#this has likely been said thousands of times over the past... 18 years is it? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kthsbelle · 2 years

Text

STRAWBERRY HAIRCLIP 🌸🍓

★ summary: female! reader finds a tattooed stranger asleep on her bed in the middle of her squishmellows at a house party.

★ pairing: college!eren jaeger x soft maths major fem!reader ♡

★ warnings + tags: 18+, college au, tattooed eren, softcore cute reader , eren w a snakebite piercing , thick thigh reader , poetry from eren, smut .

★ wordcount: 3,395

a/n: this is my first fic here ! i read a lot of eren au’s today and this idea suddenly came to mind ! i decided to share . please enjoy !

“ not again…” an exasperated sigh fell heavily from your lips like it weighed a thousand pounds . you were standing in front of your house , a small pile of books you had borrowed from the library squeezed against your chest as you looked at the fluorescent lights peaking out of the windows . the bass from inside your house reverberated throughout the neighborhood , and even from the outside , you could distinguish the faint sound of a pop song .

another college party .

your brother was a heavy partier , but you strongly disliked when he did those at home without even warning you first . you had a throbbing headache from having your nose in books all day , practicing for mid-terms . the last thing you needed were drunk college kids slurring around and music blaring in your ears .

rest , you needed rest .

options - doja cat ft JID

you pushed the front door to your house open and instantly wished you hadn’t . as if it was waiting for a chance to hit you , the sound of music rushed to you and assaulted your ears , making you wince back in surprise . “ im gonna kill this asshole,” you grumbled under your breath as you started pushing past the squeezing bodies that danced in the living room .

you stopped in the kitchen which seemed relatively empty , except for a flury of red hair moving between the fridge doors .

“ sasha ?” you called out over the music . the red-headed girl in question jumped in surprise , her head yanking up to smash directly against the frame of the fridge . the force of the action caused it to shake a little . she yelped out in pain . “ are you okay?” you quickly questioned with your hand slapped over your mouth to hold in a laugh .

“ im good , im good !” she quickly said as she stepped away from the fridge with a bottle of tostios’ spinach dip . “ you’re not here for the party , are you ?” she said , eyeing your outfit with an amused look on her face .

you obviously looked misplaced and you knew it . with your printed , pastel yellow high-waist pleated skirt , yellow oversized ‘ LEMON’ sweatshirt and knee high socks , you rather looked like you belonged browsing an empty aisle in a CD store or at barnes and nobles . – and honestly , you wish you were .

your style has always been the epitome of soft girl core , with small stickers adorning your cheeks and orange blush at the tip of your nose . your requirement was to look like a cute fairy nymph at all times .

you’ve been like this for as long as you could remember and before the trend gave it this name . your brother found it endearing , even though he’d mask it by poking fun at you . you didn’t care though , it gave you comfort .

“ where’s my idiot brother ?” you questioned . watching her prying open the bag of chips and scooping up some of the dip . a lot of it .

“ oh – he’s gone somewhere upstairs with katie “ she paused to swallow, “ you don’t wanna see him now…” she shook her head and you quickly caught on to her suggestion .

“ ew!” you grimaced . the last thing you wanted to think about was your brother…doing it .even though he was two years older and you were relatively close , one thing you didn’t want to know about was...this.

you shuddered softly and stepped forward to make way for the drunk couple that stumbled in with their mouth glued to each other in an intense make-out session . your mouth lifted in an annoyed expression while sasha shielded her face away like she had looked directly into the sun for too long , ‘ gross ! connie i dont wanna see this !’

you laughed softly at these two before deciding that your hunt for your brother was over . you just really wanted to sleep – as much as you could despite the music. “goodnight , sash ! and…connie ?” the last part came out like a question as the man seemed to be too preoccupied by the blonde he was kissing . you smiled at the waving sasha before making your way out again.

you inhaled again before diving back in the crowd , looking to reach the stairs that lead to your room . you got a few stares which you completely ignored , not wanting anything to do with drunk college boys . your eyes stayed focused ahead of you , giving the clear message that you weren’t here to have fun . you balanced the books against your chest as you went up the stairs and into the hallway . the sound of the music was considerably lower , but still bothersome . you walked past a few people making out in the hallway , your eyes focused on your white bedroom door at the end of the hall , holding your breath at the mere idea of finally finding solace – peace in your sanctuary . you lifted your knee to allow one arm to reach for the handle while the books took support against the other arm steadily . you twisted the doorknob and wasted no time to walk in your room , but what you saw nearly made you scream for help .

i was never there – the weeknd

in the middle of all your squishmellows , sprawled out , and in a seemingly deep sleep , laid a complete stranger . he wore black cargo pants , a white shirt and a black bomber . he slept comfortably on his back with a tattooed arm draped over his eyes , glossy lips slightly parted letting air through as his chest rose and fell softly . the shiny metal on his lip caught your attention , and you identified it as a snakebite piercing. the position had allowed his shirt to ride up his hips , the V lines showing a sinful path that curved and dipped down inside his Calvin boxers which were peaking out of his pants . the fairy lights above your headboard shone soft golden orbs on him , painting an ironic picture as he laid against your avocado-patterned comforter . you felt your throat closing , strangely aroused by the scene .

you couldn’t stop the book avalanche even if you wanted to . the book on top slipped out of your grip , dragging down all the other ones with it and they subsequently hit the ground with a loud thud . ‘

“shh ! shh !” you tried hushing the book as if they were alive as you knelt on the floor to pick them up . the sleeper immediately froze at the sound before he quickly sat up , his messy bun almost coming undone at the abruptness of his reaction. he stared at you through confused , tired eyes before realization hit him . “ oh shit !” he croaked out , voice deep from his tiredness as he sank on the floor to help you pick them up .

“ w-who are you ?” you questioned while looking down , feeling the tip of your ears go red . why are you even getting shy ? he’s the one in your room .

“ eren. “ the stranger you know as eren held out a small pile of books towards you . you didn’t look at him directly . “you ?”

you mumbled out your name.

his green eyes peeked at one of books he held and a thick eyebrow scrunched in confusion , “ differential …equations…?” the confusion was evident in his tone as his head tilted to decipher the picture on the book cover . a few strands of hair fell above his eyes .

“ applied mathematics major ,” you answered after having swallowed the ball of anxiety that had settled in your throat .

his emerald eyes widened in surprise before a small smirk lifted the corner of his lips , “ for real ? damn . “ you were used to this reaction . most people thought you studied theater or fashion because you always looked like you could be in a winx club live action .

“you ?” you asked back . quickly taking the books from him and dropping them on your lap , the impact causing your thick thighs to jiggle softly . eren did not seem to miss this action , his eyes lasting a minute longer on the sight before looking up at you . you subconsciously thought of the typical college fuckboy majors; business , or music...

“ literature.” it was your turn to show surprise , and the boy chuckled softly at your expression . you couldn’t help but notice how white his teeth were .

“ah…” was your answer . you wanted to slap yourself for losing your social skills for a minute , but you were just too tired to handle so many emotions and words at the same time .the boy only chuckled in response , his hand brushing back the bangs that only managed to fall over his eyes again . “you don’t seem convinced .”

miss you – oliver tree , robin schulz

“i’m not,” you answered honestly , a small smile of your own dancing on your lips , “ you look like you study…”

“ business ? music ?” he took the words right out of your mouth as he stood up , extending his hand down towards you . you were suddenly taken aback by how tall he was and how he seemed to command all the attention in the room . you blushed when you realized how close you were to his thigh and quickly grabbed onto his hand to stand up , except he pulled you up harder than you expected and you crashed against his chest . the smug look on his face told you he did it on purpose . your chin rested against his chest , slowly assessing the height difference between you two .

for a moment , his eyes seemed to have darkened into something more primal before they softened again , a smirk curling his lips upwards , “ and you didn’t strike me as a maths major either . “

you rolled your eyes , feeling slightly offended . you turned around and stepped out of his embrace towards your desk , suddenly feeling chilly. you knew it was your insecurities hitting at you – people always had a hard time believing you were smart and it pissed you off . however , you had long moved passed this – or so you thought . how did eren manage to set you off so easily ? it wasn’t even that bad .

he felt the cold air coming from you and raised his hand in defense , “ hey , hey . not saying there's anything wrong with that , you know ? i wouldn’t be able to half of what they do anyway, “ a small smile drew on your lips at his attempt to reprimand . “ plus,” he added as you arranged your books on your desk in no particular order to distract you from your wild pulse , “ its ‘cause you’re really cute . in a…forest pixie kind of way…”

love lost – mac miller , the temper trap

a small giggle broke from you , “makes sense . thanks. “ you answered , bending forward a bit to work your sneakers out of your feet while holding onto the table . the cold air hit the cheeks of your ass which was unknowingly protruding out of your skirt and you heard a sharp breath being drawn behind you .

when you turned around , eren almost looked like he wanted to pounce on you . you cleared your throat gently , feeling blood rush to your lower stomach like molten lava .

“ what do you do in literature anyway ? analyze Shakespeare’s attachment issues ?” this ripped a laugh out of eren . his laugh was even more attractive than his smile - it chimed pleasantly in your ear , sounding boyish but deep .

“ good point . but we did study him a lot .”

you arched an eyebrow and smirked , “ what’s your favorite quote by him , then ?” you asked challengingly , not really expecting him to answer . you just wanted to mock how boys challenged you whenever you expressed interest in something unconventional . eren shrugged before lifting his eyes towards the ceiling in a small moment of contemplation.

“ love is not love which alters when it’s alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken.” he finished the last part , teal eyes boring into your soul .” my favorite author is bell hooks , though.” he added with a small smile .

to say that you were taken aback was an understatement . the tattooed stranger that broke into your room just spoke the most meaningful words in the softest , yet firm tone you’ve heard. you wanted him to recite poems to you over and over.

the two of you stayed silent before you looked towards your bed and back at him . “ uhm…what are you doing in my room , anyway ?” you decided to address the elephant in the room which you should’ve obviously done a while ago .

“ oh , uh i was looking for a bed to crash and sober up and your room smelled good ... like strawberries .” he explained and looked at your bed and the array of squishmellows decorating it with a look that seemed endearing . “ not gonna lie , it’s the most comfortable sleep i’ve ever had .” he said and you smiled with pride knowing that you had invested a lot of money into making yourself the softest , most comfortable bed ever .

“ but , i can leave if you want...” his voiced trailed off as if hoping you would say no - which you did . “ i mean you can stay a while more...”

“ hell yeah ! “ he cheered and let himself fall back on the bed which allowed him to bounce back a few times before he grabbed one of your blue axolotl squishmallows and pressed it against his face . you laughed softly , oddly proud that someone loved your bed so much . your friends always loved staying in your room when they came over, but it’s the first time a stranger - who seemed so different from you expressed such content from being here .

you plopped down on the bed and brought your knees to your chest , looking up down at your hands while you chipped away at your pastel nail polish . eren pulled the plush down slowly , green eyes peeking over at you. “what ?” you asked feeling your face heat up uncontrollably. “ you’re cute. “ he simply said with a smirk before looking up at the ceiling .

you bit your lip from stopping your smile from spreading too much . “you’re flattering me .” you replied as you looked down at your thighs which seemed to have been more exposed than you thought . the elastic at the hem of your thigh-highs sank slightly into your skin , squishing it out in a way that seemed more lewd than you intended . you quickly reached to pull your skirt down but ring-covered fingers pressed against your thigh , the cold metals sending chills down your spine as he blocked your action.

“no.” he said in a semi-commanding tone . “ they look great.” you could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked at you and moved his hand away after letting it slide down a bit leaving a burning path from where he touched you .

your heart was beating inside your ears at this point and you needed a distraction . “where are your friends anyway... or girlfriend ?” you bit your lip .

white tee - summer walker

this was a bait to see if he had any girl in his life , which , why wouldn’t he ?

“they’re all drunk and annoying right now...and don’t have one” he answered the last part with a smirk on his lip as he looked at you teasingly , long and thick eyelashes that curled at the corner giving him a gracious aura . “ why ? wanted to know if position was empty? “ he asked in a teasing tone .

“ you’re such an ass!” you whined , pushing him with soft laugh to mask your embarrassment at the fact that you were, in fact , checking. eren chuckled and reached towards your face , pointing at one of the stickers adorning your eyes . you understood that he wanted it , so you pulled a little star and placed it against his hand .eren looked at it like it was the first time he’s even seen a sticker.

a small silence settled between you two as you played with your fingers .

“ what about you ?” he suddenly asked after his silent contemplation .

“ nope !”

“damn...how ?” he asked , genuinely confused and you shrugged in response , “ they’re not business majors “ you replied teasingly which made him release another amused laugh . the vibration shocks throughout your body .

eren looked at you silently , bangs brushing agains his long lashes which clearly annoyed him . he tried swatting them away but it never worked . you giggled softly and motioned for him to come closer to you , “ come here,” you told him as you removed one of the hairclips that held your ponytail .

eren obediently scooted closer to you , resting his cheek against your thigh while his hand palmed at either sides of them . “ is that okay ?” he asked . to have the hottest boy you’ve seen resting on your lap ?

YES , YES , YES , YES !!!

“ sure “ you answered and he simply closed his eyes with a content smirk on his lips . you were ready to combust as you reached down , brushing the soft strands of his dark hair away from his face and slicked it back into his messy bun before sliding the hairclip over it and securing it . you smiled as you looked at him . what a contrast it was - this edgy , tattooed man with a strawberry hair clip in his hair . he didn’t seem to care either .

“i’d eat you out real good right now .” the words he let out almost made you choke on air. he opened his eyes looking back at you and he was dead serious.

the man let out a laugh at your expression before closing his eyes again , his lustful expression suddenly gone like it was never here . “ don’t worry , i won’t.”

you probably looked at him like he grew two heads . you didn’t say anything back , your stomach in knots. he was so hot , it hurt . would you really pass up an opportunity like this ? when the last time you even got laid ? this time by the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on .

“what if i want you to...?” you attempted back , voice coming out small but hopeful .

suddenly the hands that were resting so softly against your thighs tightened their grip and eren smirked at he lifted his head . “good girl” he praised

you gasped softly as he pushed your back to the bed , your cunt throbbing uncontrollably . he parted your legs and knelt between them , his erection pressing against your thigh . he felt so hard . you bit down your lip , feeling your wetness spill out . “ wanted to eat that pussy the second i saw you on that floor...” he admitted , his voice low and guttural . his fingers pulled your panties down and hooked your legs over his broad shoulders . his fingers separated your puffy folds , exposing your pussy completely to the cold air . you bit down your lip , letting out a needy whine causing your tiny hole to clench around nothing and eren nearly felt his mouth water . “shit...” he breathed before sticking his tongue out , letting fingers collect the saliva on them before rubbing them on your bare folds . you didn’t need any lubrification , but he just wanted his spit on you . he was convinced he’d never seen a pussy like this . he was about to dip his head down and eat you like a caveman when you stopped him mid-action.

“eren ?” you asked , blushing beet red . he was confused but paused to listen , hoping you didn’t want him to stop already . “ c-can you tell me another poem ?” the man couldn’t help the smile on his face. “ you wanna be talked to while getting your pretty pussy eaten ?” he mused before nodding, “ of course, princess. “

he dipped down between your thighs , his hot tongue sliding down your folds .

“by my soul,”

his hands squeezed your thighs around his head even more , like he wanted be suffocated . you moaned out at the delicious contact of his tongue gliding down to your hole.

“ i can neither eat”

his lips closed around your clit , his piercing brushing against it making your body jolt on the bed. “eren !”

“drink”

his lips sucked on one of your labia folds before releasing it. “fuck - eren !”

“nor sleep;”

he lifted his head and ran the flat of his tongue against your whole cunt before moving his head sideways to place kisses on your inner thighs , his warm breath fanning soothingly over your skin .

“nor– “ a finger dipped in your hole , slowly thrusting in and out. you screamed his name again, body shaking on the bed, “,what’s still worse , ” he placed another kiss against your pussy ,

“love any woman in the world but her.”

his head dipped down again, and this time, he wouldn’t stop eating you out. you felt pleasure ripple through your body in delicious waves as your eyes closed and you let yourself go . the last thing you saw between your thighs was his dark glossy hair and the strawberry hairclip that held his bangs together .

#belle’s writings 🎧! ♡ ✶ . ࣪ ׅ #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #levi ackerman #aot imagine #attack on titan imagine #eren jaeger imagine #college eren jaeger #eren x reader

12K notes · View notes

precious-little-scoundrel · 7 months

Text

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. 🌹

@eliseinmemphis

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

@goth-cowgirl-03

@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

226 notes · View notes

faerievampling · 2 months

Text

Killing Time

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary: Astarion is alone.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav/Reader

Warning: 18+. Blood and Violence. PiV. Cunnilingus. Handjob. Masturbation. Obsessing over his consort’s panties. Obsessive and Possessive behavior. Heavy trigger warning for Panic Attack & Anxiety. Our vampire lord really going through it.

Link to AO3!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

A/N: yall this one was hard to write and took way longer than I intended, i hope I did it justice. please enjoy <3 I’m hoping chapter 8 will be out soon, I have 4 days off next week (mini vacation!) so I still intent to post chapter 8 this coming week :)

Pic by: @druidess-vp <3

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years.

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced.

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone.

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all, he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup.

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately.

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind.

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd.

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man.

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening cock only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them.

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His orgasm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself.

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back.

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent.

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance.

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin.

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘He will be her new Master.’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you.

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task.

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles.

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav, is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.”

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye.

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color.

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir.

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities.

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours.

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed.

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body.

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face.

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘How rare. How sweet.’

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off. If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you.

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your cunt was sucking his cock in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man.

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below.

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you. Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad.

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s fucked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion.

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #soft ascended astarion #ascended!astarion #ascended astarion x you #ascended astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x tav #spawn tav #lord astarion #astarion fanfiction #vampire tav #Killing Time

66 notes · View notes

sailor-aviator · 8 months

Text

Fool's Fare: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Death of parents, angst, talk of ghosts and the supernatural, Big Brother!Bradley...I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I went ahead and wrote this. I am just as interested as y'all to see where this fic goes lol As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are encouraged and appreciated! I'll be doing Drabble Sunday this weekend to celebrate my first 100 followers! So get your requests ready!! 18+ ONLY!! And you can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The ocean was a deep, terrifying swirl of forgotten pasts and harrowing mysteries. The vicious pull of the waves sending many sailors to their graves for thousands of years without mercy. No, the ocean was not kind. It was the source of life on the best of occasions and cruel and unforgiving on the worst.

Your father had been a sailor. Working for a large shipping company hauling various goods from one end of the sea to the other, he was often gone for long stretches of time. After months of being away, it was always a joyous reunion when he would return. He would swing you up in his arms, twirling you until your little giggles turned into full blown laughter. He would set you back down on your feet and greet your mother with an affectionate kiss to her temple before tugging you both into his arms.

“My best girls are always here to greet me when I get home,” he’d grin. Your mother would hum, running her hands through the beard he’d grow during his time away.

“Come inside,” she’d say, leading you both into your modest, seaside home. Your father would sit at the table as your mother fixed him a plate. He would tell her that he was more than capable of fixing his own plate, but she would wave him off and place the food gently in front of him with a kiss to the top of his head.

One day, when you were a little over four years old, your father had come home from a voyage with a scraggly looking boy who looked to be about twice your age. Your father had been dragging the boy by the scruff of his collar when you and your mother had come out to greet him. The boy had dark brown hair that had been bleached from time in the sun and steady, brown eyes that held steady as he took in the house before him.

“Found this one on the coasts of the Carolinas,” your father had said with a grin, letting go of the boy’s shirt. He stumbled forward, almost falling headfirst onto the ground. He looked back at the older man with a scowl before turning to look at the two of you.

“My, don’t you look a sight?” your mother had said with a small smile as she took the boy in. He puffed out his chest in a bid to make himself seem bigger and your mother had laughed. You took the few, small steps up to him, taking his hand in yours excitedly.

“My name is y/n,” you chirped up at him. “What’s yours?”

The boy studied you with pursed lips.

“Bradley,” he muttered. Your father had let out a booming laugh, causing Bradley to jump.

“That’s the first answer we’ve been able to get out of him since we caught him rifling through our supplies on the ship!” he guffawed. “C’mon now, boy. Let’s go get us some supper.”

And so your family had taken in Bradley Bradshaw as one of your own, and he settled in fairly quickly amongst the rest of you. He would help your mother out with different chores around the house, and when your father was home, he would take you and Bradley down by the docks to teach you the ways of sailing.

“You want to tie it like this, sweetheart,” he’d say to you as he guided your hands on how to move the rope. “It’s one of the most important knots a sailor needs to know. It’s called the ‘bowline.’”

“Like this?” Bradley had asked, holding up his own rope for your father to inspect.

“Atta boy, Rooster!” your father had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Bradley had earned the nickname not too long after he had joined your little family. Your father had just gotten back from another transporting job. He had been woken from his sleep by sounds coming from the kitchen. When he had stumbled into the room, he had seen Bradley already working on feeding the fire for the day.

