#hellion's requests | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritch-spouse · 10 months

Note

I need a threesome with Comie(?) and Pebble. Just I need to be knotted as I suck off honeyboi.

P. S Love you Pinnie. Thank you for your hard work 🙏

[It's "Colmei", but you got it basically. You didn't really specify, so I'm putting you in the "Admin" role. Love you too! <3 Fem reader.]

TW: Knotting; Food cum (as in, it's literal honey); Slight cultish themes.

The bug monster always intrigued you.

He wasn't made by The Clergy's Eye. Your lord didn't weave him into existence either.

That you know of, this... Man? Male. He just showed up. Installed himself in the garden. A ridiculous notion, it really reminds you of Fank-e.

You recall the initial commotion.

Krulu had been alerted to the entity's prolonged presence and effectively wanted to remove said unknown monster from his grounds. Because, after all, if he wasn't there to make some sort of exchange and be sapped at like the rest, then he was a waste of space and resources- Especially when the uncivilized monster decided to station his colony in the garden.

What stopped your lord from rightfully removing the witless intruder from his domain were the desperate plights of Patches and Nebul, both undead monsters exhibiting great fascination with the likes of Colmei, as he's come to be called. You don't even remember which of the two baptized him anymore... When push came to shove, you chose to voice an opinion, siding with your coworkers. Not to spite Krulu, never. You truly just shared their fascination with the bee man. Besides, the garden actively benefits from the actions of his well-coordinated bees, that can't be denied.

And he was left alone, begrudgingly.

"Bee man" is a misleading term. From what little of his body you've seen, he's nothing like a bee-based monster at all. If anything, you'd liken him more to a parasitic entity inhabiting the garbs of a medieval beekeeper, like a snail's shell. His sleeves are always long and down, like Nebul's. His mask is usually always in place, and although many people would wonder about the monster's ability to see, you know better. You've learned a lot in your time working here. Masks and lack of visible ocular organs means nothing. You know Colmei can see his surroundings the same way you can- And even if you didn't, Patches' extensive research on the specimen more than proves it. He can circumvent objects in his path without scent or palping, he can differentiate colors, he has depth and perception like a human's, a field of vision standard in your species. He's a little wonder, you've combed -Pun intended- through reports on him more than once.

And, although he's not officially recognized as a "garden anomaly" by anyone here, you lump information about him next to Hellion and Pebble's cases. In fact, now that you recall things, didn't Pebble form after Colmei's arrival? Probably, you'll have to check later. The two get along well enough, which already can't be said about Hellion's relationship with the bee caretaker. Then again, Hellion has a strong personality, to say the least...

Speaking of, you're sacrificing some of your free time this morning to satisfy one of Patches' requests. He needs a sample from Colmei. Saliva was easy enough to get, the monster does eat, and with those three slobbering tongues you've caught glimpses of, it was hard to miss a chance to get a swab of his drool. The problem came when Patches attempted to get a "seed sample". You've long since stopped questioning why he wants to work with reproductive fluids, and considering the stunts you've seen this dullahan pull using a variety of organic elements, you have to at least admit there's some merit to what superficially comes off as pure depravity. Even if you'd like it if he stopped obsessing over homunculi...

Patches is old, he knows what he's doing sometimes.

Point being, whenever the undead tries to get handsy with Colmei, the bug monster blatantly rejects him, buzzing angrily. He doesn't often fall for traps either. Relatively speaking, you'd assume Colmei would be very receptive to sexual attention ever since he discovered ejaculation is harmless, in much the same way Belo underwent a somewhat prolonged lustful fever the moment he was bedded by you and lord Krulu. And, effectively, Colmei spends an inordinate amount of time stimulating himself, perhaps in an effort to make up for all the times he was left frustrated and hopelessly libidinous for no reason. Although he frequently brings himself to completion, the garden inhabitant doesn't allow people to approach him sexually often. Santi was briefly allowed to stroke him through his garb, but the moment the demon attempted to get a better feel, he was quickly hissed and buzzed at.

You think the incubus is still a little sore over that. Heh.

Nevertheless, you've decided you'll get this over and done with it today. Because you're not just anybody, you're the Administrator of this establishment, and what needs to be done will get done, so help you.

It's all a matter of waiting. Colmei's going to get bothered at any moment, you know he has nothing better to do in the mornings, because his hive has adapted to The Clergy's Eye's schedule. His army of bees all remain mostly dormant within early mornings, because the garden's flowers too are dormant, meaning there's no pollen to collect. That's just how this tilted world is. Cleverly, they rest and save energy for the evenings and nights. Colmei wakes from slumber much earlier however, has to, acting as a guard for his smaller colony elements.

You've been sitting on a lonely bench (who, miraculously, isn't Sybastian) for a while now, bidding your time. Occasionally, you'll make conversation with your currently busy higher, other times you'll catch Hellion shift in his sleep atop a tree's fat branch. Generally, you don't have much trouble sitting placidly, rolling the tube-like vial in-between your gloved fingers. Some people get maddened by the waiting game, Krulu has taught you better.

Your first plan of action is simple, coaxing. If that fails, which it just might, there's no doubt in you something can be schemed. This is far from the most daunting of challenges you've taken on.

Time passes, the fog hugging your home's dark walls recedes ever so gently, some of the plant life sways and plumps, as if the building is yawning, waking itself up. The fountain comes alive, sprinkling water in all the wrong directions, as usual. Today, it sports a curious, hourglass shape, adorned with well-sculped crows seemingly flocking around it. Lord-Master would enjoy the sight of it if he was paying attention to your whereabouts right now.

From then on, it's fairly soon when you hear a more pronounced buzz coming from the sides of the establishment. Seeing as it's usually quite silent this time of day, it can only be the beekeeper. You smile knowingly, aware of what he'll most likely be doing in a little while.

Rising, measured, slow and muted footsteps carry you closer to the source of the sound. You trail the edges of your establishment, ears almost twitching with the way they're perked at every insect-like noise. When those sounds dip into a slightly familiar rhythm, strong but interspersed with breaks of abrupt silence, like gasping, your pace quickens.

Turning around the front left edge of the building, you see him there, predictably. Colmei leans against the dark brick walls of The Clergy, some fair distance away from the oversized colony structure attached to it. Monochrome robes pool messily around his hips, held there by pitch black arms that dip between full thighs and grasp a humanoid appendage with fervor.

It's a silly thing to say, but being that you've witnessed so many foreign genital configurations, it's become a novelty to find a "proper" set on monsters these days. You'd expect something as bizarre as Colmei to sport a wet and curling thing moving this way and that, but no- There it sits, humanoid balls beneath a humanoid shaft. Very odd indeed.

He's doing exactly what you predicted he would, somewhat clumsily palming and squeezing himself, grip on the base of his cock but mostly static. He may have learned to bring himself to fruition, but he's not practiced at it, perhaps that's why he spends so much time agonizing like this. Once more, you'd think masturbatory motions would come near instinctively to the parasitic entity, yet that doesn't seem to be the case. The head of his already slick cock drips something incredibly viscous to the ground, this darkened orange-ish string that, if seen from afar, could almost be mistaken for something else.

You've seen traces of it on the garden at times, spattered messily atop flowerbeds. Patches could just collect one of those and use it, but he insists they're not appropriate, have been tainted. Frankly, you think he just wants an excuse to make someone touch the garden monster.

Amused, you observe Colmei clumsily paw at himself, throbbing against nothing, chest filling out as he tries to angle his legs in a better position. He almost figures out how to cant them well, then gives up. It's as endearing as it is aggravating to watch. You think he made an odd droning cry at some point. You're getting as frustrated as he is just watching him try to find a good method. Part of you only wants to rush there and hold those meaty hands over his length properly, pump him decently, make him curl his grasp here and there, grab his full balls and slap his ass when he finally gets the gist of it. One would assume Colmei would get the hang of it by watching the drunk stragglers that stumble into the garden and beat off in their highs. Then again, usually something ends up happening to them.

Stepping into the very corner of Colmei's field of vision -Well, assuming his vision isn't totally tunneled, which it might be- You make a soft coo at the monster.

He heard it. Heard it very well. You commend his alertness even in a state distracted by arousal.

For a second, you wondered if the unknowable monster man was going to jump out of his robes, face swinging immediately in your direction and pitifully small wings spreading. It reminds you of Belo when he's upset, minus the parakeet fluffing. Whatever angry noise was beginning to rattle in his abdomen is halted when he realizes who's standing in front of him.

Garden anomalies have a primal, inherent understanding of the dynamics of The Clergy. They know who your lord is, can feel his work and his presence everywhere. They know to respect him, and they understand who his vessel is. As such, you're very often treated with less mischievous intent and never shown a wink of genuine hostility unless they're deeply aggravated by an exterior agent. Colmei isn't a garden anomaly however, which makes his similar reactions all the more interesting. He learned from the others that you're a figure to be cautiously regarded, to be mildly subservient to.

Maybe he can sense Krulu, maybe he can't- It's still hilarious that he treats you like an untouchable figure just because others are doing it.

Which is to say, your hypothesis here is that he won't deny your advances because he thinks more of you than he does the rest of the staff.

Colmei's buzzing is now muted and soft, uncertain. Incredibly enough, his static hand is still wrapped around a neglected member. Though you can clearly gouge he's extremely tense right now.

" Colmei. "

He reacts to the word, perking, knowing that's what he's called in these grounds.

" Come here. "

There's a communication barrier between you and the beekeeper, sure. But he's been learning the language ever since his stay here. He knows what those words mean, especially when you do a curt beckoning gesture. If your lord were available now, he'd facilitate the conversation, but alas. You're no baby, you'll get this done on your own.

When the beekeeper doesn't move a muscle, your first step forward is measured, the two of you watching each other like hawks in a standstill. That's definitely not the energy you're going for, so you put on a smile, glancing from his covered complexion to the treat he clutches and licking your lips. Come on...

Colmei's wings flutter, though stubbornly, he doesn't meet you.

Cautious steps turn to confident struts, unbothered by his evident turmoil. You halt right up close to Colmei, seeing the way he breathes faster, the noise of something wet shifting behind that grayed mask. Knowing he's clearly deliberating, you don't reach for the goal immediately, in fact, you just stare at him with a soft expression.

The pressure cracks him.

Colmei ultimately leans down, the bottom of his head garbs brushing barely on the crook of your neck. Whether it was done just to have contact or to somehow smell you, is irrelevant. Smiling, you gently crane your head, shifting to push cloth away, such so that the monster can see more of your neck. There's a sound by your ears, something being dislodged, pushed aside by a slimy protrusion that eagerly splays itself on bare skin, laving, relishing.

The noise you make in response is only a little bit hammed up. It does feel nice, but riling him up is more important right now. When the monster makes a strange rolling croon, soft and high, you inch closer to trail gloved fingertips on his right inner thigh, a teasing back and forth that might frustrate another male, but he seems content with it. Progress is made when the beekeeper's previously static hand jolts to life, stroking over himself more avidly than before, though still as clumsy. Another gross extremity comes to slobber on your neck, the two twining occasionally in the monster's enthusiasm. Drool is seeping into your clothes. Although your digits creep upwards just a tiny bit more with every to and fro, you bide your time.

He parts his legs further, almost imperceptibly so, and paired with his erratic wing flicking, you take it as an invitation. Colmei stiffens, in many ways, the moment you follow the curve of his balls and trace the root of him, hand venturing to join his and stroke his girth in tandem. It was sensuous, scrupulous, lazy.

But it was still too much.

The beekeeper jars, jumping away from your touch and presence in surprising speeds for such a large body. Monochrome robes are pushed down and he makes a distinctly hostile buzz much like the roar of an engine. Though, as quickly as it reverbs through the garden, Colmei appears to get a flash of self-awareness and strangles the rest of the cry into a high-pitched squeal. You raise an unamused eyebrow at him, watching incredulously when the hive guardian merely recedes into the distance, turning around the edge of the building to avoid you.

Hm.

Well that's a mission failed, for sure.

A bitter taste settles on your tongue. The defeat of sexual rejection is something you haven't had to deal with in a long time, although, Colmei's evident fear of being stimulated by another is amusing enough to wave that frustration away as you snicker to yourself. What is he doing now? Just sulking in the corner with a throbbing cock and tightened nuts? If he jerks off now and ruins your chance to get that sample, you're going to be so livid. What a pussbag.

...

Speaking of cowards...

A depraved little lightbulb dawns over your head.

You're going to lure Colmei into letting you touch him, by making him want to participate. But, for this next stunt, you need a volunteer. Not just anyone will do, criteria dictates said third element needs to have a moderately positive bond with the beekeeper.

You're not going to bother staff while they prepare for the day. Hellion is like a pest to Colmei, a nuisance in a good day. That leaves dear old Pebble.

Workable.

The fog that seems to poise over this infrastructure, shielding it, bathing the premises in properties you can't exactly comprehend, also affects plenty of the beings that inhabit this space. Naturally. The flock of gargoyles that's settled on the roof, the standard ones that is, seldom ever turns to stone in plain daylight.

You and Patches have conversed about this, it's likely due to the way the fog mutes some of the sunlight's qualities. Whatever sort of biological signals determine a gargoyle should enter "stone sleep" are filtered out. That's not to deny that there exist days where the sun is so potent it still manages to turn most into statues.

Pebble is odd. Of course he is, he's a mutant of the garden -Your sweet spawn of Krulu- But it seems he only partially turns to stone for a very brief span of time. You've caught him in states that weren't quite sleep nor consciousness, body shifting in jerky motions as he instinctively tried to stretch, looking around, but not able to move much aside from a step or two in ambiguous directions.

This half-awake half-asleep state appears to bother the gargoyle, so he's cleverly taken to nesting in spots that provide shade during the day, keeping himself mostly shielded and avoiding having his body paralyzed. In fact, you bet you won't have to search too much for him at all! Venturing to the opposite side of The Clergy's exterior, there's a flattish roof area there he tends to pick often. Although you could scale the building with your lord's arms, that likely won't be necessary.

" Pebble. " You call softly.

A few moments of silence pass.

" ... Pebble! " Comes out slightly more forcefully.

It's always a bit tricky with him. You don't want to raise your voice and make him accidentally interpret that you're angry at him. Having one monster run off is enough.

There's a sigh. " Damn it. Pebb- "

With a soft sort of click click clack of clawtips on darkened tiles, a paperbag clad head peeks out from the edge, followed by its twin.

The mutant offers you a confused, nervous glance, pinprick eye blinking tiredly before darting every which way. Yes yes, no one really likes getting woken from their beauty sleep. You understand him perfectly.

" Hi lovely. " Gentle gentle, he stares at you, still as quizzical as before. " Wanna come down here for a second? I need your help. "

The gargoyle hesitates. He always does, though you take no offense to it. That's just how he is. A good deal of time has passed ever since Pebble was welcomed into The Clergy, and the anomaly has come to trust some of the staff, you being one of them. If you didn't know better, you'd say he feels safe around you at times.

Making a brief come hither gesture, you wink cheekily at the blue mutant. " I promise it'll be fine. You can go back to sleep when I'm done. "

Another long pause settles, his arms steadying the monster on the roof. Patience is affordable today, you can't rush this plan, after all. So you merely stand there, silently and passively exerting pressure on the garden anomaly. It always works.

In a moment, robust wings stretch and flap, as if waking themselves up as well, and Pebble gets into position, leaping from the tall roof, down onto several sections, finally landing a small distance beside you with this ground-shaking-

THUNK

Yes, being made of solid, compact stone is quite perilous... Between him and the robot, you wonder which one's mass is more destructive.

Nevertheless, with the gargoyle now approachable, you calmly stroll over and smile, taking a rough blue hand onto yours. Pebble's fingers twitch a little and he makes a curious chuff, ruby eye ever trained on you. Twin tails lash behind him when you bring the stone to your lips for a chaste kiss, his breath hitches timidly.

" Thank you. " You start, softly leading the comparatively large monster back to where you were when Colmei rejected you. The longer you walk, the more antsy your friend seems to get. " I promise I don't want anything weird. "

Lord knows the dullahan and the wraith massacred poor Pebble for details when he was formed. Just as they did Hellion, though that aptly named scoundrel has always had a lot more swipe and bite in him.

As you halt, you sadly confirm that the beekeeper is nowhere to be seen. Something that won't matter in the long run, yet still manages to peeve you a tad.

" Pebble- " You turn to the gargoyle. " Do you want to fuck me? "

For all the gentleness you had been sparing him thus far, that was quite the bold invitation.

When that red pinprick turns into an even smaller little dot in the pitch black, jagged hole of his bag, it's hard to resist cackling. He was most definitely caught off-guard, hunching, letting out a breath he had been holding. Silence ensues, though he's not stepping away, so you'll assume his libido will overpower that cowardice today. There's something almost suspicious about the way he regards you. As if he can't quite bring himself to believe you've woken him from a dead sleep... Just to fuck him.

And he's right.

You have ulterior motives, but, even if he can't tell, there are virtually no downsides to it. So you might as well have just woken him for a romp, yes.

Pebble eventually makes an unintelligible garble and twiddles his thumbs, sparing you quick glances. A sort of "Are you sure I can?" if there ever was one.

Hah, cute.

Unable to hide the mirth in your smirk, you giggle and loop your arms around the monster's hard waist, observing the fascinating way an unholy union of stone and flesh mold when his chest heaves in surprise. He's gruesome and pretty all at once, the garden did exceptionally well when it created Pebble.

" Is that a 'yes' I see? " You mock, receiving shy, unsynchronized nodding from both heads. " Good, then let's not waste any time. "

You pull the gargoyle along while taking several steps backwards, until your outfit brushes against the building's wall. Although clearly interested, Pebble never usually takes much of an initiative. Not because he doesn't want to, you can see it in the way his extremities twitch and his tails impatiently sway, it's always that unknowable fear keeping him at bay, that insecurity. It's far from a turn off though, and such is seen when you slide your work dress up, hearing him chuff at the sight of your laced panties when the fabric gathers at your hips.

Poor little baby, getting bothered already.

You do like these panties, they've been a favorite pair of yours because of how transparent they are, and many of the staff members have admired them already. You don't think Pebble has though, so you drink in his witless arousal like an impeccable wine. A gloved digit unceremoniously peels your panties to the side, and you're sure he can smell the very first hints of wetness gathering on your pussylips, because he does that distinct sort of shnort that a lot of monsters do when they sense an easy hole.

Grabbing his hand once more, you first take care to bring those clawed fingers to your mouth. Sure, it's not exactly the softest sensation gliding on your tongue, but that doesn't matter. What you want to do is get him as slippery as possible to facilitate things, and rile rouse him further. It works wonderfully in your favor, the mutant huffing and making an odd sort of impatient whimper. Your motions are lazy, making sure you have some eye contact as you intentionally let yourself drool heavily on him, strings of it already coating your chin when you make a quiet moan around his digits.

Pebble showcases a rare display of assertiveness when he ever so subtly slides more of his two fingers into your mouth, and you bob to accompany him, flustering the anomaly to stillness again. You know he'd rather have something else in there. The look of mild awe that crosses his face when you release his now soaked fingers is borderline hilarious. He plays with the drool around his digits sheepishly and you only titter quietly as you lead that very same hand to the main prize.

