this moment to pass. Hoping that it won’t hear you and leave.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear it continue its path, away from you. When you know it’s gone, you put your hand down, almost sighing with relief. You gather yourself, processing your brush with death, and look at your surroundings.

You must’ve gotten turned around because now you can’t remember which way goes back to the road. You also have no idea where that scream came from. But after what you just saw, you can only think the worst.

You pick a path that you think will take you closer to Jericho and is away from the monster. You’re on high alert, eyes moving all around you. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to sleep again.

You slow down when you see a figure ahead of you. It’s a person, which automatically makes you feel better.

As you get closer, you make out the familiar face.

“Tyler?”

Your eyes rake over him, taking in the fact he’s only wearing a tattered T-shirt and pants that are unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips.

The blood is what makes your jaw drop. It’s all over him, like he got into a fight, or… was attacked.

You don’t hesitate to step up to him, taking a closer look.

“Tyler, are you okay? Did the monster-.”

You stop yourself, your arms falling to your sides. You instinctively step back, realizing he has no wounds for the blood to be coming from.

You finally look into his eyes, and you feel like you’re looking at a stranger. He doesn’t look at you with the affection he usually has, that gentle emotion, like you’re something that could slip away from him so easily.

Now all you see is darkness and hunger, like he could devour you. Instead of keeping his distance so he won’t lose you, he’ll take you anyway, holding you tight so you have no choice but to stay.

You swallow, your throat starting to feel tight, your eyes getting glassy.

You don’t understand exactly what’s going on, if he’s the monster or not. All you know is he’s scaring you and you need to get away from him.

He calls out your name just as you turn around, running away.

The adrenaline pumping through your veins forces you to move faster. You can hear his footsteps behind you.

But your adrenaline only takes you so far. You don’t realize how close he is to you when you slow down a bit.

All of a sudden, you feel your arm being tugged back. He uses the leverage to wrap his arms around you, his body pressed against yours.

You try to struggle out of his hold, but his arms are strong. He presses his lips to your ear, his breathing unsteady.

“Caught you,” he rasps.

That’s enough for a sob to erupt from you, pleading with him. “Let me go, Tyler.”

You think he listens to you, loosening his arms. But his hand goes to your waist instead, turning you around to face him.

He keeps his hand on you, his grip firm enough to remind you that it’s there but not tight enough to hurt.

You look up at him, the moonlight shining through the trees casts shadows on to his face, making him look sinister. You can’t see all of him, even if you tried, part of his face always in the dark.

You try to blink away the tears, but they run down your face. You’re nervous to say anything to him, but you’re scared. You want to know what he’s going to do to you.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Your voice cracks around the question, almost regretting the words once they’re out of your mouth.

He doesn’t react the way you feared he would.

Instead, he just furrows his brow and brings his finger to your cheek. You flinch a little at the sudden touch. But as he delicately wipes your tear away, you end up leaning into his caress.

He reaches down to your other cheek, his lips meeting your skin instead. A ragged sigh leaves your lips as he tastes your tears. Licking away your fear, despair, and heartbreak all at once.

He moves his lips to yours, the kiss almost painful. But you don’t stop him, letting him take the breath right out of you.

He pulls away, warm breath fanning over you as he whispers, “Only if you want me to.”

His lips are on you again, and he pushes you until your back hits one of the trees.

You’re sure your mind isn’t in the right place because somehow your fear has turned into desire. Or maybe the fear hasn’t left, instead fueling this fire in the pit of your stomach.

His teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the whimpers that come from your throat. He soothes the stinging with his tongue while he peels back the layers of your clothes.

Goosebumps prick at your skin, but the freezing air doesn’t bother you, feeling so warm from everything he’s doing to you.

He keeps his rough hands on you, grabbing at your bare skin. He acts like a man starved, and you never thought Tyler had this side to him. But it’s obvious you knew way less about him than you thought.

You stand completely naked in front of him, and you don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over your body.

He moves his hand lower, fingers slipping inside of you. He rubs your bundle of nerves with his thumb, pushing his fingers deeper as your arousal coats your inner thighs. He could come right then and there from the sweet moans you’re making.

He doesn’t want to tell you how all he could think about was you, after a kill. He wished he could call you in the middle of the night or sneak in through your bedroom window. All he wanted was to bend you over and fuck you until your throat hurt from screaming his name.

But now he doesn’t have to chase you anymore, he’s finally caught you.

He takes his hand away from you, taking off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. You watch him, drinking in every detail of him.

He steps closer to you, pinning you against the tree. The cold touch of his hand on your waist makes your lips part as he turns you around.

You hear him pull down his pants and a shiver runs through you, waiting for him to finally be inside you, the ache in you getting worse.

The palm of your hand uses the tree for support as his large hands grab your hips. The tip of his cock pokes at you before he slowly thrusts inside you.

You gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around him. His lips graze your ear, and you can hear the groans that fall from him as he starts to set a pace.

“Tyler,” you whine out.

One of his hands moves to your breast, cupping it, fingers playing with your already hardened nipple. The hand that stays on your hip, grips it harshly, and you know you’ll have finger shaped bruises in the morning.

“You feel so good.” His voice is low in your ear. He continues to rut into you, focusing on how tight and wet you are around him.

This is way better than stroking himself to the thought of you.

More moans leave you as your fingers claw the bark of the tree. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your life.

His thrusts have become brutal and merciless, and all you can think about is the feeling of him inside you, how full you feel, and how he continues to hit a spot that has you seeing stars.

You feel him cover your hand with his, fingers intertwining. His breath is hot as his lips are on yours again, your head turning to meet his. The kiss is sloppy, but he swallows each and every one of your moans.

Your eyelids flutter at the way he pounds into you, and he moves his lips away from you.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your release.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

His breathing is shallow, and his pace is getting sloppier.

When you don’t answer right away, his fingers move to your throat, not squeezing but the hold rough enough to make your breathing ragged.

He repeats himself, this time, with a little more aggression.

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” you say over and over again, feeling the waves of pleasure wash over you, clenching around his cock.

He comes at the same time you do, his mouth on your shoulder, teeth sinking in. But you don’t pay any mind to the pain, just feeling pleasure.

When he’s done fucking you through your releases, he pulls out, his cum spilling out of you.

You take a moment to gather yourself, before turning around to face him. Both of you coming down from your highs.

“I knew it was you who was hiding behind that tree.” His voice startles you. “I can smell people’s fear.”