“The sun isn’t even up yet, Bradley,” your father had laughed as the boy shrunk in on himself. “I doubt even the rooster is awake! Looks like you’re gunnin’ for his job.”

And the name had stuck.

Now, Bradley was more confident in his place within your family. Now, Bradley was much taller and his form was filling out thanks to the many hours spent doing the heavy lifting around your home.

“Keep this up,” your father started, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, “and maybe I’ll take you with me on a job here soon.”

Bradley’s face lit up. “Do you mean it?”

“Let’s see, you're about, what, sixteen now?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley nodded, a smile etched onto his face. Your father nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you should be ready here soon.”

You looked down at the rope in your hands with a frown. “I’ll never get this. Why do I even have to learn this?”

“Because, my little minnow,” your father smiled, “it’s an important skill to know and have.”

“But Mama says that women aren’t even allowed on ships,” you muttered. Your father smoothed the hair out of your face with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s true, women were once considered bad luck to have on ships, and many men still consider them to be so,” he began. “But times are changing, and maybe one day soon you’ll get to set sail with us.”

“Really?” you asked him, eyes filled with hope. He laughed and nodded, turning to look at Bradley.

“C’mon you two. Let’s go see what Mother’s been cooking.”

The three of you trudged up the hill to your home where your mother was already standing outside to greet you. Greeting her with a tender kiss, your father ushed you and Bradley into the house.

When supper was finished and the table had been cleared, you all gathered around the small fireplace. Your father sat in his favorite chair while Bradley and your mother took up the other two. You sat by your fathers feet, resting your head against his knee. The smell from your father’s pipe permeated the room and left you with a sense of fond familiarity as he slowly stroked your hair.

“Papa,” you said, “will you tell us a story?”

“And what kind of story would you like to hear, little minnow?”

“An adventure!” Bradley had grinned. You shook your head.

“No,” you argued. “A ghost story.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, y/n,” the older boy scoffed. Your father hummed with a low chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure o’ that, Rooster,” he smiled. Bradley fixed him with an incredulous look.

“Surely you can’t be serious?”

“As the dead, lad,” your father said solemnly, rubbing the bowl of his pipe. “Ghosts walk amongst the living, as real as you or I. Some even sail the seas, waiting for the day Davy Jones lets them pass into the great beyond.”

“What does Davy Jones even have to do with the dead,” Bradley huffed. Your father arched an eyebrow at him.

“He has everything to do with the dead at sea, Bradley,” he replied softly. “Davy Jones is a powerful man. Not quite human, not quite god. He’s as cruel and unforgiving as the sea, and some even think he was born from the waves that beat against the rocks by the shore. They say his very will controls the tides, and any man foolish enough to invoke his wrath is met with a gruesome fate.”

“Those are just superstitions,” Bradley countered with a scowl.

“You’re free to believe that,” your father began, “but you’d be a fool to. No sailor with a lick of sense is going to take that chance. Davy Jones will come for us all.”

“Why does Davy Jones stay at sea, Papa?” you chirped.

“No one is quite sure,” your father mused. “Perhaps he’s searching for treasure.”

“Would you ever go looking for treasure?” you questioned. Your father smiled.

“I’ve already found my treasure,” he said, casting a fond smile to your mother, who blushed under his gaze.

“Have you ever seen Davy Jones?” you prodded with wide eyes. Your father chuckled, patting your head in reassurance.

“No, little minnow. But those who have are few and far in between. Davy Jones isn’t in the business of letting witnesses stay alive.”

“That’s enough, Maverick,” your mother had chided. Your father had the good sense to look sheepish. Maverick was a name your father had earned during his time at sea, and your mother only called him that when she was cross. Usually, she called him by his given name; Peter or Pete.

“My apologies, Penny, my dear,” he said. Looking back down at you, he offered a smile. “Alright, y/n, it’s time for bed. You too, Bradley. I need you up bright and early tomorrow morning.”

You and Bradley bid your mother goodnight as your father followed you down the hall. When you had crawled under your blanket, he had made sure to tuck you in tight.

“I didn’t scare you too bad, did I, little minnow?” he asked. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, Papa. But, what if you meet Davy Jones one day?”

“That won’t be for a good, long while, sweetheart,” he said with a smile. You nodded, resting your head back down onto your pillow. Your father leaned over to peck your forehead before standing to walk out the door.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said. You smiled.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

A good, long while was not long enough in the end. It was six years later when you got the news that your father’s ship had gone down in a storm off the coast of the Caribbean. Your mother had been beside herself, crying all hours of the day as you and Bradley did your best to stay strong for her sake.

Bradley had caught you crying by the fireplace one night after you thought everyone had gone to bed. He sat next to you, and pulled you to his side as you cried into his shoulder.

“I miss him so much,” you sobbed.

“I know,” he said softly. “I do too.”

“He should be here.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “We didn’t even get to bury him.”

“I know, Guppy,” he sighed, hugging you tighter. Bradley wasn’t very good with words, and he sure as hell wasn’t good with emotions. “But he wouldn’t want us to dwell on this, you know that.”

“I know,” you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes. “He always loved the sea.”

“He loved being here, too,” Bradley countered. You looked up to see his own eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Your mother had followed your father not long after. She had stopped eating and barely took a sip when you begged her to drink some water. She would stay perched by the window in the bedroom she once shared with your father, just staring out at the sea as if willing him to return. It had ended up being a fever that had taken her one early, autumn morning. It was your turn to be inconsolable as you once again found yourself buried into Bradley’s shoulder as he held you tightly. You buried your mother on the hill that overlooked the sea, forever waiting for your father to return home.

You and Bradley had stayed by her grave until the sun began to set.

The following days were filled with familiar motions and quiet sobs hidden behind closed doors long after the stars began to shine in the night sky. One night, you had set a bowl of stew in front of Bradley after he had come home from working at the docks. The two of you sat in silence for a few more minutes before Bradley pulled you to your feet. You went to say something, but he motioned for you to be quiet as he pulled you through the front door and out of the house.

“Where are we going?” you hissed quietly.

“Just trust me,” he shot back, dragging you down to the beach. The cool sand rubbed against the soles of your feet as you followed him, and he stopped you when you both were standing at the edge of the water. The water felt like ice as it licked aginst your ankles, and you felt a shudder run up your spine.

“There!” he called out, gesturing towards the open sea. You looked, but saw nothing but the white caps of waves.

“I don’t see anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. Bradley offered you a smile.

“That’s because you aren’t looking hard enough,” he murmured. He bent down, pointing his finger so that it was directly in your line of sight. “There, do you see it now?”

You squinted your eyes, trying to see what it was he was looking at. “Rooster, I don’t-”

“I see them,” he interrupted you, smiling confidantly. You fixed him with a puzzled look. “I see Mav and Penny just over there past the waves.”

Your heart stopped and hot tears licked at your eyes as you looked back at the churning waters. It was then that you saw what Bradley had been talking about. You saw your mother and your father with smiles on their faces, staring at each other with adoration clear as day on their faces. You wiped the tears away from your eyes as you looked back to see them waving at you. You huffed a laugh and smiled back at them with a wave of your own.

“Looks like Davy Jones let Mav come back for his treasure,” Bradley said. You threw yourself into his arms, holding him tightly.

“Thank you, Bradley.”

The sea could be cold and cruel, but you had the strength to weather the storm.

146 notes · View notes

sourwolf-sterek32 · 9 months

Text

Broken Heart

Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.

You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.

Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Language, blood, injuries

Previous Chapter

Chapter 18-

You awoke with a pained gasp and sat up only for multiple hands to suddenly grab your shoulders pushing you back down. You thrashed in the people’s grip, your mind racing a thousand miles a second as you stared up at the strangers above you.

"Easy, Witcher. Easy. Your friend the sorceress bought you here." The dryad woman said calmly. "My name is Eithné. You are safe, but you are severely injured."

At the mention of Triss, you stopped trying to fight the strangers. The mage wouldn't bring you to them if they weren't trustworthy, and you trusted Triss.

You dropped back down against the makeshift bed the dryads seemed to have put you on. Your head was pounding and ribs aching, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your left knee. Vilgefortz’s staff had done some serious damage and you were almost afraid to look and see the extent of it.

You glanced between the strangers above you. One was stitching the gash on your forehead while the others were trying to fix your knee. You looked past them and scanned your surroundings realising that you were in a wooden hut before your eyes landed on familiar white hair on a bed across the room.

It was Geralt.

Geralt was here.

You were up and out of the bed before any of the dryads could stop you, but the second you put weight on your injured leg, you collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain.

"She just told you that you are severely injured." One of the strangers muttered.

"Milva, easy. The Witcher is in distress." Eithné said, glaring at the woman.

You ignored them both and dragged your body across the ground to Geralt’s bed. Your hurt leg burned in pain, but you gritted your teeth and kept moving until you reached his side.

"G-Geralt." You winced, pulling yourself up until you were sitting on the edge of his bed and let out a gasp when you looked at him properly.

Geralt's skin was paler than you had ever seen it. His face dotted with angry red gashes and cuts that were surrounded by darkening bruises. Even with his elixirs Geralt was never this pale. If it wasn't for his laboured breathing, you would have thought he was dead.

The dryads had wrapped his thigh, covering the broken bone but you could still see the dark bloodied stains on his pants from the injury.

"Fuck." You gasped taking it all in. "Heal him. Please-please just fix him." You glanced over your shoulder to Milva and Eithné.

"N...no." Geralt’s gruff voice murmured.

Your head snapped back in his direction instantly, the sudden movement making your bad headache worse, but you didn't care because Geralt just fucking spoke. He was awake. His eyes were closed but he was conscious.

"Geralt. Hey, hey, it's me. It's Y/N. The dryads will heal you and-and everything will be okay-"

"N-no... don't."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear.

He didn't want the dryads to heal him. Why?

"He's refusing to let us help him. Says it's a waste of time." Eithné explained, appearing beside you and looking down at Geralt with a disapproving scowl. "His back is broken, same with his leg and he has... uh, other bad injuries. But we can't do anything until he lets us help him."

"Jesus Christ." You swore softly under your breath before turning your attention back to Geralt. "Why don't you want them to help you? Geralt? Hey, talk to me. Why don't you want to heal?"

"It... it-it doesn't... matter."

He forced every word out between laboured gasping breaths. Each word sounding painful like just the mere act of speaking was causing him agony.

"Why doesn't it matter?" You questioned, lifting your hand and cupping the side of his face while avoiding the worst of the cuts and bruises. "Geralt, please just talk to me. Why doesn't it matter?"

"... C... Ciri. We... lost her." He croaked.

Oh, no.

The tower of Tor Lara had collapsed. It was all coming back to you. The tower completely shattered, and Ciri was inside. You knew she was. Ciri was gone... your little girl was gone.

A strangled cry left your lips, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hands to muffle your sobs as tears streamed down your face at that horrible realisation.

Ciri was gone.

Geralt didn't want to heal because his daughter was gone. He had given up. Geralt had given up.

Suddenly a hand touched your good knee, and you looked down to find Geralt’s trembling fingers squeezing you gently. His eyes remained closed, and you figured it hurt him too much to open them, but you could see the slow tears escaping from the corner of his eyelids.

You leant down and wrapped your arms around Geralt’s shoulders, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through your ribs at the angle. You rested your head against his chest and hugged him while you cried and with great effort, Geralt raised his arms ever so slightly and hugged you back.

Within the next 24 hours, the dryads had healed most of your injuries with their healing waters, except for your knee. For whatever reason, that injury refused to heal. Eithné said that it might have something to do with your Witcher mutagen soaring through your veins because although the healing waters healed humans instantly, it was different for mutans.

"You're pushing yourself too quickly." Milva commented from where she leant against the tree watching you trying to jog through the woods with your injured knee.

You ignored her and continued jogging, your left knee screaming at you in protest with each step as you jumped over fallen logs and around rocks. You needed to get your body back into fighting condition. You had to keep training through the pain.

You jumped over the next log, but the second your bad leg touched the ground it buckled from underneath you and you collapsed down on the grass covered dirt with a frustrated growl.

"Told you!" Milva called out.

"What am I meant to do, huh? Geralt is refusing to get help. He's given up, but I won't!" You shouted, sucking in a deep shaky breath before you grabbed hold of the tree beside you and forced yourself back to your feet.

"Why?" Milva asked curiously.

"I can't give up. I can't!" You yelled, your voice breaking before you took in another deep breath. "I won't. Geralt has given up hope, but I can't... I have to keep fighting because if Ciri is still alive, she needs us. I won't abandon her."

"If you keep pushing yourself too far, you might not have a choice."

"I know how much my body can handle." You snapped, glaring at the woman who raised her hands in surrender.

"Whatever. I'm going hunting. Try not to die while I'm gone."

Milva threw her bow over her shoulder and walked away. You watched her disappear through the woods before you let go of the tree you had been holding onto for support and tested your knee out.

It hurt, but it always hurt.

Slowly, you put more weight onto it and when your leg didn't threaten to turn to jelly at the pressure, you began to take a few stumbling steps. Those few steps turned into a few more, and then a few more until you were walking around the small clearing in the woods without any issues.

Okay, that was a lie.

There were a lot of issues. The sharp pain for one and the fact that you were limping severely with each step was bad, but you were walking, so that's what you were focusing on.

You continued limping up and down along the dirt track, slowly increasing your speed until you were back to a jogging pace. It was nowhere near as fast as you would have liked, but it was better than nothing.

The jog barely lasted a full minute before you had to grab hold of the nearest tree to stop yourself from falling face first into the grass when your leg buckled from underneath you once again.

"Mother fucker!" You hissed, gripping the tree trunk for dear life and lifting your bad leg from the ground trying to do anything to ease the pain ripping through your knee.

"You're stubborn, Witcher." Milva’s voice suddenly called out.

Great, she was back.

You glanced to your left to find her emerging from the woods with a grouse hanging loosely in her hand by her side, but her eyes were focused on your bad knee as she walked over to you.

"Come on, I'll help you back to camp." Milva said, holding her arm out.

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly closed it again because you knew you needed the help. You had pushed your knee too far and you both knew it.

Reluctantly, you draped your arm across Milvas shoulders, allowing the other woman to help you walk as you limped back into camp. Geralt was still lying on his bed. He hadn't moved an inch from when you had first arrived. His eyes fluttered open at the noise when you entered, and his pale face turned worried when he saw Milva help you sit on your bed beside his.

"Your girl is fine, Witcher." Milva reassured, noticing his panic. "Her knee needs to rest. Here, grouse. I caught it especially for you."

Milva held up the animal in her hand for Geralt to see.

"I don't want it." His voice was still rough, but it was the wheezing with each breath that had you more worried.

"Of course, you don't." Milva sighed, before she turned and began walking out the hut. "Ungrateful twat." She muttered over her shoulder.

You looked over at Geralt hating how dull his once bright golden eyes used were as he stared up at the roof of the hut blankly.

"You need to eat." You reminded him, despite having told him multiple times and not once had he listened.

"No point."

"No point? Geralt, how can you even say that?"

"Ciri is gone... I failed her." He mumbled, tilting his head towards you. "There's no point."

"There's no point?" You repeated in disbelief. "What about me?"

"Y/N-"

"No. I get it, okay? You wanna just lay here and wait for it all to be over because our daughter is gone. But what about me? I'm still here."

Tears burned in the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them spill. You were not crying about this. You had cried enough over the last couple of days trying to talk sense into Geralt and you were done with it.

"If you can't fight for yourself, then fight for me! Let them heal you, eat the damn grouse. Don't do it for yourself. Do it for me. Please!" You pleaded, blinking away the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, little one." He whispered.

You shook your head as you stared at him, his body starting to blur through the tears in your eyes before you suddenly stood up, gritting your teeth at the pain in your knee before you limped out the hut needing fresh air.

You stumbled a few metres away from the hut before grabbing hold of the nearest tree. You took in a few deep trembling breaths trying to calm yourself down when sudden faint singing filled the air.

What the fuck?

You focused in on singing. The words were in Elven, but that voice... you knew that voice from anywhere.

It was Jaskier.

Not even a minute later, Milva wandered through the camp with Jaskier trailing behind her.

Holy shit, it really was him.

Milva pointed in your direction before she walked off, leaving the bard frowning in confusion as he watched her walk away before he glanced over to you and his jaw dropped. Jaskier sprinted across the forest camp towards you, and you pushed yourself away from the tree and took a few staggering steps towards him before practically collapsing in his embrace.

Jaskier stumbled back at the impact but kept his footing as you leant into him heavily and he wrapped his arms around your body and hugged you tightly.

The tears that you had been trying so hard to keep at bay finally started to spill and once the first one fell, the rest followed like a rapid waterfall. You buried your face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, your arms tightening around his body.

Jaskier didn't say anything for a solid couple of minutes, either too surprised to speak or realising that you needed this hug more than anything. He simply held you against him, kissing the top of your head and allowing you to cry in his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I got you. I got you." Jaskier whispered while he rubbed soothing circles over your back.

His words only made you cry harder, and you hated yourself for it, but knew Jaskier wouldn't judge you.

Eventually you pulled away, wiping the tears from your face as you took a step back, but your leg instantly buckled under the sudden weight and if it wasn't for Jaskiers quick reflexes, you would have fallen to the ground.

"Fuck, she said you were both injured." Jaskier cursed under his breath, wrapping his arm behind your back to keep you standing as he looked down at you worriedly. "Are you okay? What is it? What hurts?"

"My knee. Just my knee." You winced trying to bend it, but unable to. "But Geralt..."

"What about him?" Jaskier asked, although by the sound of his voice he seemed scared of the answer.

"H-he isn't well. He's given up and-and he's refusing help, and he won't eat and-" You breathlessly explained before Jaskier cut you off.

"Breathe. Y/N, just breathe."

You took in a deep shaky breath before slowly exhaling, not even realising that you had been working yourself up into a panic.

"Can you take me to him?" Jaskier asked calmly.

"In there." You pointed to the wooden hut.

Jaskier kept his arm around your back and helped you walk as the two of you slowly made your way to the small hut before pausing at the open entrance.

"Geralt? Are you decent?" Jaskier called out, looking into the hut before glancing down at you. "He's never decent."

You opened your mouth about to warn Jaskier of the true extend of Geralt’s injuries but didn't get a chance before he was leading you into the hut, but very quickly froze when he saw the Witcher’s injuries himself.

"Oh my fuck..."

Geralt laid wheezing on top of his makeshift bed, his dull eyes locked with Jaskier’s before he glanced past the bard and looked at you.

Jaskier carefully led you further in the room before reaching Geralt’s side and you gingerly sat down on the edge of his bed with Jaskiers help before the bard grabbed a small crate and used it as a makeshift seat beside Geralt’s bed.

"Hey. Hey. Ah, you alright?" Jaskier hesitantly asked, leaning towards Geralt because it was very obvious that Geralt wasn't alright, but he had no idea what else to say. "I thought Triss would have healed you... both of you."

Jaskier glanced over at you briefly before looking back down at Geralt who reached over and grabbed the bard’s arm.

"What news?" Geralt groaned. "Is it Yen or Ciri?"

"Yennefer's fine. She's safe." Jaskier hurriedly reassured, and you felt your body relaxing a little at the news.

You might not like that mage very much, but that didn't mean you wanted her dead.

"Ciri's alright." Jaskier added and your eyes widened.

"She's alive?"

Jaskier glanced back at you with a look of shock, "you thought she was dead?"

"The tower... it collapsed and... is she okay? Where is she?" You frantically questioned, leaning forward and grabbing Jaskier’s shoulder. "Is she okay?"

"She's alright. She's..." Jaskier’s expression crumpled as his eyes started swimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry. Ciri's missing."

The small sliver of hope that was blossoming inside you got ripped apart at those two simple words. Jaskier rested his free hand over yours and gave it a small squeeze when he noticed the tears rising in your eyes once again.

"Yennefer's hunting for her, but Nilfgaard, they... I came straight from Thanedd when I heard you both were here." Jaskier continued to explain, looking between you and Geralt. "Some of my old Sandpiper routes. There's this village, outside Roggeveen, and... they razed it... to the ground. I tried to find survivors, but... they were willing to kill everyone to find her."

Jaskier released your hand and reached for something inside his jacket before he pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for you both to see.

"Apparently, it worked. The emperor announced the celebration. She's on her way to Nilfgaard."

Geralt instantly met your gaze and blinked, his once dull eyes now burning golden yellow.

"What else do you know?" You asked, looking back to Jaskier.

"I just heard a Nilfgaardian royal carriage has been seen traveling."

"How long until Emhyr has her?" Geralt grunted.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Jaskier sighed, looking between the two of you uselessly. "What are we going to do?"

"Help me up." Geralt ordered.

"Wait, Geralt, no. I'm glad you've no longer given up, but you can't. Your back is broken." You hurriedly said causing Jaskier’s eyes to widen in shock.