The gargoyle grunts, more than enjoying the softness of your already mildly interested pussy against himself. Sometimes you wonder what he thinks of others, who are so much softer than him. Does he enjoy that, their comparative warmth? Is it something he wishes he could have? You bet it feels really nice for him to lean onto his partners, sink into plush, giving bodies such as yours.

With a soft pat to the back of his palm, Pebble grasps the signal that he's meant to move, though only tentatively strokes over the length of your entrance, afraid it'll bite or something. Your patience wavers, gripping him and making harsher motions, letting him know you like to get your clit rolled hard. The mutant purrs when you let out pleased sighs, dipping into soft moans. Finally, he starts moving that big hand on his own, offering as much pleasure as he can in a slightly clumsy but very eager to please way. There's another frantic growl-keen when you buck against him. Humorously, when Pebble sinks one of his fingers into you, knuckle deep, he makes a sound as if he had sunk his whole cock into your walls, shuddering and everything.

This time, your laughter is loud and hearty, startling the mutant. " No no- " You stress when it feels as if he's going to pull away. " You're doing so well, please keep going. I can take more. "

Praise, ever the fuel for the hearts of the devoted, gets him to resume, curling his finger slightly and delighting in the unflattering wet noise that follows, before squeezing a saliva-soaked twin inside as well. You fear he's going to melt, at this rate. The small stretch has you groaning and squeezing, encouraging him to plunge into your cunt to his heart's content.

" Fuck yeah, open me up for your fat cock. "

That one apparently sent him wild, because he does just that. The haze of sleep vanishes off his body instantly, and the monster curves to be closer, watching his own blue digits get swallowed by your sweet hole, coating him in slick the harder he gives it to you. It's always a treat when Pebble's brave enough to be remotely dominant, because his natural density adds a weight to his every motion that easily rocks those subjected to them. Your head leans back and you fully give into the stings of pleasure that pierce you every so often, mouth open in a satisfied expression he's likely eating up right now.

When the gargoyle's noises become frequent and louder, you have the wherewithal to glance down, seeing the growth throbbing between his legs, dripping precum along its length and almost twitching in tandem with every clench of your cunt. He's beyond needy, and in a short span of time, which is ideal. Reeling at your own filthy little ideas, you shove his hand out of your opening and pull the monster closer. It takes a little bit for Pebble to get it, but he eventually hunches enough to make up for the height difference, such so that you can grab the head of his red, knub-adorned cock and press it to your soaked pussy.

Pebble groans incomprehensibly, immediately starting to hump, gliding that hot length across you in a way that allows you to feel every slight protrusion. You cry out and grind against each other for a couple of disgraceful, horny little moments, with you mischievously tugging at the roots of his tails just to feel the gargoyle's ass flex briefly. He's adorable.

The moment the winged monster tries to angle himself differently, obviously seeking to penetrate, you lightly push him off. Don't want to ruin the best part of the plan just yet now, do you?

Pebble whines, the spare head growls.

" Oh shush. "

You don't want to do this here, in the pavement. You're sure Pebble won't give two shits about how hard the ground is, but you'd rather not ruin your outfit or scrape yourself right now. Instead, you lead him to the closest flowerbed. As much as you'd like to playfully throw Pebble onto it, he's pretty immovable in his default state, so you can only push and ineffectively try to tickle your winged lover boy until he gets the message.

Twisted, misshapen and teeth-clad flowers unroot, scattering on strange hidden limbs with startled squeaks when the gargoyle lays on his back, wings spread and member pointing upwards. You're quick to jump onto him, and even if you spare the mutant some loving moments full of pecks to his chest and belly, even allowing him to feel your tits when you begin undoing the top part of your dress, you very quickly turn around on his lower abdomen.

He gets a fantastic view of your full ass as you grind generously over his girth, teasing the two of you further. When trembling hands scheme the globes of your behind and settle on plushy hips, you let the gargoyle ground himself, rising slightly to line yourself up with him. A tongue flicks over dry lips, eyeing the not yet fattened knot at the base of his length.

You make sure every soul in this establishment hears it when you slam yourself onto Pebble's cock.

" HNN OHHN- "

It rings out just as loudly as you wanted it to, followed by Pebble's strangled garble before he audibly gulps and seems to pause from the reaction he ripped out of you. The silence around you becomes bashful, like you rattled the building and its residents to stillness. If Santi was here, he'd commend you for the pornstar moan.

You've no doubt you've roused a couple of peepers. There's a faint tingle in the back of your mind, Krulu now tangentially paying attention to what's happening. You suppose hearing his vessel cry out like a bitch in heat out of nowhere is more than a little curious.

After that little break where you watch Pebble disappear almost entirely into you, squeezing around his hardness, feeling him buck his hips softly in desperation, you smile and let yourself go, riding him to your heart's content.

Leaning forward, hands planted firmly on his legs, you use as much force as you need to make each pound downward really count. You're not afraid of being too rough, Pebble's sturdy, he can deal with the slap of your ass on his body, with the mad squeeze of your spasming pussy around those perfect bumps, stopping periodically just to grind and rip more filthy noises out of yourself.

He tries, boy does he try to do anything, but you're too much for him. Too confident, too hot, too wet and welcoming. Pebble can only whimper out nonsensical pleas, heaving and panting hard enough you can hear his paper bags crumple when his teeth accidentally catch them. He groans and drools, not that you can see the small pool of it between his tits as he watches your gorgeous form bounce, fruitlessly attempting to feed into your merciless rhythm but getting completely overpowered in seconds.

You almost wish you could see his fucked out state for yourself, the mental images accompanying each frantic little noise of his having you gasping and crying out.

" Fffuck yes, you're such a good boy for me, aren't you? " You coo in-between pants of slight effort. " You'll let me ride you anywhere, won't you, sweetheart? Anything to get your cock wet, huh? "

Pebble's responding sound is like a slurred, low moan, legs jerking and tails spasming while the dick inside you throbs so hard you thought he was going to cum for a second there. In fact, for a couple of completely lust-drunk moments, you totally forget what you're doing. Sure, you're ridding the lights out of this gargoyle, but what for anymore...?

As if fate heard said thought, a soft buzz jolts your memory.

In the very same corner he had once disappeared to, stands none other than Colmei, watching like a little voyeur. And you don't doubt he's not the only one right now, but he's the peeping Tom you were specifically looking forward to.

The beekeeper stands warily, wings moving rapidly behind his back in what must only equate to excitement, claws tugging anxiously at his own garbs, which happen to be hilariously tented where his engorged cock bulges with need, already staining those ash-colored robes into a depraved wet mess.

Although you can't tell for sure, you'd bet that mask-clad gaze is fixed on the sway of your tits and the sight of your hungry cunt swallowing Pebble without rest. You make it a point to sit up slightly so he can see better.

Good, perfect, watch and drool, little freak. This is what he declined. It could be him beneath you now, if he wasn't such a dumbass earlier. It could be him twisting and arching like Pebble on the ground, warbling for more and more and harder-

You force yourself to think clearly, halting things to a crawl.

The gargoyle's infuriated snarl dies into a miserable sob, one of his arms leaving you to punch down on the grass beside him. He makes another distressed bray, and while you understand his pain perfectly, you need to focus now.

" Quiet. Patience. " It was an order. And, admittedly, he's very obedient about it, murmuring his displeasure when you slap his thigh softly. Ouch.

Your previous hammering becomes a slow, luscious roll of the hips, gloves removed so you can feel yourself up for the peeper's viewing pleasure. He takes a small step forward, clearly wanting to approach, but still held back by something that is honestly starting to infuriate you.

" Colmei... " You moan at the next surge of pleasure.

The beekeeper shivers and seems to wake at the call. You don't miss Pebble's confused grunt at you calling out someone else's name.

In a vaguely childish gesture, you pout and make grabby hands at the darker monster, stopping to play with your breasts, rolling them together just to thrill, casting Colmei the most needful look you can muster.

His resolve visibly falters, the clear invitation having him frozen mid-step.

" Please... Comei. "

Oh, nothing can curb the Cheshire grin that spreads so eagerly on your cheeks, splitting them, when the insectoid monster caves.

He does the walk of shame over to you, as he should, arm over his blatant erection and posture like that of a bashful mutt getting caught in the trash can. Only now does Pebble, still impatiently trying to get some friction started, realize someone else is getting closer. The gargoyle lifts his heads behind you, offering a strange sort of snort-chuff at Colmei.

" Hey now. " You warn.

The two of them have gotten along on several occasions, though the mutant is clearly interpreting the beekeeper's presence as that of a challenger. As if Colmei's going to yank you off him and dash away. You suppose this can be new for them both.

" I'm not going anywhere. " You assure Pebble, tossing him a look. The gargoyle murmurs, slightly placated.

When Colmei halts in front of you, it's not too hard to get him to roll his robes up, his pretty pitch black cock bobbing in anticipation, the male's breath clipped. Before even so much as reaching for him, you offer a skeptical, challenging glance.

Are you going to be difficult now?

Colmei appears to interpret the basic gist of it well-enough, buzzing quietly and bending big legs slightly so his offering is properly reachable. If that's not a pathetic beg, then you don't know what is.

" Mmm, are you sure? "

He makes another droning noise, this one climbing to high sputtering, almost like an apology, regret. Good. In his desperation, Colmei allows his tip to poise on your lips, spreading a bead of something so sweet your eyes widen when you swipe your tongue across it. Huh. You pat the small pocket on the side of your bunched up dress, finding the small vial still secured there.

Beneath you, Pebble seems about ready to burst out crying, hips starting to buck uselessly even if he's been told to behave. Poor thing, you figure you've tortured him enough. Knowing it's going to take a bit of coordination, you reach around to find the blue monster's hands, urging him to bend slightly so he can grab your waist, moving them, letting the gargoyle know he should use you however he pleases. Immediately, he starts bouncing you quickly, little rabbit thrusts that have you rocking slightly and laughing amidst the jolts of sensation now reawakening.

Redirecting your attention to Colmei, you make sure he's watching when you lace both hands on his length, motions a lot more practiced than his, letting him know that ambiguous pawing won't get him anywhere. The beekeeper's whole body rattles in a visceral shiver, you're able to see the muscles of his legs tense and his lower abdomen tighten as he discovers a brand new world of pleasure. Hopefully, he'll learn from this. The monster coos something in a fast staccato, a lot more active than Pebble, thrusting into your grip and huffing every time you stop to circle cruelly over his tip.

With so much curiosity biting at you, it doesn't take long before you're putting soft lips against him again, trailing a stripe from the root of his dick to the head, marveling at the slightly musky taste of his skin. The beekeeper instinctually holds onto your head, making a low, shocked sort of hum the second you take him in properly- Treated to the view of you slowly sinking more of him into your mouth, a playful tongue feeling around as he gets into your throat.

Thank Krulu for his training and body modifications. You'd be a little upset if you couldn't take him all in.

Colmei rattles with pleasure the moment he's fully enveloped by the warmth of your gulping maw, twitching inside you, shuddering when his balls brush your chin. Speaking of, might as well play around while you can. One hand grabs his leg for support, the other thumbs and rolls his nuts, if only just to hear his breath hitch again. Pebble, who unbeknownst to you has been watching the entire exchange, finally starts fucking you onto him properly- Perhaps out of jealousy that his neighbor is getting twofold your attention.

It's very easy for him to lift you, most monsters find the majority of humans easy to maneuver, though being made of such hard material definitely helps. The pleasant surprise of getting hammered onto his length has you moaning gleefully around Colmei, who begins moving as well, careful enough not to let you slip off him. While the gargoyle seems to be quickly recovering that previously lost climb, making self-satisfied noises at the vocalizations he elicits from you, Colmei is only starting to get into what might be his first oral servicing, snapping angrily at the blue mutant whenever he gets rowdy enough to nearly displace you.

" Hahh... Getting close? " You call to Pebble, able to slip off Colmei's cock for a moment to catch your breath.

Strings of drool mixed with excessively viscous precum cling to your jaw, the beekeeper's too restless to stay still, rubbing his wet cock on your cheek while you wait for a response. Your stone-hard sybian nods feverishly, a guilty noise echoing.

" That's fine, sweetie, don't hold back. "

You can barely finish the sentence before Colmei's trying to angle himself into your mouth again, throwing a glare at the beekeeper. Nonetheless, Pebble understands, and he rumbles out in delight, now pounding you from below with a vengeance that has you comically bobbing and gagging onto the insectoid without much work. Between the slap of your ass on him, the wetness of your cunt getting bred and the slurp of your lips around the other's cock- You don't even know which is more obscene.

It's easy to slip into a pleasured trance, skin erupting into goosebumps as you're used and loved on by the two, hands dropping to feel your own breasts and glide down your inner thighs, rolling your clit appeasingly. There are many, many benefits to your job, the best of them of course being fulfilling Lord Krulu's will- But sometimes, you think getting to service and show love to those sworn to him is up there in terms of reward. The rush of your approaching orgasm has you mewling sweetly, clenching increasingly hard around Pebble in an attempt to keep him snug inside you, kissing all the deepest parts of your core.

Apparently, that does the trick for the gargoyle.

Because he strangles out a snarl of rapture and sinks you fully onto him, claws tightening on your skin in pure instinct, keeping you screwed onto his fattening cock as that delicious knot begins to swell to its full potential. The stretch is harsh, unforgiving and burning hot but so, so worth it just to have it crush your most sensitive spots, pressuring, throbbing. You come hard the moment a burst of thick steaming gargoyle seed paints your walls, coating you, claiming you, filling you so nicely. The weight settles on your lower abdomen and you drool on Colmei's thick cock in glee, pussy pulsing for more. Pebble purrs loudly, previously clenched claws now stroking lovingly over your sides, tails swatting as he relaxes, with his still weakly spurting shaft lodged firmly within you.

" Good boy! Good job, you did so well! " You praise him, feeling his thighs flex briefly while he murrs and croons his gratitude.

That leaves the bee collector, who you can now focus fully on, lavishing him from top to bottom like the sweetest lollipop out there. And, admittedly, he is quite sugary to the taste. There's a playful perking of your lips as you teasingly mouth around his head again, flirting with his hole, leaning away when Colmei tries to push more into you. The male grunts, then makes a sound like a dying keen, cock jumping and balls tightening.

It seems maybe he does have a thing for edging. Perhaps that's why he takes so long to bring himself to orgasm, he does it deliberately, the little pervert. And now he's loving it when someone else does it to him. Hah.

Now that Pebble's down for the count and you've had your fun, you can afford to play with Colmei like he's no more than an interesting toy. He'll twitch and beg in that ceaseless humming, but all you ever do is lick, kiss and nudge at him, occasionally dipping to take some of his length down- You make the beekeeper belive that you'll swallow him to the base anew only to pop lewdly off him not even halfway there and chuckle.

He pulses so hard you're impressed he didn't climax right then and there.

Enough is enough however, you're starting to get sore from having your knees bent for so long. In a gluttonous fit, you suck Colmei down like he's the last male on Earth, ripping a grunt-hiss of shock out of him before he grabs your head sternly and fucks into your face with enough strength to hurt your nose briefly.

The hive guardian begins cumming down your throat alarmingly quick. The resulting substance is extremely thick and hard to swallow, sticking to your throat in a way that forces you to instinctively cough and sputter globs of his own jizz back around his member. Colmei only appears to thrill further at the sight.

With a couple of sharp jerks and warning sounds, you're finally able to rip your head off the beekeeper's grasp, tasting his seed for the first time. And even though the distinct flavor of what can only be honey is quite surprising -If not ironically hilarious- You're hurriedly fishing the vial out so you can collect a fair amount of Colmei's seed. A somewhat contaminated sample, sure, but it's better than nothing.

In his post-nut bliss, the monster doesn't really care as to why you're gathering his fluids, merely buzzing pleasantly, wings erratically flicking. His last few shots drip down your neck and coat your exposed tits. The cheeky fuck has the gall to try to wipe his cock on your face, met with a cautionary pinch from your part.

It must be some kind of honey. It tastes exactly like it. Even the color is that of a rich, glazed hue. Maybe this can even be profitable!

The vial is lowered to the ground, all three of you relaxing in the relative silence of the garden under a satisfying haze. Colmei pulls his robes down and squats before you, mask set aside safely so three roving tongues can weasel across your skin, licking the side of your neck and chin, cleaning you of his own savory mess. Behind you, the gargoyle rises as well, with a slight wince from the jostling of his sensitive cock in you, a fatter and less slimy muscle laving at your shoulder and dipping between your stained tits.

You sigh happily, slumping onto Pebble and letting the two sweethearts take care of your tired figure.

Mission accomplished.

#Beekeeper boie #Pebble oc #monsterfucker #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #terat0philliac #monster boyfriend #MINORS DNI #not sfw

488 notes · View notes

crash-and-cure · 10 months

Text

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 19.8K

Masterlist

----------

You look like an angel (look like an angel)

Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)

Talk like an angel

But I got wise

You’re the devi-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For with the dawn, you'll be gone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your story went wrong.

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

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

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

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

Well not everyone.

He certainly knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the first time you tried to leave him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I don’t understand.”

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

“Am I bad at this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you kidding?

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

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

It wasn’t worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.

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

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

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

In case you need help

feel free to call

(xxx-xxxx)

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

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

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

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

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

Things were bad a lot towards the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Gladys died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Like a wish?”

“Sort of,” you answer.

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

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

And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel.

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

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

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

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

In theory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grief he’s still causing you more like it.

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

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

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

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

You vividly remember your first time with him.

Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The very wall you shared with your parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

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

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

He is here.

Elvis is here.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of the many left behind at Graceland.

Fuck.

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

He thinks you wanted him to find you.

Didn’tchu though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is not a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t think like that otherwise…

This has to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not playing pretend well enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go,” you say sternly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the familiar gates come into view

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re back in the fucking hotel room.

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

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

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

Because it always goes back to him.

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

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

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

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale

@j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen @softsatnin @literally-just-elvis-fics @adaydreamaway08 @airyx0x0 @domoron @artlover8992

#elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #austin!elvis #austin butler #yandere #yandere!elvis #yandere!austin!elvis #yandere x reader #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis movie #elvis presely smut #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis fic #austin butler x reader

776 notes · View notes

gaypirate420 · 6 months

Note

Could you do FtM reader who is a little bit of a hellion and Jasper has his hands full containing their hobby of setting things on fire?

While in the moment of throwing shit into the bonfire Jasper started at their request, could they talk about how Jasper is going to be right there when they get their top surgery?

I love writing reader as a little gremlin, an absolute menace, a little demon.

Pyromaniac//Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x Trans!Male!reader.

Fluff.

You were walking around the forest with Jasper, holding his hand while you jumped around and wander around the nature. Throwing some rocks at the trees and admiring how the birds flied off the branches.

"Jaspy." You looked at him.

"Yes, darlin' boy?" His golden eyes met your gaze and saw your mischievous smile, the vampire smirked, already figured out your next couple of words.

So here you are now, after walking a couple of minutes you found the perfect place for a nice bonfire that will keep you warm and entertained.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" You jumped excited as you saw Jasper getting logs gathered around on a pile.

In forks is always rainy, random logs and sticks are wet and don't light up like you want. Which is a great thing for Jasper because you don't get to burn the first piece of wood you encounter..

Jasper formed a nice looking pile of the most dry logs he could find, he reached onto his pocket for a lighter.

"I got it!" You spoke and hold the lighter on you hand with a huge smile on your face, Jasper's cold hand remove it from yours.