Your jaw goes slack as you take in what he’s saying.

“I can taste it.” He brings his fingers to your inner thigh.

“I’ve tasted yours…” He begins to push the stickiness on your thighs back inside you.

“…and yours was the most delicious of them all.”

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #wednesday #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin fanfic

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hellithides · 6 months

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First time posting on tumblr dont be mean to me pls. I just couldn’t get this soft scara scenario off my mind.

Synopsis: scara gets pissy with work, good thing you’re there to soothe him. Pure fluff. Tooth-rotting fluff.

Scaramouche x GN!Reader Fluff

It’s one of those days. You’re sitting in his office reading a book while he works across you. It’s his request, really. Saying that your presence in the same room calms him enough so he doesn’t lose his mind. He never wanted you to stray too far from him, preferring to keep you within his sights at all times. Nevertheless, it’s been a few hours of silence and your eyes have become strained from reading for so long. Your gaze lands on him, observing him for a moment.

“Love.”

You call, turning his attention away from the pile of documents on his desk to you. He spares you a glance before returning to his work.

“What?”

Slight irritation present is in his voice when response comes. You know it’s not because of you though, instead it’s simply him tense from the tedious work in front of him.

“I’m bored.”

His eyes flit back up to you, pressing you with a gaze that basically screams ‘are you serious?’. Still, he sighs, putting the documents aside to give you the attention you’re obviously seeking from him. The sound of his chair being pushed back rings through his office, a silent invitation that leads you to stand up and make your way towards him with your book clutched. You smile as he begrudgingly(not really) wraps his arms around your waist with a grunt. You settle yourself onto his lap, your legs on either side of his waist with both of your chests pressed together. He huffs before speaking.

“Just sit there quietly. I have work to do so you better entertain yourself.”

His tone is harsh as it usually is but you know how to read between the lines this far into your relationship with him. All he really means is for you to keep him company as he works. You press your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few minutes to rest before going back to reading.

The both of you stay like that for a while, hours bleeding into each other in silence. He works quietly, unbothered by the frequent sound of pages flipping and your occasional humming each time there’s an interesting scene in the chapter. Your proximity is not lost on him, and your presence is calming rather than distracting.

As the sun sets, he leans back against his seat, sighing with frustration. You take notice of his tense demeanor and close the book to turn your focus on him.

“What’s wrong? Am I too heavy?”

“No, you're fine. I'm just irritated with this... stupid job for being such a pain in the ass.”

He sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. You acknowledge this with a hum, leaning back to look at him properly. His brows knitted together in a deep frown.

“What’s it about?”

You question, putting your book on your lap before poking him in the cheek. He huffs, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“Some boring bureaucratic mess. I just need to sign a few documents, but I have to meet with the most insufferable person for it.”

“Who?”

He rolls his eyes and lets go of your wrists. The opportunity presents itself to you and you place your hands on his face, pinching his cheek and trying to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead. He lets you.

“It's the most arrogant woman on Teyvat, and I'm surprised she'd even bother meeting me. Yae Miko.”

His scowl deepens.

“Just having to be in the same room as that woman makes my skin crawl.”

He shudders with disgust at the thought of it. You pat him lightly on the head.

“You wanna take a break?”

He closes his eyes and nod, leaning into the gesture without hesitation.

“Yeah. I need a rest. The Fatui has been exhausting lately. Let me just...”

Leaning further forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you as close as possible. In an effort to soothe him, you rest your head on his shoulder and run your hand up and down his back. He groans at the relaxing gesture, a tense sigh escaping his lips.

“Mmm... I'm sorry I'm not in a better mood today. This work is so tedious.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m glad I can at least offer you some comfort.”

You sink into the comfortable position. Your bodies pressed together, feeling the steady heartbeats in each other’s chest. It's... soothing. His breathing becomes slow and even, as he relaxes with you in his embrace. He feels his stress melting away with every minute, simply enjoying the silence together.

A sudden thought occurs to him.

“...Hey, Love. You're never going to leave me... are you?”

You perk up at the question, leaning backwards and raising your brow at him.

“Hm? Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“If everything about our life stayed exactly as it is right now, without anything changing... You wouldn't get bored, and you wouldn't fall out of love with me... would you?”

The words come in a small whisper, barely audible. If the wind hadn't been still silent, you might not have heard them. You close your eyes and sink deeper into his embrace.

“No. Even monotony with you is enjoyable. Even just this, sitting on your lap and holding each other… it’s everything I could ever want.”

You nuzzle closer, bringing home your point. He stays quiet for a while, relishing the contact with you. A small smile creeps across his face. His tone is genuine, as he opens his eyes to look up towards you.

“You're the best, you know that?”

“Mm. Of course I do. Only the best would be worthy to be your lover.”

You smirk at him, eyes twinkling with slight mischief making him shake his head at you. He rolls his eyes slightly before he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips. Your heart flutters as you exchange this gentle and affectionate gesture. When you pull back, his eyes are filled with a smugness as he regards you.

“Yeah... that's right. Only you’re allowed to be with a god like me.”

He snickers before wrapping his arms around your waist tighter.

“I love you. So I'm keeping you. You’re stuck with me forever.”

His words makes you chuckle and you return the gesture with a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you too.”

You sink further into his warm embrace with a smile, relishing the tender moment between the two of you.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #scaramouche #genshin scara #scarameow #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche smut #kunikuzushi #wanderer #kunikuzushi fluff #wanderer fluff #tooth rotting fluff #pure fluff #gn reader

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lutawolf · 7 months

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My Personal Weatherman and the D/s element Ep 6

If you haven't read my other meta on the show, I suggest you do! You can find them here.

I adore that Segasaki put a tracker on Yoh.

However, it looks as though it was pointless because it's as if Yoh wants to get caught. Slow doesn't even begin to describe this boy.

Now it's finally useful. He has found his man and told him in no uncertain terms to make up an excuse and come back home. Now, if he were an actual slave, he would be unable to say no. If he were deep subservient... He would be unable to say no. I know you normies are thinking, damn. Don't they have rights Luta!? They Don't Want Them! They are not you. For some people, they just don't want to make decisions. Now is Yoh that type of submissive is the question though. Let's see what Yoh does.

I love that Yoh at least has someone on the outside of things he can talk to. She clearly understands Segasaki. I really like the husband. Mickey and Minnie are well suited to each other.

Flashback time!!!