"Yes, he broke his back and look at his leg." Milva's voice suddenly said, and you glanced over your shoulder to find her entering the hut. "Like your girlfriend and I have been saying, you can't leave unless you get better. And you won't get better unless you let us help you. You need more healing waters and plenty of rest. You too Miss Witcher."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm fine."

"Yeah? Stand up right now and tell me it doesn't hurt." Milva challenged.

You glared at her, and she just smirked before holding up the grouse that she had shot earlier and glanced over at Geralt, "grouse?"

Geralt sighed, "give me the damn grouse."

"Oh, now you want it."

"There's a very weird energy between you three." Jaskier commented, looking between you all in slight confusion yet amusement.

Eithné and her healers got to work on Geralt. They made him drink some kind of liquid that looked and smelt awful, but within a few minutes of drinking, he could lift his arms higher and had more movement. So whatever the liquid was, it was healing his back.

The healers pushed his broken bone in his thigh back in place and tied a few sticks around it as a makeshift splint before dousing it with the healing waters, however just like your knee, it didn't work.

"The waters weren't successful. Like I said to your girl when they didn't work on her knee. They're meant for natural beings, not mutants." Milva informed.

"Pack up. We leave in the morning." Geralt grunted, and you watched in shock as he sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over the sides like he hadn't just spent the past few days incapacitated with a broken back and leg, unable to move.

"Good, yeah. Uh, might I suggest we wait until your leg pus stops visibly oozing first?" Jaskier responded, but Geralt wasn't listening as he got to his feet and stumbled across the hut before grabbing the wooden walking stick one of the healers provided.

You watched in amazement as he staggered out the hut, Milva rushing after him shouting that he wasn’t in any condition to do so, but you knew Geralt wouldn't listen. The great White Wolf was many things, including stubborn. Once he had an idea or plan, he was doing it, no matter what. Whether his body was up for the task, it didn't matter because Geralt would do it with just sheer willpower alone if he had to and you admired that about him.

You stood up from the edge of his bed, but your bad knee was still protesting when you tried to walk. Jaskier was quickly by your side and laced his arm around your shoulders, helping you walk out the hut.

"Are you two gonna stop him?" Milva questioned in frustration.

"Not a chance." You easily replied because Geralt was back. He was no longer giving up, he was fighting, and like hell you were going to stop him.

"I've been telling him for months he needs to think about himself, not just Ciri-" Jaskier started to say before Milva cut him off.

"Oh, so you're not completely useless?"

"But I was wrong." Jaskier continued, glancing over at her before looking back to Geralt. "Protecting her, protecting his family, it's who he is. I'd have to kill him to stop him. And even in this sorry-arse state, I'm pretty sure he could snap me like a toothpick, so no. I'm not going to stop him. If he needs my help, he has it."

Jaskier glanced down at you with a questioning look, and you nodded before he helped you walk out the hut towards Geralt.

"So, you're all fucking lunatics!" Milva shouted before she jogged past you and stopped in front of Geralt who was struggling to walk with his makeshift walking stick. "You really think you're ready to go find your girl?"

You watched in shock as she kicked his stick out from under him forcing Geralt to grab hold of the tree nearby to stop himself from falling over.

"'Cause you'd be dead now. And she is no better with the bard helping her." Milva pointed at you and Jaskier. "Neither of you are in any shape to walk across the forest, much less the Continent!"

"Not right now. But we will be." You responded, looking over at Geralt who met your gaze with a small nod.

Next Chapter

MASTERLIST pinned to profile

Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries

A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter was so late. Work has been hectic and my grandma died. But I finally had a chance to update this story, I hope you are all enjoying it ❤️

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher #henry cavill #jaskier #joey batey

92 notes · View notes

ostricx · 2 months

Text

RITES OF SYSTERYA - PAUL X READER X FEYD

SINOPSYS:

In the realm of Thalassa, where the matriarchal order dictates tradition and honor, where war is the law, the next Empress is thrust into a tumultuous journey of love and duty. Tasked with the ancient rite of seeking a spouse beyond her planet's borders, she finds herself entangled in a complex web of affection and allegiance. As she navigates the treacherous waters of romance, torn between Paul, scion of a prestigious lineage, and Feyd, a formidable warrior, she grapples with the delicate balance between personal desire and social expectation. Duty, love and lust.

Warning: violence, blood, gore, romance, posterior smut, +18.

The characters are aged up to 18, Paul, and 20, Feyd. You are a 18 year old, too.

Prologue

Look past what lies before your eyes and you shall see the truth.

Duty serves humans well, keeping the animalistic instincts at bay, on a leash, for humans are not as evolved as they think they are. You knew that, you knew the importance of duty for your planet, for your sisters, for yourself...

Yet, the need to surrender was running deep into your core, calling you away from everything you know. Who are you to disrespect traditions? To see yourself above the duties that your mother and sisters had and are going to have to fulfill? Are you so selfish that you saw yourself as better than them? Above the needs of your family? Have you always been that shallow? That selfish?

Looking into the guts of the time kept you humble, YOU ARE NO ONE, but a small piece on an ocean of possibilities. A shadow of the past and a small peek in the future, something that doesn't exist and never will.

So, you walked, head high, the metal of your armor tickling at every step, it has never been so heavy, like a thousand of pounds attached to your body. Yet, you walked with grace, not as the warrior you are, but as the Filha you should be from now on. The War is the future, the present is filled with another kind of duty.

Not even a glance at the surroundings, you couldn't turn your head, look at the red ocean below, the waves hitting the palace's walls, you could feel it tremble, or was it you? It didn't matter either way.

Duty comes first, humanity comes first. Your mother will die, than you, and your sisters , and your daughter and her daughter. What lives is your name, your legacy, your culture. You are nothing.

Your sisters, all sat on the floor, stoic like a stone, following every step you took with their own eyes. Not even they can defeat time, no amount of training is enough to win over time, over death.

The Empress of the Systerya Matria, Zephyra Synara, stood up on her orlop, looking down at you. Piercing red eyes, staring into your soul. And you couldn't help but to think "Not even Her can defeat time, can overlook traditions, not even Her ignored duty", and, yet, you wanted to, you craved to run away, to live careless, to ignore what life wishes for you.

- Bow before your Empress.

You did as she said, not even a thought, the act is natural as breathing. When the Matriarca commands, you shall obey, for you're not different from your sisters. You are all the same, came from the same seed, will go to the same land.

One knee on the floor, on the other, your head sited. Taking your sword from its sheath, you extended your arms and offered Her your weapon. Never looking up. What is yours, is Hers, nothing less, nothing more.

- My life is yours, the Sovereign Matriarch of us all, and I shall fulfill my duty with honor and intelligence, for that is the reason of my existence. Please, bless my travel for it shall be long and full of dangers.

You couldn't look up, but you knew they were all looking at you, taking on every movement your body made, voluntary or not. They were judging you, judging your surrender to the traditions, judging how trustworthy you really are. So, you focused your mind into the bloody waves bellow, into the wind hitting your hair through the open hall, into the familiarity of the Urutaus singing in the sky, their laments so familiar to your ears. Fear is the mindkiller, breath in, breath out, when there's no fear, only you remain, an open mind for clear thoughts.

Duty calls you and you know its importance, so, why are you scared? Breath in, breathe out.

Then, you felt a hand pushing your head higher, the Empress locked Her eyes with yours, impossible to decifer. Regal in every bone. Breath in, breathe out.

- I bless your journey, my kid. As each one of us, you shall be successful and bring glory to our sisterhood.

She offered her hand and pushed you up for an embrace. All of the sudden, hundreds of voices started to yell "Glory to Systerya! Glory to the Matriarch! Glory to our Filha!", chanting together, blessing you, promising: duty brings glory. It's your time to shower us with your glory.

"Glory to our Filha! Glory to our Filha!"

The Empress freed you from the embrace, you didn't register when it happened, but there she was, holding your own sword at the top of your head.

- My voice is the voice of the One Above All, my words, are Hers, touching my skin, is touch Her sacred body.

The tip of the sword drew blood from your head, the red tinted your temples, your nose, your mouth. You tasted your own blood, it entered your mouth as you kept it open, regenerating what was lost.

- We bless your journey, Filha, for that's your purpose.

When the sword was offered back to you, the metal facing your core, you took it, drawing blood from your hands.

It was done. Now, you are no longer a Systeriarian or a Thalassian, you are no one until you give them what they want. For everyone out of the Empire, you are the heir of Systerya, a honarable daughter and the best warrior an army could ask, but for your sisters, for your Empress, you are nothing. You worth nothing from now on, not until you fufill your sacred duty.

"Glory to our Filha! Glory! Glory! Glory!"

Don't look around, don't look back, don't look down. Always to what lies in front of you.

Glory! Glory! Glory...

I don't want to write a character devoid of life, I want something the fits the Dune universe, that has substance to it.

#dune x reader #dune #dune part 2 #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #paul atreides x reader #paul x reader

27 notes · View notes

joels-shitty-puns · 5 months

Text

Pins and Needles - Chapter 5

Pairing: Post-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader

Series Summary: Joel has known you for several years, but it was always strictly business, which was easier and preferred. However, after you run into him in Jackson, avoiding him is more of a challenge than you'd like.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Alluding to sexual scenarios. Mention of masturbation. Kissing. Age gap, reader is 39/40 Joel is 56/57. Violence!!! This features outbreak day memories. Blood, stabbing, cannibalism, death, infected. An airplane crash. Spoilers from season 1 of TLOU HBO. Deaths from that season are mentioned. Nightmares. Angst/tension. Let me know if I missed anything!!

Other stuff: Reader is referred to by the nickname Needles, but other than that descriptors are avoided! Reader is fem.

This series was based on these two anon requests! Here and here

Series list: Here

Word count: 1.2k

Patrolling with Tommy went relatively smooth, picking up supplies at a drugstore and fortunately not running into any trouble. It was only a half day journey when you returned, Tommy approving you for full duty as soon as possible. With Joel.

Walking through the gates to Jackson, you and Tommy went your separate ways, him walking over to where Maria stood near the gate, baby on her hip, waiting for him. When he reached his wife, his smile lit up his face. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips before grabbing the baby from her arms and kissing their child on the head. It made your heart sting and you looked away, only to meet the gaze of Joel. You looked down, avoiding his eyes, and walked home. Alone.

The whole walk home, your mind drifted to Maria and Tommy, how happy they were to have each other. It made you long for the life you may have had if not for the outbreak. You felt silly getting upset over something so trivial as love in a time like this, but despite your best efforts, a stray tear managed to break past your defenses. You quickly swiped it away, like a cat with a Christmas ornament, and began to jog homeward. With the icy air nipping at your nose and lungs, at least you'd focus on how cold you were instead of your feelings. You hoped.

The run didn't seem to clear your head, but it wasn't long before you reached your doorstep. Twisting the key, you stepped inside and headed upstairs to shower before dinner. Maybe the shower would clear your thoughts.

_____

A half hour later, you were dressing in your warm coat and boots, heading out the door for dinner. But upon opening the door, you were met with Joel’s hand, reaching to knock on your front door. Fuck. What does he want? He's never done this, even in the QZ.

“Joel?” You asked, your breath practically knocked out of your lungs in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Did I do somethin’? You've been here two weeks and I've barely seen ya. Everytime I do, you look away like you hate me,” he asked hurriedly. If you didn't know better you'd think he sounded hurt.

“No, you haven't done anything,” you finished, leaving any further questions for him to ask, but not for you to offer. Though you hoped the conversation would die.

“Okay.. then why are you avoiding me? I know we never really talked much before but y’never avoided me before. We're goin’ on patrol together tomorrow and every other shift, so we should clear any issues up now,” his softness died at the end of his reply, replaced with sternness in his tone. But he didn't scare you. Not until he reached out to touch your shoulder.

Your body tensed, not used to the feel of a gentle hand, and having been so touch-starved for the past 20 years. As much as your body wanted to lean into his touch and maybe experience more touch, craving the dopamine, you jerked away.

The look on your face must have spoken a thousand words, because he pulled his hand away quickly, showing that tinge of sorrow in his eyes for only a flicker before his mouth set in a firm line.

“No issues Joel. Like you said, we never really talked much before. That always seemed easier,” you replied before adding in a whisper you weren't even sure you wanted Joel to hear, “closeness only results in painful deaths.”

His eyes met yours and you wonder if he heard you. Instead of responding, he gave a single nod and turned on his heel, heading out into the snow.

You can't help but feel a pang of guilt settling deep in your stomach. This isn't what you wanted. Feelings…

You take a deep breath and step into the snow by your front step, your boots crunching on the sleet. Folding your hands in your pockets, you make your way to the town cafeteria for dinner, wondering what you can do to fix this situation with Joel.

Should you fix this situation with Joel? Maybe some distance would do some good.

_____

All throughout the meal, you could feel Joel's eyes darting over to you. You wanted nothing more than to leave this building and walk back home, but Tommy told you that you wouldn't be served food if you only took it to your house again, to eat alone.

So instead you chose to eat alone in the cafeteria, a table by yourself, watching everyone else sit with loved ones. Maybe you were making the wrong decision by closing yourself off. But when you first received help from another survivor after outbreak day, it was the advice you were given. Keep your distance.

_____

After the plane crash, your ears rang and the plane was smoking, but you were alive and conscious. The pilots were okay, and you made your way to one of the few living members of this aircraft. The old lady who lent you her needles. She looked to be asleep and you hoped she wasn't dead.

“Ma'am?” You asked, walking over to her. She didn't respond, so you took a pulse. She was alive, and you gently shook her shoulder, making her come to.

She seemed okay, only slightly rattled and maybe a mild concussion at the worst. You were all lucky to have lived. But as you looked down at the needles still tightly gripped in your bloody hands, you felt your body start to shake and tears begin to well. You killed someone today. You killed other humans today. You were a murderer.

As you looked at the old woman, she set her frail hand on top of your unwrinkled fist, still gripping the needles tightly. Somehow, she seemed to understand completely, as she unwrapped your fingers from the needles. What were you supposed to do when you walked off this plane? They were insane, but you're the one who will be going to trial for murder.

You stepped off the plane, waiting to be met with police snipers and sirens blazing. But instead, the airport was completely empty. It was eerily quiet. What the hell was going on?

You walked into the terminal, where news flashed across every television. People were in a panic and banging on the doors of the airplane entrances. Turning to the television, you were met with the answers you searched for. An infectious disease that turns people into a host for a fungus. Resulting in a complete loss of humanity until you were simply a shell, doomed to suffer at the will of the fungus.

Moving to the nearest payphone, you dialed your family, only to reach voicemail. You called again and left a voicemail. You called again and hung up. You called again and received a busy sound. Your stomach twisted in a knot at the worry that something may have happened to your family.

Eventually you did hear the truth of your family. They were gone. Some were infected. Some were killed by other dangers. But gone. All gone.

After that loss, the loss of other survivors and friends, you decided to take the advice of that one survivor and never get close.

But that was before you met Joel.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #a! wrote a fic #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x afab!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou #tlou fic

36 notes · View notes

venusstorm · 2 years

Text

More Than Friends

Part Three

Fear. It drove apart your friendship with Chris, it prevented him from telling you how he feels, and after a big argument, you’re left wondering if he had ever even cared.

Note: Italics indicate past events

Warnings: 18+, angst, fluff

Part Two <Series Masterlist> Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Scowling at himself, Chris stares at his reflection on the dresser. He took notice of the few gray hairs that were starting to scatter within his beard, and the way his laugh lines were becoming a bit more prominent.

You always said how much you loved his beard, how you couldn't wait for every brown hair to turn fully gray. It was as if you were already fantasizing about growing old with him, fulfilling the rest of your life with him by your side.

Although he was caught off guard by your profession of love, deep down he always saw it coming. It was painfully obvious how the lines of friendship began to blur the longer you stayed friends. Eventually, someone had to cross the line entirely.

Throughout the years it was a dance— both of you tiptoeing around the idea of pushing your relationship further. Anyone on the outside could see that the two of you were crazy about each other. But somehow both of you missed the memo and remained blissfully ignorant of your growing emotions.

You were a late bloomer. School was your center focus and nobody ever tried to get between that. Although, it’s not like they ever tried.

But maybe that's more because you were insensible to how Chris stuck by your side like glue. Nobody dared to ask out someone whose best friend would send invisible daggers into their head for simply asking you on a date.

So you never got into a relationship, never had your first kiss. In fact, you were well into college when you let the secret slip that you had zero experience in every section of romance to exist.

"Cmon, there's gotta be somebody you're interested in," Chris teases. "You're on a campus filled with thousands of students and you're telling me there's nobody?"

You looked away shyly. "I'm not like you. I don't have people fawning over every step I make."

"I fawn over every step you make," he shrugged.

Smiling, you shoved him away. "Cause you're annoying and can't leave me alone."

Chris shook his head in disbelief. Jokingly, he gets up to leave. His height made everything in your dorm feel ten times smaller.

"Where are you going! I was joking!" You shouted

Hurriedly you get up to grab his hand before he can touch the door handle. "Wait." You whined.

Chris turns around with an accomplished smirk on his face. "Thought I was annoying?"

"I mean..." you trailed off.

The sound of the door handle being moved makes you grip his hand tighter. "I'm kidding!"

"Better be," Chris scoffs, his hurt tone nowhere near matching the enormous grin on his face. Tugging him away from the door, you lead him back to the cheap bean bag chairs that sat on the hardwood floors.

A flicker of silence sparks. It wasn't uncomfortable, just present as Chris looks you over.

Going to different schools had been tough. He was so used to hearing your sweet voice ramble on every day, hanging out on his living room couch watching reruns until you both knocked out. Most of all he missed having you near. Chris could hardly go one minute without touching you. He loved the way you played with his hair as he laid in your lap, talking aimlessly because you knew he'd just sit and listen.

And now he was realizing how much he had taken that for granted. Actually, he was starting to realize that he was taking a lot about you for granted.

He noticed how mature you looked now. The clear wide framed glasses that you had worn since high school still sat on your face, but your features had changed.

Time was ticking painfully fast.

Chris broke the silence, a simple question stuck in his mind. "Has there ever been anybody?"

You stared at the wall. It was embarrassing telling people that you struggled to find someone. Sometimes it felt as if there was a flashing red signal over your head warning people to not come near.

"No," you whispered.

His voice raises in surprise. "Really? So you're telling me nobody is walking around bragging because you were their first kiss?"

Sighing, you shook your head. "I've uhm— I've never—"

"You've never kissed anyone?" Chris stated slowly.

Anxiously you touch your arm, wanting for this conversation to be over.

"Held hands?"

"Just yours on rollercoasters."

"Been on a date?"

"Unless hanging around town with you counts," you snort.

It does, he thinks to himself.

"Have you..."

"If you're asking if I've ever had sex the answer is no. Now can we drop the subject and move on?"

Noticing your distress, Chris moved closer to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, drawing you in close. "Hey, it's okay. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You've been told that line your entire life. And no matter how hard you try to settle with being inexperienced you can't help but wonder what if.

"I thought college would be different but nothing has changed. Honestly, I'm starting to accept it. Film and design have always been my sole focus and maybe it's meant to stay that way."

Chris shook his head vigorously. "That's not true angel. You're worth more than any of these boneheads walking around here anyways. You're the kindest person I know. You’re talented and hardworking and let's not forget how breathtakingly beautiful you are. The moment you walk into a room all eyes are drawn to you…”

You turned towards him, eyes locked on him as he continued to praise you. And when he was done, you swore liquid was fighting its way out of your tear ducts.

Chris pulled you into his lap, his hands cupped your face as a tear finally began to fall. He pressed his forehead against yours, thumb swiping across your cheek gently. "I know none of this means as much coming from a friend...but never doubt that you're worthy of love. Cause trust me when I say that one day you'll make someone the happiest person alive."

“You make him the happiest person alive,” he thinks to himself.

Chris lifted your chin as if to tell you to hold your head up high. You let loose a sliver of a smile. Consumed by sentiment, you allowed your nose to graze over his. His breath hitched as you inched closer. Your bottom lip skimmed against his until you thought thoroughly about what you were doing. Quickly, you pulled away.

"I'm sor—"

His lips pressed against yours gently. It was short and quick but the way your heart fluttered afterward lasted a lifetime. And when he pulled away you were left in a joyful daze.

And now it was Chris's turn to have a regretful look on his face. "I'm so sorry I shouldn't have— your first kiss shoulda been special angel, I had no right to—"

Giggling, you embraced him in a hug. "That was perfect Chris."

Nothing romantic ever blossomed from that moment. Neither of you saw it as a pathway to a relationship. Instead, you saw it as a moment where your best friend chose to disarm your insecurities without hesitation. And looking back, you were thankful for the spontaneous act because nobody would have been a better first kiss than Chris.

But the moment was a bit different from his perspective. It was the first time Chris knew for sure that he was undoubtedly, painstakingly, in love with you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chris lifts his head back up towards the mirror, facing his reflection. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes and he couldn't remember the last time that he let loose a true, unfiltered, smile.

He was miserable without you.

The sound of his cell phone ringing shakes him out of his daze. Hurriedly he races to the phone, praying that it's you on the other side of the line.

