#Soooo that part was much longer than planned

[kylobith]

Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 5 of 7

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6 - Epilogue

Summary: Unable to find rest, the prince and the maid meet in the halo of the moonlight. Their closeness inevitably leads them to transgress a boundary from which there is no retreat.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Warning: You knew it was coming. It had to. It gets spicy! [NSFW] [NSFT]

(it remains fluffy though)

Word count: 10,500

Read it on AO3 here.

Night had long fallen over Rohan, its ink black mantle, dotted with molten-golden asters that sparkled far above the lands, enfolding the world. Guardian of dreams and protector of dreamers, it had plunged the realm into an undisturbed tranquillity. Predators roamed the plains, shielded by the darkness that Night provided, perpetuating the circle of life. Birds of prey spread and fluttered their wings, fending the air with innate grace, and waiting for unsuspecting rodents to capture their acute eye. Above it all, the moon hung in the sky, boasting its rich silver hues, bathing the mountaintops into its glow; the sole beacon of any soul untouched by the lull of sleep.

Winter had truly begun to take root once the sun had set. Despite having left the earth bare during the day, it now draped its surface with rime. Scintillating opal dust waltzed through the breeze, carrying the serenity of the sky to the wilds below. The blanket it wove upon the ground stifled the steps of the animals seeking shelter in the woods. Deer wandered between the trees, scouring the landscape for a place to settle for the night. Under a pine, a doe curls up around her fawn, letting her brown coat warm up her young.

At the heart of Meduseld, nestled in her bedchamber, Éorhild lay wide awake under her covers. Though her irises faced the spectacle that nature offered, they were blind to its magnificence. Rather, they drowned in brine that trickled down the bridge of her nose and met its end against her pillow. She wept in silence; exhaustion had gnawed too deep in her bones for her to tremble or wail.

Guilt. Remorse. Vile creatures whose claws tore her flesh into shreds, searing her with an agony so profound that she could do nothing but pray that it would pass. By then, she was in a state beyond hysteria. She was carving herself a grave in the ruthless soil of apathy, each shovelful burying her in a void of her heart’s own making. As the clod in her back grew higher by the second, she hoped that once it would shroud her, new life would take root from her despair and blossom into a bed of colourful lilies.

Éomer’s soul-baring confession had shattered her world into fragments too jagged to reassemble. Though she had never questioned his fondness, she never had imagined that it had ripened into love. His revelation had sent her mind spiralling, untethered for reason, her heart plummeting under the recollection of her reaction. Its thunderous rhythm had roared in her ears, drowning every fragment of coherence. Instinct had eclipsed thought, and before she had fathomed a response, she had murmured an apology and fled his quarters. Her mantle, hose, shoes, and veil lay abandoned on his chair, a silent testament to the dismay that had seized her. No other explanation had been uttered; no apology issued. Within a second, she had departed.

Another fainting spell had befallen her, though this time there had been no gallant rescuer to whisk her away on his steed. Mere seconds had passed until she regained her spirits and dragged herself to her washroom, where she poured herself a warm bath to thwart the promise of severe soreness in her muscles and ribs come morning. It had been but a fleeting solace. There she had lingered, with her head underwater to scream her lungs out until they burnt, the water absorbing her anguish without alerting another soul.

Then, she had shuffled the short distance to her bed, clad in nothing warmer than her shift, heedless to the chill that nipped at her skin. Heaving a rattling sigh, she had collapsed onto the mattress and burrowed beneath the covers. For hours she wrestled with the sheets, tossing and turning, incapable of drifting away. Her mind yearned for the oblivion of sleep yet clung stubbornly to the memory of her prince. Each time she closed her eyes, his image rose unbidden, piercing her with a pain radiating from her chest down to her fingertips, where it stung like nettles. Sleep, cruel as it was, evaded her.

And thus, she lay, alert and hollow-eyed, the tears she had hoped would bring release proving futile. They left her drained but long away from the hibernation she craved, her waking sorrow haunting her through the long hours of the night.

In truth, she was utterly spent, her body eroded by heartache and her spirit ravaged by the flames of regret. Mindless chores she could carry out in her room to compensate were unthinkable; she has no more strength to spare. Lifting a finger even felt an insurmountable task. She was an empty vessel adrift in despair. Insomnia was holding her captive in the world of night owls. She was its prisoner, vulnerable to its cruel grip. Too weak to even stand, she lay in the dark, unable to peer through the bars of this cage to glimpse a shred of hope. Escaping this madness seemed a fantasy that only fools could aspire to.

To quell the venom coursing through her veins, Éorhild turned her thoughts to Éomer’s plea, echoing in her mind like a cherished melody. How exquisite it had been! Never in her wildest dreams had she placed herself on the receiving end of such fervent passion, nor as one to whom those infamous three words would have been bestowed. Faintly, she recalled when she was a carefree girl in the Westfold who dared to dream of hearing them, yet never believed they would one day be hers.

His confession, so heartfelt, had unravelled her to her very core, wielding a mastery akin to the realm’s most gifted poets. Every syllable of it reverberated within the cell of her fragility. It was the only balm to the excruciating scorch of her emotions.

Éorhild imagined the life that Éomer had envisioned for them — one unshackled by constraints and etiquette. At its start was a wedding without allegiance to ranks or Gondorian nobility. Above their braided and flowered heads stretched a cloudless canopy of azure, ornate with a single golden disc illuminating the plains around them. In the middle of the Rohirric nature, their hands would join as they would pronounce the most poignant vows their people would ever witness. Better still, their union would be celebrated in solitude, far from the shadow of Edoras, away from prying ears and burdensome traditions. Perched atop a hill embraced by the towering mountains, their promise to each other would only reach the earth and sky. In that sacred moment, there would be no titles, no subjects, no servants, no rulers; only them and a bliss of their own making.

Together, they would raise a home whose walls and hearth would embody their shared spirit and all they could hope for. Behind closed eyelids, she could almost experience it. She could taste the sweetness of calling him ‘Husband’ in the dead of night, for no other reason than to release the same thrill in her chest that had danced there when they shared their first kiss on the hillside. Untainted by the world’s demands, they would do everything that life has deprived them of so far. They would hold each other close beyond the enclosure of their garden, they would touch lips within sight of others. Their only bond would be to each other.