So it all starts in the school cafeteria. OMG, I love how Yoh pauses as soon as he sees Segasaki. Then he has to sit back down because he doesn't know what else to do. His original thought is no longer there. All that encompasses his gray matter is Segasaki. "The first time I saw that person. I thought they might not be from this planet. At least out of all the sculptures that I've ever seen, he's the most beautiful." Then he gives that soft smile. So freaking cute! "The shape of his ears, the line of his nose, the angle of the jawline, the fullness of their lips. Even the shape of their unseen eyeballs must be beautiful."

He then rushes to the store to buy what it will take to draw this beautiful boy. Yoh had it bad right off, but he doesn't understand it himself. Did they really call him loner guy? "If I were a girl, I would have thought it was love at first sight. But it was just a beautiful man." Yoh, you is an idiot. I love you, but you is an idiot. Okay, so he even knows that he is lying to himself. That's fair, we all do it.

I really am not a fan of these people. Loner guy? Really. These people look down on Yoh. Yup, nope, that solidified it. I don't like them.

Bless baby's heart. He is so anxious. I'm in love with Segasaki straight away because I think he fell in love with Yoh pretty fast too. Right off, we see Segasaki easily takes control. The way he tells Yoh, "Let's go." and grabs his arm then backpack to control Yoh's direction and to push him where he wants. He then keeps his hand there.

Right off, they easily drop into a D/s relationship. This is how you would see a D/s relationship develop naturally. Guidelines are always a good but for the fiftieth million time, lifestyle people are different from scene. We are naturally always Dom or always submissive, so we don't turn that off. It's going to naturally be seen even in friendship, but that doesn't mean that a Dom should expect a submissive friend to just listen. A submissive can always put guidelines and boundaries up, but to think that these relationships don't organically happen is ignorant. Yoh is submissive right off the back, just look at how he asks Segasaki if this is okay. Segasaki is Dom right off the bat.

I adore how close they are to each other. Segasaki has no concept of space when it comes to Yoh. Oh, these two. In the way, Segasaki asks Yoh what he is doing. Sees Yoh's indecisiveness, finds a book, and then gives him a command. Fulling expecting Yoh to absolutely tell him what he thinks of the book. "If he were to suddenly despise me, it might be the end of me." Those some deep feelings there.

I can't wait to see Segasaki's side of things!!! We know that Yoh's perception of things are easily distorted by his emotions. He is inclined to having a glass half empty mindset.

Please note, that Yoh as of yet hasn't acknowledged Segasaki's message. The submissive is not listening. We are not looking at a slave or a deep submissive.

Hahaha. Being drunk and clingy are absolutely who he is Mickey my dear.

OMG, This is the best! I'm Dying. I love Segasaki and I love Segasaki's personality and his jealousy. I'm in love with these mother fucking characters oh so much.

The way he stomps over and pulls back the curtains. "You can finish remotely right." I assure you, Segasaki wasn't actually asking a question. Still, Yoh faced with an angry Dom says yes. Said angry, Dom grabs him and begins to pull him away.

Leaving Minnie and Mickey both stunned and impressed. I think Mickey just developed his first guy crush.

Bombastic side eye. Oh damn... Here comes the miscommunication. Yoh is talking about Segasaki and Segasaki is talking about Mickey. Poor baby.

Yoh finds the tracker. Boy knows what that is and tells Segasaki, I put it back where I found it. But Segasaki is pissed. He thinks Yoh likes Mickey. Lawd these two. If they ever learn to communicate.

I can't wait for the next episode!!! I'm so in love with these two!!!

#luta talks my personal weatherman #luta talks taikan yoho #segasaki x yoh #luta talks kink #my personal weatherman #taikan yoho #coconuts mafia

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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

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𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Kishibe x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Big thanks to @strawberrystepmom, the Patron Saint of Old Man Fucking, for beta reading this baby. (repost) [ SYNOPSIS ] Your first date gets interrupted by an unexpected visit from an old "friend". [ WORD COUNT ] 2.9k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, age gap (y/n is in her 20s, Kishibe is... Kishibe), alcohol, jealousy, Kishibe's a scumbag and possessive, y/n is wearing a skirt, pet name (kid), finger sucking, orgasm delay.

The last person you wanted to see on first date was your ex-fuck buddy, Kishibe. You couldn’t remember the last time you crossed paths with him. And to be honest you didn’t really want to. You wanted to focus on your date. They seemed like a good enough person. They came off as kind and saccharine and rather vacuous. A little boring, yes. But boring was good! It was safe; it was comfortable. The date was going well. Everything was falling into place.

But it all turned to shit the second Kishibe slid into your side of the booth. He didn’t even acknowledge your date, taking a couple minutes to finally greet them. A haze of alcohol whirled around him which was no surprise considering he was drinking whiskey neat. He positively reeked of alcohol; you felt like being in his mere presence would leave you intoxicated.

“How do you two know each other?”

“We—”

You elbowed him in the ribs which only made him laugh. Your measly attack was hardly harmful, but he played along and kept his mouth shut for the moment. You quickly realized you set yourself up for failure. You didn’t want to admit you met Kishibe at a gross nightclub and fucked him in the bathroom with little hesitation. That was the old you. The new you would never do something so lascivious… Or at least you hoped.

“Hiking club. I mean, a cake decorating class. Uh.” You winced as you realized you were just listing off hobbies. “Book club.”

You knew damn well you’d never encounter Kishibe on a hiking trail, a cake decorating class, or a fucking book club. But you hoped he’d play along regardless.

“Yeah, a book club,” he scoffed.

“How cool. What kind of stuff did you two read?”

Your eye twitched.

“Novels,” you spat out.

“Poetry,” he cooly said at the same exact time.

“Ah… Interesting. Can’t say I’m much of a reader,” you date demurred, nervously scratching the back of their head.

“You don’t look like the reading type,” Kishibe said, finishing off his drink. “No offense.”

Your date just smiled, almost as if they didn’t register the blatant insult. You felt like you were going to die and chugged your drink with a fervor you didn’t realize was possible.

“You guys are thirsty! I’ll go grab us another round.”

Your date waded through the crowd and made their way to the bar. Once they were out of earshot, Kishibe turned his attention to you.

“What an idiot.”

You punched his arm. “Be nice. I think I actually like them.”

“You really gonna keep ‘em around?”

“I’m hoping to. They’re sweet.”

“Since when do you like sweet?”

“Since I stopped talking to you.”

