#GOOD GOD i just listened to chapter 4 last night

[b1gwings]

i am not immune to waiting until i finish my finals to finish listening to the suffering game........

#taz balance #GOOD GOD i just listened to chapter 4 last night #THE FUCKING TRUESIGHT SPELL??? #i kniow this is old news by now but im listening for hte first time #i need to buy the graphic novels btw #i need to draw them. im exploding them with my mind #it's so fucking good. i can't believe it's taken me this long to get into taz

[carakook]

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“I said, don’t. Just shut the fuck up and let me have this. Just one more time, please…”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘4. Spring Is Gone

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: After being granted with “closure”, you try to enjoy your last night with Jungkook. It’s an emotional and fucking steamy mess.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 13K+ 🥴

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of cheating, active cheating, HEAVY smut, mouth spitting, wine kissing (idk if it’s actually called this but it’s what I have always called it LMAO), crying during sex, emotional sex, EMOTIONAL EVERYTHING YOU WILL CRY I AM WARNING YOU, grief, breaking up (sort of?), panic/anxiety attacks, alcohol, stealing (lol it’s kinda cute you’ll see,) making love (different from fucking), sort of rough, unprotected sex (always be careful, Y/N is on BC!), SAD JUNGKOOK I REPEAT SAD JUNGKOOK!!!! let me know if I miss anything there is a lot in this chapter.

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: The long awaited chapter. This is a long one. I cried. A lot. Holy shit? It’s actually so sad lol but also has some good smut. This isn’t the last chapter, as I said before this is a full on fanfic, I also have it on Wattpad but it gets barely any reads so if you are interested in that let me know. After this chapter, things get very… drama filled? Idk a good word for it lol. I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry in advance if you cry. I highly recommend listening to the songs, each of them have a place in every chapter which is why I list them lol. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy. Love you.❤️

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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Merry Go - DPR Ian

♪Gimmie Love - Joji

♪The Astronaut - JIN

♪Dope Lovers - DPR Ian

♪sex money feelings die - Lykke Lie

♪Angel - The Weeknd

♪Nerves - DPR Ian

♪505 - Arctic Monkeys

♪I Love You So - The Walters

♪Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

♪Cry - Cigarettes After Sex

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

Since you both agreed on enough of the heavy shit, you spend time together. The mood is heavy for some time, almost awkward, which is why you break out the several bottles of wine you bought this week in an attempt to cope with the end of you and your flower. You’d much rather drink it with him anyway.

You can always buy more.

The wine helps. After you’ve both had a glass, it feels less strained. You continue eating pizza and watching whatever sappy drama is on TV. He picks up on his rant, starts explaining how sex is definitely comparable to pizza; sex creates life, and without sex, we wouldn’t have discovered pizza. Makes total sense. It’s stupid, but he has a point—a very Jungkook thing to think up.

By the time you’re both three glasses deep, you’re a bit wine-drunk. He holds his liquor much better than you do, but you can tell he’s feeling all fuzzy inside. You check your phone as he sits sprawled out on your couch, taking up almost the entire damn thing with his bulky ass. It’s nearly 11:30 pm… around the time he should probably go home.

You glance at him, debating whether to subtly kick him out or not. You don’t want to, god no. It literally makes you sick thinking about it. But you shouldn’t let him stay either, should you? You’re supposed to end this. This was the last night.

But you see how content he looks—like a big, overgrown spoiled dog with a belly full of treats, relaxing next to his favorite person.

You did say one last night… technically the night isn’t over. And he shouldn’t drive in this state, really, if anything, it’s just for his safety…

So you nudge his leg with your foot, and he turns his head lazily towards you, arches a brow, “Hm?”

“Sleep over?”

Oh, he fucking grins. His dimples on show, his eyes crinkling up adorably, and his big bunny like teeth saying hi.

Because what you don’t realize is he wasn’t going to leave. Fuck no. You said one last night, and he was going to milk that for everything it was. No way in hell was he going to go home tonight. If he’s being frank, that’s why he drank three glasses of wine. He didn’t need it. But he knew he could use it as a loophole to staying the night. You wouldn’t let him drive drunk.

He knows damn well what he’s doing, and he’s elated that you offered to let him stay. It means you want him here.

Even after all the bullshit, you still want him here. You want to prolong it, too.

“Hell yeah.”

He winks and then leans up a bit to stretch, causing his shirt to lift and give you the most indulgent peak of his stomach. You shamelessly stare, and he absolutely notices, lifting his arms a bit higher just to give you a better look.

He loves it when you look at him like that.

But then he stands up, casually grabs his car keys from the coffee table, as if he isn’t fucking teasing you.

Fuck. The wine is definitely kicking in. The warm fuzzies in your tummy are spreading elsewhere.

“Gonna go grab some stuff from my car then, make sure it’s locked, I’ll be right back.”

You hum in response and lean back into the couch. Watch him as he walks out the door, and find comfort in the fact that you know he’s coming back… even if it’s the last time.

Jungkook is doing his best not to let his mind wander to the more damning thoughts as he walks out of your complex and into the parking lot. Because he feels the opposite, no comfort at all. His anxiety is spiked now that you’re out of sight. What if you don’t let him in when he makes his way back to you? What if you change your mind about the sleepover? What if you decide you hate him?

Not only that, but he feels like he’s wasting precious time. As if the five minutes he will be away from you (barely) are irreplaceable and he’s just wasting them. It’s literally the end of the world… he shouldn’t be wasting time.

But that’s just his anxiety speaking. In truth, he doesn’t actually need the things in his car… but he packed a few things before showing up unannounced—things he wanted to leave you with.

Such as the little Polaroid camera you bought for him months ago, one that you yourself have used every single time you’re together. You always snap little candid pictures of him, sometimes yourself. He finds your fascination with the thing so fucking cute. He uses it, too, of course. He often takes pictures of you without you even knowing it… and you’ve both definitely taken some more raunchy pictures, pictures that he keeps hidden away in a box for when he misses your touch. For his eyes only. They’re priceless to him, probably some of his most prized possessions.

Speaking of those photos, he also packed a box full of them just for you. Pictures you’ve taken of him, of both of you, of anything and everything. He wants you to have them, wants you to be able to look at them when you miss him a little too much. He went through the photos over the last few days of no contact, greedily picked out his favorites, and put them into his own box for the same purpose. But he picked a generous amount out for you, too.

And as corny as it may sound, he packed a few pieces of his clothing. He knows how much you love stealing his shit, especially his shirts. Several are still missing, but he won’t ask for them back. He’Ll gift you with more, made sure to spray his cologne on them too, so that you can smell him on them. He packed his favorite shirt, hoodie, and something he will reluctantly, but willingly, part with. His denim jacket.

All of them are Calvin Klein branded. The shirt is basic, just a black shirt that’s fitted on him but swallows you whole. It’s the one you often steal when you sleep over at his second apartment, but he never let you take it home because it was his favorite. It’s worn in and soft, that’s why he likes it. But it’s yours now, just like him.

The hoodie is the same, basic black, one that you always tried to steal but never succeeded in doing so. It’ll be like a warm hug when you miss him, he thinks. You’ll love it more than he will. You’ll need it more than him on nights that you feel lonely.

The jean jacket isn’t anything special in appearance. It’s dark denim but is lined in that soft wool that keeps you warm and cozy. He wore it often in the cold months, thought it made him look handsome, but also kept him comfy. He’d rather you have it. He wants to keep you warm forever, hold you in his arms and never let go, make sure you never feel cold again… but he can’t exactly do that. So instead, he’ll give you his jacket.

The last thing is one of his chains. God, he knows you love those damn chains. He almost always wears one, silver or gold, depending on the day. And you always make sure to tell him how much you like them. He never really understood it; it’s something so simple. But you swooned for it. After you guys fuck, you’re always touching it, playing with it. Even when you guys aren’t fucking, you seem to have the impulse to touch it. Maybe it’s a girl thing, he doesn’t know. But he’s giving you one since you liked it so much.

Definitely a girl thing.

He also brought the bottle of perfume you dropped on his floor that night you stormed off… he was going to give it back. Return it to its rightful owner. But as he’s grabbing the bag full of goods out of his car… he impulsively takes it out. Wants to keep it. Wants to be able to smell you, too. He’s sure you won’t miss it.

You won’t miss that perfume as much as he’s going to miss you.

He quickly grabs the bag of stuff, nearly dropping it as he grows more restless because he’s not with you right now. You’re too far away, and every single second counts tonight.

So he rushes back into your complex building, nearly full-on sprinting back to your door.

As he lets himself back in, you’re in the exact same position. Sitting comfy on the couch, eyes on the TV, your wine glass a bit more empty now. Thank fuck.

He wasn’t even gone for more than four minutes. And yes, you did notice, you didn’t like it. But you knew he’d come back. So you waited. Wasn’t a big deal.

He’s just dramatic, for good reason of course. You can see the unease written all over his face as he pads his way back towards you, sets the bag next to your couch. He doesn’t disclose what’s in it and you don’t ask, you just assume it’s the bag he usually keeps in his car for impromptu nights like this.

He doesn’t want to present these little gifts to you yet… because he feels like that’s what’s going to really finalize it. So he’ll wait a little longer.

Would put it off forever if he could.

He takes a seat next to you, obnoxiously close. Your couch isn’t big, but there’s enough for two people to have a comfortable distance from each other. He doesn’t care. He wants to make sure he’s touching you in some way, so he nearly squishes you as he sits down as casually as ever and slings one of his arms on the back of your couch so that his fingertips rest on your shoulder.

He has an almost jittery energy about him right now. Obviously, emotions are heavy; it’s your last night together. It’s kind of hard to act totally ok and normal when you’re both well aware that this is the last night. But even then, somethings a bit off.

You study him for a moment, notice how he’s running his teeth over his lip ring again, how his leg is bouncing up and down a bit even as he tries to mimic a relaxed position on the couch. Maybe he’s anxious?

He is. However, that’s not what this is all about. He wants to kiss and touch you so badly it hurts. But now he’s unsure if he’s allowed. He doesn’t know what’s on and off limits tonight, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize your time together by fucking it up and making unwanted advances.

Overthinking. He wishes he didn’t do that. But he doesn’t even realize it’s happening until after things are said and done, doesn’t know how to stop it.

You assume maybe it’s just nervous energy thanks to the impending sense of doom you both feel. You feel similarly… but you hide it better.

More wine would help, you think.

So you lean forward and grab the bottle which is half empty, this is the second bottle of tonight. You top off each of your glasses as Jungkook watches, and you take a sip.

His eyes stay glued to your lips. He loves your lips. Loves all of you, but especially your lips. He thinks that will be one of the things he misses the most. How soft and pillowy they are, how they’re a bit rosey in color, how they taste, how they pout out a bit when you drink wine, how wine stains your lips so prettily, how they feel wrapped around his—

Yeah. Fuck it. One last night.

“Gimmie some.”

You glance at him and arch a brow, wonder if he’s referring to the wine… or maybe pizza? You literally just topped his wine glass off. He’s being weird.

“I just topped you off?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, I want yours.”

You scoff at him because now he’s just being childish. But he’s looking at you so expectantly, almost stubbornly, as if he’s asking for something more than the wine he’s demanding.

And he is. He doesn’t even really know what though. He’s being greedy, wants your wine because your lips touched the glass, because remnants of your spit might have melted into the wine after taking sips. He doesn’t want his own damn wine.

He wants to be greedy tonight. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he’s already lost it all.

So he reaches over and takes the wine glass from you, gets a bit impatient when he sees you aren’t gonna give it to him right away. He takes a slow sip, places his lips in the same exact spot yours have been every time you’ve taken a drink. It’s ridiculous, really… but he swears he tastes the faintest essence of you on the glass. Closes his eyes, swishes the wine around in his mouth, trying to see if he can taste more of you…

Ok, so, he’s definitely being a bit ridiculous. But fuck, he already feels like he’s going crazy. Can’t really help himself when he is desperately craving any little crumb of you.

You don’t know what to make of this. Part of you is amused, part of you is irritated, because he just stole your damn wine. But you also know there must be more to it, there has to be.

He cracks an eye open, sees you staring at him like he’s crazy, because he kinda is. Only for you, of course. He just swallows the wine and shrugs innocently.

“Yours is better, mine tastes weird.”

You roll your eyes at him because he has the same wine as you do. You can’t figure out what his game is here. So you reach over and take his wine and say, “Yours is literally the same as mine.”

To prove a point you take a sip of his. Just as expected, tastes the exact same as yours. He watches you carefully… gets an idea. An incredibly impulsive,almost intrusive idea.

But again… it’s the last night. And he’s greedy.

You huff at him and point his wine glass (which is now yours apparently) at him as you watch him take a huge gulp out of your glass again.

“Yeah, see, tastes the exact-“

He abruptly grabs the nape of your neck and cups your jaw with his free hand, his thumb coming to rest on your bottom lip and lowering it. He places his lips on yours, waits until your mouth instinctively opens just as it always does for him, and then funnels the wine into your mouth.

Fucking feeding you the wine like a baby bird.

It catches you by surprise at first, causing you to cough a bit and causing the wine to dribble down your chin, but you quickly gulp it down just like he gulps down the little gasp and cough you let out. He kisses you greedily, doesn’t even build up to it before he’s pushing his tongue into your mouth and swirling it against yours, tasting the heady mixture of wine and you. Fuck, you’re his favorite taste.

You don’t protest; of course you don’t. Was definitely a bit bizarre, but also… fuck, that was hot. Was a bit weird but in a super sexy way. You kiss him back, letting out little huffs of air into his mouth as one of your hands also finds the nape of his neck. The other hand automatically rests against his chest, clings to the fabric of his shirt tightly.

You both stay like this as long as possible. The kiss only grows more desperate and aggressive, teeth and tongue clashing beautifully together like thunder and rain. Your soft pants turn into eager breathes at some point, and he knows you need to breathe. But fuck, he wants to stay lip locked with you until he passes out.

This is when you start to second-guess things. Yes, this is the last night together… but knowing it’s ending makes the guilt a bit more prominent. This wouldn’t be ending if it wasn’t wrong, but it is wrong; sleeping with him again just seems so contradictory or maybe even hypocritical.

So you push at his chest lightly, a silent signal for him to slow down. God, he hates the way his stomach lurches. Can’t fathom the idea that you might kick him out right now. Please, god, don’t do this. I’m not a weed, I swear, I’m her fucking flower. I need her one more time, he silently prays even though he’s never been religious or prayed before.

When he pulls back with heavily lidded eyes, you speak up hesitantly, even though you don’t wanna stop, god not at all.

“Kook, we shouldn’t…”

That’s all you say. Because it’s really that simple. You shouldn’t be doing this; you should never have done it at all. But even then, you lack the ability to convince him. Because you want him, one last time. You’re just having a hard time willingly giving in again.

Jungkook knows you well. Knows your body language. He knows that if you truly wanted him to stop, you would’ve been more self assured when speaking. You wouldn’t sound like a meek little mouse, you’d be firm in telling him know. He can see the same thing in your eyes, it’s pure unadulterated want. But maybe you need reassurance, reassurance that one last time is ok, is needed.

You’ve both sinned so much already, one more time won’t change shit.

So his grasp on your jaw firms up a bit, he starts feeling a little too passionate about this. He coaxes your mouth open by smooshing your cheeks a bit before saying,

“Y/N, fucking don’t. Just let us have this, please.”

“But Kook-“

He grunts in frustration. Just as impulsively as he fed you wine kisses, he spits in your mouth. It makes you flinch, makes your pussy clench because fuck it’s so filthy but so hot. So intimate in a sort of fucked up way.

“I said, don’t. Just shut the fuck up and let me have this. Just one more time, please…”

He leans back down and starts kissing you again, licking into your mouth and adding more to the spit he put there moments ago. Doesn’t even give you a chance to protest. He kisses you like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. He’s sure he will. He’ll die a miserable death if he doesn’t love you one more time.

It's a bit harsh, but you know each other enough to know he isn’t trying to be forceful or rude; he’s just desperate. You are too, honestly. You know damn well if you said no and meant it, he would pull away and stop immediately. Your body has always been safest with him. You don’t want to stop, not really. You’re thankful he’s being like this. It’s the push you need to ignore the guilt for a while longer and share your body with him one last time.

When he feels that you’ve melted into him, with no more tension or hesitancy in your body, he pulls away, nipping at your lower lip once and then sucking on it. Then his lips travel down, and he licks the wine staining your chin off before placing sloppy kisses down your neck.

He doesn’t even ask before he starts sucking and licking on your sensitive skin. Not kitten licks, not gentle sucks, no, he’s full-on giving you hickeys, and you know it. You know it’s intentional when you feel him pull back a bit to take a peak, only to lean back in a second later and bite.

The hand on his nape fists into his hair, and your back arches a bit, causing your chest to push against his chest, “Fuck, Kook…”

You should tell him to stop marking you up like this. You don’t like showing up to work or visiting friends with visible hickeys because questions get asked. And as much as you wish you could admit who they’re from, you can’t. No one knows about Jungkook. No one even knows you’re seeing someone right now, and you don’t want to have to come up with some story to cover your ass.

It’s a secret for you too.

But it’s the last night together… and the idea of having his hickeys on your neck, just to remind you a little longer that this was real, he was real, it’s an idea you quite like. Fucking love, actually.

He grunts at you, bites down a little harder, “What? Told you your wine was better…”

You let out a little breathy laugh when he says this, because of course he would play it coy, as if he didn’t just randomly start devouring you. Of course he’d blame it on the damn wine.

That breathy laugh quickly turns into a moan when one of his hands finds your tit, he starts squeezing and groping it through your shirt shamelessly, tweaking your nipple in the way he knows you love. God, he loves your tits. They’re the perfect size for him, he swears. They fit into his palm perfectly, feel like pillows, just like your lips. All of you is just so soft.

He kisses his way down your neck now that it’s all marked up in pretty purple and pink bruises blossoming, much like you do every single time he touches you like this. When he gets to your chest, he looks up at you through his lashes, and then he nearly rips your shirt off of you when he pulls it down.

His eyes leave yours as he looks down at the beautiful pillows on your chest. He just admires them for a moment, as if he’s at an art gallery studying each piece of art. That’s what you are, art. Everything about you inside out is otherworldly beautiful to him, tits included.

At this point, you’re lying down on your couch, legs parted for him. It’s a bit awkward because of how small the couch is, but that doesn’t stop either of you. He doesn’t give a fuck that he barely fits. He’ll make himself fit… just like he’s made himself fit into your life for months.

He wants to fit into your life just one more time, one more night, wants to meld together and tangle your roots so that it’s impossible to untangle them. He knows it’s wishful thinking, but that’s where this is all coming from. He’s not being aggressive and eager and greedy just because he’s horny, no, he’s doing this because maybe, just maybe, if he shows you with his body how much he loves you… how much he needs you… you’ll change your mind one day.

His mouth descends on your left breast, and he starts licking and sucking on your nipple. Your eyes roll back, and your entire body shudders at the sensations, fuck, it always feels like the first time. Before him, men didn’t pay such close attention to your body. Never even had a guy play with your tits before, Jungkook was the first. It was so odd at first, but it quickly became one of your favorite things. Makes you get so wet so fast.

You love how he looks up at you when he does it, his eyes full of asters and stars alike, hearts and moons, lust mixed with love and it’s a dizzying sight. You wonder if this is how you look when you go down on him, if that’s why it unravels him so quickly. You’d understand if so, you wish so badly you could snap a picture of him like this and preserve it.

It’s funny because he’s thinking the same thing. How beautiful you look when he goes down on you, how your eyes mimic his own, and how you have a hard time controlling your facial expressions when the pleasure is too intense. His favorite thing is when you start furrowing your brows and almost pouting at him without realizing it; the little pants and mewls you let out without meaning to, it drives him absolutely insane.

He wants to capture it, too. Fuck, tonight is a night to remember, he wants everything solidified in film. Every single kiss and touch and whisper spoken tonight, he needs to preserve it.

He sucks on your nipple for a few more seconds, his other hand flicking the nipple on your right breast. Wants to get you all worked up for him. he then pulls back, letting go of your tit with a wet pop sound. Lets his hands rest on your thighs and rubs his palms up and down them as he takes you in.

You let out a little whine when he pulls away, but you don’t protest. His pupils dilate heavily as he looks down at you because, holy fuck, you’ve never let him mark you up like this. He doesn’t even like giving hickeys, thinks it’s a bit immature, something meant for college. But seeing you blooming pink and purple from your neck down to your pretty tits? It makes his cock twitch hard in his sweats.

He removes one hand from your thigh, and reaches down to palm himself through his sweats. He squeezes his cock as he takes in your already debauched look. Marked up, tits out, lips swollen, eyes heavy… fuck. You may be what kills him, not heart break.

One last squeeze to his cock to relieve a bit of the pressure, and he lets go of it. He knows you’re getting a bit impatient by how you’re shifting in your spot, but you know he wants to take his time tonight. So you don’t say anything, no matter how much you wanna beg for his dick or his mouth.

He leans over the couch to unzip the bag he brought, grabs the Polaroid, and then readjusts himself between your legs. He sets the camera down on your stomach and brings his hands back to where your thighs are spread prettily for him.

You arch a brow, and he gives you a little smile. He still looks a bit fucked, his eyes black with want and his cock literally tenting his sweats. The smile is much too sweet for what you’re both doing.

“Take as many pictures as you want, there’s a full roll of film in there. Can keep ‘em for when you miss me.”

Now is not the time to cry. Fuck.

You nod at him, grab the camera and keep it close. You wonder if he planned this or if it was a coincidence that it was in his bag. Regardless, you’re thankful. Elated even, that he’s going to let you capture this and preserve it for those nights you doubt he was ever even real. There's no time to be sad now; you can grieve him when he’s gone.

He flicks his tongue over his lip ring as he looks down at you again, there’s so much that he wants to do tonight, but he knows damn well the moment his cock so as much touches you, he’s going to lose control. He needs to lavish you with love and attention first before even thinking of himself.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, gently pulls it over your head. You lay pliant, let him take the lead and do whatever he wants. God, anything for him as long as he keeps looking at you like that, like you’re the reason he breathes.

Next he takes off the pajama shorts you had on, slowly fumbling with them because of the awkward position on the couch. It makes you giggle at him, which makes him giggle at you. Now that you’re both a bit calmed down, not quite as worked up, you realize maybe the couch isn’t the most practical place.

Even then, you take the Polaroid and snap a picture, capturing his bashful smile on camera as he tosses your shorts away. He doesn’t protest; he lets you. Watches as you take the photo it spits out and stare at it lovingly before setting it on the coffee table.

His hands are on your thighs again, and despite the fact you’re nearly butt naked now, his eyes stay steady on your face. He reaches forward, grabs the camera from you, and snaps his photo of you. He focuses the Polaroid specifically on your neck to capture the hickies he left, wants to remember you marked as his. He retrieves the photo after the camera spits it out. He doesn’t look at it yet; just tosses it inside of his bag next to the couch.

At your huff and shy little glare you send him, he chuckles, hands you back the camera, and before you can scold him, he lightly swats your thigh. Then he gets off the couch and picks you up bridal style.

It’s hard to be mad at him when he makes you feel like a princess. You don’t actually mind that he took the picture, as embarrassing as it feels. You know it’ll be for his eyes only.

He easily carries you into your bedroom, kicks the door open, and deposits you on your bed. Wasted no time before he’s taking off his shirt and sweats, and fuck, you swear he’s a Greek god. Perfect, in every way. You could drool every damn time you see any bit of his skin. His broad shoulders, his tiny waist, his subtle and toned thighs, it’s a lethal combination. Any woman who sees him like this surely could keel over at how beautiful he is, how sexy he is.

He gets on the bed with you, and you set the camera on the pillow next to your head. He settles between your thighs once more. He can feel himself starting to get impatient now that you’re both in only your underwear; his cock is still hard. Only getting harder as he stares down at you, looking at how pretty you look with your hard nipples glistening with his spit and your soft thighs spread just for him.

He descends, placing open-mouthed kisses on your tummy. Your hands come to rest in his hair as they’ve done many times because you know you’ll need to hang on. You know where this leads, and anytime he eats you out, it’s an out-of-body experience. The things this man’s mouth can do are unholy, but still feel like heaven.

His eyes stay on you as he kisses his way down to your thighs. He nips at them lightly, causing you to whine. He covers your lower half in kisses, not missing a single ounce of your skin as he lavishes your inner thighs with sweet little declarations of love that just aren’t enough.

You lift your hips ever so slightly, tug on his hair a bit, send him a silent message that says please fucking put your mouth on me before I explode.

He smirks against your skin, looks up at you as he trails his lips upward, “Just feel it, baby, let me love on you.”

You want to roll your eyes at this, but don’t say anything. Just try to regulate your breathing. You know he’s wanting to savor it, savor you. He has every right to.

But he knows what you need; can tell by the way you’re scratching his scalp that you’re itching to feel his mouth on you. And if he’s being honest, he’s growing a bit impatient, too.

So he finally trails his lips past your thighs, onto the mound of your cunt which is still covered by your panties. The moment he sees the wet spot seeping through, smells your arousal, his patience disappears. Suddenly, he’s fucking starving.

He doesn’t even take your panties off before he starts kissing your cunt, sucking on your clit through the fabric. The feeling makes your body nearly jolt, your hips bucking into his face as you tug on his hair and let out an incredibly strained moan. Fuck. So much for taking it slow and dragging it out.

He becomes a man possessed once he tastes you. He’s letting out grunts as he borderline makes out with your panties, suckling the fabric to get every drop of your essence off of them and onto his tongue. It’s genuinely filthy, debauched, but god, it’s hot.

He leans back with flared nostrils and glistening lips, looking like he’s wearing lipgloss. Made specially by you, of course. He nearly rips your panties off and throws them into the pile containing his clothes at the end of the bed.

A coincidence, he tells himself. He’s totally not planning on ‘accidentally’ taking them home with him… not at all.

He leans back down, grabs your thighs, and props them over his shoulders as he maneuvers himself to lay flat on his stomach on the bed, his knees keeping him steady as he presses his face into your pussy.

He inhales you, takes in your scent. So musky and pretty, so uniquely you. He wishes he could bottle it up and wear it as a fucking cologne. He rubs his nose around in it, nudging your clit back and forth, almost as if he’s motor-boating you but instead of your tits, it’s your cunt.

God, it’s lewd. But he can’t get enough.

You already feel yourself becoming a little too turned on but wanna capture this moment. Wanna preserve how fucked he looks when he does shit like this, only ever for you. So you grab the Polaroid with one shakey hand that leaves his hair, and you snap a quick photo. It comes out a bit blurry, but you don’t mind. You place the camera back on the pillow alongside the fresh photo and have to double down on gripping his hair because, holy fuck, this feels so good.

His tongue finds your entrance and starts licking inside, trying to get every last drop of your cream greedily into his mouth. He uses his nose to stimulate your clit, one of the perks of having a big nose. He’s grunting as he licks into your cunt, almost sounds feral doing so. He doesn't even recognize his own voice with the damn noises he's making.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, watching this all unfold has you dangerously close already. Your thighs are quivering on his shoulders, and your toes are curling along his back. The way he’s breathing into your pussy, sucking and licking and nudging it with his nose, fuck, it has you a mess. The noises you’re making you can’t control; you’re starting to sound just as feral as him.

“Mmmph… Koo… gonna cum soon, slow down…”

You babble at him. You wanna cum so bad, but you also don’t want it to stop so soon. If you had one wish at this very moment, it would be that he does this forever. He looks so lovely in between your thighs, licking and sucking you up as if it’s his last meal.

Because it is his last meal. After this night, he’s gonna be starving for eternity without you.

He huffs out a little laugh against your clit, the hot air causing your back to arch and fingers to tighten in his hair; if he doesn’t ease up, your thighs are surely going to crush his damn head.

“Cum then. Fucking give it to me, Y/N. Let me earn it.”

He nearly growls at you before he dives back in with renewed vigor. He replaces his tongue, which was deep in your cunt, with his fingers. He uses his mouth now to suck on your clit. As you look down at him, you’d swear he was kissing it, making out with it, making love with his fucking mouth. The added pressure of two of his long fingers crooking inside of you is quickly bringing you to your end.

But what nearly makes you cum on the spot is the way he starts fucking humping the bed. Acting like a virgin humping a pillow, he moves his hips back and forth on the mattress just for some sort of stimulation to his cock because it started getting so hard it was damn near painful.

He knows how desperate he looks but doesn’t care. Clearly, you enjoy it, judging by the way you start panting, and your pussy starts pulsating and tightening around his fingers. They fuck into you harder, rubbing up against the spongy flesh inside, all while he makes out with your clit.

His eyes open to meet yours, and you’re done for. Seeing that desperation and love in his eyes mixed with the fact he’s fucking humping your bed makes your pussy throb. You begin cumming hard, tugging on his hair as your thighs clasp around his head. He damn near whines into your cunt, the noise only causing vibrations to make it so much more intense for you.

“Nnngh oh shit! Fuck, oh fuck Koo… oh my god, shiiit…”

Your hips buck up into his mouth eagerly; you can’t even control it. Your feet planted on his back, toes curling, thighs trembling around his face, and your face scrunched up in pleasure. You see stars- no- you see an entire fucking galaxy as you cum all over his face. Full of stars, moons, planets, gardens, all of which are full of him and every single fiber of his being.

All for him, just as he is all for you.

He fucks you through it, does his best to prolong it, but he knows he’ll make you cum again on his cock. He is aching to be buried inside of you. He wants to make love to you, not fuck you, he wants to meld your bodies together and become one tonight.

After what feels like forever, your body relaxes, and the spasming of your clit dies down, causing it to become sensitive. He can tell by the way your legs shake and your body jolts when he applies too much pressure with his tongue.

He reluctantly pulls back, licking your juices off of his lips before placing little kisses all over your thighs and pelvis. He looks fucked, his nose and his lips are glistening obscenely in the dim lighting, and his eyes don’t look brown anymore but black.

When your eyes travel downward, you whine at him. His cock is nearly tearing through his underwear, which you now realize he’s wearing your fav, the purple CK’s. There’s a little stain where the head of his cock presses, so much precum, all for you.

He looks down where your eyes are trained, and he snorts at himself. Jesus fuck, he really is acting like a desperate teenager, isn’t he? But he can’t find himself giving a shit. He wants you to know how desperate and unhinged you make him. He can’t say he’s ever been so horny he borderline fucked a mattress, not until now. And it’s all because of you.

He takes off his underwear with shaky hands and tosses them somewhere in your room. Then he settles between your legs again, rubbing up and down your thighs as he takes you in as if it’s the first time.

Your hands come up to his chest, scraping your nails down it slowly, which earns you the most beautiful groan from his lips. He bites down on them, and his cock jumps upward, begging to be touched. So you trail your hands lower until you find his aching length and take it into your hand, start stroking him lazily.

His breathing becomes labored, and his eyes flutter shut. Even just your hand feels so fucking good. His hips jerk forward, seeking more stimulation. Fuck, he can’t get enough.

One of his hands remains on your thigh while the other reaches for the camera. He boldly angles it directly at your cunt, snaps a photo of it, making sure to capture the way your slick folds glisten in the light, along with all of the purple flowers blossoming on your thighs. His tattooed hand is barely in the shot but is visible enough to make it clear it is him in this photo.

He tosses the photo in the same pile his clothes and your panties lay next to the bed, and then angles the camera towards your face and body to take another. He thinks you’re so pretty like this. Cheeks flushed, lips puffy because you always bite them right before you cum, eyes bright with afterglow. You look like an Angel, especially in this moment.

He’s sure you’re an Angel sent from the God he doesn't even believe in.

He snaps another photo and tries to steady his shaky hands because the way you’re stroking his cock feels borderline painful. Too slow; he needs more. Beads of precum drip down his cock as if it’s crying. It may as well be crying for you.

He quickly takes the photo, tosses it in the same pile, and then does the same with the camera without thinking. Is getting way too worked up with how you’re stroking his dick and looking at him like a Greek god.

Because he is one. You’ll say it time and time again.

He leans over your body and settles in between your legs. You remove your hand and wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your fingers in his hair again. He grinds his cock onto your pussy, coating it in the remnants of your cum and juices, and starts kissing you slowly.

The kiss isn’t like the one with wine; this one is sweet, loving, still desperate, but more patient. His lips work with you in unison, your puzzle pieces coming together once more. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you moan into his mouth, which causes his cock to twitch against your pussy. God, he loves the sounds that you make. Music to his ears, he’d play it on repeat if he could.

He slowly drags the tip of his cock down to your entrance which is well prepared for him, and even more slowly starts thrusting inside of you. He wants to feel you deeply, feel every ripple and ridge of your pussy, every pulse and throb. He wants to catalog it and replay it over and over in his head for when he misses you.

Jungkook is definitely gifted when it comes to his manhood. It’s not too long, a good seven and a half inches, but fuck he’s so girthy. When you first fucked him, you could barely handle how thick he was. Nowadays, you can absolutely handle it, but that first push always gets you fucking squirming. The pressure and stretch are nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

You let out a stuttered gasp into his mouth when he buries himself to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass, and he stays there for a moment so that you can adjust. You break the kiss, wincing a bit as you turn your face to try and hide the way it scrunches up as it always does the first few moments he’s inside of you.

He doesn’t like that. Not at all.

He pulls his face back from yours and steadies himself on his elbow as one of his hands comes up to grip your jaw. He turns your face towards him, doesn’t let you look away or try to hide.

“Uh-uh, you look at me when I fuck you. I wanna see every single detail of your pretty face if this is the last time I get you like this.”