Preventing her mind from painting the scene in richer detail, a sudden chill coursed down her spine, snapping her back to the cold reality of her solitary chamber. With a begrudging sigh, Éorhild pushed herself upright, grimacing from the soreness in her back. Her body, weary from prolonged inactivity, craved some motion. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the icy floor, hoping that a short midnight stroll would provide her some semblance of peace.

She retrieved a pale candle from the drawer and replaced the spent one in her holder. As she struck a match and watched the flame catch, its glow cast a sharp flicker upon her traits and kindled a heart-wrenching realisation in her mind.

Éomer must have suffered greatly, watching her flee from him in that moment of vulnerability. He had poured out his heart to her, after all; and she had not remained to listen. The thought weighed on her, and the flickering wick seemed to mock her in the stillness of the room. She anchored herself to the chest of drawers, suffocating from the lump forming in her throat.

How dared she run? How could she have deserted him when every oath she ever swore, as maid or woman, was bound to his welfare? In shadow and in daylight, she had tended to his needs with unwavering commitment. Yet, the moment that he confessed his love, she had ceased to listen. In that instant of raw honesty, she had faltered and abandoned him, her loyalty fractured by the terror of such foreign emotions.

She did not resent him for speaking his truth, not for a second, not for a million years. If anything, what invaded her then was an overwhelming sense of being cherished — something she had never known. Long had her childhood blurred into hazy memories, yet none held a fraction of the comfort that his presence provided her. Every conversation they had shared, whether by the hearth or in the corridors of Meduseld, had flown seamlessly. Not all had been easy, but never had she feared revealing her thoughts and heart to him, despite the consequences it might bring. Over the past months, whenever something amusing or thought-provoking passed through her mind, her first instinct had been to reach for Éomer, to share in the joy or laughter with him. Days grew devoid of interest; she had spent each of them thrilled at the idea of warming herself up by his side in the hall come evening. And at night, when at last she closed her eyes, it was his face, his smile, that guided her towards the land of dreams.

She loved him. The certainty struck her with the force of a galloping stallion, leaving no room for doubt. Teardrops formed puddles upon the dresser as they dripped off her cheeks, dimpled by a smile. Her hands fumbled in the dim light for a robe and clutched it around her quivering frame. With the candle holder firmly in her grasp, she yanked the door open and rushed barefoot into the shadowy hallway, her resolve now burning as brightly as the flame between her fingers.

Éorhild halted at the closed door of Éomer’s quarters, her shallow breath forming momentary clouds in the air and her pulse thrumming. Her eyes stared at this gate separating her from the man she coveted, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity. A bleak awareness crept over her — that of her impulsiveness. What had she been thinking? The silence of the Golden Hall, heavy and undisturbed, reminded her that, unlike her, most within its walls were deep in slumber.

Her courage faded and her fingers tightened their grip around the candlestick. Nevertheless, her heart urged her forward, while her brain screamed at her to retreat. When she raised her fist towards the thick wood, bracing herself to knock, a voice interrupted her momentum.

‘Whoever you are, you might as well enter,’ she heard it say, recognising it as the prince’s. There was no use in surrendering now. Éorhild squared her shoulders, drawing in a sharp breath to steady herself as her head extended towards the latch and eased the door open.

Inside, his chamber lay shrouded in obscurity, pierced only by a halo of moonlight that spilled through the window on the other side of the bed. Leaning on one forearm against the windowsill, Éomer was facing away from her. His stance was tense yet contemplative, as though the whirlwind of sorrow had rooted him there. Since her hasty departure, he had undone the plaits she had braided into his hair that morning. Their mild impressions waved his tresses, like ghosts of her touch. He wore a loose white shirt, rolled to his elbows, and tucked into a pair of silk trousers he reserved for the scarce hours of leisure he was afforded in the palace. How cold he must feel, she wondered.

Éomer cast a glance over his shoulder and the sight of Éorhild in her robe froze him mid-turn. His frown betrayed a flicker of surprise, as though he had been prepared to witness anyone in Rohan — but her — stepping across his threshold that night. His lips parted, searching for a pleasant greeting that never came. The shadows deepened the lines of his face, accentuating the vulnerability that etched there, unguarded and unfeigned. The luminescence of the moon did nothing to help the pallor that worsened his appearance.

Oh, how he must have been suffering.

‘It is you,’ he croaked, the unsteadiness in his voice suggesting that she had stolen the breath from his lungs by appearing to him.

Éorhild pressed her back to the door and held the candle aloft. His evident anguish dissuaded her from approaching, out of fear that she might twist the knife into his wounds that her actions had already inflicted.

‘Indeed, your Majesty, it is I,’ she whispered back. ‘I did not think that I would find you awake at this hour.’

‘Can I help you with anything? If it is your clothes you want, I have not moved them.’

Her gaze fell upon the pulled chair, where her forgotten belongings laying folded preserved the memory of her hasty retreat. The sight tugged at her heart — an unbearable reminder of when she both lost her composure and him. She set the candle upon the nearby chest of drawers, shedding a light on the ornate helmet he had worn into battle placed at the centre of the furniture. The biting cold seeped into her skin and she shivered, rubbing her palms against her arms for even a sliver of warmth.

‘Have you not found rest, my lord?’ she spoke again, turning to him again.

‘I am in a state where I have forgotten what sleep even is,’ he scoffed, running a hand over his face.

Silence reigned supreme once more, disrupted only by the occasional crackle of the wick. Éorhild wrestled with her thoughts, embarking on the vain quest for words that would defend this impromptu nightly visit without hurting him further. Potential phrases dissolved on her tongue before she could utter them. No justification could fully encapsulate the truth behind her presence. Besides, his evading, restless gaze suggested that it unnerved him so deeply that he could scarcely bring himself to face her.