Kishibe went to respond but was interrupted by your date returning with three drinks in their arm, a precarious action if there ever was one. You noticed your date had switched it up and was now drinking whiskey, clearly mirroring the man across from them. They slid Kishibe’s drink over to him with a big, stupid smile on their face. They looked like a puppy seconds from getting kicked.

“Thanks,” Kishibe muttered before drinking his whiskey in one go.

Your date looked at you before following Kishibe’s lead and chugging down their drink. A sympathy of wet coughs spilled from their mouth.

“First time?”

“No,” your date hissed.

Kishibe purposefully avoided eye contact with them and stared intently at a shapely woman in tight, short dress. He muttered, “Coulda fooled me.”

You stomped on his foot, unable to bury away the pang of jealousy. He smirked without averting his lusty gaze. You imagined him taking her into the bathroom and fucking her from behind, biting down on her shoulder like he did yours so many times. You hated yourself for caring about what he did. The two of you weren’t sleeping together, let alone talking to each other anymore. You had been ignoring his calls and avoiding the shady haunts you would frequent together. He was a free man; he could go sleep with whoever he wanted and you had no room to protest. I mean, shit. You were on a date with someone. Your focus should’ve been on them.

“D—do you read much?” You date asked, the apples of their cheeks blushing.

Kishibe wordlessly got up and headed towards the bar, but more importantly the other woman.

You angrily blurted out, “Yeah! I guess!”

Your date frowned.

“Sorry,” you sighed and sipped your drink. “I read when I can. It’s hard to find the time.”

“Maybe we can read together or something! Motivate each other, you know?”

You tried desperately to stop thinking about Kishibe and focus on the kind person seated in front of you.

“I’d like that. Things are less daunting when you do them with someone else.”

Your date beamed. “Cool! You can pick the books obviously. I wouldn’t even know where to start,” they replied bashfully.

“That’s in my wheelhouse for sure,” you laughed.

This was nice. This was what you needed in life. Softness, tenderness, someone willing to do things with you that didn’t involve sex. It was a nice change of pace.

But like clockwork, Kishibe returned. He had an entire bottle of whiskey in his hands and slammed it down on the table. He slid back into the booth and put his hand on your thigh.

“I gotta stop going after lesbians…” He murmured to himself as he cracked open the bottle.

A wave of relief washed over you. You took solace in the fact he had absolutely zero gaydar.

“I—is that for the table?” Your date asked, pointing at the bottle.

“No, it’s all for me,” Kishibe responded.

Their eyes widened.

You jumped in to explain. “He’s being sarcastic.”

Kishibe was silent as he poured a sizable amount of whiskey into his glass. Your date pushed theirs over and watched nervously as Kishibe poured. It was significantly more than what the bar served as a single drink.

“Bet you can’t chug that.”

“I… I can,” your date stuttered.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, fearing they were trying to impress you.

“Let them live. Don’t be so controlling.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Eventually you grumbled something indecipherable and continued nursing your drink. You had no desire to play their games.

Kishibe and your date cheers before downing the whiskey. Your date looked like they got poisoned while Kishibe looked… Well, he looked the same. Immediately he filled the two glasses and stared down your date.

“Again?” He asked.

They nodded and drank down every last bit of whiskey in their glass. Kishibe wasn’t far behind. Your date looked to you, seeking approval but you found it difficult to muster any. Trying to outdrink your alcoholic ex-fuck buddy wasn’t exactly the key to your heart.

This went on until the bottle was just about empty. Kishibe and them made light conversation which revealed even more of their dimwittedness. You found it charming before, but now it was just embarrassing. It didn’t help that they were conversing with Kishibe of all people. His alcohol tolerance was high and he was capable of being articulate even if he was totally wasted. His talents were much more apparent when juxtaposed against their idiocy.

Your date looked like death was at their door, the devil patiently waiting for them to fall down and hit their head or choke on their own vomit.

“Ho—holy shit. Yo—you’re like the… Michael Jor—Jordan of drinking.”

“I’ll keep that compliment close to my heart. You up for one more?”

“I think he’s done, Kishibe,” you fretted, grabbing his arm as he went to fill your date’s glass.

“You done?”

“No fuckin’ way!”

Kishibe gave you a smug side-eye and filled two glasses. He passed one to your date.

Your date smiled like an idiot. “Ch—cheers!”

Kishibe didn’t bother and simply took a sip of his whiskey. Your date on the other hand slammed theirs.

“You two fuck already?” Kishibe asked matter-of-factly.

“Kishibe!”

“Not yet, but probably i—if this all go… goes well.”

“Aw, he thinks he’s gonna fuck you tonight. How precious.”

Kishibe slipped his hand under your tennis skirt. His rough palm started rubbing the inside of your thigh. You crossed your legs, trapping his hand between them. It wasn’t a great plan of action, but you assumed it would be a small deterrent.

“Sh—sorry that was vulgar,” your date looked at you with bloodshot eyes. “I’m reeeeeally sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe we should get going.”

Neither of them moved a muscle.

“I’m not done drinking, kid.”

Your date rested their head on the table. “An—and I ca—can’t move right… now.”

“See? We’re not goin’ anywhere for awhile. Might as well relax.”

You released Kishibe’s hand and hoped that would be the extent of his touches, but you were sorely mistaken. He started to rub your clothed cunt, the cotton of your underwear brushing up against your clit. You clenched your jaw and tried to find the wherewithal to push his hand away.

“Liiiiiiisten to th—the man. It’s nappy time.”

Your date seemed to drift away as their eyes closed.

“Stop it,” you whispered.

“Make me,” Kishibe purred in your ear. “Be a big girl and stop me.”

You rolled your eyes and stared at the table, hoping it would imbue you with the strength to leave on your own with your dignity intact.

“I don’t know why you’re pretending you’re not mine,” he said, breath hot against your ear.

He scooted closer to you and reached over, grabbing your breast.

“No bra? Hm, you were trying to get fucked tonight.”

“I was not. I just couldn’t find a clean one and this shirt doesn’t make it obvious because the fabric is so thick. And… Like fuck… Not everything I do revolves around getting your like dick hard. Plus I seriously have to do some laundry—why am I even telling you this?”

“I don’t know. I stopped listening once you started talking about textiles.”

That was one of the many reasons you ditched Kishibe. His casual indifference was attractive at times, but it wasn’t uncommon for it to make you feel like shit.

He pinched your clit between his fingers and you gasped. Your date reared their head and looked around.