You whine at him, your eyes fluttering shut and cheeks warming. For some reason, that’s embarrassing, like being called out for talking in class or some shit. But even then, your pussy clenches around his cock, because you love it when he takes control like that, when he makes it clear what he wants.

He shakes your jaw a bit when he notices you closing your eyes, causing them to open instinctively. He looks just as fucked as you do, his nostrils are flared, and he’s sweating slightly, clearly holding back.

“Eyes on me, Y/N. Don’t you fucking dare look away. Look me in my eyes while I make love to you.”

Fuck. It takes every single bit of strength you possess not to cry. There he goes, voicing the fact that tonight isn’t going to be some hard fuck. It’s making love.

That terrifies you.

Making love is something entirely different compared to fucking. Some people disagree, but you don’t. Fucking is mindless, meant for pleasure and pleasure alone. Sometimes, there's intimacy after, but it’s mostly just sex. Making love, of course, comes with pleasure, but that’s not its purpose. Its purpose is to come together with your partner, show each other how much you love them, let all of your emotions run wild and free while sharing the most intimate parts of your body together.

Fucking is like buying a bouquet of roses. You get to see them, water them, keep them on display, but the joy dies quickly because the roses die, too.

Making love is like growing a garden of roses. You can’t make love until you grow that love with someone; nurture it, watch it morph and evolve. And then the flowers bloom. The love bursts, the petals are vibrant in colors made up of you and your partner.

Both are lovely. Everyone loves buying a bouquet of roses, but few get to experience growing their own.

You’ve never made love. Tonight will be the first time.

And it will probably be the last.

You nod at Jungkook stupidly, keeping your eyes on his just as he asked you to. Once he sees your eyes remaining on him, he starts slowly moving his hips. His cock slides in and out of you, your arousal can clearly be heard by the noises your cream coating his cock every time he slides in and out makes. It’s beautiful.

This is beautiful… and so goddamn tragic.

He’s also fighting tears. Because, unlike you, he has made love before… or thought he did. He swore on his wedding night he made love to his wife, but it was nothing like this. You’ve barely even started, and he can feel the stark difference. God, it makes him question fucking everything. He never felt this way with his wife, with anyone, only ever with you.

But now isn’t the time to think of such things, to dissect the fact that maybe what he had with his wife was never actually love, but comfort. Now is the time to share your love together, one last time.

He starts moving his hips a bit faster. His arms reach under your body and wrap around you, trying to get as close as humanly possible. He rests his forehead on yours, keeps his eyes on yours, too. He starts panting, is fighting back tears. He is trying so hard not to cry right now.

“I love you.”

Fuck.

You let out another stuttered breath, and then your breathing picks up entirely as you fight back tears. Your arms are wrapped around him now, nails digging into his back like you’re afraid he will float away. Because you are, you’re so scared that if you let go, he will disappear. You don’t want him to disappear.

He starts pounding a bit deeper, grunting with each deep thrust as he grits out again,

“I love you.”

Fuck he needs to stop.

“Jungkook— nngh… don’t…”

He shakes his head, his breathing heavier, and his thrusts bordering on aggressive now. That’s not abnormal for him; sex with you both is regularly rough. But this is so different. It isn’t the dominating kind of aggressive but desperate, full of passion and love and grief.

“No, Y/N, look at me. I love you. I fucking love you so much, Y/N. I love you.”

And you break.

Crying for you also isn’t abnormal during sex with him specifically. It’s always intense, so sometimes you cry. Not out of sadness or pain; it just happens sometimes. He came to learn that quickly.

But just like how he’s making love to you, these tears are different. You’re weeping for the loss of your lover, but also because you are still so full of love for him. You’re crying because for the first time since this mess started between you, you believe him when he says he loves you. Deep down in your core, in every single crack and crevice of your being, you feel his love for you.

You see it in his eyes as he looks at you, you feel it in the way he touches and kisses you, you hear it in the way he speaks to you when he says it. He loves you so fucking much, and you regret refusing to see it until your last night together. You wish so badly you could have savored his love more seriously rather than deny yourself of it.

You wish things were different.

So you cry for him. The moment the first tear falls, you don’t hold back. You let out something between a moan and a sob as he fucks his cock into you, and his hips stutter when he realizes you’re crying. He didn’t want you to cry, fuck, he doesn’t think he can handle that right now without crying himself. He just wanted you to know, needed you to know that you are loved by him. So fucking loved.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watches the tears fall. He tilts his head slightly and starts kissing the tears away, even as they continue to fall. Greedily kisses them away because they are for him. This will be the last time you water his fully bloomed flower, so he will be greedy. Because he knows that after this, his flower will wilt away, maybe he will, too. So he lets you cry and he kisses and fucks you through it.

He feels himself getting close, his cock starting to twitch and his hips grinding harder into your pelvis. He feels you getting close, too, the way your cunt starts pulsing in rhythm with his cock. You’ve never come at the same time before. He hopes that tonight, he can make it happen.

“Fuck, you feel like home… I love you so much…”

A strangled sob escapes your throat at his words. It’s like he can’t stop saying it, can’t get the words out of his mouth enough. You’ve yet to say it back because you’re afraid his glittery eyes will water, too. But god, you need him to know.

“I love you too, Koo… more than anything…”

And you were right. Hearing you say it amidst your tears, combined with the way your pussy starts rippling around his cock, throbbing and clenching directly after you say it, it’s too much.

He cries. Tries to hide it with a moan, but it’s no use because his tears fall onto your cheeks. You both start crying harder, and he starts fucking you faster. His arms tighten around your waist, and he starts kissing you. Lets you taste your melded tears, his sorrow, his devotion, his love all poured out into this kiss and his tears.

You both water each others flower for the last time.

You feel the familiar pressure building as you kiss him back, your tears mixing with his, the taste addicting. You hate seeing him cry; you know it’s going to haunt you for weeks. But right now, you’re consumed with wanting to be as close to him as possible, and you want to share this moment with him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and your hips start matching his thrusts. The kiss turns a bit sloppy and uncoordinated because he’s very clearly about to cum; you can feel his cock start twitching and pulsing aggressively inside of you.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you. I. Love. You.”

He groans loudly, his voice sounds strained and distraught. “Come with me.”

You assume he means he wants you to cum at the same time as him. He wants you to cum together, which is definitely going to happen; you feel the string about to snap on both sides.

But really, it had dual meaning. Cum with me, but also come with me. Anywhere, everywhere, please run away with me, please love me forever and ever, please save a piece of your heart for me, please don’t stay away from me forever.

One last thrust and his pelvis grinds into yours as his balls draw up taught. He whimpers into your mouth, and his pelvis grinding into you, mixed with how fucking deep his cock is inside of you, is enough stimulation to your clit to cause you to hurl over the edge a second time. You cream all over his dick, your hips writhing beneath him as you whine and moan into his mouth. His cock jerks hard inside of you, shooting hot ropes of cum that seem endless. Your souls meld together much like your tears do, and you both cum harder than you ever have.

It’s like, in this moment, you are one. You both share a garden, flowers at full bloom, no pesky cages or fences to hinder you from flourishing together. There’s sunlight, and bees, and soil, and plenty of water. It’s peaceful, it’s heaven, it’s home. It’s where you both swear you belong.

Both of your orgasms seem to last eternally. It’s endless, his cock jerking and spurting in rhythm to the way your pussy milks him and pulses around him. He stays buried to the hilt until his cock tires out and your pussy stops milking him.

Even after, he stays like this. You both say nothing as you silently cry together, still connected intimately as you share little kisses between tears.

You made love. He made love to you.

You know damn well you’re ruined for any other man going forward after that.

He exhales a shaky breath and starts peppering your face with little kisses. Despite the tears, he feels lighter than before. There’s still that impending sense of doom, but he knows in his heart that you know he loves you now. That’s all he wanted from tonight…

And despite the sex being pretty vanilla compared to what you usually do, Jesus fuck, that was the best sex he’s ever had.

As he attempts to kiss all of your tears away, he starts whispering the sweetest shit to you, even as he continues crying.

“My baby…”

Kiss.

“My love…”

Kiss.

“My pretty girl…”

Kiss.

“My angel…”

Kiss.

“My heart…”

Kiss.

“My soul…”

Kiss.

“My fucking everything…”

Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Fuck, it makes you swoon hearing all of those sweet words. Not sweet nothings, but sweet declarations. Pure truth. You are and have been his everything despite how fucked up it all is.

You always will be. Fucking always.

You cry a bit harder, nearly blubbering now. He keeps crying, too, not quite as hard as you because he doesn’t want this to be harder for you than it already is… but he knows the moment he leaves you in the morning, he will cry twice as hard.

You realize you’re still clinging to him; there are definitely going to be red marks all over his back. Your legs are still wrapped around his waist, keeping him buried inside of you because that’s where you swear he belongs. He would agree with you.

But you remove your hands from his back and bring them to cup his face, and you feel so fucking drained from the intense sex and crying and the entire goddamn rollercoaster of today… but you don’t want it to end. Fuck, you’re so afraid for it to end.

You place a soft kiss on his lips, “I love you. I really do. Always have, always will, forever and ever…”

He smiles sadly down at you, nods. Because he knows. He never once doubted how much you loved him; every single time he was with you, he felt your love. Even when you were mad at him, you made him feel loved. He wishes so badly that he could’ve made you feel as secure as you made him feel.

You will never know how utterly thankful for you he is.

“I know baby, I know…”

You let out another choked sob and bury your face in his neck. He lifts himself off of you slightly, and he moves himself so that he’s lying beside you instead of on top of you. You cling to him again, refuse to let him go. Can’t. Won’t. Don’t want to. Can’t fucking bear it.

He gently slips his cock out of you and then wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to cup the back of your head and stroke his fingers through your hair, the other rubbing your back soothingly.

You cry and cry and cry. It’s pitiful how hard you’re crying; if anyone saw you right now, they’d be certain someone had died. It really feels that way, as if he’s dying while holding you right now. He feels like he’s dying watching you crumble like this, but he doesn’t dare stop you.

He doesn’t even reassure you because all that would do is give you false hope for something that may not happen ever again. For all you know, after this, you will never cross paths. He may just become a ghost to you…

A flower that bloomed in the spring and died come winter.

There were so many things you wanted to do tonight. You wanted to shower together, wash his hair for him, show him how to bake those cookies you know he loves, stay up and talk about a bunch of pointless shit, rewatch your favorite movies together, fuck a few more times, choke on his dick one last time, kiss him and touch him all over all night. So so so much more.

You didn’t want to stop here. You wanted to stay awake and savor every last second together just as greedily as him. But god, as you sob in his arms, you feel yourself growing so heavy with exhaustion that you can’t keep your eyes open.

“Don’t let me fall asleep, Koo, make me stay awake…”

He buries his face in your hair, his tears making wet patches in your strands. He inhales deeply just to get another whiff of your shampoo, fuck, he needs to figure out which one it is before he leaves so he can buy it and use it. Doesn’t even care if it’s weird. Wants to smell like you. Wants to be surrounded by reminders of you forever.

Like you, he’s been crying this whole time but so quiet that you don’t even realize it. He made sure you wouldn’t realize it. This is your time to get comfort from him, he can’t offer you reassurance, but he damn sure can comfort you through the pain that is his fault.

“Rest, baby… I’m here…”

You shake your head at him, keep your face buried in his neck even as your eyes start to lull shut.

“No, slap me, keep me awake… don’t wanna… sleep… please…”

He can feel your body start to go limp, can feel your tears running down his neck. He knows you’ll be out cold soon. You were fighting a battle you just couldn’t win, and god he wishes he could keep you awake. But he knows you’re emotionally overloaded right now…

And maybe if you fall asleep in his arms, you’ll rest peacefully for tonight. You deserve that, he thinks. You deserve so much peace and happiness.

“It’s ok Y/N… I got you. Just sleep. My baby needs rest, hm?”

You try so fucking hard to respond. But he’s right; you’re fighting a losing battle. Your body can’t keep up with your brain to the point you’re slurring your words. Maybe it’s the after-effects of a fight or flight response because it really felt like you were fighting for your love when making love tonight… fighting to keep hold of his roots as they slowly became untwined from yours. And now, you’re simply too tired.

“I… I love you… so… much…”

He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. Holds you a little tighter. Because, fuck, your last words before lulling into a deep sleep were that you loved him. It’s as it should be, but for some reason, it wrecks him, knowing that this is the last time he will hear them.

When your breathing evens out, he pulls back, stares at you. Your brows are furrowed even in sleep, clearly troubled. But you don’t stir and your grip on him loosens. You are so fucking beautiful. He wishes so badly he could just stay like this, watching you rest, in your arms while you’re in his.

Holding each other, as if you’re both one person instead of two.

He knows he won’t sleep tonight. He’s just as overwhelmed as you, but instead of his body shutting down, his adrenaline has spiked. He’s dreading leaving this bed, dreading leaving you.

He stares for an almost pathetic amount of time. Just lays beside you and takes in every soft detail of your face, traces his fingertips over your features. He finds himself wondering, what if he married you instead? What if you met sooner? What if you lived with him and had his babies one day?

What if… he left his wife?

He has to stop himself there. He makes a pained noise and buries his face in your hair again because he knows he can’t think like that. He could leave his wife; he probably should, but he feels like he owes her his life, his devotion. He married her, for fucks sake.

And even if he did leave, he doubts you’d ever be capable of having a healthy and stable relationship. People in these situations rarely do; it’s a form of karma, he thinks. Husbands who cheat and marry their mistresses often get cheated on, or they end up do it again.

He swears, fucking swears on his life that he would never do that to you. But he knows you probably wouldn’t trust him; any woman in your situation wouldn’t. You’d always be left wondering if he’d turn around and do the same to you one day.

Oh, Jungkook, how badly you’ve fucked up…

He has no idea how much time has passed by the time he checks the little alarm clock on your bedside table. He honestly can’t recall when he got here or what time ‘one more night’ started, but as of now, it’s 5 am.

He wants to stay. Wants to fall asleep holding you, wake up and make you breakfast, draw you a cozy bath and massage your back for you… wants to treat you as a lover would.

But he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon, he won’t leave at all. The moment you open your eyes, he will beg again. He will cry and beg and plead for you to change your mind.

Which is way too selfish, considering he’s still a coward, still unwilling to leave his wife both out of fear and knowing the reality of what happens once he does.

So he places one last kiss on your forehead, breathes you in one last time, and then quietly extracts himself from your hold. Standing up and getting off the bed, he looks down at you.

He swears he can see the exact place you keep his stolen heart inside of you. He doesn’t want it anymore, it’s yours. Always will be.

He slowly starts dressing himself again with robotic-like motions. He isn’t crying anymore; he feels kind of numb at this point, or maybe his tears have just run out.

Acceptance? Or the calm before the storm? He isn’t sure.

He doesn’t bother taking a shower; can’t be bothered right now even if he smells like sex… smells like your sex specifically. He can blame it on being lazy, but he knows it’s because he wants your smell to linger a bit longer. He will shower later.

Once fully dressed he pads his way into the living room, grabs the bag full of stuff he packed for you. He takes it back into your bedroom and sits it at the end of the bed.

He carefully collects each Polaroid he took of you for himself and stuffs them in his wallet for safekeeping. After nearly considering changing his mind and taking the camera greedily, he decides he’ll leave it for you, even though it was a gift you got him. He knows you love it, but also knows you’d never buy one for yourself. And if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think he could ever use it again without thinking of you. It would feel wrong to use it without you.

So he sets that on the end of the bed. He opens the bag, carefully takes out the clothing he packed for you, folds them, and arranges them in a neat pile. Next, he takes out the box of Polaroids; he made sure to put a label on it before coming that said ‘For Y/N.’ He sets the box next to the clothes and then carefully places the chain he packed on top of the pile of clothes.

He wants to arrange it almost as a surprise, hoping it’ll feel more like a gift and not so much like a goodbye this way.

Now that the bag is empty, his intrusive thoughts return. He wants so badly to turn into a little thief and take some of your stuff, too. You would have gladly offered it to him, anything he wanted, but you’re asleep. And he can’t stay much longer.

His intrusive thoughts win, and he can’t find himself feeling too guilty.

So he reaches down and grabs the panties you had on earlier, the same panties that he sucked on like a damn popsicle, and he puts them in the bag.

He quietly makes his way into your bathroom, looks around for a moment until he finds exactly what he’s looking for: the star pimple patches. He takes them, noticing that they’re in a cute little case with a face on it. He knows you love these things; they make pimples feel less like some kind of imperfection. He loves them, too. They remind him of a time when you showered him with love.

You won’t miss them, he thinks again. Not as much as he’ll miss you.

He greedily holds onto them, looks around to see if there’s anything else he can steal. He sees your scarf hanging on the back of your bathroom door; it was the scarf you wore one of the first times he took you to dinner. It’s honestly kind of ugly; it’s a dark and muted plaid, but you loved it because of how soft and warm it is.

It smells very strongly of you.

It’s his now.

He takes the scarf and decides that’s enough. He’s greedy, but he’s not an actual thief. Maybe more like a rat. As much as he wants to steal your shampoo, he decides just to make a mental note of the name because he knows you'll need it to shower when you wake up.

He stuffs the patches and scarf into the same bag and stands before you on the bed. Fuck. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to leave you.

But now is the perfect time; you’re sleeping soundly, dead to the world. If he leaves like this, there will be no hysterical begging or crying from either party.

Still, he finds himself procrastinating. He decides to open the box of Polaroid photos he packed just to make sure none of the ones he kept for himself snuck their way in. They didn’t. He knows they didn’t. But never hurts to double-check.

He comes across one photo in particular… it was a photo he took one night after you both had some very intense sex. He rented a motel that night because he was in Busan for business, and of course, he dragged you along with him. Busan is his hometown, and his wife has always hated it. She was born and raised in Seoul and always claims Busan is too boring, not lively enough. She always refused to go with him, even if it was to visit his parents.

You, on the other hand, you were so fucking excited to go. You talked his ear off the entire ride there, and once you arrived, you were so interested in everything around you. It was so fucking sweet because you told him the reason you were so excited was because it was a part of him. He was born here, which makes the place sacred. It was dramatic, but god, it was precious.

After you guys fucked that night, you both showered together. You got out of the shower before him, and you snapped a few pictures with the Polaroid; he made sure to put those in the box for you. At some point after, you were lying in the bed watching some cartoon on the motel TV, and he was smoking a cigarette. He noticed a vivid handprint from where he was slapping your ass while fucking you from behind. It was the first time he wasn’t really concerned about it, but proud. Because in some fucked up way, he marked you, even if it was temporary. You were his, and even if you doubted it, he was yours.

It was the same feeling he got tonight when giving you those hickeys. Just a little reassurance that you belong to him.

He took the photo to kind of solidify the feeling, preserve it. It was very aesthetically pleasing. One of his favorites, he’s realizing. He almost wants to take this one.

But instead, he decides to leave it with you, and before he does so he grabs a pin from your desk and writes:

I won’t let you forget us

-Kook

It’s cryptic, he knows. Maybe it’s selfish to leave a message like that… but perhaps it’ll keep you open for him. Not that he expects you to wait for him to get his shit together, god never. But maybe you’ll allow him to check on you now and then, maybe you won’t block his number, maybe, just maybe, you’ll save a piece of your heart for him…

He sets the photo down on top of the pile of folded clothes and steps back. He looks at the clock again, sees that it’s now 5:50 am. He has no idea how time passed that quickly because it only felt like maybe ten minutes had passed. He must have been moving slowly; his brain must have realized how much he was fighting this inevitable end.

As he stares down at your sleeping form, he genuinely considers staying. Considers refusing to leave.

And that’s exactly why he chooses this moment to leave. He has to get the fuck out of here before he does something stupid.

He walks over to you once more, leans down, and places a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your chin, and starts peppering your face with kisses all over again. His heart is pounding fast, and he has the urge to run. With one last kiss to your lips, he yanks himself away and grabs the bag now full of items that don’t belong to him.

He wants to take in your space one last time, wants to linger and look around because this has been his safe space for literal months. But he fucking can’t. He feels his resolve weakening quickly by the second and knows one more second here, and he won’t leave.

He quickly makes his way out of your apartment, is nearly panting as he walks out of your complex and down to his car. His hands are shaking, his heart is beating at a scary pace, and he starts to feel fucking sick.

He borderline throws the bag in his back seat, and then gets into his car quickly. His hands shake so severely that he fumbles with his keys as he starts the engine. The moment the car turns on, he’s peeling out of the parking lot.

It wasn’t acceptance. It was indeed the calm before the storm.

He’s never felt like this before. He feels nauseous and almost panicky as he drives robotically down the morning streets of Seoul. His breathing is coming in so fast he gets dizzy.

It all hits him at once. This is the end. FIN. Over.

He swears he feels his flower die at that very moment. It wasn’t uprooted and moved to another garden; someone fucking stepped on his fully bloomed Bearded Iris. One second he was thriving, flourishing, and now he’s fucking dead.

He doesn’t even recognize the sounds of his own choked sobs as he drives down the street. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking see. He feels like he’s dying, truly, he almost considers calling for help because he feels so full of despair and grief.

But who would he call? His wife? That's a fucking joke. You? He can't call you anymore. He can't call his friends either because none of them know. He's on his fucking own now.

Nothing could have prepared him for what it feels like to grieve the death of a love who is still alive.

He ends up pulling into a random parking lot once he’s a safe distance from your apartment. He slams his palms on his steering wheel and just fucking bawls. Tears fog his eyes, and he sounds almost childish because of the force in which he’s crying.

He knew the day he lost you would be the day that that he died. And right now, he is dying for you.

It isn’t until 10 am that you stir awake. You instinctively reach for him, but your hands only find cold sheets, meaning he left a while ago…

You didn’t expect him to leave so soon. You expected to be able to wake up to him one last time, so you’re disappointed when you realize his clothes aren’t on the floor anymore, and you don’t hear the sounds of him awake and making coffee in the kitchen.

But you suppose that was a smart move. If he had stayed, it would have just made it harder for you both, most likely.

You feel oddly… numb. As of now, no sadness. The only thing you feel is almost like a little zap in your chest; it’s subtle, to the point you aren’t even sure if it’s really there.

It’s off. Somethings not quite right.

You ignore the weird hollow feeling as you sit up and stretch; you realize you never showered, and you smell heavily of sex. So you get out of bed, and you make your way into your bathroom. You start the shower after using the bathroom, and as you wait to warm it up, you look at yourself in the mirror.

Fuck.

You are literally littered with marks. Your neck, all the way down to your chest, all the way down to your thighs. Purple and pink love bites all over you. He seriously fucked you up.

You feel that zap again.

You shake your head and tear your eyes away from the mirror, don’t notice how your star patches are missing from your skincare tub on your bathroom counter yet. You step inside the shower and spend a good while letting the hot water wash over your body, washing the remnants of sex and sweat off of your skin.

After about half an hour, you step out. Dry off. Get dressed. That’s when you walk back into your bedroom and notice the pile of clothing sitting on your bed. Clothing that isn’t yours.

You slowly approach it and quickly recognize the strong scent lingering on it: his cologne. You unhurriedly pick up each piece of clothing, see the shirt and hoodie you often attempted to steal from him, accompanied by one of his favorite jackets.

He left pieces of himself for you.

Zap.

You set them aside and pick up the chain and photo. Fuck, you love his chains. You always loved them because, one, they’re fucking hot, and two, you loved how they would dangle above you when he was fucking you. You doubt he realized it, but sometimes you’d bite it as he was fucking you, tug on it like a damn dog playing with their favorite chew toy just to see if it would break. It never did, and you never stopped being fascinated with his jewelry.

Zap.

You look at the photo and immediately recall the memory. Busan, now one of your favorite places, all because of him. It was such a good little trip. You tried a lot of street food you never had before, saw a lot of pretty things, and he fucked you beautifully that night. It was rough, passionate, and he left hand prints on your ass, and much like him, you loved it. This was one of your favorites, for sure.

But then you read the note.

I won’t let you forget us.

Zap. Zap. Zap.

You drop the photo and the chain on top of the clothes, let out a shaky breathe. Still, you aren’t really feeling much, maybe a bit of nostalgia accompanying the zaps… but no despair, no yearning or grieving…

Calm before the storm.

You decide you need some coffee and painkillers. You have a lingering migraine from all of the wine and crying last night, so you leave your bedroom and make your way into the kitchen.

You start making your coffee and swallow the painkillers dry. You lean against the counter as your coffee brews, then freeze when you look at the floor.

The purple wild flower lays there, stepped on by he-who-shall-not-be-named’s boot. Wilted and destroyed, the petals disconnected from the stem.

The flower is dead.

And now you break.

Those zaps you were feeling, you suddenly understand. It was your fight or flight kicking in again, and instead of your brain responding to it, it blocked it out.

Can’t fight it now.

You drop to your knees, start breathing heavily because you feel like someone placed bricks on your chest. Your heart aches, literally, it hurts, it feels like it’s going to explode and you feel like you can’t breathe at all.

You start crying again… no- you’re fucking wailing. You’re crying out for the loss of your flower, for the death of a lover who isn’t even dead, much like Jungkook had earlier.

It finally hits you that he isn't coming back. He's gone, and now, you're expected to move on. Your heart aches for him. Without him, do you even have a heart?

No, you really don’t, not right now anyway. The moment he stepped out that door, he took it with him. He fucking stole your heart just like he stole your pimple patches and perfume.

All you can do is cry for him, except right now, you don’t have him to cling to for empty comfort. Instead, you reach for the dead wildflower, hold it in your palm, bring it to your chest, and cradle it close as if you can somehow bring it back to life.

Bring him back to you.

Little do you know, he’s currently curled up in his bed at his second apartment. He hasn’t stopped crying since he left. He went back home, took the stolen perfume, and sprayed it all over his damn bed, and now he’s hugging a pillow as if it’s you. Imagining that it’s you, that this is all just a horrible dream, and he will wake up soon.

Both of you are lovers, stars who collided, planets who aligned, flowers who grew side by side.

But it was at the wrong time. And now you’re paying the consequences of your paths crossing when they shouldn't have.

So far away in the matter of hours when you were once so close, yet you’re both doing the exact same thing; clinging to shreds of each other and wishing so fucking badly that things could be different.

Both of you left each other without returning your hearts. Both of your flowers got stepped on instead of uprooted and re-planted somewhere safer.

Spring has passed, no longer bees buzzing and flowers blooming, but the cold harsh winter is coming.

It will be a while before either of you bloom again, if at all.

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #18+ only #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #i love jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction

[pepsiboyy]

beyond the contract - part 4

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader summary: where the sturniolo triplets are part of an organization known as the eclipse alliance, matt has constantly failed to pull through with pulling the trigger on a target. fed up, their boss gives matt one last chance, where he is sent to northside high school to get some answers out of a girl. warnings: cursing, mentions of drugs and a lot of mafia shit??, some smooches rahh author's note: HI FRIENDS!!! lots of important context in this chapter, i hope it's a good one <3 back to reader pov next chapter!! some fun sibling banter too yayyy also yes i Did delete this chapter on accident after LITERALLY FINISHING IT. :D WC: 2024 (lol xd) lowercase intentional !!

i couldn't help but allow my gaze to linger across matt's features as he kept his eyes on the road, a hand on the wheel and the other on his own leg.

matt seemed to pick up on this as he turned to face me, his eyebrows furrowed. "what's your deal?" he smiled.

"where are you taking me?" i questioned.

matt and i were having our first date today. it had been about a week since he asked me that night at the pond.

"uhh, well.." matt trailed off. "i don't like crazy stuff, i could only think of more chill stuff, so…" he trailed off.

"soo..?" i continued for him and smiled as he shot me a joking death glare.

"we're going to an art museum?" he stated, but it was more of a question as he turned to me for half a second and back at the road.

i gasped and clasped my hands together. "i've never really been to one!" i chuckled as i looked out the window at the trees passing by.

matt just smiled softly to himself as he continued to drive. he really hadn't been to one either, but he knew that wherever you two went, it would be a fun time.

-

"where's matt?" chris called to nick from the kitchen.

nick was laying against their couch, his eyes glued to his phone. while they had a lot to do, he needed the break more than anything. he scrolled through his phone as he let out a deep sigh. "i don't know, chris, he's probably out getting tutored. or his dick sucked or something."

"ew, nick," chris muttered as he opened the fridge and grabbed a pepsi, moving to take a seat on the couch as well. "gross."

they sat in silence for a few moments before chris cleared his throat and turned to nick. "i talked with the coordinator the other day," he breathed, and nick immediately dropped his phone and gave chris his full attention. he nodded his head at him with wide eyes as if to say, 'go on.' chris let out a deep sigh as he messed with his hair. "it.. didn't really go well. we need to break the news to matt soon. or else.." he trailed off.

"or else what?" nick muttered, before he sat up from his previous laying down position to look at chris. "what, chris?" he repeated, shifting to be directly in front of the younger's face.

chris immediately shoved him out from in front of him. "no need to be so close, god," he muttered before he shrugged. "he said he'd complete the mission himself." he stated.

nick blinked a few times before he let out a deep sigh. he leaned back against the couch as they both stared at the ceiling.

"nick… how did we get into this situation?" he questioned, almost as a whisper as he turned to the oldest triplet. "to be completely honest, i don't really know why we're doing this all. i just want to be with my brothers. but it doesn't make sense to me. why are we killing people, why are we kicking up dirt on people and.. why are we getting each other involved so severely? we both know matt wants nothing to do with it, and i'm not entirely sure i want to be involved either." he trailed off, and nick simply listened to him.

"it's… a long story." he stated softly, but his eyes closed.

"i have time." chris stated firmly, sitting up to listen to nick.

"okay well, are you gonna interrupt me every five seconds? that'll make this five hours longer than it needs to be." nick spat, but chris only cracked a smile.

"no, just get to it kid," he responded as he took a sip of his pepsi.

nick took a deep breath before starting. "well, as you know, the eclipse alliance prioritizes discipline, order within ranks, and most of all, loyalty. the alliance was established decades ago amongst a few teenagers who seeked power, wealth and control. they got this tightly knit group and developed a hierarchy structure. with their goal to expand their influence, the alliance grew rapidly. this caused them to expand to various legal enterprises including smuggling, extortion, drug trafficking, and money laundering-"

"nick, stop with the big words, bro. i understood maybe half of what you just said." chris stated blankly, but he was clearly interested in the topic.

nick rolled his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "anyways. we got involved with eclipse alliance because.. well.. we had financial struggles growing up," nick stated bluntly, shrugging as he stared into space in front of him. considering they lived from ten onward without parents, nick took initiative at a young age to try and keep him and his brothers stable. "since around when i had joined eclipse alliance, black veil operations emerged as a challenger to us. their logo is a silhouette of a woman with a veil and a growing flame behind it." nick stopped to take a soft breath before continuing. "they were fueled by the desire to trial their dominance and establish themselves as a rival power." nick took a deep breath as he looked at chris, who was listening closely. "while eclipse alli-"

brrr.

nick cringed at chris, who let out probably the most disgusting burp known to man. "can you fucking listen?" he spat, and chris immediately threw his hands up and pointed at his pepsi. after a few moments, nick continued. "while eclipse alliance prioritizes hierarchy, order and loyalty, black veil operations takes a more decentralized approach to their operations. they're known for their cunning tactics, flexibility, and willingness to exploit weakness within their rivals, which is us." chris nodded along. "they're determined to undermine the eclipse alliance's power and expand their own influence by using any means necessary."

chris stared at nick and slowly nodded before blinking a few times. "i see. i guess." he thought for a few moments before he shrugged. "i don't know, i think people need to let go of grudges."

nick chuckled and stood up. "what i'm saying. but i did what i could to get us to where we are today. even if it means risking my life, or.. ours, now." he shrugged.

chris nodded and smiled. "thanks for explaining to me, nick."

-

no pov.

the sun had began to set, and matt was now driving home with y/n in his car. when he pulled up in front of your house and noticed the empty driveway, he cocked an eyebrow. "business trip?"

you smiled and nodded to him, shrugging as you began to get out of the car.

matt quickly followed and got out with you.

your first date was great. matt felt like he had an amazing time with you. he loved the way your hand felt in his, like they perfectly molded together. but now it was time for matt's plan to end the night. he smiled at you as he bit his lip, expression clearly nervous.

you seemed to quickly pick up on this and spoke up, "you okay? what's got you so nervous?" she questioned, and matt internally cursed at himself.

"i uhh. got you something? but don't be weird about it." he breathed as he watched you stare blankly at him. fuck, he felt so shy. this was the worst moment to start kicking himself in the ass. "can you uhh.. turn around?" he chuckled nervously when you looked at him confused before you obeyed and turned around, moving your hands over your eyes.

matt bit his lip as he pulled a few things out from his car.

"y- you can turn around now," he stammered.

you did just that, and upon turning around, your jaw dropped.

matt had a small posterboard with "PROM?" written on it, and a bouquet of flowers in one hand that held the sign while his other just held it tightly.

"you're such a dork," you whispered as you smiled and stepped towards him, carefully taking the bouquet of flowers to relieve him of awkwardly holding them with the poster.

"i know you really wanted to go to prom, and… i don't, but. if it'll make you happy," he trailed off, and tried to bite back a smile as he watched you smile in awe at him.