With tentative and measured steps, she drew nearer, albeit keeping a safe distance from him to spare his fretfulness. Her eyes, however, held fast to him; it traced the contours of his face, captured the sorrowful depth of his blood-shot eyes.

‘I apologise for running away earlier,’ she blurted out. ‘When you confessed your love to me, I was overtaken by a terror so consuming that I lost the ability to think clearly. My judgement was clouded, my instincts warped, and it drove me away from you, against my will.’

Éomer’s glimmering eyes met hers at last, cautious and uncertain. He merely nodded and stood back against the windowsill. The pale aura of the moon, caressing his skin, illuminated the unshed tears in his eyes. Their sight, unbearable to her, threatened to break her; still she stood firm, drawing strength from the depths of her adoration.

‘Was it me you were afraid of?’

His question sliced her heart with a sharpness akin to Gúthwinë’s blade. Her breath caught and she dropped her hands at her sides.

‘Why would you ever think that I feared you?’

‘You spoke of terror,’ he pressed on, swiftly catching a tear with the ball of his hand before it would fall and observing the landscape again. ‘Was it fear of me? Fear that I would coerce you into my bed?’

Determined to face and confront him on the matter, Éorhild bypassed the footboard of the bed and climbed the short steps leading to the alcove where the window frame would preside their exchange. At her approach, Éomer recoiled yet made no move to elude her. This time, his eyes remained fixed on her figure as she took place across from him.

‘I never feared this eventuality in the first place,’ she intoned. ‘You were not at the root of my dread, and for allowing you to believe otherwise, I owe you my deepest apologies.’

‘Speak to me, then,’ he pleaded in a sob, his voice cracking. ‘Why did you flee?’

Though her heart ached to enfold him in her arms and never let go, she held herself back. No gently gestures, no words of reassurance, could come ahead of the explanation she owed him — explanations she was resolved to provide. It was the least she could offer, and she would not have him bear her withdrawal any longer.

‘When Master Guthláf revealed to me the laws that endorse lords commanding their maids’ bodies, I grasped how brittle my agency was in the eyes of Rohirric lawmakers and nobles,’ she began. ‘The realisation that my autonomy could be stripped from me so easily, no matter what I say, made me understand Lady Éowyn’s rage on a more profound level. For so long, I must admit, I envied her in secret — a part of me I now repudiate. I could not fathom why she, of all people, could consider herself marginalised simply for her sex.’

Her fingers clasped the sleeves of her robe. The shame caused by her mistakes, which she had mulled over for hours, stirred uneasily in her stomach more strongly with every passing thought.

‘I knew, of course, that even among servants, women and men receive different treatments. Even our very oath belittles us. Male servants may bed whomever they fancy within their rank, they may take wives and have children, and still be welcome to contribute to the palace’s upkeep. But should a maid take a lover, she risks banishment. Théodil has paid the price for it.’

A tremor seized her lower lip, drawing the prince’s attention, which had not wavered from her since she had begun to speak. She was unravelling herself before him with as much honesty as he had displayed during their fiery conversation earlier. So, he listened with patience, his senses attuned to her words. In that instant, there was nothing else he desired more than to hear her, to understand her and that turmoil, whose ravages she had concealed to protect him. Or perhaps because she had yet to perceive the extent of its devastation herself.

‘At first, I thought her foolish for so openly risking her livelihood for that guard,’ she confessed in a strangled sob. ‘But now… now I wonder — what did Théodil truly do wrong? She is hardly different from her male peers, after all. She, too, has desires and the capacity for love. Why, then, should she be punished for even a simple kiss?’

Her barriers fell and she wept openly, although she paid the tears drenching her face no heed. Still, she took a moment to gather herself.

‘What I mean to say is that I had always believed my agency over my body to be the one thing truly mine, not for others to control. To learn that I had been misled for sixteen years unsettled me in ways I scarcely knew how to express.’

‘If I may speak candidly, without causing you offense, I care for you far too deeply to risk your safety. Forcing you into anything had never brushed my thoughts, not even a little. My love for you never entailed the corruption of your consent.’

‘I know.’

Éorhild dried her cheeks with a smile that held little mirth, and he, too, echoed it with a brief chuckle. They contemplated each other, the curve of their lips betraying a tenderness, kept at bay ever since she graced his room, blossoming anew. Sorrow had lifted from Éomer’s stern traits, and the glint in his eye was no longer solely that of brine.

‘You look ethereal tonight, Éorhild,’ the prince murmured as he admired the drapes of the white robe around her silhouette. ‘You are more beautiful to me than the Elves.’

‘Do not jest, my lord!’ she chortled, covering her mouth with her hand, hoping that its presence would help dissimulate the hues rising to her cheeks.

‘I never jest!’

The tension ebbed, surrendering to the chimes of their laughter. Their shoulders loosened, and the burden they had each borne lifted higher by the second. The camaraderie that had once defined their evenings — spent by the fire, drink in hand, exchanging words straying between the mundane and the profound — returned, thawing the imperceptible frost that had solidified following their abrupt parting.

Éorhild, finally drawing a steady breath that appeased her frayed nerves now that he knew and understood her dread, acknowledged the collar of his shirt. Between the parted hems, his collarbones and chest offered her a tantalising view. They were not unfamiliar to her; she had seen and grazed them in the bath that morning, yet there was something undeniably alluring about their partial occultation. The contrast of skin and linen sent her heart hammering and provoked a slow-burning ache deep within — delicious but somewhat outrageous.

Trailing along the folds of the fabric where shirt burrowed into waistline only further aggravated the adrenaline rush inside her abdomen. Underneath the garments, there was this body she knew was robust and chiselled, but its waist possessed a narrowness that required her to sink her nails into her palms to refrain from tracing them with her fingertips.

‘You cut a striking figure yourself, your Majesty,’ she complimented him in return.

‘Oh? Thank you. I, um…’

Éomer smoothed out a crease between his dark eyebrows with his knuckle, rubbing quite harshly at his skin as though to steel his mind away from such enticing distractions. Whether he noticed her lingering glances, the subtle tilt of her voice, or the unintentional flirtation woven into her compliment, she could not tell. However, his restraint was palpable, a silent battle against the temptation to yield to such frivolities. In all earnest, it was only fitting; too much remained unspoken between them, too many truths still hung in the air, awaiting acknowledgement.