“Y—you guys having fun!?”

“Very. We’ve needed to catch up,” Kishibe replied. “It has been,” he paused and looked at your frazzled face, “awhile.”

They gave a thumbs up before collapsing onto the table. You were plagued with guilt. Sure, this was a date, a first one at that, but you felt dirty. You should have known Kishibe was purposefully overpouring them, setting them up to blackout. Now that they were out of the way, he had full reign to do whatever he pleased.

“You know you want it,” he said, rubbing the wet spot blooming in your underwear.

He was right, but he didn’t need to say it.

“You could have told me to go the fuck away, but you didn’t. Now do me a favor and take off your underwear like a good girl.”

Your hands went under the table and you pulled down your underwear, bunching them up and putting them next to you in the booth. You didn’t want to lose them.

“You’re not gonna make me work for it? You’re gonna give it up that easy? I thought you were a new person these days, kid.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said firmly.

He snickered and swiped his fingers along your slit. He held them up. They were coated in your fluids, glistening under the overhead lighting. Your eyes widened. There was no way you could’ve thought up an explanation had your date woke up.

“Lick ‘em clean for me.”

You glanced over at your sleeping date and slowly opened your mouth. It didn’t take long for Kishibe to slide his fingers inside. You ran your tongue along the pads of them, lapping up the remnants of your arousal.

“Atta girl,” he said, removing his fingers from your mouth.

He smirked and started playing with your folds. They were sticky with your fluids. It was embarrassing. You had started feeling wet the second Kishibe joined you on your date, but you’d never let him know that. That shit was going with you to your grave.

His rough fingers felt like heaven as they spread apart your folds, revealing your aching cunt. He prodded your hole, teasing it with his fingertip.

He whispered in your ear, “You want more?”

You silently nodded as he bit your earlobe.

He slipped two of his fingers inside you, curling them as he fucked you.

“Oh fuck,” you blurted out.

Your date shifted in their seat. “Wh—what’s goin’ on?!”

Kishibe slipped another finger inside you. “Nothing you need to worry about. Go back to sleep.”

His words were all it took to soothe them into a slumber.

“Keep it down or we’ll get caught… Unless that’s what you want,” he teased.

He stuck his hand up your shirt and began fondling your breasts. He rubbed your nipple with his thumb while he used the rest of his fingers to grope you. You struggled to stifle your whimpering. It simply felt too good. It had been awhile since anyone put their hands on you. Your body craved the touch of another.

“Might be fun if they wake up though. How would explain this transgression away? Is this part of our book club?”

He applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing it in small circles.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“No,” he said, lips against your neck.

He started sucking on it in an incredibly visible place like he always did. You didn’t know how you would explain away this transgression either. But to be honest you didn’t really care. At least not right now. The regret would work its way into your brain by morning… probably.

The second his sucking turned to biting you lost the ability to temper your whimpering. A small moan fell from your lips. Your eyes quickly darted over to your date who was fast asleep. You sighed in relief.

“Why don’t I lift up your shirt and leave a few marks on your tits.”

“That’s so obvious,” you muttered. “Someone,” you gestured towards the other bar patrons, “will see.”

He squeezed your erect nipple in between his fingers. “And?”

“T—too much.” You could barely form a sentence. “Not drunk enough for it.”

He smiled and thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt and began fucking you with them. There was no way you could contain yourself. Your orgasm was creeping up your spine. You knew it wouldn’t be long until you were a mess.

He let go of your breast and grabbed you by the chin, pulling you close and forcing you to look at him.

“I wanna fuck you so bad, wanna fill you with my cum so you remember who you belong to,” he hoarsley whispered.

You sighed, ecstasy overtaking you. The world seemed to melt away. There was no bar. There was no date sleeping in front of you. All that existed was Kishibe fingerfucking you into oblivion. Nothing else mattered to you anymore. Why bother changing your ways? Why try something new? Sweetness was overrated. A boring life full of cute romantic gestures was overrated. You wanted excitement. You wanted to immerse your soul in filth.

You covered your mouth, hoping it would muffle your debauched moans. Your eyes were fixed on your date, waiting for any sign of life. You were convinced you’d get caught, that they’d finally see you for what you really were.

Kishibe pulled his fingers away just as you felt yourself starting to climax.

“The only way you’re gonna come is if you leave with me and not that idiot.”

“Kishibe,” you whimpered. “Not fair. I’m so close.”

“I don’t care,” he said sweetly.

“I need to make sure they get home safe,” you said, eyes still fixed on your date.

“They’ll be fine. Call them a cab or a Lyft or whatever the fuck you people use.”

“Fuck. Fine. Just let me come please. It hurts,” you whined.

He smirked and resumed finger fucking you. You tossed your head back and moaned. A few patrons glanced over at you with grossed out looks on their faces, but they swiftly looked away and minded their own business.

You rutted against Kishibe’s hand.

“Look at me when you come,” he demanded.

You met his gaze. He looked so proud of himself. If you hadn’t been in the throes of rapture you would have kicked him in the balls. But no, you were ascending without a single thought in your head. Getting caught didn’t even register anymore. You were lost in your own body as it was overcome with pleasure. Your toes were curled and your back was arched. There was no hiding it from anyone. Once you finally came back down to earth you shoved Kishibe away.

“You mad at me now?” He asked, sucking his fingers clean.

“No.”

Kishibe snickered and gently roused your date.

“You need her to call you a cab?”

“Huh?” Your date looked at you, their eyes heavy-lidded. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

They slid out of the booth and immediately stumbled the second they tried to stand. Kishibe stood up and helped them to their feet.

Kishibe looked over his shoulder. “Call him something. I’ll keep him safe outside.”

You pulled out your phone and found your date a way home. You thought you’d feel guilty for everything, but you were actually relieved knowing you’d spend the night in Kishibe’s apartment. Comfort was ultimately found in familiarity and that’s what Kishibe was.