"i'd love to." you responded.

matt smiled warmly at you. his heart was racing. to get answers out of this girl, did he need to ask her to prom? no. but did he really, genuinely care about this girl and what she truly wanted? yes.

they stared at each other for a few moments as matt put his arms down, letting the sign sit at his feet. he hadn't even realized how close together you guys were now, standing between his car and the curb.

you both smiled at each other, you faces both a shade of pink.

how could this girl have any ties with black veil operations, matt thought to himself. she was an innocent girl, a beautiful innocent girl. a sweetheart. his internal dialogue rambled, but it immediately came to a halt when he felt your lips press against his.

his eyes widened for a moment before they fluttered shut and he felt his hands subconsciously move to your waist.

when you pulled away, matt stared at you for a few moments, his eyes wide, and yours were just as wide.

just as you were about to apologize for the action, matt gently squeezed your hand.

"wanna come inside for a bit?" you asked, and matt felt his stomach turn.

-

chris groaned as he turned to the clock beside him. matt was supposed to be home an hour ago. he sighed as he set his headset down and carefully picked up his phone, pulling up matt's contact and shooting him a text.

chris:

hey wya??

-

matt allowed a soft groan to leave him upon feeling a hand of yours run up his side and gently along his back.

'wanna come inside for a bit' led to you both against your living room couch with matt on top of you.

matt gently ran a hand down your side and tucked it under the hem of your shirt, his cheeks burning pink as he stopped.

the way you smiled against his lips and parted your own softly gave him enough permission to gently tuck his fingers under the hem.

matt couldn't help but glance down at the now exposed skin under your shirt before an inked spot on your skin caught his eye. he immediately halted and turned to the decorated skin, his entire expression falling.

"what's wrong..?" you questioned, sitting up slightly.

"what is this?" matt was pale. he looked up at you, his entire demeanor changing.

you smiled nervously as you looked away. "ahh, i don't know.. i've had it since i was like twelve." you chuckled, but your smile faltered when you looked up at matt.

matt let in a deep breath as he stood up and checked his phone. 12:37am.

"fuck, i promised chris i'd play fortnite with him." matt chuckled as he shoved his phone in his pocket.

"are you okay?" you questioned, scrambling to your feet and straightening out your disheveled clothes and hair.

matt smiled reassuringly at you and nodded, walking to the door. after walking outside, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips that lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away and hugged you tightly. "thank you for today, i had an amazing time." he whispered against your ear.

you nodded softly and hugged him back.

as matt began to walk to his car, he smiled brightly at you and waved. he got in his car and started it, driving away once you re-entered your house. he drove down the street before he pulled over and buried his face in his hands. the only thing he could think of what the inked skin just above your pelvis.

a silhouette of a woman with a veil and a growing flame behind it.

taglist;; @star-saturn-xx @sturniolo-girl @p1xieswrld @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @sweetbabydoe @iloveneilperry

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

I don't want to hear thoughts... Unless they're yours.

Chapter 10: You're worth it. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.6k Warning: I don't think there are any here? Just so much fluff. Summary: Wanda wanted to live the normal life she was never afforded, but something was always missing. Something she denied herself and buried deep inside. But watching you move next door, she quickly realizes that this may not be possible for much longer. Especially with all the interesting things she found in your thoughts. Chapter summary: A day around the pool with the Maximoff family and and evening with your favorite neighbour, is just the perfect way to spend a Sunday. Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 ; Part 9; Part 10; Series materlist                                     Masterlist of all my works

You couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda the entire night. You thought of the day you had with her as you showered, random moments replaying in your mind and making you smile, you thought of the way she kissed you, while you lay in bed, the hungry way her hands pulled you towards her, the warm feeling of being in her presence. She was so dreamy. But you knew that about her, you just never allowed yourself to really feel it, scared to get infatuated with a woman, who wouldn’t want you back. But she did! She kissed you! God, it felt so good to be kissed by her. You were practically melting, just remembering it. With all those thoughts, it took hours to finally fall asleep. You kept thinking about the next day, thinking of what you’ll do together, what kind of lunch you’ll prepare, what to wear, if the house was clean and orderly enough. With all of it, it was a miracle you fell asleep at all. It certainly wasn’t easy… When you woke up, you started with preparations, coffee and getting the house in order, picking an appropriate bathing suit, checking the fridge if you had enough food and running to the shower, so you could shave. It felt like time was flying by and soon enough your doorbell rang and you were met with the happy faces of the Maximoff family. Wanda, listening to your thoughts, had been the same mess, but she looked so much more composed than you did. She wore a charming sundress, the straps of her bathing suit peaking out around her neck. She looked lovely. But it was her smile that you thought made her look so beautiful. It was what you looked forward to the most. Billy and Tommy were right behind her and they greeted you with enthusiasm, excitedly telling you that they had floaties now, barely waiting till they could jump in the water. You watched Wanda help them settle, while you made her a coffee, remembering the first time you invited them over. They looked more relaxed now and so did you. Although, the kiss you shared with Wanda the previous night had you on edge a little. Did she want that to happen again? You hoped so, reasoning that she probably wouldn’t have come to your house if she didn’t. The kids were just jumping in the water when you brought out the coffee, setting it on the table next to Wanda and pulling off your dress, before you lost your courage. Sitting on your lounge chair opposite her, you watched her do the same, confident and perfectly composed. She looked gorgeous and you wondered if you should tell her that, when her voice interrupted your thoughts and brought you back to her.

“Thank you for having us again, Y/N. The boys were over the moon when they heard we’re coming here.” She said with a smile. “It’s my pleasure.” You smiled back at her. “I see that they’re enjoying their new floaties.” “Yes, they were very happy when they arrived.” “They seem to be.” You smiled, looking over at the two boys. “I’m also very happy to see you again.” She said with a knowing look in her eyes. “So am I.” You said, trying to look away from her eyes. She turned you shy so easily, that you weren’t sure how you were going to last a whole day in her presence. “I had a great time yesterday. I hope you know that.” Wanda continued, wanting to reach out and take your hand in hers and finding herself too far away to do it. “So did I. I’m so glad you invited me.” You nodded. It seemed that she wanted to reassure you and show you that her intentions haven’t changed and it was working, easily melting you into a more relaxed state. “I might have had an ulterior motive for that.” Wanda smirked, fixing you with a knowing look. “Miss Maximoff!” You feigned shock. “How unbecoming of you, to invite me to your house under false pretences.” “Oh honey…” She chuckles, low and seductive. “You have no idea how lucky you are for that interruption… Without it, I might have taken advantage of you.” She says, a glint of longing in her eyes, as if imagining herself doing it right as she spoke to you. Right as she looked you in the eye. “You’d do such a thing?” You let out an overly dramatic gasp, smiling that she played along with your joke. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” She says with a mysterious look on her face, fixing you with one last stare, before she lays across her lounge chair, her perfect body on display in front of your hungry gaze. Her words are so alluring, so tempting and you find yourself hoping to find out what exactly is that woman capable of and something tells you that’s what she wanted. She knew she was putting a dangerous thought in your head and she knew you would spend the next minutes that passed, thinking of nothing but the things she might have done to you, had you stayed last night. God, that woman was a tease. And she was good at it too. You tried and failed to ignore the urge to think back on last night, laying down on your lounge chair, just as she had, while your mind wandered back to the way she held you, the way she touched you, the way she made you wrap your legs around her as she kissed you. The feeling of her had been electrifying, almost leaving you in a daze, had it not been for the interruption. What would she have done, had this not happened? How far would she have gone? What about you? How far would you let her get, while drunk on her lips?

 “Save those thoughts for later.” You heard Wanda’s voice, which pulled you back to reality. The woman was smirking again, playful eyes studying you curiously. For a moment you stood frozen in place. The cockiness of that woman! She was so sure of herself and it made you want to prove her wrong, even if she wasn’t. “What makes you think I was thinking of you?” You asked, returning her smile. If Wanda wasn’t a mind-reader, your comment would have made her jealous. You weren’t meant to think of anyone but her. But her power gave her the confidence she would have lacked otherwise and she knew you were simply pushing her buttons, trying to rile her up, just as she was doing. “Call it intuition.” She said, winking at you. “You’re very sure of yourself, Miss Maximoff.” You countered, taking a sip from your now cold coffee. “It’s what you like about me.” She shrugged. “Isn’t that right?” She challenged. “I have to say, it is very attractive on you.” You admitted. You didn’t mind telling her that, especially since it was true. You usually didn’t like conceding so quickly, but you had to admit that you liked her. You liked how freely she talked with you, you liked that she was interested from the start, the she came to see you, that she took the time to talk to you, to take care of you, even when you were stubbornly refusing her. You liked her confidence too, her easy grace, you liked her inner strength too, but what you liked most of all was how comfortable she made you feel in her presence. Now that was a rare quality and you were grateful for it. Not that you had much time to think. Between Wanda and the boys, lunch came quickly and you found yourself easily mesmerised by the image of the redheaded woman, cooking in your kitchen in only a bathing suit and a pareo on top. She looked so homey and relaxed, smiling as she once again took charge, even if she was in fact in your house.

“Would you hand me the flower, dear?” You heard her say, pulling you from your trance-like state of admiration. “Sure.” You said, biting your lip in hopes of covering how much you were actually looking. “And how is the salad coming along?” She asked, one hand on her hip, while the other was taking the bag of flower from you, a pointed look directing you at your cutting board with half a tomato waiting to still be sliced. She might have looked a little cross, had you not seen the playful smile on her lips. “Almost done.” You smiled back, directing your attention at the task at hand. Wanda only hummed, holding back any further remarks she might have had. She liked your eyes on her. She wanted your attention more than ever and she didn’t mind using some of her tricks to get it. She would touch you, casually placing a hand on your lower back, or your shoulder, she’d take small pieces of food from your cutting board, sometimes to take a bite, but sometimes to feed them to you. Her breath would hitch every time your lips touched the tips of her fingers and she practically saw flashes of your thoughts, as you pictured yourself sucking on those long, slender digits of hers, leaving her even more eager to fully have you. Having to behave herself was driving her crazy and she briefly considered just pulling you in for that kiss she’s been craving from the first moment she saw you today, but the sound of her sons, splashing each-other with water and laughing outside made her stop. She wanted to keep this between the two of you for a little while longer. When the meal was prepared, the four of you ate together, the conversation dominated by the boys. They were full of energy and eager to play, like every day, so they did their best to finish their meals quickly and you found them some games to enjoy, while you and Wanda continued to talk. She got more and more comfortable around your home, picking out a playlist of hers and singing along to the lyrics while the two of you cleaned up and you found yourself thinking that you liked it. You found it nice, to share your space with the family next door, to share your things and your days with them. You liked having Wanda sing in your kitchen with a spoon for a microphone. It was heart-warming. The boys however found it funny and soon, all four of you were holding ridiculous objects, singing along with the music that played. “I have to say, this is one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to.” You tell Wanda, as the two of you sit on the couch and watch Billy and Tommy perform one of their favorite children’s songs, one of them holding a glass, while the other had found one of your small decorative vases and held it up to his mouth as he sang. They were hilarious.

The redhead didn’t dare say otherwise, looking at her two boys with love and adoration in her eyes, although they sometimes darted towards you and she found herself beaming with joy that you were genuinely enjoying yourself. Of course, the two of you weren’t spared and had to perform and your jaw almost dropped, when Wanda picked an alternative rock song and proceeded to perform the guitar solo in the air for a minute straight, leaving you speechless. “That was… Unexpected.” You said as she sat beside you, while the boys were picking another song. “More unexpected than telling you I used to play on an acoustic guitar?” She asked with a raised brow. “You did?” You asked, your eyes growing bigger at the news. “I did.” You watched her nod in confirmation. “I would have never guessed.” You smiled, body turning more towards her. “Do you still have that guitar?” “No… Not anymore.” Wanda confessed, though it seemed that it didn’t bother her. “So I guess I shouldn’t ask to hear you play sometimes?” “Some things will just have to remain a mystery.” Wanda sighed dramatically and gave you a sly smile as she once again fixed her eyes on the boys. “Watch this. The dance is to die for!” Wanda whispered, as if sharing a secret. It turned out she was right. The dance really was funny and it set the tone for more games in the pool, all four of you jumping in the water. The rest of the day passed quickly like this, though this time Wanda made sure to pull you away from the kids from time to time and have your company just to herself. She loved it. She made sure to share the sunset with you, your eyes getting this dreamy quality as you looked up at the sky. “A sloop of amber slips away Upon an ether sea, And wrecks in peace a purple tar, The son of ecstasy.” You found yourself reciting, before you could stop the words from spilling out. A little embarrassed, you didn’t dare look at Wanda for a few moments, your cheeks tinted pink. “That was beautiful.” She said with a note of softness and awe in her voice. “Emily Dickinson.” You shrugged. “Her poetry is always beautiful.” “I think that you are beautiful.” Wanda found herself saying, a whispered, yet honest admission.

The compliment would have made you look away again, but you couldn’t this time. Wanda’s gaze was holding you in place, her eyes searching yours as she took your hand in hers, getting closer, until she was sitting right next to you. You could see the honesty written on her face, you could see a longing within her as she looked at your lips, you could practically feel the pull between the two of you as she shortened the distance between you and connected your lips. The kiss was sweet and full of gentleness and tender passion, and you found yourself responding eagerly, your body melting against her, as her other hand found purchase on your cheek, cupping it softly and refusing to let go, even when her lips pulled away.  “I wanted to do that since this morning.” Wanda found herself admitting, a small smile playing at her lips, when your blush only deepened. “I hoped you would.” You said, as you allowed her to get closer to you again. You hoped for another kiss, you hoped you would taste her again, even if just for a moment, but the sound of Billy and Tommy running outside, their laughter and playful teasing, as they chased each-other around the pool signalled you both to pull away and the redhead gave you one last apologetic look, before she look your hand in hers and led you towards where the children played. “What have I said, boys? No running! Go inside and wash your hands. We’ll have dinner on the table soon.” She instructed, confidence pouring from every word as the two of you moved towards them. “OK.” They agreed defeatedly, dragging their feet a little as they made their way inside. “Sorry for the interruption.” She gave a nervous laugh. “But I do hope that you’ll let me make it up to you.” She whispered in a sultry tone, once again getting closer, her hand wrapping around your waist, until you were flush against her. “I like the sound of that.” You smiled, your arms wrapping around her neck as you looked at her. Wanda didn’t wait for a second invitation, the last of her patience shattering at the feeling of your barely clothed body right against hers. She could feel your warm skin against her, smell the sun lotion and chloride, she could sense the anticipation within you as she held you and she needed to kiss you again, or she was going to explode. This time, she didn’t hesitate to take control of the kiss, deepening it quickly and letting out a soft little moan, when she felt your tongue glide across hers. You were so responsive to her, letting her in and giving her full control, allowing yourself to give in to this moment completely, to savour everything she offered, until you were both breathless and panting against each-other. “I want a proper date.” Wanda said, her eyes never leaving yours. “I want you all to myself.” Her hands wouldn’t let go of you either, fingers itching to roam freely across your skin. “We should arrange that.” You agreed, your face inching closer to her again, in hopes of receiving another kiss from her. “Hopefully soon.” Wanda insisted, before shortening the distance between the two of you once more. The kiss was brief, but full and the two of you pulled away breathless. Wanda’s hooded eyes were even more mesmerising than usual, her features soft and almost blissful. She held you in her arms a little longer, content to just look at you, a slender hand reaching up to stroke your face. “So beautiful.” She whispered, a gentle, genuine smile taking over her features.

The pink that spread across your cheeks at her words gave her a boost of confidence and Wanda tucked your hair behind your ear, almost leaning once again, when the sounds from inside the house signalled you both that the two boys were getting impatient and she reluctantly pulled away from you, taking your hand in hers, and leading the way inside. “I really mean what I said about arranging a date.” Wanda looked back as she made her way through the door. “I’d be happy to.” You nodded, but before the two of you could actually set a plan, the boys were all over you both and you knew that it would have to wait until after dinner. Wanda wasn’t surprised that the boys were exhausted fairly quickly after your meal. They had skipped their afternoon nap and played all day, so when they started rubbing their eyes tiredly, she slowly started to get them ready to leave, despite their many protests. “Let me put them to bed and I’ll come by to help you clean up?” Wanda asked at the door. She was hoping to get you alone for a little bit, even if it was just to talk. “You don’t have to. I probably won’t stay up long either, I have work early tomorrow.” “Well, I’ll try to swing by and help.” Wanda insisted. She knew that you were refusing her offer for help out of politeness. Something you did often. Which is why, she had decided that she’d listen to your thoughts, not your words. As soon as you exchanged your goodbyes and you watched Wanda herd Billy and Tommy into her house, you quickly started to put everything in order, filling the dishwasher and starting a program, throwing your bathing suit and towels into the washing machine, setting everything to its rightful place and straightening the house. By the time Wanda came back and rang the doorbell you were done. “Hey!” She greeted with a kind smile. “I hope I didn’t take too long.” “No, you’re just in time. I was thinking of opening a nice bottle of wine. White or red?” You offered smoothly. “You finished already?” She asked a little surprised. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.” “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me, by keeping me company.” You shrugged, taking down two wine glasses from the shelf. “Well, in that case, it’s you who should pick the wine.” She said, joining you in the kitchen. “White it is.” You smiled, pulling out a bottle from the fridge. Once you poured and handed Wanda her glass, the two of you sat together on the couch, sipping slowly and sharing a nice conversation. You could feel the energy between the two of you, the tension, that wave of desire that washed over you as you watched her lick her lips, or casually compliment you. She was smooth, seductive and effortlessly beautiful and you couldn’t help but admire her.

“I like it when you look at me like that, pretty girl.” Wanda remarked, leaving her glass of wine on the table and sitting herself closer to you. “Makes me wonder what you’re thinking of…” She said as played with your hair. You followed her lead, leaving your glass and focusing your attention entirely on her. “I’m thinking of you. And how beautiful you are.” You said honestly. “It’s the first thing I thought when I met you, actually.” You admitted a little shyly. Wanda smiled, soft and sweet, while she remembered that moment. How she stood at your door, apple pie in hand and how the first thought that crossed your mind when you saw her was that she is beautiful. “You’re such a sweet girl.” She found herself whispering, her body moving forward slowly. She cupped your cheek in her hand, feeling the softness of your skin and the way your breath hitched, she could sense the anticipation within you, a sort of longing for her to kiss you again and she couldn’t help but oblige your unspoken request. When your lips connected, Wanda did her best to take things slow, to just let herself enjoy this moment of intimacy that you shared. She tried to keep the thoughts of your fantasies at bay, to keep her own ideas at the back of her mind, so they wouldn’t take hold of her and make her act too quickly. When it was time for her to take you, she wanted you to be desperate for her, wanted you to be so needy, she wanted you to crave her so utterly, that you wouldn’t be able to stand another moment without her touch. When the time came, she wanted you eager and yearning for her. And God, you were making it so hard for her to hold back. You were so pliable, so eager in her hands, your body leaning backwards, until your back hit the couch cushions and you took her down with you, letting her lay on top of you, as she kissed your lips. She could taste the wine you had just been sipping, rich and delicious, just like you and she loved it. It didn’t take long for Wanda to deepen the kiss, manoeuvring your leg around her waist, just like she had done yesterday at her house, settling between your legs and letting her hands explore you. She felt so good, carefree and full of desire, full of hope for you and her and she loved it. She wanted to hold on to it, as much as she could, letting the minutes pass in nothing but kisses. She could hear your gentle moans and pants, feel your hands hold on to her back, or scratch at her shoulders, nimble fingers playing with her hair and teasing the hem of her shirt. By the time she pulled away, panting, you were an absolute masterpiece. Your lips swollen and wet from her kisses, your eyes hooded and full of desire, your breasts rising and falling in heavy breaths as you looked up at her. Fuck, she loved it. She could picture it already, how beautiful you would look while she ruined you, how cute you would look, all cuddled up, between her sheets, how good it would feel, once she has her arms wrapped around you, while you sleep peacefully. Yes, she could picture it all perfectly. You were the one.

Which is why, she needed to take it slowly. Needed to give you some more time, to really adjust to the thought of you and Wanda. She knew that thought used to scare you, used to make you feel uneasy and she didn’t want such a thing to stand between you. She wanted you to be sure that you want her, when she takes the next step. She also needed to know why, needed to understand you a little better. And for that you needed time. “You’re so gorgeous like this.” She commented as she still hovered above you, watching your cheeks turn pink once more. “Thank you. So are you.” You said softly. “I should probably head back home.” Wanda continued, studying your face and seeing a flash of hurt and self-doubt pass through your eyes. “I hope you know I want to stay.” She added quickly, hoping to reassure you. “I just want to move things slow.” She admitted. “I want to do this the right way.” She added. “Take you out and show you how serious I am about this.” “I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone has done for me.” You said, suddenly surprising the woman with such words. “No one else told you that you’re worth the wait, baby?” She asked, watching you shake your head. “Well, you are.” Wanda said with conviction in her eyes, finally getting up from her position on top of you and offering you her hand, so you could sit up. “Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” You whispered, feeling vulnerable and exposed under her gaze. To your surprise, the other woman pulled you towards her, hugging you tightly and holding you against her chest, her arms wrapping around you securely. She ran her fingers through your hair soothingly, listening to the thoughts that passed within you. Past hurts, disappointments, regrets, all the people who wanted you for nothing but your body, all the people, who didn’t think you were worth the effort. She could see them all. And she wanted to erase every trace of them and show you how much better she could treat you. She felt the inner struggle too, the way you fought to push those memories aside and look at Wanda with eyes, unburdened by the past. You want to give her the chance she deserved and it melted her heart. You had so much strength, so much determination, to push all that aside and remain strong, to not show her, how much something so simple had affected you. “I’m really happy that I got to spend today with you.” She said, when you managed to pull away from her embrace. “I really loved it.” “So did I. It’s always a pleasure to see you and the boys.” You nodded, smiling at her. God, she really liked that smile. “I hope to see more of you.” She added. “Hopefully soon.” “Of course.” You nodded. “Well, all right, I’ll leave you for now.” She said, seemingly more to herself, as if she had to talk herself into leaving, before she stood from the couch, once again offering you her hand and helping you up. “Good night, Y/N.” She spoke in soft tone, pulling you closer to her again. “Goodnight, Wanda.” You smiled as you once again landed in her arms. “Will you let me kiss you again?” The redheaded woman asked tentatively, the only betrayal of insecurity you had seen all day. Instead of an answer, it was you who shortened the distance this time, claiming her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. You rose to your tip-toes, arms wrapping around her neck gingerly as hers circled your waist once again and she held you tightly to herself, unable to let go for a long moment, even after the kiss finally broke. “Sweet dreams, Wanda.” You said with a smile, showing Wanda to the door. “They certainly will be, after that kiss.” She said as she stepped outside. “They certainly will be.”

#lesbian #writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch

[twyftwyt]

Chapter 4 (TEASER)

…you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand

and i have less pieces of you than i can hold in my hand…

warnings: SMUT (18+)

authors note: we’ll slowly get into the drama and angst and unresolved traumas but i just wanted to give these two a few last moments of physical intimacy

(also listen to this while reading, I promise it’s good and it’s important for the storyline)

Noah’s POV

“My therapist will hear about this” was not really the first thing I expected to see when I grabbed my phone and opened X, this morning, but here we were. I looked over to the naked body sleeping next to me and felt my stomach twist a little. I wanted to throw up. Something I haven’t felt in a while. Not when it came to women and relationships whatsoever. I knew what I did was wrong and stupid. I knew I could’ve just gone home to think it through but there was something about her. Something I couldn’t figure out yet. And it kept me coming back time and time again. I’ve spoken to my therapist about her a few times but never really gotten that deep into the whole subject. It seems like she will have to hear about this after all, cause I was lost.

I looked at her again and traced my finger through her hair. She shifted a little in her sleep. “Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.” I thought. The sheet wasn’t covering much of her body and my eyes peered over the arch in her back. Her left foot was curled next to mine and her skin was exuding so much warmth. The outline of her breast and the way her arm was curled up under the pillow made my dick twitch and I felt the need to touch her.

“No.” was my immediate thought. Not after last night. Not after what I did. So I decided to do the best thing I could come up with, the most rational thing any man in my position would do. I got up and started looking for my clothes. Yes, I was going to leave before she wakes up. Was that an even bigger dick move? Yes. Was I gonna regret this later? Probably not. Cause I was already regretting it.

“Mmh… No..Noahh..”

My head snapped back so fast I felt my neck crack and was almost certain that I wasn’t going to be able to look straight for a few minutes. She looked like she was still sleeping. I went over to her side to take a double look. The sheet was barely covering anything but her ankles at this point and her naked body was fully exposed to me. And god, was it a sight to see.

“Noah…”

Yes, that’s me. I’m here. And I look fucking stupid with my hard on, my bare ass and my socks in my hands. Her body shifted a little and I realized that she was taking in her sleep. I thought I’d give anything to be in her head right now, in this very moment.

“Y..yes, plea… please, No.. NOAH.”

My eyes were glued to her face and her own snapped open after that last scream. If I’ve never felt like a creep before, now was my time to shine.

“What the…” she was more shocked then me, for sure.

“That was a nice dream you were having, I reckon.”

I smiled at her, sitting down on her side of the bed. I saw the red creep up her cheeks and she covered herself swiftly with the sheet, still trying to wake up from whatever she was dreaming about.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen already, babe. Plus I was enjoying the view. And the acoustics with it.”

I could feel the heat radiating from her and I knew I had to stop, but she was so cute when she was embarrassed.

“I, uhm.. I don’t know..”

“I mean, I take it as a compliment. I’m sleeping right next to you and you’re dreaming about me.”

“Don’t. Stop.”

“Well, it was more of a “yes, please, Noahh”, but “don’t stop” works just fine as well, I guess.” I shrugged and smirked at her.

Her hand flew so fast and the next thing I felt was a slap across my naked chest.

“Shut up. What are you doing up?”

Yeah, go explain now, dumbass. “Oh, nothing, just sneaking out, you know. Something every single respectable man, out there, would do.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her.

“Noah? Earth to Noah?!”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just about to go retrieve our clothes from.. all over the house, I guess. If your roommate hasn’t already found them.”

“Oh… yeah. You’re right. Fuck. Well, won’t be the first time.” she shrugged and let the sheet fall off her shoulders

I knew I wasn’t in a position to even try and touch her. I felt guilty in my core and all I wanted to do was apologize, but I never knew how. All I knew was running. I always ran when things got too serious, too deep, too complicated. I guess what they say about living in a burning house and thinking everything is on fire all the time, is really true after all.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice her body moving close to mine and jumped when her lips touched my left cheek and traced a wet line to my ear.

“Maybe we don’t have to get our clothes just yet.”

Fuck. Her breath was hot against my neck and all the hairs on my body stood on ends. It was almost pathetic how much my body responded to her every touch. I really was weak for her and she didn’t even know it. Not fully. Not really. She probably didn’t believe me either. I was always manipulating every situation after all.

“Y/N, I’ve to go. I have a meeting with the management in 2 hours.”

Not entirely true. It was in 4 hours. I had plenty of time to give her a couple of orgasms and get a coffee on the way home, but I didn’t want to exploit the situation.

“Mmh..no. Stay. A quickie. You’re halfway there anyway.”

She was looking down at my junk. And she was right. I didn’t need much. I had everything I wanted in front of me. Naked. And fucking divine.

“I know we didn’t talk things through. I know what’s going through your mind. Stop overthinking it. Stop overthinking us. It’s always a dead end. And I don’t wanna talk about it for now. I just want you. I want to feel you inside again.”

Her fingers traced mine and she started dragging my fingers up her thigh. She was warm and smooth and soft. So soft. She was putty in my hands. She was mine. I didn’t need to power play things. She gave in. Always. No one could take her from me. And she didn’t even need to tell me. I knew the power I held over her. She was water. And she was flowing through every single part of my being.

“Feel what you do to me.” she placed my hand right at the center “And feel it again.” and then guided one of my fingers between her folds “And again.” then added a second one “And then feel it again until you can’t feel it anymore.”

No, she wasn’t water in my hands. I was water. And she was the moon. And I shifted according her plan and energy. I moved at her speed. I was under her control and spell. She had me, not the other way around. I was hers entirely. And so I gave her what she wanted. I buried my fingers so deep inside of her, I felt her whole badly shake under my weight.

The world could wait.

“Lay down and spread your legs for me.”

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fic #Spotify

[ali-r3n]

Eddie Munson x Henderson’s Sister!Reader

Season 4 Episode 5 “Chapter Five: The Nina Project” 

Part One Part Two

Warnings: Language 

“I’ll get Eddie his food,” Y/N stated, eagerly. 

Dustin crossed his arms over his chest. “You just don’t want to go to the creepy house,” he replied. 

Nancy gave her a knowing look. “I think she wants to spend more time with Eddie.” 

Y/N avoided eye contact. “What? No! I’m just trying to be helpful.” 

“Mmhmmm, sure.”

Dustin looked between his sister and Nancy. “What are you two - OH! You have a crush on...REALLY?! You have a crush on my friend, Eddie!” 

“And I think he has a crush on her too,” Robin interjected. 

“Really?” Y/N face lit up. 

“No! No! NO! I forbid it!” 

“GUYS!” Steve exclaimed. “Focus! Alright here’s the plan. We will go to the Creel house and Y/N will go grab Eddie his supplies. Does everybody understand?” 

“But-”

“I said does everybody understand!” Steve gave Dustin a pointed look. 

Dustin closed his mouth and nodded. 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

Y/N approached Reefer Rick’s house, her arms full with with two large bags. She adjusted them so that she could do the special knock on the door before she opened it. 

“Special delivery.”

The tarp over the row boat was thrown aside and Eddie sat up. 

“Thank God!” he said as he jumped out. He walked over and grabbed one of the bags. “Where are the others?”

“Following a lead on Vecna.”

“Ah, so you’re on fugitive duty I see,” he teased, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

Y/N touched his arm. “We’re going to clear your name, Eddie,” she reassured. 

She gazed deeply into his eyes. He looked away. 

“Yeah. I’ll believe it when I see it, Henderson.”

He rifled through the bags to see what she brought. Y/N tucked her hands into her red hoodie pockets and paced around the boathouse. 

“No beer I see.” 

“I’ve never bought beer before. I thought it would look suspicious, but Steve will bring some when they are done with their lead.” 

“Great.” He grabbed a bag of chips and took a seat before he opened them. 

She watched him shove chips into his mouth and took note of the dark circles under his eyes. Y/N walked towards him and kneeled next to him. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” 

He shrugged, his mouth full. “I got a few minutes last night,” he replied when he swallowed. “Kind of hard to when you’re ready for the calvary any second.” 

He looked at her with his big brown eyes when she touched his knee. “Try and get some sleep,” she said, softly. “I’ll keep watch.” 

Y/N hid by the window that faced the road. The walkie close by incase she needed to call the others. 

She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared out of the glass. If she listened closely she could hear the soft snores of Eddie as he slept under the tarp. 

He woke up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up, the tarp moving with him. 

“How long did I sleep for?” he asked. 

“A few hours,” she answered. 

He climbed out of the rowboat. “Any word from your brother?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. Finding an inter-dimensional demon takes time.” 

“You’re the expert. Well, since we have to wait. Would the fair maiden join a pour banished man for some rations?” 

A smile spread on her face. “I could eat.” 

After a small meal. they sat and took turns tossing small things into a cup. 

“You’re bad at this,” he laughed when she missed again. 

“Cut me some slack. That was close.” 

“Close, but no cigar.” 

Y/N nudged him with her elbow. 

Their laughter died when they heard the sound of a car approaching the house. They looked at each other before they scurried to the window. 

“Shit, it’s Jason!” 

“Fuck!” 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x henderson sister!reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n

[honeypipin]

Atlas pt 4

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Chapter 4!!

Disclaimer: Mentions of j4rking off, and könig is still delusional, but its ok, he's our delusional baby girl 🫶

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Angel?

A few days had passed since your last encounter with Fredrick, that sweet morning of getting to hold your own personal heater hadn't been mentioned since. Especially since he'd been stationed at his base again.

You missed seeing him, plus you couldn't even thank him for the other night, even vicki was upset about it! She pulled out her favourite markers and glitter to thank him, her friend had done the same too, but the cards still sat on the kitchen table, waiting to be given to their rightful owner.

Whatever, you had work to be done.

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König was bored shitless, every cryptid he was sent out to deal with for the past week was so weak, he barely shot a bullet. The worst thing about this was the fact he couldn't even see you! Stuck at his base, and the few soldiers that he actually didnt mind the company of were stationed somewhere else. No friends, no pretty neighbour, not even pretty neighbour's funny daughter who giggled at his dad jokes. Just him, and fucking idiots on base, with weak cryptids that don't even entertain him.

Atleast he got his phone time to time, and the shitty cameras in his office... he could afford watching the security footage of your house right now, right? No one would know... no one's allowed to enter his office... and the dream he had last night was a bit too good to be solved with just one jerking off session... surely he could spoil himself a little right? Let himself watch you change a bit, he's had such a difficult week afterall! (Plus in his mind, you offering to share a bed with him out of politeness is basically asking for his hand in marriage, and he was glad to accept)

He locks his door, gets comfy in his chair, and turns on his phone, such a long password, but you know he can't just let anyone easily get into his phone and see the pictures he took of you. So obviously a 30 character long password is needed, he always had good memory afterall.

He clicks onto the cam footage app, and starts to reach down to his zipper KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Sir?"

Oh for fucks sake.

He scowls and gets up, turns off his phone and walks over to the door to unlock it.

"Yes?"

"You are um, needed in a meeting soon."

"What? I was meant to be free today."

"Cryptid fucked with our internet last night, so we've got a specialist who needs to talk about security measures, and who's getting it up and running as soon as possible again."

König sighs, no wonder he couldn't access the cameras this morning. "Does soon mean now?"

"Well, she's here, so yes, preferably"

"Understood, usual meeting hall?"