"Manager," he mumbles.

Sliding his thumb across the screen, he picks up the call with a sorrowful tone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Chris! Hope you're not busy right now because I have some great news!"

He can't help but let out a dry laugh. "No, no, I'm not busy." Just wading in self-pity is all.

"Great cause we just received word that The Gray Man is a go! We've already booked your flight and you'll be headed out to Prague Monday morning. I'll email you the details later but just thought I'd share the news."

Panic begins to surge through his body. He can't leave yet, not before he's gotten the chance to speak to you again. He wanted to give you space and after how he acted you deserved it. But if he has to leave...

His manager clears his throat. "Uh, Chris? You still there?"

Falling back to reality Chris rushes out a "yes," his mind still stuck on you. "Thanks for the news, I'll start getting my things together."

They exchange goodbyes before he finally hangs up, throwing his phone onto the bed in agitation.

The first time he left you after an argument resulted in whatever shit he was in now. You had confessed your love and he went off to another country without a word— and he'll never forgive himself for that.

He can't do that to you again.

Hurriedly he searches for his shoes, throwing them on before taking the keys to his Camaro off the hook and rushing out of his Boston home.

Even if you curse him out until he's forced to leave, at least he knew that he tried.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A million tabs were open on the computer screen in front of you, each displaying potential costume designs for the movie. The costume designers had already given their input and now it was your turn to make the final decision.

The scouting trip to Europe was successful and everything was set in place to begin filming. Come next week you’d be back in Europe on set for one of the most anticipated movies of the year.

Throwing yourself into work was always easy. Especially when you had problems to avoid. You've had enough confrontation to last a lifetime and now all you wanted to do was leave your baggage behind and focus on The Gray Man.

Honestly, you're pretty okay with the idea of Chris being on set now. You're a professional, and your no-longer-best-friend-cause-he's-an-idiot, being there won't change that.

You hadn't spoken to him in weeks and although it was tough at first, you soon fell into a familiar pattern of living life without him. It was reminiscent of the events after your confession when all communication came to a stand-still. Sadness and anger had bundled together and talking to him felt like a chore.

And yet, part of you still yearned for him to catch a flight back to Boston and stand at your doorstep, begging for forgiveness and willing to do anything to mend what he broke.

As much as you won't admit it, part of you still craves it. After the explosive argument, your brain screamed at you to not let him leave. But you were also sick of putting so much energy into someone who stopped caring a long time ago. "Okay," was all you could say because that's truly all you felt.

But if Chris stood at your door right now you couldn't promise yourself that you wouldn't cave in.

The sound of someone knocking at your door tears you away from the screen. Your heart begins to race as you go to check who it is. There's a long pause before the person knocks again, slightly louder this time.

You inch your way up to the peephole, staring at the person head-on as they continue to knock.

"Henry?" You whisper.

Fumbling with the locks, you manage to open the door and reveal a slightly disheveled Henry Cavill on the other side.

"Hi," he smiles.

You stare at him questionably. "Hi."

Henry scratches the back of his head as he thinks of what to say. He was always forward but something about you made him excruciatingly anxious. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by unannounced. It's just that I never got your number and couldn't think of another way to see you."

He wanted to see you?

"I don't mind," you grin.

"It's really beautiful out today isn't it?" His eyes trail around your yard and then towards the evening sky that coated your neighborhood in a purple hue. Yea. He was anxious alright.

Snorting, you took a look around yourself. "It is."

"Yea..." he trails off.

"Did you come over to talk about the weather or is there something you wanted to tell me?"

Henry's eyes dart back towards you. He goes to speak but nothing comes out.

After that night he couldn't stop thinking about you. He never had an issue leaving the next morning and moving on with life. This was foreign territory and he had no clue how to navigate it.

"Would you like to sit?" You nod towards the wicker chairs on your front porch. Henry smiles gratefully, taking a seat beside you all while still trying to find the right words to say.

"Are you sure this isn't weird? Popping up at someone's home like this isn't exactly the smartest thing to do. I'd hate to make you uncomfortable," he blabbers.

"I love surprises. Trust me, I don't mind."

"Great," he breathes. "Great."

"So uh—"

"Are you seeing anyone?" His words come out rushed and it takes you a second to process what was said. But when you do, you can't help but grin. "Are you asking me out, Mr. Cavill?" You tease.

He scoffs, "trying to at least."

Your stomach soars from the admission but quickly falls as doubts begin to cross your mind. Only a few months ago had you told someone that you loved them for the first time in your life. That confession alone took years of buried emotions to get to.

Chris and you were best friends. Pages on pages of history waiting to be jotted down about your lives spent together. You always complained about not having a first love but to be frank, Chris had filled that position the moment you met.

Moving on could take an unfathomable amount of time and you can't do that to Henry.

"God you're adorable," you murmur.

He sits up a bit straighter after your remark. "Thank you," he chuckles.

"I just...my life's pretty complicated right now and I'm more in need of a friend than anything else."

Henry nods, following closely to your words."It's Chris isn't it," he smirks. "I knew that bastard was hiding something from me."

Your eyes widen in shock— "What?"

"Forgive me but we were all talking and I couldn't help but mention you. I've gotta say, that night was on replay in my mind and suddenly I was gushing about you."

Chris told you about this encounter weeks ago, but what he didn't tell you was how he responded.

"It was like he connected the dots from what I was saying and found out it was about you. At the time I didn't register it but now I get it. He only spoke to me when filming, any other time he found an excuse to walk away. I thought I was going crazy thinking he hated me...but turns out we both just had a little crush on the same person."

"Crush?" You sneer.

He raises an eyebrow- there's no way in hell that you’re oblivious to how Chris feels about you. "Oh, C'mon. Don't pretend like you don't know."

"Yeah…trust me, he's not into me. He's made that perfectly clear."

Henry shakes his head in amusement. He had never seen two people in such denial. "Well then. I'm happy to just be your friend."

Relief washes over you. You stand up to hug Henry, thanking him repeatedly for being so sweet about everything. "Oh! Before you go, let me finally give you my number."

You take out your phone and hand it to Henry to insert himself as a contact. He types his information and takes a quick photo of himself before handing the phone back to you. "I'll see you around then friend," he chuckles.

He turns around to leave and you watch as he disappears into his car. And as he backs out of your driveway, you notice a blue Camaro pulling out from the street and driving away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Part Four

A/N: I love Henry Cavill so this killed me but it had to be done. Gonna go write a fic for him now

Taglist: @littlemarvelmenfan @amorisxx @kiki-bridges @aoifex @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @kissme-hs @pbeckn26 @fallinallinmendes @katiebby04 @smackmyassseb @youngblood199456 @ashpeace888 @@ljej95

If you asked to be tagged and aren’t it’s most likely because there’s no indication of age in your bio. I’d rather be safe than sorry <3

#chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #best friends to lovers #chris evans #chris evans x you #chris evans fic #chris evans angst #chris evans x woc!reader

526 notes · View notes

adoristsposts · 11 months

Text

enforcers | jack hughes AU

author's note; i finished ninth house yesterday and it has instilled me with so many feelings and thoughts. so many that i had to split this into parts LMAOO summary; when magic runs wild there need to be enforcers. however you never thought that picking up the widely respected job would bring you right back to your childhood crush. word count: 2.5k warnings; gore? swearing characters; Reader x Jack Hughes, platonic!Reader x Luke Hughes

Jack Hughes was unmistakably gorgeous. You could still remember stumbling through the halls, trying your hardest to catch his eye as you passed him. When he'd spot you a large smile would light up all his boyish features. He'd nod to you then move on, and you'd hold your breath until you were sure he was too far away to notice how your shoulders would relax. Of course, his looks weren't the only thing perfect about him. Although they did certainly give him a leg up. He excelled in every area at school. Curses, rituals, the arcane. It was as if magic was drawn to him. One time you and Luke had decided to have a little fun of your own and try your hand at Summoning. It had gone disastrously wrong, with both of you on his bed shrieking at the scorpions crawling on his floor. Like one large hive mind, they were growing and shrinking and moving as one united creature with one huge dark shell and thousands of stingers. Jack had heard the commotion and, like a knight in shining armour, come in and banished the creatures quickly. Not scorpions, he reprimanded. Some magical counterpart that would have killed you in no time if he hadn't been there. He never stopped smiling at you in the hallways. His little brother's best friend.

You hadn't seen him since he had graduated. Older siblings were a complicated matter to people like you and Luke. Too busy doing what they're doing and almost dying doing it to come home for family dinner. The night of graduation you ate at the Hughes' house. You saw Quinn for the first time in a few years. The boy-man, now- had enveloped you in a slightly uncomfortable hug and congratulated you time and time again on your good marks. "What are you going to do?" Quinn had asked both of you. Luke had laughed and said something about going into sports. Being one of the people behind the scene who pricked their finger every full moon so that their team was a little more likely to find a gap in defense to score a goal. You had squared your shoulders and tried to look serious. Not like an 18-year-old child. "I'm going into Enforcing." Quinn had smiled and nodded. A better reaction than you had gotten from anyone other than Luke. Who of course had asked if you would accept bribes from him. "Jack went into that. Maybe you two will cross paths." Your heart panged involuntarily at the mention of your high school crush from Freshman year. You gave him a thin-lipped smile and said "Hopefully."

And now there you were, in front of an old townhouse. It looked completely run down. With old architecture and accents that made the whole thing seem like it belonged somewhere in the past. The people around you didn't spare it a second glance. No doubt it had been glamoured by Enchanters at some point. If you didn't know it was there, you never would. Unnoticeable. You found that hard to believe. It was such an eyesore next to the beautiful buildings of New Jersey. It was dark and ominous. And honestly, it gave you the heebie-jeebies. The Ahriman. Lord of darkness and chaos. The darkness seemed accounted for in the way it tilted towards you like it was beginning to fall over. The chaos bit was for you to sort out, you supposed. Little advice had been given to you. Other than "Be like Jack Hughes!" no one had much to say. Because of course, Jack was still the golden boy. You raised a hand to the door. In contrast to the peeling paint of the building, it was black and gleaming. Before you could make the decision to knock on the shining wood, a shadow appeared in the frosted glass and the door in front of you had swung inward. "No way!" Jack Hughes hadn't changed much. His hair was much longer and in need of a haircut. And he was missing a tooth. As if he noticed you noticing it, his fingers touched his lips lightly and he said "Yeah, I've gotta get that fixed. Haven't had time." When you just continued to stare at him, gobsmacked, he opened the door wider and said. "Come in, come in."

The place looked more like a home than a place of work. In fact, Jack himself was in grey sweatpants and a hoodie that had New Jersey Devils splashed across the chest. You pointed at it, "Luke's working for them." "He is?" Jack's shocked expression surprised you. He had always been a lovely boy. If anyone would keep up with their family, you had expected it to be him. You supposed not. "Yeah. The school set him up with some internship with their head Favour." Which meant Luke would be helping someone else prick their finger every full moon. But he got to sit it on practices and games and talk to the players (and the hot fans, he had added with glee). "Oh," Jack said. His lips pursed and you felt like you had rubbed his nose in his lack of knowledge. Good. Luke deserved better than that. Even though it really wasn't Jack's fault. "I didn't know your last name till now." Jack changed the topic. "I would have cleaned myself up a little if I had known it would be you." You gave him a doubtful look. "Oh come on, Hughes. I saw you in pajamas all the time in high school." "Yeah but-" He turned pink and looked at his shoes. "It's different." You couldn't stop the blush that crept onto your cheeks. No, you tried to steel yourself, this was a serious job, and you wanted to be taken seriously."Aren't I supposed to get a mentor?" You asked. He looked up shyly at you through his eyelashes. You wanted to tell him to pull himself together. He was twenty-two years old. He could deal with a teenage girl's inquiries. "You're looking at him." He told you. That same grin from the hallways uncurled on his face and you could see all the parts of it that had changed. Or maybe your imagination had warped the beauty of it. Because Jack Hughes was still gorgeous. Maybe even more than he had been before. And he was in charge of making sure you didn't die on the job. Assuming being around him wouldn't distract you enough for you to take care of that yourself.

Jack had explained as well as he could that the Ahriman was more like a college dorm than anything else. There were buildings like this set up over the world, a revolving door of Enforcers coming in and out. He was the head of the New Jersey department, one of the youngest. Which fit him obnoxiously well. Your things were already unpacked in your room. The walls covered in familiar posters, and your closet full of clothes. Jack wandered in behind you and leaned against your doorframe. When you looked at him he was studying every part of it. "What?" You asked sharply. He smiled at your slight hostility. "I've never been in your room before." Your eyebrows drew together. "Obviously not. You wouldn't have noticed me if it wasn't for Luke." You said, waving your hand dismissively. "Oh please, I was the one who told Luke to befriend you in Kindergarten." When you looked at him he wasn't looking at you. Instead looking out your window, eyes squinting slightly against the sun. "What?" "I can like, feel magic." He stated, as though it was the simplest thing he had ever said. "And I could feel it coming off of you. It makes it easier for me to read people. And your magic felt warm and nice." You snorted, "Like peeing in the ocean?" "Yeah." He laughed, "Like that. Anyway, I'll leave you to it." He began to walk down the hallway. You heard his footsteps pause. Because of course, after years of sleeping over at Lukes, you could recognise them. Like you were in high school again, you held your breath. "We have a job tomorrow morning. I'll wake you up." He called. "Cool!" You said after him. Then you heard his footsteps wander down the stairs to the first floor. You let go of your breath. "Cool?" You hissed at yourself quietly. "Jesus, get a grip." The house creaked loudly, as though it didn't appreciate you using the lord's name in vain.

Jack wasn't lying about waking you up. It was still dark out when he did, and he was shockingly gentle about it. He ran a hand up and down your arm, cooing "Hey, you gotta get up." You groaned into your pillow. It was like many mornings when your mother had woken you up for school. Then you realised the hand was too large to be hers, and the voice was deep and familiar, and you shot up. Your sudden movement startled Jack, who laughed. "Good morning, then." You ushered him out of your room, telling him to give you twenty minutes to get ready. You showered and changed quickly, brushing your teeth twice out of nerves. Your first job. It could be anything from exchanging quick introductions with someone important to banishing escaped demons. Guiltily you hoped for the second one. Perfect-looking enforcers were never taken seriously. Jack's missing tooth gave him a perfect demeanour. Relaxed in his jeans and sweatshirt. But a simple smile showed you he meant business. And you were sure if he grinned a certain way he could maybe, just maybe, look menacing. His charms had a certain power of their own, though. You realised you had been too busy studying him as he led you through the empty streets to ask him what the job was.

When you saw a familiar figure, the answer was easy to guess. Supervising a ritual. Of course, that wasn't the most important thing to you that morning. Because you squealed and called, "Luke?" The boy looked up from his phone and his jaw went slack. "No way!" He exclaimed. So similar to his brother, you mused to yourself. The two of you hadn't seen each other since he had started his internship over the summer. You rushed into his arms quickly, letting him spin you around in excitement. "I knew I had to show some stuck-up Enforcer inside, but I didn't think it would be you." "Stuck up?" "Never." Then he turned to his brother. They exchanged a very manly hug and some quick words. You had to remember that Luke had seen Jack a lot more than you had over the past couple of years. It wasn't awkward for them to be in each others’ presence again. Luke turned around and began to lead the two of you two into the stadium. He nodded at everyone he passed, who all smiled at him and sometimes offered him short greetings. Jack fell back next to you and leaned down so you could hear him say quietly "These rituals are the worst." "Why?" You asked. Ghosts? Demons? "Dreadfully boring." He wiggled his eyebrows and took two large strides to wrap his arm around Luke and start up a conversation with him instead. He looked over his shoulder at you in time to catch you rolling your eyes.

After an hour and a half of watching Luke excitedly stare as his boss, a lean silver fox of a man who insisted you call him Dean instead of by his last name (which he hadn't offered you), pour blood over hockey pucks. What kind of blood, you couldn't bring yourself to ask. When the whole thing was over you felt tired. You looked to your right at Jack. When you had snuck glances at him throughout the beginning he had seemed solemn and serious. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He looked horrible now. His forehead was slick was sweat and he looked almost green. "Are you okay?" You asked. Instead of answering he walked out the door. You almost followed after him, but remembered the fact that he wasn't your priority. "You'll clean all this up?" You asked Luke. He nodded. "And you'll use salt? You know even animal blood can attract all sorts of-" "Nasty ghoulies," Luke interrupted. You didn't correct him. "I know. Go on, go get some sleep. I'll call you." "Okay." You pursed your lips, wondering if there were any other precautions you should tell him to take. Of course, you weren't sure, since your mentor had skipped out on you. Without giving him a proper goodbye, you spun on your heel and went to track down Jack.

You found him outside the stadium, hands on his thighs as he hunched over some bushes. You could smell the vomit. You didn't say anything to him. Simply bundled his hair up in your hand and allowed him to purge whatever was making him sick. "Sorry." He kept mumbling between retches. When he was finally done, he straightened up and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie. Your fingers untangled themselves from his hair. "I hate Favour rituals." He said. "That magic is foul. It stinks, although usually, I can hold myself together till I get home." You couldn't stop pity from softening your features, and he looked away from your face. "I know it's a gift to be able to feel magic like that. You don't need to give me the speech." "Not if it makes you sick. How did you get through school?" "I scraped by." He flashed his pearly smile at you. The gap where his tooth used to be was growing on you. His regular lazy drawl to his words almost made you think he was fine. But then he took a step and his knees almost buckled. "C'mere," You said, slinging his arm around your shoulder. It barely helped, considering he had a few inches on you. But you had helped too many drunk girls throughout your life to count. His stomach growled. "Where's the closest diner?" "Few blocks away." He told you. You let him steer you.

After ten minutes or so you slid into a booth across from him. Colour was leeching back into his face and he was smiling easily. "Thanks." He said simply. "It was no big deal. Warn me next time, though." "It was a big deal. I told you, your magic feels good. I would be much worse off if you hadn't been around." You swallowed loudly, trying not to smile like an idiot. "Thanks, Hughes." "You can call me Jack, you know." "I call you Jack." You argued. He shook his head at you, still smiling. He was always smiling. "You always call me Hughes." He pointed out. "Fine, whatever. Just order yourself some food, Jack." He picked up a menu in front of him. "Yes ma'am."

#adoristsposts #hockey #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes au #hockey au #new jersey devils #luke hughes

89 notes · View notes

wheretheharekissesthefox · 7 months

Text

Tav's gift

Astarion was Tav's first lover before she entered a polyamorous relationship with him, Gale, Halsin, and Shadowheart. After killing Cazador and the seven thousand souls, Astarion didn't ascend, but stayed a vampire spawn instead. When they defeated the Netherbrain and the tadpoles were gone, so was Astarion's ability to walk in the sun. Tav wants to change that – no matter the cost.

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, anilingus, cunnilingus, fellatio, anal sex, pegging, biting, consensual blood drinking, consensual manhandling, fluff, the feels, slight angst, crack treated seriously)

Notes:

To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics,Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.

Another fic is mentioned.

If you’d like to read my nerdy ramblings regarding names and their meanings, including those of my Tav and OCs, go to my AO3 account :)

Tav closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air was hot, the sun shone brightly, and the fresh breeze of the Lake of Steam, carrying the smell of dry grass, olive trees, and citrus trees. She had missed South Faerûn.

Her great-grandparents had moved from Baldur's Gate to Derlusk in the Border Kingdoms in the hopes of a better life. There, they'd worked for different vineyards, passing on their knowledge to the younger generations. Tav's parents had died young due to the plague and she'd become an orphan at age ten. The winemaker, for whom her parents had worked, had taken her in. At fourteen, Tav had pursued her musical training and career. Derlusk was the city of music after all. She'd still helped out her guardian, Korah, at the vineyard, lugging around baskets full of grapes and pouring them into the big wooden tubs in which the pretty girls trampled them to make juice before the wine-aging process. That's how Tav had gotten so muscular; by carrying around baskets and buckets all over the vineyard which was stretched out over multiple hundred metres. It had taken her almost ten minutes from one end of the vineyard to the building at the heart of the property. At the same time, Tav had moved from tavern to tavern, from inn to inn, and from drinking hole to drinking hole, until she'd earned enough money to buy trekking gear. And that's how she'd become a travelling bard.

She'd been heartbroken when she'd returned after her first trip across South Faerûn and had found out that Korah had died. He'd slipped while carrying a basket of grapes and had broken his neck when he'd crashed onto the stone treads. Tav remembered how she'd placed his favourite flowers and a glass of his best wine on his grave and had cried all night.

But she wasn't here to reminisce about the past, but to feel the road under her feet again – and hopefully finally find what she'd been looking for for the past two years. Innarlith was the city of possibilities after all. The city where the impossible was made possible. Tav hoped the rumours were true.

She entered the fifth magic shop, still not hopeless of finding what she's here for.

"Welcome to Ivan Boram's Magic Corner. How can I help you, my friend?"

Tav eyed the sleazy wizard up and down. He had black hair and wore a bright yellow robe that complimented his tan skin.