#kishibe x reader #kishibe csm x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #kishibe smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.csm #.kishibe

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thrawns-backrest · 8 months

Text

Krennic in Vader Annual 2

I'm sorry but how can I not love this man

he was in this book for a grand total of four pages but they wrote him so accurately I'm howling

first you've got Vader arriving on Geonosis and Krennic coming out to meet him

and of course his first job is to lay it on thick with his boss. he's also wearing the Krennic cape 2.0 Gucci edition, looking more fabulous than ever

then the rocks above them explode and we get this wonderful panel

LOOK AT HIM MY MAN IS SHOOK. I've never seen him so disheveled shfjhfghdjgf

then as the cherry on top Vader literally grabs him and drags him away by the scruff

if Ben Mendelsohn is reading this, I would like him to make that sound for me please

and the first thing he does when they're safe, the first thing he does, is this

which is hilarious because you just know this man blames Tarkin every time he comes close to dying. though to be fair he probably blames Tarkin every time he stubs his toe or spills caf on himself

(also I'm shook that this is my man's office, babe please, you have standards)

you sir are a little shit. and I love you for it

and if you still had any doubts as to whether this is top tier Krennic characterization, he goes on to smear Tarkin some more while trying to make himself look better

only for Vader to shut him down like it's nobody's business lmao

then we have this beauty of a panel

LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT THIS OLD MAN MAKING PUPPY EYES AT VADER

'You and me, Lord Vader, we're tangled up in this' I CAN'T WITH THIS MAN. GIVE HIM A LAP DANCE TOO WHY WON'T YOU

honestly though if Orson Krennic looked at me like that and begged me to find his assassin I might just fall to the dark side to do it, just saying

we next see Vader talking to some sort of loyalty officer and we get this beautiful description

a manipulative autocrat and a venal ego-driven narcissist? idk sounds like a married couple to me. maybe they can just, not kill each other and enjoy the power the Empire affords them together as evil husbands

just saying

fr though these lines are making me feral. Vader then gets the murder itch and she tells him to calm down while both praising and subtly roasting our loathsome duo

you're damn right my man is brilliant. good to know we're acknowledging that

all in all this has to be some of my favorite Krennic content out there. the only thing I didn't like about this issue is that they made Tarkin and Vader really hostile towards each other. Vader gets two very vivid fantasies of killing him and I suspect the artist just really wanted to draw that, which, fair enough

personally my preferred characterization for these two is that they are low key buddies (seriously read Tarkin, they totally become buddies there, Palpy sends them on a play date to get them to get along and all that)

but otherwise 10/10 would recommend, great issue

#orson krennic #director krennic #darth vader #wilhuff tarkin #star wars comics #star wars

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1970sgothfreak · 1 year

Text

The Forgotten Twin’s birthday part 4

Y/n/n- your nickname

Jon’s pov:

“I’ll see you later babe love you too” I said before hanging up the call, I smiled and blushed at the thought of me and y/n/n hanging out again!. I keep thinking about how the others had treated her, she mentioned how she didn’t know if she should accept their apology but I told her to stand her ground as it would be a better idea.

I got up and decided to get some food before heading out so I went downstairs seeing my dad and Conner there, he waved to me before going back on his phone and my dad was reading the paper…for some odd reason. I grabbed a glass of water and started to make a sandwich when I heard my dad place down the paper and clear his throat.

“So how are you and Y/n doing?”

“Oh we’re doing great actually! I can’t wait for her to come over and you meet her as my girlfriend this time”

“Well I’m glad your happy John”

“Yea…but she’s not..stupid Bruce…”

I froze after saying that hoping my father didn’t hear me say that but I looked over my shoulder and saw him looking at me with confusion, oh no…I messed up!.

“John what are you talking about..?”

“Well…”

~meanwhile~

Your pov:

Bruce has been nonstop trying to apologies to me, I’m on my breaking point and am shocked that he’s actually trying and was about to accept it until I heard him talking to a reporter and he mentioned how the family would be back to perfect soon… heh guess I was right.

I looked up from my book seeing him walk into the living room and rolled my eyes, he approached me and sat next to me.

“Y/n..”

“Bruce” I saw him pause when he heard me call him his name, good he deserves this pain. I placed my book down and looked up at him.

“What do you want this time”

“To apologise…I’m trying to make things right for us..”

“ no you’re trying to make things right for you so you look good in the press, I heard what you said to the reporter earlier, you aren’t genuine with this apology!” I stated slamming my hand down onto the table and stood up.

“ y/-“

“NO, YOU ARE NOT A GENUINE PERSON UNLESS IT BENEFITS YOU!..I DON’T DO THAT AND LETS NOT FORGET THE THAT THAT YOU AND YOUR SONS NEVER ACKNOWLEDGED ME!…. I have every right to not have you in my life when you never considered me apart of yours and I can promise you that when I graduate you and the boys will never… EVER see me again!”

I yelled while trying to control my emotions but I knew it wasn’t working when I felt my eyes water. I shoved past him and decided to go on a walk hoping it would calm me.

Bruce pov:

I winced as the manors doors slammed shut, I really messed up didn’t I. I stared at my hands not realising that someone was coming up behind me, I looked up and saw Clark looking at me with disappointment and maybe a hint of disgust.

“Clark? What are you doing here?”

“Wondering why the hell I found out from John that you were being a shit father! Bruce cmon… IGNORING YOUR KID?!?”

“You weren’t exactly a good dad either!” I stated back

“ you’re right but I learned and now I love those boys more than anything, you just didn’t care enough and that caused your relationship to fail” he said and that’s when reality finally set in… I lost my daughter all because I couldn’t…No I didn’t care enough about her.

…fuck

~a couple hours later~

No one’s pov:

You were sitting in an alleyway trying to finish your food without any interruption when your phone started to ring. You saw it was an unknown number but decided to pick it up.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“ hello my dear.. how are you?”

“M-mother…”

“ Yes it’s me… I-.. I heard what your father and brother did and my dear I want you to know you are always welcome back at the league”

“…Mother I…I know I am…please may I just think it over?”

“Of course take all the time you need I love you”

“I…I love you too mother”

The call ended and you stared at the phone, at least now you had two people who actually cared about you. The boys and Bruce were only sorry because they were called out but John and your mother loved you no matter what.

Ah shit…now you had a choice to make…

Join your mother and leave the boys or forgive them and see what happens?

What will you pick?