‘I wanted to let you know that… should you decide to decline the position after such an eventful first day, I would understand,’ his low voice resonated with sincerity inside the alcove. ‘Truly, I would. I would not hold it against you, even for a second.’

He hesitated, his gaze faltering. Obviously, the prospect did not please him in the slightest. Even she could tell that he was setting aside his wishes to value her decision above them.

‘It was a hardship I thrust upon you without forewarning, and I should have handled it differently. Know that you already have my deepest gratitude for even considering it and giving it a chance. I cannot, in all good conscience, ask you for more.’

Another heartfelt expression of the tumult in his spirit, she told herself. One that she had provoked. The muscles in his jaw clenched and, when his lips parted again, his voice carried the raw edge of regret and a tinge of frustration.

‘I am sorry, Éorhild. Truly. I should have discussed it with you, shared my thoughts and concerns, before bringing it to my uncle’s attention. But I was so consumed by the need to keep you close that I let my impulsivity take control. I should have known better. I apolo—'

‘Éomer,’ she interjected with a gentle tone, ‘I have no intention of leaving your service. It was — and it remains — my choice to stay. You must understand, I am not here out of duty alone. Whatever trials have emerged with my assuming this role, they have not deterred me. If anything, they have confirmed that my place is here — with you.’

Shuffling out of the shadow, her bare feet brushing against the cold stone without a sound, she came forward, meeting him halfway. Éomer’s breath hitched, sensing a delightful tension that united them at that second. The moon’s silvery glare, speckled with delicate golden tints, kissed the skin of her neck. It descended towards the lowered hem of her shift, through which he could distinguish a single mole above her left breast. His broad frame, ordinarily adopting a confident poise, shifted and found refuge against the cold wood covering the wall.

But she paid that no mind.

‘Do not shoulder the guilt of offering me this role,’ she continued, plunging her dark irises into his. ‘I am here because I choose to be. Not because you compelled me, nor because I found myself cornered. But should I ever change my mind, I promise that you will be the first to know.’

No response met her attempt at comforting him. Calm reigned as he stood petrified against the wall with flaring nostrils as his chest heaved with laboured breaths. The dim light caught a damp sheen on his forehead, and though his posture remained unchanged, the storm within him remained too evident. Éorhild lingered, her heart fracturing at his reticence to reply yet holding out hope that her presence would coax him out of this stupor. And she waited.

But the seconds dragged on, and he had not made any effort to speak. Admitting defeat, she exhaled in resignation and curtseyed.

‘I will take my leave, my lord,’ she said in forced reverence. ‘I wish you good night; I shall see you in the morn.’

Thought she turned towards the door, each step she took to leave his side was reluctant. Some part of her still hoped that he would call her back. She had not even confessed her feelings in return; perhaps that was just as well.

When her toes grazed the floor at the foot of the steps, she halted. Tears prickled her eyes, and she bit her lower lip, wondering whether to induce further conversation. Deciding in favour of it, she spun to face him again.

‘You know, I would not have been happy in that vision of us you evoked.’

Éomer’s gaze flickered to hers.

‘Is that so?’ he enquired in bewildered confusion, his curiosity undeniably piqued. ‘Then, my perception of our relationship must have been terribly misconstrued.’

Éorhild clasped her hands together to eclipse their trembling.

‘It was an appealing fantasy, without a doubt,’ she continued. ‘But I believe that you have misinterpreted what would constitute a fulfilling life from my point of view. How could I have found bliss if my husband spent his time roaming Middle-earth in search of superficial ways to please me? How could I have been satisfied with constant loneliness in a house where all has been shaped to my taste, without bearing traces of you?’

His chest tightened as he pondered what he had neglected to consider. She was right. He had been distracting by the promise of what he could offer her if they could love freely — riches, comfort, beauty — that he had omitted the one element that was truly worth offering: himself.

‘You thought of all the things I might want,’ she choked up, ‘but you never once realised that all I wanted was you. Not just your love, but your presence. Your time, your hands, your heart. In poverty or in abundance, all I would have wanted was to be with you.’

She retraced her steps and came to stand before him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

‘I do not seek a life without labour, but one in which we would both contribute to establish a home to thrive in. One that needs not correspond to outside standards, but one that is imperfect in all the ways that matter most. We would have built these walls together, without caring whether they are too slanted — we would laugh it off and make it work. But at the end of the day, my only home would have been you.’

A life forged with their bare hands, steered by decisions they would have negotiated and agreed upon… It sounded like the sweetest melody to his ears. The thought of a hypothetical shared future filled him with a sense of peace. He had spent so many years under pressure of external forces and standards — Gondor’s, Rohan’s, his uncle’s, his own. There was a shift inside him. In this moment, the dark clouds had parted and a sun in the shape of Éorhild illuminated his world.

To build this life together, without pretence or outward approval, seemed the only objective worth pursuing. Her vision, so simple yet fruitful, surpassed anything he had ever dared to dream for himself. Genuine companionship, shared labour and tender displays — nothing expected of a king.

To hell with the crown.

Just as he was on the verge of sharing his newfound clarity, a series of soft sobs halted him. She was weeping once more, and the sight tore at his soul.

‘I would have gladly chosen a life in which I would be your bride,’ she hiccupped. ‘In time, when we would have been ready, I would have borne you children. Even though I doubt that I would ever be a good mother.’

‘What in the world makes you question it?’

‘Selfishly enough, I would have struggled with the idea of sharing you. Having desired you for so long and finally earned the privilege to be yours, I could not bear it.’

Muttering an apology, she began to turn — but before she could make another escape, his hand lightly grazed her wrist, breaking her impetus. His fingertips caressed the palm of her hand, and his eyes bore into hers, incredulous yet hopeful.

‘Do you feel the same as I do, then?’ his voice quivered, caught between excitement and dread. ‘Or am I once again misreading your desires?’