"You're not supposed to have these, pretty boy." He spoke softly and with such a gentle but authoritative tone that never failed to make you listen to him, he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"I suppose I can't have this either?" You took a small bottle of lighter fluid from the pocket of your hoodie.

"No, darlin'." He sighed and took the bottle from your hand, he leaves a quick kiss on your lips before pulling away and bend over to light up the fire.

You smirked and whistle at him, making him stand up rapidly and feel flustered. He mocked being offended and leaned back down to the log pile.

"That wasn't very gentlemanly, mister." He narrowed his eyes and you laughed.

"Never said I was one." You spoke between chuckles.

The fire quickly spread through the logs, the crackling sound and the warmth hit his face. You sat down next to him, not too close to the fire that sometimes you forget it can hurt you. It just looks so pretty to you, so comforting. You chuckled, the fire reminded of your texan vampire boyfriend in a way.

Jasper looked at your eyes, the small smile on your lips. You looked amazed, mesmerized by the wood catching fire.

You began to throw small sticks to the bonfire, smiling as you saw them get consumed by the flames. Resting your head on his shoulder, you were deep in though and the vampire could tell.

"Is there something wrong, sugar?" He spoked softly, his hand holding yours.

"I'm just thinking stuff, Jazz." You whispered and nuzzle closer to him, he wrapped his arms around you and hold you close.

"Um, can I ask you something, handsome?" You looked back at him, Jasper meet your gaze and nodded.

"Well, you know— I'm getting my top surgery soon and um—" You mumbled, getting nervous about asking him something like this.

"Mhm? What's with that, darlin'." His voice brings you out of your thoughts.

"Well, I just want to know if— you'll be there to take care of me, um, I don't really have anyone but you and, I just want to have you with me, I'm actually really scared and—"

Your nervous rambling was cut off by a kiss on your lips.

"I'll be there. Don't worry, darlin'. Everything will be alright, and I'll be right by your side to hold your hand." He whisper and caress your cheek before leaving another kiss on your lips.

"Ma' beautiful, handsome sweetheart. He's all mine and I ain't letting him down." He kissed down your jaw and neck, making you feel all tingly.

"Oh how romantic, cowboy." You teased, Jasper chuckled and hold you close.

Your eyes returned to the fire, making you feel all warm and safe even if you're so close to such a dangerous thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: hey! Hope ya like this! Requests are still open!

#jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock hale #jasper cullen #jasper hale #effervescent #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x male reader #x male reader #x trans male reader #x transmasc reader #jasper whitlock x reader #twilight x reader

189 notes · View notes

sysig · 6 months

Note

Okay but TSP/Portal crossover AU is such a cool concept, how have I never thought about that before?? I'd like to request Narra and GLaD hanging out watching their respective little guys go through tests like 'can you believe them they're so dumb <3'

Day 30 - They're absolute hellions

Bonus:

Noooo, my bucket!!

#My art #Requestober #Portal #The Stanley Parable #TSP #GLaDOS #The Narrator #Stanley #Chell #They're just all so antagonist towards others lol #I think Stanley is a terrible influence paired with just about anyone but honestly I think Chell would adopt him haha #She is also a chaos gremlin and enjoys taunting and flouting the ''rules'' - deservedly lol #It's hard to imagine GLaDOS or the Narrator just accepting that they've been dropped into a crossover haha #They're both so fixated on their respective protagonist that someone else is just strange! Odd!! Unwanted!!#And at least GLaD and Chell are at the homefield advantage - the boys are in a whole new environment!#The Narrator would freak the heck out lol - but if they got past the initial without everything combusting-#Well actually I can imagine GLaDOS getting fed up with Narra hogging the PA just to say what Stanley is/should be doing lol #''He is clearly ignoring you why do you bother'' ''It's my job! My duty!'' *explosion* Pfft #I do like the idea of GLaDOS referring to other people's test subjects by other lesser names #Something along the lines of I'm the only one who gets to call mine a test subject because I'm doing Real science haha #All these dynamics! How the two protags would react to each other and their respective voices reaction to each other and each's inverse #Too many to think about right now lol gimme a sleep or two on it haha #Although Portal/TSP crossovers have been around since they both existed concurrently ♪ Still they're fun to think about!#It is fun to imagine Stanley following behind Chell through the portals until he gets distracted #It becomes a bucket quest real fast lol - They poke around Rattman's bunker and Chell gets sad and Stanley ''helps'' with a distraction #Trimming GLaDOS down and doing a halfbody for Narra and then chibis for the rest - it's all about the right math right? Right lol #Only one more! Ahh!

176 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 year

Text

Nightlight

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "So I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for like a month now but an Az fic where the reader is the youngest of the autumn court high family and like Lucien, Hellion is her father, but unlike Lucien she bears obvious resemblance (she has red hair like her mother but has these golden markings or something that shows off the day court in her). So Beron had her locked in the dungeons since she was a child for centuries like no one even know the Vanserras have a sister. After years of isolation she becomes a shadowsinger as well. I’ve tried to write this like 4 times now but I’m just not a writer the best I can do is summaries like this 😭😭" and "Daughter of Beron escapes to night court fic?"

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,772

Notes: Lucky for you my dear anon, I do dabble with writing 😂😅

Posting this today because I want to post the next part of Cupid's Chokehold on Thursday 💙

_________________________________________

On the day you were born, the sun was not shining.

Thunder rumbles throughout the Autumn Court, shaking even the sturdiest of trees that have been growing across the lands since even before Beron ruled. The Woodland House shakes in the aftermath, lightning crackling across the sky, brightening the halls he paces, the deep velvety greens of the walls more menacing than they normally are. The High Lord swears he can see the glow of a forest fire in the distance.

It had been the driest summer in Autumn Court history, and Beron could feel a magic rivaling his own throughout the arid season. The sun shone brighter by the day, hotter than it had ever been, sucking the life from the normally colorful leaves, crisp and drained, browns and dull reds instead of the vivacious crimsons and creamy oranges he was used to.

Not even the winds of Autumn were the same, usually a breathy kiss of cool air, whispers of the forest breezing throughout the towns, had been tampered with. No longer did Beron feel the familiar ruffle of the fresh winds through his flaming hair, no, it seemed as if his court had stopped feeling the supple breeze at all, the air becoming stuffy with the lack of movement, like all of a sudden his lands wanted to feel the burning heat of the day.

It was as if the sun and moon were fighting, her beautiful shining face longing to meet her partner in the sky, staying out longer each day that passed as if they might meet high above the Autumn Court and kiss.

The moon did not make an appearance.

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn't put off by it. Never in his centuries of life had he experienced anything like this, and he’d holed himself up in his private library for weeks scouring the books for any sign of what was happening.

Beron hadn’t uttered a word to his trusted advisors, whom he urged to keep from asking questions with a red-hot stare. They shrank from his gaze and did as their Lord instructed, trying to do what they could to save the crops, keep the lush trees from drying out, and help the citizens who’d been harmed from the heat.

The Lord did not even tell his wife of what was going on. His relationship with Amaretto had been strained for decades, ever since the birth of Lucien, the child that looked nothing like him.

Such a disgrace, to him, to his court, this child was. The hatred had consumed him, fury burning hot beneath his skin. Even his brothers had questioned why their youngest brother did not look right. He didn’t don the pale, creamy skin he and his wife shared, and the orange of his hair was not that of a flame, but of the sun.

It had taken time for him to even think of having another child that Amaretto begged him for. Beron was incredibly hurt by the actions of his wife that he’d barely been able to sleep in the same room as her, often finding himself drifting off at his desk or one of the many other rooms within the palace, a bottle clutched in his grasp. He had not been the best husband, but he was better than that filth from the Day Court. If he hadn’t been so trained in burying his feelings he’d have burned out by now, but still he ruled.

Although Amaretto had borne a child that was not his he would raise it, keep both his wife and the child as close as he could. But every time he looked at the boy all he could see was the gleaming golden eyes of the cocksure male of Day, the one who paraded around without a care in the world. Beron knew that the Lord didn’t know, and he’d be saving that information for when it was dire, when he needed to bargain with the stupid Lord he deemed below him in every way.

Eventually he’d given in to her pleas, as her beauty was far too persuasive to keep himself at bay. Amaretto had thought that the introduction of another child would mend the rift between them. Beron didn’t deign to tell her that it could never be fixed.

He paces outside of the birthing room, up and down the long corridor, bright with burning faelights lighting his way as the storm rages outside of the palace.

He can see it from where he stands, the usually airy and open hallways of the High Lord’s palace now black with rolling clouds, lightning striking mere meters from his home, hot and white across the sky. The rain pelters the shields protecting the Woodland House, normally never in use as the heavens hadn’t shed a singular drop all summer.

His first daughter. Beron could hardly believe he was so lucky to finally be having a girl. Seven sons over centuries of years, each one more ungrateful than the last. You were an omen. The first female of the Vanserra lineage and you were bringing the rains the lands so desperately cried for after the cruel summer they’d experienced.

You are going to be the Autumn Court’s salvation.

The High Lord has been muttering the same prayer for the past twenty hours, and each time he finishes he starts anew, glancing outside to see if the storm had let up. As if his breathy pleas to the Mother would force the dreary weather away from his doorstep.

He’d gone through this seven times and still his heart raced, ached for his wife. He had no idea how she did it, but he worshiped the ground she stood for doing so, for giving him a brood of potential sons that he could pass his crown to.

Beron releases a breath that sounds awfully like a sob as he hears your wail from behind the thick oak door. He braces himself against the wall as his body slackens with relief at the sound. For a heartbeat it doesn’t matter that there’s a storm raging outside, only that you’ve entered this glorious world.

The door creaks open and he stands tall, a midwife scurrying straight for him.

“My apologies, High Lord,” she curtsies. The nursemaid is a mousy little thing, wringing a towelette between her nimble fingers. Her skin is ashen and sweat lines her upper lip, rich chocolate eyes darting frantically around the hall, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice trembles and Beron thinks something has gone wrong with his daughter's birth.

“What is it? Is my wife alright? My daughter?” he asks frantically, stomach dropping to the chestnut wood below. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his wife by his side, how he could possibly take care of a daughter all on his own. His heart slams in his chest, eyes darting to the open door.

“They are both alright,” she assures him, cheeks glowing red from having set him worrying for no good reason, “Both alive and well.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a breath he was unaware he was holding. “Thank the Mother.”

“Very good news, Sir,” the nursemaid agrees, and he’s not sure why but she has a spooked look on her face, wringing her towel between her hands anxiously.

The baby cries out again and she jumps, worried eyes flitting to the door.

“May I see them?” He asks, although he doesn’t need the permission, it’s his turn for nerves. The thought of seeing his beautiful Amaretto and daughter, half-his, his heart flutters at the thought.

There’s something about how the nursemaid is acting that’s off-putting, but no more so than the storm raging outside of the palace walls. Usually, when royal babes are born in the Autumn Court it is a joyous occasion, everyone involved, basking in the lifted spirits of the Higher Lords and Ladies.

She gives a slight nod, bowing her head. Her hands are shaking as she pushes open the door and he stops at the sight of his wife, a tiny little thing bundled up in her arms. She’s as beautiful as the day he met her, even if her hair is drenched with sweat, exhaustion pulling at her bright eyes. She startles slightly, sending a look to the nursemaid that has her spinning on her heel, fluffing the blankets in the bassinet built for the babe.

“Come closer, my love,” Amaretto urges, a smile so small that it has that male hesitating. “It’s time to meet your daughter.”

Beron makes his way closer, steps slow and calculated, sensing that something is not quite right. Each inch towards them he’s preparing himself, clearing his mind, breathing even until–

Beron freezes in his spot as he stares down at you, heart screeching to a halt in his chest. The babe looks everything like her mother, nose, pink lips, but then she yawns and her beautiful eyes flutter open–

They’re not like hers. Or his.

His mate clutches the babe closer to her chest at the sight. Tears burn his eyes as he stares down at his child and it all begins to make sense, the dry summer, the burning sun, the brightness of your gaze, gold gleaming in your eyes.

You are not his daughter, but a child of Day.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Ever since you could remember your father had not been a nice man.

You had chalked it up to being a female. You weren’t different from your brothers in any aspect other than that. You had the same pale skin as them, the same ruddy red eyes as Eris, a smattering of freckles like Pyrolas, and the same shining auburn hair like Lucien’s.

Yet you were treated like you did not matter. You hardly saw your father for things other than awkward family dinners and the occasional times he’d stop by your training, assessing how you were developing in weaponry and hand-to-hand.

He cared little of your studies, reading to your heart's content long after the faelights had been turned out, huddled up under the thick blankets, a soft glow you emitted from your chest the only light.

It was unlike Oak’s powers over flame, how he could conjure a lick of fire with a single snap of his fingers, or how Conleth could grow the raging infernos in the hearths when his temper struck. You could do both of those things, or would be able to with a little more training, but you could do other things, things that you’d never seen them do.

Along with flame, you could omit a glow, only faint enough for menial tasks like reading late at night or lighting your path to the restroom in the early hours of the morning when not even the sun had awakened. Useless perhaps, but it always puts a smile on your face. It was your little secret.

Beron stands at the entrance to the training ring, hands clasped behind his back, watching you closely as you work with the instructor, your first time using a steel blade in your training. You were good, he could admit that as he watched you block and parry from the blow your teacher had sent your way. You’d be able to compete with your brothers soon enough.

You’d been studying, not only by practicing when you were unable to sleep, but from the books in the library that Lucien had told you about. You drank in the knowledge the pages had to offer, learning everything that you could and implementing it in your strategy. Even your instructor was thoroughly impressed.

And you catch that gleam in his eyes, so distracted by it that you miss the next block, the cold metal of the trainer's blade slicing cleanly across the skin of your arm.

You gasp, nearly dropping your own weapon in favor of clutching the wound to your chest.

Your heart jumps as you stare down at the wound and Beron’s eyes go cold at the sight.

He stalks from his spot, snatching your arm to get a better look. You yelp as his harsh grasp tugs at the slowly closing wound, glinting in the daylight.

You’re just as confused as he is. There should be red blood dripping from the wound, but instead it’s golden, catching the rays of the sun and cuddling them close. You can feel the warmth as it leaks across your skin, looking like molten gold itself.

It’s then that Beron realizes that the omen wasn’t that you’d save his court, but that you’d burn it to the ground.

“Dad?” you whimper as his hold flexes and his eyes darken, and though he’s been convincing himself of his hatred for you for fifteen years his heart still burns in his chest. The auburn eyes of his own that he’s glamoured on you since he saw you for the first time are wide, scared, your pale skin marred with injury. It wouldn’t be the last time either.

But his gaze is harsh, unrelenting as he stares at the wound. The honeyed blood only proves what he’d known since he first laid eyes on you.

You are far more dangerous to his court than he could’ve imagined.

Beron meets the eyes of the trainer, a friend for many years, the one to train all of his sons and now you, staring between you and the hurt, brows pulled taut in confusion.

The High Lord grimaces, taking the sword from you gently, and in a swift move he shoves it up into the trainer's head from the swell of his throat, steel sticking out the crown, his eyes rolling back as he falls limp at the both of your feet.

Your blood curdling scream scares the ravens away, Beron’s grip tightening on your arm as you try to prize his fingers off of you.

It is the second fae of his court he has slain because of you. The first, the nursemaid that had birthed you, slaughtering her before she could gossip to the other healers about the Day born female in his court. He’d snapped her neck in a sudden movement, and Amaretto had clutched you tighter to her chest as the sound of cracking bone woke you, her rich brown eyes terrified of her husband as he neared.

But he simply waved a hand and your teary golden eyes had changed to a replica of his own. If he had to deal with his wife bearing another of Helion’s miscreant children in his court, she would deal with the fact that every time she looked at you, she was staring at him.

The High Lord of Autumn had left the both of you with a last sad look.

Tears stream down your face, you couldn’t stop staring at your instructor, laying limp at your feet with a sword embedded into his skull. Why would your father do such a terrible thing?

Beron swipes the gleaming blood from your arm. The wound has healed but left in its wake is a sliver of a golden scar.

If anyone saw it they would know immediately, and he couldn’t have that.

He personally dragged you to the chambers beneath the house himself, hardly struggling as you put up a fight, thrashing and screaming until he’d lit a fire inside of your throat, the burning so intense you could hardly breathe.

You gasped for air as he threw you into a chamber at the bottom of the stairs. It smelled of burnt flesh and it was damp, the dirt floors moist and clinging to your fighting clothes, your exposed skin.

You scramble to your feet, lunging as the iron doors clang shut. You reach between the bars, sobs silent as you couldn’t make a noise, the metal biting into your skin. There was no light down here and you already felt suffocated, not from the stifling flames clawing at your esophagus, but because you couldn’t see or feel the sun.

You swear for just a moment that you spot regret in his gaze, stepping away from your reach. He doesn’t have to do this, if he would just explain what was going on maybe you could–

Beron’s mask falls into place again and the glaring look he gives you is so cold that it makes you shrink away from the iron bars.

He spits at your feet, muttering something in a language you hadn’t learned yet before he spins on his heel, leaving you all alone in the foxholes of the Woodland House.

#azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel/you #azriel/reader #azsazz #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azriel #vanserra!sister

843 notes · View notes

makethatelevenrings · 2 years

Text

Two Scoops (and a Danish) // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

WARNINGS: minor physical altercation with a customer, retail (lol), fear gas, mention of the Joker, brief reference to attempted self harm while under fear toxin, swearing Summary: Part two to this.

Despite it being four in the morning, you were already in the kitchen when the familiar sound of your window being opened came from the living room. Tossing the rag in your hands onto the counter, you planted your hands on your hips and gave the kitchen a once over.

“Any injuries?” you called.

“No,” Red Hood replied. You nodded to yourself and snatched two cartons of ice cream out of the freezer. Grabbing two spoons, you balanced the ice cream in your arms as you walked to the living room to find Red Hood sprawled out on your couch.

He had already changed into sweats and a comfy shirt, but he left his domino mask on. You could see his leather jacket and gear propped up next to the bookshelf in the corner of his room and you appreciated the fact that he didn’t want to dirty up your couch.

“Stop a few crimes? Knock a few heads together?” You passed him the carton of cookie dough ice cream and climbed onto the couch to sit across from him.

“Of course.” A cocky grin crossed his face and you rolled your eyes in response.

“What about you? Scooped some ice cream? Sell some cones?”

“I quit,” you announced. He raised an eyebrow at your declaration, the spoon halfway in his mouth.

“I start in three days at the coffee shop on the corner of Hyacinth and Lilac. Day shifts instead of night so no more robberies hopefully.”

“This is Gotham, sweetheart. You could get robbed in broad daylight.”

You grimaced and he immediately winced, nudging your calf with his foot. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s just…you won’t be there.” Your voice quieted at the end of your statement and he sat up straighter, placing his carton on the coffee table. Hood leaned forward, clasping his hand over your wrist and drawing your eyes to meet the white lenses of his mask.

“I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you, sweetheart. You hear me?” He spoke with such ferocity and conviction that you had to believe him. He stroked his thumb along your pulse and smirked.

“Besides, who said that I won’t be there?”

A week later and you were finally getting the hang of your new job. It was easier to remember orders, drink styles, and prices. You were even getting to know the daily customers. But you had yet to deal with the infamous hellions your coworkers had told you about.