"Yes, sir."

"Got it, you are dismissed."

König made his way over to the hall, a bit grouchily, but still made his way.

However, his mood turns around quite quickly.

He opens the doors to find what he is sure is an angel studying a computer screen, is he hallucinating? It can't be you could it?

But it is, and the smile you give him is so you, the happy "Fredrick!" You give him is most definitely you. He has just been so lucky recently, has god finally taken pity on him?

"...hello, what are you doing here?"

"I believe I am your specialist today"

"I see."

König fully believes you are best specialist he could have gotten today, watching and listening to you prattle on about better cameras and multiple back up generators really does soothe his soul, and seeing your eyes light up at the base's current software makes him wonder if he should start destroying the place so that you come over more often... definitely plausible.

"Oh, good, Fully updated! Hmm."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure how your cryptid got in to be honest. This feels like last week all over again."

"They are getting more tricky nowadays."

"Well we can't let them do that, can we?"

"True."

He sits back and watches you work your laptop, he wonders how you even got in, new vehicles aren't even allowed in through the gates... don't tell him you got here in a taxi! Please do, actually, the chance to drive you home, hold the door open for you like the gentleman he is, and maybe, just maaaybeeee, get invited into your house for some food and a little kiss as a thank you? Maybe? A man could only dream.

"Right, everything should be up and running now."

You completely snapped him out of his daydreams, I mean he almost jumped.

"Erm, yes, thank you, you have been of great help."

"Ha, says you!"

"Well I never said I didn't help" He delights in the half smile he puts on your lips.

"Fair, fair... oh yeah, Vicki and Esha have made cards for you, when can I bring them over?"

"I will be back home next Wednesday, so sometime then?"

"That works. Again thank you so much, I seriously owe you."

"No worries, it was no fault of your own."

It was his.

"Ok, see you wednesday!"

"See you."

He watched you walk off to the exit and sighed.

It was his fault that cryptid got in, he left up the shutters, and a cryptid had managed to trick the girls because he was an idiot. He was lucky this time but... how could he try think of being your boyfriend when he couldn't even protect you right?

An overwhelming sense of guilt hung over his shoulders, he sat back down on the chair and slouched into it, terrible posture, he knows, and his legs wide open wouldn't have been a good look to his old superiors too. He can already imagine the laps he would have to run for looking arrogant for those arseholes.

This basement idea is becoming awfully popular in his mind... well, you would definitely be safe there.

#könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #konig #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig modern warfare #konig x reader #konig mw2 #könig #cryptid!könig #könig call of duty

[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out Chapter 2

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 2: Sweet Baby

Summary: Elvis convinces Becky to come out with him and she gets to know him better. Angst and smut and fluff and smut and angst ... historical inaccuracies.... for instance, I know Larry only did hair but he does make-up in this fic for narrative agility.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, gratuitous chest nuzzling, sex, cursing, drug use and alcohol, some mild weird mind games and jealousy, a toe suck if you don't blink.

Sorry about the typos I've been agonizing over this since I finished it Friday,not totally happy with how it is but it was fun to write...

Words: 14K

Catch up on Chapter One here

There will be a chapter three, but for the love of big daddy please like, reblog, comment, share with your maiden aunt if you enjoy this fic.

This is playlist of music from 1970 - 1975 that I've been listening to get into the time period because I'm a huge dork.

Monday, June 9,th 1975, Jackson, Mississippi

Approximately 6:10 pm

About ten minutes since we begin in Chapter 1….

You glared at Elvis over folded arms, resolve hanging on by a thread, tempted to give in and go with him, but also, stuck. The heat of irrational anger and competition burned your chest. You weren’t even sure what this contest of wills was about, but you didn’t want to loose. You looked up at the ceiling, the fluorescent light flickered, and you wicked the sweat off your arms, vaguely aware you hadn’t slept, you hadn’t showered, and you hadn’t eaten much in the last 24 hours. A notion poked you at the edge of your consciousness that these factors had probably impaired your judgement, and maybe you weren’t making good decisions. This was, of course, true. All rational thought had been derailed by a night spent drinking, smoking pot and fucking Elvis Presley. Who, unlike you, hadn’t skipped sleep in order to rush home, get a kid to school and then go to work. No, Elvis had spent his day in rock star land where he could sleep as long as he wanted, eat breakfast at 3 or 4 pm and enjoy a leisurely shower. God he smelled amazing.  

You, well, you had started to smell worse and worse and worst as the day wore on.  There was no way you were going anywhere that involved getting naked with him. No. Last night had been the best night of your life, but you know how this ends, rock stars don’t date single moms who manage hardware stores.  They date beauty queens and movie stars, usually all at once. Where could this possibly go? Just be done with him, rip the band aid off now. Stand your ground. What was he going to do, throw you over his shoulder and carry you off into the night? You looked back over. Elvis was leaning  into the doorjamb, his hands resting on the front of his hips, under the slight rotund swell of his belly, fingers spread wide over the sides of his belt. Eyes closed behind tinted sunglasses, you watching his adam’s apple bob up and down as he breathed steadily and stifled rage transformed into an eerie zen demeanor.

A minute ago he had hurled a torrent of swear words your way, it had been terrifying, yet, strangely arousing. You pushed the giddy tingle at the center of your hips down, thinking what the fuck is wrong with you? The guttural  grain of Elvis’ “goddammit” had gone straight from his tongue to your clit, igniting a fire that simmered in your belly. You had never seen such intense masculine emotion. Almost all the men in your life had been tight lipped and stern, yet very passive aggressive when angry. Not Elvis. He was a walking hurricane, unpredictable, impulsive, volatile. It was exciting and terrifying. However, right now, he was completely calm, seemingly meditating and quietly whispering to himself. Someone walking in would never know he had been screaming at you and punching the door frame moments ago. He turned to look at you, opening his eyes. They were dark, piercing, almost a purplish black through the lavender sunglasses. You could feel the air leave his throat as you watched him exhale again, and moved in your direction. The hair on your back stood straight up and you squeezed your arms tighter against your chest. Elvis’ tall frame hovered above you, his gut pressing into you with each inhale, his breath filling the space between you with warmth. Elvis’ entire body oppressively overwhelmed you. The cold metal of his rings caressed your cheek and his voice was now calm and low, yet commanding.

“You don’t know me very well.” He sighed into your neck. “Tell me I cain’t do somethin’, an’ well, honey … that just 'bout guarantees I’m gonna do it….” His lips moved closer to your left ear, he leaned on one hand against the wall next to your head, the other pulled your arms slowly away from your chest. Heat sizzled at the base of your spine as you looked down, his fingers grasped your hand tenderly.

“I can tell you ain’t never been with a real man before…. A man who treated you good …” then he whispered, “took care a’ his baby…. if you know what I mean?” He waggled his eye brows, while his fingers traced along your jaw, then down over your breast to your tummy and hips. “Took care ‘a you so good, you always came when he called.”  

His lips moved closer to your left ear as he spoke, a feverish heat tingling through your lobe, a crooked smirk raised the left side of his mouth. You say nothing, but your breath hitches in your throat as he pushes even closer, his lips almost on your neck, and you shake your head, looking down. Don’t cry you tell yourself, but you exhale with a loud, stilted tremble.

“Shhh, shhhh s’ok honey,” Elvis' left hand moves from gently rubbing your hip to trail up and down your side. ”Cuz I’m gonna show you what s’like to be with a real man.” He leaned closer, kissing the nape of your neck, his soft lips searing into the spot below your ear.  “I always take care a my girl.” You gasped as the warmth from each word hit your neck as he continued.

“I see you. I’m a seer…and I see ya, Becky, I see you. Underneath all this stubborn bitch crock of shit you putting up, you’re just a scared lil' girl… scared of being hurt, scared of being happy, scared of how good it was with me last night.” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose, and you looked down, shaking you head, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up into his dark purple eyes and the promise you saw in them to over power you, to break you, to own you completely. 

“S’ok… Cuz I’m gonna fuck ya so good, the only words you’re gonna know to say when I’m done with you are ‘yes daddy.’”  Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes remain locked on Elvis, trying to summon contempt and indifference, even as the spark in your core blooms up your chest. Elvis’ fingers work their way under your shirt, gently soothing you across your belly, and up over your bra before resting on top of your chest. A whimper escapes your mouth, and you look up, your voice cracking as you feel your resolve melting away.

“Elvis… I can’t….”

“Shhh… see, that’s the fear I’m talking’ bout right there… “

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of your cheek with his nose, gently rubbing up your jawline, his right hand over your heart, his left moving down to stroke your side.

“Shhhhh little girl…. Shhhh…. I ain’t gonna hurt ya …”

“It’s not that..” You whisper, your eyes averting his. “It’s just… I’m a mess… I haven’t showered, or ate much, or slept… I’m so exhausted… you deserve a proper date … you should be picking up a beauty queen or a play boy bunny…”

You felt the vibrations through his tummy, pressed further into you, as Elvis chuckled.

“Why, do y’all even have any of ‘em bunnies here in Jackson?” He stepped back, motioning to leave. Another chuckle, and he was flourishing a silk paisley handkerchief from his breast pocket, holding your chin up as he wiped your eyes and your forehead. The apples in his cheek formed as he matched your reluctant grin.

“Go on baby, stick out your tongue.”

You furrowed your brow, twitching your mouth, as he reached in to his pocket.

“Stop a twitchin’, for the love of Jesus. Les try one of those ‘yes daddys’ I was talking ‘bout…”

You scoffed. “I will never say that, specially to someone who tells me to…”

He looked down at an assortment of pills in his hand, and pulled out a single, small white capsule, grinning.

“We’ll see ‘bout that… mean time, just stick out yer tongue, woman!”

With a humpf, you acquiesced, and Elvis dropped the pill on your tongue, pushing it back in your mouth.

“Trust me, you’re gonna feel better in a few minutes… s’like caffeine, but a lil' stronger. ”

Swallowing, you look into his eyes. “What was that, speed?”

“Do I look like a drug dealin’ commie? I’m a federal drug enforcement agent.” You cracked a grin, and his eyes grew serious. “That’s the god’s honest truth. This stuff is jus ‘scription medicine, a diet pill. S'not strong, ain’t gonna get you high. Trust me, I’ve studied this stuff... I’m a trained healer - told you last night….”

“Ok… but I’m still a mess…”

“You’re not a complete mess. Goddamn, check out this fine lookin’ belt. Man, that’s really sumpthin'.” He grinned, amusement in his voice as his hands slowly pulled off your orange work vest from the top of your shoulders, then moved to the buckle of your belt. His belt. The belt you took as a souvenir back when this was just a one night stand. Elvis soft mouth was on your neck again, and your arms somehow found their way over his shoulders. Just as he moved his mouth from your neck to lean in and kiss you, you hesitated and pulled back.

“I - I …. I don’t know if —“

His finger moved up from their efforts to unhook your jeans.

“Hush now… no more guff. I’m here because something happened last night. I know you felt it. S’like we’re vibrating on the same frequency….”

“Elvis, you’re crazy…”

“No, now listen… I … my bed felt so cold when I woke up and you were gone… I’ve been missin' ya all damn day…  wasn’t gonna be able to do anything else til I found ya…”

His timbre was high pitched, and you heard it crack with vulnerability. His eyes filled with unabashed desire. Somehow in the last few minutes, Elvis’ temperament had gone from indignant swagger to sweet and needy. His right hand moved lower to fondle your left breast, his soft lips kissed your ear, and you tilted your head into him. It was freeing in away, to give up pretenses, and you let out a sob, releasing all the tension you were holding in. Elvis moved his hand from under your bosom and kissed your tears away. His face was framed by the soft, plush rounds of his double chin, and you leaned your forehead into them seeking out the warm comfort of his flesh. You would be happy to sink farther and farther into him and loose yourself in his snug, inviting body. 

“Shhhh … s’ok…” Elvis’ arms encircled you, and you buried yourself head forward into his neck, collapsing on his shoulder. His hips thrust forward into you, the swell of his belly smushed up into your breasts. Steady and strong, his hands smoothed you over your back, his mantra of murmured shsshhhhs continuing as he cheekily pulled the hem of your shirt over your head. You helped him, shaking the last sleeve off your arm impatiently and throwing it on the ground.

His lips were now on yours, gently kissing you, then bringing your head towards him, his tongue sliding into your mouth, sweeping over yours, daring you to push back, to resist it. Your hands gripped him at his neck, drawing him down further into your mouth, his finger fervently grabbed your hips and lifted you up, cupping your ass and you wrapped your legs around him. 

You felt him grunt and heave slightly as he carried you to the desk at the back corner of the room, his eyes unyielding, locked on yours, anchored by stormy dilated pupils.

“Gawd darlin’…I’m getting to oooooold to sweep lil’ girls like you off your feet.”

“Next time I’ll sweep you off your feet.”

“Honey, they’d be sweeping us both off the floor if you tried ta carry me across a room….” He grinned a breathy grin as he put you down.

Your bra was on the floor, followed by his jacket, and you squinted for a moment at the gun tucked into his waist. He smirked as he took it out and threw it on top of his jacket.

“There are three more, baby, wanna try to find them?”

Your breasts heave up as a guffaw slipped over your lips, but you forgot about his guns as Elvis pulled down your jeans, slowing to gently take your shoes off. He brought your left foot up to his cheek, nuzzling against your warm, soft skin, kissing the top of your arch, then following suit to take off the other one, reverently, slowly, removing the sock and then stroking the top of both feet as he looked forward into the center of your black cotton panties. You squirmed, suddenly self conscious and he bit his lower lip, hungry eyes meeting yours as his hands moved up your ankles towards your thighs. You shivered when the top of his index fingers delicately traced a line over your knees, clenching as he grasped the sides of your panties. Your hand went to Elvis’ shoulder.

“Hey… wait… why are you doing this? ”

“Figure I wanna do as much of this ‘fore I get too old,” he murmured, grinning up at you.

You smiled back, tousling his hair, exhaling.

“That’s not what I meant …. I meant …. like….… you can just, ya know, I mean we can just…you don’t really have to worry ‘bout, you know, doing this for me.” 

You pulled on his collar, but Elvis resisted, swiping your hands away and slapping your hip, an expression of delight on his face as he watched your side ripple in response. He pulled off your panties, leaning closer to your muff while looking up at you.

“Listen good, this is the last time I’m gonna ‘splain this. I’m a grown man, I don’t do anything I don’t want to. Now, lean back… and jus remember to breathe.“ He winked, a silly grin growing as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, kissing the hair at your entrance before parting you with his mouth and pushing in, tongue first. 

The vibrations of Elvis deep moan reverberated through your pussy, his shoulders heaved up and his whole body moved in rhythm, slowly licking you from your taint to your clit, savoring your soft, slick silkiness. 

He paused, sitting back to remove his glasses, murmuring to himself as his thumb worked in circles around your nub and you found yourself moaning out, uncontrollably. 

“You need to get me some windshield wipers for those…” he looked at you, clearly amused with himself as you giggled. “We coulda been back in my hotel room doin' this if you weren’t so difficult…. never met a more stubborn woman… “

You moan, looking off to the side, as he rounded the bend of your clit, then lowered his fingers, flicking his wrist to slowly push his right index finger inside of you.

“This ok, baby?”

You nodded, you neck arched back as you cried out. Elvis was touching you in a way no other man had ever touched you, had ever wanted to or cared to try.   

“Want me ta keep going?

You nodded your head, breathy whimpers stuttering out.

“Know what I wanna hear…”

“Yes…… Elvis….” You smirked.

“So goddamn stubborn…” he shook his head, leaning backing into your hips, his mouth consuming your pussy, his tongue now stroked you softly and each flick made you shiver with a tingle. A burning fire coiled behind your belly as he moved his index finger in and out in time with the bob of his head, groaning into you. The sensation became almost too intense and your head thrust back, eyes looking up at the ceiling. Shifting your weight onto your wrists, you begin to move your hips forward to meet his mouth, surging to chase the tension building in your core as Elvis’ lapped and then sucked your clit, index finger rotating slowly within you. You found his finger somewhat distracting, and were just about to ask him to stop, when he hit a spongey nerve point inside you and your hips jerked back. You feel Elvis chuckle as he pulled up for air, his left hand holding up your hips to bring you back closer while he crooked his finger inside you. Each time the pad of his finger hit that spot you twitched.

“What is that? Ahhhh! Ughhh…” you cry out, your breath heavy because the sensation is so intense, it terrifies you. Elvis wipes his mouth on your thigh, his thumb is back at it, and he seems to delight in every twitch of your belly as you clench around his finger. 

“That… that’s the magic spot, lil' girl… Can’t believe I’m the first one to find it…” his eyes found yours, and he swallowed, deeply. “Goddamn. You’re blushing like a nun…”

You cannot take your eyes off him, even as his finger flexes and crooks into you and your mouth flinches open with a loud, insuppressible, high-pitched moan. 

“Hff, baby….you look like a scared kitten staring down the mouth of a gator…. ‘fraid he’ll snap ya right up…” he gnashed his teeth together loudly, for effect, exhaling deeply with another chuckle, before returning to lap at your clit, dragging his tongue slowly over it, up it and down it, and then all the way around it.

Your thighs quiver on his cheeks and you let out another squeak, embarrassed. The feeling of impending eruption terrifies you, and another powerful moan emerges unsummoned through your lips, half from pleasure, half from fear. You’re torn between your drive to climax and the almost unbearable sensation his tongue is beckoning from you. The dexedrine begins to take effect, and a wave of energy pulses through you. Every sensation is suddenly ten times more intense. A volcano erupting, your orgasm bursts forth and shocks you as you thrash into Elvis’ nose, crying out while the euphoria sweeps over your body.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, oh my god…” He leans back, watching with a coy smirk as he thumbs you through it, wiping his mouth again on his right sleeve this time, his left hand holds you steady at your hips.

“Elvis stop, stop! I can’t take it any more.”

“Ok honey, s’ok, now,” he beamed, slowing the flick of his wrist, gently drawing out his index finger. “Man, twitching and clenchin’ so hard thought I might lose my damn finger in there… think I’ll call you Twitch for short. ”

You let out a loud snort, slapping the side of Elvis’ head playfully as he smirks up at you, leaning back on his haunches, now wiping himself on his pants.

“You make my ….  my … my nether regions sound dangerous …” 

Elvis’ right hand smoothes your pubic hair down. 

“Nah, nothing I can’t handle, baby…. just needs to be tamed is all…” he winked.

“So, come tame me…” you offer, laying further back on the desk top, caressing the side of his face with your left toes. He brings them to his mouth, slowly sucking on the big toe and you moan out, not expecting how delicious the soft, wet suction would feel. You can see the bulge of his cock shadowing his thigh as he pulls his mouth off your toe with a pop. 

 “Oh Jesus, take me to heaven now cuz I really am getting too old for this.” Elvis grunts, pulling on the desk to stand up.

He brushes off his knees, then shifts between your legs, and your hands pull him down by his collar to kiss your lips, not sure how you feel tasting the salty tang of yourself there. You think maybe you like it. Feeling your way to his belt, you begin to pull it apart as you kiss him back, but his right hand moves to firmly stop you.

“Dontcha want to fuck me, daddy?” Fuck, what made you say that? You chided yourself, you hated how happy it made him as you watched his grin grow wide. He shook his head, taking your hand and kissing the top.

“Honey, I didn’t come here to fuck you in some dirty, dingy store room… I came here to invite ya to supper ‘after my show, which I might miss on account of you being a spoiled, no count brat…. so we better pop to it.” He looked you in the eyes as your smile faded and self-conscious guilt swept over you. He pulled you in tight and pressed his forehead against yours. Your noses touched, and his breath was warm and comforting.

“C’mon sugar, course I wanna fuck you, fuck you so silly all ‘a Jackson can hear you call out my name.” He chuckled. “But… this is not exactly the romantic setting I like to make love in…. know what I mean? Let’s get back to my place, get you all fed and cleaned up.” He bent down and handed you your underwear and pants. “Want you down in front at the show. Imma have Joe run out and grab you a proper dress….” Now he was handing you your bra, then your shirt. “But we better scoot, I go on at 8:30.”

He looked over at the clock, and you followed his gaze, it was 6:35.

You turned, buttoning your jeans.

“Not Joe…..”

Eyebrows tensed, Elvis’s eyes were sharp as he looked up from tucking his gun back into his waist.

“What you got against ol' Diamond Joe?”

“I… ugh… let’s say we didn’t hit it off exactly, last night…. “

 Elvis pulled you in front of him, and then took a step back, grabbing a comb from inside his coat, then brushing your hair, clucking his tongue when your hair flipped back the wrong way. Content after fixing your part, he tucked the sides behind your ears.

“That’s better… looks good down, jus like that….” He bit his tongue in apt concentration. Comb in pocket, he put his arm around you, and led you out of the room, down the hall and towards the front of the store.

“Wanna wash your hands?”

Elvis stops, and takes his right hand off you, then brings his index and middle finger up to his lips.

“What, this hand baby?” He sucks on his fingers, his eyes dancing. “Not ever gonna wash this hand again.” He chuckles as you swat him and his hand returns to your side, continuing to walk you to the front of the store.

“So why didn’t you and Joe, uh,… ‘hit it off’?”

You pause, then look up as Elvis walks you into the store front.

“Yeah, well…. he couldn’t take a hint and was kinda being … pushy…  last night …. right before you started lobbing pretzels at me …  He told you my name was Rachel, cuz that’s what I told him…. I don’t know, I guess didn’t want him to know my real name … I…”

“Huh… I see… alright, honey, don’t worry about Joe… I’ll take care a him.”

You paused outside, locking the front door before pulling it shut, and then gasped when you saw the long, black car in front of the store with three guys waiting in it.  How long had they been there, an hour? A large man sat at the wheel, another skinny one next to him, and then there was Joe frowning in the back seat. He looked out the window after making eye contact with you. Elvis opened the back door, and barked at Joe to jump in front, motioning for you to get in. 

“C’mon Becky," Elvis helped you.

“Becky?” Joe asks, turning as the car takes off.

“Yeah, well it’s Rachel to creeps who can’t take a hint, but it’s Becky to every’un else.” Elvis barked at Joe, who started to turn. “I don’t want ta hear it, Joe, just keep your head forward an do as yer told,” Elvis said, palming a few pills out of his pocket and swallowing them dry. Joe huffed and hit his hand on the door.

The younger man in the middle seat turned, and shook your hand.

“Hey Becky, I’m Jerry.” Then he looked at Elvis. “What took you so long?”

You blush and look down. 

Elvis smirked. “Yeah, sorry to keep ya fellows waiting, decided to have a snack.”

Jerry’s eye brows bent in confusion.

“I thought it was a hardware stor—-“ The driver jabbed Jerry in the ribs and he grimaced, turning back around.

“Yeah, s’its a hardware store alright, but they have a bunch of peanuts, pretzels, jerky… what was that honey? Cold beaver ya got out for me in that ice chest in the back? Tasted pretty good once we warmed it up.” Elvis put his right arm around you, chortling as your cheeks turned bright red and you buried your head in his shoulder. “I’m sorry baby, these guys have been working for me for over fifteen years, ain’t nothin' to be embarrassed about…”

Somehow, the idea that Elvis might make his entourage wait around regularly while he was off fucking random women didn’t make you feel any better. Groaning the groan of someone who suddenly feels like a cheap, anonymous, whore, you leaned into Elvis’ armpit, and he responded by patting your back. You react to his tender rub and chortle by slapping his belly. He laughed harder, and pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket, lighting it up and humming as he rolled down the window.

“Hey, Lamar, what’s that department store downtown Jackson? The good ‘un we went to back in May?”

“Kennington’s.”  The driver in front responded, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Jerrah, you’re gonna go run in and get Becky here a few dress options, Lamar’ll come back for you after he takes us to the hotel.”

Joe let out a loud sigh.

“That a problem for you, Joe?”

Joe shook his head. “Have better luck for her at the Dress Barn, they ain’t gonna have her size at that place, nothing over a 10… she’s a 14 if she’s a day…”

You shifted, sinking further into the seat and blushing again.

Elvis hit him in the back of the head.

“Lamar, pull the goddamn car over.” Elvis gritted his teeth as the vehicle came to a stop. “GET OUT! Dammit, Joe, must have lost yer damn mind… if ya can’t be polite to my guests, you can walk yer happy ass back to the hotel.” Joe scoffed and looked over at Jerry in disbelief. “Don’t look at him, ya can file your complaints wit me.  Rude mother fucker, I swear…  forgettin’ your manners. Forgettin’ who the boss is ‘round here.” Elvis slapped Joe on the side of his head again, and Joe swore under his breath as he jumped out of the car and slammed the door. 

“Right.” Elvis murmured as the car drove off again. “Where were we? Oh right, let’s drop Jerrah at that store.  You know what kind of dresses would look good on her, right Milk?” Jerry turned around, looking you up and down. “Now, go ahead sweetheart, tell him your dress size, and shoes too… Jerrah, write this down.”

You look Jerry in the eyes. “Um…. dress size is a 12… 9 in shoes…” 

Jerry smiled at you, writing it in a small notepad, and hopping out as Lamar drove up to the curb at Kennington’s, yelling at Jerry, “The hotel’s just a few blocks away, I’ll be right back.”

———————————

Lamar flashed a broad smile at you as he helped you out of the car, and walked you and Elvis to the service elevator, opening doors and smiling at the staff you passed coming in through the back of the hotel. You ran your hand through your hair on the ride up to the pent house, imagining Joe walking backing in the summer heat cursing your name with each step. Great. Noticing your far off look, Elvis squeezed you into to him, bringing your other fingers up to his mouth to kiss them. 

“Nice fingers… that’s a French manicure, so you can’t be a mess all the time.” Your face softened as you look up at Elvis’ profile, flapping his left cheek with your fingers.

“Well, unlike some people, I usually don’t spend my nights awake at rock concerts followed by one nights stands. Getting my nails done, it's one the few things I do just for me. You’re welcome to admire them all you want, but…. they’re not for you.”

Elvis chuckled, lowering his arm from your shoulder to slap your ass as you get off the elevator, and you turn towards him, mock hurt through a smile as you walk backwards.

“There’s that back talk again, thought I knocked that outta ya…” he smirked, licking his lips.

“Ha! Never! You may have temporarily dazed me, but no man will ever tame me!” you announce, and shriek as Elvis raises an eyebrow and steps toward you.

“Oh, we’ll see ‘bout that…” he calls out, and you giggle, shrieking as you turn to run down the hallway, rounding the corner past the hallway you made out in last night and towards the pent house door. You can feel the thud of Elvis jogging behind you echo through the entire passage way. You sigh out as you get to the door and realize you are stuck, you don’t have the key, and you squeal out as you feel strong, hefty hands grab you at the waist and turn you around. 

“Gotcha!” He smiles, panting. “Man, what’s with you… this ain’t the Kentucky Derby baby… that’s the fastest I’ve run since I was in the army… back in 19… 19… 1916…” 

You  laugh out a “Ha, ha ha!” then feel his chest heave as he lifts you over his shoulder and starts to spank your bottom lightly. “Just you wait til I get you inside!” You slap him on his back, yelling out “Put me down you big brute,” through playful gasps and giggles. His fingers fondle your butt and thighs as he walks into the hotel room, and they glide over your backside as he helps you slid off his shoulder.

“You are a thick girl, aintcha?” He draws you into him, and you respond slapping the top of his belly.

“Ha, I’m ‘bout average… you should talk, you’re thicker than I am …” The laughter in your voice stops as you notice Elvis’s smile tighten and fade, his belly tenses up. You notice the hurt in his eyes, instantly shifting to sooth his chest. “The unfair thing is, though, men just get sexier the thicker they get.” Elvis’ eyes warmed as you played with his collar, talking into his chest. 

“Huh, that right? Well you should know honey, this layer right here,” Elvis patted the paunch protruding at his abdomen. “S’just an extra layer I keep around on purpose, as protection, it’s my bullet proof padding… really, that’s the truth.” His grin returned.

“Mmmhmmm… I feel safer already…” you bent your chin into the opening of his shirt, nuzzling his warm chest hair. “I know I’m thick, the opposite of the pretty women you usually date… Joe warned me last night, I’m not your type…”

Elvis grabbed your hips, kissing the top of your head.

“Well honey,” he laid another kiss on your hair, “ya ain’t particularly nice,” another kiss,  “ya don’t have particularly good manners… or any for that matter…” his finger traced along your neck to your collarbone. “Sneakin’ out of a man’s bed room without sayin' good bye, like a thief in the night…” you felt his fingers turning your chin up to him. “An' I do like it when my dates show up already dressed nice, wid their hair an' make-up already all done up…” he was trying to play it straight, but he couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a faint giggle through his nose. “But trust this, Joe don’t know shit, and he don’t tell me what to do or who to screw.” 

Elvis’ other hand stroked the side of your body with the back of his knuckles, the cool of his rings following as they trailed up from the top of your hip to the flap of flesh at your bra, where his knuckles lingered, tenderly rubbing that spot back and forth. Your heartbeat quickened, there was that lightening bolt rising up your spine. Elvis whistled out and you feel him stiffen against you. “Hell, you might be the most ornery, stubborn lil' girl here in Jackson… but there’s something about you -  God put you in my life for a reason - the lord works in mysterious ways. ”

“Like, through your dong?” you smirked, your hand moved down his chest to brush over his inner thigh, his hard, extended length spasmed under your touch. 

Elvis guffawed, then groaned.

“Sometimes… yes. Course. Lil Elvis is an implement of the lord, baby, just like the rest of me.” He looked pretty amused with himself, a humorous lilt intoned his words, and his voice rose up in jest like a preacher. “Wouldn’t feel so good if we weren’t supposed to use it…” 

You quirk your eyebrow. “That’s a bunch of bullshit… God does NOT care about your hard ons… ”

“Oh ye of little faith. How would you know, anyhow? He sent you to me, didn’t he? And suddenly I’m in hard-on town! Honey t’weren’t no accident. Everything happens for a reason. I really believe that. He brought you to my room last night for a reason, you caught my eye for a reason. There are bigger machinations at play that you and I can’t even begin to understand…”

“So I’m just a pawn in some celestial sort of plan to help you to get your mojo back?” 

Elvis’ hand left your arm pit and moved to slap your butt, then pulled you closer.

“Now woman, see here, my mojo is just fine. It’s just... selective… You always have a smart retort, dontcha.”

You nodded up at him. “I mean, I have a brain and I know how to talk, if that’s whatcha mean.”

He pulled you even closer, clutching you from your back.

“Know what I think?” He asked, and you raised your eyebrows, stroking his sideburns. “You talk too much.”

You huffed and pulled on his collar.

“So you want me to shut up and just be, what, some sort of snake charmer, huh? Doin’ the lord’s work to bring your python out?”

“Huh,” he grinned, his hands now pulling on the cushiony curves at your hips. “By George, I think you finally got it.  Now come-a here and be quiet.” He leaned forward, you felt the softness of his mouth on yours, your upper lip caught between his, and his nose crushed into your cheek. Elvis’ fingers grip your sides as he mumbles low. “You’re not bad looking when you hush up….  Not bad feeling’ neither... s’nice to have somethin’ to hold onto…”

Elvis was just beginning to pull your shirt up when you hear a cough behind you, and look over Elvis’ jacket to see Charlie jump up off the couch, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. Charlie must have been sitting there the whole time. Elvis’ arms dropped to his sides, and he spun around.

“Charlie, goddamn it boy,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you make yourself known, huh?”

“Well, EP… I … I …”

Elvis mocked him, “I ….? I…? I what? ‘I’m a big ol’ pervert?’” He sad the last part in a high falsetto voice. “Go on, git outta here.” 

“Yeah, sure thing, boss.. ummm… it’s just that its 6:45…. probably head out to the Coliseum in an hour… wanted to check in with you ‘bout —"

Elvis held his hand up to Charlie to stop him, and grabbed you by the hand, walking you through the suite, into the master bedroom and over to the bathroom. “There’s the shower, Twitch —“

“Twitch?”

“Yeah, member? That’s my new nickname for ya… cuz you twitch so much, and so prettily too….”

You groan and put your face in your hands. 

“Oh god…that’s why I never feel comfortable letting men do that…”

“Honey, you didn’t let me do nothin'… I do what I want….sides, nothing more natural, nor more beautiful…” 

“Ughh..” 

Elvis took your hands from you face, and kissed you. 

“I wish you didn’t blush so hard, might make me tease you less….” He stroked your cheek. “We better put the breaks on for now. Gotta get me to the show on time. Go take yerself a cold shower an’ get all scrubbed up…” 

You bobbed your head in assent, turning to walk to the shower. Elvis hung on the door frame watching you undress, winking as you look back at him over your shoulder and blowing you a kiss before he closed the door. The top of your head tingled, you felt wide awake, probably the pill Elvis gave you, but your forehead ached and the back of your eyes throbbed as if they were pushing up into your skull. The hot water soothed you and your muscles relaxed as you exhaled into the steam. You started to feel human again, washing the grime and sweat and sex from the last 24 hours off. You heard the bathroom door open, the last of the soap swirling down the drain as you finished rinsing out your hair, and you peeked through the glass door to see Elvis back, an approving smile on his face and a towel in his hands. You step out and his smile widened.

“Just how I like ya, naked and quiet.”

You reach for the towel but he shakes his finger and starts to dry you off, beginning with your breasts.

“Maybe you should go find a foxy mute to date… hmmm?”

“Now there’s an idea, ya know any?” The towel moved to your shoulders, and Elvis spins you around, gently rubbing the terrycloth over your back, bottom and legs. Then he spins you back to face him and wraps the towel around you, using it to draw you into him for a kiss. 