She let out a scoff, her tears mingling with a bitter laugh as she returned his stare.

‘Of course I do, Éomer. It is you. It has always been you.’

She swallowed the lump in her throat, summoning every fragile ounce of courage the speak the truth she had silenced for far too long. These three words had longed to flow off her lips and waft through to him. It was the confession she should have offered him earlier that day, when the moment was still opportune. Perhaps then, she would have woven poetry into her proclamation, crafting it with the same methods as the many bards that had enlivened Meduseld throughout the years with tales of passion and longing. Her voice would have risen, ever so sweet to his ear, capturing the fullness of her steadfastness in verses worthy of him.

But her life was not one of great halls and song. Thus, she settled for a simple but sincere declaration.

‘And I love you.’

Uncontainable joy invaded his roaring heart. Thousands of jubilant exclamations clamoured within his mind, each vying for release. Emotion surged through him, constricting his throat and misting his eyes, leaving him on the brink of tears that would attest of his relief and elation.

Sensing that she would not be trespassing any boundary, Éorhild pressed herself against his chest and her arms found their way around his neck, drawing him into an embrace that they had both itched to indulge themselves to.

‘Ig léofie ðe,’ she repeated in their native tongue.

Éomer’s palms cradled her jaw and his thumb traced her rosy lower lip.

‘Ond ðe ealswan léofie ig,’ he cried, ‘o Éorhild, seo dyreste ond seo sweteste in blæd min.’

Weaving through his untamed mane, her fingers and drew his head closer with utmost tenderness as her eyelids fluttered shut. With a desperate fervour, he clung to her, encircling her waist with one arm, afraid that she might vanish once more. His lips captured hers in a kiss that alleviated the burden of long-suppressed yearning, poignant yet firm. It was the melding of two spirits who had been circling one another, incomplete and hollow, until this very moment.

Her mouth was supple beneath his, their heat igniting a bonfire within his chest whose flames licking the inside of his veins, chasing away all shadows of doubts and remorse. Time came to a standstill, the world beyond them melted away as he deepened the kiss. It was an unspoken promise of unwavering devotion and a future that would be theirs to hold. Each brush of their tongues spoke of the battles they had fought alone in the dark, and the unyielding faith that they would face the rest together.

Love had finally found its voice, and it was the prince and his maid who heard it sing.

Two nights prior, under the canopy of stars on the windswept hillside, they had resigned to the bittersweet comfort of a single night for them to etch in their memory — a fleeting hour to hold onto into the solitude that would follow. Yet here they stood, hearts that had once braced for parting now trembling with the yearning for another.

Their lips separated, the faintest whisper of warmth lingering upon them, and their foreheads rested together. The lovers shared tender smiles, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Fingers found their way to each other’s faces, brushing against familiar contours in adoration. A featherlight touch, yet charged with powerful emotion, as though they sought to memorise each wrinkle and curve. Shimmering more brightly than ever, their eyes locked in an unbroken gaze, devouring one another with a hunger that words could never aspire to satisfy.

In the silence, their smiles curled, testifying of the elation that enfolded them both beneath its celestial cloak. Its pull proved irresistible, and they kissed once more. Deeper, slower, imbued with sweet indulgence, as though compensating for all the hours wasted from forbidding themselves to love. This intimacy was their sanctuary, where they needed not conceal their affection.

Heat blazed between the pair, each caress fanning their craving into a wildfire that reddened their cheeks. Their kiss grew careless and urgent, their ragged breaths grazing their prickling skins. Éorhild trailed along the curves of Éomer’s shoulders, her fingertips tangling in his unbound hair. His hands roamed her back, halting every so often to pinch her waist or cup the back of her skull.

Soft, breathy moans escaped them like sweet nothings whispered in the night. Éorhild’s belly coiled with molten flames far more potent than the ones that had overtaken her that morning by the bathtub and left her clutching the wall. This was no fleeting spark but a raging conflagration induced by the unrestrained connection they were sharing.

Both knew that this night — their night — was no longer one fated to be a mere pleasant memory but one they were bound to weave. One that was about to change them indefinitely.

Sensing the unravelling of her moderation as her torso shoved Éomer against the wooden panel, Éorhild emitted a sharp gasp that cut through the haze of their fiery endearment. Realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, and her eyes, widened in terror, mirrored the chaos within. Staggering backwards, she tore herself away from him, the intensity with which she had touched him leaving her ruffled.

Her back collided with the opposite wall, the cold surface grounding her even as her chest heaved with panicked breaths. She raised a trembling hand to her lips, as though to keep the phantom of their kiss onto them. Across the distance that now separated them, Éomer’s stare burnt with surprise and yearning, but he made no move to close the gap. Instead, he simply watched, clasping his knees together and breathing in tandem with her, as though tethered to her every gasp.

‘D-Did I aggrieve you, beloved?’ he stuttered, flattening his hands against the wall as if it was the only way to keep them to himself.

‘N-No, I…’

She twisted a strand of her hair and averted her gaze. Hues adorning her delicate features oscillated between warm and cold tones, attesting of the dilemma that was tearing her apart. Lord Guthláf’s words crept into her mind again.

No amount of earthly pleasure shared with the prince is worth your death.

‘How… are you feeling?’

Contorting his traits into a wince, Éomer’s attention flitted between his thighs, her figure, and the despair in her eyes. A sneer of embarrassment fleeted from his throat.

‘Flustered, I will not lie,’ he laughed, the sound warm but laden with tension and self-consciousness. ‘I thought I had mastered myself, but I find that I am not as composed as I had hoped.’

Though self-deprecating, the smile he bestowed upon her was genuine. Leaning further against the wall, his head tapped against the wood in a soft thud, while his hand burrowed into one of his pockets, an unconscious attempt at distracting himself from the disrespectful thoughts invading his mind.

‘But I do not forget the danger that acting upon my impulses would entail, Éorhild. Rest assured.’

‘Tell me what you are thinking about.’

‘You would not want to hear any of it,’ he responded, his voice quavering as her questions only served to aggravate his state.

‘But what if I do?’