Sure, you had dealt with your fair share of shitty customers at the ice cream shop, but there was something different about coffee shop Karens. It was as if the lack of caffeine made them ten times more rabid.

Which is why you found yourself practically cowering under the snarling, frothing words of the bodybuilder as he screamed at you because of soy milk or something like that. His face was turning a bright red that probably wasn’t healthy and spittle literally flew out of his gaping maw and landed on your cheek. You raised your hand to wipe away the offending liquid when he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

It was a far cry from the tender hold Red Hood placed on your skin. When Hood touched you, it was soft caresses and gentle presses of his calloused fingers against your knuckles, as if he pressed too hard you would shatter beneath him. This guy, however, was all brute strength and bruising grip. You tugged your hand back but it was a futile attempt. His muscles rivaled bowling balls in size and weight.

Tears sprang to your eyes at the sharp ache in your wrist as he clenched down tighter, but just as soon as the pressure started, it left your arm. A hand firmly gripped the back of his shirt and then he was yanked back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Another customer had the guy in a headlock and made it look easy. This new guy somehow rivaled the bodybuilding douche in the muscles department and height, but he also had skill. In a few swift moves, he had the guy up and out the door with some choice words and threats.

“You alright?” the guy asked once he returned to the counter. You pointed at the door and then back at him, mouth agape in shock. He raised an eyebrow at your silence and nodded towards your wrist.

“Can I?” He waited until you nodded before he unfurled your fingers and checked over your wrist, pressing down on tender spots and examining for bruises.

“I think I’m alright,” you chuckled weakly.

“If he ever comes in again, stab him,” the guy said, entirely serious. You swallowed against the sudden dryness in your throat and refocused your attention back on the register.

“What can I get for you?”

“Large americano,” he ordered.

“And your name?”

Under the brim of his baseball cap, he met your gaze with gleaming teal eyes. A grin crossed his full lips and you tore your gaze away from his handsome face to the cup and sharpie in your hands.

“Jason,” he answered. “Name’s Jason.”

Jason became a regular. He’d come in once a day, get an americano and sometimes a danish, and sit in the corner with a book. Rain or shine, he always parked his ass in one of your chairs and sipped at his god awful bitter coffee and read some novel.

There were two constants in your life: Hood coming through your window at all hours of the night and Jason showing up at work and both instances had you craving more. Both made you feel impossibly safe, incredibly comfortable, and both made you laugh more than you had in years. You hated it. You never wanted them to leave.

But when Jason came into the coffee shop on a rainy day with a black beanie firmly pulled over his head and a sparkle in his eyes, you felt your heart fall when you saw him holding the hand of a gorgeous woman. She was saying something to him when they walked in and he grinned, adding the twist to the pain in your heart.

“Hey,” Jason greeted when he stepped up to the counter. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going okay. The usual?”

“Yeah, yeah. And this is my little sister, Cass. Whatever she wants.”

You hated the fact that a little thrill shot through your chest at the confirmation that she was his sister. She smiled, soft and gentle, and ordered a vanilla latte. Jason paid and tucked a few dollars in the tip jar as usual and then he and Cass headed to his usual table while you focused on making their order.

When you brought their coffees over to their table, however, you found that they were joined by four other people. Jason looked murderous as a handsome man slung his arm over his shoulder and greeted you cheerfully.

“Hi, Dick Grayson. Jaybird’s been talking about how great the drinks were here so I figured I would stop by and what do ya know, my two favorite siblings are already here.”

“Considering Jason gets the same drink every time, I don’t know if he has the authority on our menu,” you joked. “Is this all your siblings?”

“Not all,” Jason sighed. “Dick, Damian, Tim, and Duke. Steph is probably off somewhere ruining lives for good reason.”

“Nope.” A blonde girl slid into the booth next to Cass. “I only ruin lives between the hours of nine and ten AM.”

Jason hauled himself out of the booth and pointed at the gaggle of siblings around the table. “Text me your orders. Or don’t. Perish, for all I care.”

“Awww, he’s buying our drinks!” Dick cooed.

“And poisoning it too!” Jason scowled at his brother but nothing would stop the wide grin on the older man’s face. Jason grunted and followed you back to the register, waiting until you were back in your rightful place behind the counter.

“I’m sorry for them. They’re…a lot. I know.”

“Nah, today was slow so it’s a nice change. Besides, this reminds me of the time Batman came into my old job.”

“Oh, no shit?”

“Oh yeah, all of the bats and birds. It was wild.”

“Wow, you’re practically a celebrity.” He held out his phone for you to read the note on the screen that listed out everyone’s coffee order

You snorted out a laugh at his comment and shook your head. You began to type in the different orders as you continued talking. “As if. If I were a celebrity, I wouldn’t do any work. Like Bruce Wayne.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do actually work sometimes.”

You dropped the cup you were holding and looked up to find Bruce motherfuckin’ Wayne standing next to Jason with an amused smile playing on his famous features. Your eyes darted between Jason and Bruce motherfuckin’ Wayne as you tried to make sense of why Gotham’s most famous billionaire was standing in your shitty little minimum wage job. Your gaze drifted over to the pack of siblings arguing at the table in the corner and then you thought back to all the times you had heard about the Wayne kids, but you never cared enough to look up their pictures.

“Jaylad,” Bruce motherfuckin’ Wayne said in greeting.

“Dad,” Jason replied.

“Oh, what the fuck?” you exclaimed.

After working at the coffee shop for four months, you were finally given the opportunity to close. Your coworker, Macy, handled the more advanced things you hadn’t been trained on, leaving you to clean up around the store. It was only eight at night, but the two of you were eager to close and get home. There was an Arkham breakout four days ago and the city was on edge waiting for the inevitable attack. Both Jason and Hood hadn’t made their typical appearances since the breakout and you were starting to get worried.

But you couldn’t think about that right now because the toxin sirens started wailing the second Macy locked the doors behind you.

“Fuck!” she shouted. “You got a mask?”

“Of course.” You yanked the collapsable Wayne Enterprises gas mask out of your purse. It was given to every citizen who signed up for it at the local post office. She pulled out her own and shoved it over her face before waving goodbye and sprinting off towards her apartment.

You were glad that your apartment was a fifteen minute walk from your work instead of the thirty minute commute you had at the ice cream shop because it was moments like now that had you running faster than you had ever ran before. A yellow-tinged fog rose up from Gotham Heights and you swore. Fear toxin was barely better than Joker toxin, but it wouldn’t be instant death.

Gothamites all around you ran for safety, various styles of gas masks covering their faces. A dark shadow flew over your head and you glanced up for a moment to see Batman blot out the moon before he disappeared into the shadows with the bright traffic color lights of Robin on his heels. Good, this would all be over soon.

You stumbled as a small body crashed into your legs. Thinking quickly, you caught the kid around the shoulders and absorbed the hit by careening into the brick wall next to you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” You crouched down so you could see the little girl better and grimaced when you realized she didn’t have a gas mask. The fog was coming closer and you thought about it for a moment. You were older. You could handle fear toxin better. It would be horrible and you would see things that weren’t real. It would feel like your mind was being torn apart…but you would be able to handle it better than an innocent little kid.

Without hesitating, you ripped off your mask and secured it over her face. She sobbed and clung to your neck as you hefted her up into your arms and scanned the frantic faces around you in hopes of finding parents. A woman across the street was searching for something and you made the guess that she was looking for her daughter.

“Ma’am!” you shouted as you crossed the street. “Is this your daughter?”

“Oh god, Maria. Thank you. Thank you so much. I was looking for a mask for her and she ran away because of the sirens.”

“You’re alright. Get to safety, okay?” She thanked you one last time and disappeared into the throng of the crowd, leaving you behind without a mask and a quickly approaching wall of fear toxin. If you sprinted the last remaining ten minutes, you still wouldn’t make it in time. The streets were clearing quickly, along with your chances of sanctuary, as the fog grew closer. You cursed yourself for not bringing two masks along and decided you should just take your chances and wade into the fear gas.

The gas was starting to creep around your feet when the sound of wire snapping and a creak of metal met your ears. Heavy boots thudded next to you and then thick leather covered hands grabbed your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing out here? Without a mask too.” Hood snarled. “Are you stupid?”

“No! No, I gave it to a kid. I was trying to get home.” Your explanation fell flat as he yanked off his helmet and shoved it over your head. You jerked your head back in surprise as the darkness enveloped your vision, but you quickly adjusted to seeing out of the lenses.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted back. Your voice sounded weird being all distorted from the helmet. “Gotham needs you!”

“And I need you safe,” he snapped. The gas was obscuring his face from view and quickly, Hood wrapped one arm around your waist and aimed his other arm towards the sky. He fired his grapple gun and you shrieked as your feet lifted off the ground. Hood dropped the two of you on the fire escape of your apartment and stumbled away from you, falling to his knees.

“Fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed his arm and threw it over his shoulder, but hauling six feet of pure muscle wasn’t easy. You needed to get him inside and out of the gas. “C’mon, Hood, help me out here.”

He groaned and pushed himself up against the railing, but kept his eyes screwed shut. You shoved open your window and practically threw him in before sliding in after him and yanking the window closed just as yellow gas began its steady ascent against your building windows. You collapsed against the couch and looked over at Hood, but he wasn’t looking at you. The lenses of his domino mask were fixed on the corner of your living room and you swore under your breath.

He had given up his helmet, his gas mask, to you so you wouldn’t be affected. But now he was seeing the stuff of nightmares and, you could guess, he had seen far more in his life that kept him up at night. You yanked his helmet off and tossed it onto the ground.

“Hood, what do I do?” You grasped his cheeks and forced him to focus on you. “How can I help?”

“Make him stop…make him stop. fucking. laughing.” He clapped his gloved hands over his ears and you surged forward, clutching at his wrists as he clawed at his skin.

“Hood. Hood, please,” you whispered. You slid your hand between his ears and his fingers and felt a small device. Yanking it out of his ear, you fixed the communication device in your own ear and tapped on it. A steady stream of chatter filled your ear and you saw Hood relax when the noise left him. He was still rigid as a board, but he stopped trying to claw his own ears off.

“Hello? Hello, does this work?” You desperately hoped your hunch was right.

The line went silent and then a low, gravelly voice spoke up. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Y/N Y/L/N. Red Hood saved me but he was hit with fear toxin. He’s currently in my apartment but I don’t know how to help him.”

“Nightwing. Take an antidote to Hood. Now.” Batman, motherfuckin’ Batman of all people, ordered.

“I won’t hurt him,” you blurted. “I know that sounds exactly like what someone who planned on hurting him would say but I won’t. I’ll take this thing out so you guys can go back to talking, but please, until you can get here, how can I help him?”

“Keep talking to him,” a new voice spoke up. “Talk about anything and everything. Keep him focused. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“The window is unlocked. Thank you.”

You tossed the device onto the coffee table and stroked your thumb across Hood’s cheeks. “I gotcha. I gotcha.”

He twitched as some sort of fear-driven vision flitted across his mind and you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his temple. “Did I ever tell you about how I spilled coconut milk all over my shoes?”

You kept talking, even as he clenched his teeth and broken screams escaped the back of his throat and his domino mask started to come off his face due to a mixture of tears and sweat. You just shut your eyes and continued regaling him with stories about your time in school, your friends, jobs you’ve had in the past. Anything but the horrors in his mind.

The window slid open and then shut quickly. You looked up as Nightwing tilted Hood’s head to the side and injected a needle into his neck. He pushed the edge of the syringe down and Hood’s body relaxed as the antidote began to course through his veins. The black and blue vigilante reached up and removed his rebreather once Hood relaxed.

“Thank you,” he murmured. You blinked up at him and then looked down at Hood. You smoothed your hand over the edges of his mask to make sure it stuck and shook your head.

“He did it to save me,” you murmured. “I should have been smarter.”

“Nah,” Hood panted as he finally regained his mind from the influence of the toxin. “I just had to make sure the best barista in Gotham was safe. Need that Americano to keep me going.”

Your jaw dropped as the pieces fell into place and Nightwing let out a gleeful chuckle. “See you both on Sunday for brunch. Hood, you’re benched today.”

He strapped on his rebreather, opened your window and climbed out before shutting it, and promptly did a swan dive out of the window before grappling away.

“Does that mean…holy shit I’ve met Batman twice?”

Jason peeled off his domino mask and threw it down next to his helmet. He yanked you onto his lap, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Please stop talking about Batman like he’s better than me,” he grunted.

You woke up to a thud and then a muffled “shit!”. Rolling over, you pressed your face into your pillow to stifle your giggle.

“Shut up,” Jason whined from the floor. “My hands are full.”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you supposed to be the all-feared Red Hood?”

“That’s it. No ice cream for you.”

That got you sitting up. You flipped on the lamp next to you, finding him next to your bed in full gear. He set a cup of ice cream on your nightstand and then held out a white paper bag that you recognized from the old coffee shop you used to work at a year ago.

“Two scoops and a danish,” he reported.

“Well, look at you being all sappy,” you hummed.

Jason stood to his full height and dropped a kiss to your forehead. He moved to strip out of his leather jacket and you settled back against the headboard to watch him. Your boyfriend paused and gestured towards the food he had brought.

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to actually enjoy anniversary gifts instead of letting them melt,” he grunted. “Unless you’re not hungry. I can put it in the freezer.”

“Oh, I’m hungry all right. Continue.”

“You’re objectifying me right now. I’m being objectified.”

“Happy one year to me, baby. Now, strip.”

Tag list: @annalayton19 @tiannamortis @khaetiin @mcrmarvelloki @gone-batty-fics

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood fluff #dc imagine #dc x reader

1K notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 10 months

Note

Hello! Could you write a story where reader falls into the frozen lake and Helion saves her and then takes care of her? Thank you!

P.S

Your stories are awesome! ❤

Chills

Helion x reader

A/n: Thank you anon❤️ Also all I can think of is that scene in Little Women when Amy falls in the lake while skating lmao

Warnings: lil bit of angst and eventual fluff

You had always loved the snow and bundling up in warm comfy clothes. When Helion told you that you were visiting the Winter Court for a week you were ecstatic. You and Viviane are close so you were also excited to spend time with your friend.

Once you arrived and saw Viviane you both started screeching as you held onto each other. As your husbands talked about court politics she took you around the palace. You had hot cocoa and gingerbread cookies by the fire in the grand sitting room. “So,” she starts, “how are things with you and Helion? I feel like I haven't properly seen you since the wedding.”

You and Helion had gotten married five months ago. Since then life has been hectic with him following in Rhysands footsteps and making you High Lady of the Day Court. “It's been wonderful. A little hectic with the High Lady stuff but that's what we have our little club with Feyre for.” Viviane giggles throwing her snow-white hair over her shoulder. “It certainly is.”

“But everything between us is the same, if not better.” Ever since the wedding Helion has been more attentive to you. And you're not complaining. “I'm surprised you're not pregnant yet.” Viviane laughs. You feel your cheeks heat up at her comment. Before you can respond Hellion and Kallias walk-in.

Kallias speaks first “Now that politics are out of the way are you two ready for the fun to start?” Viviane claps her hands together, pulling you from your chair.

The couple took you to the frozen lake behind the palace to ice skate. Viviane told you that Helion requested that you do this during your visit because you had always wanted to learn. After a few minutes of Viviane and Helion teaching you, you could skate on your own. “You're a natural!” she yelled across the lake as you floated effortlessly across the ice.

As the four of you skated around and talked for the afternoon you became more confident in your skills. Going out farther across the lake and circling back into Helion's arms. On your latest pass of untouched ice, you felt a crack under the blades of your skates.

Trying not to panic you take a tentative step back. You heard Helion calling your name but you were too focused. Taking two more steps back to try and step back on thicker ice, the ice around you splintered. Before you could react, you fell into the icy water.

Your eyes were closed and you were kicking your feet wildly. It wasn't doing much, the skates weighing you down. You resorted to relying on your arms to attempt to carry you to the surface.

Opening your eyes you could make out the hole in the ice and three shadows above you. You heard a splash and felt Helion's strong arms wrap around your waist.

You hit the freezing surface, coughing and sputtering, sucking down air. Kallias and Viviane we're apologizing profusely. Helion held you to his chest as Kallias winnowed you all into the grand sitting room.

Viviane ran to get you both new clothes as Kallias added more logs to the roaring fire. You were shivering violently. Helion pushed wet strands of hair from your face, “You're ok, I got you.” he said. After Viviane brought your clothes and a towel, she and Kallias left, closing the doors to give you privacy.

“Do you want me to help you change?” You nodded in response, too cold for words. Helion strips you of your wet clothes, drying you off as he goes. Once he's done he changes himself and sits with you in front of the fire. He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your arms to warm you.

“Thank you for saving me.” He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. “I'll always save you, my love.” You relax into his warmth, the chill finally ebbing from your body.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

#acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #high lord helion #helion x reader #helion x you #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

146 notes · View notes

m00nc4kes · 5 months

Text

A Chance. (pacific rim! au)

hobie brown x gn!reader

word count: 2k

summary: Hellion Riser. That's the jaeger you wanted to pilot. The only problem? The remaining pilot isn't accepting requests for a co-pilot at the moment nor... ever.

warnings: arguing, swearing, sparring, hopefully hobie isn't too ooc (his accent is a nightmare for me, bear with me pls)

notes: the reader doesn't have a specified gender (at least I tried to make sure they didn't, lemme know if I specified at some point); my readers are always black coded even if it's never mentioned, but anyone can read it! uhhhh I took some creative liberties so you don't have to know anything about pacific rim lololol

[part 1] (ur here :p) [part 2]

"And just what makes you think you'd be able to handle her, hm?"

You startled from your place on the metal bridge that overlooked your potential jaeger, Hellion Riser. And to your luck, the one thing stopping you from ever piloting her was walking up behind you.

You flicked your gaze over your shoulder, simply acknowledging his presence, before looking back at the jaeger. You watched as people tinkered with her, the buzz of drills and shrills of metal being dug into filled your ears.

Hobie stepped up beside you and mirrored your position on the railing. You knew he was still waiting for an answer, but you didn't think you could give him one without getting upset all over again. Instead, you asked your own question.

"Why haven't you found a co-pilot yet?"

"Why ask questions you know the answer to?"

This asshole. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Maybe you'd know the answer if you let me in your head." You tapped your forehead, referencing the drift that would settle everything once and for all. He just looked at you with those warm amber eyes of his. They told you nothing about how he felt, instead they blinked lazily at you.

He stood up straight to stretch before turning around and leaning his back against the railing, facing away from the jaeger. He shrugged. "Maybe I don' need to kno' that bad."

You huffed and shook your head. "What's the point of being a pilot for her if you don't actually want to pilot, Hobie?"

"To make sure no one else pilots her."

You clenched your fists. The blood rushed to your ears and you tried to curb your rising frustration with deep breaths. You didn't need to do this again. Not with him. But you couldn't help but— "How fucking selfish is that?"

And, oh, you could see his eyes switch from being nonchalant to a sudden sharp fury. "Selfish?" You'd struck a nerve. "What's fuckin' selfish about makin' sure no one else dies piloting that bloody thing?" His brows were furrowed as he crowded into your space. Luckily for him, you had no problem matching his energy.

"Everything," you spat. "Everything about it is fucking selfish! The entire point of those damn jaegers is to risk our life to make sure that an innocent one isn't taken instead."