"I'm looking for a magic item that prevents me from burning in the sun," she explained.

"Ah, I see..." The wizard bore his eyes into hers and she felt a slight stabbing pain behind her eyeballs. Tav blinked and shook her head slightly. The pain was gone immediately.

"I think I sell what you're looking for," Ivan said and started rummaging through the drawers and hundreds of small boxes behind the counter.

"A-ha!"

With a sound of triumph, the wizard pulled out a tiny box and opened it to show its content to Tav. The latter leaned forward to spot a plain, inconspicuous iron ring with a blood-red ruby adorning it.

"This, my friend, is the Ring of the Sun-Walker, one of the rarest magical items. If worn by a vampire, it grants them the ability to withstand sunlight and therefore, they're able to walk in the sun. – This is what you desire, isn't it? Tell me; why are you so keen on getting it?"

Tav contemplated if she should tell the truth before she answered: "It'll be a gift for my lover."

"Ha, I knew it! How thoughtful. And they say romance is dead," the wizard snickered.

The bard glowered at him, barely able to keep herself from baring her teeth at him.

"Well, my friend, you can buy anything in Innarlith – for the right price," Ivan grinned, smugly.

Tav set her jaw.

"What do you want?"

"Excellent question. What could a travelling bard own that's worth said ring?"

"Coin," Tav replied sharply.

The wizard barked a laugh.

"Of course. What a boring answer. But this ring's worth more. Much more."

"What do you want, Ivan?" she replied, all on edge.

"Something... special. Something worthy that proves how much you love your vampiric lover. - Give me your voice."

"Excuse me?!" Tav shot daggers at him. "I'm a bard. I earn my living by singing. I need my voice."

"Yes, but do you need it more than your vampiric lover needs the ability to walk in the sun?" Ivan asked, acting all innocently.

"I - I can't do that. I need my voice. I give you anything else, but not my voice."

"I don't want anything else," the wizard replied, miffed. "But... I could be convinced to shorten the time of your muteness if... you give me one of your memories. I want something steamy. Something that proves your love and passion for your vampiric lover. You won't be able to remember said event though."

Tav raised an eyebrow and probed: "You want a smutty memory so that you can watch porn instead of reading it?"

"Exactly, my friend. Paying for such a leisure activity's rather costly. For some reason, people are very prude when it comes to letting someone watch them during sex," Ivan replied, nonchalantly and unashamed.

It made Tav chuckled.

"You filthy bastard. – Fine, I'll give you one of those memories, but tell me; how long do I have to stay mute?"

The wizard grinned like the cat that got the canary.

"Merely three years, my friend - if the memory's any good."

"Oh, it will be. Trust me," Tav smirked.

"So, we have a deal then?"

"Yes."

"Well..." Ivan stretched out his hand and Tav took it to seal the deal. "Let me get a memory sphere."

The wizard disappeared behind a curtain, rummaging around. Meanwhile, Tav pondered which memory of sex with Astarion she could let go off. All of them were hot, she concluded, and she was a bit sad that she had to forget one of them. Ivan came back and handed her a clear glass ball.

"Here. Focus on the memory you want to give me. Relive it. All of it with all its details. When you're done, speak the words 'Memory given, memory sealed'. Your memory will be encapsulated in the sphere and can be rewatched as many times as wished, but you won't remember it."

Tav nodded, closed her eyes and focused. Astarion and her in the bedroom, with the blinds almost shut, only a strip of sunlight falling onto the wooden floor. The swoosh of the sea, the screeching of seagulls, and the sound of the harbour's bells ringing through the open window. While making love on the soft mattress. Astarion leaning over her, moving in long, sensual thrusts, looking at her intensely with those ruby-red eyes, fangs glinting as he panted. She rolled them over, riding him until he came with a guttural moan. He encouraged her to sit on his face. 'Come here, darling. Let me taste you.' Crying out blissfully as he ate her out until she climaxed. Rolling off of him, smiling. Exchanging sloppy kisses. 'Take me, darling. Make me feel loved.' Astarion sitting in her lap, bouncing on her strap-on dildo. The way he threw his head back, exposing that long, elegant neck. Kissing him, biting him. Astarion moaned, scratching her shoulder blades bloody. She tilted her head to the side and he buried his teeth in her. Drinking her blood hungrily and coming with a wail. His seeds covering them both. Kissing him again and tasting her own blood on his tongue. 'I love you.' Soft eyes, full of adoration. 'I love you too.' Scooping some of his semen up and licking it off her fingers. Astarion groaned, sucking her middle finger into his cool mouth to taste himself. Another messy kiss. 'You're wonderful, darling.'

"Memory given, memory sealed," said Tav and opened her eyes.

She looked at the glass ball in which blurred pictures were floating. She handed the memory sphere to Ivan.

"Here. I hope it's to your liking."

"We'll see," he replied and gazed into the ball.

The longer he watched, the bigger his eyes grew - and the erection under his robe. The wizard's face blushed at the blissful noises he heard, and Tav smirked, smugly.

"It's - it's a rather good memory," Ivan remarked, flustered.

"I'm glad," Tav answered. She had no idea which one she’d left to him. "Now, give me the ring."

Dazed, the wizard nodded and walked behind the counter tentatively. It wasn't easy to walk with a hard-on. Carefully, Ivan set the memory sphere down on a cushion and handed Tav the magic item.

"It won't have an effect on you – except not getting a sunburn, maybe," the wizard explained. "But I can assure you that it'll work for your vampiric lover. - Now, about your voice... I won't actually take it from you, but put a spell on it instead. You'll technically still be able to speak, but if you do so, the spell will inform me about it and cause severe pain to you as punishment. Therefore, I advise you not to speak for the next three years. The spell will be lifted automatically and you'll be able to feel it. Trust me. When the time's up, you can continue your merry way as a bard. Any questions?"

"Can I communicate through writing, or do I get punished for it too?" Tav wanted to know.

"No, of course not. The spell only applies to your voice. No worries."

"Can I still hum?"

"As long as you don't sing and don't speak actual words, yes. Any more questions?"

Tav shook her head.

"Excellent. I'll put the spell on you now."

Ivan lifted his arms and recited magic words. Blue light flowed from his fingertips towards Tav's neck, wrapping around it like a choker necklace made of magic and light. It felt slightly warm and tingly. When the light went out, so did the tingling, and Tav touched her throat.

"Thers's nothing visible there," Ivan informed her. "But if you try to speak it'll constrict and give you a nasty shock."

Tav hummed understandingly. The magic didn't react and she sighed a breath of relief, relaxing a bit. Ivan looked at her, for the first time less coldly, and told her: "I am a hard-nosed businessman, but I'm not cruel. The spell will only punish you if you speak actual words, not simple sounds."

Smiling, Tav formed the words 'thank you' silently with her lips and the wizard nodded, smiling back.

"It was a pleasure to make business with you, Tav Thaura Sionnach."

Dumbfounded, the addressed stared at him with furrowed brows. Then, she made a questioning sound and moved her hands apart as if to ask for a length. Ivan snickered.

"I'm a wizard, my friend, and a brilliant one, to say at least. It was rather easy to pick up your full name in that surprisingly complex mind of yours."

Tav shot daggers at him, harrumphing. Ivan laughed delighted and she rolled her eyes.

"Farewell, my friend. Visit me again soon."

The bard hummed and bowed. Then, she left Ivan Boram's magic shop.

When Astarion opened the door, Tav's beaming smile almost blinded him. She quickly wiggled her way into their home and closed the door behind her to keep the sun out.

"Hello, darling, I missed you," Astarion smiled.

The bard kissed him and pulled him into a hug.

"Yes, yes. It has been a while," the vampire spawn chuckled. "How are you?"

The addressed drew back and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Seems like you didn't catch a sunburn down south."

Tav shook her head and Astarion frowned. Something was off.

"I really miss your poetic verbosity, you know? Talk to me, darling."

The joy in the bard's eyes dimmed and she shook her head.

"What's wrong? Did you catch a cold or did you lose your voice because you sang too much?"

Again, Tav shook her head, looking incredibly sad. Astarion was gripped by fear and grasped her arm.

"Is it another curse? Gods, please tell me it's not another curse, love!"

To his horror, the bard looked sheepish and moved her hand, with flicks of her wrist, from left to right in a 'more or less' motion. The vampire spawn would have paled if it would have been physically possible.

"Gale!" he shouted panicky. "Gale! I need your help! Hurry!"

"What is it?" the wizard yelled back from his study.

"Tav's cursed again!"

An uncharacteristically obscene swearword was uttered, books clattered to the floor as the wizard hit his knee against the table leg, another profane curse, and then, Gale appeared in the hallway.

"Tav, dear, why do you do this do us?!"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"She can't talk," Astarion babbled. "Her voice is gone. Tav's a bard! How will she ever - Gods! Darling, who did you piss off this time?"

The addressed made an angry noise and waved about with her hands. The men just stared at her confused. Tav sighed, took off her boots and waltzed into Gale's study. Tara was perched on top of the desk.

"Cursed again, Miss Tav?" she tried to scold, but sounded too worried to make it sound that way.

Tav shook her head, grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling. The wizard, the vampire spawn, and the tressym leaned forward to read it.

I went to Innarlith and finally found what I've been looking for since we've defeated the Netherbrain. But it came with a price. I lost my voice for three years, but then, I'll get it back.

"What was so important that you gave up your voice?" Astarion asked upset.

Smiling sadly, Tav pointed at him.

"Me? Are you kidding?"

She shook her head and continued to write.

I bought something called 'The Ring of the Sun-Walker'. It'll grant you the ability to walk in the sun.

The men gasped in union.

Astarion, I want you to be happy. I want you to be truly free of Cazador – and this includes being able to walk in the sun again. I saw how happy you were when you could because of the tadpole and how devastated you were afterwards. I want to give you this gift so that you'll be truly free and remember me, long after I'm dead. I love you so much and giving up my voice for three years is worth it. YOU are worth it.

"No..." The vampire spawn shook his head, tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes. "I'm not worth it. Tav... you're a bard. Your voice is everything to you."

Not everything.

Smiling, Tav pointed at him, Gale and Tara, and then made a sweeping hand gesture to include the entire house.

"You idiot," sniffed Astarion and fell around her neck. "You utter idiot."

The bard hummed and gently rubbed his back.

"Giving up your voice... Making a deal like that... Gods, Tav..." Gale sighed. "But I understand why you did it."

At those last words, the wizard gently ran his fingers through Astarion's hair. Tav smiled at him.

"Can't you make a counter-spell to lift the curse?" the vampire spawn muttered into the bard's shoulder.

"No. That would break the deal Tav had made and could cause severe damage. It could ruin her voice forever."

"Mhm," nodded the bard.

"You've gotten yourself into a fine mess again, Miss Tav. Well, at least you can still eat," Tara remarked, making the addressed snicker.

Gale sighed, arms akimbo, and announced: "Well, after this scare, I need a cup of tea. Come on, my dears, follow me."

Astarion, Tav, and Tara complied and trailed the wizard towards the kitchen. But when they passed the living room door, Scratch barked happily and Naïlo hooted excitedly. They came running like tornados, bowling Tav over, and showering her in slobbery kisses and headbutts. The bard laughed cheerfully and hugged the animals.

"At least, you can still laugh," Astarion muttered.

She looked at him and nodded, smiling.

He sighed deeply. The love of his life was incorrigible and it drove him up the wall. Sometimes.

After distributing an even amount of headpats and chin scratches, Tav got up, and waved them all towards the kitchen. Gale lit the fire in the stove with a flick of his wrist an started to brew tea. Meanwhile, Astarion took the sandwich tray out of the pantry and placed it on the table. Gale had enchanted the cupboard to ensure the food's freshness. Hungrily, Tav took a ham sandwich and wolfed it down in seconds.

"Easy, darling. Don't choke on the wrong kind of meat," the vampire spawn teased and Tav rolled her eyes at him.

"Next time, I'll give you a bag of holding with provisions that never go bad," the wizard muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Tav looked at him lovingly, got up, walked over, and kissed him passionately.

"Don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the show," grinned Astarion.

The bard giggled and kissed him too. Then, she grabbed another sandwich. Gale handed her a teacup. She nodded thankfully and took a whiff.

"Lavender. Obviously," Gale deadpanned and she snickered.

"I'm home!" shouted Shadowheart and slammed the door shut.

"Hello!" greeted the men in unison.

Scratch barked and Naïlo hooted as they circled around the cleric to receive headpats. Shadowheart complied, kneeled down, and petted them as she cooed. Then, she stepped out of her shoes and put her staff away.

"Ugh, the temple was filled to the brim today. It seemed like all of Waterdeep wished to leave offerings to Selûne at the same time. I even had to – Tav!"

Laughing, Shadowheart fell around the bard's neck.

"I missed you," the cleric said and kissed her.

Tav hummed agreeingly.

"She got cursed again," Astarion informed the half-elf with a dramatic sigh. "She can't speak for three years."

"Are you kidding me?" Shadowheart looked angry and concerned at the same time. It was cute, thus, Tav had to kiss her again.

"Unfortunately not. She made a deal to get a gift for me."

The cleric groaned.

"Why, Tav?"

The addressed handed her the paper she'd written on earlier. Shadowheart read it and got really quiet.

"Oh," she whispered.

Tav made a face and shrugged. Then, she reached into the neckline of her shirt and pulled the ring out which hung around her neck on a strong leather string.

"Of course, there's where you store your precious goods," laughed Astarion and Tav shrugged again, grinning.

Then, she stepped closer to him and took his hand. The vampire spawn chuckled nervously.

"Are - uhm - are you proposing?" he tried to joke, but his voice cracked and revealed his nerves.

Tav slightly tilted her head to the side quickly in a 'kind of' motion. She carefully slid the Ring of the Sun-Walker onto his middle finger. It fit perfectly. She lifted his hand up to place a kiss on his knuckles before letting go of him. Astarion's eyes were wide, his chest heaving as he panted even though there was no need for him to breathe. His hands trembled lightly when he inspected the simple silvery band with the flatly inserted ruby.

"It's... beautiful. Thank you, Tav," he whispered close to tears again. "I'll never forget this generous gift for which you sacrificed so much."

The bard just looked at him with an incredible soft expression. Astarion wrapped his arms around her neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her. Trying to pour all his gratitude and feelings into it. They parted and before he let go of her, he rubbed their noses together. The vampire spawn took another look at the ring.

"I guess that means we're married," he joked, sounding a bit too close to tears.

"Mhm," Tav agreed, kissing him again contently.

"How about you test the ring's ability?" Gale said, eyes full of curiosity. "It would be a shame if Tav went through all this drudgery and it doesn't even work."

"If that's the case, I'll stab every mage in Innarlith until I get the right one," growled Shadowheart.

Tav snickered and gave her a quick peck before following Astarion and Gale into the living room. The late afternoon sun fell through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The vampire spawn swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then, he stepped into the light. Nothing happened. Astarion's ruby-red eyes flew open and he stared directly into the sunlight. Then, at his hands. In disbelief, he touched his face which wasn't burning or peeling off. He barked a laugh and stared at his hands again.

"It works! Fucking Hells, Tav, it works!" Astarion laughed like a madman, almost choking on his own spit. "I can't believe it..."

"Fascinating," muttered Gale, already halfway lost in thoughts again, pondering about the type of magic that flowed through the ring.

Shadowheart put a hand onto her heart and said theatrically: "And so, the Moon Maiden, has lost another child to the Sun. Oh, woe is me."

Everyone laughed and Astarion twirled around in the sunlit spot again. He stopped his frolicking to look at Tav. 'Thank you' his eyes said and the bard smiled. 'You're welcome, love'.

That night, Astarion and Tav held their 'wedding night'. First, the vampire spawn went down on her and made love to her while losing himself in her eyes. Then, the human bard sucked him off and ate him out before hoisting him up on her hips and manhandling him against the wall. She took him this way and Astarion had never experienced anything more arousing. She let him drink her blood and he moaned as he filled his belly with her familiar, comforting taste again after months spent apart. Panting, the vampire spawn pointed at the shelf on their left.

"Need to grab something, darling. Could you?"

Tav hummed, held him tight and moved them over. Astarion groaned as the strap-on dildo jostled against his prostate. He fumbled around on the shelf blindly, until he felt the hilt of his favourite dagger under his fingers. He pulled the weapon carefully.

"Remember this one?" he asked. "You gave me two daggers; the one that was stuck in that suspicious-looking roast in the blighted village, and the other, you reinforced yourself in the abandoned smithy with the Sussur Tree bark. This one is -"

He squeaked when Tav pressed him against the wall again and pushed a knee under his buttocks to hold a hand up. She raised two fingers and nodded. Astarion giggled.

"Yes, this is the second one, darling."

The addressed looked pleased and hoisted him back up into both arms. The vampire spawn groaned, swallowing the saliva that was pooling in his mouth. Tav was so damn strong and godsdamn hot.

"This is my favourite one," he told his lover. "You put so much thought into it. Everything you give me is thoughtful; the daggers, the ring, your trust, your friendship, your love. No one ever looked out for me... you're the only one. And I love you more than anything. You're the love of my life - and I'm almost three hundred years old."

Tav snickered a bit, rubbing their noses together.

"You give me everything I need and now... I have one more request; Drink from me, darling. Bite me, drink me in, and make me yours."

Astarion raised the dagger to his neck and Tav's eyes went wide.

"This one slides through flesh like butter – including my own, much tougher, skin," the vampire spawn revealed and cut himself. The thin line of the clean slash started bleeding immediately. Hastily, Astarion dropped the dagger back onto the shelf.

"Feed from me quickly, before I heal."

Tav immediately leaned forward and licked the blood off. Astarion sighed. Then, the bard bit down as hard as she could. The vampire spawn wailed, bucking in her grip. Tav dug her blunt teeth deeper into his neck, right where Cazador had left his mark on Astarion. She felt more blood flowing from the wound and swallowed the first mouthful. Her lover moaned gutturally.

"Yes, Gods, darling... Devour me."

With a hum, Tav continued drinking his blood while she picked up her rhythm again, thrusting into him steadily and deeply. Astarion cried out in utter bliss, trembling like a sapling in a storm. He felt all-consumed, dizzy with pleasure. Now, he belonged to her fully. His hands threatened to lose their grip on her sweaty shoulders and he dug his nails into her until he could smell blood. They both didn't care.

"Tav," Astarion moaned and came so hard he blacked out.

When he awoke, she was wiping him down gently with a warm, wet cloth, humming a tune.

"I thought you can't talk?" Astarion slurred.

The bard fell silent and grabbed the notebook she'd placed on his bedside table.

I can't speak, but I can hum. No words allowed, only noises.

"I see... Come here, darling."

Tav collapsed into Astarion's outstretched arms and they kissed messily. He could still taste his own blood on her tongue.

"I'm sorry about your shoulder blades. It must hurt."

Tav shook her head, scribbling hastily onto the paper again.

It has already healed! I think your blood has healing properties?

"Huh, what?" Astarion stared at her wide-eyed. "Show me."

Willingly, Tav turned around to let the vampire spawn take a look. In disbelief, the latter ran his finger over her perfectly smooth, healed skin.

"Tsk, another thing Cazador didn't tell us about," Astarion spat. "That utter bastard!"

The bard hummed, turned around, and pulled him into her arms and halfway onto her chest. The vampire spawn sighed and kissed her collarbone.

"Thank you. For everything. I'll never forget your gifts. I love you."

Tav hummed again and kissed his crown.

The 'I love you too' stayed unspoken, but was heard nonetheless.

Two hundred years later, Astarion would still remember his beloved human bard every day. While he'd wander through the city by bright daylight, he'd fondly touch the Ring of the Sun-Walker and silently thank the love of his life for this priceless gift. He'd never meet anyone like her ever again. But he'd be content with that knowledge.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion x tav #gale x tav #shadowheart x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart #tav #scratch #owlbear cup #naïlo #tara #tara the tressym #mind the trigger warning

22 notes · View notes

autismserenity · 6 months

Text

'Self-silencing': For Palestinians, talking about Hamas comes with hazards

"Nothing about us without us." Everyone knows you can't support and advocate for an oppressed group without listening to it. But we rarely notice how effectively Hamas drowns out Palestinian voices.

It has a long history of imprisoning journalists who even mention criticism of it, as well as civilians who so much as oppose it on social media.

This USA TODAY article from Nov. 21, 2023, is the first thing I've seen that talks directly to and about people living in Gaza. I've pasted most of it below; I cut out some parts that seemed pretty well-known, to try to make it less of a massive wall of text.

Long before Hamas's murderous rampage in Israel on Oct. 7, the group made a name for itself with its ruthless takeover of Gaza in 2007.

Its calling card? Killing its political rivals execution style in the streets, in hospital shootouts, and by throwing them off the rooftops of high-rise buildings. Since then, arbitrary detention, torture and enforced disappearances has been a hallmark of the regime.

Yet now, some Palestinians are "self-silencing" how they really view Hamas − and what they reveal about living under the U.S. and European Union-designated terror group in the Gaza Strip.