Taglist:

@batfamlover

@awalkingdisasterbi

@randobeetlehouse

@loxbbg

@harpy-space

@snowcatlove

@kiyomi-uchiha777

@burnaccsblog

@ur-local-brown-artist

@killerqueenduck

@tweetybomb

@knoxx-seresinbradshaw

@venomsvl

@ladyagagaslefttoe

@sem-blog245

@odinswarriorvalkyrie

@vanessa-boo

@burnaccsblog

@mxtokko

#platonic #batfam angst #batfam x batsis #batsis reader #jon kent x reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #damian wayne x batsis #dick grayson x sister reader #jason todd x sister!reader #The forgotten Twin’s birthday

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yxlenas · 20 days

Note

Bishova is such a funny ship name imo, 'cause "fag" in portuguese is "bicha" so whenever I read "bishova" inside my head, it reminds me of "bichona" (aka "big fag" in portuguese) lmaooo

Anyways. Pls feel free to share some of your bishova headcanons (even though I don't even go here lol). I kinda see the ~vision~ from that one scene w/ them that I saw (yeah, I'm gay and weak, sue me)

I HATE the ship name soooo much lmao I was on the ground floor of the ship (Like, pre-hawkeye, using their interactions in the Thompson BW run for inspo) and I was gunning for it to be Katelena but I was 100% outvoted.

I'm gonna give you a couple SFW ones and then a couple NSFW ones because I WILL make you a Marvel girlie if it takes the rest of our tumblr lives

Yelena has some food issues (food insecurity/aversions, trouble acknowledging her fullness cues) and Kate is the one who helps her figure out how to treat those. One thing they do is that when they go out to eat, Kate boxes up half of Yelena's entree for her when it comes to the table so Yelena doesn't eat herself sick.

They're both neurodivergent-Yelena was an excellent assassin but in the MCU there's little to no suggestion that she ever did honeypot missions and I think it's because her social cues aren't great. Kate absolutely has hyperactive ADHD.

I think Yelena enjoys being read aloud to. She finds it soothing. Kate will read news articles and books and shit out loud to Yelena with Yelena's head in her lap.

They are both obviously dog people but Yelena is *obsessed* with Bucky's cat Alpine and will wander around with Alpine tucked in her hoodie. Alpine does not like Kate. Kate will MAKE Alpine like her if it's the last thing she does.

Antonia Dreykov is not much of a Kate fan at first. She finds Kate soft, loud, overly dramatic, and painfully naive. Then Yelena almost dies on Antonia's watch, and Kate steps up in a very serious, real way. That wins Antonia over to the Kate side.

NSFW

Yelena's the bottom. I love bottom Yelena. She's a spoiled, bratty sugar baby pillow princess and Kate is OBSESSED with the power trip it gives her to see Yelena like that.

Tbh I'm not into asexual Yelena and less and less inclined to even discuss it but I DO think Yelena has hangups and triggers around sex. The girls take the physical intimacy part of their relationship at a GLACIAL pace, and there are times where something Kate says or does ends in a meltdown or panic attack for Yelena. It makes Kate feel very guilty. Yelena makes jokes about it, which does not provide the levity that she THINKS they do.

Kate doesn't really like to wear pants much, especially in their room/their own apartment once Yelena is secure enough to live with just Kate (I think for a while Yelena lives with Bucky and thus Sam, and Kate ends up there too-Yelena gets anxious alone and needs to learn to person). Yelena regularly grabs her ass and squeezes before BOLTING to trick Kate into chasing her and throwing her on the bed.

#Katelena #Kate Bishop #Yelena Belova #Yelena Belova Headcanons #Bishova #bishlova #kate x yelena #yelena’s food issues

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beybaldes · 1 year

Text

all I know of love is how to live without it (i jus can't seem to find it)

Eddie Roundtree × Fem!Reader

djats masterlist

word count: 1.5k

summary: a part 2 to 'all I know of love is how to live without it' in which you realise he's your Eddie just as much as your his birdie.

Warning!! I have not read the book or the show!!! All info I have gathered has been from other x readers I have read. sorry in advance if I have butchered vour fav show/book because I have plainly made shit up in favour of satiating my own need for more eddie fics xoxo

It had been a beyond shit week. First, Billy spent a solid 40 minutes yelling at you after practice, then Graham blamed you for eating the last of his leftovers even though you'd seen Karen take it, Warren had blamed you for something he'd broken inside the rental making Camilla have a go at you for 'being careless'. The only person who hadn't got on your case for something was Eddie; but that hadn't stopped you from hiding away in your room for the past 36 hours, hoping that if you just avoided everyone, no one could yell at you again.

"Get up." Eddie commanded as he opened the door to your room. He wasted no time in heading for you drawers, routing through it to find you a change of clothes and promptly throwing whatever he'd decided was a nice outfit at you. "Get up, come on."

You responded with a groan, head burrowed into your pillows as if that would stop Eddie from seeing you.

"I'm being serious." Eddie walked over to you, brushing your mess of a head of hair away from your face, taking your chin in his hand gently. "Get up, birdie."

"Please don't make me." You whimpered, one eye peaking open in your best attempt to bed Eddie to leave you alone. While he was the one person you'd want to talk to given the past few days, you just wanted to be left alone right now.

"Tough luck." Eddie grumbled, sitting himself at the edge of your bed, one hand holding your ankle and running his thumb across the skin there. "Get up, get dressed, I'll be waiting outside."

When you finally opened your bedroom door almost 20 minutes later, Eddie was leaning against the wall beside the door, a lit cigarette between his lips and the car keys swinging around his finger. He took your hand in his, pulling you through the length of the house in the direction of the front door.

"We'll be back with food shortly." Graham was the only one to acknowledge you, telling you to be safe in your journey to pick up his beloved take out.

"You're making me come pick up take out with you?" You grumbled, slipping into the passenger seat as Eddie got behind the wheel, letting him turn on the car then quickly reaching to pop out the current cassette, putting in your own instead. "You know they're all just gonna be mad at me when something missing from the order - even if they plainly forgot to order it."

"No they're not, birdie."

"Really? Then tell that to everything that's happened this week." You pulled your knees up to your chest inside the vehicle, looking out of the window longingly. "Everyone's been treating me like shit, don't need to give them another reason too."

Eddie allowed you to mellow in the silence of the car ride, not pushing you to talk about what was on your mind or what exactly had been said to you throughout the week. When he'd come to your room to force you out of it, he'd assumed you were just in a bit of a rut, but it was becoming more apparent that something else was going on.

You didn't speak up again until Eddie drove right past the Chinese place without the thought of stopping, turning the corner and pulling into the diners parking lot instead.

"What are you doing?" You asked, following Eddie's action of getting out of the car, however, he grabbed your hand, pulling you in the direction of the diner without a word.

I'm true gentlemanly fashion, Eddie held open the door for you, his hand on the small of your back guiding you into the threshold of the building and into of the booths that was tucked away in the far corner of the room. He encouraged you to sit down, ordering on your behalf when the waitress came over in hushed whispers.