“Charlie and Jerry are grabbing my suit, I’m about to go get ready. I have your dress,” Elvis gestured for you to follow him back to the bed room, where he handed you a gold lame evening gown with a cowl neck. “There’s a hair dryer under the sink, honey, do you have any make up with you?” 

You shake your head.

“Man, you really didn’t do a good job planning for our date tonight…”

“Ooh, you mean my kidnapping? No, sorry…”

“Never met a more willing victim…”

“Ha!”

“S’ good thing you got kidnapped by someone who has a hair dresser, I’ll have Larry do you after me.”

You hear the door at the front of the room, and Elvis pats you on the bottom, again, as you turn back into the bathroom.

“Hey guys, back here!” You hear his voice call from the adjourning bedroom. “Becky’s in the john gettin’ ready…  Black Phoenix, good. Tell Lamar, I want supper laid out up here after the show, fried chicken, meatloaf, potatoes, maybe something healthy, like potato salad? Have ‘em fix it up good. Some snacks, you know, for us to pick at. Drinks. And I don’t want half of Jackson up here again…. just family.”

You tune them out, looking around for the hair dryer, eventually finding it next to a stack of boxed enema kits under the sink, an amenity that struck you as somewhat odd for a hotel to provide. But Elvis was only in town for a few days, why would he need so many? You didn’t want to think about it. Hair dry and somewhat straightened, you exhaled, taking a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, breathing slowly and trying to get your heart rate to slow down. Straining to get the gold dress over your bust, you suspected it is a size too small. The top was like a corset, constraining as it sucks you in, pushing your breasts up and almost out of the loose, cowl neckline. You snapped one of the thin gold straps, wondering if it would hold out for the night or break under the pressure your curves were exerting on it. Luckily, the gown fell looser at the waist, and the sleek, lame felt cool and silky over your bare legs. The shoes, at least were the right size, a set of matching gold platform sandals with a thick heel. A thick three or four inch heel. A thick heel that would mean walking may or may not work out for you, so you would need to go slow.

“Good, cuz you can’t breath anyway…” you tell your reflection.

Sucking in and moving slowly, you opened the bathroom door, finding Elvis sitting at the vanity decked out in a white jumpsuit with a black, zebra belt that has looped chains draped around the bottom. The silhouette of a large black bird in flight was stitched in black sequins on the back, and when he turned to look at you, you see the same silhouette on the front, black shiny wings rising along either side of his open chest. An older white guy stood behind Elvis, combing his hair out with his fingers and a spray bottle.

“There she is! Larry, this is Becky.” You nod at them, smoothing your hands over your belly, pulling up at your neckline.

“I think Jerry got me the wrong size… feel like I’m busting out of this dress…”

Elvis chuckled as he stood, walking over to you, hands on your waist, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as they stared down at your heaving breasts.  “Nah, you look just right.” You cocked an eyebrow as he led you to the vanity and told Larry to get you ready while he sat back in the large, leather chair on the other side of the bedroom and smoked a stogie. Your eyes met through the reflection mirror as Elvis watched in amusement while Larry made small talk with you.

“Nice to meet you, Becky…  is it short for Rebecca?” You nod. “Beautiful name… a Biblical name.”

“Hmmm, I s’pose, if you go in for that sort of thing…”

“Yeah, well, I go in for all sorts of things … you don’t?”

You purse your lips slightly. “No, I stopped believing in fairy tales when I grew up…” Elvis cocked an eye brow, exhaling his cigar and smirking as he shook his head, as if to warn you that you had no idea what you were getting into.

“Oh Becky, oh man, that really hurts me to hear you say that,” Larry dusted over the top of your cheeks with blush. “Gosh, if that’s your definition of growing up, I hope I never do… what’s the meaning of life without the deeper, spiritual mysteries of the world… how do we achieve a higher plane of existence?”

You sighed, “Life has no meaning, Larry, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it’s all just chaos and I guess… I guess we just do our best to enjoy the way things get thrown together and figure out how to survive…”

“Oh man, oh man, in some ways, what you’re saying is very - close your eyes for a second, I’m gonna dust a finishing powder here - is almost existential, from a philosophical perspective, but I… well, I’ve experienced too many coincidences, too many psychic exchanges, almost too many dimensions to be able to even start to come back down to where you are.”

You were trying not to squint as he did a second coat of mascara.

“I didn’t go to college," you mutter, "So I’m not sure I really understand everything you're saying… but, its not like I’m miserable. I like my life, I guess...Sure I wish somethings were different, but… I don’t think I’m part of some bigger, coordinated plan… "

Larry clucked his tongue.

“What’s your birthday?”

You were startled for a moment, then responded. “July… July 26, 1948… why…?”

“8 …. You hear that EP? Just like you, her day of the month adds up to an 8!” He whispered to you. “Birth dates that add up to 8, well, they’re quite powerful… what, you don’t believe in numerology either, huh? Don’t you feel hopeless wandering around this beautiful earth, thinking like that? Were you raised with any religion?”

“Sure, yeah, my folks are Jewish, I still think of myself as a Jew - I.. um…it’s more of a.. um cultural thing, I guess…  if I had kids, I’d raise them the way I was, but I’d be honest with them about how things really are….”

Larry’s face lit up, as he turned to his bag to pull out a bottle of hairspray.

“Oh, I should have known you were mishpacha, look at those dark brown eyes… Oy Rivka, it makes my heart break hearing you talk about life so cynically…. Where did you find this one, anyway, EP? She’s cute, she’s smart and I can sense that you’ll have a real positive effect on her, bring some spiritually into her life... if she’ll just open up her mind …”

Elvis smiled devilishly, standing. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll have any probably getting her to open up for me… found her at the party last night, she’s just some groupie hanging round, wouldn’t let me be… practically begged to spend another day with me…”

Elvis stalked toward you, a smug look plastered on his face, his hand was on your shoulder as he looked into your reflection. Larry stepped back, pleased with his work. Looking at your reflection, it was a lot more makeup than you ever wore, gold eye shadow shimmered almost to your eyebrows. But you smiled, embracing the utter absurdity of it all and giving yourself over to the pleasurable of feeling glamorous. Not recognizing the tired, disheveled workaday Becky who walked into this pent house in jeans and converse an hour or so ago.

“Groupie…mmhmmm.. that’s me…” you smiled a broad, fake smile as you rose, grasping Elvis' shoulder to steady yourself. “This week it’s the great Elvis Presley, next week, Aerosmith is in town. Fingers crossed I can sneak into their party…”

Elvis grunts as he pulls you in front of him, hands on your waist.

“Ha! Not if I have anything to do with it….”

You playfully slap his shoulder, meeting his eyes.

“Told you Presley, no man can tame me…”

He grips your butt, then smacks it.

“I ain’t just any man, Twitch… mmhmmm… you’ll see…”

You turn to  Larry, saying in Yiddish, “How do you stand working with this asshole, huh?” Larry laughed, and Elvis crooked an eyebrow.

“Hey, now… what she say?”

Larry looked over at him, “Oh just how lucky I am to spend all my days with you.

———————————

Heading to the coliseum in a caravan of long black limos, you realize it’s past 8 o’clock, and you are anxious for Elvis when you arrive only 10 minutes before he is supposed to perform.

“Isn’t this cutting it close?” You murmur, taking his hand out of the limo and hanging on to his arm for dear life as you stumble alongside him through the stage door.

“Nah, honey, this is how I like it… otherwise I’m a caged animal, prowling around the dressing room. No, it’s better this way... I walk right from the limo onto the stage. Keeps the momentum going.” He looked over his shoulder. “Jerrah! I want Becky up in front, in the middle, and have someone keep an eye on her. Don’t won’t her gettin’ smashed in the stampede of women running up to get me.”

He looked down at you and winked.

“And Jerrah, I’m gonna need you to do better with the gatorrrr - ade tonight, last night my throat was so dry I thought I was Bob Dylan.”

He grinned down at you to see if you got his joke. You rolled your eyes, and he slapped your left butt cheek playfully. Again. Your butt was getting more attention in the last few hours than it had in the last ten years.

“Now, that was a good one… shudda laughed... most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here. Look at how hard she has to work to frown at my jokes. ”

You lean into his shoulder, relishing the coziness of his body enclosed around you as long as you could before you arrived at the backstage curtain. Elvis hands began to tremble slightly as he stepped away from you. Caught off by how cold and alone you suddenly felt without his arm around you, you noticed that Elvis’ breathing became shallow and panicked as he let go of you and walked toward the curtain, mumbling to himself.

”You can do this boy, you can do this….you love this…. you do this ev’ry night.”

“Is he ok?” You ask Jerry, who is now walking you around to the front of the stage. Jerry looks at you, a soft smile.

“Yeah, this is good, every once an a while we have a hard time getting him out of the dressing room. Crazy, huh? Think he’d have gotten over stage fright by now…”

Jerry pats your back, leaving you at center stage, thirty or so feet closer than where you had been last night. Tonight’s performance was similar, though it was rougher being in the eye of the storm. The music was louder, and the blare of the horns hit you in the face the moment they began. You watched Elvis propel himself on stage, where he was instantly transformed from nervous school boy to a charismatic rock star strutting and dancing and karate kicking himself across the platform. Exuding a cheerful, roguish vitality, he playfully bantered with the women who ran up to kiss him, joked with the audience, or stopped the music to ask a little girl about the drawing she brought up for him to sign. The restrictive, tightness of your dress and your unsteady heels all faded away as you were taken captive by Elvis’ showmanship. He stopped to wink down at you throughout the night. You were paralyzed when he strode over to center stage and bent his left leg back in a karate stance, then proceeded to thrust above you several times, grinning like a teenager and laughing as he sang. It brought a swarm of butterflies to your tummy, and they flew up your stomach to take permanent residence at the top of your rib cage for the rest of the show, fluttering around while you quivered. You felt yourself blush, and you knew Elvis had noticed it when he walked downstage and paused to fan himself with his own hand.

“Wheweee, this June weather is heating us up, ain’t it lil girl,” and he looked over at you. You didn't think your cheeks could get any redder, but you were wrong. Elvis grinned, then looked back out at the thousands of people behind you. “But that’s alright, that’s just the kind of show ya do on a Monday evening. We came here to be with y’all and to sweat and to hand out scarves.” 

He winked again, and you swore he was about to bend down and kiss you when he stopped just short of your position and kissed the blonde next to you, looking over at you with a smirk and an eyebrow waggle after wrapping a white scarf around her.

—— ----------

Thirty minutes after the show, and you were still sitting next to Lamar in the dressing room, waiting for Elvis to finish signing autographs by the stage. Lamar offered you a Pepsi and M & Ms from a bowl, and you crunched them angrily. 

“Five more minutes, and I’m fixin’ to just take myself home,” you whine, leaning your head back. 

Lamar chuckled. “Don’t let him hear that, EP’ll intentionally make us wait another hour just to show you what happens when you’re impatient… “

“I’ll be long gone before I spend two hours twiddling my fingers back here…”

Lamar looked at you, and shrugged, you guessed he’d seen worse. You stood up to go out to the stage. Lamar looked up from his newspaper.

“You’ll  wanna fix your lipstick.” 

You raised your eyebrows in disdain. “I wasn’t wearing any make-up when I met him last night?”

Lamar hit his knee, ”Well, I’m not gonna say it never happens… but its rare… I’ve been with him for almost twenty years, off an on, and I’ve seen Elvis go out with women of all shapes an sizes, older, younger, married, divorced, single moms, business women, sisters - one right after the other … but they’ve been … they’ve pretty much always … attentive to their appearance… let’s just say he’s never been shy to tell a girl, or any of us, I s’pose, what to wear, how to do our hair, how to look. He knows what he likes, and he almost always gets it, sonabitch… I mean, look at you now ….”

You looked at your self in the full length mirror. Lamar was right, you looked like a different person. An almost pretty one, like those old money debs who you were making fun of last night. You pulled at your neckline, vainly attempting to cover your breasts more.

“Do you think he told Jerry to buy my dress a size down?”

Lamar chortled. “Ha, at least! If not two… partly because he knows he likes the way it shows off your figure, no disrespect meant. But also partly to fuck with you. He likes to turn the screw a bit… it's subconscious, like, sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“Yeah, well, he definitely knew what he was doing when he made Joe get out of the car on the other side of town…”

“Oh, “ Lamar popped some candy in his mouth, “that’s nothin’, he once fired Joe and left him in the middle of the Mojave dessert…” 

You gasped and shook your head, wondering if you should just go home. Fixing some stray hairs, you wiped your mouth, realizing you didn’t have lipstick with you, or anything, so if you did decide to leave you wouldn’t be able to get a cab. Maybe Lamar would take pity on you and drive you home? Or you could find a phone and beg someone to come get you. Maybe you should, the allure of the concert was starting to dissipate, the fatigue was coming back, it was 10:30 and seeing Elvis through Lamar’s perspective was making you question your decision to come out tonight…. For the thousandth time. Your pulled at your neckline once again, and gave Lamar a salute as you hobbled out to the stage to take another look at your date before deciding whether to sneak off, determined not to let these heels take you down.

Elvis’ face lit up with boyish glee when he saw you meander out. Just that quick exchange made you giddy and your desire to leave evaporated. You ambled over to lean against the stage from the grassy field, looking up and watching him where he stood ten feet away, surrounded by people waiting for him to sign their photos, stuffed animals, panties, or take a picture. Elvis bathed in their admiration, laughing and joking and pulling faces with them, while Jerry and five tired men moved them through the line. About every fifteen minutes, Elvis would turn to where you now sat on the tip of the stage, swinging your feet, and holler.

“Hang loose darlin’, just be another five minutes.”

It was 11:37 when you observed Elvis kiss the last pair of women goodbye and stomp over to you with an effected, stilted gait. A damp towel around his neck, his eyes still twinkling from the unfiltered love he’d been basking in over the last few hours. From where you sat, head leaning on your arms over the stage floor, he seemed fifteen feet tall. You gasped when Elvis suddenly plopped down on his knees about an inch from your face and poked your nose, his voice sweet and light.

“So how you doin?”

You smiled, to tired the fight his charm. Any lingering impatience or resentment you felt from waiting the last two hours melted like a popsicle in the glow of his radiance. Head still laying to the side, you responded in a breathy, dreamy voice.

“Hmmmm… just fine and dandy…” 

“Good… still wanna come have dinner with me?” 

You nodded, and Elvis took your hand to help you up.

“C’mon Becky Butt, let’s go get something in that sweet mouth ‘o yours …”

“You’re worse than a teenage boy, you know that?” You scowl, but nevertheless, can’t help your visceral need to seek out the warmth of his body and plunge into his side.

——-----------

You did find something to stick in your mouth. Potato chips, cheese and crackers, grapes, fried chicken, roasted potatoes, little bites of key lime pie. Sipping your second beer, you walk over to the couch and settle down. Looking around the room, you consider that, while there are certainly less people here tonight, this is hardly what you would consider a small gathering. The suite is filled with the men of Elvis’ entourage, a handful of band members, a handful of women, maybe wives, girlfriends, lovers? Your dress, thankfully, had given in to the roundness of your body and stretched out a bit, so you can at least breathe, although your breasts were still mounting their rebellion. You pulled up the neck line again, and shifted toward Charlie, who was tuning a guitar on the other side of the couch. 

“Hey, I heard Elvis during the show, he said you’re from Alabama?’

Charlie looked up at you, his fingers playing a few unorganized chords, and he nodded, then looked over towards the kitchen. You followed his eyes to Elvis, who’s back was turned. You noticed Elvis’ hand seemed very cozily wrapped around the waist of one of his backup singers, what was her name, Kathy? You watch his fingers rub her back. You sighed, he was a handsy guy and you were not into jealous drama, so you turn back to Charlie, who seemed to relax.

“Mhmm, where are you from … Becky is it?”

“Birmingham…. but I’ve lived here in Jackson, gosh for 10 years…. So,” you looked back over at the kitchen, and whisper. “Charlie, why are there 1000 enema kits in the bathroom?”

Charlie belted out a surprised guffaw, and shook his head.

“I’m not even gonna start with that….”

“Ok,” you grinned. “So, how many women you reckon big man over there has slept with?”

Charlie chuckled into his guitar again, and just shook his head.

“Too many… but I’ll tell ya what…I’ve been hanging out with that man these last 17 our 18 years or so, and I’ve eaten meatloaf and fried chicken so often I cain’t barely stand ‘em.” Charlie fooled around strumming the guitar a bit more. “Sometimes he just wants meatloaf, every night, like for six months at a time…. Sometimes he wants all his favorite dishes buffet style, all at the same time, see? He might go for somethin’ new, but even then, usually, it’s cuz its similar, like… shepard’s pie, that’s a lot like meatloaf, jus with mashed potatoes on top… then that becomes his favorite dish for a while, and he has to have it ev’ry night til it's not new any more…  see, EP, man ….he takes comfort in the familiar…”

You nodded, smiling, getting what Charlie was trying to say. I guess I’m the shepard’s pie of Jackson…

“So, where y’all headed next on this tour?” You smooth you dress as you bend your knees up behind you on the couch, and giggle as a nipple pops up and you push it back into your dress.

“Oh, well, we’re goin’ back ta Memphis tomarra, for—" all of a sudden one of the other guys was in front of Charlie, bending in his ear. 

“Crazy over there wants to talk to ya,” you heard him whisper.

“Sure, Dick,” Charlie nodded back, and looked over you, handing you his guitar. “Hold this for me, won’t ya?”

You lean across him to put your drink on the side table, and you feel Charlie tense as your breasts graze his lap, you’ve never seen anyone hop up so fast as he alights and hands you his instrument. Taking his guitar, you flip your legs back on the ground, and eyes following the two men as they walk over to Elvis, who is now very much turned toward you, a grimace clouding his face. Kathy has been replaced by another man who’s talking to him. You wonder what upset him? But you are distracted by the guitar in your lap, and start to strum a few notes, smiling up at Elvis as you start to sing an old folk song from one of your Joan Baez records that popped into your head, you don’t know why. You’re not in love with Elvis, you’ve only known him 24 hours, but he does have black hair…

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair

His face so soft and wondrous fair

The purest eyes

And the strongest hands

I love the ground on where he stands

Closing your eyes, you let the buzz from the drinks and the show and the energy of the party creep over you and you give yourself to the song, singing softly. You open your eyes to see Elvis strolling over to you while you sing, and he takes a seat next to you where Charlie had been, leaning back into the armrest. There is wonder and affection in his eyes, and you push your leg into him as he rubs you knee while you warble out the last verse of the song.

“Where’d you learn to sing these sad sack songs, mhmm?” He scoots you closer to him, his hands snaking around your waist. You lean your head onto his chest, appreciating the way your head fits under his chin, strumming the strings casually.

“Summer camp… as a teenager …. it’s actually not far from here... just outside of Jackson.”

The warmth of his fingers trace up the side of your body, and you absentmindedly lift one hand to stroke his right sideburn, pulling on the curly, rough hair. His breath is hot on your ear when Elvis murmurs.

“Not bad, for an amateur I guess…”

“Ha…. most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here.” You call out, your voice is playful and loud, and Elvis pulls you on to his lap.

“Hmmm… you’re funny, ya know that?” He kisses your lips, and you dangle the guitar down by its neck, your other hand on Elvis’ shoulder to return his kiss, and then nuzzle back into him. “Go on now, play me a ‘nother one…” he cooed.

You turn your face up to his, and nod.

“K, here’s another from camp.” And you start to strum the chords to the folk version of an old Hebrew prayer, your head against his while his arm wraps around you. Your feet now dangle over the edge of his lap and his other hand rests over you, thumb rubbing your thigh as you sing.

Hashkiveinu Adonai 

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu 

l’cha--yim 

Spread the shelter of your peace over us 

Guide us in wisdom, compassion, and trust

Hashkiveinu Adonai 

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu 

l’cha--yim 

Save us for the sake of your name 

Shield us from hatred sorrow and pain 

Elvis lips kiss your neck.

“That’s beautiful honey, what’s it mean?”

You look down, still cradling the guitar. “I guess its a call out to God to lay us down with peace when we go to sleep at night, and give us peace when we wake in the morning… a call for protection.”

Elvis stroked your thigh, then moved his hands over yours on the guitar. “Go head, teach me the chords… I wanna learn this.”

You feel a firm rod hardening underneath you as you show him how the song goes, fingers over fingers, his lips on your neck, repeating the words. You laugh at his Hebrew pronunciations and he slaps your hip, laughing with you.

“How can you sing this music honey, and then say you don’t believe in God?”

You thought of your conversation earlier, and looked up to see if anyone heard what you and Elvis were saying. The crowd had gotten smaller, but those remaining seemed to be paying very little attention to the two of you.

“Of course you believe in God, Elvis, cuz your life is a fairy tale… handsome, talented, successful… but it’s really just random chance… why would God make some people beautiful and others ugly? Why would he make some poor and others rich? There’s no rhyme or reason to our lives…”

Elvis’ knuckles trailed across your cheek. 

“Ya don’t really think life is pointless?”

You hesitate. “Not pointless… but any meaning it has is meaning we give it, while we deal with all the bullshit we get dealt…”

“This…” Elvis murmured into your ear. “This is why he brought you to me. We’re meant to help each other… I’m going to help you seek him out…”

“Elvis…” you whisper, “what if I’m meant to help show you that there is no God?”

“Oh baby, I know there’s a God… I’ve seen ‘im….” 

You roll your eyes, and Elvis pulls you tighter, chuckling.

“Hmmm. So you’re bringing me to the light, how am I helping you?”

“Thought we already covered that… you’re using those snake charmin’ skills to remind me how God works in mysterious ways.” You feel him thrust his hips up into you a few times. His erection is undeniable, and you cough out a guffaw as he smirks, then lifts you up, one hand under your knees, the other around your arm. You shriek and drop the guitar.

“Oh no!”

“Don’t worry, baby, jus Charlie’s guitar, don’t matter one bit.” He smiled deviously over in Charlie’s direction and kicked the instrument out of his way, before bellowing out over your lifted frame. “Alright y’all, quitting time, s’been a long day, time to hit the hay.” You giggle, blushing again, its obvious that he is about to carry you to the bed room and you burrow into his chest to hide.

——-----------

Emerging from the master bathroom, face clean, hair brushed back, you’re wearing a slinky, pink silk nightie Jerry must have bought and put out for you on the bed. You shiver, seeing Elvis in his own blue pajamas already in the bed. He pats the space beside him, and you scurry over, launching onto the bed with a jump.

“Slow down, lil' girl, this ain’t the Grand Prix…”

You nod, breath shallow and nervous as you get under the covers and lay down next to Elvis. He turns, fingers slowly stroking your tummy, his face hovering an inch above yours. You shiver, breathing in more deeply, taking in his distinct musk of sweat, tobacco and spice. His lips softly skim over yours.

“Have a good time tonight?”

“Mhmmm,” your hands move up his chest and around his neck. 

His fingers trail down your belly, you feel the flames crackling at your core burst into a fire, and you bite your lip. Elvis grins, his cheeks expanding. His fingers are under your nightie, and he grins wider as he notices you aren’t wearing underwear, growling as he pushes your nightie up. You gasp as those fingers work their way down, running through your pubic hair. He raises his eyebrows, you feel his cock twitch against you, and you nod your chin, a slight moan escaping you as you lean up into his mouth and move your hands from his neck to pull down his pajama bottoms. He chuckles into your kiss.

“OK, woman, ok…. Now let a man take his own drawers off….”

You sit up against the pillows and Elvis rolls over on his back to pull his pajamas off and throw them to the floor first, pants then shirt. Why did we even get changed? You think as you turn to him, hand on his chest, mouth on his neck, his moans joining yours as you move to straddle his thighs. Looking up at you with awe, he pulls your night gown off and you slowly grind against him. Elvis’ hands move to your waist, grasping your soft, cushy handles, and you arch your head back when he lifts his thumb to his mouth and sucks over it, then lowers it to your clit. Each stroke is deliberate, soft, slow, and you buck forward with a tremor, moaning out. His stiff length rubs between your ass cheeks, and you thrust against it. You halt your movements forward and rise up, using your hands to guide him inside you, then grunting out as you bear down on him, the friction and the stretch a welcome thrill as you slowly plunged further. Elvis grunts and sits up, responding to the magnetic electricity that had been building between you all night. Neither of you can get close enough, you pull each other as tight as possible, surging your hips down into him while he grips your handles. Your arms wind around his neck and his forehead is damp against your chin and his voice speaks into your neck high and breathy.

“Oh baby, sweet baby, where ya been all my life? Huh?”

Your chest heaves into him, and you ride him further, crying out with a twitch when his cock hits that new magic spot. Your G spot. Your E spot. Moaning, you kiss down on the top of his head, grasping him closer when his arms tighten around your waist. You feel the sweat dripping down through his chest hair as it chafes against your nipples, the sensation brings a gasp out of your mouth. You meld together with each clap of thunder as your hips meet his over and over, your skin is electrified and the sensation seems more intense than the previous night, your bodies seem more in tune with each other, so much so that they seem to fit together. You follow where he leads, and he responds to each movement you make, lips seeking out the nape of your neck, sending shivers through you until his soft kisses become aggressive and you try to consume each other before the flames rise up out of the bed to devour you both.

“Oh GOD, Elvis! Fuckkkkk….”

You call out, your whole cunt is vibrating with anticipation, you can feel electricity coiling behind your belly button.

“See honey? Its workin’ already… I’m bringing you closer to God.. ugghhhh....” he grunts as you bear down on him. You try to roll your eyes but then have to squeeze them closed when his hands work your hips up and down again and you spasm.

Another minute, and you are screaming out through the waves of pleasure emanating up your core, your rolls into each other slow, and there it is, you can’t help it, you’re sobbing again as a feverish warmth spreads over you. Elvis’ fingers are on your face, clearing away your hair, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  His hips are stilled, and he kisses your chin, your lips part with a deep exhale.

“Ugh, oh, God, I don’t know——“

“Ssshhh,” he pulls you into him. “S’ok...” He murmurs into your neck, you wrap yourself further around him from above, and begin to move again. “You wanna keep goin’?

“Mhmm” you breath out, clenching around him and you feel as if he’s gone even deeper inside you, like Elvis is probing so far into you he might burst right through you. The rhythm resumes, your bottom hits his knees as you lunge up and down and you feel him gasp in a soft, weak high voice.

“Oh darlin’, let me be your baby… just take me in you and let me be your lil’ baby….?” His eyes beg you, and his mouth contorts into a pinched expression of shock and pleasure. Hands on your hips, Elvis pulled you forward onto him and you increase your pace, pushing faster into him, wet skin slapping against his chest while he holds you close, your hands smoothing over his hair and you whisper.

“There’s a good boy, ahhh! ….. course you can be my baby… my good baby... my bubbleleh…” you murmur, smoothing the top of his hair. You have never talked the way during sex, it just comes out in the moment and you go with it as you both inhabit the roles you play in all the different aspects of your life at once: mother, father, lover, child.

Elvis’ eyes look up at you from below, with his chin jutting and the innocent expression lighting up his face, he looks ten years younger.  His eyes plead for release, connection, recognition, and his eyebrows are pushed up by desire while his left hand cups your neck. Jerking back, he pushes you off him and down on the bed, pulling out just before he explodes on to your abdomen with a stuttering growl. He pumps himself with his hand one, two, three more times, then exhales loudly as your bodies still. He coughs and grunts again, shaking his head, hands rubbing your sides up and down.

You look up, a dizzy smile on your face. “I’m on the pill, just so ya know…”

“Oh?” Elvis looked down at you, moving to get off the bed, presumably to get you a towel, but you pull him back, instead wiping your self off on the duvet. You push him down on his back, straddling him once more, this time to cuddle on top of him. You lean forward over him and relish the way his chest hair tickles your breasts. He fluffs a pillow as you rest your head over crossed arms and look up in delight at the goofy grin spreading across his face. His neck swells forward, and now his mouth sits above a tower of meaty jowls. His baritone voice reverberates up into your arms.

“Is that cuz you already have a daddy here in Jackson?”

You shake your head. “Nooooo. Just cautious, like you.”

Elvis bows his chin forward. “Yeah, well, I already knew you didn’t have a man, I could tell… I know things,” he grinned, pointing his index finger at his head. 

You lean up, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Yeah… I know…. You’re a seer…. what we just did was definitely a spiritual experience…” You giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything… anything like that…” you tuck your head into his chest, your fingers tousling the damp, sweaty curls they find. Elvis runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, s’always better the more you do it together, isn’t it… bodies get used to each other… I’ve… I’ve had some good rolls in the hay, but it’s been a while… boyoboy…” He gently pulls your hair back so you are looking up at him, his profile limned by the soft bedside lamp. “Come back to Memphis with me tomorrow.” 

You purse your lip. “Elvis… I…”

He shakes his head. “Uh uh, I don’t like the sound of that… woman, you just told me you had the best sex of your life. I ain’t asking you to marry me, jus come spend a few days an' have some fun… can’t tell me that store won’t get along with out you?”

You sit up, next to him, crossing your legs on the bed. 

“Elvis, you just met me… this is moving tooo fast..”

“Honey, fast is the only speed I know…”

“Elvis, I can’t go to Memphis with you.”

He pauses, brow furrowed. “This cuz you thought you were going out with THE Elvis Presssley, then ended up with me?”

You grab his shoulders, leaning over him to kiss his face as he turns in a huff, pouting.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? You think I’m disappointed because I got to see you up close? The real you?” You turn his face back to look at you and the hurt in his eyes dissipates. “No baby… no…. Look, I’ve had the best time with you. Ever. I mean it. You are…. Well, ‘m not one for making a fool of myself an tellin’ a man how foxy I think he is… you know you are…” you slap his shoulder. “And you’re actually better than I thought you’d be… you’re funny… and brilliant…. and.. ugh… I stole your belt last night because I wanted to remember this forever …. When I’m with you I… I … feel like a teenager again… all my cares and responsibilities, they melt away. And that’s nice, cuz I had to grow up kinda of early … so feeling free again… its been a dream —”

“Then why don’t you wanna come with me, baby?”

“I do. I want to. But I can’t… I have people who depend on me, people who need me… I’ve been taking over the management of my uncle’s store… I live with my aunt and uncle, they’re in their 60s…” and I have a kid I don’t want to tell you about because this is just fun and I don't want to bring the baggage from my life into this one night - two night  - stand …. “I have to go back to reality tomorrow… or today, depending what time it is?… I guess that doesn’t matter… I have to go back to my life and so … so do you…”

Elvis takes your hand, drawing you into the crook of his arm, his other hand caresses your shoulder, you can see the wheels in his head turning.

“Hmmm… let’s get some sleep, we’ll talk about this in the mornin’… jus promise no sneaking’ out this time without sayin’ good bye?”

You assent with a bow, and he kisses the top of your head, then sits up to take a pill bottle out of the side table drawer. You shake your head no when he offers you some, and watch as he gulps a handful down, no water, and turns off the light. Ten minutes later Elvis’ ragged snores lull you too sleep.

——----------

The room is black when you wake up in a naked embrace with Elvis, your hair matted down from the warm sweat of his chest. The windows are still covered with aluminum, but the bedside clock tells you it's 6 am. You gently lift his arm so you can get up, and as you swing your feet off the bed he sits up with a start, grabbing you from behind.

“Don’t leave me Satnin, don’t leave me in the dark… I can’t be alone in the dark…” his soft voice trembles with fear, and you push back into the pillows, taking Elvis’ head in your lap and sooth his brow, hushing him with a promise that you aren’t leaving, just going to the bathroom. 

Once he falls back to sleep, you get up and, finding your nighty, make your way to the en suite toilet. Looking over at him as you come back, you tip toe out of the bed room to call home and talk to Ruth in the living room. You had snuck off to a phone after the show last night, and had a long, apologetic conversation with Aunt Ida, who was, honestly, too enthusiastic about the fact that you wouldn’t be coming home for the second night in a row. You met someone, girlchik, I told you that you would, she had gushed. You had just been grateful that neither Danny nor Harriet had told their parents whom that someone was. Harriet had stayed over to help, as promised, and was going to open the store today, but you hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ruth. You leave the lights in the living room off, relieved that Joe or one of the other guys is not sitting in the living room to greet you this morning when you make your way to the phone near the pent house kitchen. You sit on a bar stool and have the operator call your house, then ask Ida to put your daughter on the phone.

“Hey baby, you’re not mad at me for staying out with friends?”

You can hear Ruth roll her eyes. “Mom… why would I be mad? You should do this more, Harriet lets me have as much ice cream as I want. For breakfast too.”

“What?”

“Just kidding…” Ruth giggles.

“Ok, good… hey, after today, only three more days of school left til summer?”

“Mhmm, mom, yeah. I know….”

“Ok, ok, I just called to tell you to have a good day at school, and I’ll see you tonight, ok, sweet baby?”

“Ok, love ya mom.” 

Just as Ruth hangs up, you jolt at the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut and turn to see Elvis in a robe, rubbing his eyes with a befuddled expression on his face.

“Sweet baby? Thought you didn’t have a man…. “

Hanging up the phone, you throw your head back and look at the ceiling, then return to meet his gaze.

“I don’t… I wasn’t talking to a man…” you mutter.

Elvis’ brow creases, as he rubs his eyes again. 

“Well then, who were you…..ohhh…” he walks over to you, and sits in the bar stool next to you “How old?”

“9.” You look down.

“You must a been a baby yer self when you had ‘em?”

You just nod, as he takes your hand.

“An that’s why you can’t come to Memphis.” He drops your hand, getting up and pacing back towards the bedroom. 