That made him turn away from you with a scoff. You grabbed his arm to make him face you again, but he stubbornly kept his face turned away from you.

"If it weren't for those death traps, I wouldn't be in front of you, pissing you the fuck off and pushing your buttons. I'd be dead like every other innocent person who never had a chance against the kaijus! Just because you're scared, doesn't mean that you should stop someone else from being saved."

He latched onto your wrist and you expected him to yank you off of him, but instead he gently removed your grip. Then, with a somber expression on his face, he asked, "You've never drifted with someone before, have you?"

You leveled your gaze at him. “No. Not yet, anyway.”

He appraised you for a moment before flicking his eyes over toward Hellion. “They’ll tell you that your minds become one and you’ll fight in sync and all tha’ good stuff. But,” he hesitated, “they won’t tell you what it’s like being completely connected to your co-pilot. In an instant, you’ll kno’ them inside and out. You’ll kno’ wha’ makes ‘em tick and wha’ makes ‘em break. You’ll be in their head at every moment, you’ll feel ‘em even when ya not in the jaeger.

“I was still connected to Karl when he was torn outta the jaeger. Felt everything he felt. How scared he was. How much pain he was in. All of it. Then there was nothin’. Complete and utter silence.”

He reached forward and tapped your temple. His gaze steeled you where you stood.

“And I don’t think you’re ready for allat.”

You waved his hand away. “We don’t know that.”

He huffed as if he were talking to a small petulant child. “Why’re you so adamant on pilotin’ with me? There’re plenty of single pilots lookin’ for somebody.”

Now wasn’t that an amazing question? Frankly, it was a question you really didn’t want to answer. At least, not in all honesty. “For one, Hellion was the one who saved my life when I was younger and I’ve always wanted to pilot her. For two, I think we’d fight pretty well together.”

“Is that so?” Hobie’s tone was dubious. You didn’t appreciate it.

“Yes, that’s so. Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

A small grin danced along his lips. “Not lookin’ at you in any typa way.”

You made an irritated noise in your throat. “I’m serious about what I said before, Hobie.”

He sighed. “I kno’ you were. So was I.”

There was so much you wanted to say in the moment, hoping you’d be able to change his mind, but you rested your case. There was no point in arguing with a brick wall. You tilted your head to look at Hobie, really look at him. “The trials are tomorrow. I’ll be there.” You stepped away. “If you really don’t want to be there, I won’t understand in the way you want, but I’ll leave it be. Okay?”

The two of you stared at each other for a quiet moment before you finally turned and walked away.

That night, you laid in your bunker and wondered if you were truly ready for the vulnerability that came with drifting. Especially with someone like Hobie. The man had set records with his drift partner— his best friend. Their bond wasn’t something that could ever be competed with. Who were you? Some random jaeger technician that dreamed of being a pilot.

You shook the insecurity from your mind. This meant too much to you. This wasn’t just for you. It was for your cousin. For Riri.

The thought of her made you flip onto your side and shut your eyes. Whether or not you cried would be between you and your wet pillow.

The trials were always an exciting event since it didn’t happen very often. People from all over the base would gather to watch the next potential jaeger partners spar it out.

It was a simple concept. First person to four hits won. Although the main goal was to win, the trainer would be watching for compatibility.

You maneuvered your way through the tightly packed hallway. People chatted excitedly to each other, ready to witness whatever was to come. You did your best to ignore them until something caught your attention.

“I wonder if Hobie’s gonna show up—”

“You already know he’s not!”

You felt your lips turn up and you pushed yourself into the sparring room with a little more force than necessary.

It didn’t take long for everyone to get situated around the mat. The room buzzed with anticipation as you scanned the area for Hobie. When you didn’t find him, you did your best to curb your disappointment.

The single pilots all wore a white tank top with a pair of sweats and stood in a row along the side of the mat. Some of them tapped their staff nervously or swung it around to get used to its weight.

The trainer, Jess, stood to her full height. She tapped her clipboard and said, “First up, Miles Morales. Let the trials begin.”

The rounds that followed were impressive to say the least. The single pilots won some and lost some while Jess took notes. Maybe you would’ve been more excited about it if your dream of piloting the Hellion hadn’t been crushed so quickly.

The last competitor’s back landed on the mat with a solid thud and Gwen stood to her full height. Jess gave her a nod before acknowledging the crowd.

“Before I officially conclude the trials, would anyone else like to try their luck?”

A silence fell over the audience and you half considered standing up for the hell of it, however, the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway stole everyone’s attention.

Suddenly, a head full of wicks appeared around the corner and set your heart ablaze. Your pulse skyrocketed as the crowd fell into a loud commotion.

Hobie, on the other hand, looked absolutely bothered that he was present in the first place. He wore a black tank top that stopped right above his belly button and a pair of dark sweats. He locked eyes with Jess who raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oi, mind if I borrow one of them sticks?”

Gwen stepped off of the mat. “Hey, use mine.” She tossed it to him and he caught it with an outstretched hand.

“Thanks, Gwendy.” He gave her a grin before scanning the crowd. “Now, I’m fightin’ one person and one person only. If that’s alright with ya, Jess.”

“I have no objections to it.”

Suddenly, his staff was being pointed in your direction. “I got a score to settle with ya.”

Being put on the spot did a number of things to you, most importantly, however, it put you on autopilot. You wasted no time rising to your feet and marching over to the mat. Pavitr, the sweetheart, handed you a staff.

Hobie scrutinized you as you slid off your shoes and took a deep breath. Then, he gave you a knowing look. “Don’t think I’m doin’ this to be nice. Just provin’ a point.”

The grin that spread across your face was determined. “I’ll be provin’ a point too, m’kay?”

He hummed and swung his staff up to get into position. “I won’t be goin’ easy on you.”

“Neither will I.”

Jess’s voice cut through your banter. “You may begin.”

There were several things you had noted as you watched Hobie pilot Hellion Riser. Appearance-wise, he was tall and lanky, but he held strength in his defined arms and legs. On the other hand, he was reckless, yet every move he made was tactical in the long run.

Your back hit the mat before you could even blink. Hobie’s staff hovered over your face, deliberately making a point.

“One-zero,” he stated and let you get back up.

Another thing you had noted was that he loved to banter as he fought. Though, this match had none of it. It was as if he was determined to show that you two were incompatible— that he wouldn’t allow someone to be compatible enough to be in his head again.

But at the same time, he would’ve proved that point by not showing up in the first place.

You stopped your staff mere inches from the side of his face.

“One-one,” you said with a smirk, then stepped back.

And that’s how the back and forth went. Your staffs would connect with each other with loud clicks and clacks until the other misstepped. That’s how it went until sweat dripped down your bodies and you were getting sick of the other meeting your strikes.

Then, you were tied.

Three to three.

Your breaths were heavy as you waited for the other to make a move. You decided to head in first with a feint to his ribs, but he saw it coming and you barely had time to dodge his staff. It became a frantic tango with the both of you adapting to each other’s next move.

Though, you knew it wouldn’t last long. Hobie was adaptable and could fall into a routine in how he fought. However, along with his recklessness, he thrived off of unpredictability.

Which was how you ended up being flipped over his shoulder and back on your back.

His staff hovered over your face once more. He panted and wiped his forehead. “Four-three. I win.”

There were cheers from the crowd, but you tuned them out as your attention turned toward Jess and the expression she wore on her face.

In all your days at the base, you could count on one hand the amount of times you had seen the trainer wholeheartedly smile from pride.

And this had been the first.

Hobie stuck out his hand to help you up and you took it. After he pulled you up, you motioned for him to turn around and he did. You saw him stiffen at the sight of Jess’s grin. Even though the results wouldn’t be posted until later on, somehow you already knew.

The match had only proved your point.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

psssttt, lemme know if yall want another part

I love this little idea hehehehe

#hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #atsv #pacific rim au #across the spiderverse #spider punk #writing

86 notes · View notes

foreverdolly · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 | austin!tex watson x kidnapped!reader

summary: the year is 1969 and you find yourself lucky enough to live up in the hollywood hills, spending your days dancing away to your favorite rock n’ roll vinyls in an old farmhouse and looking after your wild roommates. the only problem? you’ve caught the eye of tex watson. how does he spend his days? making moves towards finally getting everything that he could ever want. you.

pairings: obsessive!tex watson x kidnapped!reader

word count: 16,557

warnings/notes: HEAVY SMUT! serious gunplay, sexy russian roulette, cream pie, breeding kink, marking, claiming, possessiveness, tex literally stalks you, tex then kidnaps you, mention of the manson family, mentions of murder and violence- this is the sexiest thing i’ve ever written, and i will fully finish editing it tomorrow. i’m emotionally drained after finishing this.

masterlist | requests are currently closed for now.

Up in the California hills there sits a small house, nestled smack dab in the middle of a few sprawling acres of farmland. This is where Tex first saw you.

There’s a long drive leading up to the old farmhouse, and behind it is a small red barn which has faded to a rusty orange over time due to the blinding summer sun. Every once in a while an older gentleman that looks to be in his early fifties will make his way up the mountainside to his little stretch of heaven, the large tires of his wide body chevy truck easily making it over the bumps and divots in the land, so that he can check on his tenants. He’s the kind, homely sort that the Texan was used to interacting with in the south. Watson, who was currently parked on the back bend of the mountain and just out of sight of the house and the main road, watched the older man closely. Tex’s shoulder length hair blew into his face with a large gust of wind, and he was quick to tuck it right back behind his ear, readjusting his cowboy hat to stop the annoyance from happening again.

A gaggle of girls lived in that farmhouse, all appearing to be what the Californians would consider to be hippies. The free lovin’, barefoot walking, rock n’ roll dancing type of gals that Tex had been told to stay away from once or twice. Of course, these types of girls were the kind that Charlie seemed to like the most.

The older landowner seemed to have no reservation about their scantily clad forms or the fact that three out of the four of them smoked like chimneys. The man would always climb out of his truck and head to the side door that was connected to the kitchen, and then you would duck your head out with a smile and beckon him in. Tex had been watching that house of yours for what seemed like days, but had really been weeks. Charlie had said in passing that he had seen a car full of pretty girls that might want to come stay at the ranch, and had given Tex the task of extending the invitation. What the “prophet” hadn’t expected was that the tall, lanky boy might grow fond of one of them.

It was impossible to deny your charms, even from a few hundred feet away. You’d dance to your records like no one was watching, your head thrown back as you loudly sang the lyrics to your favorite songs. It was obvious to him, even after the first few hours of watching you through the windows of the house, that you were the designated ‘mother’ of the group. You cooked most of the meals and cleaned up after the messy hellions with little to no complaints. He supposed that the older gentleman must have been someone’s father, though Tex didn’t care enough to get a very good look at him and his features. Why would he pay attention to anyone else but you? Charlie would ask every other day about the progress Tex was making with talking “the pretty little things down the road” into joining the family, and Tex was guilty of lying about the strides that he was taking to make nice with the group.

Today was just like any other day. The sun was beating down on the brunette and his tanned skin, his sensitive blue irises shielded by the brim of his hat. He was wearing a t-shirt that communally belonged to the family, though it was a size or two too small for him. It must have been one of the girl’s shirts, because it was quite snug. When he raised his arms the shirt would brush up and over his navel, and when his arms were at his sides, like they were now, it brushed against the soft flesh of his stomach. Today's outfit wasn’t exactly appropriate for crouching down in briars. Not even the fabric of his low waisted, boot cut jeans protected him from the painful stick of thorns. Nothing was going to get in his way of getting a good look at you though.

“Thanks for dropping by to fix the sink, sir. I’m just sorry that Debbie was out of the house though. . . I know you don’t get to see her often, Mr Swanson.” You were talking to the old man out on the front porch, opening the screen door for him so that he could make his way down the rickety old steps.

It wasn’t often that Tex got to hear your voice so clear. You seemed apologetic, and from where he stood in the tall brush and thorns, Tex could see that your eyes were soft on the man. Almost like you felt bad about something. The man, who Tex now knew as Mr Swanson, stopped by the door of his truck, quickly waving off your concerns.

“I’ll just see her the next time I swing by. Let her know that I love her though, will ya?” His voice was deep, with a southern drawl that made the brunette feel a sort of kinship. It wasn’t entirely unusual for people to move to Los Angeles from southern states, but it was rare to meet someone with an accent as thick as his own. ‘Tex’ was a nickname he had been given by the group, and he found that he preferred it to his birth name anyway. Texas, they called him.

“Will do. Thank you again, sir.” You made sure to watch the man drive off, staying on the porch until his car disappeared behind a thick patch of trees.

For a second Tex worried that the man might be able to see his car once he got far enough down the mountain, but relaxed when he realized that there were a couple of thick saplings that covered up the car completely. Tex was quick to stand up, clenching his teeth as a few thorns ripped into the skin of his hands as he continued to shuffle through the bushes. Thankfully his cowboy boots protected his lower legs, but the rest of his lithe body was fair game for the sharp weeds.

He watched your form float through the house, smiling softly to himself as you ended up in the kitchen, just as you always did. You were currently stirring away at something in a big pot, and he was sure that you were already getting things ready for dinner. You were kind and thoughtful like that. It was one of the many reasons why he was so enamored with you. He waited a few more minutes, watching to see if there was anybody else in the house. The upstairs lights were all off, meaning the girls probably weren’t in their rooms. You had also apologized about Debbie’s absence, who he assumed must have been the older man’s daughter. Clearing his throat to calm his sudden nerves, Tex walked out from the bushes, over the dirt driveway, and up the front steps of the house. The porch creaked under his weight as he stalked his way up to the front door.

He stood there for a few seconds, his fist raised and hovering over the wooden door. He had come up with a story as a means to get you to trust him beforehand, but a strange sense of guilt had begun washing over him. Tex was by no means a good person. He wasn’t shocked by the fact that he was really standing on your front porch, mere seconds from stealing you away to the ranch. Instead of being shaken to the core by his innermost urges, he had mindlessly acted on them. Now here he stood, right on your front porch. Right where he shouldn’t be. He still had time to turn around. He could have told Charlie that he knew you personally, and felt odd about taking you back to the ranch. The head of the family would have been annoyed, and perhaps Tex would be forced to prove his loyalty, but you would at least be safe and untouched. You were too sweet and pure to be tainted.

Tex slowly turned his head to face the long drive, biting the inside of his cheek as he wracked his brain for some sort of definitive answer. What should he do? The second that he took you there would be no turning back. You’d be forced to stay with him… but wasn’t that what he really wanted? Fate had placed you right into his lap. You were meant for him and nobody else. You gave the lanky man no time to mull over his decision. From the kitchen window you had seen him walking up the drive and decided to investigate.

At first you had been terrified, and rightly so. You rarely got any visitors since you lived so far out in the middle of nowhere, so it was unusual for a man who was around your age to be wandering around on your land. You had placed the wooden spoon down on the counter, shuffling over towards the front door in the hopes of being able to see him through the small windows that overlooked the porch. Sure enough he seemed to just be standing there, his eyebrows knit in concern, his plush lips downturned into a deep frown. It was his obvious distress that made you open up the front door, looking at him through the screen. Little did you know that you would be sacrificing both your safety and your life. He blinked at you, his handsome face hidden behind the shadow that was cast from the brim of his hat.

“U-Uh. . . can I help you, sir?” You asked, trying to keep the fear out of your tone.

You’d recently caught wind of a few recent robberies, and the last thing that you wanted was for something like that to happen to you. The longer that you looked at the handsome stranger, the harder it was to believe that he could be a thief though. You eyed his clothing for a second before finally deciding that he must be one of the girl’s guests. The cropped shirt and tight fitting jeans made him fit in with the sort of crowd that you usually hung around. Without a second thought you swung the screen door open, allowing him to shuffle a few steps closer to you. “Are you here to see one of the girls? They’re actually headed into town right now, but feel free to wait around-” Your heart lurched as you watched him lean against the doorframe, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched you.

No one had ever looked at you the way that he was looking at you in that moment. Sure, you attracted men’s attention, but this wasn’t just a glazed over sexual glance- this man was staring at you almost as though you were his favorite person in the whole world. Like you were some celebrity that he was finally getting to meet after years of idolization. It was wholly unsettling.

“I’m actually not here for any of that.” Your face paled, and all you could do was pray that a robber wasn’t halfway through your open door. “I was actually headed up the mountain to go hiking? But I must have turned onto your drive instead. I’ve got an ole’ piece of shit beater, and it broke down on the way back down the mountain. Can I use your phone, darlin’? Just to call a friend.” His southern accent was thicker than Mr Swanson’s, and there was something about that Texan drawl that disarmed you. It made you feel like he was someone kind and trustworthy.

“Yeah- of course. People get lost up this mountain all the time. Here, come on in.” You took a step back into the house, your mind far from accepting of the possible dangerous circumstances. It was nineteen sixty-nine, so what was the worst thing that could happen? Not to mention that the man looked like he understood the way that you lived your life. He seemed free spirited, what with his outlandish sense of style. “Our phone is right in the living room.” You called out to him, your bare feet creaking on the old hardwood floors as you made your way down the hall. Tex took his time looking around the house, his palms beginning to sweat as he realized how close he finally was to you. He could finally tell the exact color of your eyes, and smell the incense coming off of your long, wild locks. He loved you more than he could express in words.

The rugs on the floor looked handmade, like someone had tied a bunch of silk scarves together. They felt plush under his boots as he made his way down the hall and into the living room. The southerner had spent a lot of time watching you from just outside that living room window. He could see his hiding spot where he stood now, just behind a thick patch of trees and brush, far off from your driveway just in case your roommates got any late night visitors. The house smelled like patchouli, nag champa and whatever you were currently cooking on the stove. Though of course this wasn’t the first time that he had been inside of your home. He had made visits from time to time when no one was home, eagerly shoving keepsakes into his pockets that you wouldn’t miss.

You and your friends didn’t spend much time watching tv, but there was a small television set up in the corner. He could tell that you had quite the record collection, but now that he was finally in the home, he saw that there were crates everywhere. “You like the blues?” He asked, bending down so that he could leaf through a few of the vinyls that you had right beside the telephone. You blinked a few times, almost in shock that he was going through your things before you relented, looking almost shy.

“Yeah, don’t you?” Tex froze, taking a steadying breath so that he could gather up the strength he needed to look at you head on again. You were so beautiful that it hurt him to see you this close up. He didn’t think that it was possible to fall deeper in love with you, but he was. .

“Me? I love rhythm and blues. You’ve got a nice collection here too. I see ya like Neil Young. . . he’s a real nice guy; a buddy of mine, actually.” Tex was stalling, and he knew it. Either he made an excuse and left the house now or he took this opportunity and brought you back home with him. He risked another glance up at your face, tracing your plush bottom lip, and then making his way up to your large doe eyes. Another stab of guilt hit him when he realized just how much you trusted him at this moment. He’d teach you how to protect yourself later, but for now he thanked God for your innocence. You were his sweet, naive baby. He’d take good care of you from now on.

He reached out and picked up the phone, holding it against his ear as he stared at the dial pad. For a few seconds you thought that maybe he was trying to remember the right number, but there was something blank in his stare that made you begin to feel uneasy. Unsafe. Your heart picked up, pounding away in your ears as you shuffled in your spot, trying to soothe yourself by running your foot along the shag rug you had set up in the living room.

“A-Aren’t you gonna use the phone?” You finally asked, motioning to it with your hand.