And according to more than a dozen Palestinians inside and outside Gaza interviewed for this story, being candid about what they truly think about Hamas is more fraught than ever.

Gazans fear retribution from Hamas; they fear Israel's bombings, too

Fear of reprisals is part of it.

But they are more concerned that doing so could detract from highlighting Israel's relentless bombings − its response to the Oct. 7 Hamas attack − in the seaside enclave that have pulverized civilian infrastructure and caused mass Palestinian casualties.

For the last 17 years, Hamas − whose 1988 founding charter [cites the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in claiming Jews are behind the media, the drug trade, WWI, WWII, and are trying to take over the world, and so] called for the destruction of Israel to make way for a Palestinian state − has been accused by western governments, human rights organizations and some Palestinians in Gaza of corruption, restricting freedom of expression, and other abuses.

Still, as Lara Friedman, president of the U.S.-based Foundation for Middle East Peace, which advocates for rapprochement between Israelis and Palestinians, recently pointed out, Hamas won a parliamentary majority in what turned out to be Gaza's last election − in 2006 − not on an incendiary platform to "kill the Jews," but as the "party of change & reform."

After years of rule by Palestinian leader Mahmoud Abbas' widely unpopular and potentially corrupt Fatah party, "a vote for Hamas was a vote against Fatah," she said. Fatah and Abbas, with whom Hamas fought a short civil war after the 2006 vote, still control the West Bank, the other Palestinian territory.

Surveys show most Gazans before Oct. 7 Hamas attacks favored a peace deal with Israel

Most people in Gaza, where roughly half the 2.2 million population are under 18, were either not yet born or children the last time there was an opportunity to express a political will.

And while some hardline pro-Israel voices have branded all Gazans as supporters of Hamas, surveys taken before the war showed that most Gazans had a poor opinion of how Hamas handled things they valued the most: access to food, education, healthcare, living conditions, and jobs.

These surveys, conducted by Arab Barometer, a non-partisan network of U.S.-based researchers working with local partners across the West Bank and Gaza, revealed that the majority of Gazans − 68% − believed that they had no way to safely participate in peaceful protests against Hamas' rule.

They were also more likely to blame Hamas leadership than Israel for material shortages in their lives despite a nearly two-decade blockade from Israel and Egypt that has affected every aspect of life for Palestinians in Gaza − from where they can live and study, to where they can travel and what health care they can access. Israel and Egypt say the blockade is necessary to prevent Hamas and other enemies from smuggling weapons into Gaza.

Some 73% of Gazans, according to the Arab Barometer survey, favored a peace deal with Israel.

Most Gazans 'just want to be able to do their jobs'. But support for Oct. 7 attacks has grown.

"Basically (most Gazans) just want to be able to do their job and have enough money to spend time with their family," said Michael Robbins, one of the authors of the survey along with Amaney Jamal, a professor of international affairs at Princeton and Stanford.

Robbins added that the survey showed that there was a correlation between Hamas supporters − who support armed resistance to Israel − and Gazans who were better off financially.

"You can think of that as some of the (Hamas) corruption issues, access to food and money and other things from the government itself. ... (Hamas) rewarding its own people," he said.[...]

Rahman said that Hamas runs Gaza like its own "personal fiefdom" and that Palestinians there have "no say, no agency over Hamas decision-making at a governmental level, at a political level, at a strategic level in terms of its engagement or resistance against Israel."[...]

Fights in bread lines, despair in shelters, and Hamas extorting money from Gazans

As Gaza has become more cut off from the outside world and aid agencies have warned its on the verge of collapse, there have been rare public shows of discontent in Gaza with Hamas.

Fights have broken out in lines at bakeries, while waiting for water and in overcrowded shelters. There have been reports of outbursts and insults shouted at Hamas officials.

Before the war, Israeli media published stories of Gazans who had fled the enclave because of threats they faced from Hamas for participating in protests, because they didn't support its approach to Israel or for challenging the way it spent financing from Qatar on rockets and tunnels rather than schools or other infrastructure.

A Gazan worker USA TODAY met in the West Bank last month said that he was not able to return home because Hamas officials were trying to extort money from him.

Seven weeks into the war, more than half of Gaza's population has been displaced. Gazan officials say that more than 50% of housing units in the territory have been destroyed, damaged or left completely uninhabitable since Oct. 7. The U.N. says water is running low and starvation is a real risk. Reports say scabies, a skin infection caused by mites; diarrhea; and respiratory infections are spreading quickly.[...]

Hamas says it 'will do it again and again'

According to Ghazi Hamad, a senior member of Hamas, the attack on Israel the group engineered on Oct. 7 was about "teaching Israel a lesson" and it "will do it again and again."

"We are the victims of the occupation. Period," Hamad said in an interview with Lebanese TV channel LBC on Oct. 24. ''Therefore, nobody should blame us for the things we do."

But many Palestinians do blame Hamas for some things.

I'm not Hamas, and I will never be

"After Oct. 7 we all in Gaza have been (accused of being) Hamas supporters. In fact, I am not. And I will never be," said Tareq Hajjaj, a Gazan journalist, in rare public comments about Hamas.

Hajjaj said he knows many Gazans with strong feelings about Hamas who won't speak publicly about it.

One Palestinian, a women's rights advocate, said that in Gaza she has "always been in opposition with Hamas." She said that because she has called for gender equality, freedom of speech and is opposed to girls under 18 getting married this made her a target for Hamas and other militant Islamist groups in Gaza. She said she had written books about these topics, briefly used in schools and by social workers in Gaza, but they had since been withdrawn by the authorities.

LGBTQ communities in both Gaza and the West Bank face threats, repression and violence from Hamas and Fatah authorities.

'Hamas used to attack me because they were against feminist organizations'

"Hamas used to (verbally) attack me all the time, because they are against feminist organizations and they think, or don't just think, they claim that we (the women's rights organization she works for) are funded by the West to ruin the Palestinian society," she said.

But she said she never felt physically threatened by Hamas. Her frustration was more at not being able to promote ideas − human rights − that allow people to live in dignity and with equality.

For others, especially foreign visitors to Gaza, Hamas is an enigma.

One American who runs a large aid organization that has been involved in building infrastructure projects in Gaza said he's always struggled, before Oct. 7, to account for how "normal" every day life in Hamas-run Gaza can appear.

He didn't want his identity published because of his ongoing work in Gaza.

'It was shockingly comfortable'

"In terms of security and comfort, I would say to people all the time it was 'shockingly comfortable.' I would say, literally and honestly, that it felt more dangerous (and likely) in my (U.S.) neighborhood that you'd get shot with a stray bullet than in Gaza. I would walk from the hotel to a fish restaurant down the block, or a few blocks away, and think: 'You know, it'd be nicer if there were some better sidewalks and nicer lighting, but I don't actually feel scared.'"

The American aid worker said he recognized his impressions of Gaza may reflect his visits as a foreigner rather than some deeper truth about what life is like. More than 80% of Gaza's population lives in poverty, according to the U.N.

And while Hamas has received hundreds of millions of dollars in humanitarian aid and cash injections from Iran, Qatar and others, Israel, experts and western governments have questioned whether money meant for civilian use ends up used by Hamas for its military operations.

#gaza #gazaunderattack #palestine #israel hamas war #hamas is isis #wall of words

33 notes · View notes

dark-fanfiction · 1 month

Text

Dark at Times

Zade Meadows + Reader

Trigger Warnings - mentions of unaliving, depression, alcohol consumption, stalking, self harm

Summary - Let’s get to know who Zade is going to be stalking. You’re an incredibly broken soul who’s lost a lot of the life you knew and have been thrown into complete turmoil.

You’ve never lived alone. You never considered the possibility that you would be living alone. When you met your now ex boyfriend, you believed you were at your worst. 8 years ago, you was in a battle with your eating disorder, undiagnosed and felt hated by everyone. Then he came along, he helped you, gave you purpose when you felt you had none. You soon moved in together, formed a relationship with his family, which felt completely alien and a little scary since your family was so dysfunctional and abusive.

He showed you a way of living that grounded you. After moving in together, things got bad. Your drinking escalated and you’d find yourself self harming again. Something you hadn’t done since you were 14 years old. I guess a lot can change in 4 years. At 18, to be living with someone you believed to be your soulmate and be thrown head first into a whole new family put immense pressure on you that sent you barrelling over the edge.

8 years you devoted to that man. 8 years you bettered yourself for someone who dropped like a rock in a lake, the second he got a promotion and flew across the world to a new job without even telling you. You came home from your bar shift and found all his stuff gone, and naturally you panicked. Ringing him off the hook, checking with all his friends and family, who all aired you as well. You were left reeling and confused until you saw his Instagram story. He was in a whole new country, far away from your life in Cincinnati. And then the reeling stopped and you shattered. A million teeny tiny pieces everywhere. Sharp, jagged shards flying all over the place.

You knew it was going to be messy to clean yourself up after this. You’d recently been going to counselling and had received a diagnosis for BPD and anxiety disorder. Both of which you were still learning to keep under control.

…~~…

2 weeks has passed since he left, and you’ve packed up everything inside of your once shared apartment, having now moved into Parsons Manor, an old Victorian gothic mansion once owned by your only close relative, your aunty, who passed away a year ago, leaving the manor to you. Your ex never wanted to live here, he said it was too creepy, even though your aunty had poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into renovating the mansion just before she passed. So you accepted that his decision and moved into his cramped, modern apartment. Hating every minute of it. But you did that, for him. Now look where it’s left you. Alone. But at least you get to live in a place filled with such fond memories to you.

As you walk through house, the floors creak and groan beneath your delicate steps. The dark walls still look in perfectly, fresh painted condition, with beautiful, ornate Victorian age paintings hanging all over them. Everything is as she left it for you, and you couldn’t be happier. She always had the best eye for interior design, lucky as that’s what she did for a living, which is one of the reasons she invested in Parsons Manor. She saw a jewel in the mud, quite literally. Parsons manor is so remote and far off any beaten track that it sits alone and secluded atop its rolling hills and daunting cliffs.

You’ve been living at parsons manor for the past week, now fully unpacked, not that you had much to unpack anyway. Your routine stays fairly consistent. You work that bar shift 11am-4pm each weekday, come home and drink wine. Rose wine, so it’s sweet and cold and you’re able to drink far too much of it in one sitting.

…~~…

You’ve been leaning at the edge of the bar nursing your hangover for the past 5 minutes. Pressing your cold bottle of water on your forehead and strumming your fingers on the counter you contemplate what you’re going to do when you get home. Maybe read a book, or get changed and go for a walk along the cliffs… “yeah, maybe I’ll throw myself off of them” you mumble to yourself. Now that enough time has passed, you’ve made it through the anger and grief stage of being abandoned once again, and are now left in that foggy area where you’ve lost your favourite person, and with it your whole personality.

That’s the thing with BPD, you lose yourself in your favourite persons personality, and then when they leave… they take your new personality with them. And you’re no one again.

While you daydream about the inevitable onset of depression, you completely miss the ding on the bell as someone walks in. Still daydreaming until a daunting shadow is standing above you, looming over you. You look up to meet the gaze of a tall, incredibly handsome man. He’s striking, and takes your breath away in an instant. One incredibly dark eye and the other as white and bright as the sun. Across his bright eye is an incredibly vicious looking scar that only adds to allure of his dark good looking features. His hair is tucked under his black hood, but from what I can see he has a loose, neat mop of dark, silky hair. He’s tall as well, like, inhumanely tall, I’d say a good 6ft6.

“You okay there?” He asks, looking inquisitively at me, one brow cocked almost in a mocking sense as he dips his head to one side, strands of hair flopping across his sharp face. You stare blankly for a second before fumbling for an answer “Sorry, I’m good thank you, how can I help?” You managed to rasp out. “Just a whisky, neat” he grins as he says. He sits at the stool opposite where you were leaning. “Asshole” you mutter as you realise you won’t be able to lean there again, but instead have to busy yourself with jobs so you aren’t sucked into a conversation with the devilishly handsome man. You slide a napkin his way and place the drink gently down, offering him a shy smile and you tell him the price. You key in the amount on the card machine when he flashes his card at you, and hold out the machine to him so he can tap. “Thanks, enjoy your drink” you say to him as you walk down the bar to ring it through the till. You feel his eyes on your back the whole time, from the moment you turn away from him right up until he stand, thanks you for your time and walks out. The longest 10 minutes of your life, pretending to polish glasses and wipe surfaces as he slowly sips and watches you. You can’t decide if you felt uncomfortable or at ease. He didn’t seem threatening, in fact the complete opposite. He felt warm and inviting, almost familiar.

You finish up your shift and perform the mandatory handover to the next member of staff taking over from you for the evening shift.

…~~…

Zade watches you finish your shift from his car, delicately moving around behind the bar, clearing up glasses, wiping surfaces. All the usual jobs you’d expect a bar maid to do. Yet you do it with such grace. He’s entranced by you. Your small, petite frame moving effortlessly around, twirling and reaching for different items. Your long, dark wave hair slowly falling and blowing around your face. When you looked up at him in the bar he nearly fell backwards. It was clear you was lost in an ocean of thought, however you was stunning. Full, naturally round lips, a perfect little button nose and the most dazzling green eyes he’d ever seen. A dark green ring encircled them, making the colour shine so bright. Yet, he could see in your eyes that you were hurting. The never ending pools of colour didn’t seem like they were shining as brightly as they could, and he noticed you looked tired. Not the kind of tired you’d notice in someone who’s losing sleep, but the kind of tired where a persons soul is slowly giving up. He’s seen that look many times before, in a lot of the women and children he’s saved.

He watched you leave the bar, head hung low and an oversized hoodie thrown over yourself as you walked to your car in the rain. He’d guess you was maybe 5ft4. He watched you cross the road, you didn’t even glance up to check for cars. You wasn’t on your phone, you wasn’t distracted, it seemed more like you simply didn’t care if a car were to plough you down. His brows dipped in concern at the idea that you was putting yourself in danger on purpose. His whole purpose is to save and protect people, but you were different.

That’s what attracted him to you. You had a dark air around you, intriguing and mysterious. What was plaguing you enough to cause such deep rooted issues such as the possibility of death not scaring you.

Zade thought about that the whole drive, as he followed you back to a seemingly derelict road leading through a forest. He couldn’t exactly turn off and follow you down it as it’d be obvious he was following you. He hung back, allowing 5 minutes before signalling and turning down the dirt track, spotting a sign that reads ‘Parson Manor’ at the mouth of the road.

…~~…

You sit in the bay window of Parson Manor, looking out as dusk engolfs the woods surrounding you. You’re holding a large glass of wine like your life depends on it, the bottle sat on the floor next to you, there and ready to top your glass up when you take your last sip. A deep feeling of depression and loneliness is starting to settle in your chest, blooming like a garden that’s just come into spring. You often find your depression coming and going, but this time it feels different. It feels like it’s going to keep you company for a long time. You drink late into the night, maybe even the early hours, drifting off into a deep sleep sat in your bay window chair. Unsettling dreams keep you fidgeting throughout the night, but you’ve drank enough that at least the nightmares won’t wake you.

You stir, feeling as though someone’s watching you. Slowly you blink your eyes open, rubbing away the sleep that is blurring your vision. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and you’re sure you heard something from behind you, but when you look there nothing or no one to be seen. You shake the feeling off and take yourself to bed, still wobbly on your feet as you check your phone for the time. 4:27am. Great, you’re going to feel like shit in a few hours time. “At least I’ll feel something…” you mumble as you face plant your bed, sleep and nightmares instantly welcoming you back.

…~~…

Zade has found himself in a routine now. Go off, do your work and come and watch you. It’s been 4 weeks since he’s been stalking you from afar. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye on you at work, but more often than not it’ll be through the windows of parsons manor. Even he finds this place creepy. He wonders how you must feel, but you seem so at home with darkness that he thinks that must be it. You surround yourself with darkness, including where you live.

He’s grown a deep love for you, and has developed a sense of protection over you. He watched as what seemed to be a group of familiar people to you speedily drove down the dirt track, slamming and skidding to a stop outside the mansion. At first you came out with what appeared to be a surprised smile on your face, only to see it drop in seconds when a stern faced woman came out screaming and shouting, telling you that you shouldn’t be here and that this house didn’t belong to you. She proceeded to drag items out of the house, your clothes, laptop and other personal belongings, tossing them all over the place, screaming at you to get out of her sisters house and leave the family alone. It only became apparent to Zade that she was your mother after hearing you screaming at her. The words hurt his soul to hear, wondering how any woman could ever tear down their daughter like that “You’re nothing to this family! No daughter of mine would be such a disappointment!” You of course would plead back to her, asking why she had to be this way to you. Your tiny physique made you seem so vulnerable as you held yourself, arms crossed and head down, tears falling from your cheeks. Zade wanted nothing more than to walk up to you, pick you up, cradle you and tell you everything was okay. That he was there and that you wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t yet.

Slowly, as the weeks passed he noticed bandages adorning your left arm. He’d been watching you long enough to know you didn’t go to the hospital to get whatever was wrong dressed. He had Jay check the hospital records for you, and nothing flagged up. Whatever had happened, you’d treated it yourself. Worry grew in Zades mind, and one afternoon while you worked, he came and installed the latest spy cams throughout your sprawling mansion. This way, he could always keep an eye on you and make sure you was okay, even if he’d have to ask Jay to check on you from time to time.

He was surprised when he reached your kitchen and saw several red roses placed in a vase, each one at a different stage of dying. One was nearly completely petal-less. You’d kept each rose he was sending to you. He smiled to himself “I’m glad you like the roses, baby” wishing desperately that he was holding you and saying it to your face.

…~~…

Each time you receive a rose and a note, mixed emotions rise to the surface. You have a stalker. A very real, possibly dangerous stalker. As soon as you received the first note and flower you instantly grabbed for your phone to check whether it was your ex. His stories on instagram would confirm that it wasn’t. The excitement died in less than a second and fear settled in its place. Through the fear though, you felt somewhat less alone. Parsons Manor can isolate a soul, imprison them and leave them wishing for death just like you had been each night. The notes gave you something to do, although short, they are sweet. You’d read them with a glass or few of wine. “One day, little mouse, you’ll smile. And that day will light up my whole entire world” that one in particular felt the warmest to read. While it is scary to have an unknown stranger watching you, at least someone cared… right?

#zade meadows #zade and adeline #zadeedit #haunting adeline #fanfic #fanfiction #adeline reilly

9 notes · View notes

reasoningdaily · 2 months

Text

Less than two months ago, parts of Port-au-Prince seemed like a ghost town. Streets and parks normally bustling with commerce and people were nearly empty.

Market women, who normally lined the roads selling everything from food to second-hand cellphones, were few and far between. Charred tires, piles of rocks, and makeshift barricades, the remnants of months of protests against the government, could be seen throughout the capital. The once pristine Petionville, an affluent suburb of Port-au-Prince, was barely recognizable in some parts, with trash overrunning the streets.

Over the last 18 months, Haiti has been in the throes of a perpetual cycle of protests — some violent — and unrest that has destabilized the country for weeks at a time. Years of pent-up frustration over rising inflation and basic costs of necessities on the island came to a boil during a week in July 2018, when the Haitian government nearly doubled fuel prices over night. The move, which was a condition for future aid imposed by the International Monetary Fund, sparked outrage that spilled into the streets, leaving Haiti’s capital charred by flames and fury. People were barricaded in their homes, offices, restaurants, while thousands of people took to the streets rallying against the fuel hike.

The Best Western, which permanently closed its doors on Oct. 31, loomed over Petionville as a symbolic and literal reminder of the state of affairs in Haiti. For many, the U.S.-based hotel chain’s arrival in the country had marked a positive new turn in Haiti following the January 2010 earthquake.

Now, it seems, the hopeful signs have come undone. While daily life in Haiti has always been difficult for most Haitians, the past 18 months on the island have been particularly hard. As the country finds itself in the throes of a fluctuating political, economic and social crisis, the capital city has been virtually paralyzed, with schools, businesses, and banks closed for days, if not weeks, at a time.

This was not the Haiti anyone had hoped for 10 years after the disaster.

The 7.0-magnitude earthquake that struck Haiti on Jan. 12, 2010 killed roughly 300,000 people and displaced nearly a million more. While the epicenter of the earthquake was only 16 miles from Port-au-Prince, the tremor could be felt as far away as Cuba and Venezuela. The devastation was the single greatest humanitarian crisis the small-island country had ever faced. The capital’s already fragile infrastructure was nearly decimated, while the airport and seaports were rendered inoperable. The National Assembly building and Port-au-Prince Cathedral were also destroyed.

“There was a natural expectation that things would be done differently from there on because it was such a big tragedy and the way that that tragedy unfolded was in itself a reflection of choices that were made historically in the country in terms of governance,” said Ludovic Comeau Jr., professor of economics at DePaul University and former chief economist of Haiti’s central bank.

According to Comeau, most of the country’s wealth was severely impacted by the earthquake because of the centralization of Haiti’s economy in Port-au-Prince, with damages totaling 120 percent of the country’s GDP.