You stand to follow him, but stop, you can tell he’s upset, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s mad at you for not telling him you had a kid, or mad because his psychic powers didn’t show him this information, or mad because he’s not going to get what he wants, or mad because he thinks you’re some sort of tramp horrible mother and can’t believe he was attracted to you. Your worst insecurities assume its the latter one, the energy in the room has turned bitter and you want to run out of the door. You fight this, realizing clothes would be good first.

“I should go,” you offer, and he turns, hand on the bridge of his nose as he stands in thought.

“What? No… I mean.. Yes.. honey, do what you gotta do…”

You walk up and kiss Elvis on the cheek, then move to get dressed in the bedroom, finding your old jeans and shirt and converse in the closet. Elvis follows you, and perches at the edge of the large, leather chair watching you dress. He stands to grab something out of his black dress jacket, and pads over to you as you finish tying your shoe. The belt and ring he gave you are on the bed next to where you finish getting dressed, and you aren’t sure if you should leave them. He seems to read your mind.

“Take ‘em… go ahead, I want ya to have ‘em…” Then he hands you a wad of money. “And this too, for all your troubles.” 

You count it, $500. A sinking feeling starts in the pit of your stomach. Whore. You feel like a cheap whore. You crumple up the cash and throw it on top of his things, slap him in the face, and then walk out through the bedroom and leave without looking back.

Elvis rubs his stinging cheek, and turns to follow. No one has ever rejected his gifts. 

“What the devil in tarnation… crazy woman…” he mumbles to himself, still drugged and half dead from the sleeping pills and lack of sleep, his mind and body are moving slow. He hears the front door slam and he jogs after you, sticking his head out of the door to call you back, only to find the hallway empty. All that remains of your presence is the faint sting from your hand still burning his cheek.

taglist:

@woundmetender @powerofelvis @butlervol6 @ab4eva @whositmcwhatsit @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley

Read Chapter Three Here

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley smut #elvis x OC #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fic #banditqueenwrites

[winchesterwild78]

Chance Meeting pt 5

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

18+ Minors DO NOT interact

This is my first ever fan fiction. I adore Jensen Ackles and have no hate towards his family. In this he’s single. I’m not sure exactly how to do this so any suggestions or feedback is appreciated. Please be kind and all mistakes are my own. All work is mine. Please don’t copy it.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, Jensen being a sweetheart

Chapter Warnings: implied teen pregnancy, Jensen being a sweetheart, plus sized reader body issues, Things continue to heat up

A/N: I’m working hard on making sure the chapters get done quickly. I don’t want to leave you hanging for too long. If you have any suggestions please let me know. Reader is older-not trying to alienate anyone, but I wanted the reader close to Jensen’s age and with children. This will make more sense in later chapters.

———————————————————————

As you opened your room door you looked at your phone. 6 missed calls from y/f/n and 10 texts. “Oh great, I forgot to call her back last night.” You immediately called her back and as soon as she answered the phone you quickly said “Oh my god, y/f/n I am so sorry I forgot to call you. I was incredibly busy and it slipped my mind.” “Well y/n it better have been a good reason. I’ve been worried sick.” She said. “Did you end up going to karaoke?” “Yes I did, and I sang a song with Jensen. His voice is even more beautiful in person.” “So, y/n tell me everything.” She said with excitement in her voice. You started at the beginning and you told her how it felt like a magnet was pulling you to him. You could hear her giggle as you continued telling her about everything. Well maybe not every single detail, but enough to make her squeal with delight. “So are y’all just fuck buddies or something else?” She said after you finished. “God, y/f/n crude much?!?” “I don’t know what we are right now. I just know when I’m with him I feel safe, loved and protected. I feel like I’ve known him for years. I can’t explain it. Trust me, once I know I’ll let you know.” You told her. After talking for a few minutes you told her you needed to get ready for the panels and photo ops. You both said your goodbyes with you promising to text or call her later.

You changed into your Radio Company t-shirt, grabbed your flannel and finished off your outfit with your comfy shoes. You fixed your hair into a messy bun and put on light makeup. One last look and you were headed out the door passes for the day in hand. The anticipation of the day gave you butterflies. You wondered how Jensen would act towards you and since Jared saw you how would he be towards you.

The first panel was with Jared, Jensen and Misha. You took your seat on the 2nd row on the far right. You were in the first seat and could see the stage clearly. The guys were introduced and took to the stage. Deafening applause and screams filled the room. They sat down on their chairs, of course Jared turned his around. You saw Jensen scanning the crowd looking for you. When he made eye contact with you he smiled. You smiled and bit your lip. He bit his bottom lip and licked his lips. Jared noticed and smiled, tipping his head to you. He leaned over to Misha and whispered something to him that caused him to look your direction and smile. He gave Jensen a playful slap on his arm with a big grin on his face. Jensen blushed a little. You thought he was absolutely adorable with slight pink cheeks.

The panel started with the guys talking and cracking jokes. The crowd was in the palm of their hands. These guys really love their fans and know how to really work the crowd. You hardly took your eyes off Jensen. He was breathtaking and so sweet answering questions about any and everything people asked him. You decided to jump in line to ask a question before Jensen turned back your way. He saw you weren’t in your seat and you saw his face fall a little. The next question came from the other side of the room so Jensen turned to listen and answer the question. Your turn was next. Your heart was racing and you had no idea what you were going to ask, so you decided to wing it.

You took the microphone and when Jensen saw you he started smiling. Jared and Misha both grinned. Jared said hello first followed by Misha and then Jensen. You said “hey guys! My name is y/n it’s really great to meet you three.” Jared said “hello y/n I’m Jared, that’s Misha and the goof down there is Jensen.” You giggle when Jensen whips his head around and said “oh I’m the goofy one?!?” Everyone started laughing. You looked at Jensen and said “um my question is for Jared” giving Jensen and smile a wink while Jared starts laughing and says go on. You ask him “Since he was Deans little brother, if he could pick the perfect girl for Dean what would her personality be and would it be similar to someone he would approve of for Jensen? Why or why not?” Jared said “Well y/n I’m glad you asked that question. Hmm the perfect girl for Dean would be very similar to the perfect girl for Jensen. They would have to be strong willed, loving, family oriented, could cook and put up with his moods .” “So let me ask you something, y/n. Are you a Sam girl or a Dean girl?” He asked you wiggling his eyebrows. Jensen spoke up and said “well obviously she’s a Dean girl because she wanted to know about his perfect girl.” He said smiling at you. “You looked between the both of them and smiled then said “Well, actually I’m a Cas girl.” Everyone erupted in laughter. Jared and Misha both jumped up to hug you. Jared grabbed you and pulled you into a hug and whispered “so glad to finally meet you officially.” Misha hugged you and said “I knew I was going to like you.” Jared jumped back on stage and said “best answer ever!” You thanked them and took your seat looking at Jensen and you’re both smirking at each other.

Before the end of the panel one of the staff members came over and tapped you on the shoulder. “Ma’am, Mr Ackles would like you to join them in the green room. If you could please follow me.” You grabbed your stuff and got up to follow her. She took you behind a curtain and into a room with seating, food and drinks. There was also a tv that showed the current panel. A few minutes later the panel was done and the guys were walking off the stage. The next thing you knew the door was opening with Jared, Jensen and Misha walking in. They all greeted you with hello’s and smiles. Jensen walked up to you and took you in his arms. He hugged you and backed away. You leaned in for a kiss and he said “oh I thought you were a Cas girl?” You playfully hit his chest and he softly kissed your lips. “Awwwww” Both Jared and Misha said at the same time. Jensen shot them a smirk and put his arm around you. You all sat around talking and getting to know each other. All the guys showed you recent pictures of their kids and they talked about how fast they were growing. You showed pictures of your kids and talked about how they have both grown up too fast. Your oldest is in their 20s and your youngest is almost 18. Everyone looked at you and said there was no way you had a kid in their 20s. You laughed and said “I started early.” Jensen sat staring at you and you were worried you just blew it with him. Yes he has kids, but they weren’t teenagers yet. You kinda held your breath until Jared and Misha got up to leave and told Jensen and you they would give y’all a few minutes alone before Jensen was due for his next thing.

When the door closed you looked at Jensen who was still staring at you. He whispered to you “I kinda like the idea of a MILF.” He growled in your ear and you were on each other like a couple of teenagers. You were panting and hands roaming over each other. Deep passionate kisses and Jensen leaving love bites down your neck. His lips were intoxicating and his touch was electric. You knew you couldn’t get too hot and heavy but damn did your body crave him. Between kissing and heavy petting you told him he needed to get ready for the next thing. You didn’t want him to be late. He kept kissing you and finally pulled himself away. “You know I just realized I don’t have your number.” Jensen said with a chuckle. You smiled and gave him your number then said “well I think we had more pressing things on our minds.” He texted you and you saved his number under “J” just in case someone saw your phone. You didn’t have a clue what this was between you two and you really didn’t know how to explain it yet. Keeping this between you two right now was the best decision for both of you. With one last kiss you both sighed and left the green room. He went to his photo ops and you went to get in line. You were looking forward to getting the pictures done and hopefully seeing Jensen later tonight.

Part 6 soon

#jensen ackles x plus size reader #chance meeting #supernatural convention #jensen ackles smut

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1862

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, hurt/comfort, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read the previous parts of this series first, go to the masterlist

4. A Late Morning Wedding

This Chapter: After their vows, Steve takes Bucky's arms gently, fitting first one band of metal and then the other over his wrists and clicking them shut. They’re weighty, just like the ownership they represent.

It’s a late morning wedding.

Bucky’s family hasn’t ever attended services with any regularity, so they convene at Steve’s Catholic church to give their vows.

Bucky is, strangely, not very nervous.. Once he’d gotten dressed that morning and allowed the attendants to pin a flower to his jacket lapel in the church’s side room, he’d kind of stopped thinking. It doesn’t seem real, that he’s about to walk down an aisle and give his life over to a man he hardly knows.

Steve’s beta father pops his head in through the door and gives Bucky a small smile. Bucky tries to give something back, since Mr. Rogers seems like a nice guy, quiet and kind. Bucky nods at him when he asks if he’s ready to go, and takes his arm when he offers it.

Steve’s church is large. The fifty or so guests that’ve come only fill the first few rows of pews. Bucky stiffens his spine and steadfastly avoids meeting anyone’s gaze. He especially doesn’t look at his mother. Not because of spite, but rather because he’s not sure what he’d do if he saw her face right now. Probably cry.

Reaching Steve at the altar, Bucky is reminded that Steve is a good few inches taller than him. He’s handsome in his suit, Bucky can’t help but think. He’s a very attractive man, and if this were under different circumstances, Bucky might be pining over him.

Only, it’s their wedding, which isn’t something Bucky had planned for himself. Not at this stage in his life. He gulps and takes Steve’s hand when he offers it, listening to the priest’s words as he starts speaking.

Steve seems … not tense, per se, but stiff somehow. His eyes keep flicking over to Bucky every so often, and soon enough Bucky realizes that Steve’s trying to make sure he’s doing alright, without being obvious about it. Bucky stiffens his jaw, trying to appear as collected as Steve does. He doesn’t want the alpha to think he’s some stupid kid who can’t handle this. Bucky doesn’t need his sympathy.

When it’s time for them to say their vows, the priest has them turn to face each other. Steve holds both of Bucky’s hands and recites, “I, Steven Grant Rogers, do take you, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my husband and Beta. I promise to honor and protect you, to guide our household and care for our family. Going forward, I accept the responsibility of Headship to our union. I promise to share my life with you and, god-willing, the third to our marriage.”

Bucky gulps, his palms feeling sweaty where they rest in Steve’s. He repeats the vows that the priest lays out for him, glad that it’s done sentence by sentence, because he honestly doesn’t think he could manage to remember it all at once. “I, James Buchanan Barnes, do take you, Steven Grant Rogers, to be my husband and Alpha. I promise to honor and obey you, to nourish our household and care for our family. Going forward …” Bucky’s throat feels tight. He has to take a breath before he can make himself utter the last words. “Going forward, I accept your authority as Headship to our union. I promise to share my life with you and, god willing, the third to our marriage.”

It feels like a huge weight is lifted from on top of his lungs, once the words are said. Air rushes back in, but it’s not a relief, it just means he can breathe again. Bucky blinks at Steve, taking in the way he looks satisfied, if not altogether joyous. The priest is talking, droning on about the sanctity of marriage and other things. He ushers the altar boy forward with the ring and wristbands. Bucky watches with a sense of disbelief as Steve takes his arms gently, fitting first one band of metal and then the other over his wrists and clicking them shut. They fit, at least. They’re about the only thing in this situation that does. Then Bucky gets nudged by the altar boy, who’s looking at him impatiently, Steve’s ring held out. “Oh.” Bucky takes it, turning back to Steve. He’s looking at Bucky patiently, waiting for him to slide it onto his finger. Bucky takes a deep breath and does so.

Steve smiles kindly at him, once it’s done, and he squeezes their hands together. The priest starts saying things in Latin and moving his hands around, and then he’s pronouncing Bucky and Steve as husbands, saying they’re married and that Steve can kiss him. Bucky freezes on the spot, not having thought ahead to this part. Steve comes in and holds Bucky at the waist, one hand curling behind his neck as he dips in, kissing him before Bucky can freak out any further. He’s gentle about it, his mouth warm but brief on Bucky’s own. Bucky doesn’t have time to decide if he likes it or not before Steve is pulling back and everyone in the pews is standing up and clapping. Organ music that’s too grand for just their little gathering starts up, and Steve takes Bucky’s hand to guide him back down the aisle.

They’re married.

Mercifully, nobody tries to throw a grand reception to celebrate. Bucky thinks he would explode if he had to sit in a room full of people congratulating him on his blessed marriage for three hours straight.

Instead, Steve’s fathers have Winnie and Bucky’s sisters over for dinner and drinks, a few close friends of each of their families attending as well. House Romanov is there, so Bucky gets to see Natasha, and House Wilson attends as well. Senator Wilson’s son, Sam, is apparently Steve’s best friend.

Bucky watches the two of them talking on the other side of the ornate drawing room. Every once in a while, either Steve or Sam’s eyes will flit over to him as they talk, which is what lets Bucky know they’re most definitely talking about him.

He tries to ignore Steve in favor of eyeing all the grand frescoes that decorate the ceiling, and the old fabric wallpaper that lines the high walls. Both of their families are High Society, but House Rogers is clearly wealthier than House Barnes. The mansion they’re in makes that plain enough. Steve had grown up here, Bucky thinks absentmindedly. Strange, since he in no way acts pretentious. Even his parents don’t.

Bucky’s sitting on one of the parlor’s silk couches, Natasha at his side. “God, James,” she scolds. “I would’ve thought he was hideous, from the way you were complaining. Look at him! He’s textbook.”

Bucky grunts, sipping some of his wine. It’s his third glass and he has no concrete plans of stopping. Already, he can feel his body buzzing, a little numb but a little giddy too. He’s at least relaxed enough that he can sit with Natasha and stare at his new husband across the room without being constantly flustered. “Yeah,” he agrees. “He’s handsome.”

“He’s one of the youngest in the senate right now,” Natasha tells him. “I've heard good things."

"What things?"

Bucky's thinking of his character, but Natasha starts listing off several bills that the alpha has apparently co-sponsored. "—and pushing for all sorts of reforms.”

Bucky shrugs. He’s never paid too much attention to politics. A good thing, too, since he won’t inherit his father’s seat now, anyhow. Years of study would’ve been a waste of time. “That’s great Natasha,” he says, making his lack of interest clear. “I just need to get drunk enough to go to bed with him tonight.”

Natasha gives him a look. “You don’t always have the best ideas,” she says.

“Hmph.” Bucky sips more wine. “Sure.” His eyes flick over to where his mother is chatting with Steve’s fathers:

“Oh no,” she’s saying with a sigh. “We never did find our omega, I’m afraid. It’s always been just the two of us. But it’s been a happy household. Well ... until recently.” She looks away, embarrassed. “Obviously.” The Rogers start trying to console her about the obvious ruin of her house.

Bucky only endures about two minutes of listening to that before he stands from the couch and excuses himself from Natasha’s company. He finds his way into the kitchen, where a few servants are arranging things on platters, ostensibly to bring out and serve to the guests. They look alarmed at seeing Bucky in their domain and ask him if he needs anything. “No,” he says, walking towards the counter and pouring himself some more wine from an opened bottle. The wine comes out white, mixing with the red that’s already in his glass. Bucky huffs at the mistake but doesn’t stop pouring until he’s got the glass mostly full. He nods at the staring servants and makes his way out of the kitchen and into the hall. Everyone’s still convened in the parlor, but Bucky really doesn’t want to go back in there. He sips his drink, considering if he might snoop around Steve’s parents' house. His eyes roam the fancy ceiling, which in that part of the hallway is a rich, carved mahogany.

“Bucky.”

He startles, attention shooting from the ceiling down to Steve, who’s appeared in the hall. He’s holding his hand out for Buck. “Come on,” he says. “Our parents want to make a toast before we retire.”

Bucky’s lips part. “Retire?” he repeats dumbly.

Steve’s eyes soften and he nods, coming forward to draw him along. “Yeah, come on. How many of these have you had?” His fingers approach Bucky’s wine glass and Bucky yanks it out of reach.

“Not that many,” he says, grumpy. “I’m allowed.”

Steve seems to consider him for a long moment, but then he nods and doesn’t press the issue any farther. He moves Bucky along into the parlor. “Yes, you are. None after this, though,” he says, putting some of the command of an alpha’s Voice behind it.

Bucky stiffens, never having been on the receiving end of Steve’s Voice. “No?” he asks, desperately wanting to do something to prove that he can have as much wine as he wants, that Steve isn’t the boss of him. But the dark metal bands around his wrists are evidence against that. They’re hidden by his shirt sleeves, but Bucky is well-aware of them against his skin. They’re weighty, just like the ownership they represent. “Maybe I’ll still have another glass, though,” Bucky mumbles mutinously, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve steers them back into the parlor without taking the bait, and then he announces that the evening is finally coming to a close and he and his new husband must retire. One of Bucky’s sisters starts giggling madly and Bucky sees his mother glare at her, and then both of Steve’s parents are making a toast, wishing them happiness, good luck, and lots of children.

Bucky blushes mightily at that, feeling like it’s awful presumptive that they’ll find their omega anytime soon, or that they’ll start having babies with him (or her) right away. Bucky still feels like a kid, himself. He manages to meet both of his in-laws' eyes as Steve bids them good night. “Thank you,” Bucky mumbles. He accepts hugs from them and from his mother, and then Steve guides him out of the room and they both go upstairs.

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#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #fanfic #a/b/o #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #edwardian era #historical au #arranged marriage au #arranged marriage #enemies to lovers #royalty au #alpha steve rogers #alpha beta omega #forced marriage #marriage of convenience #omegaverse

[ambrossart]

DANCING WITH MYSELF

— PART TWO

summary: eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, chrissy cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. ❖ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader ❖ word count: 2,366 ❖ genre: fluff with some angst ❖ series status: complete ❖ warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

It was no secret that Mrs. Cunningham didn’t care for you. 

When you and Chrissy were in middle school, that wretched woman did everything she could to discourage her daughter from hanging out with you. Said you were a bad influence on her. And why? Because you were, as she so delicately put it, an “alarmingly overweight” child with no sense of propriety. She said this once to your mother over dinner (after your mother had the audacity to allow you a second serving of mashed potatoes), and it turned into a nasty fight that ruined the entire evening. Your mothers spent the rest of the night screaming at each other in the dining room while your fathers drank scotch in the den. Meanwhile, you and Chrissy snuck some apple pie up to your room and listened to your Journey records until Chrissy had to go home. Chrissy ate one bite of pie and pushed her plate away. You ate the rest of yours, but you didn’t enjoy it, not at all. 

Mrs. Cunningham warmed up to you a little once you lost the weight… a little, but not very much. 

You rang the doorbell with your heels clutched in one hand and your dress draped over your forearm. She answered the door with a painted-on smile. 

“Y/N, so good to see you…” and she pulled you into a firm, unaffectionate hug. 

Make no mistake, this woman was not embracing you. She was feeling you. Comparing the shape of your body today to the shape of your body three days ago. 

Luckily for you, you passed. 

Mrs. Cunningham promptly pulled away. “You look healthy.” 

“I swallowed a tapeworm.” 

“Oh…” Mrs. Cunningham gave your chin a light pinch. “Good for you, sweetie!” 

You rolled your eyes and went upstairs to Chrissy’s bedroom. 

“Okay, your mom seriously just tried to measure my body fat with her bare hands! No offense, Chris, but your mom has officially gone batshit.”

Chrissy sighed. “Tell me about it…” She was sitting on her bed and painting her toenails teal to match her prom dress. When you sat down beside her, she put down the nail polish and turned to you with a sad, empathetic smile. “I’m really sorry about Chance.” 

You shrugged. “Whatever, I’m over it.” 

“No, you’re not.” Chrissy saw right through you, as usual. 

“No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, causing your eyes to well up again. You let a few tears trickle down your cheek, then knuckled the rest away. “God… I was really looking forward to tonight, Chris. I thought it was gonna be kinda special, you know?” You snuffled a few times. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting a Pretty in Pink moment or anything.”

“Oh, I love that movie,” Chrissy said, smiling a toothy smile. 

You laughed. “I know you do.” 

“We need to watch that again soon.” 

“Well, I’m free tonight,” you joked, and Chrissy gave you a pouty look that said, Stop it, so you did. “Like I said, I wasn’t expecting Pretty in Pink, but I guess I just wanted a smidgen of that, you know? Just a fraction of it. Not the whole pie, just a little sliver to get me through these last couple weeks of school. I wanted one great, totally cliched high school experience so that, come graduation, I can finally close this chapter of my life with a smile. Or at least a smirk. I could settle for a smirk.” 

Instead, you frowned. “I guess I should have known better, huh?”

Chrissy scooted closer to you. “No, don’t do that. Don’t do that thing where you think the universe is out to get you because it isn’t, okay? Look at me. Hey, look at me.” 

She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to look into her eyes. In them, you saw a glistening pool of unshed tears. 

“A bad thing happened,” she said in a quiet, broken voice. “It was a really, really bad thing, and I’m so sorry it happened to you tonight. Believe me, hun, if I could go back in time and change it, I would. You know I would. But we can’t change it. We can’t. And I know every part of you wants to run away right now, to spend the rest of the night holed up in your room watching Prom Night and Carrie and cursing us all into oblivion—”

“Don’t forget the voodoo doll I plan to make of Chance Gallagher.” You made a frantic stabbing motion with your hand. 

“Yes, of course, the inevitable voodoo doll…” Chrissy gave you a tired, affectionate look. “But you know what? If you do that, if you shut yourself out like you did last year, you’ll only be hurting yourself.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Chance may have flaked on you, but you can still have a great night. You will have a great night. We will have a great night, and do you know why? Because we always have a great time together. Right?” 

You smiled. “Right.” 

Then Chrissy drew you in for a much-needed hug, holding you close until you were ready to let go. “Anyway…” She turned back around. “You’re not the only one having a bad day, you know. I woke up with a huge zit this morning.” 

“Oh my god… do your parents know?” 

“Shut up,” Chrissy said, and gave you a half-hearted slap. “I’m nervous.” 

“About what? The prom vote?” 

“No… you know I don’t care about that. I’m nervous about after prom.” She looked down at her painted toenails, blushing. “Jason said he got a room.” 

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Really?” 

Chrissy nodded demurely, her big blue eyes shaded by long brown lashes. 

“So are you two finally gonna…?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy said, suddenly afraid. “That’s why I’m nervous.” 

After that, she pulled her knees into her chest and went quiet for a while. Your first thought was, Well, at least I don’t have to worry about that, and that made you a little sad.

You had your first kiss when you were fifteen. 

It was at Katie McDillon’s New Year’s Eve party. You spent most of the night sitting in front of the snack table, sandwiched between Teddy Brubacher and Edith Layne. Edith had to remain seated on account of her broken leg (ice skating accident); Teddy just wanted to keep talking to you… and stare at your chest when he thought you weren’t looking. You ate half the bowl of chips because small talk made you uncomfortable. Chrissy spent the whole night in the arms of Jason Carver. They weren’t officially dating yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time. 

As midnight drew near, Katie turned the lights off and everyone chanted, “Three, two, one…” and Teddy Brubacher wished you a Happy Near Year. Then he kissed you. It was a fine kiss, soft but not sloppy, but it didn’t make you feel any type of way.

While Teddy was kissing you, you saw Jason kiss Chrissy for the first time, their silhouettes softly illuminated by moonlight. It was like one of those perfect, slow-motion movie kisses, and they kept kissing even after the lights came back on. Teddy asked you out while “Holiday” by Madonna played on the living room stereo. You turned him down without even looking at him, and he said you were nothing but a big tease.  

That was the last time you ever listened to Madonna and the first time you felt truly jealous of your best friend. 

Tonight was the second. 

Because there Chrissy was in the perfect prom dress with the perfect prom date, taking perfect picture after perfect picture. 

Mrs. Cunningham kept butting in with a stern “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear,” and Chrissy would always sigh, stand up a little straighter, then look over at you and roll her eyes. 

Jason presented her with a beautiful white orchid corsage and tied it onto her left wrist. Afterwards, she shyly pinned a matching boutonnière onto his left lapel. Her hands were shaking because she was afraid she might accidentally stab him with the pin. Then she reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

Mr. Cunningham went around capturing everything with his camcorder. He put the camera in front of you, and you covered your face with your hand. Such sweet teenage memories… 

While the couple took pictures, you stood off to the side, in the farthest corner, feeling self-conscious in your strapless dress and worrying if people would notice the small amount of back fat that bulged out from underneath the bodice. And now you felt a little like an asshole because you knew you were about to ruin their perfect evening. Because whether she meant to or not, Chrissy was going to spend most of the night by your side, making sure you were happy, and Jason would be left wondering why his prom date wasn’t spending any time with him. 

But as always, he was a good sport about it. 

While Chrissy went upstairs to change jewelry, Jason came over and kissed your cheek, said you looked very beautiful in your prom dress. 

For a moment, you allowed yourself to blush, to get swept up in the fantasy of Jason Carver, captain of the basketball team, thinking you were beautiful. Deep down, you knew he didn’t really mean it, not like he did with Chrissy, but you thanked him anyway. 

“Sorry you’re stuck with a third wheel tonight.” 

Jason looked at you like you were crazy. “You kidding? I’m the luckiest guy in the world right now. I get to take two gorgeous girls to prom… Now, I don’t see a reason to be sorry about that. Do you see a reason to be sorry about that?” 

You shook your head, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. 

“Good,” he said, and handed something to you. 

It was a corsage. Jason Carver actually bought you a corsage… and now he was taking it out of the box and tying it onto your left wrist, making you hate yourself more and more. 

“I know it doesn’t really match your dress,” he said, “but it’s the best I could do on short notice. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you said, but inside you were dying.

And now Eddie Munson was starting to think he’d made a huge mistake. 

He was sitting in his van outside the banquet hall, watching all the couples enter the building. The girls came in floor-length gowns and cocktail dresses, complete with ruffles and bows and lace, and so much tulle. The guys followed them around in black and white tuxedos, looking like a bunch of penguins marching to their inevitable doom. 

Eddie drummed his hands on the steering wheel, the anxiety welling up inside him. “Shit… am I really doing this right now? Am I doing this?”

He glanced to his right, where his electric guitar was resting in its case. “Okay, talk to me, sweetheart. Give me your wisdom. Am I doing this? Am I going in there? Fuuuck!” He gripped the steeling wheel hard, tried to shake it, then smashed his fist against it. “I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? This is a terrible idea!” 

He put his hand on the gearshift, ready to put it in reverse… then withdrew his hand and collapsed against his seat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay, I just need to calm down. I need… what the hell do I need?” 

He reached over and opened his glove box, hoping to find something to take the edge off, but—“Goddammit!”—it was empty. He flipped it closed and sat back again. 

“You know what…? Fuck it, let’s just rip off this Band-Aid.” Eddie whipped open the car door and stepped out, beginning his final march. “All right, here we go… to victory or to death.” 

Near the banquet hall entrance, Eddie spotted Jeff and Grant standing with their prom dates. Grant’s date was frantically dabbing his tuxedo jacket with a tissue and blubbering about a tiny, barely noticeable barbecue sauce stain. 

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You were determined to ruin my prom pictures.” 

Grant rolled his eyes. “Yes, Meg, I’ve been plotting against you the whole time.” 

She jabbed his chest with her index finger. “Hey, I told you not to order the ribs! I told you!” 

Tara said, “At least you guys got to sit down and eat somewhere nice. Jeff here forgot to make dinner reservations. So instead of my steak dinner, which he promised, I got to dine on a greasy hamburger and stale fries… in a parking lot.” 

“And it was a pretty damn good burger, wasn’t it?” said Jeff. “You certainly ate it—along with half my onion rings.” He turned and saw Eddie approaching from the parking lot, wearing a black suit jacket over a t-shirt and ripped jeans. He put up his hand to wave. “Hey, man! You made it!” 

Eddie went to join them, feeling a little uncomfortable and underdressed. 

Tara took one look at him and said, “You didn’t rent a tux? Even Jeff rented a tux… He forgot to make dinner reservations, but he at least rented a tux.” 

Jeff said, “Oh my god, you’ve gotta get over that already.” 

“Hey, I don’t have to do anything. Okay?” 

Meanwhile, Megan took ten steps back and shrieked, “Oh my god, I can see the stain from over here!” 

That’s when Grant finally lost it. “I WILL RIP THESE TICKETS IN HALF! I SWEAR TO GOD, I’LL DO IT!” 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to prom, buddy!” 

“I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D SAY YES!” 

And that’s when Eddie Munson was struck by a horrifying revelation.

“Shit…”

He had forgotten to buy a prom ticket.

_____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #chrissy cunningham #jason carver #chrissy x jason #eddie x chrissy #st4 #ambrossart #just me using fanfiction as therapy for all my high school trauma #dancing with myself #dwm #fanfiction

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 4, "Thirsty"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: A recent acquaintance crosses the party’s path again at camp and offers them his services and some creature comforts. Áine is showered with compliments and a few romantic advances and Astarion reacts how you’d expect. Áine and Astarion continue to warm up to each other little by little and struggle with that. Astarion finally must go hunting and espies an unexpected sight in the woods.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Suggestive descriptions and dialogue; descriptions of feeling triggered and traumatic memories; angst; brief, minimal descriptions of nudity; lightly proofread; another long one

Word Count: 9.4k

Listening to: Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge

The next morning, the aggressive nature of her companions’ compliments was almost enough for Áine to regret singing the night before. She was taking a page out of Astarion’s book—the turn of phrase, not his actual book, gods he’d kill her—and having a bit of fruit to break her fast, just a bit of apple and a handful of raspberries ripened to perfection by the sun. 

She didn’t retain much at all from her past by choice, but she’d loved raspberries since she was a tiny child. They were simply one of her favorites and she relished the treat of finding them unexpectedly along the paths she traveled. All that to say, her companions’ unwarranted admiration had her face nearly as pink as the berries in her hand.

Unfortunately for her, the sight of her half-drow lavender skin flushing under the breadth of their praise only encouraged them further. 

“I truly don’t understand it, how can you be embarrassed about such an incredible gift?” Gale asked enigmatically between bites of breakfast. 

Áine gave him a withering look and gestured broadly. “I’m not good at being fawned over. Besides that, I never said I was embarrassed. I said I was shy.” She hopped up, holding her last apple slice between her teeth to free up her hands to gather their dishes and make a quick trip down to the shore to wash them before they moved camp. “As kind as you all are, this isn’t helping me feel less shy!”

She hurried away from the fireside before she could hear one more offhand comment about how “cute” or “precious” her blushy face was. Never in all her life had she ever thought she’d be referred to with such terms, but somehow she’d been downgraded from “fearless leader” to whatever adorable little terms at least three of her companions now insisted on bestowing her. 

Áine was bemoaning her reputation when she turned the corner of the campsite right into a familiar but highly unexpected face—she fumbled the bowls, but deftly caught them again before they could hit the ground. However, her apple slice had fallen from her lips when she’d yelped and was forfeit to the dirt. The mummy they’d either disturbed or sprung from the crypt was standing there, looking at her through beady eyes as if she was the one in the wrong.

“Everything alright?” Shadowheart called from the fire, on her feet as she waited for Áine to answer.

Áine blew out a breath she’d been holding and said, “Yeah, I’m fine,” before she turned her attention back to the robed undead before her. “Um… Hello.”

“We meet again,” he said, voice still as gravelly as she remembered, “as predicted.”

One of Áine’s eyes twitched a little as she tried not to just laugh at him. “You’re standing in my camp,” she pointed out, unable to keep the amused smile at bay. “Of course, we’ve met again.”

Not seeing the same humor in it, he gave the slightest lift of his feeble shoulders. “Indeed. And I shall remain here, in thy camp, for whenever thou hast need of my services.”

Áine’s brows furrowed as she attempted a nod, trying to pretend she knew what the hell was going on. “Well, you’re…more than welcome to tag along, but what services do you mean?”

The mummy lifted a bony hand, gesturing with a delicate sweep as he replied, “A mending of the threads between life and death… Should thou or any of thy compatriots perish, I shall cleave soul to body once more.”

“Uh huh… And why are you offering those services to us?”

“Because it is my calling,” he said simply, glancing away as if she were boring him. “There is little else to explain.”

“Interesting,” Áine said. “And what would be the cost of such a service? A soul to exchange? A favor pacted in blood?”