Before you could drop your arm back down to your side he was gripping your wrist, yanking you down towards him. You barely had enough time to scream before you were lurching forward. The phone made a shrill sound as Tex threw the receiver to the ground, yanking hard at the cord to tear it out of the wall. The second that you were on the ground, Tex was moving to straddle you, trying his best to calm you with his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you, darlin’. You’ve just gotta calm down.” He tried, grabbing your wrists in one of his large hands while he fought to tie the phone cord around them to bind you.

Your beautiful features were twisted with fear, tears pouring down your cheeks as you came to the hard realization that you had been betrayed. That you had chosen to trust the handsome stranger and that you had been an idiot in doing so. Tex watched in real time as you realized that your own innocence had been your downfall. He wanted to tell you that he wanted you to hold on to those rose colored glasses of yours. The hurt that he saw in your eyes made him want to stop what he was doing, or even turn the gun that he had burning a hole in his side on himself. He was hurting you. Tex was hurting you.

The fear felt like it was going to eat you up alive. You could barely fill your lungs with enough air to keep yourself conscious, your loud sobs and screams tearing up from your throat only to be muffled by his hand. The stranger allowed you to buck and kick from underneath him, his hips moving with your body almost as though you were a bull trying to catapult him off. He must have had a lot of experience riding horses, because he stayed anchored to you, his solid weight crushing into your much tinier form. The long haired man flinched when your small foot made contact with a lamp on a nearby table, listening to the glass shatter behind him.

“You’re evil!” You bit out at him, briny tears slipping past your lips and into your mouth.

“Pure evil. Practically the devil. But I’m an angel where you’re concerned, so you better stop tryin’a kick’ me or else, lil lady.”

Still, he kept trying his best to shush you, whispering sweet nothings to you that you weren’t quite ready to hear or understand. Finally, after what felt like hours of tirelessly trying to fight him off, you succumbed to your aching muscles. You sucked in gulps of air, shaking like a leaf as he smoothed your hair off of your sweaty forehead, cooing to you gently.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, pretty girl. I’m not going to do anythin’ bad to ya, alright? I just want ya to come home with me.” And then it all made sense. Things started to click into place.

You’d felt like someone had been watching you for weeks, but any time you looked out the window or flicked the porch light on there would be no one there. Your roommates had tried to tell you that you were being paranoid, and while a part of you wanted to give up and tell them that they were right, you had known that something just wasn’t right. You didn’t want to ask him if he had been watching you. You were too scared to hear him say it- not like you needed to hear the answer anyway. You already knew. Deep down you knew that he had been trailing you for weeks. For what purpose? You weren’t quite sure of that yet.

You pressed your cheek against the carpet, closing your eyes tightly as he slowly climbed off of you. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to hurt yourself with all of the glass on the floor. He hovered above you for a few seconds, making sure that you were done putting up a fight before breezing through the house, acting almost as though he owned the place. If there was ever a time to try and get up, now would be that time. You refused to die without putting up a fight. So once he was off of you and looking around the house, no doubt for something to probably tie your legs up with, you fumbled to sit up, pulling at your arms with all of your might. The plastic wires didn’t bend or break at all, and so you were left to pull yourself up with great difficulty, hissing softly in pain as broken pieces of glass embedded themselves into your bare legs. You were tired, terrified, and now injured. This didn’t stop you from stumbling up and onto your feet, breathing heavily as you made your way down the hall as quietly as you could, the front door in sight. Maybe you could run down the driveway and out onto the road, praying that someone in their car might see or hear you screaming for help. It was worth a shot. You’d almost made it to the screen door when you heard a very soft clicking noise directly behind you. You’d heard the sound in enough western films to know that it belonged to a weapon. Specifically an old revolver. Something with enough power to blow a hole straight through you.

“I was tryin’ to be nice, honey. Now I know you’re not the type to go ‘round takin’ advantage of others kindness.” Kindness. You heard his voice right behind you, your muscles tensing as you realized that the only chance you had was now gone. This was it. Either you died right here or did as he said.

Of course you didn’t know that he was madly in love with you. How could you know that? The gun was merely a prop, something that he had brought to scare you, and if there happened to be a confrontation at the house while he was getting you, he would use it to protect both you and himself. Even if you managed to run out of the house, he would have never shot you. Not in a million years. You could do anything you wanted to him, and he still wouldn’t raise a hand to you. Besides, even if you somehow managed to get yourself free, Tex knew that he could outrun and overpower you in seconds. You had absolutely no chance of escape. He just needed to scare you enough to get you into the car with him, and from the looks of it you seemed to be absolutely petrified already. He watched your legs buckle underneath you, eyes wide and watery as you stared at him.

“A-Are you gonna kill me, sir.” Maybe it was the way you looked at him like he had deeply betrayed you, or the fact that you had tears running down your cheeks. Perhaps it was the way your voice broke as you tried to speak, sounding far more innocent than anything or anyone Tex deserved to put his filthy hands on. Whatever it was, Tex felt like he was going to burst into tears right along with you.

He blinked them away, quickly shaking his head in the hopes of alleviating your fears. “I promise you that I will not hurt you or let you be hurt by anyone else. I just gotta have you, is all.”

Your shaky legs weren’t able to keep yourself up anymore. You were cut up and your muscles felt like jello from all of the constant kicking and jerking from earlier. The pure, unadulterated terror had filled your joints with cement. You had fought as hard as you could, and it still had been nowhere enough. You had seen movies in the past where girls were kidnapped or held for ransom, and you felt horrible now for ever thinking that they didn’t fight half as hard as they should have during those scenes. Because you must have looked the exact same way they did. Kicking and flailing without any real rhyme or reason, praying that your legs or fists might connect with something to make him back off of you. Now here you were, battered and bruised- and the worst part was that it was all your own fault. He really had stayed true to his word. He hadn’t hurt you at all, save for the fact that he had bound your wrists so tightly that it felt like it was cutting off your circulation.

You looked up at him like he wasn’t speaking English at all. To you he might as well have been speaking in tongues. He had to have you? He noticed your confusion instantly. Tex had all of your mannerisms downpat already. You two might as well have been lovers for years. He studied you much like a devout catholic might study the holy bible. Front to back. No page left unturned. Every twitch of your nose, pout of your lips, and twinkle in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him. He wanted to massage the small line that was appearing between your furrowed brows, and now that he had you bound and weakened, he was finally able to. Tex let out a breathy sound that sounded like a sigh of relief to your ears as he pressed his thumb in between your eyes, rubbing out the worry lines that had appeared on your adorably scrunched up face. Your skin was hot, sticky with sweat under his hands. He was practically buzzing as he made the realization that he was touching you. . . touching you so nonchalantly. He’d be able to do this from now on too.

“Ya see… I’ve been watchin’ your house for some time now. I came for Charlie but stayed for myself.” He told you this almost as though he was telling you that it was going to be overcast tomorrow. Not a lick of shame.

At the mention of another man’s name your terror began to mount. Why did he want you? What would you be used for? Were there multiple men in on this kidnapping? Were your roommates in any danger? It was almost as though Tex could read your mind, quickly getting down on his knees in front of you, grabbing your shoulder in one strong hand. You noticed the scratches on them, the veins visible, twisting up his strong forearms. You immediately made the connection to the briar patches in the wooded area around you.

“No one else will have anythin’ to do with ya, alright? Like I said darlin’, i ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch ya.” But you weren’t sure that you believed him.

For a minute or two you both just looked at each other. He was willing you to trust him and you were willing him to let you go. His handsome features weren’t lost on you. Even despite the hell that he was bound to put you through, you couldn’t help but look up at him and see a beautiful face. Pillow plush lips, big blue eyes framed by thick lashes, and a body that both towered over you and easily overpowered you. He had slung you around like a ragdoll earlier. Like you weighed nothing more than a bag of downing feathers.

He was oleander; both beautiful and deadly.

Tex had left you alone for far too long. You had busied yourself with following the shapes and designs of his crumpled comforter with your eyes, hoping that it would fight off the panic and horror that was beginning to grip at your lungs. You still felt shaky, like at any moment you might break down into some unsalvageable fragment of your once carefree self. You readied yourself for the madness, but it didn’t come. No matter how hard you tried to disassociate from your current plane of existence, no relief was awarded. Whatever commune or “family” that Tex had dragged you into was one of labyrinthian complexity. He had parked his rickety car right in front of the farm, which happened to be not far from your very own home. It made you think that perhaps he had seen you driving home one day and had felt compelled to follow you onto your little safehaven of land.

The girls and you had joked about it being your own little slice of heaven. A paradise. All the four of you had to do was look after the land and make sure that no one looted the house. Debbie’s father was a very kind and very rich man who never made a fuss about taking care of all of you. He had been born and raised in North Carolina; a man that had been brought up on good southern values. He loved his daughter more than anything, and so he always saw you as family. You had been there for Debbie when they had first moved to California, a fast made friend all the way back in high school. Your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest, aching to the point where you were sure that it might just pop in your small heaving chest as you began to imagine what Debbie might be feeling right about now. You always took such good care of her. Loved her and your other friends like sisters. They were probably in a frenzy, calling up all of your friends to see who might have been there with you. Who might have hurt you.

All Tex had told you before sitting you down on his bed was that he had to talk to Charlie. Had to explain things to him and then all would be well. That must have been thirty minutes ago now. You had only caught a glimpse of the group of misfits on your way up the stairs to his room. Most of them looked high out of their minds. You recognized that glazed look in their eyes. You were all about people joining hands and living as one, but this wasn’t that. This was something strange all together. This was something so completely other that your brain couldn’t quite define what it was that you were thinking or feeling. All you knew for a fact was that alarm bells were sounding off in your head in a steady stream of white hot noise. You had seen a man that you thought might be Charlie. Three girls were practically laid out on top of him when you and Tex had walked through the front door.. One had been playing with his scraggly hair, the two others rolling what might be a smoke, but you knew was probably dope.

You didn’t tend to judge when it came to couples like that. You’d seen your fair share of “free love” at festivals. Most polyamorous couples stuck to themselves, nothing more than good and honest people who had a little too much love in their hearts. There was something odd about the damn near robotic way the girls were fawning over that man though. Almost like they felt as though they needed to take care of him. Like they were nothing more than servants. Just homely little wives that were born and bred to fuck, feed, and fawn over him. You hoped that this wasn’t something that Tex expected of you. You hoped that in a few days he’d change his mind and bring you back. You already had a speech ready: If you take me back now I won’t tell anybody what I’ve seen or what you’ve done. I’ll just lie and say that I got a bad phone call and had to blow off steam for a few days.

The sad thing was that your friends would probably believe that lie. Your home life has been one of constant disappointment and misery. No one would ever question Tex, and you sure as hell didn’t want to get yourself mixed up with the cops. Whatever was happening on this ranch was bad news. Really bad news.

“Little lady?” Your sore muscles tightened again, wide eyes instantly flashing back over towards the closed door. It was Tex. His accent set him apart from everybody else. Made him memorable.

He looked even taller than you remembered him being now that his back was pressed up against the doorway. He was quick to slip in, closing the door behind him. He seemed happy about something, and it unnerved you to no end. He was smiling at you almost as though he had just won the lottery.

“Charlie said that you’re welcome here,” He purred out, striding towards you confidently before crouching down on his knees, placing one of his hands on your thigh as he spoke, acting as though the two of you had known each other for years. “You’re part of the family now, which means you don’t have to worry. No one is gonna hurt ya or try to take ya from me.”

Your heart jumped, lodging itself in your throat. You felt light headed. His smile slowly fell, his blue eyes rounding a bit as he stood up hurriedly, laying you back against the mattress. His hands shook as he grabbed your calves, situating you on the bed so that he could pull the comforter up and over you. His sheets smelled like fresh ivory soap, sweat and man. Your vision was tunneling and your teeth chattering. What little hope you had that this delusional man would take you back home was gone. No. . . he didn’t look even the least bit nervous about taking you. What timidness he had shown during the drive up to the ranch must have been about whether or not Charlie’s reaction to your presence would be negative. Now that the confrontation was out of the way he seemed fit as a fiddle and right as rain.

“Your lips are turning white. . . y-you okay, honey?” He was rubbing your arms up and down through the fabric of the comforter, your skin pulling uncomfortably at your wrists where you were still bound. “Come on. Speak to me. I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wron-”

It was the utter audacity of the stranger that turned your nerves into rage. You felt it building up, the heart aching sadness morphing into some big, ugly beast that you didn’t recognize in yourself. “What’s wrong? I-I was just attacked in my own home and kidnapped. Now you’ve got me tied up in a house with a bunch of weirdos-” His large hand was quick to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowing on your face before turning towards the door quickly. He must have been nervous of someone overhearing you.

When his friends got their feelings hurt they usually blew the offender’s head off or slit their throats in their sleep. You tried to speak through his calloused hand, but he only pressed down harder, your lips digging uncomfortably into your teeth. His hand smelled of sweat, men's cologne and grass. Judging by his boots and dirt stained pants he had probably been working out in the yard before he had come for you. “Those weirdos have short tempers, darlin’. If someone hurts you. . . then i’ll react with violence myself, and I don’t wanna make an enemy outta any of em’. Do you understand what I’m tryna say?”

You didn’t understand exactly what he was saying… aside from the fact that he had just told you- in a rather roundabout way- that they were dangerous. You tried to calm down, realizing that panicking and yelling wasn’t going to get you anywhere with the man. You took a few steadying breaths through your nose, nodding your head to let him know that you were catching on to the severity of the situation. Slowly he removed his hand, allowing you to quickly lick your lips and gather your bearings. You could taste his salty sweat on your tongue and fought back the urge to spit. When you looked back up at him, ready to question as to what the hell was really going on, he seemed to be distracted with his hand. The very hand that had just been pressed against your lips. You cleared your throat to get his attention, hoping that you hadn’t ended up biting him by accident. He might have said that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that didn’t mean that you believed it. He seemed to be entranced by the palm that had been pressed against your lips. Before you could question him as to what he could be staring at, he brought his palm up to his mouth. You wanted to voice your disgust as you watched him drag his tongue along his calloused skin to lap up your spit.

He let his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he was daring you to say something. It was almost like he wanted to explain himself. You didn’t want to act too shocked. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting some kind of reaction out of you. Now that he had removed the jet black cowboy hat from his head you could see his eyes better. They were as blue as a summer midday sky. They looked startlingly bright against his sun kissed skin. You needed to avert your eyes away from his face, especially since he was still licking at his palm, seemingly to get every remnant of what had been left over from your mouth. The heated eye contact that he was making with you whilst doing that had you nearly shivering as a result. It was startling. Grotesque. He was staring at you like he wanted to devour you. Like he wished it was your own mouth that he was lapping at instead. Or maybe even. . .

You tightened your thighs on impulse, blinking wildly to rid yourself of the image that your panicked brain had conjured up.

“W-What is your name?” You needed to work your way from the ground up, you could tell. He wasn’t about to volunteer sensitive information straight away. At least. . . you didn’t think that he trusted you that much yet.

His face fell, his hand falling limply on top of your legs as it finally dawned on him that you didn’t even know his name. You really did no nothing about him. How ridiculous it was of him to forget. “Tex. Tex Watson.” He cleared his throat before letting his eyes bounce around the room, his cheeks getting a bit pinker as he continued. “I-I mean people call me Tex. I’d prefer it if you called me that too.” Which meant that Tex probably wasn’t his real name. Ah- there it was. The shame in his eyes. The sudden realization that you knew nothing about him, yet here he was, talking to you like you were long time lovers. Touching you like it was all he had been doing for years.

The self reflection was gone just as soon as it had come though, a gleeful damn near smirk soon pulling at his lips. “Ask me anythin’ you want.” Perhaps he wanted you to ask about the happenings of the ranch. Maybe he enjoyed the fear that it was instilling in you.

“What is this place?” You tried to keep your voice steady and school your face into an expression of slight indifference. If he was just playing with you like a cat would a mouse, the last thing you wanted to do was give him what he wanted. Maybe he would kill you quicker if you helped him play out whatever sick fantasy this was, and you couldn’t have that. Still though, you couldn’t help but find his behavior out of the ordinary for someone who might just want to kill you. No matter how terrified you were, you were beginning to believe him. He wasn’t going to kill you. He just wanted to keep you. Stare at you. Possibly even love you. It was odd, and to your sane and sound mind this was the farthest thing from normal, but if you had any hope of getting out of here alive and in one piece, you had to play along.

“We call ourselves a family- one that you’re now’a part of,” He placed a hand on your cheek, and you couldn’t keep yourself from flinching, your body giving in to it’s natural instinct to evade his touch. If he noticed he didn’t seem to mind. He ran his thumb against your cheek, marveling at how soft it was. He was beginning to feel a bit more greedy with his touches. “But Charles looks after all of us. We have a divine purpose on this earth. You do too. I knew it from the very first second that’a laid eyes on ya. Ya were destined to be my wife.”

You found out a lot about the family and it’s dynamic. Charles was the leader and they- the people that you had seen downstairs- were his followers. Most of the women in the family were romantically involved with the man in charge, and they called themselves his “wives”. The more Tex spoke, the faster you realized that this place was less of a group of friends and more of some sort of a religious cult. They seemed to believe that it was their duty to help and bring on the apocalypse. From what you could remember of the countless brainwashing bible camps that your parents had forced you to attend, the apocalypse was supposed to not only be the end of the world as everyone knew it, but the end of the human race. No one evaded death. The good went to heaven and the bad suffered and went to hell.

Did this mean that Tex and the rest of his “family” members wanted people to die? Did they do any killing? It was all very strange and very confusing. You pried a little bit more about Tex and how he fit into the hierarchy of the family. He seemed to be high up on the totem pole, stating that the only person that he answered to was Charles himself. You asked whether or not he had any other wives, but he was quick to try and “alleviate your fears”, letting you know that he strictly practiced monogamy.

You asked him questions until the sun set behind your beloved mountain, the two of you now talking in a dark room. He offered to feed you, bringing back a plate of dinner that one of Charlie’s “wives” had prepared for the entire ranch, but you declined. You were positive that if you tried to eat anything that it would come right back up. He had hesitantly accepted the fact that you were in no state to eat, finishing the plate of food himself.

Getting to know Tex did nothing to deaden your fears. If anything, you felt terrified for your well being far more than you had before. He was absolutely unhinged, but the fact that his friends were ten times worse was crystal clear. As long as you laid low in the house and stuck to Tex like glue, it sounded like you would be able to slip right under the radar. There was no way you were going to get off of the ranch by yourself, so you needed help. You needed Tex’s help to do that, so you needed to get on his good side sooner rather than later. You couldn’t afford to have a mental breakdown- not yet at least. You could scream and cry after you were home safe.

After he had told you his entire life story he seemed content enough to place his hands on his knees, standing up with a small groan before heading towards the ensuite bathroom. Being left alone, even if he was just in the other room, made your body lock up in terror. You were able to shyly ask him through your nervous cottonmouth whether or not he’d be willing to let you sit in the bathroom with him. He seemed to hesitate but gave in regardless. It wasn’t until the both of you were standing under the bright fluorescent lights in the bathroom that he finally realized how horrible your bound hands looked. They were practically white from the lack of circulation. “God damn it, baby! Why didn’t you tell me ‘bout this?” He was quick to exclaim, hurriedly reaching into the back pocket of his pants and pulling out a pocket knife. You were unable to keep from letting out a small shriek, backing up against the bathroom sink as tightly as you could. He threw his free hand up in what seemed to be exhaustion and annoyance.