“[It was] not only our hope, but almost our certainty, that things would be done differently [in Haiti] and within the next 20 years, Haiti would be an emerging economy,” Comeau said. “It’s certainly not the path we took. There’s no way Haiti will become an emerging economy by 2030.”

“This is worse than the earthquake”

Melinda Stephanie Dominique, a medical student at Quisqueya University, spent the fall semester waiting to find out when it would be safe enough for her to return to school. Instead of studying for exams and walking the halls of her campus with her classmates, she was home weighing the risks she would face if she did decide to venture out.

“We watch the news, we see the videos,” said Dominique, who has three years left in her program. “We’re not going out just like that. Especially when you can hear the bullets yourself. There’s no way to know whether you’ll be able to make it back home.”

While some schools sent notice and formally closed their doors at the height of the protests, others simply shuttered their doors because students stopped coming in. In Dominique’s case, Quisqueya University opted to suspend classes until the protests subsided.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen in this country,” Dominique said.

The political and social turmoil in the country is exacerbated by a feeling of hopelessness that has taken hold in the country, in large part due to the disappointment surrounding earthquake relief and reconstruction efforts.

For the first time in decades Haiti had the world’s attention. However the overwhelming consensus is that the Haitian government and members of the CORE Group — composed of the Special Representative of the United Nations Secretary-General, the Ambassadors of Brazil, Canada, France, Germany, Spain, the European Union, the United States of America, and the Special Representative of the Organization of American States — squandered what little chance Haiti had to emerge as a growing and stable economy.

Comeau says the last decade is one of “missed opportunities, endemic corruption sustained by an equally endemic impunity.”

“You have a situation where public officials in charge of budget in some administrations pilfer the country’s money, and there’s no accountability,” he said. “There’s this mentality that people can do whatever they want, including mismanaging and essentially embezzling public funds. You see all of this culminates in the PetroCaribe scandal.”

In 2005 Venezuela launched the PetroCaribe program that allowed Caribbean countries to buy oil at market value, with only a portion of the payment made upfront, while the remainder of the balance could be paid through a 25-year financing agreement with a 1 percent interest rate. The aim of the program was to spur development and fund social programs in recipient countries. In Haiti, however, nearly $3 billion of the PetroCaribe funds went missing, with Haitians having little to show for the billions of dollars that were poured into the country.

“There’s nothing that can be shown for that $3 billion,” Comeau said. “This is what I’m talking about when I say missed opportunities. Here you have this money from 2008 – 2017 that was available to do something great. We could have built a major hospital in every major region in the country. We could have built universities in every department. We could have improved our infrastructure and modernized, which would have attracted foreign investors. We missed all of this.”

Since the earthquake, more than $7 billion in foreign aid has been disbursed to Haiti, according to research from the Center for Economic and Policy Research.

Haitian organizations and firms, however, received just over 2 percent of the funds that had been allocated to the country.

Criticisms and accusations of fraud, mismanagement and misappropriation of funds plagued relief efforts for years, spurring accountability campaigns demanding answers to the whereabouts of billions of dollars that were meant for reconstruction efforts in Haiti.

Bill and Hillary Clinton were at the center of many scandals surrounding Haiti and the relief funds.

In the days following the earthquake, Bill was tapped as co-chair of the commission tasked with allocating relief funds, while Hillary oversaw more than $4 billion Congress earmarked recovery efforts. However, emails released through a Freedom of Information Act request, revealed officials from the Clinton Foundation — the couple’s personal philanthropic fund — were looking out for bids and proposals from the Clintons’ friends and associates. In the end, the foundation secured 34 projects in the country, including the $350 million Caracol Industrial Park project. The project led to the creation of 10,000 jobs in Haiti, instead of the 65,000 the Clintons promised.

“Billions of dollars were donated to Haiti after the earthquake and we have no idea what was done with that money,” Comeau said.

“In 10 years, nothing has changed,” Dominique said. “We didn’t move forward; we stayed static.”

For many, the current state of affairs in Haiti is worse than any damage the country suffered because of the earthquake. This was more devastating because of its “man-made” nature.

The chain of events to follow would set the stage for a Haiti that many are saying is at its lowest point ever. The Kot Kob Petrocaribe movement would highlight more than ever the endemic corruption in Haitian politics, and pave the way for the dismissal of prime ministers and eventual calls for the resignation of President Jovenel Moise. The movement, which started on Twitter, has since been co-opted and used by Haitian politicians and oligarchs to further their political interests by calling for the ouster of Moise.

Haiti’s already fragile tourism sector has been one of the biggest casualties of Haiti’s unrest. Following the earthquake, former President Michel Martelly made a big push for tourism in the country, with then-Minister of Tourism Stephanie Voulledrain leading an international branding tour, selling Haiti as an untapped tourism treasure trove.

Several fruitful projects began as part of the effective branding campaign. Airlines added flights to the country, new hotel brands were drawn to Port-au-Prince and more and more members of the Diaspora and their friends made their way to Haiti for vacation, conferences and more.

However, in a matter of months, years of work has been reversed. Best Western closed its doors. Delta ceased flights to Haiti, while other carriers significantly reduced their service to the country. Popular resorts and hotels like Decameron Indigo Beach Resort and Spa, and Karibe are virtually empty.

Searching for understanding

There are several theories as to why Haiti is in the state it is in, despite the billions of dollars in aid and donations the country received. Some point to neo-colonialism, imperialism and U.S. intervention, while others place blame on the Duvaliers, the corrupt Haitian government, or the lack of engagement among the Diaspora. The truth is, it’s a melange of it all, which is what makes imagining what comes next for Haiti so difficult.

“The Haitian-American convention did away with Haiti’s sovereignty and it’s a sovereignty that Haiti has never gotten back,” Alain Martin, director of The Forgotten Occupation, said. The documentary tells the story of the U.S. occupation of Haiti from 1915 to 1934 from the perspective of Haitian historians, authors, journalists and politicians. “To this day, nothing happens in Haiti without the say-so of the State Department.”

The Haitian-American Treaty of 1915 gave the U.S. control over Haitian finances, and the right to intervene in Haitian affairs whenever the U.S. government deemed necessary. That same year, the U.S. government placed Philippe Sudré Dartiguenave as president of Haiti, making him the first leader in the country under the U.S. occupation.

“He represents the father figure of the modern Haitian president. Ever since Dartiguenave, with maybe one or two exceptions, every president we’ve had, has been beholden to the State Department,” said Martin.

“You have to look at Haiti as a Shakespearean tragedy. Those of us who truly love Haiti and would like to see the country move forward, don’t have the physical resources to make that happen,” he said. “How can we fight against the State Department? We need allies that we simply don’t have. What the US wants to happen in Haiti is what’s going to happen.”

So what comes next for Haiti?

“The change will have to come from the U.S.,” Martin said. “We need to build a leftist movement in the U.S. that elects leaders that are going to have different policies toward Haiti. But it’s a long shot. Regardless if there were Democrats or Republicans in power in the U.S., their foreign policies toward Haiti have never changed.”

As for Moise, he at least has public support from the U.S., which is enough to keep him in power for now. Over the last three months, U.S. officials have made their way to Haiti or Haitian communities in the United States to “encourage dialogue” over the political impasse that has held the country in its grip for almost two years. Their efforts have been met with gratitude from some and with anger from others.

“There’s always a segment of Haitian society that is looking to the U.S. to be a sort of savior for the county,” Martin said. “They are incapable of seeing Haiti foster its own destiny and barely its own institutions to get the country going. It’s a subconscious collective insecurity that we do not have the capability of doing it on our own.”

In October 2019, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Congresswoman Frederica Wilson — who represents the largest Haitian constituency in the U.S. — participated in a roundtable discussion with members of South Florida’s Haitian community over the growing unrest in Haiti.

Ambassador Kelly Craft’s November 2019 meeting with Moise was met with anger and disapproval from Haitians over what they perceive to be U.S. interference and meddling. And just last month, Under-Secretary of State for Political Affairs David Hale met with members of the opposition and various Haitian business leaders in a closed-door meeting where he pressed for a functioning government that can work together.

“Haitians in Haiti acknowledge now that the Diaspora is the backbone of Haiti,” Comeau said. “The Diaspora is the primary source of foreign funds in the country.” In 2019 the Diaspora sent $3.5 billion to Haiti. While remittances are primarily sent from those living in the United States and Canada, more money is starting to come from Chile and Brazil, where there are growing Haitian communities.

“The Haitian government needs to think more strategically in terms of Diaspora remittances,” he said. “Most of the money sent is spent on consumption. Haiti needs to tap more systematically into the resources of the Diaspora.

We need to have Haitians in the Diaspora invest in Haiti instead of sending money.”

One of the consistent U.S. voices when it comes to Haitian / U.S. affairs has been Marco Rubio, whose comments regarding Haiti have fluctuated from supporting the will of the people calling for Moise’s ouster, to urging calm and support for Moise.

While protests had subsided and a sense of normalcy seemed to return to Haiti as the 10th anniversary of the quake approached, what happens next is uncertain, and Haitians remain discouraged.

“The earthquake came and there were so many promises to build back better,” Martin said. “Yet the earthquake is forgotten, the people who died in the earthquake are forgotten and the promises made have been forgotten.”

#Haiti #Haiti Since the Earthquake: A Decade of Empty Promises #bill clinton #hillary clinton #clinton foundation

9 notes · View notes

hollandorks · 2 years

Text

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter five

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: Sorry it took me a bit to get another chapter uploaded! I’ve been having terrible writer’s block and it’s been so hard to work on this. But don’t worry, I’m still working on it, and have the next several chapters written too!

This chapter is NSFW. 18+. You’re welcome.

If you feel like supporting me further, consider donating to my ko-fi. Every donation gets a teaser for the next chapter, or the entire next chapter! Find that information and donation link here.

Series Masterlist

word count: 3712

He had a strong feeling that she knew something, and he was going to find out what.

Y/n stopped watching the feed of Bruce when he started beating the shit out of the bouncers at the Iceberg Lounge.

Lena had texted back. She could meet, and soon.

Y/n hurried upstairs and changed into something more comfortable. Something dark with a hood. Almost a disguise, but not quite. She didn’t want Lena seeing her in her full disguise–it would raise too many questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

It doesn’t take long for y/n to reach Lena’s apartment. The other girl was fresh off of a shift and headed towards sleep.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” y/n said as she quickly hugged Lena and stepped inside the small apartment. Lena still smelled like the club, though she was in pajamas. A thousand memories washed over y/n at the scent. She had to blink several times to clear the cobwebs of memory away. Her stomach was clenched painfully tight.

“You’ll never guess who showed up right as I was leaving,” Lena said by way of introduction. She bustled around the apartment, straightening her son Javier’s toys with one hand while drinking a glass of wine with the other.

Y/n knew exactly who, but still she dutifully said, “No. Who?”

Lena smiled. “Your old friend the Batman.”

Y/n didn’t know what her face was doing but it made Lena laugh. “Let me guess, it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, and even though you’re engaged to handsome, sweet, rich Bruce Wayne, you can’t quite put that old flame out?” Lena laughed again.

Y/n sighed. Lena had no idea. She wanted to laugh. Because, yes, she did have a thing for Batman. “That’s not–why was he there?”

Maybe Lena would have more details on this case. On this mystery girl. Something.

“No idea. I left when they started shooting at him.” Lena flopped onto the couch and patted the seat next to her.

Y/n couldn’t help it. As she sat, she winced. “Was he…okay?” Oh, Lena was definitely going to think there was something between her and Batman. She’d be right, but that was beside the point. The girl mercilessly teased her over anything and everything, which meant that the perceived crush on Batman would be next.

“Yeah, he was fine. The Penguin stepped in before anything else happened. I left right after that. So…what’s up? Usually you show up at regular hours.” So far, Lena had never been to Wayne Manor. Not for lack of trying–Lena said she was simply more comfortable at home, especially if her son was there. Y/n didn’t blame her. Especially because Javi was such a sweet kid. He always drew pictures for y/n before she left, and always offered to share his food with her even when she had plenty.

She’d offered to pay off Lena’s debts, too, but Lena had refused. It was a fight between them, and a frequent one. Lena insisted that, in the past year, things had gotten better at the Iceberg Lounge.

But now there was another girl mixed up with a rich, powerful man.

Y/n explained all of this to Lena.

When they turned on the news, there she was: the mystery woman.

Lena sat up straight as soon as she saw her. “That’s Annika. She came not too long after you left, along with another girl. She was sleeping with Mitchell, alright, they aren’t wrong about that.” Lena’s face darkened. Y/n knew what she was thinking because she was thinking it, too. She was thinking about all of the scumbags in the club downstairs, paying for women, men who should know better. Men who should be better. The mayor, the ADA, the richest man in Gotham aside from Bruce. They had all been involved last year.

It was all happening again.

Y/n suddenly couldn’t breathe. She forced her next words out. “What other girl?”

“Her name is Selina.” Lena smiled wryly. “The rumor is that Selina used to work there but went away for a while. Now she’s back. She and Annika hit it off right away since they were new together and around the same age. I’m not sure if they’re dating or what, but they’re roommates, and they’re really close. Annika’s probably at her place.”

Y/n sucked in a breath, remembering another girl. Marie. They had hit it off, too, until Marie’s murder.

She wasn’t going to let that happen to Annika.

“Lena…” y/n said. She braced herself for the fight, but she had to say it anyway. “Please let me help you. Bruce and I want to help you. What if–what if everything starts happening again like last year, and Javi has to lose you? What if I have to lose you?” To her utter horror, tears pricked her eyes.

Lena closed her eyes. “I don’t want your pity money,” Lena said, the same words y/n had heard hundreds of times by now.

“Lena, please. If it matters that much to you, I’ll only give you enough to get you through until you can find a better job. It’s not pity money. It’s because I–I care about you and I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”

“What about all the other girls at the club, huh? If Bruce Wayne is so fucking rich, why doesn’t he just get the place shut down?” Lena was angry now, but so was y/n.

“We have tried! Do you think it’s that easy to get a place run by the fucking mob shut down, Lena? Come on. Let me just–Let me get you out of there first, then we can figure out a way to help the rest. Okay? Please. For me. For Javi. So you don’t end up like Marie.”

The name dropped like a stone between them.

Lena sighed. She twisted her hair between her hands, something she did when she was nervous or upset. Y/n put a hand on the girl’s arm. She didn’t want to argue, but Lena was stubborn. Too stubborn. Y/n knew that offering her money was basically an insult, especially since the club was still running. Bruce had hired lawyers to get it shut down, but the owner had too many connections. Even the best Wayne Enterprises lawyers were having a hard time getting the club shut down. They were hit with roadblocks at every turn.

Lena knew this, but she still refused the money. It terrified y/n. It felt like it was only ever a matter of time before something happened to Lena, too. Especially where the Iceberg Lounge was concerned. Too many women ended up missing from that place.

“More breaking news this hour as the city is rocked by a second high-profile murder in as many nights. And this time, the killer has come forward to claim credit online…”

Both of them whipped around to the news playing quietly on the TV. They exchanged a glance.

Y/n half-expected it to be the girl, Annika.

But it was the police commissioner. She knew he had been Gordon’s old partner.

God. Gordon. He was going to be wrecked.

Especially if this killer was only killing corrupt people.

The man calling himself the Riddler spoke on the TV. “Hello, people of Gotham. This is the Riddler speaking. On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be. But I am not done.”

The video flipped to show a man with a complicated contraption over him. Some sort of…tubes. A maze.

Over his face.

“Here is another…who will soon be losing face.”

Y/n looked away as the police commissioner whimpered.

Lena was cursing steadily next to her, in English and Spanish both.

“I will kill again, and again, and again, until our day of judgment when the truth about our city will finally…be unmasked. Goodbye!”

Y/n stood on shaking legs. “I have to–I have to–”

“Go,” Lena said. “You should tell your Bat friend about Selina and Annika.

“If he’s killing corrupt people,” y/n said suddenly. “Then I need to get back in the club. Because you’ve seen the commissioner there, haven’t you?”

Lena winced but said nothing. She didn’t have to.

“Lena, I can get information that Batman can’t. I know how it works, I can blend in, I can ask all the right questions.”

Lena sighed and sat forward. She placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Okay. I can get you in, no problem. I–if you really think this will help.”

“I said last time something like this happened I would stop it, didn’t I?” When Lena looked up, y/n knew she saw determination shining there. “This time will be no different.” She paused. “Well, except this time I’m going to try really hard not to get stabbed.”

Lena huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you. Might want a disguise, though. You’re still pretty legendary around the club. I don’t like to think about what could happen if the Penguin recognized you.”

“Thank you,” she said vehemently. She squeezed Lena’s shoulder. “And please think about what I said. Let me get you out while I work on helping the other girls. Please. For Javi.”

Lena nodded but didn’t look up. “I’ll think about it.” It was as good of a promise as any.

As soon as y/n was out of the apartment, she held her phone to her ear in a pretend call and turned the earpiece on.

“I have some information,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I talked to Lena. Have you seen the news?”

“I’m headed to meet Gordon now. You talked to Lena where, exactly?” His tone was careful. She could tell already how keyed up he was. Two bodies, two nights, the Iceberg Lounge at the center of it all. He had bad memories from a year ago, too. Worse than hers, probably.

“Her apartment, don’t worry. She told me about the big scene you made.” Bruce sighed in her ear as she got into her car. “That girl–her name is Annika, and she’s roommates with another girl named Selina. They’re close. They both work at the club and started after I left.”

“I know,” Bruce said. There was a noise in the background. The revving of his bike. He was speeding towards Gordon, towards the second body. Towards a killer writing cards to the Batman. She really hoped there wasn’t another card. One was enough.

“I met Selina at the club. Annika was taken from her apartment.”

Y/n went utterly still.

“Taken?” she repeated dully. There was a rushing sound in her ears. Distantly, she was glad that she hadn’t been driving, because she surely would have crashed.

Another missing girl.

Another missing girl from the fucking Iceberg Lounge.

“The apartment was destroyed. Selina said the girl had been there when she left, and we weren’t gone that long.”

We weren’t gone that long. For some reason, those were the words that stuck. Y/n brushed it off. “Taken,” she said again. There was a note of desperation in her voice. She had to grip the steering wheel with all of her strength to keep from running back upstairs and demanding Lena and Javier pack their bags to move into Wayne Manor at that very moment.

No. She wasn’t doing this again. She couldn’t.

Bruce’s voice softened. Less Batman, more Bruce. “I know. I’m–I’m going to fix this, okay? This isn’t going to be like last year.”

But it already was.

“I’m here. I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you,” y/n echoed.

–

Y/n paced back and forth in the Batcave while she waited on Bruce. She’d already looked up a shop that sold high quality wigs. Pacing was the only thing left to do.

The fact that two powerful men were dead and a woman from the Iceberg Lounge was missing was bad news. The bad feeling she’d had for several days now was only getting worse.

And Bruce was at the center.

She watched the live feed of the contact lens camera as he found a second card addressed to the Batman. I’m mad about you, the card had said.

She knew now how Bruce had felt the year before as she’d headed face-first into danger. Didn’t he see how bad this was? This killer was targeting the Batman–and it was worse that he didn’t seem to want to kill him. At least, not yet.

Did Bruce not see how bad it could get? How quickly it could all go wrong?

So she paced. And paced. Hit the practice dummy a few times to feel better. Tried to immerse herself in paperwork for the Gotham Project.

But instead she found herself immersed in the other Gotham Project. She caught up on Bruce’s journals for the past few days.

Three years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal.

Fear is a tool.

Maybe it can’t be saved, but I have to try. PUSH MYSELF.

Y/n took a deep, shuddering breath and let the journal close.

She needed to talk to Bruce.

Almost as soon as she thought it, the roar of his motorcycle reverberated down the long tunnels. The noise set the bats overhead to screeching. The sound of them was familiar to her now, as familiar as the damp and cold of the cave itself.

Within a couple of minutes, Bruce pulled up, work jacket zipped up tight over his armor.

He paid no attention to the fact that she was pacing, or the way her arms crossed tightly when she saw him, or even the aggravated sigh she gave when she saw him.

“Another card?” she asked to get his attention as he unzipped the jacket and took out the contact lens.

Bruce grunted.

“Bruce. That’s two murders and two cards. Two cards addressed to you. I don’t like this. And I saw you writing about pushing yourself lately, you–”

“This guy has killed two men already,” Bruce interrupted. He wasn’t angry. He merely sounded tired. Patient, but tired. “I’m not–of course I’m pushing myself.”

“You wrote that before the murders,” she said, voice tight. “I’m worried about you.”

Bruce sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. His knuckles were bloody, likely from his fight on Halloween night at the subway station. The movement smeared the makeup all over his cheeks.

“I–I just feel like I’m not making any difference. Everything is worse. Three years, and everything is worse. Everything we did last year, everything GCPD did for the Maroni case, and now we have a fucking serial killer leaving me cards at every crime scene.” His shoulders tightened more and more with each word. She could see the world pressing down upon them, heavier and heavier in each passing moment.