“I am no devil,” he scolded her. Áine felt appropriately chastised. “The cost is a mere matter of coin.”

Áine frowned, vaguely hearing at least a couple of her companions in the vicinity behind her realize who she was speaking to and react with open unease. It was probably how she should have been reacting as well, but instead of shrinking or shifting her hand to a weapon, she simply dug in further with her questions. “...How much ‘coin’?” she asked.

“200 gold pieces,” the mummy replied.

Áine paled. “You little—is that why you asked me about mortal lives when we met?” she asked. “Silly me, thinking, ‘oh this is a philosophical question, he’s weighing my morality and my compassion,’ but no, you were weighing my coin purse. Ooh, I should’ve low-balled you.” She turned to face the lot of her companions that had gathered to spectate the meeting, raising a placating hand toward them. “Not that you all aren’t worth every penny, but we’re strapped for cash as it is. So no dying, got it?”

A rumbled mix of amusement and agreement met her ears and she turned back to face the absolute golddigger of a mummy in front of her. “And listen, Gramps, I appreciate the failsafe for myself and my friends, but my goodness. The rug has been pulled out from under me, I’m sure you can understand.”

While the undead being before her remained stoic through the entirety of her speech, he was amused by her gusto. That was for him to acknowledge, however, and no others. “My name,” he said, “is not ‘Gramps’.”

Áine waited for him to give her his actual name, so when he didn’t, she did what she did best. She dug. “Would you prefer Bone Daddy?”

“...No.”

“My friend, I can do this all day,” she informed him. “I live for this. It’s either you give me something to call you or I get to choose and the next one I go for is going to be Peepaw, I’m just warning you.”

“Withers will do just fine,” he said, his tone admonishing again. This time though, it did not affect her. 

“Grandpa Withers, then,” she said decidedly, giving him a small smile after to try and communicate that she was joking. She holstered her invented names for him for later use if he annoyed her or inflated his prices again, which he likely would if she continued to annoy him. It only meant that she would likely stay dead if she got cut down in battle because, even if one of her companions wanted her back, they wouldn’t be able to afford it. She could live with that for a bit of fun. “Right, would you like a tent when we set back up?”

Faintly surprised by the offer but, again, showing no emotion on his time-worn features, Withers said, “That would be most kind. Thank you.”

Áine nodded. “Will do. See you in a bit then, unless you plan to walk with us?”

Withers inclined his head. “I will meet thee come nightfall in thy next resting place. Farewell.”

Dismissed, Áine smirked and wandered back to the group, realizing as soon as she did that she still had the bowls from earlier in her hands, and the camp was now packed up without her being able to assist in the cleanup. Shadowheart took them from her when she approached. “We can give them a scrub when we stop again,” she suggested since they were overdue to hit the road. “So is…Withers staying then?”

“He’ll show up when we camp apparently, but won’t be bothered with traveling,” she explained, glancing back to see that the strange being was already gone. She looked at Astarion, who smirked widely against his palm as if trying to stifle his amusement. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, I’m still recovering from ‘Bone Daddy’,” he chuckled. “Carry on.”

“How were you so… Bold or comfortable or whatever the right term is with talking to him like that?” Wyll asked, astounded. “Had I turned that corner, we already would have been in the hole that 200 gold because he would have scared the life out of me.”

“Mm, bold to assume you’d be bought back,” Astarion said flippantly. Wyll, assuming with ease that Astarion’s statement was intended only as a joke, chuckled and gave the elf a firm pat on the back that nearly put him facefirst in the dirt.

“Truly though, that seemed so easy for you,” Gale pointed out, his attention still on Áine.

Áine shrugged. “Until proven otherwise, he’s just a person. A very, very ancient person who probably hasn’t had the piss taken out of them in a while,” she reasoned. “Besides, he reminds me of someone I used to know.” Áine sighed. “Right, come on. Let’s get a move on.”

Bags packed and saddled upon each of them, dressed for the road ahead, the group was on their way. Out of Áine’s earshot, a very confused Gale leaned over toward Wyll and Lae’zel while they walked and asked, “...Who in the world could he remind her of?” 

At the front of the troop, Áine glanced back and surveyed her companions, noting that Lae’zel had fallen into step with Wyll and Gale toward the back. This was as good an opportunity as any to discuss group dynamics with Shadowheart. She caught the cleric’s eye and nodded for her to come up and walk with her. Astarion’s gait had put him toward the middle of the pack as well, but likely not close enough to hear them (or so she thought). He wasn’t her intended topic of conversation, but she also didn’t want to embarrass Shadowheart with what she had to say to her.

“Am I to be slapped across the wrists?” Shadowheart asked in a lowered voice when she fell into step with Áine, a sneer already on her face. Áine saw it only as the defense mechanism it was and didn’t bite back. As soon as she wasn’t met with vitriol, Shadowheart seemed to deflate some. “You can’t ask me to be friends with someone like that.”

“I’m not,” Áine said. “I’m asking you to be respectful. At minimum. I’d ask you for the same regardless of who it was.”

“Then she needs to do the same for me,” Shadowheart snipped back.

“She does,” Áine sighed. “As someone on the outside looking in, she’s not the one saying petty things or pulling faces at every turn.”

“Don’t know how you could tell with a face like that,” Shadowheart muttered.

Áine shot her a harsh look. “Like that. Unacceptable. Even said just to me and not to her face. Cut it out.”

Astarion was, of course, listening in. Their whispers were as good as said at normal volume to his sensitive ears. Part of him was smug at the cleric getting called to the front of the class so to speak, but the other part lingered on Áine’s insistence that even Shadowheart’s flagrant disrespect whispered to her and not Lae’zel was out of line. There was that insistence of respect again… 

Astarion shook off the strange feeling that it gave him to hear her speak like that again. It has to be the tadpole, it’s gnawing on my brain and making me loopy, he decided with a grimace. That’s why I jumped in front of her yesterday, too. Illithid tadpole protecting its own. It’s overriding the rules of vampirism and my basic instincts. No wonder I’ve felt so utterly mad. 

Ahead of him, Shadowheart glared back at Áine. “I will not trust her. I will not like her,” she growled. 

“I’m not asking you to do either,” Áine said again. “I’m asking you to treat her like a person.”

Shadowheart was taken aback by that. “We may have to agree to disagree on what degree of treatment acts as a base level for the masses.”

“We can disagree on theory and dogma until the stars fall down,” Áine said, “but in practice, while we’re traveling as a group under a common purpose, I will be holding not just you but everyone here, myself included, to a common standard as well.”

The cleric lost some of the stormy winds in her sails and her shoulders sank slightly, signaling defeat. “Logically, I can understand where you’re coming from,” Shadowheart hedged, “but this is not my teaching. Particularly regarding a gith.”

Áine nodded but it was accompanied by a troubled frown. “She doesn’t deserve your ire based solely on what she is,” she said, her tone gentle and her words careful. Behind her, the unadmitted vampire spawn placed the blame for even more new feelings on the parasite in his head. “Let her earn it if she should have it, no?”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Fine. But she will earn it, mark my words.”

“And if she does legitimately, then all bets are off,” Áine sighed, giving a helpless gesture with her hands. Her gaze moved back to Astarion and she noticed the grimace pinching his lovely pale features. “Something the matter?”

“Leave me be, I’m brooding,” he snapped.

“Hells, alright,” Áine murmured just as swiftly, turning her attention back to the road and expelling a sigh through her nose. Playing a mediator would be what ended her, surely, and all she could think was that she now needed to start accruing a nest egg of gold so she could afford resurrection when it ultimately happened.

—

There was never a more satisfying sound to meet his ears, Astarion decided, than the click of a lock surrendering against his manipulation of its tumblers. There was something to that sound of success and the breath he let out afterward that he usually didn’t realize he was holding in the first place. Focus would do that and focus did manage to often help him separate himself from unwelcome thoughts or things happening around him. 

That said, he was more than happy to be the self-appointed locksmith in their little group while the others navigated around him to parse through crates and barrels that needed less attention and care in their opening.

With deft fingers, Astarion slid the lock out of the latch it hugged and lifted the lid to see what was inside. A bottle of what smelled like perhaps a well-aged brandy, a pouch of gold, a dark red velvety blanket, a few health elixirs, and…

He frowned a little and pulled the blanket back, seeing that it had been wrapped around something oblong, likely in the chest more to protect the item it swathed than the blanket itself. When he shifted the fabric, he heard a soft, dulcet twang of some strings. 

Now this would win him some well-earned points. Before Gale or Wyll could strut by and steal his thunder, Astarion lifted his gaze from the chest and sought out their bard. “Áine,” he called, brushing some of the dust off the wooden planes of the instrument with the corner of the blanket as she approached.

On her way over to their resident rogue, Áine was musing over being uncertain she’d ever heard him use her name before. It was all darling and my dear with him, especially when he was laying on the charm particularly thick. She refused to admit to herself that she didn’t mind the little names when they felt more on the affectionate side, but it was harder to shove away her reaction to her own name. 

Butterflies. She was coming up on her 56th year walking this world and she was experiencing butterflies like a preteen girl. And not at anything unique, oh no, at her name being said by this particularly infuriating, increasingly more complex, moody flirt of a man. She did wish something that may become quite commonplace like the use of her name didn’t wreak so much undue havoc on her insides, but she wasn’t sure that particular wish would come to pass.

Astarion heard the tip-tap of her footsteps and her heart as she sidled up behind him, oblivious to what had actually caused her pulse to jump. When she peeked around his arm to see what he had to show her, he lifted the lute from its velvet cocoon and held it out for her inspection. “Does this at all interest you, dearest?” he asked, knowing fully well that it would. Just not quite yet the impact her reaction would have on him.

When she didn’t immediately speak, he looked down at her. Had he a beating heart, it would’ve missed a step the instant he saw the look on her face. Her hands had moved to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and genuine in their awe. Absently, before he could drum up coherent thought to blame the way his heart pinched on the tadpole, he wondered how he could’ve ever likened her eyes to dirt. Rounded and shining and touched by the sun, they were honey or amber or caramel, but they were certainly not dirt. 

Those eyes shifted from the lute to his face and his stone heart threatened to crumble. “Wait, this is for me?” she suddenly asked. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Of course. I have no use for it and you require an instrument unless I’ve missed another gift from Gale.”

Áine stifled a laugh at the way he said the wizard’s name. For some reason, he was quite easily peeved at Gale’s mere presence some days. Wyll, too. Although she honestly had no idea why, perhaps the occasional puns were wearing on him. She’d seen Lae’zel have a similar, exhausted reaction to that particular type of joke they enjoyed when the opportunity arose, but Áine had a feeling it may have been because she didn’t understand them as readily.

“Thank you,” she said as he placed the instrument in her hands, his cooler fingers intentionally brushing hers as he loosened his grip on the wooden neck. “It’s beautiful.”

“A good fit then,” Astarion complimented her, his delivery polished and smooth. He was gratified when the blood rose to her face, but also unpleasantly reminded of his thirst—a painful ache flared in his throat and at the base of his fangs and he had to work to keep his discomfort out of his expression.

He did well enough to obscure his agony, and it didn’t seem as though she’d noticed. He knew she hadn’t noticed, for he knew by now she would’ve asked him about it. While she admired her new equipment, Astarion knelt to begin working on the other locked chest beside the first, sliding his picks into the keyhole and feeling around the mechanism inside. This lock was less corroded than the first and was smoother to manipulate, only taking him a few minimal adjustments of his wrist before he coaxed it open.

Sliding this lock free like the first, he addressed the lingering half-elf. “You’re staring at me again.” He shot her a flirty smile. “Not that I blame you, darling. Just thought you should know.”

Áine met his hungry eyes with a chiding look. “I just can’t believe how fluidly you manage to do that,” she admitted, watching him flip back the lid and parse through the contents. She hesitated, lightly chewing the inside of her lower lip, and finally asked, “Would you teach me sometime?”

Caught off guard, Astarion looked up at her and then doubtfully at the chests he’d broken into. “It truly isn’t so difficult, but… Sure, remind me when you find one you’d like to try.”

Áine was doubtful that it was as easy as he made it seem, mollified when he agreed to show her how he managed it. And it wasn’t solely an excuse to chat with him more at a later date. That’s just part of it, she admitted exclusively to herself. 

“I’ve been curious, but I’m so afraid I’ll break one of the pins,” she said as he stood back up next to her, watching as he put the delicate tools back in their leather wrap. They’d found a few similar kits already in their travels, but she didn’t want to be the reason they couldn’t check a chest or a door at a pivotal moment.

Astarion just smiled and stowed the kit. “My sweet girl, if you can sort how to pluck a tune from a lyre in a night’s time, I promise you that you can pick a lock.”

Her heart stuttered again. He needed to quit finding new little endearments to call her when she wasn’t expecting it, she was going to develop a condition at this rate.

Astarion’s lips quirked slightly as if he’d read her mind and before she could try to decipher the timing of the look he gave her, he was leaning back over the first chest, pocketing the gold and taking the bottle of brandy as well for later inspection. He hesitated as his hand brushed the velvety merlot-colored blanket again, his lips pursing.

Áine noted his hesitation and nodded encouragingly. “It’s nice. You should take it.” His eyes met hers and he almost seemed embarrassed to be caught considering it, instead offering it to her. She smiled and shook her head. “No, no, I’m full up on gifts,” she laughed. “Besides, you deserve nice things.”

The comment came so unexpectedly that reflex kicked in and he snipped back, “Well, of course I do.” 

Unfazed, Áine snorted and left him to it, giving his arm a light, affectionate pat in passing. The contact initially startled him, but he found himself missing it as soon as it was gone. In truth, Astarion couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him without selfish or even malicious intent, so unless he initiated something, being touched as a whole had become tainted for him. So much so that he’d long assumed that he simply detested being touched at all unless he had to allow himself to be. At least until now, when a simple, casual gesture from Áine had unraveled yet another old assumption he’d hung onto about himself and the world as gospel. His personal Faerûn would upend at this rate before they made it to the outskirts of the goblin camp.

He looked down at the bit of fabric with new consideration and sighed, refolding it compactly around the bedroll strapped to his bag.

Later that night after they’d traveled as long as they felt able, making full use of the sun’s final breath upon their pocket of the world, the traveling party had pulled off to the side of the road and found a clear spot amidst the trees to set up their tents. 

Wyll took over campfire duties and Lae’zel lingered nearby, watching curiously to see how such a thing was done in this plane until he took notice and offered to show her how to correctly strike the flint. He also took over putting something together for their supper, which Áine noticed while setting up the extra tent she’d promised Withers that morning. 

As soon as she was done, she knew without looking behind her that he’d already be there and when she finally did turn back, lo and behold, there he was. “Good evening,” she greeted him.

“It is, is it not,” he mused, looking up at the tent she’d set up for him. “Your kindness doth not slip past me unnoticed, Áine Ts’sambra.”

Áine’s smile became strained as he spoke her surname to the night. “I prefer just Áine these days if it’s all the same to you.”

Withers drew in a deep breath that was immediately recycled into a deep sigh. “Yes… I should think so,” he said and Áine understood then that he was even more like her old acquaintance than she’d first surmised. She wasn’t so sure she liked that. He met her eyes again and inclined his head. “Thy past is thine to carry. Thine to tend. It need not wander where thy wouldst not want it among thine companions,” Withers said and she thought perhaps this was his long-winded way of telling her that he wouldn’t divulge anything to the others.

Slowly, she nodded. “I would appreciate that,” Áine said.

The ancient being’s lips pursed into an even thinner line. “Fate…spins along, as it should. Sometimes when fate is in its greatest motions, the past is cut along its edges,” he mused. “Thou art not the only soul within this camp, within your journey, who may feel that unwelcome brush with the past. Thou must be ready to catch such collisions and help them become part of the rotation.”

Áine was frowning, parsing his words as he said them. “I suppose you can’t be more forthright with me about what you mean?”

“It would not do to dwell on that which has not yet happened,” Withers said. “And even may not happen. Forthright speech is for the present when what thou must face lies far before thee. No matter what some gods may keen, no one knows the exact path of even the nearest set future.” He observed her expression, the honest flickers of grief and fear on her face while her allies had no way to see. “When you find thine self in this journey, find thine self prepared to face what thou hast left. Whatever form that may take.”

She drew in a breath to steady herself and nodded. “I appreciate the warning. Thank you.”

Withers bowed his head briefly and when his eyes opened next, they were upon the standard plain canvas of the tent she’d set up for him. Áine was suddenly self-conscious of its drabness or of the exact way she’d set it up, but before she could ask if something was wrong with it, he turned his gaze back to her. “For one good turn… Another.”  

Before her eyes, the canvas of his tent simply transformed into a rich sweep of dark indigo that mirrored the robes he wore, an abacus and a locked chest settled just inside its walls. She was surprised at the instantaneousness of his magic—no light, no flair, just things suddenly willed into existence. She’d gathered that he had power given the “services” he’d explained to her earlier that morning, but she’d not given him sufficient credit.

A rising murmur in the camp encouraged her to turn around and she saw that Withers’ tent wasn’t the only one he’d affected. Each tent now perfectly befits the person who lays claim to it, furniture and trinkets arranged along both the exteriors and interiors. Curious glances were finding their way to Withers, who was the one new variable in the camp and the only likely suspect other than Gale for any magical alterations. Considering Gale was just as surprised as everyone else, Withers was the obvious source.

To Áine, but loud enough for the group at large to hear, he said, “May thine home reflect thine souls, thine comforts, and thine rest.” Quieter, just to Áine, he said again, “For one good turn, another.”

She smiled, her heart warmed by the homier atmosphere their camp had already taken. Having the creature comforts already helped her to feel, perhaps foolishly, less like they were just desperately trying to survive on the road. They were moving with purpose. Her smile faltered as she thought to ask, “We…won’t need to move all of this stuff from now on, will we?”

Withers actually chuckled, which initially frightened her into expecting a “yes.” Instead, he said, “Take with thee what thou dost need. The rest will return each night with thine camp.”

Relieved, Áine smiled more freely. “Thank you, Withers,” she said, and it took everything in her not to call him some variation of “grandpa” again. It was an endearment coming from her, but one she felt she would only seldom get away with. She needed to rack up some more rapport with him before she tossed that particular antic his way again. 

One camp resident was not so amused nor thrilled by Withers’ gift. That bastard skeleton has it in for me, Astarion realized in a half-panic as he tossed the velvet blanket Áine had coerced him into keeping over the table mirror that rotter of a mummy had conjured on a table right in front of his tent. And then there was the goblet of blood that just sat out like a common cup of plonk on a rock outside for all to see. Granted he knew he was the only one who could smell the stuff, but that old bag of bone dust couldn’t have more aesthetically exposed him if he’d tried! The rest—the floor pillows, the rug, the candles, the books, even the little basket of soaps and essential oils inside for bathing—were more than welcome adornments to his threadbare camp lifestyle, but not if he got staked immediately after getting them.

Still, his throat flared raw with thirst every time the contents of the goblet reached his nose. He shot a look toward Withers, who met his gaze over the abacus he was fiddling with. Despite the emotionless set of the undead’s wrinkled face, Astarion could feel amusement roll off him. A low growl worked up his aching throat as he snatched the goblet off the rock and retreated into his tent. 

He downed the blood in two long gulps—it was tepid when it hit his throat and he knew he’d still have to find something alive to truly set him right, but this would hold him over until the others went to bed at least. The interior of his tent left much to be desired compared to the exterior, just bottles of more blood lining the corners around his bedroll and the sad, tattered thing he called a blanket. Besides his clothes, it was the only thing he’d brought with him from his old life, would that it could be called a life. 

His eyes settled on a silvery hand mirror that sat propped against one of the bottles and he hissed. Either this was that sentient prune’s cruel idea of a joke or what he’d said about their “souls” being reflected in their living spaces courtesy of whatever magic he used rang true and the mirrors’ presence simply symbolized his vanity. Astarion wasn’t so sure he had even retained a soul through his transformation, that any vampire did, but perhaps the fact that anything had been conjured inside and around his tent spoke to the possibility that he had. 

Or, again, it was one decrepit old beanpole’s idea of humor. He was just glad no one had been at the proper angle to see one of the symptoms of his condition before he could cover the mirror outside. Of all the side effects of vampirism that the parasite had nullified, he’d felt a half-second’s hope while approaching the offending table mirror that he might see his reflection. However, like his thirst, his red eyes, and his fangs, this aspect of what he was remained intact.

A particular combination of voices outside his tent gave him pause and he listened, more than happy to abandon his more dismal thoughts if only for a few moments of distraction. Unsurprised to recognize one of the voices that had caught his interest as Áine’s, he listened a little harder to discern whomever she was speaking to and his lip curled when he succeeded.

Fucking Gale.

Gale hadn’t quite been himself on the road today, which was partly why Áine chose to check on him that evening. His absence from the fire and during dinner was abnormal and it was catching him staring somberly at the projection of a woman floating above his palm that had finally encouraged her to go say something to him. They had, one way or another, ended up talking about his connection to the Weave and how utterly entangled in it his life was. 

“Magic is…my life,” Gale was explaining, eyes far away with fresh dark shadows beneath them. Áine absently wondered if he hadn’t been sleeping. “I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it—it’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses.”

Áine had never had much to do with the Weave, but just listening to the way Gale talked about it, she felt like she had. His adoration was palpable. “It sounds, well, quite magical.”

Gale chuckled at her words. Then a thoughtful expression crossed his features. “Would you like to experience it?”

“What?” Áine asked, no longer following. “Experience the Weave? I’m not sure I can, I’m no spellcaster. Not really anyway.”

“Of course you can,” Gale reassured her. “With a practiced hand to guide you, which you have at your full disposal. Just follow my lead.” He angled himself to stand beside her, eyes ahead. She remained uncertain but didn’t protest. She simply watched as Gale made a wide, steady gesture with his hands. Born between his palms was a mystical purple radiance that faded when his hands dropped back to his sides. “Now you.”

Áine felt silly, but she hesitantly raised her hands, doing her best to mirror what he’d done. The glimmer that flashed between her hands wasn’t near what Gale’s had been, but the fact that there was anything there at all wowed her plenty. Eyes wide, she looked at Gale and asked, “...Was that right?”

“Yes, that was excellent,” he assured her. “Now, repeat after me…”

Astarion had parked himself on the floor pillows outside his tent with a book in his lap, angling it so he could easily take stock of the bard and the wizard across the clearing with casual upward flicks of his eyes. He was just watching for everyone to go to bed so he could go scavenge for some unfortunate nearby creature to drain. He wasn’t jealous of Gale.

His eyes latched onto the wizard’s hands as he adjusted Áine’s stance, touches lingering for just seconds too long to be purely technical. Bleeding Hells, he felt feral and could only keep blaming his thirst and the tadpole in a cyclical rapid-fire succession. 

Unaware of their audience, Áine inhaled the scent of rosewater conjured from whatever incantation she’d just repeated under Gale’s instruction, her posture relaxing some and releasing its earlier tension. She smiled. It was difficult to not feel at ease in the ambient glow around them. 

“Very good. Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony,” Gale instructed softly. “As true as you can. The Weave holds memory like it holds magic. It remembers.” Something about his tone was saddened as he spoke the last.

The first thing to come to Áine’s mind was harmony in music. Simple enough, she thought. She closed her eyes and thought of one of her favorite melodies, felt it in her heart like she did when she performed, and let it fill her mind to its brim with its sweeping, perfectly mingled notes. Something in the air around her changed and Áine opened her eyes, noting that the halo of violet that had been arcing around them before had spread into more of a veil. It felt quite contained but so peaceful. 

“You did it!” Gale exclaimed and his elation was so contagious Áine couldn’t help but smile. “You’re channeling the Weave. How does it feel?”

A laugh eased from Áine’s lips. “Like I’m getting undue credit for this,” she said. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, smug. There was a glimpse of the Gale she’d come to expect. She’d not found out what was troubling him, but he at least seemed a bit happier at the moment. He was closer than she remembered him being, too, she realized. Just a touch too close for a friendly conversation. Was this just a friendly conversation?

Something shifted in the Weave’s folds that surrounded them. She froze and looked up at Gale, looking for confirmation that he’d felt the rupture as well. If he had, he didn’t show it—he was just staring at her…expectantly? Had she done it again? Walked into someone’s feelings only to disappoint them when she couldn’t drum up some of her own?

She didn’t have long to consider it. The disturbance she’d felt came again, but it came on the sensation of a familiar old magic, an ache ensconced in a memory, a faint echo of a chant, and then—

—and then a scream.

Áine jolted, a loud gasp parting her lips as the Weave’s gentle glow faltered and fell around them. Her eyes flickered across the camp, up to Gale, and then down at the ground when she realized the scream had all been part of the memory, too. No one else had heard it. It was hers to carry, as Withers had put it. Something in her chest gave a sharp squeeze.

“Is something wrong?” Gale asked, alarmed by her visceral reaction to something he couldn’t see nor feel within the fading piece of the weave. 

“No,” she said too quickly when she felt his hands on her arms to steady her. Realizing she’d sounded a bit harsh, Áine drew in a deep breath and gave one of his hands a pat of acknowledgment. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for the lesson. Sorry I broke it.”

Not entirely sure she was being honest with him, Gale still let the issue rest, letting his hands fall slowly from her lavender skin. “You didn’t break a thing,” he reassured her. “Sometimes things just slip away from us… No matter how hard they were in the obtaining.” Áine couldn’t be fully certain that he was still speaking of the Weave and she felt foolish for taking so long to pick up on the vibes he was sending her way. “I’ll let you get some rest. Good night, and thank you for sharing a moment of magic with me.”

Astarion had been so focused on Gale’s too-frequent touches that he hadn’t immediately seen that Áine was distressed. He’d heard her gasp and thought she was simply awed or surprised perhaps by either the magic cast before her or Gale’s advances—he’d firmly ignored the jealousy that had flared when his considerations had surfaced the latter of the two. But when Gale’s manner suddenly slanted toward concern, Astarion had torn his eyes from the wizard’s wandering hands and taken in Áine’s expression. 

She’d pulled herself together by the time he took in her expression, but he saw faint traces of truth in her eyes. His jaw clenched. There were only so many things one could hide when something unwelcome knocked at the doors to their heart and mind. Gale, seeing his moment going as swiftly as it had come, simply excused them both from their interaction, but Astarion’s attention lingered and he saw Áine’s hands start to shake as soon as she thought she was no longer being observed.

Astarion was shocked to see her so shaken up. She’d been a steady force through thick and thin so far, through multiple uncomfortable conversations, and under heaps of stress to boot. She hadn’t seemed upset at Gale specifically, so as much as he would’ve happily blamed Gale just for the fun of it, he couldn’t. 

Maybe she was as disconcerted by being touched as he was? That didn’t seem right either though, he’d seen her comfortably stand close enough to their companions that their arms brushed, she’d had a grieving tiefling fall into her arms and openly weep after they’d first entered the Grove gate and had not missed a beat, she’d even touched his arm earlier today without a second thought. 

For a moment, Astarion considered that perhaps more intimate touches and any intent behind them were the problems, but that lasted only seconds before he thought back to the day before when he’d ended up on top of her after pushing her out of the harpy’s trajectory. She hadn’t seemed at all alarmed when he’d lingered, nor at how closely he’d stayed beside her after they’d gotten up. So he couldn’t fully rule it out, but it seemed unlikely.

Then what had happened tonight? What could he have possibly missed?

She’d disappeared to her tent for just a few moments’ time, just long enough to have perhaps caught her breath and gathered the lute she was now escorting down to the campfire. He smiled a little and looked back down to his reading, listening as she experimentally plucked the strings and learned her way around the new instrument, eventually coming around to tuning it like she had the lyre. When he next looked up, she’d settled on holding the instrument against her body like a cello, and Astarion’s eyes trailed down the wooden neck leaning against her shoulder all the way down to where the lute’s hollow body sat nestled comfortably between her thighs. 

Damnation to every god that conspired in his creation and had decided to make him into the elven vampire spawn he’d become and not something as lucky as that lute that wasn’t even sentient enough to be grateful for its lot in life.  

Wyll chose that moment to approach the fire and incidentally Áine as well and took it upon himself to give her playing some hands-on instruction. He was lucky Astarion let him keep those hands. Gods he needed to feed, he was much too cranky to handle any of this with any sort of common sense.

“One hand goes here,” Wyll was saying, moving her left hand carefully to the neck of the lute, “and then you strum with the other where you were before. Each string is a note and you can manipulate those notes by holding down the strings to the neck. See?” He’d gently pressed her fingertips down against a fret and guided her other hand to strum across the strings. Áine gave a hum of approval as she heard the difference. “And you’re meant to hold it across your lap like this, not—”

“Just let her play, conquering hero,” Astarion griped as he strode down to the fireside, book in hand. He’d not been able to stand it any longer. “It’ll sound the same regardless of how she holds it.”

“Not entirely true, Astarion, but point taken,” Wyll said sheepishly and Astarion almost felt bad. Almost. “Apologies, Áine, I’m not trying to infringe on your learning process.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t have sorted the neck bit near so quickly if at all,” she hastened to reassure him as Astarion gracefully dropped down to sit beside her, propping his book open in the crook of his crossed legs. Her decision to use “neck bit” to describe her lute made his fangs ache. “I’ll get the hang of it and now I know who to ask if I need help.”

Wyll smiled, his eyes soft, and inclined his head. “Any time, my friend,” he said and excused himself to go rest in his tent. 

Áine smiled faintly as she went back to experimenting with the lute, holding it how Wyll had shown her for a little while before she eventually switched back to her original position, finding it more comfortable. She’d taken the fretting into practice however and although she found it a bit difficult to hold the strings down now, she supposed she’d build some finger strength eventually that might make it easier. As long as she didn’t manage to break this one anyway.

She had a brief dismal moment of silence for her flute and her lyre but knew she’d be more careful with this particular instrument. This one was special. 

The thought reminded her of the brooding vampire parked at her side and she let her arms rest around the lute, resting her cheek against its neck when she turned her head and regarded him. “Keeping watch again?” she asked just to drum up a chat.

“Hm?” he hummed against his palm, where she noticed he’d habitually rest his cheek whenever he read. When his mind caught up with her words, he said, “Over you? Of course.”

Her features took a turn toward amused. “I meant over the camp but now I’m curious. What could I possibly need guarding from?”

Astarion smirked, preening under her gaze and happy to keep up whatever banter would keep him there. “There are plenty of dangers in these woods, my dear.”

“Bears?” she guessed.

“Worse. Suitors,” he replied gravely.

The laugh he earned from her caused the corners of his mouth to tick upward as he continued to stare down at his book. “You’re imagining things. Bears would have no reason to court me,” she declared, purposefully dancing past his insinuations.

Astarion smiled against his hand, shaking his head at her willful misunderstanding. As she let herself admire the way the firelight danced against his alabaster skin and the angelic fringe of his ivory lashes, she heard him simply say back, “Their loss.”

Áine was starting to feel unsure about these little comments he made. They’d at first seemed like a game he liked to play, to fluster or confuse her perhaps. And sometimes they still did feel that way. Then there were moments like this when she couldn’t quite convince herself that he was still masked. 

When she said nothing further and let the silence hang, she saw him gradually shift his gaze her way, eventually meeting her watchful eyes. As much as she tried, Áine couldn’t read the inscrutable look in his eyes. There was too much there and yet not enough for her to yet understand what exactly she was seeing. 

She wondered if that was on purpose, if it was another careful wall he could pull up like his too-perfect rakish grins and one-liners that she’d begun to see as a persona. Whether or not she was correct, she wasn’t sure, but she was growing increasingly more tempted to find out. And that want, that—she could admit it, just to herself for now—desire was something quite new for her.

Astarion was winning her over, although not for any of the reasons he’d believe he was. Even if she told him so directly. 

Neither of them spoke in that immeasurable moment while they held the other’s gaze. He was just as unsuccessful at deciphering the honeyed machinations of her mind’s eyes as she was with his, but that uncertainty frightened him more than it frightened her this night. Astarion could sense lust a mile off, could recognize it on any face of any race he encountered because, more likely than not in his servitude, he had encountered it. There were tones of that intrigue in Áine’s eyes, but they were so subtle inlaid amongst other emotions he couldn’t pinpoint as easily, he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

She’d seen more thus far than he’d anticipated her seeing each time—was it happening again? What did she see? In his eyes, in him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he was suddenly willing to find out if it meant drowning in these flame-licked amber depths for just a few more seconds. His hand had slipped down to cradle his chin as he’d subconsciously leaned closer to her, gravitating toward her eyes, her lips, her scent—her skin’s uniquely identifiable musk laced with pale mint and faint traces of raspberries. Bleeding Hells, he wanted to taste her.

In more ways than one, he remembered as he stopped cold just inches shy of her face. 

He came back to the present, his mind fogged by desire and thirst and took her in. She hadn’t moved away from his advance. If anything, she’d leaned toward him, but subtly. Her eyes were just slightly hooded, her pupils dilated. He saw her gaze briefly drop to his lips as she had likely begun to wonder if he was waiting for her to lean in. 

Before she could try, Astarion inhaled deeply and sighed as he dropped his head forward, letting himself seem as though he were disappointed by her hesitation as he slowly rose to his feet, taking his book with him. He was crafting his exit from the situation because he knew, without a doubt, with his thirst the way it was at that moment, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from biting her and probably draining her within an inch of her life if he didn’t kill her outright. However, if he played this off like the manipulative bastard he could be, he could plant a seed of doubt in her mind that she’d been the one to squander an opportunity. A seed that could, if tended, grow into a second chance he could harvest once he’d properly sated his thirst. 