“I just rattled on for ages about how I was meant to marry ya, and you think imma hurt you? Stop fussin’ so much, alright? You’re safe. I’ve got ya. I have the means to protect ya, so nothin’ is gonna happen.” With that being said he closed the gap between your bodies, shoving the knife under the tightly wrapped cord and pulling, hacking away binds.

The second that the blood started rushing back to your hands you felt a sharp sting. You flinched and tried desperately to get your fingers to move. Tex closed the pocket knife, shoving it back in his back pocket before reaching out for your hands, rubbing at the sore skin with his thumbs. It felt like you had ducked your hands into a pocket of spiders, your nerves twitching and coming back to life. After making sure that you were alright, Tex stood up a little straighter, nodding his head towards the bathroom door.

“I don’t like threatenin’ you, honey, but you need to know that if you leave this room without me there will be consequences.” His hands moved to his shirt as he spoke to you, slipping it off without any hesitation in front of you. You were quick to avert your eyes as his hands moved down to his pants, biting down on your lower lip as you tried to keep yourself from screaming yet again. How could he ever think that this was normal?

“You can look if you want,” He was still standing right in front of you, his deep voice still sounding just as close. “It’s all yours.”

It’s not like you had never had sex before, but it was infrequent enough for the shame of this entire situation to redden your cheeks and ears. Your roommates weren’t opposed to sleeping with friends or strangers on a regular basis, and while you never judged them for what they did, you weren’t the kind of person to involve yourself with someone you didn’t know well enough. You half expected Tex to try and coerce you, but the second he saw the look on your face he turned the shower on, climbing in and closing the curtain tight behind him.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have undressed in front of ya. That was wrong of me.” That was the most regretful that you’d heard him sound this entire time. “I just. . . I just love ya so much. It’s very hard to control myself, but I will. You don’ have to be afraid of me.” But you were. Terrified. Petrified even. You didn’t answer him.

“I know that eventually you’ll come ‘round. You’ll see. You’re mine and I’m yours, and isn’t that how it’s supposed to be between a married couple?” You had dropped your head into your hands as you sat down on the counter, your feet dangling above the floor. You didn’t have the energy left to be shocked.

“Married?” Your voice came out more even than you expected it to.

“Spiritually, at least. We’ve been tethered since our very inception. That’s what Charlie told me at least, and I believe him.” But you sure as hell didn’t.

Much like you had done with the comforter just hours ago, you laid awake on your back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. You tried to find any cracks or imperfections with your eyes, making unnecessary note of each one. Tex, though he had stayed true to his word the entire night and hadn’t hurt nor forced himself upon you, had insisted that you sleep with him in his room. He had given you space, scooting back far enough on the bed to where only your feet touched under the blanket. You’d be lying if you didn’t think about making a run for it, and he had made sure to let you know that staying with him would be safer than running into his friends downstairs. It wasn’t exactly a threat, but sure as hell felt like one. You hadn’t been able to fully relax until you heard his breathing even out, risking a glance over at him once you were absolutely certain that he had fallen asleep.

Once again, the duality of him was on full display. It was difficult- damn near impossible- to imagine someone that looked like he did to do such a thing. How could he kidnap anyone when he looked like an angel? He had held you at gunpoint not even five hours ago, yet here he was, lashes gently fluttering as he dreamed. The gentle slope of his nose was nuzzled against his dark green pillow case, and the hair that was still wet from his shower was sticking to his cheeks. Now that his blue eyes were closed you were able to see just how thick his lashes were, even in the pale moonlight. The worst part was how innocent he looked. You hated him, but there was a small part of you that didn’t want to.

Was the crime that he committed a good indication that he had mental health issues? Was he someone that should be pitied rather than detested? Still, he was articulate and had a way with storytelling. He seemed intelligent and calculated with his thoughts and decisions.

You spent the rest of the night like that, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come up with excuses for his bad behavior. You had drifted off a few times, but startled awake whenever you felt his large body shift closer to yours, unused to sleeping next to someone. Your body was on high alert, sensitive to everything around you.

These anxieties bled into your daily life on the ranch. The more days passed though, the less afraid you were that you were going to be hurt. Rather you became hyper aware of Tex rather than just the things around you. Tex’s friends didn’t seem very interested in talking to you, not even during dinner.

Their loud voices blended in with the constant music pouring out of the media system in the living room. The Beatles, Neil Young and The Beach boys became the soundtrack to your everyday life. You weren’t mad about the incessant background noise either. It was in the dead of night when no one was awake to flip the vinyl that things got eerie. Silence became your worst enemy. You’d wake up in the dead of night to the dull crackling downstairs from the speakers, all of your newest fears at the forefront of your mind. Tex got closer to you as the days passed. He was testing the waters and chipping away at your resolve. You’d lost the fight that you once had, so you no longer pushed away his arms when he pulled you into a hug. He loved to be touching you at all times. Whether it was him brushing his hand against yours, placing your thighs over his lap when the two of you were in the living room, or even pressing his nose against the back of your head as you both slept so that he could breathe in your scent. You’d never had a serious boyfriend in your life, and to be touched constantly at all hours of the day made you feel confused and conflicted.

It also didn’t help that Tex wasn’t exactly a monster. He had asked to kiss you a few times as the days passed by, and all it took was a shake of your head for him to give up. Anything farther than fleeting touches were off limits to him. Even when you felt his hands shaking with need as they brushed over your thighs, he never pushed you. He never took too much from you. It was easy to fall into a pattern of monotony. Tex would wake up early to feed the animals, letting you sleep in when exhaustion was still melting you into the mattress. Then breakfast was served, oftentimes you helped the other girls wordlessly. You used to cook for your girls everyday, so the task made you feel normal. Like your life hadn’t just been torn from you. Then you and Tex would drift into the living room and listen to music with Charlie and the rest of the group. The way that they all spoke to one another just seemed like a close knit group of friends shooting the shit to most, but you knew that there were secret codes and heavy meanings between each nod of their head or odd hand movement. Tex might have loved you, but that didn’t mean that he planned to tell you everything about his life.

The group rarely called you by your name. They’d assigned you little nicknames, which was supposed to make you feel more comfortable around them. Tex also had a habit of referring to you as “the ole’ lady”, which you didn’t hate half as much as you should have.

“Why are you so against me dyin’ my hair?” He spoke up from his spot on the corner of the tub, picking at a small hole on his bell bottoms as he waited for you to get started. He had been wearing the same shirt that you had worn yesterday before he had shrugged it off and over his head, not wanting to stain it. That was another thing that made you homesick. The group liked to share clothes.

You were clutching the bottle to your chest, glaring at the back of his head as you tried to come up with an answer. “I just don’t think black hair is going to look good on you, is all.” You grumbled, quickly evading his eyes as he turned his head to face you with a smirk.

“So. . . what yer’ tellin’ me is that’cha like my natural hair color? S’ that it?” Damn him and his dumb accent. Damn him and his big blue eyes. Damn him.

Instead of answering you simply reached out, giving his hair a quick tug. You were trying to be mean to him and to get him to stop his teasing, but you being the one to initiate the touching must have caught him off guard. He let out a loud yelp, the sound echoing around the tiled bathroom. A few seconds afterwards you heard a shuddered breath slip past his lips, and the sound made you clench your jaw. His hands moved out to grip the sides of the porcelain tub until his knuckles were white, the muscles of his bare back tightening. There it was again. The tension was often unbearable between the two of you. Your passionate distaste for him had shifted into a passionate “something”. You just couldn’t pinpoint what it could possibly be. What it could mean for you. The fact that you could even tolerate the asshole wasn’t right. It made you think of your mother, who loved your father despite the constant hell he put her through.

All men had ever done was disappoint you and let you down. Tex, while he had done something awful to you and had hurt you, was always so soft with you. He did things without having to be told. He looked out for you. He tucked you in at night. He looked at you almost as though you were the only woman on the entire planet. He couldn’t get enough of you. He never stopped telling you how much he loved you, and you believed him. Maybe you were just as sick in the head as he was, because you believed that he loved you. When he said that there was no one else out there for him, you knew that he was telling the truth. It was because of this constant attention that you found it hard to deny yourself of the urge to explore. There was this insanely bratty part of yourself that wanted to test him and his devotion for you.

You stared down at his chocolate brown hair for a few more seconds, rubbing your fingers against a few fine strands before saying your final goodbye to his natural color. “Don’t cry to me when you look ridiculous though.” You tried to sound cold, but really just sounded like a nagging girlfriend. He didn’t seem to mind. You could hear him chuckling softly, his eyes glued to the yellow shower tiles in front of him. It didn’t take you long to apply the black dye, tossing the applicator in the trash once you were finished. His sudden urge to dye his hair confused you to no end, but very little of what Tex did made complete sense.

“How long do ya think I should leave this in for?” He finally asked, standing up inside of the tub and stretching out his long arms up and over his head as he waited for your answer. You watched the muscles in his shoulders tense, his biceps bulging ever so slightly with the movement. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you staring, but you turned away from him to wash your hands at the sink before he could say anything.

“Uh. . . probably twenty minutes, I’d think.” You had gotten a few specks of dye on your wrists and palm, and no matter how hard you scrubbed at the skin with soap it didn’t want to wash out. Tex seemed to stain you that very same way. He had tainted you- did something fucked up to your mind, and now you were different. You felt damn near brainwashed at this point. You’d never be the same. He’d stuck himself right onto you, and no matter how badly you wanted him off, he wasn’t leaving.

You scrubbed at your palm until your hand was raw, Tex being the one to walk over to the sink and turn off the water. You dared a glance up at him, looking through your lashes. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion at your odd behavior. You did this every now and again. It was almost as though you were too stuck in your own mind to really understand what was going on around you. This was one of those times.

“You’re gonna make yourself bleed, honey.” He took your palm in his hand, covering it with his unstained fingers.

You dared to look up at him, taking in his face against the black inky locks that hung down around him. You had smoothed the hair off of his face and neck so as to not stain him. You weren’t sure why you had been so gentle and considerate with him, but you had been. You weren’t sure if you regretted it either. He didn’t look half bad with black hair, and that made you want to rub at your skin even harder. If anything he still looked just as great. His eyes were such a vibrant shade of blue now that you found it hard to look away. If someone wanted to paint Tex, all they needed to do was grab a true shade of blue and mix it with a little white- they were so pretty that it was unnatural.

You snatched your hand out of his grip, clearing your throat before backing out of the room. You needed to escape and fast. Something registered in his eyes. They widened a bit, his lips parting in silent shock. You wanted to play dumb. You wanted to ask him what had his stupid jaw on the floor, but you knew that he had made a vital, fucking dangerous realization.

He finally realized that you were attracted to him.

Not just in passing, but as someone that you were beginning to enjoy being around. The kind of attraction that often resulted in dating in the normal, real world. You didn’t want to give him any time to mull over it either. If Tex said something to you, you weren’t sure whether or not you could answer him without sacrificing a vital part of yourself. The part of yourself that had been keeping you safe the last few weeks. The part of yourself that had shielded you from the fact that no one had come looking for you on the ranch. No one probably thought that you were really gone. Was your mother worried that you hadn’t called? Did your father even really care?

You sat in the bedroom alone for the next fifteen minutes, pacing back and forth next to the bed. Now that the shower was running, you knew that he would be unable to stop you from looking through his things. Your fear of being caught had been too great up until this point, but the self loathing made you bold. Most of his drawers were filled with pants, jackets, and shirts. You riffled through them and found nothing out of the ordinary. His bedside table was a little more exciting, but only because you had found drugs. He had a few novels shoved in, along with what you knew had to be tabs of acid. It wasn’t until you ducked your head underneath the bed that you finally found what you had been expecting to find all along.

That revolver along with box after box of ammunition. Your hands shook as you reached under the bed to grab the weapon, swallowing thickly as you held it up in front of you to get a better look at it. This was the same one that Tex had pointed at you the day that he took you. It was odd to see it up close, and even more odd that you were the one holding it. Not once in your life had you ever shot a gun, but you could probably find out through trial and error. How hard could it be, right?

There were other weapons underneath his bed that made your heart pound. Ropes and knives among other things that you couldn’t bear to stare at for too long. But then, further back, there was a shoebox that felt out of place amongst the other things. Setting the gun down you reached out, biting your lip as you dragged it out from underneath the bed as well, looking anxiously at the bathroom door. You were past the point of feeling guilty for prying. You tossed the lid off, your face paling instantaneously. Pictures. Pictures of your old kitchen, living room, and bedroom. You were in every single one, either smiling at something one of the girls had said or busying yourself with a task. Most of the photos weren’t so innocent though. No- There were pictures of you naked in front of your bedroom window, getting ready for bed. Your breasts were on full display as you looked out the window. You remembered those nights. You remembered how uncomfortable you had felt in your own home, almost as though someone was watching you. You tore the photos out, flipping through them with trembling fingers. What was underneath the photos was worse. Ten times worse. A hundred times worse.

Panties. Panties that you had worn and thrown into the dirty clothes weeks ago, only for them to go missing. You let out a small whimper when you grabbed a pair, holding them up in front of you just to check. Just to see if he had done anything. You regretted it the second that you saw the stain. “Oh my god. . .” You threw them back into the box, pushing the pictures under the bed with hurried hands.

There it was. The truth. All laid out in front of you.

Maybe he wasn’t ever going to kill you, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a killer. If the cops came out here looking for him, you were sure that you’d be roped in with the lot of them. You would be seen as nothing more than another one of those hippies that runs off and joins a cult. You stood up and off of the ground, the gun still clasped tightly in your hand. You were shaking so badly that you weren’t sure how you were even able to keep hold of the thing. Has anything he told you about himself been the truth, or had he been lying this entire time? Spinning this huge web of stories just to catch you, waiting until you were completely tangled up just to sink his fangs into you. Were you hyperventilating? Were you crying? You slapped a hand against your cheek, wiping at the soft skin there. Sure enough you were in full blown hysterics.

Here it was. The long awaited mental breakdown.

Had you really been sleeping in a house with murderers this entire time? Sitting at the dinner table and breaking fucking bread with them all? You stumbled over towards the bedroom door, creaking it open to pop your head out and listen out for Charlie and his other followers. Someone was playing an acoustic guitar downstairs, all of them probably reading the bible and coming up with more religious nonsense to fuel their evil intentions. You let your eyes flicker to the bannister just down the hall that led out to the kitchen, trying to map out just how long it would take you to sneak your way through the kitchen door. You’d gone through that creaky door enough to know that everyone in the house would hear it open. You’d have to outrun men who had far longer legs than you. Even with the gun, you weren’t quite sure you could make it down the mountain to your home, or even to the main road.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” You gasped so loudly that you nearly coughed, your heart rattling in your chest as you swung around, pointing the gun out with a trembling hand.

Tex was drying his hair with a towel, his bell bottoms hanging low on his waist, the front unzipped to reveal the hem of his briefs. His plush lips pulled down into a frown as he raised his hands up in surrender. He didn’t look scared. Didn’t look angry. He looked annoyed and exasperated, like he had caught his child sticking their little nose into something that they shouldn’t have. He popped his hip out, putting his weight on one leg as he shook his head back and forth.

“S’ya were goin’ through my things?” He looked around you at the open door, letting out a small sigh before he took a step forward. You put your finger on the trigger as he began walking closer, your jaw dropping as he rolled his eyes.

“Stop! I’ll do it. I-I’ll shoot!” Without a second thought he gripped the barrel of the gun, easily angling it upwards and towards the ceiling as he boxed you in with his tall body, pushing the door closed behind you.

You tried to jerk the gun out of his grasp, but he held on tight, not budging at all. You were boxed in against the door, his hand still pressed against the wood behind you. He leaned in close, his breath fanning over your face as he spoke. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’, lil lady.”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t him mocking you. He was saying that he knew that you didn’t have what it takes to hurt him. Sure, you would have been able to shoot and injure him at such short range if you had the guts to actually pull the trigger. There was a chance that if you had shot him that you might have killed him, but there was also the large possibility that you might have missed. The gun was shaking like crazy in your grasp, never once being aimed at any of his vital points. Factually, if the gun had gone off he might have been fine. He also knew you better than you knew yourself. You wouldn’t hurt him. No. . . no. . . not when you liked him so much.

He gently removed the gun from your grasp, letting out a small sigh as he tossed it onto the dresser with a loud thunking noise. He raked his hands through his soaking wet hair and dropped the towel so that he could give you his full attention. If you had snuck your little ass out of here while he was in the shower? His heart was pounding as he thought about what might have happened. If someone hurt you in the process of your escape, he’d annihilate the entire family without a second thought. He had enough ammunition beneath his bed to start a war.

Because Tex would have rather died than ever actually hurt you. He couldn’t even imagine your pretty little body completely still, utterly unmoving. The mere idea of you dying, even at the hands of fate, had him nearly doubling over. He could see the way that you eyed the revolver that he had on his dressing table. Your overly tired brain was trying to string together some sort of plan to overpower him in order to get your hands on the weapon. He could practically see the cogs turning. Even if you did succeed in killing him, there was no promise that you would make it off of the ranch alive. Tex had already put himself in the line of fire when he had decided to save you. His own neck was on the chopping block now, and he knew with surety that the other member’s of this cursed family were looking for any reason to slit his throat while he slept. Dying for you, especially after all of the wrong that he had done in his life, seemed like a pretty good way to go. If you killed him before he could get you off of that mountain and as far away from California as he could get you, then you’d be next. A simple revolver, buck knife, and whatever else Tex had in his room wasn’t going to save you from Charlie’s wrath. You were severely outskilled and outnumbered.

“How about we play a game?” Tex watched you flinch at the sudden sound of his deep voice, your eyes widening as you watched him cross the room to grab the gun. You were quick to back up into the bedside table, arm reaching behind you for something to grab onto. The sight of him holding the gun so nonchalantly by his side reminded you of just how many people might have met their maker at the other end of that thing. Your breath came out of you in deep pants, your legs growing wobbly beneath you as you yanked up the glass lamp, the plug sparking as it was roughly ripped from the wall.

Tex was quick to hold the hand that had the gun clasped in it in front of you, his fingers off of the trigger. His other arm was out in surrender. He didn’t need you getting glass on the floor unnecessarily, especially if it meant that you might end up cutting yourself by accident. “Hey- hey there, little lady. I’m not gonna hurt you. See?” He opened the chamber, letting the bullets spill out into his hand. The cold metal rattled, and slowly you inched forward, leaning a few inches closer to him so that you could make sure that he wasn’t trying to take you for some sort of fool.

“Look, honey. I’ve taken all the bullets out.” As if to prove his point the man slapped his palm against the barrel, it clicking back in place. He pulled back the hammer of the gun, aiming it to the ceiling. Click. Shoot. Click. Shoot. Click. Shoot. Nothing. No sheets of plaster rained down on you. No deafening shot echoed through the room. He really had removed all of the bullets. He smiled that straight, white smile at you as he watched your shoulders relax. You refused to die here. You couldn’t do it. You were a nervous wreck, your emotions all over the place. You were so used to men treating you roughly. The no good sort of men that Tex made look like babies.