She stepped closer to him. “Let me help you,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Bruce closed his eyes. She pressed her palm to his cheek. The stubble there scraped at her hand. She started undoing the armor. She pressed a kiss to his neck, then his jaw, and then his lips.

“If this guy kills again–” Bruce started, but she kissed him again. He kept mumbling against her lips for a moment, then finally quieted.

She pulled back enough to tell him, “Work is over for tonight. He just killed again, so we at least have a little bit of time if there’s going to be a third murder.”

Bruce sighed again. Her fingers found the waistband of his armored pants.

“I think I can keep your mind off of work for at least a little while,” she said as she tugged him closer by the pants until they were pressed together.

“You’re a menace,” Bruce said halfheartedly. But his pupils were expanding with desire and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared down at her.

She kissed him again. His fingers found her bare skin beneath her shirt and held her captive against his warm body. He smelled of the cold night air and sweat and something else that was wholly Bruce. He groaned when her tongue touched his bottom lip. He was hard against her lower stomach.

“I need a shower,” he said. He was breathless, his hair a mess from the cowl and the motorcycle helmet, face smeared with black. His blue eyes were darkened with desire. Even now, even months later, the look in his eyes made it hard for her to breathe.

“So do I,” she said with a smirk.

They were kissing again before the elevator doors closed.

“Why do I feel like this is a distraction technique?” Bruce asked as she led him by the hand into their bedroom.

“Because it is. I’m not trying to hide it.” She pulled her shirt off to emphasize her point. Bruce’s eyes roved hungrily over her.

Within minutes, they were both naked and standing beneath the warm spray of water in the shower.

“They say orgasms can help with stress,” y/n said as her fingers found Bruce’s bare hips. He moaned as her fingers wrapped around his length. “So I think I should help you destress a little.”

“Menace,” Bruce repeated, but his eyes were already closing, his head tilting back, his breaths coming heavier.

She stroked him gently, taking her time. For a few minutes, she wanted to forget the serial killer, forget the missing girl, forget Gotham itself. She wanted it to be her and Bruce and nothing between them.

“I thought–” Bruce started, then stopped with a groan as she tightened her grip on him. “I thought we were showering.”

She stepped back. “Fine. We can shower.” She grabbed the soap and lathered his body, starting with his shoulders, moving across his chest and back, and down over his hips. She purposefully skirted her hand close to where he wanted to be touched, then moved down his legs at the last minute. As the water ran over him, she slid to her knees and finished washing all of him.

Bruce stared down at her with eyes blown wide with desire. One of his hands braced on the tile wall as she took him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I–”

He stopped talking as she used one hand to hold him while her mouth took care of the rest. His knees shook, water running down her head and into her eyes. But she loved doing this, loved seeing him weak with need for her, loved taking care of him for once.

He breathed her name, then repeated it louder. He backed up a step and her mouth released him with a wet sound.

“Finish showering,” he said a bit breathlessly. “And then I’m taking you to bed.”

Her muscles clenched. “Yes, sir,” she teased.

He returned the favor and lathered soap across her body, paying extra attention to her breasts, her ass, and between her legs.

She was trembling with need by the time they were both washed and rinsed. They dried off, steam curling around them in the cool bathroom, and Bruce snatched her up into his arms before she was totally dry.

She gave a little yelp of surprise but laughed as he growled and attached his lips to her neck.

“Is it working?” she asked. She moaned as he kissed her pulse, then her collarbone. “Are you still thinking about work?”

“All I’m thinking,” Bruce said as he laid her on the bed, “is how beautiful you are.”

Any retort was cut off by the sound of foil ripping, and then Bruce was hovering over her, damp hair falling into his face. He was kissing her as he entered her. They moaned in unison as he started to move.

Her hands brushed over his shoulders and his ribs and hips. She wanted him closer. Needed him closer. She wanted to wrap him into herself and keep him from the world outside. She kissed him with urgency, ignoring the bad feeling that had lingered within her for days.

For those moments, it was only the two of them.

After they both came, shuddering into each other, tangled together, they curled up in bed.

“You should sleep,” y/n told Bruce gently. His eyes were already closed.

But he was tense again. She reached over and smoothed the line between his brows.

“Sleep,” she said, an order this time.

“I should–”

She rolled on top of him. “Nope. You’re trapped here until you fall asleep.” She let her body go limp. He could easily lift her, but she knew he wouldn’t bother.

Bruce rolled his eyes. His hands started rubbing her back as if of their own accord. He peered up at her, blue eyes troubled and thoughtful. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’m going to call in reinforcements.”

Bruce groaned. “You wouldn’t dare tell on me to Alfred.”

“Don’t test me.” She kissed him lightly and rolled away. “Besides, I’m tired, too.”

“Then sleep.”

“I’ll sleep if you do.” To prove her point, she rolled on her side and stared at him with exaggeratedly wide eyes. Bruce rolled to face her and stared back.

She decided to switch tactics. “You need sleep if you’re going to solve anything,” she said. “Just for a few hours. We can set an alarm so you can be gone by sunset.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, lips quirked slightly with amusement. “But only so you don’t tell Alfred on me.”

Despite his resistance, Bruce was asleep within minutes of her setting an alarm. She very quietly turned it back off. He needed as much sleep as he could get. So did she. If he delayed going back into the city by a few hours, so what? Gotham could manage to hold itself together for that long.

Plus, she had a nagging feeling that sleep would be hard to come by in the days ahead.

Y/n caught herself thinking about Lena. About their conversation. Her muscles tensed even as Bruce slept peacefully beside her.

She was going into the Iceberg Lounge for the first time in more than a year, and she was going to get some fucking answers.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@pop-rocks-and-skittles @calumspupils @n1ght5h4d3-24 @keepingitlokiii @11mb0 @illicitghosts @cat-purrsonified @blue-aconite @junggoku @ohheyitsrowan @angxlictexrs @avengersgirllorianna @brynhildrmimi @takeyour-pants-off @twilightdollie @p-writes @lady-x-red @xingqiusliegee @scxrletwitches @justine-en @philiasoul @srryxmate @thecherrybombcom @minstens @call-me-nayo @cosmicbreathe @deadflowerd @iimawinchester @ventila98 @thecraziestcrayon @blossomedfloweroflove @dcgoddess @nautixa @wordsinwinters @leastlikelytoachieve @slutforblueeyes @pajerita19 @marvelsangels @leiaofthestars @lwtmonster91 @vellania @uncle-eggy @goldbvtton @angelsarecallin @rockagurl @zaminoo @saretria @zzzvoid @moonyinthestars @wondergal2001 @livvvmp4 @lexydoodles @lauftivy @clarebear66 @marchingicenotes7 @hazel-light @eoz-stuff @moongarcia @normatural @plaidstiel-wormstache @tembo-ndoto @that-girl-named-alex @lokigoeschoki @johnmurphys-sass @moonlighttfoxx @earthgirl616 @acceptedbyace @sinkin7pm @vi0letblu3s

#bruce wayne x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne imagine #the batman imagine #batman imagine #battinson imagine #bruce wayne fic #the batman fic #batman fic #battinson fic #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne #shadows in the night #sitn

279 notes · View notes

wishfulwithwine · 1 year

Text

Eye of His Storm - Chapter One

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Fem!Reader

She was the pure beauty of Targaryens and Velaryons, only daughter of Rhaenyra and Leaner Velaryon, second child.

He was the scarred, menacing son of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower.

They put together the broken pieces of their lives, and made each other whole.

Warning: series will have INCEST, cursing, smut, violence, ptsd, alcohol and other possible triggers. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF MINOR. 18+ ONLY.

photo from pinterest

Six years.

That was the last time Y/N Velaryon had stepped foot on King’s Landing.

Y/N was a different woman - a girl - when she had been here last.

Before her aunt’s death, before Aemond lost his eye, before her father’s death…

Now she was here for the discussions of the heir to Driftmark.

“I love my brother,” Vaemond insisted, walking up to the throne. “But we must be honest with ourselves”

Princess Rhaenys sat on the throne, while Y/N and Baela stood on either side of her. Her and Baela had remained at Driftmark after their Velaryon parent’s deaths, as their Targaryen parents married each other. Both girls had felt strongly about their parents remarrying so soon after the deaths, so the girls decided to live with their grandparents on Driftmark. Rhaena had decided to live with her father and Rhaenyra, still wishing for more of her father’s attention. While Lord Corlys went out to sea, Princess Rhaenys was thrilled with having the two girls to distract herself from the loneliness. They all leaned on one another for support, as each of them grieved their losses.

“We may greet his ship to find him gone. And who will take the Driftwood throne?” Vaemond asked, bringing up discussions that seemingly haven’t settled for six years.

“My grandmother seems quite comfortable here” Baela stated, raising an eyebrow.

“She presides only in the absence of her husband” Vaemond stated. “On his death, the seat passes”

“To Lucerys Velaryon, as is my lord husband’s desire” Rhaenys stated, as if she had repeated this a thousand times.

“I am the Sea Snake’s own blood, the closest male kin he has left” Vaemond said, while Y/N rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. She knew he was right, but to speak it out loud would have you condemned. Or worse.

In the grieving process, Y/N had become colder - as Y/N felt that she lost the only parent who actually loved her. In the past six years, she hadn’t seen her mother or brothers. They never visited her, and when Baela would visit her sister and father, Y/N opted to stay behind, not willing to leave Princess Rhaenys alone. Her mother never wrote her, not even on her name day, and Y/N’s skin grew metaphorically thicker over time. Sometimes she wondered if her mother forgot she even had a daughter.

“Be careful, good-brother. One could take your words for treason” Princess Rhaenys said, glancing briefly over to Y/N, who’s fists were clenched. To be honest, she did not care about whether or not Lucerys inherited the throne, rather that her father’s legacy was not forgotten.

Lord Vaemond walked closer to the throne, up the steps, as Baela and Y/N shifted to more of a protective stance for Princess Rhaenys.

“I speak the truth, Rhaenys. And you know it” Vaemond said.

“The matter has been decided” Rhaenys said, and Y/N admired her tenacity to keep with her husband’s wish, even after hearing the discussion between them six years ago.

“By a man whose ambition has brought down on us calamity after calamity” Vaemond said. “My brother cares only for the history books. But what of the Velaryon line? Is it to be snuffed out, supplanted by the pups of House Strong?”

Y/N remained silent, as she thought that if she was a man, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. She knew better than to comment on that, however.

“Driftmark is mine, by all rights” Vaemond stated. “And while I would like your support, I do not need it. The winds have shifted. The crown has good reason… to take my side”

“My cousin, the King would have your tongue for this” Rhaenys stated.

“But it’s not a king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good-sister. It’s a queen” Vaemond stated, almost ominously.

“Umbagon gīda, Laex. Kesi daor sagon kesīr bōsa (Stay calm, Laex. We will not be here long)” Y/N said, as she elegantly demounted from her dragon, Laex. The dragon trainers all stared at Y/N and Laex, taking in the dragon’s appearance.

As the newest and largest dragon the Realm had ever known, Laex was a site that most had not had the privilege of seeing. Fully jetblack, Laex was good at hiding, before he seemed to appear from out of the waters, where Y/N saw him and bonded. No one is to know for sure where he came from, but as soon as he appeared, he was at Y/N’s side, at her command. The two were almost inseparable. He was a fairly young dragon, but massive in size.

Y/N named him Laex, after her father. She knew Laenor hadn’t died, as he had come to her room before, explaining what happened with him and Rhaenyra. He left Y/N behind - and most days, Y/N wondered why she wasn’t enough for him to stay. Why wasn’t she enough for either of her parents? Instead of acting out from her pain, Y/N retracted inwards, shielding her true emotions from most.

“Welcome back, Princess Y/N” one of the dragon trainers, who Y/N remembered from when she was a girl, but the dragon trainer barely recognized the woman Y/N became. Y/N had made the trip on her dragon, as Princess Rhaenys and Baela were arriving tomorrow by ship.

“Thank you” Y/N said simply, before turning her attention back to Laex, gently caressing his face as if caressing a baby’s. “Nyke jāhor sagon arlī aderī (I will be back soon)”

Y/N left reluctantly, leaving Laex with the dragon trainers, walking up the steps to the dragon pit, where she saw the Targaryen-Hightowers awaiting her arrival. Helaena all but ran to greet her old best friend, knocking Y/N down with her enthusiasm.

“Helaena!” Alicent scolded, as Aemond quickly went to Y/N’s side to help her up. Thankful, Y/N smiled genuinely at him, then brushed off the extra dirt before turning to look at Alicent, Otto, Helaena, and Aegon. To be truthful, the changed appearance of Aemond was causing her feelings to act erratically, so she tried to ignore them, despite his close presence and hand on her hip to make sure she remained steady.

“Welcome home, my dear” Alicent said, with a genuine smile, as she pulled Y/N in to a hug.

“Thank you, my Queen. I have missed you” Y/N replied, feeling a weight lifted in her chest, before she pulled away, although Alicent still kept her hands on her shoulders, analyzing Y/N’s appearance.

“You’ve grown so beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous” Alicent said, as Y/N almost blushed. The rumors from Driftmark were true, Y/N had become a royal beauty.

“Thank you, my Queen” Y/N replied, before looking over to Otto.

“It has been far too long, Y/N. Your presence has been missed” Otto said, with a rare smile, as he nodded over.

“Mother is right, you have grown and become very beautiful” Aegon said, with a smirk, and it seemed that everyone but himself tensed, as he brought Y/N into a tight hug.

“Thank you Aegon. I’ve seen you’ve grown as well” Y/N said, as politely as she could without being disrespectful, before pulling away quickly from the hug.

That left Aemond, who was doing his best to wait patiently.

“Aemond” Y/N said, a soft smile on her face, gazing over his changed appearance fully, before Aemond pulled her into a hug as well. He could smell the scent of jasmine and vanilla, despite the smoke in her hair, inhaling it to memory, before pulling away reluctantly from her.

“We’ve changed your room. Your’s is now closer to Helaena’s” Alicent said, as Helaena linked arms with Y/N, as everyone walked through the castle.

“Thank you. That is very much appreciated” Y/N said honestly, as she understood the subtle distancing Alicent was placing between Y/N and the other members of her family.

After taking a warm bath and getting dressed into a beautiful blue silk gown, there was a knock on her door.

“Come in” Y/N said, as she stood in front of her mirror, trying to attach the necklace she wore everyday.

Glancing over to the door, she was surprised to see Aemond, who shut the door behind him, before strolling over closer to where she was.

“May I?” Aemond asked, seeing her struggle with the clasp on her necklace. He had seen it on her when she emerged from the dragon pit in her riding leathers.

“Please” She replied, holding it out to him, and as he fastened it around her neck, he took it in greater detail, when he turned her around to face him directly.

“It’s a beautiful necklace, byka embar (little sea)” He said, seeing the sapphire pendant, as he grazed her collarbone gently before picking up the necklace in his hands to see it more closely. Y/N smiled fondly at his use of his nickname for her. Even when she was little, Y/N was drawn to the ocean.

“I wear this daily. Sapphires are common on Driftmark for their sea-like color” Y/N said, staring at Aemond’s face for his reaction.

“It is also my favorite, as you already know” Aemond said, looking at her eyes now, as he dropped the necklace to lay back on her chest.

“The stone for the necklace was created from the same as my gift to you years ago” She said, placing her hand on his upper cheek, just gently touching his eyepatch. He closed his eyes, tilting his head down so he could lean his forehead on hers.

“I’ve missed you, byka embar” Aemond admitted, sighing deeply as he closed his eyes and all but drowned himself in her presence. He placed his hands on her waist, feeling like if he didn’t hold on to her, Y/N would be gone.

“I’ve missed you too, issa zaldrizes (my dragon)” Y/N admitted, putting her hands on his shoulders, anchoring herself from the waves of emotion flooding through her.

“Your letters… I wanted to take you away. I wish you could’ve left with us” Aemond said, feeling her soft hands massage over his shoulders.

“It is a political game I must play with my mother. I can’t stand her, yet she would burn the place down if I ever came here without an explicit reason. There is no winning” Y/N said, looking to him.

“It is a never ending one here as well. Mother is… you know” Aemond said, bitterly.

“At least Alicent treats you like you’re her child. Let me guess, you usually hide in the pit with Vhagar? I’m surprised she hugged me while I was still in my dirty riding clothes” Y/N said, as Aemond pulled his head back off her forehead, and started playing with her hair.

“I should hate you. She likes you more than any of us. You’re the child she wished she had” Aemond scoffed.

“Well I’m glad someone wants me” Y/N says, with a sigh as she looked down at her dress. Aemond took one of his hands, and pushed her chin up to force her to look directly at him.

“I will always want you, byka embar. I will never stopped wanting you” Aemond said, softly but sternly, for her to understand how truthful he was being. Words caught in her throat as her breath hitched, as his hand moved, softly grabbing her whole neck intimately.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Aemond huffed with annoyance. Y/N looked at him softly, before standing out of his embrace, both of them looking away awkwardly.

“Come in” Y/N replied, as the door opened, seeing Alicent.

“Oh Aemond! Good to see you both. Y/N, I wanted a quick audience with you, if you weren’t busy” Alicent said, looking between the pair. Y/N smiled, looking over to Aemond, reaching a hand over to his and squeezing it.

“A walk in the gardens later?” Y/N said, knowing Alicent wasn’t just asking politely for her time. Aemond nodded, before closing the door behind them.

“I’ve missed you, little one. How has Driftmark treated you?” Alicent asked, as she sat on one of the sofas, while Y/N sat down across from her.

“It’s been nice. The water is always calming, and Princess Rhaenys is kind” Y/N replied, clasping her hands in front of her. Alicent looked at the girl fondly.

“I wish I could’ve brought you back with us to Kings Landing” Alicent said, sadly, as she had written in her letters over the years to Y/N.

“My mother would have started a war, despite her absence these past years” Y?N said, and Alicent sighed.

“My sweet girl. She does not deserve you as a daughter” Alicent said, bitterly. Y/N reached over, and put her hands in Alicent’s.

“It’s alright. I’m here now, and we can work on fixing things” Y/N said, with a smirk. Alicent raised her eyebrow, intrigued.

“Oh?” Alicent asked.

“Yes. It’s complicated, but I have a plan for these trials… If you dare approve, although I think you will agree…” Y/N said, and Alicent smirked, listening to Y/N’s plan.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Y/N made it out to see Aemond.

“You remembered” Y/N said, as Aemond held her favorite cookies - lemon blueberry biscuits - while he waited at the entrance to the old tree. A guard had informed him when her meeting with her mother ended, and he left the library to come meet Y/N. Aemond gave a small smile, one that his face felt unusual giving, before taking her hand and walking through the gardens. Alicent had done some updating to them in the past few years, but they still held the charm as Y/N remembered.

“I don’t forget anything regarding you. How was your chat with my mother?” Aemond asked, curiously.

“It was good. The next few days should be interesting, if all goes according to plan” Y/N said, with a smirk. Aemond grinned, leading her over to a tree where they could sit.

“Will I get to know of these plans?” Aemond asked, with a smirk. Y/N smiled.

“Maybe” Y/N replied, taking a small bite of the cookie. Aemond couldn’t help himself when a few crumbs ended up on her cheek, that she hadn’t noticed, and brushed them away with his thumb. Y/N looked at him, staring into his eye as he stared back.

Even years later, Y/N still felt that she could drown herself in Aemond’s eyes, the most beautiful shade of purple she’s ever seen. His face had changed drastically over the years, becoming more angular and sculpted from his child plump face. His cheek bones and jawline were defined, and his chin looked strong. His hair was longer, silkier even, just like hers.

As Y/N regarded Aemond, he stared over her longingly, not wanting to scare her with his gaze but also unwilling to look away. He hadn’t felt like this with any other maiden.

“Do you realize how beautiful you are? We could’ve had all this time together” Aemond said, his hand lingering on her face. His thumb moved over to pull on the center of her bottom lip, like in Targaryen marriage custom.

“I could’ve been your wife, issa zaldrizes” Y/N said, dreamily, as she looked up at him through her lashes when he tilted her chin upwards. He bit his lip, the thoughts running through his head.

“A few kids by now, byka embar. I can see you all round and swollen with my seed” Aemond smirked, moving his other hand to her wrist, Blushing brightly, Y/N leaned more into him, shielding her face in his chest. Aemond chuckled, as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I’d barely let you leave our bed, my little dove. Your body would be worshipped as my temple” He whispered, his lips and breath hot underneath her ear.

“You can’t say things like that” Y/N said, leaning to look up at him again. His smirk remains.

“You’re mine. You’re going to be my wife, even if I have to kill all of Westeros” Aemond stated, with such determination etched into his face.

Taglist:

@dark-night-sky-99 @neenieweenie @azaleapotterblack @queenofshinigamis @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @hydrationqueensworld @kitten480 @percyjacksonspeen @shiranai-atsune @literishdegree99 @alexandra-001 @readsalot73

#aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond #Aemond the Kinslayer #laenor velaryon #aemond imagine #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you

107 notes · View notes