Bashful but bold, her challenge caught him off guard. There she stood, her fists clenched against her thighs in a posture both defensive and daring, urging him to speak the words he withheld from her. In that instant, she transcended her image of a meek and obedient servant. She was a woman asserting her desires, laying her heart bare, releasing hundreds of questions to know whether the man she cherished felt the same yearning deep within him.

‘You would think me depraved,’ he insisted, reluctant to answer her plea.

‘Éomer, please.’

His nostrils flared and, in a wary abdication, he caved in. Despite his acquiescence, a subtle defensiveness crept into his voice, betraying the inner battle he was fighting and failed to spare her from.

‘You truly want to know what I am thinking?’ he hissed. ‘I long to disrobe you and lay you down on my bed. I wish to explore every part of you, to trace your skin by candlelight, hearing your sighs with every kiss I give you like they are prayers lost in the night. All I want is to make you feel revered, though I may not know the way.’

A deep inhale filled his lungs upon the realisation that he had uttered his most intimate desires in a single breath. He shielded his mouth with a shivering hand, ashamed of the impropriety he had displayed in her presence. But she wanted to know, and he had delivered. Now, all he anticipated was her flight — his revelations had this tendency of drive her away. Would she return, this time?

Éorhild straightened her posture, lifting her chin with determination, and spoke.

‘Give me the order.’

Slackening his jaw, Éomer stared at her in stunned silence, his brain hassling to process the gravity of her demand. He tilted his head, attempting to clarify whether he had heard her properly or whether his discomposure had warped her meaning. But when she refused to stand down, it was clear as day — she wanted him to dictate her.

‘Éorhild, you cannot be serious,’ he said, repulsed by the prospect. ‘You are no hound to obey my bidding. You are a woman — strong, precious, radiant, and astoundingly intelligent — and I love you, beyond reason or restraint. Do not ask this of me; I could never forgive myself if I did it.’

The distance separating them dwindled to nothing as she approached to rest a hand on his forearm, demanding his patient attention. There was no surrender to be found in her eyes — no trace of sorrow, nor hesitation. Without the shadow of a doubt, she empathised with his torment as she observed it tearing through him as he grappled still with her request.

Éomer had always held her in the highest regard, admittedly more than she thought she deserved, valued her autonomy and integrity as if they were sacred and as he had so vehemently asserted earlier. That he would deny her, was no surprise. It was as much a testament to his respect for her as it was to the principles he upheld.

And yet, this situation demanded more.

Her expression softened into a compassionate display.

‘This is not about undermining what you hold dear or asking you to betray yourself,’ she explained with such calmness that it unsettled him. ‘It is about what lies between us, what we both feel and cannot deny. I am not demanding you to abandon your conscience for my sake, but to consider that this — us — requires us to make a choice together, no matter how unconventional it may seem.’

Her hand trailed upward, gliding over the sinew of his arm and the breadth of his shoulder, finding its path along the ridge of his clavicle. It lingered there for a few seconds, savouring the warmth beneath the unfastened collar of his garment, before it continued its ascent. At last, it ended its course against his cheek and the pad of her thumb gave a stroke over the plane of his face, light as a feather.

It cupped him there, steadying him even as he faltered under the weight of his concern. She swept away the faint sheen of perspiration that clung to his skin. To him, her gesture held more meaning than words ever could. It was a delicate blend of reassurance and intimacy, one that their laws prohibited — it was already a risk she took for him. In the quiet of that moment, her touch spoke what her lips needed not say — I am here. I am yours. It is us against all odds.

His broad palm rose to meet hers, enveloping it with an affection that belied its strength. He held it there, grateful for her existence.

‘Far be with from me to compel you to act against your will, but I must speak plainly. We have little choice but to navigate this treacherous power play if we wish to remain together — even in secrecy — and to consummate our bond.’

‘I despise this eventuality,’ he sighed.

‘Consider what lies before us. If you command me, it grants us a measure of protection, a shield should our union ever come to light. It would ensure my survival and safeguard your crown, however dreadful you may find the prospect of becoming king. If you refuse…’

She hesitated for a breath, her voice softening yet losing none of its courage.

‘If you refuse, we face a bitter fork in our road: either we surrender to our impulses and I forfeit my life, or we deny ourselves entirely until the day you take Lothíriel for a wife and share with her the night we meant for ourselves.’

‘You do not understand, sunnan scima min. I cannot bring myself to strip you of your agency by uttering such crude words. To command you, especially in this matter, would be to forsake all that I admire in you.’

Éomer placed a kiss upon her brow.

‘Never will I wield my rank as a leash upon you,’ he declared. ‘No one deserves such a fate — least of all you.’

‘Oh, love of mine, you would not do such a thing,’ she responded, peppering kisses along his jawline, causing him to blush. ‘It would be a mere façade, our armour against scrutiny. We would not need to craft falsehoods should the nature of our bond be called into question. Besides, did you not once tell me not to give words more weight than they deserved?’

He exhaled in amusement and disbelief, his eyes rolling in feigned exasperation while his arms encircled her waist.

‘I cannot believe you are using my words against me,’ he jested, delighted by her audacity.

Melodious and gracious, her laughter brushed over him like a comforting breeze on a suffocating summer’s day, disarming the tension that gripped him. Before he could phrase another pleasantry, she burrowed against his chest, and he could do nothing but wind his arms around her. Her fingers threaded through his hair, grazing his scalp in gentle motions, as she rocked him in a slow, rhythmic slay.

‘I want you to give me that order,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘For this and what would follow, you have my full and educated consent.’

Éomer measured the solemnity of her statement for a moment more, his brow furrowing in contemplation. Then, with a heavy sigh, he extricated himself from her embrace. He looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of apprehension, some inkling of qualm, but he found none. He perceived nothing but the depth of her desire for his whole person, and he would have been lying if he had said that it did not stir him.

‘Are you absolutely certain?’

‘I am.’

‘Then, at least, allow me to make things proper,’ he pleaded, the words almost reverent, as though their sole purpose was to right a hypothetical wrong, to give their union the form it had always lacked.