The man standing before you, his newly black dyed hair still soaking wet and dripping onto his shoulders, confused you. It was so easy to despise him. He had stalked you with the purpose of killing you. Him forcing you to come with him up to the ranch did you no favors either. He tried to convince you that you were safe with him, but you could hear the other murderers downstairs even now, their loud whoops and laughter making your chest burn and your blood go hot. It was easy to hate him for everything that he had done. He had murdered people, and you weren’t even sure how many. He had ripped your life away from you in the blink of an eye, and tried to manipulate you into believing that it was for the greater good. What you absolutely couldn’t stand was the fact that it was working. Maybe it was because your past relationships with men had shaped and molded you to be the perfect candidate for manipulation. Tex was a horrible person, and he had turned your life completely upside down without any permission to do so. He had taken almost every bit of your free will from you, not allowing you to make your own decisions.

But no one had ever loved you the way that Tex presumably did. No one had ever looked at you the way that he looked at you.

“What kind of game?” Your mouth felt like it was going numb, your hip still pressed hard into his bedside table, the lamp clutched in your hand.

His blue eyes looked startling against his black hair. It was unreal how vibrant they were. They flickered down to your hand, staring at the lamp before he motioned towards his hand that held the bullets with a nod of his head. “It’s called Russian Roulette. Except this time we cut the bullshit and raise the stakes.”

You knew that if you said no that he would drop the subject. You also knew that, as far as you could tell, that he had no intentions of ever hurting you. “Raise the stakes?” You hated that you were so naturally curious. Your heart was pounding incredibly hard in your chest. You could feel it in your throat.

He smiled down at his boots, trying his best to hide the sly nature of it from view. He knew that he had you on the hook now that you were asking questions. “Each time we pull the trigger,” he popped a single bullet into the barrel. “And the gun doesn’t go off, we take off an article of clothing.”

You hated him.

You also hated the fact that you couldn’t find it within yourself to truly hate him.

Your hands shook as you placed the lamp back down on the wooden table with a clatter, your eyes flickering back up to his. “And what happens once we’re naked, huh? Why not just say that you want to see me naked. You haven’t exactly been a gentleman this entire time.” Your voice was shaking, and he seemed to take advantage of the weak tremor. He knew that all he had to do was calm you down. Lay out the facts all nice and pretty for you so that you can finally make your decision.

“I do want to see you naked.” He didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t shy away from telling you the truth, because there would be no use in denying it. He had already confessed his feelings. He knew that you felt how stiff he was this morning, pressed up against your side. Tex might be a mass murderer, but he wasn’t a fuckin’ liar. There was very little that the blue eyed man hated more than a filthy liar. “But like I said. . . I think it’s about time that we cut the bullshit. I love chasing after you. We’ve got a fun little game goin’, the two of us.” He motioned between the two of you with the gun, his eyes twinkling as he looked at your face. “But I want you, and I know that you want me.” He took a step closer to you, and if you hadn’t already cornered yourself against the nightstand, then you would have taken a step back.

Your hand gripped tightly onto the edge of the table, eyes widening as he crossed the room so that he could stand in front of you. He was so close that your chests were touching. The bullets clattered against the wood behind you, but he kept the gun secure in his hand. “There’s just one bullet in the cylinder.” He assured you, angling the gun so that you could see.

Through all the niceties and gentle touches, you had never stopped reminding yourself that Tex was slightly insane. He had to be a little crazy to join Charlie. This was your first time seeing that part of him. His eyes were wild as they took in the scared expression on your face, almost like he was enjoying your fear. He liked the meek, meager little expression on your face and the way that you had cornered yourself. If only you knew the half of it. If only you knew how turned on he was just by your glassy eyes alone. He wanted to possess you, body and soul. If he could have hollowed out your bones and fit his way inside of them- he would have.

‘Surely,’ He thought as he looked down at you. ‘No one has ever loved anyone else quite as much as I love her.’

“Here, I’ll teach ya how to do it.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, causing you to jump. He could feel your little heart pounding against his side, and it reminded him of a little rabbit. Jumpy, terrified, but just as adorable. “You press this button to release the cylinder,” He demonstrated for you. “And then you spin it. Don’t worry about the bullet coming out. It’s in there snug.” And then he slapped the cylinder back in place, putting the gun in your shaky palm. His large, warm hand swallowed yours up whole as he raised your arm, rubbing your finger so that he could nudge it onto the trigger. “And then you squeeze the trigger.” He raised the gun and your arm up to the side of his head.

You could have vomited, the fear gripping you so hard that you found it hard to breathe. But there was this strange sensation- a heat pooling in your abdomen as you thought about where this all might lead. You could try to convince yourself that you wanted him to die all you wanted, but the gun against the man’s head was a terrifying sight. Being alone on this ranch would most likely have deadly consequences, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the reason why you were so terrified of him dying. The truth was entirely unwelcome: you liked him. God damn it, you actually liked him.

“I’ll go first.” He stated, not a hint of fear in his eyes. He looked at you hungrily, like he could devour you whole. He pressed his finger down on yours, and in turn you were steadily putting pressure on the trigger. You wanted to say no. Wanted to scream at him to stop and that you changed your mind. You couldn’t find your voice. Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

There was a heat pooling between your legs that you felt insanely guilty about.

Before you knew it the trigger had been pulled completely, a soft click echoing around the silent room. He smiled brightly at you, slowly removing his hand from yours. Your arm fell limply at your side, the gun still in your hand. He had just pulled the trigger and hadn’t even flinched. He could have died, and it would have been nobody else’s fault except for his, and he didn’t seem to care. The danger seemed to rile him up.

“Looks like I’m safe.” The jean button up shirt that he was wearing was the first article of clothing to come off. His long, nimble fingers made quick work with the buttons.

You watched as he slipped the faded blue fabric from off of his shoulders, revealing his lean body. His skin was golden from long hours spent outside in the California sun. No matter how skinny he appeared to be in his clothes, you could tell that he was surprisingly strong. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were on full display, his prominent v-line disappearing beneath his jeans. He was beautiful. Truly beautiful.

You hated him for that too.

The gun suddenly felt very heavy in your hand, and you remembered that it was now your turn to go. You brought the revolver up, twisting your hand this way and that to take a good look at it. You wanted to prolong this moment. You needed to calm your pounding heart or else you feared that it might stop all together. People could die from fear, right? You sucked in a breath, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tex made a small noise right across from you. It was a breathy sounding groan that felt so out of place during a moment like this. You let your eyes flicker up to his face, noticing his flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“That gun looks so pretty in your hands, honey.” He licked his lips, motioning towards the gun hurriedly. “Show it to me.” His voice was now barely above a whisper.

You felt confused yet again, his reactions coming across as unnatural. Here you were, standing before him with a loaded weapon, and he was moaning at the mere sight of you. “You’re crazy.” You whispered, your hand beginning to shake as you raised the gun a little more, nearly pointing it at him.

His lashes fluttered as he stared at your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth so that he could bite down on it. You nearly dropped the weapon when you watched him readjust himself in his jeans, your eyes widening as you finally realized that he was hard. He was actually getting off on all of this. You let your eyes drink in the sight of him for a few more seconds. You traced the shape of him through the pants, trying hard not to dwell on the fact that he appeared large, even through the cloth.

Slowly, never taking your eyes off of him, you did as you were taught. Your finger pressed against the cylinder release, gave it a good spin, and then slapped it back into place. Tex seemed tense as he watched the cylinder spin, but relaxed when he noticed something that your eyes didn’t. Your hand shook as you brought the gun to your head and pulled back the hammer.

“You're safe, baby. I wanna see you do it. Pull the trigger.”

You hated that you trusted him so implicitly. You squeezed down on the trigger, squeezing your eyes shut as your heart continued to pound away in your chest. The clicking sound echoed in your ears, your arm limply falling to your side as the damn near euphoric relief spread through you. It fizzled hot in your blood like champaign, setting every nerve ablaze. At the sight of your heaving chest Tex took a step closer to you, reaching out for the gun. He licked his lips hungrily as he stared at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he took in your relieved expression. The flush on your cheeks was adorable. He took the gun from your shocked form, giving you a few seconds to recuperate before he reminded you of the rules.

You just stood there staring at him, bubble gum lips parted as you sucked in air. You looked like a deer in headlights, and he wanted to devour you. The need to touch you, any part of you was overwhelming. It had been for weeks. Some nights he only pretended to sleep, just so that he could press himself against you. Feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest under his hand. He wanted to rip you to shreds only to put you back together again, piece by piece. Tex’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, clenching his jaw as he tried to show restraint. You hadn’t turned him down yet. Not today at least. You wanted this. You were okay with this.

He had you and he was never going to lose you. He’d keep you locked up and tied down if he had to. And if you ever happened to get away from him, he’d find you. Ohh. . . he’d find you.

You jerked back in shock as you felt the cold barrel of the gun press against your belly, Tex using it to push the fabric up. You’d been too busy staring at him to remember the rules of the game. Now it was your turn to remove something.

“Off.” Was all he said, his eyes burning holes into your body.

You gripped the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head before tossing it onto the ground. You wanted to hide yourself away from him once you realized that you weren’t wearing a bra. You started to cover yourself up, but stopped as Tex merely shook his head. Don’t hide from me.

It was nothing he hadn’t already seen though. The pictures.

The reminder of them made your stomach tighten, the heat between your legs becoming more prominent. Your face heated up in shame as you finally gave in. You surrendered to the full truth of it all. You couldn’t hide or run from it any longer. There was no escaping it anymore.

Tex’s devotion turned you on. Tex’s obsession made you feel loved and taken care of and you wanted to fuck him. You’d been attracted to him this entire time, too blinded by your own fear to realize that you were fucked up enough to develop feelings. Maybe it was familial trauma. Maybe it was all of the bad dates you’d been subjected to. Or maybe it was just you. Either way, there it was. All out in the open for you. You weren’t nearly as insane as Tex. You were no killer. You didn’t have it in you to hurt a fly, but his hands were capable.

He was big and strong. He could protect you. He was begging to let you relinquish your control and let him look after you. You’d never been looked after in your life, and yet here he was, looking at you like you were the messiah. You watched those big, capable hands clench into fists as he took you in. He was trying not to touch you.

“As soon as you give me the word. . . i’m going to eat you alive.” Those blue eyes were pinning you down, narrowed and heavy and so full of adoration.

You could feel your slick already pooling in your underwear, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second as you tried to ground yourself. You had to stay steady. You had to play this game with him for just a little longer. He was practically vibrating with need and you wanted to test him. Wanted to see him fall apart before he absolutely destroyed the last bit of sanity you were clinging to.

He pressed the button, spun the cartridge all while watching it closely and then slammed it closed. He pressed the barrel right back up to his temple, pulling the trigger without flinching. Without blinking.

“Are ya gonna let me have it?” You couldn’t fully process what he was asking you, just that his accent was sexy and his voice was so deep that it was vibrating in his chest.

“H-Have what?” You licked your lips, not missing the way he followed your tongue with his eyes.

He might as well have already been inside of you. Your knees were already starting to buckle and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Your body,” He handed you the gun, pulling his already undone jeans off of his legs. “I already own your soul, but I want it all. I want ya so bad that I nearly came in my pants just seein’ your tits. So are ya gonna give it to me now, or are ya gonna make me wait longer? Cause I can’t take it anymore, darlin’. I can’t keep lovin’ ya the way that I do and not fuck ya.”

Your eyes flickered back down to his crotch, your mouth filling with saliva as you noticed how hard he was. You could make out the exact shape of him, his length uncomfortably trapped beneath his tight briefs. He was gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.

And you didn’t answer at first.

Instead you just played the game. You pressed the button. You spun the cartridge while he watched closely. You slammed it back in place and then you pressed it against your temple. “Let me touch you. Fuck. . . Please let me just touch you.” Click.

You tossed the gun onto the bed, unbuttoning your own bell bottoms and pulling them down and off of your legs. You kicked them away from you, nodding your head towards the gun so that he would feel inclined to continue himself. He was in disbelief. Not only were you playing along but you seemed to be liking it just as much as he was. How could someone be as perfect as you were? How could you be real? He scooped the gun back up, knowing that there was just one more thing he had left to take off.

“If I take these off, will you add them to your little collection?” His eyes flickered down to your panties. The pretty pink bow. The lacy red fabric. He turned his attention towards the other side of the bed, realizing that you must have seen every secret that he kept hidden in his room. This turned him on even more. His hips involuntarily jutted forward, meeting nothing but air.

“F-Fuck. . .” He didn’t have words. He wanted to tease you and make it harder on you, but he could barely function. He was beginning to get scared that if you did let him touch you, that he might hurt you. He might lose himself completely. Tex didn’t mind though. You owned him. He was all yours.

And so he went through the motions one last time. Button, spin, and shoot. He watched to make sure that he was safe from the bullet, pulling the trigger that one last time. He didn’t let go of the gun this time when he shrugged off his underwear, his cock springing loose. He watched you take him in. You drank in the sight of him, the poor thing practically throbbing with need. He was bigger than anyone else you’d ever been with, and a part of you worried whether or not you’ll actually be able to comfortably take him. His angry red tip was weeping with pre cum, his underwear slick and stained with it as he licked it away from him. That was all it took.

“Please.” And your voice sounded so small. So pathetic. So broken.

He lurched forward, his muscles already tense and ready to attack. His lips pressed against yours so hard that you thought that your top lip might be bleeding. The free hand that wasn’t holding the gun gripped the side of your head, holding you to him as he forced his tongue into your mouth, his teeth gently knocking against yours as he opened his mouth to absorb your shaky breaths. Your mouths moved in sync, his lips as pillow soft as you expected them to be. He smelled so good fresh out of the shower, his warm hands all over you, cold drops of hair falling onto your shoulders as he pressed your bare chests against one another. He couldn’t be close enough. You bit his bottom lip, your eyes fluttering open just so that you could see him only to find that he was already watching you with half lidded eyes. He moaned into your mouth as he realized that he had been caught. The guttural sound, the smell of him as well as the way that he tasted was enough to make you bite down harder on his lower lip, his hips jerking forward as he grunted in pain. You could taste blood.

His blood.

You licked that up to, hands gripping at anything you could reach.

You felt something press into the hem of your panties, shivering against the cold metal as he brought the gun down further and further. He pressed the barrel against your heat, rubbing and nudging, stimulating you. You gasped loudly as you became aware of the fact that he was touching you with the gun. He stopped his movement against your clit only for a second, using the gun to slip your panties to the side. You felt it now against your bare skin, sliding against your soaking core.

“You’re so wet… are you turned on by this, darlin’? Are you just as fucked up as I am?” All you could do was moan, letting him hug you tighter against him as he spoke into your hair. “I’m gonna fuck you and make you mine. Rub my cum all over you, that way everyone will know you belong to me.” You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his stumbled chin as you began working your hips against the gun.

“So needy. You wanna be filled, honey? Want me to fill you up?” You could feel the barrel of the gun stretching you as he pushed it further and further inside. He was fucking you with a gun.

This man was fucking you with a gun.

You mewled as you moved your hips, your legs buckling beneath you as he continued his attack. Again and again he pushed it up inside of you, watching your face intently as he held you closer against his chest. He held up most of your weight as you leaned into him. He loved seeing your soft features pinched, eyes pinched shut, hips moving against his hand in a desperate search for release. He needed you. Needed you now.

Inside inside inside.

He tossed the gun somewhere onto the bed, his hands shaking like a mad as he tore the panties down your lips. You heard the fabric tear in his haste, already crawling onto the bed in an attempt to have him in you. You couldn’t deny him anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself.

“Oh god, I love you.” He thrust in, not giving you even a second. Not letting you take him inch by inch. He was ripping you apart. Stretching you out. Molding him to the shape of his dick. You cried out, moving forward as if to get away from him. The pressure in your abdomen was insane. You could practically feel him in your stomach. Your attempts at escaping him only spurred him on more though, his hips slamming into you, making you take all of him. Forcing you to take it all.

And you wanted it. Every inch.

The pleasure and pain all blended into white hot passion. It was impossible to deny the chemistry between the two of you now. There was no getting rid of it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck my cum so deep inside of you. Do you want me to get you pregnant? Fucking ruin you so that you’ll be stuck with me.” And you didn’t know why you were nodding but you were. He was just fucking into you so well, hitting that same spot inside of you again and again. The spot that had you seeing stars.

His hands moved up to your breasts, his touch so hot that he was practically scalding you. His fingers pinched at your nipples as he continued to point into you. The pleasure was too much. It felt too good. All of this had been building for weeks now. It was almost as though all of that had been foreplay. Every touch. Every heated stare. All of it.

“Say it. I wanna hear you tell me that you’re mine.” He was talking through clenched teeth now, still slamming into you. He yanked your head up by your throat, wanting to look in your eyes. Wanting to see your lovely lips shape the words.

“I-I’m yours!” His hips stuttered, his loud moan only spurring you on. “I’m yours Tex. All yours. Please- please!” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for. The pleasure was building though, ready to snap.

“Give it to me. Cum- I want to feel you milk my cock. That’s a good lil girl. Come on.”

It was at his urging that you let go. Almost on command. Your muscles tensed, your eyes rolled back, and you could barely breathe. You must have called out his name. Must have screamed because he was fucking you even harder, panting in your ear as he pressed you down further into the mattress.

“That’s it, honey. Keep sayin’ my name. I want everyone downstairs to hear. Fuck, don’t stop.” So you didn’t. He ripped the orgasm straight out of you, chasing his own like a madman.

He came with something akin to a roar, his sweat slick arm wrapping around your throat, cutting off your airway as he hugged you tighter to him. You could feel his length twitching inside of you. Pumping you full. Giving you every drop. He fucked you through it, pushing the cum in as deep as he could.

He stilled after a while, gathering himself for a second before he pulled out, resting his hand against the mattress as he climbed over you on top of the bed. He was still panting hard when you finally found enough strength to turn over and face him.

He was back to looking like an angel again.

Wet hair sticking to his sticky cheeks, lips red and kiss swollen, and eyes glassy. He looked at you like you were God. And to him you were.

Your love was like god. Wholly. Infinite.

And all his.

special special special thanks to my sweet lil sluts. once again, they assisted emotionally with this fic and even beta read a few chunks! I heard russian roulette with tex and here it is. . . @babylovepresley @powerofelvis @ggwritesstuff @woundmetender @eliseinmemphis @polksalademma @flwrs4aust @headfullofpresley @cryingabtab @austinbutlersbaby @lindszeppelin @rosaminny

@knoxvillesshoes@cosmorant@ol1viam@simply-sams-things@haim80s@gabbcabb@8hgel@slutt4him@busy-bee-angel-misska@kaitaesupremacy@dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss@cryingabtab@kittenlittle24@austinsrealgf@austinbutlersgirlfriend@clearbolts @dark-as-love@anni-secret-account-75@ab4eva@starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader@gwuide@blurredcolour@the-little-red-haired-girl@meladollsims@poppet05@shrekstheloml@randomwriter888@idc123sworld@vane28282@mirandastuckinthe80s@girlblogger2002@rockerchick05@screechingstrawberrysong@simpforevery1@girlabirla@dre6ming@obetrolncocktails@fairyjanes@jensenswinchester@lo-bells @in-my-body-bag@fxntxsix@petrparkrslut@eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie@fantuhsise@areuirish @bcofl0ve@mslizziesblog@shynovelist@ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic@hangmanswhore@jyvnho@mymamalife @melodydior

602 notes · View notes