"This is sweet, Eddie, really sweet. But I just want to go back." Eddie's brow quirked up at your meek words, your head hung low as you denied his gesture in hopes of getting back into your bed. "If we don't get back with the take out soon, everyone's going to be upset. I don't want them to be upset with me anymore."

"Everyone else can wait." Eddie assured you, taking the basket of fries and two milkshakes he'd ordered from the waitress with kind smile. "You need this, birdie, need me. That's more important then them lot getting their takeout."

You nodded silently, taking a sip of the milkshake he had ordered for you - your favourite even though he'd ordered for you. Sometimes you forgot how well Eddie knew you, that you'd known each other since you were kids. So many aspects of your friendship still felt new sometimes, but maybe that was what life out in LA was doing to you - Making you forget.

"You remember in 10th grade, when we had that Sadie Hawkins dance?" Eddie asked, reaching for one of your hands across the table and knocking the basket of fries closer to you with the other, prompting you to take a few.

"How could I forget?" You hummed, a smile curling on your lips as you through about high school and Pittsburgh, all the nights you spent hanging out with your friends way too late on some backroad or in someone's basement. Things were so much simpler then, happier even. "Your mom made you wear that awful green suit because she thought it'd compliment my dress nicely."

"You said I looked cute in that suit!" Eddie gasped, almost offended that you'd lied to him all those years ago.

"You did! You always look cute. That suit was just awful though."

Eddie shook his head, running his thumb across you knuckles with a smile, glad that a smile had cracked on your one face for the first time all week.

"Not my point, anyway." Eddie took a sip of his own milkshake, wiping at the start after he did, swallowing down the cool liquid. "I didn't think anyone was going to ask me."

That grabbed your attention. How could Eddie think that? The second they'd announced the Sadie Hawkins dance, you knew you wanted to ask him - but even then, Eddie was a catch, who wouldn't want to ask him?

"And then you showed up on my doorstep, with that cheesy sign and a mixtape of all my favourite songs. Made me feel real wanted." Eddie looked at your connected hands, his thumb still running over your knuckles in a soothing motion, the stress seeing out of your body with every moment longer you sat in the diner. "There was no one else I'd rather have gone with."

"Gave you the prom-posal you deserved." You reasoned, thinking back to how you'd even considered bringing him flowers but deciding you'd just stick to the over the top, arts and crafts sign. "Why'd you think no one was going to ask you?"

"I thought you'd ask Warren or Graham, honestly. Just not me."

You were almost offended that Eddie thought you'd choose one of your other friends over him, but you didn't dwell on it. You'd been in those shoes, unsure if anyone even liked you let alone wanted to spend time with you, or ask you to a dance - you couldn't blame him.

"I'd always pick you, Ed's."

Eddie knew he'd cracked it; a smile was back on your face and your milkshake was gone so you'd moved into his without asking.

"There she is." He cooed, head ducking down slightly so that he could meet your eyes. The horn he had on your hand tightened, a warm smile curling into his cheeks, dimpling them cutely. "There's my birdie."

In all the years that Eddie had called your birdie, he'd never called you his birdie; though now that you thought about it, it should've been a given. No one else called you that, and if they tried too, you'd ask them to stop, knowing it would feel right. The feeling of knowing made your head spin, so much so that you didn't notice Eddie paying for your food until he walked around to your side of the booth, offering you the crook of his elbow to walk you back to the car.

"You take such good care of me, do you know that?" You whispered into his shoulder, your head falling against it as you spoke, enjoying the lazy walk back to the house before you were surely crucified for taking so long to bring the takeout back.

"That's what we do." Eddie mused, opening the passenger side door for you and allowing you to get in before he closed it, walking around to the drivers side and getting in himself. "Me and you."

Me and you. Eddie and Birdie. Yeah. You liked the sound of that.

#djats imagine #djats x reader #daisy jones and the six imagine #daisy jones and the six x reader #eddie loving x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree oneshot #eddie roundtree imagine #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving onehsot #eddie loving imagine #eddie loving

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daimyosprincess · 1 year

Text

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.

—WORD COUNT: 11.2k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), alcohol consumption by reader and others, reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!

A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.

The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you.

“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”

“Please, it’s all yours.”

He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.

“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”

Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.

Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey.

You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?

When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.

“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”

“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”

“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”

“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”

He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.

With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life.

Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.

The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”

“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.

Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”

Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them.

“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”

The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.

“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.

Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”

You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”

“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”

“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”

“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”

You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore.

Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?”

A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”

Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”

She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.

You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over.

Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…

“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?”

Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.

It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge.

After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter. “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.

Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?”

Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.

She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”

“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”

“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder.

Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”

“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”

“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core.

That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.”

Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”

You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”

“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”

You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”

“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.

A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”

“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.

Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.

“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.

“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.

You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”

“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”

The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”

With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”

Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze.

You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.

You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion.

His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.

Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.

Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.

Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it.

Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.

He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?”

“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”

You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”

You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.

You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”

The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.

“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.

Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”

“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips.

If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?”

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.

He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.

The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.

Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.

“Fuck, Boba!”

A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.

This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.

“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”

Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!

“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus! The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.

You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”

Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute.

“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”

Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”

Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.

“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”

Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”

Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”

“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”

Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.

“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”

Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”

The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.

Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.”

The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”

“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.

A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess.

“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”

Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.”

“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.

Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.

“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”

You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”

A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.

“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.

“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you.

Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”

He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”

“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”

You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”

You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”

Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.

Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.

“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes.

You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion.

“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”

You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex.

You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.

“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.

He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.

Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”

His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.

“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.

“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.

Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”

“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.

Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”

Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”

“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.

Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!”

“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”

You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

“You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.

“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”

“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”

He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles.

“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat.

Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”

“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.

Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”

Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.

“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.

“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.

You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.

You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”

Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.

Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak.

“What, little one?”

“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”

He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.

“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”

Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small.

His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.

He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”

“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”

Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you.

“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.

“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”

“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”

By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure.

“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.

Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”

You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.

“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”

“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.

“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”

You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”

“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”

You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.

“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”

—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)

I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

#i honestly do not know how i survived writing this #i think i passed out several times and my fingers just kept typing because 😮‍💨🥴🥵#professor boba owns my entire ass (and p*ssy)#zwei writes #fanfic #ex libris fic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #professor!boba fett #professor boba fett #professor au #star wars fanfiction

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