With an expression both earnest and vulnerable, and as the moonlight caressed the side of his face, he lowered himself to one knee in near veneration. Her breath caught in her throat as he picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips. There was a shift in the air, unexpected yet delightful, that emulated the eternal fealty they bore to each other. Uncertainty swirled inside her soul as she tried to decipher his intentions, speculating about the ceremony fastened to his gesture.

‘Éorhild, words fail me to demonstrate how absolute my infatuation is. There is no day worth rising for without you by my side. You have transformed me in greater ways than one, and thus I shall forever lament the time I lost before I saw you, before I truly learnt what it was to be treasured. You are, without question, the most wondrous being to have come into existence and graced this wretched world.’

‘Is such a formality necessary?’ she giggled behind her hand. ‘This hardly warrants a proposal.’

‘Let me finish,’ he insisted, a radiant smile tugging at his lips. ‘And so, at this late hour, I kneel before you not as a prince, but as a man whose every thought you occupy. Since our laws forbid me from presenting you with a ring or seeing you in a wedding gown, I wish to offer you my spirit and my heart through the gift of my flesh, and it is yours to use as you see fit. For when at last you enjoy me, the shape of your hands will forever be carved into my skin, so even when the time comes for me to marry, I will always carry you with me. So, Éorhild, I beg — no, I bid you — to bed me.’

She nodded with trepidation, and they fell into each other’s arms, their lips meeting into a fervent kiss. It struck her then, with startling clarity, how meticulous his phrasing had been — a crafted formulation to bestow her with the illusion of dominion, when reality lay far from it. And she loved him even more in that instant, with the ardour of the lords in the ballads of minstrels who worship the ladies they covet.

No sooner had she perceived the faint taste of wine upon his tongue than Éomer swept her off her feet. However much effort he had granted this motion, his lips remained sealed to hers, as though the very act of breathing without her might undo him. With a knightly grace, he carried her over to the rumpled bed, as though partaking in a solemn rite to translate relics to a sacred altar. Lowering her with tender care onto the bed, he held his breath when her golden hair, tousled and waved, fanned out across the pillow like a celestial crown, its lustre shining brighter even than the surviving candle’s flame.

Inclining over her, he found himself spellbound by her features. He traced the curve of her face, committing every detail to memory. He carved the crescent moon shape of her jaw into his consciousness, dotted each of the small moles he numbered eight onto the canvas, sculpted the aquiline curvature of her nose into marble, blended pigments to achieve the amber reflection in her irises and the fair hue of her skin, so accommodated to indoors settings.

At her waist, he found the belt that cinched her gown, the haphazard bow undoing with the gentle pull of his fingers and stirring the garment underneath. The rustle of the fabric unfastening reached his ears, as intimate as a shared breath. The loosened folds revealed her chemise, like a cloak of modesty, with its unadorned and humble weave coarse under his hand. He hesitated, his gaze searching hers for permission, and she granted it wholeheartedly, guiding him by the wrist to her frame. By parting the hems of her robe in a bolder brush against her collarbones, he was unveiling a treasure he deemed himself unworthy to behold.

Reaching her out to him, she drew him to her heart, forcing him to kneel on the mattress, and her mouth greeted his in a grand welcome. His lips withdrew to wander along her jawline, peppering pecks against her tingling skin, descending upon her exposed throat. Air flowed and ebbed from Éorhild’s lungs in succinct expirations, evoking to him the waves washing upon the lofty cliffs of Dol Amroth, which he had admired for hours during his diplomatic visit there, finding solace in the unfamiliarity of the landscape and isolation from Imrahil’s court.

Beneath him, Éorhild was overcome with conflicting sensations. The kisses laid upon her neck stirred a shiver that coursed down her sides, spreading like a cold tide meeting the warmth of the shore and crackling away across her chest like seafoam chasing the sand. Each instance triggered cool thrills, yet she felt as though she was melting — an ice sculpture surrendering to the embrace of the sun, fading drop by drop into its irresistible grip.

In return, she wove a hand through his tresses. As his chaste, titillating strokes deepened into firm, open-mouthed kisses, each stoking the embers of her desire and amplifying her sensitivity, she gave a careful tug at their root, muffling a whimper in the crook of his shoulder.

Without thinking, her fingers found his shirt and bunched the fabric between them, yanking it upward and over his head. He complied without protest, assisting her in shedding the constricting garment. Straightening, he balled the shirt in his grasp and hurled it over his shoulder. It fended the air with considerable force and sailed dangerously close to the open flame of the candle, the anticipation of a catastrophe hitching their breaths. A faint metallic thud echoed as the shirt landed and sprawled atop his helm upon the dresser, and they laughed, relieved to have avoided a mishap.

Sparks illuminated her eyes at the sight of his bare torso, as numerous as the celestial bodies he had seen immortalised in Lady Galadriel’s irises. Yet, in the eyes of his beloved, even the legendary splendour of the Trees of Valinor paled before the radiance she brought to his world.

When her fresh palms lay upon the burning expanse of his chest, he yielded to gravity and passion, collapsing onto her with an urgency that bordered on obsession. His head nestled beneath her chin and questing flickers of his tongue chasing the ridge of her clavicle. The gasps he had drawn from her before magnified into strangled moans, ever so rewarding.

‘I want to devour you,’ he groaned against her dampened skin. ‘All of you.’

‘Do proceed, min heortan frean…’

Éomer cradled her chin in his hand, his thumb caressing the groove between her lower lip and her chin. His smile, candid and unguarded, spoke volumes — a quiet declaration of love that required no utterance.

‘May I disrobe you, leofre healsmægeth?’

‘I feared I might never hear you request it.’

She slipped from beneath him with an unhurried grace and rose. Standing before him, she was a vision caught between shadow and light, her form etched in soft luminescence dancing upon her shift. Her wrists moved with purpose, finding the ribbon at her collar, and with a deft motion, she loosened the tie. The neckline dipped to reveal the robust slope of her shoulders. A mere flick made her garment abandon her frame, cascading along the curves of her body before pooling into a heap at her ankles.