After all, he was aiming to seduce her, not eat her. Well, not like that. She was of no use to him dead and he was more than a little afraid that he’d miss her and their little chats. He now knew as well that there was definite chemistry there—the execution of his plan may prove easier than he’d anticipated and he was certain he’d enjoy himself. No downsides as far as the eye could see.

“Astarion?”

Pulled from his self-satisfied thoughts, Astarion looked down at Áine still seated by the fire, wrapped around her lute. The embarrassment and guilt on her sweet face almost made him buckle in his charade. “It’s alright, darling,” he said anyway, playing into it just enough. “I require some rest anyway. I’d daresay we’re past the hour where ‘bears’ may be prowling. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Right,” she said, her voice quieting as she grew more timid, recognizing their moment had passed. “Of course. Goodnight.”

Without speaking further, Astarion turned his back and set off for his tent, swallowing against the actively throbbing pain in his throat. He’d been thirsty for the better part of 200 years, to be fair, but he supposed that the traveling, the fighting, and perhaps even the stress he’d experienced since he cracked upon that Nautiloid pod and escaped had worn even further into him and his body’s needs than he’d yet experienced in this second life of his. 

He ducked inside and let the flaps fall shut behind him, sitting down on his bedroll inside to wait for Áine to head off to bed. It was an option to slink through the back of the tent, he supposed. However, there was little more than trees and bracken behind his abode and he wasn’t sure how he’d explain going to his tent to “sleep” if he was then found traipsing through the woods to avoid kissing and subsequently biting their party’s surely decadent little bard if he accidentally made any noise and gave himself away. 

Astarion scoffed quietly. No, waiting would suffice. Would give him a chance to calm himself down as well.

He allowed about an hour or so to pass in a short reverie before he leaned over and parted the folds of his tent door to check the fire, feeling confident that he’d heard Áine rise and make her way to bed some time ago. Sure enough, the fire glowed at a softer intensity as it wore its pyre down to the dirt, unaccompanied by any stray companions. Astarion eased himself from his tent, wondering why he’d even bothered to doubt his ability to conform to the shadows earlier on. He silently, stealthily made his way out of the camp and deeper into the forest.

Anything that moved caught his attention, but he was hopeful to pin down just one medium-sized creature, have his fill, and get back before anyone woke. He wasn’t yet ready to disclose his vampiric nature and wouldn’t so long as he was able to keep his thirst in check. No one took kindly to vampires, not even other vampires. It would most certainly ruin everything. Forgiving though their little leader may be toward a githyanki, she most assuredly wouldn’t extend the same kindness to a vampire spawn, of that he was certain.

A splashing in the nearby river caught his attention and his predatory instincts immediately began painting him pictures—a deer, maybe even a fawn struggling to cross to the other side, perhaps a boar or, Hells, even a kobold would do. A kobold would be preferable. That was the closest thing to a “thinking creature” that he and his siblings had ever been allowed to drink and that was suddenly what his body was craving. What must a “thinking creature” taste like if the mere thought of a kobold on an empty stomach filled him with this much anticipation?

He reached the edge of the trees and nearly crossed through the line they created to stalk whatever was making its way through the water, but he froze in his tracks. Astarion stepped backward and settled back into the shadows, fighting against every hunting instinct he’d allowed to the surface despite their riotous joy at his find.

He clenched his jaws and his fangs ached. Why couldn’t she have just gone to bed?

Down in the river currents, Áine looked to be partway through a quick rinse with one of the soaps Withers had bequeathed to their camp, which now that he was really thinking about it felt less like a gift and more like a hint. Cheeky mummy. 

Astarion had managed to get his feeding instincts under control somehow (likely because other instincts were resurfacing) and now just found himself lingering, entranced but also perturbed. What was she thinking coming out here alone while they were all asleep when no one would hear her cry out if something attacked her? Not that she couldn’t handle herself—and he was seeing now in more detail than ever that her delicious curves housed lean muscle amongst their contours. 

Softly over the sounds of the river, he could hear her humming to herself and she was such a vision in the moonlight, that he almost felt a little bad for equating to a peeping tom in the dark of the trees above her. Not badly enough to be on his way, however. Besides, he was just making sure she was safe from all the possible threats that could be lurking nearby, himself included. Red eyes traced over drip-drying lavender skin, the water droplets that caught the light glimmering like tiny, fragile constellations. Rivulets of river water ran lovingly down her back, flowing freely from the pearly tresses plastered against her back.

As if feeling his stare, she stopped and turned around, looking back up the pathway as if she’d heard a noise. She hadn’t of course, he would’ve heard it as well, but he didn’t mind the view her mistake granted him. 

Astarion’s ravenous gaze shifted upward on her body when an unexpected marking caught his attention, then one more adjacent to the first. A crease formed between his brows the longer he looked. Dotting her skin were two distinct scars shaped like irregular starbursts, so pale that they appeared white against the rest of her skin. One, the larger of the two, adorned the underside of her left clavicle just over her heart and the other dotted the center of her left shoulder at the joint. 

He remained unable to tear his eyes away from her as she finished her washing up, but his mind wandered, trying to piece together what could create scars in such a peculiar shape. They were small enough that he’d not been able to spot them until she’d moved her hair, but sizable enough that he could see them with ease from his elevated perch atop the hill. Astarion’s mind wandered further to the scars that riddled his own back, scars he’d never seen for himself for the obvious reasons but could remember how every single line felt as it was carved into his flesh. 

He shuddered hard, nothing about it to do with the cold night air. Astarion’s head bowed toward his hands, clenched into fists against his thighs. His nails bit into his palms, the pain just enough to ground him from the onslaught of the flashback that picked at the edges of his thoughts. Vaguely, he heard Áine leave the water and, he assumed, dress and gather her things to return to camp. He listened to her footsteps as she walked back up the path away from the river. He only unclenched his fists when he no longer heard any evidential sounds of her still being nearby. 

Only then did he trust himself to rise and go back to hunting—because gods help whatever creature he found first, 200 years of rage and hunger were just shy of the surface not for the first time, readily threatening to spill over.

Next chapter: Chapter 5, "A Gift"

#angst with a happy ending #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate iii #bg3 tav #tavstarion #unbound fic #spawn astarion

[mybeautifuldelirium]

Centuries Apart Part 4 || Aemond Targaryen x got!reader

Read first 💚 CHAPTER LIST

A/N a little bit late and a little bit shorter but finally finished part 4 xx

Summary: Y/N has began her plan on making Aemond fall in love with her after his constant disrespect towards her. Has she at last learned to play the game of thrones?

Warnings: Angst, bath scenes, some very lightly implied nudity ig

She had failed, was this the end? Tears rolled down her eyes, was it all for nothing? It couldn’t have been, she couldn’t just give up, but what was she supposed to do if no one would listen to her warnings. Then Otto’s words from earlier rang through her head ‘be a good wife, bear his heirs and earn his trust’ that was it, she knew what she needed to do.

She was going to make Aemond Targaryen fall so deeply in love with her that he could never refuse her pleas again.

-

“My lady, my lady” Lysa‘s trembling voice echoed through the hallways as she ran towards her princess. In a pathetic state Y/N was, her once pale silky dress now ripped and covered with dust, scarlet drops trickling down from a small cut on her forehead.

“What has happened, are you alright, my lady? Oh gods, you’re bleeding, I’ll fetch the maester”

“Wait, don’t, I’m perfectly fine, just draw me a bath” Y/N countered, catching the young maid’s hand. “No one must hear of this” she warned sternly and headed towards her bedchambers without waiting for a response.

-

“The water’s too hot, my lady” the young maid squealed at the sight of the princess submerging her body into the steaming bath. But fire could not kill a dragon, it couldn’t kill her sister so why would it kill her.

“I want you to bring me my most beautiful dress, the one with the gold embroidery and put some of that Dornish rose oil in my hair, I must look impeccable” Y/N hummed emotionlessly while Lysa was gently scrubbing her muddied skin.

“What for, my lady?” The young girl scrunched her brows in confusion “Oh gods, was there a feast I’ve forgotten about?”

“Can’t a lady just want to look beautiful for her betrothed?” Y/N scoffed “They’ll no longer disrespect and refuse me, Lysa. I came here with a purpose and I plan on fulfilling it”

“You’re scaring me, my lady”

“Don’t be scared, Lysa” Y/N smirked deviously as her hand caressed the maid's cheek “You’re my friend, aren’t you? They are the ones who should be scared”

-

Aemond’s arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed, it was like hell broke loose. The queen was in a frenzy, crying and cursing to herself, Otto had his hand on his forehead with a sigh on his lips while the king, Aegon nonchalantly drank from his cup, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Y/N had decided to keep her distance, watching the ordeal from afar, behind a marble pillar. She knew what had taken place, of course she knew, hells she tried to warn them even. If only they had listened. But then her gaze fell on Aemond. There was something different in his expression, something woeful, almost as if his resilient demeanor had been cracked. This took Y/N aback for a moment. She knew by heart the tales of the cruel, vengeful kinslayer, but then, there he stood, mere meters before her, his sharp features drowned in regret and dread.

-

“Is prince Aemond in his chambers? I shall speak to him” Y/N announced herself to a young maid that was headed towards the doors of the prince’s bedchamber

“His grace is about to bathe my lady, mayhaps you shall come in the morrow”

The princess looked over at the maid, the girl was trembling like a leaf, her hands holding a brass ewer full of warm water and a faded rag.

“Give me those” she lightly motioned towards the maid’s hands “You can retire for the night. I’ll seek to the prince’s needs”

“B-but my lady, I couldn’t possibly. That’s my duty” she shook her head, eyes widening “It’s not appropriate, what if someone-”

“And what’s not appropriate about it? Is he not my betrothed? Am I not to be his wife?” Y/N challenged, batting her lashes “Or perhaps you’d like to be alone in his presence? I wonder what my prince would say when he hears that his beloved bride couldn’t visit him because of a maid?”

“G-gods forbid, my lady. That’s not what I meant I-”

“Here, I’ll take these, you can go” the princess grinned, taking the ewer and the rag from the shaking maid’s hands.

-

Aemond’s bedchamber was dark, dark and cold, the flickering flames of a couple of candles outlining the silhouette of the tub, positioned behind a thin white curtain.

“What took you so long, wench?” His annoyed voice echoed through the chamber.

“Iksis bona skorkydoso ao ȳdragon naejot aōha ābrazȳrys naejot sagon? ñuha dārilaros” (is that how you talk to your wife to be? my prince) Y/N’s silky voice chimed as she lifted the curtain to reveal herself.

Shock mixed with confusion washed over the prince’s face as he saw the face of his bride. Picturesque she looked, her silver locks tied into intricate braids with a few loose strands caressing her neck, her body draped in a flowy silk gown that plunged deep at her cleavage, green it was, emerald green with gold embroidery.

“You? What in the seven hells are you doing here? How dare you?” His words were harsh but his gaze betrayed him,Y/N smirked to herself as she felt his eye examining her figure.

“I didn’t get to see you upon your arrival, my prince” she hummed, kneeling by the tub “I got worried for you, alas for that unfortunate boy ”

Rage shot through Aemond’s blood, his hands clasping at Y/N’s neck, water splashing over her dress “How do you know of this? Who? Who told you?”

“I did try to warn you, didn't I, my prince?” She gasped for air “I wanted to protect you and your family”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen” his hands suddenly dropped her “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to kill him, it was an accident” Aemond didn’t know why he was telling her any of this, it didn’t concern her, she was a nobody to him, he wanted to rid himself of her, but for some inexplicable reason he needed her to believe his story.

This confession froze Y/N, all color draining from her face, she thought she knew the full story, she’s heard it countless times, the story of Aemond One Eye Targaryen slaughtering his own nephew in cold blood, but that same man sat before her, his handsome features twisted in regret and sorrow.

The princess didn’t say a word, she took the rag and gently scrubbed at the pale skin of his hands that moments ago were slowly taking away the life out of her lungs. They stayed in silence as she then washed his toned chest, despite her pride, she couldn’t deny to herself the beauty of the the Targaryen prince and despite his lower half being fully submerged by the dark steamy water, a light blush crept into her cheeks, though the room too dark for him to notice.

She maneuvered her hand up his neck and then his cheek consequently reaching the band of his eyepatch. But the prince’s hand was quick to catch hers, violet eyes staring daggers at each other.

“Kostā daor va moriot ruaragon aōla hen nyke, ñuha dārilaros” (you can’t hide yourself from me forever, my prince) Y/N whispered as she got up and headed towards the doors. Winning Aemond’s heart wasn’t going to be an easy task but that night she had seen a side of him no one ever had.

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[damagedintellect]

Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

💌 Would this be considered a social suicide? : Chapter 2 💌  

Summary: You knew it was dangerous to take walks at night but hearing the water rushing under the bridge was calming to your nerves. You didn’t imagine you’d ever fall into the river and somehow wake up in your favorite anime. The isekai that I’m sure will come back to haunt me. It’s kept me up all night but I might as well get the brainrot out.

Notes: Reader is Isekai’d into BSD, Slow to start, Chuuya is endgame but there’s a fair bit of reader & Dazai moments too 

💌 Word count: 2,929 💌 Available Chapters [1] [You are here] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

The next morning you were woken up to a phone call. It was weird since the ringtone was not the one you were used to and the phone wasn’t placed where you normally put it by your side. You tried to keep your eyes closed, you were still tired. Eventually your hand found a flip phone and you picked up the call. 

“Yeah.” you sounded dead tired but sure enough Dazai’s chipper voice filled your ear. “And good morning to you~”

You groaned only half heartedly mumbling “It’s too early for this. Call Atsushi to get you out of the oil drum or whatever you got yourself stuck in. I’m going back to sleep.” You ended up slurring some of the words but you were on the precipice of falling back asleep.

“Wow, that's rude to say to someone who saved your life last night. I called you in good faith that my darling (Y/N) would help me with this emergency. Although that does leave me wondering, does your ability make you psychic?” That’s when the events from the night prior stirred you from your sleepy haze. Oh shit. You felt like you were dunked in cold water. Too much, you fucked up. Fix it. Lie. Lie like your life depends on it. What would Atsushi do? He’d panic and apologize right?

“OH GOD IT WASN’T A DREAM! I thought I was still dreaming. It was just a guess, I’m sorry Dazai I’ll-” you were cut off. Perfect.

“Calm down, I was only teasing you but you should come out once you’ve changed. Atsushi’s already downstairs waiting for you.” He ended the call swiftly after. 

That could have gone better but at least it wasn’t the worst thing having him think you had an ability. Maybe it was a good thing but still you didn’t like the casualness of it all. Dazai was one of your favorite characters that you knew way too much about. Naturally you don’t want to get on his bad side but you wanted to be kept close. Even though you feel like you can anticipate where he’s coming from, the fact of the matter is he’s supposed to be unpredictable. The problem is you want to be important but the man is a walking redflag and boy do you love flags. You already know romance was not an option especially with the way he flirts with women. He clearly doesn't have much interest in such a thing anyways. His idea that everything he desires will be taken from him always gets in the way of developing any deep meaningful relationship anyhow. Or at least was your guess based on what you’ve read. You feel like that’s the reason why he’s always annoying everyone all the time so in the event something were to happen to either them or himself he could continue without much worry. Especially since he wants to die without being a burden to anyone. You shift your focus to the clothes provided for you, a white button up shirt, pants and boots similar to Atsushi’s but instead of suspenders and a tie you were given a lightweight sweater vest to complete your look. You thought it was cute as you looked in the mirror on your way out the door.

You didn’t say much on the way through town, still embarrassed about how you spoke on the phone. Dazai spoke primarily about the job he would help get you both. Sometimes he would glance back at you just to make sure you were still listening. He even winked at you when he was talking about how good of a fit the two of you would be. The man had no right to be this attractive. As Dazai finished talking himself up Kunikida stormed in to set the record straight. 

Atsushi looked over to you “I’m starting to have second thoughts about accepting his help. Maybe I should just look for a job on my own.” 

“Eh, Dazai might seem like a moron but I’d trust him on this one. Think about it, you don’t exactly have the greatest credentials to get a job anyhow.” You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. The reason you didn’t get much sleep last night is because you were dreading the next thing Kunikida was about to say. You're afraid you'll be absolutely useless.

“We have an emergency. A man has taken a hostage and threatened to blow up our office.”

Atsushi tried to protest but Dazai and Kunikida were not having it. You followed along without complaint, of course as was your plan from the beginning. If you’re being honest you forgot half of what Junichiro’s speech was about until you heard it right now. Like who was he talking to if not you guys hiding behind the decorative shrubbery. The office workers and hostage had been there for a while. Why wait till right now to say those things. Atsushi was still trying to whimper his way out of helping and Dazai was trying to coax him otherwise. You only nodded along.

“Then there’s only one option.” Dazai said taking a stance with Kunikida following suit. The game of rock, paper, scissors was short and the face Atsushi was making was priceless. Kunikida stood up and approached the “mad bomber” as calmly as he could. “Hey, easy does it kid.”

“Stay away, I only want to see the president! Don’t you try anything funny or I’ll blow this place to bits.”

Kunikida put his hands up slowly and backed away “Okay.”

“I know who you are. You’re Kunikida. You want me to lower my guard so that you can use that annoying ability of yours to stop me. Well that sure ain't happening. Lay on that desk on your hands and knees, and keep both feet above your head- ” as he continued on, you shook with laughter, suppressing the sound at the strange but clearly not well thought order. You saw Dazai side eye you and you whispered “Sorry I know this is bad but the request he was making, how would Kunikida, just never mind. This means you can’t go out there either, Dazai.”

“It would only make him more angry. Oh my whatever shall we do now?”

You both looked at Atsushi “Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“I already know what you’re gonna ask.” 

You sighed “Atsushi we are the only option.” Dazai nodded “You’re not a formal member and the bomber doesn’t know either of you at all.”

Before Dazai could move you were already rummaging through the boxes to grab newspapers. “Listen, you just need to distract him long enough for me to back you up. We got this alright?” you looked at Dazai for confirmation.

You took the words out of Dazai’s mouth but he just shrugged continuing the thought. “Yeah. How bout you put on an act. Make it depressing like you think you’re a real worthless human being. I know you can do it right?”

You handed Atsushi the newspapers but he still looked worried. Dazai dropped the smile whispering “Trust me, scuffles on this scale are child's play compared to what we normally deal with. You can handle this Atsushi.” He was quaking in his boots as he started his speech. Dazai looked at you and raised an eyebrow. You gave a pointed look at Kunikida “Since Atsushi looks around the same age as the guy it’s better for him to be the one to reason with him. Worst case scenario I’ll just run and throw myself on the bomb. I already don’t have any memories anyways” you don’t look at Dazai’s face you half expected him to make a double suicide offer. Atsushi got right in Junichiro’s face making the perfect opening for Kunikida. While everyone was distracted with relief you started to untie Naomi, ushering her to the other side of the room. By the time Dazai started messing with Kunikida you had already walked behind the desk ready to move the bomb to the far corner.

“Now you’ll pay. I swear anyone with supernatural powers is not totally right in the head.” Tanizaki declared pressing the detonator.

Once the bomb started ticking you were already in the corner. You turned crouching around the bomb “Thanks for last night, it was great we should do it again sometime!” You smiled fearlessly at Atsushi as he grabbed the bomb from your arms and pushed you away. Dazai caught you as you stumbled back. The bomb didn’t go off of course and you all stood around Atsushi. Dazai helped you to your feet asking if you were okay and you nodded.

“Geez you know I figured the kid was stupid but I didn’t expect them both to be suicidal.” Kunikida groaned while Dazai chimed “It seems I’m rubbing off on them. Wouldn’t you agree, Tanizaki?” The redhead peered around Kunikida’s side hesitantly “Sorry, are you okay?”

"Heee?"

You laughed at Atsushi’s confusion as it shifts to clear irritation. “I’m guessing that was the entrance exam?” you turned towards Dazai for confirmation as the president walked in.

“You’re exactly right.” Fukuzawa then explained the rest of the sentiment with Dazai’s plan to get you both into the agency. You leaned on the desk behind you waiting for Atsushi to come to terms with his decision. He was arguing with how violent the job is for him but you pointed out “Way too violent? I don’t think you can say that when you pried me off a bomb to protect everyone.”

He still needed more convincing but you stopped paying attention. Sitting in the closest chair you relaxed into the piece of furniture. Wasn’t your best but wasn’t your worst. Eventually you all went to the cafe downstairs. You got a hot chocolate not really being a fan of coffee and not feeling like tea. You were already tired but it was still only afternoon. You guys still had the whole day ahead of you. 

Junichiro was apologizing to you both but you told him not to sweat it. You made the claim that at some point you realized that he and Naomi were siblings. Naomi didn't even need to be prompted to start molesting her brother. As the siblings did their thing Kunikida came up to talk with you both about upholding the agency’s good name. Meanwhile Dazai was doing the exact opposite by flirting with the hostess. That’s when Atsushi asked what they did before working at the agency.

“Take a guess. It’s a game we play a lot here actually. Newcomer tries to guess his colleagues' former occupations. Think of it as part of training to be a private investigator.”

Atsushi looked at you before you added “I’ve been pretty good at guessing games so far. I'll take my guesses once you get stumped.” You folded your hands behind your head giving him the lead. He hummed “I want to say Junichiro and Naomi were students?” 

“Whoa you got it. Nice one.”

“How did you figure that one out?”

The siblings looked surprised but they really shouldn’t be. It was so obvious given their age and the fact that one of them was literally in a uniform. Why else would they only be part timers “Not half bad Atsushi. What about Mr. Kunikida?” The aforementioned blonde spat out his coffee. “Nobody cares about what I used to be alright!”

Atsushi tried to focus again “Hmm, an official? Did he have a government job?”

“Almost. What do you think (Y/N)?” Dazai gave you time to answer “It might be the glasses but “Mr. Kunikida” screams math teacher.” 

“I could totally picture that actually.” Atsushi responded flatly. Kunikida was grumbling “It was another life. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“What about me then?” Dazai perked up in his chair.

“What did you do?”

“Yup my job.” Dazai smiled knowing he would have no way of guessing. Atsushi went on a rampage trying to guess it. You just sipped your coco waiting. Debating if it was a good idea to frazzle the brunette by letting him know but you wanted to see his face. Kunikida huffed, betting he didn't actually have an occupation before this.

“Not true, I would never lie about something like this. You've given up right?”

Junichiro’s phone went off, drawing everyone’s attention to the call. It was work, Higuchi to be exact. Dazai tried to wrap it up "Let’s save the guessing game-"

"Actually I would like to take my shot in the dark if it's all the same to everyone else. I only need one guess to be right." You interjected immediately. You made up your mind. This was happening. It's about to go down.

Dazai perked up cheerily like he had been for the past few minutes as you leaned in between him and Kunikida. You cupped your hand around his ear whispering “The demon prodigy and ex- port mafia executive himself, Osamu Dazai.” When you pulled away he fiend ignorance and kept up his usual comical persona “Ding ding ding we have a winner! Now let's go meet with our client shall we.” He stood up and started ushering everyone upstairs shooing Kunikida when he tried to ask questions “Wait just like that! I wanna know.” Atsushi followed after. As you passed Dazai he put his hand on your shoulder. The weight was feather light to the touch but had a more threatening presence than a simple hand should have. Had you not thought about your answer the moment you woke here you might have been shaken but your resolve stayed firm. 

“What gave it away?” his voice was warm against your ear. You took a deep breath turning to stare at him and recited the line you practiced in your head. “Ability or not I can see it in your eyes.” you smiled before going after the others. That’s all you should say for now if you continue who knows what the consequences will be. You still had to come up with something to avoid being gunned down by Higuchi or worse killed by Akutagawa.

—

You decided that while Higuchi was leading you to the alley you would start idle chit chat. If you could convince her that you had an ability, maybe she'd feel threatened? That sounded stupid. You could just use Atsushi as a meat shield. You're not picky. "Ichiyo, do you perhaps have someone dear to you who has obscure coughing fits. I apologize if I'm being forward." You skipped alongside her fast pace. Her face shifted for a second. She never gave you her first name. "I do, it must be allergy season right?" You could almost feel the sweat drop at the possibility of the mission being compromised.

You shook your head "If their name is Ryunosuke I'm afraid it's a lung disease. My ability is random foresight but never wrong. It's not my place to say but you should make sure he gets it looked at." You smiled innocently as she was taken aback. Once you got to the threshold of the alley she announced your arrival ignoring your comment. You made sure to stand behind Atsushi knowing she wouldn't risk it. Until Akutagawa showed up, standing behind Atsushi was a good strategy.

As Akutagawa was about to attack you held up your hand and he paused, unsure if you were about to use an ability he didn’t know about. Since you were so new to the agency there wasn't any information about your level of skill. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, not unless you want to make Dazai very angry." He tensed at the mention of his former mentor. "Oh? And why is that?" He pointed a tendril to your neck drawing the slightest bit of blood.

"Because I'm the woman he's going to commit a double suicide with." You smirk knowing he wouldn't dare touch what "belongs" to Dazai. You wonder if he could hear that through the wire. Hopefully you were far enough away from Higuchi. "Very well. Don't get in the way and I'll spare your life." You backed away and watched the show. Junichiro struggled to look back at you making an attempt to glare. As subtle as you could you tried to give him a reassuring look that it was part of a plan and not you being scum. Technically you were being scum but he should cut you some slack. You weren't a fighter.

When Dazai was finished resolving the issue he bounced over to you. "So you're the woman who will commit suicide with me?" He marveled at you with a twinkle in his eyes and sarcasm on his tongue. "I mean you never actually asked but if I get to pick the cause of death, I don't see why not" You had planned for this too. On top of that you were surprised at how long it took for you to be in contention. You must look younger than you were or you could just not be his type. Who knows really when it comes to Dazai.

His eyes widened and you weren’t sure if he thought you were being serious or if he was just playing it up "Of course! What did you have in mind?"

You giggled "Old age." He didn't look amused. "Har Har. You're so proud of yourself aren't you?" He helped Naomi on to your back as he tried to figure out how to carry the boys. 

"Extremely."

<= Previous Chapter | Next Chapter =>

#BSD isekai au no one asked for #chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #don't mind me just playing around with BSD like dolls #xreader #x reader

[madsmilfelsen]

Hello! I'm really curious, what books/authors would you recommend to someone who's new to writing horror?

Hi! Here is what I have on hand (minus my loaned out copies of my favorite book ever Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones and Never Whistle At Night: an indigenous anthology of dark fiction which made me cry on an airplane and made the person next to me very uncomfortable, like she was just trying to build a cart at banana republic, apologies to seat 17B)

God’s Cruel Joke Lit Mag because I’m in them and will be in issue 4, too :) published either mid-January or February 2024– @labyrinthphanlivingafacade is in issue 3 with a great short story that I won’t spoil ***right now the magazines are available to purchase in physical copies but I was told all issues will be free to download as pdfs pretty soon!

Severance by Ling Ma (body horror but not in the way you think, the real horror is repetition and loneliness)

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (body horror)

The Female of the Species by Mindy McGinnis (adjacent the horror genre but a hell of a read)

ANYTHING BY STEPHAN GRAHAM JONES ANYTHING

We Have Always Lived in a Castle by Shirely Jackson (I read this for the first time last spring boy howdy, I also included The Lottery for its suspense)

Dean Koontz because my husband suggested it for the list— this was just the first title I grabbed, I think he said Patrician Crowell too but I was busy looking for Mongrels

A Good and Happy Child by Justin Evans (I didn’t finish this because depression set in shortly after I started but the first chapter plays with second pov which I really liked, I’m determined to read it this year)

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn (I really enjoyed HBO’s adaptation)

The Girl With All The Gifts by M.R. Carey (likely the only zombie stories that made me weep uncontrollably)

Girls & Sex by Peggy Orenstein (non-fiction: explores modern young women navigating sexuality and because I have a thing for loss of autonomy— it’s been a few years since I read it but there is discussion of sexual assault, but I appreciate the expanse of her research and even included a conversation with someone who is asexual)

Black Leopard Red Wolf by Marlon James (got a chill just typing this out— the audio book is exquisite)

You’ll notice some nonfiction because, as a historian undergrad, nothing scares me more than man. The battles of Leningrad and Stalingrad are particularly stomach churning. America’s Reconstruction Era is full of acted out malice and under taught in my opinion.

An Indigenous People’s History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

The 900 Days, The Siege of Leningrad by Harrison E. Salisbury

Enemy at the Gates by William Craig

(On the other side of WW2 I have a book of the experiences of German solider’s left over from a paper I wrote on the inadequacy of Nazi uniforms and how it expedited their failure in Russia, Frontsoldaten by Stephen G. Fritz)

Stony the Road by Henry Louis Gates, Jr (one of my favorite authors, try finding “How Reconstruction Still Shapes American Racism” Time Magazine, April 2, 2019, I used it as a source for a paper on the history of voting rights)

Bloodstoppers and Bearwalkers— folk tales of Canadians, Lumberjacks & Indians by Richard M. Dorson (published around 1952 but content collected from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in the 40’s)

Raven Tells Stories: An Anthology of Alaskan Native Writing (I’m Alutiiq and the museum on Kodiak has a lot of stories recorded under Alutiiq Museum Podcast— my kids and I listen on Spotify)

I think the genre of horror is really mastering tension and playing on peoples fears which is why I included old school folk stories (An Underground Education had a great write up on the Grimm Brothers and the original fairy tales from around the world such as the Chinese and Egyptian Cinderella, as well as several different sections of funny tales, torture techniques, absolute weirdos etc etc) in this vein of thought The Uses of Enchanment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim could prove to be useful

If you’re writing a character with Bad Parents— Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents and Toxic Parents (it has a longer subtitle but I don’t see my copy anywhere) might be able to help you shape character traits

I reached out to @littleredwritingcat who has a mind plentiful in sources who recommended

The Gathering Dark: an anthology of folk horror (I will be picking this one up asap)

Toll by Cherie Priest (southern gothic)

Anything by Jennifer MacMahon

The Elementals by Michael McDowell

#book recommendations #answered #is that my ask box tag? I never get them and forget everytime lmao #I feel like I should have prefaced this with how I’m just dipping my toes into horror myself #so I’d love to hear what other people are reading too!!!!

[readingwiththereids]

yanda! speaks: hi my loves! here’s the new chapter, it continues immediately after the last one. i’m trying really hard to keep up with my half-assed posting schedule but i might not be able to get you chapter 4 by tomorrow :( [i really think you’ll like it though!] don’t forget to like and reblog! lots of love and light 🤎

masterlist

night rain ; chapter 3

2022

The air stood still as both of them waited for the other to speak. Silence had never really been an issue for them before, or at least never awkward. Of course, there were those occasional stillnesses that swept over their apartment after a fight or the comfortable silence where they could simply just exist in one another’s presence. Surprisingly, those kinds of silences were actually when they felt closest.

This one however was not like that. This one sat its weight on their chests as they slowly realised the reason for it was the fact that they simply no longer knew what to say to one another. They no longer knew what the other was thinking at that moment. Sure, they had an idea but there was no way to accurately tie that knowledge from years ago to who they were now. The same but with different everything. Wounds, thoughts, hearts. While Camila’s heart had only become fuller following the birth of her daughter, Carmen’s only continued to be slashed at more and more.

“So, uh, how are you?” Carmy said, clearing his throat.

“I’m okay. How are- How is everything?” Cam replied awkwardly.

“Good, good.”

A pause.

“Listen Carm, I’m really sorry about Michael, he-”

“Was an addict. It’s fine, I’m fine.” he interrupted.

“Carmy.”

He took a deep breath and let out a sigh, staring down and picking at his nails. 

“It’s-I don’t know how to-” he tried to explain before giving up completely.

“That’s okay.” Camila smiled reassuringly, prompting him to finally look up at her as a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “I really mi-”

Carmen had begun to speak before being interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

“Hey, Carm. So, I couldn’t find my flat-head so I’m just gonna have to use your spatula again.” 

Fak’s voice instantly brought a smile to Camila’s face as she turned to look at him, having always had the best relationship with him out of all of the people in her and Carmen’s life together. The screwdriver in his hand dropped to the floor once he recognised the girl’s face in front of him before rushing to give her an excessively tight hug. 

“Cam! Oh my God, I missed you so much!” he practically squealed before pulling back and gasping. “Wait. Are you two back together?”

[Oh no no no, Fak-]

[Oh, I’m so happy for you!]

[Honey, no! Don’t-] 

[What do you mean “no”? Why’d you say it like that?]

[What do you mean “Why’d I say it like that”? I’m just trying to clear up his confusion, Carmen.] 

[Right.]

[“Right.”]

Carmy took a slight offence to Camila’s tone and mocking of his words but soon noticed the slight smirk sitting on her plump lips which was immediately reflected on his own, causing the two to erupt in soft chuckles as Neil’s eyes bounced excitedly between the pair because for a moment they felt like the old Cam&Carm that he’d dubbed his honorary parental figures.

“I should go, I have a meeting soon.” Camila smiled as she slowly shuffled towards the door.

“Oh right, we heard you’re up at La Fame now. Marketing right?” Carmen asked.

“Yeah, I mean you’d think it would be demanding but I have a scary amount of free time so I’m also working at that bakery in Logan Square at their pâtissier, part-time if you guys wanna pass by. Using that degree, you know.” she rambled before finally shouting a bye and racing out the door.

After she’d left, the two men simply stood for an embarrassingly long time, staring at the space that her figure once occupied.

“Man, she still smells like summer rain and pine needles.”

“Fak, what the hell is wrong with you?”

🏷️ list: @rexorangecouny @louderfortheback @janoskiansecondsofdirection @thatonedogwithablog

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x oc