To him, she was a masterpiece, sculpted by the hands of the Valar themselves, and Éomer was undone. As he admired her, he forgot to draw breath, and his eyes widened as if the shores of Aman laid bare before him while the songs of the Eldar arose around him. Éorhild was the divine made flesh — there was nothing he could imagine would equal or surpass the vision of her figure in the moonlight, unclad specifically for his enjoyment.

He was unworthy of it all. He was but a flawed mortal, graced by the presence of this entity that, he felt, required of him to kneel. And he would have gladly obeyed, if not for his compulsion to explore her further.

He joined her side, caressing the defined muscles of her arms, chiselled by years of incessant scrubbing, carrying, lifting, swinging and rattling. With her eyes following his every movement, she seemed achingly vulnerable, and her lack of elocution led him to believe that she awaited some sort of approval from him — any sign that proved that her offering of her body had been seen, accepted, and valued.

As though words would have cheapened the reverence he experienced, he stared in sheer awe. But when she averted her eyes, as if doubt was corrupting her confidence, he tilted her chin towards him with a curled finger.

‘You are more exquisite than every treasure ever unearthed, more radiant than the stars that adorn our skies. Béma be damned, you steal the very air from my lungs,’ he murmured. ‘And now, more than ever, I desire you, in a way beyond all reason.’

‘May I undress you?’ she enquired, fragile with longing.

‘You may do as you wish with me. But this — this I long to give you.’

Swelling his chest with determination, Éomer unlaced the ties of his trousers. They slid from his legs, bunching at his ankles until he lifted his feet to ease the fabric off. He discarded it onto the floor and undid his braies with measured gestures, watching for any shift in her expression. When he finally stood before her, exposed in spirit and body, there was no sign of discomfort on her traits — only a flustered blush.

‘Are you still willing?’ he whispered, daring not to even hold her hand.

‘I am. Are you?’

‘What a question.’

Amidst a torrent of kisses, their naked bodies clasped together and came to rest upon the sheets once more. Torrid streaks formed sigils imprinted on their skin, igniting a hunger neither could quench. Exhalations mingled, swirled around their flushed face as their murmured voices, hoarse and tremulous, rose in a hymn to lust that only they could understand and sing.

Éorhild shivered under his hands, two tepid ripples amidst her body now subjected to the crisp wintry air. His mouth journeyed across the contours of her form, mapping every rise and hollow in almost piety. Meanwhile, his fingers traced the gentle curve of her breast, their path inflaming a crescendo of pleasure that unfurled within her core, lifting the banners ever higher upon her hills.

Breaching through the last vestiges of their sheepishness, Éomer descended, nestling his face into the sanctuary between her silken thighs. His nose grazed the curls crowning her mound, and with a devotion deeper than prayers could ever convey, he venerated her in the hushed language of sensuality. At first, in spite of his fervent desire to please, his tongue shifted with tentative hesitance, somewhat inept at procuring her what he believed she deserved. Her gaze drifted to the timbered ceiling above, as though seeking answers among the beams and shadows, striving to decipher the dim sensations prickling her.

‘Guide me, beloved,’ he pleaded, his breath hot against her exposed flesh. ‘Show me how to ravish you.’

‘I know not how,’ she admitted, her tone laced with the unfortunate tint of shame. ‘I have never sought such things before.’

He lifted his head in surprise, while his feet found purchase against the footboard of his bed behind him.

‘Not even behind closed doors?’

‘Éomer,’ she laughed, ‘I have lived nearly my whole life sharing a room with other girls, and even my bath was never a time for solitude. Besides, my days often exhausted me too much to allow such matters to cross my mind.’

‘Then, I suppose we should figure out a way — together,’ he teased with a proud grin before dipping his head back onto her.

He ventured onward in his exploration, each motion of his lips a studious reimagining of his previous attempts, drawing a map of her most receptive areas. The warmth of his breath swept over her, and he noted with great satisfaction how it ignited her pleasure anew. Finding a resting place upon her soft stomach, his hand unwittingly tugged at her skin. Her body responded instinctively — an abrupt jolt, accompanied by a sharp squeal that expressed her surprise and delight.

‘There!’ she gasped. ‘Right… there! Just… gentle…’

There it was indeed — his new treasure.

Her sighed pleas and muttered instructions guided him through the unknown, and in them he found his purpose; in her ecstasy, he found his incentive. Relentless yet mellow, he pursued her rising fervour, his focus unbroken as he listened to her cries of mounting elation. White-knuckled, her fingers gripped the sheets, her back arching into a bow of exquisite tension. Her free hand found the crown of his hair and grabbed a fistful, which she released when she realised the abruptness of her gesture. But he maintained it there, discovering an unsuspected taste for this rough display. At once, her world dissolved as a frigid wave crashed over her senses, dragging her into a rapture that evoked the sensations of simultaneous soaring and drowning.

Her knees enclosed his head in an instinctive embrace, a cry tearing from the very depths of her being. Slowly, the storm subsided, and with a long, deflating sigh, her body sank back onto the mattress. All else faded but the racing cadence of her heart, drumming a rhythm into her ears.

Éomer placed a tender kiss on her golden curls and crawled back to meet her, admiring her undone state. In his eyes, she had never looked more sumptuous —her damp, parted lips, her crimson face, and the wild tangles in her hair formed a vision of beauty that left him breathless.

Éorhild’s eyes fluttered open, drawn to his presence hovering above her. A playful smile dug dimples into her cheeks as she reached up to brush her thumbs against his beard to dry it, while a light laugh rose in her throat.

‘You look ridiculous.’

‘I do not mind it one bit,’ he chuckled in response, his eyes softening at her sight.

Oh, how he loved her.

‘What prompted you to do such a thing?’

‘Tavern songs,’ he recounted with a shrug. ‘Soldiers exchanging bawdy tales while setting up camp. You should remember to thank them for their service when you encounter them next.’

They erupted in laughter, and he sought refuge in the curve of as he breathed in her natural fragrance that clung to her skin. She encircled him with her arms around him and pressed her lips to his temple.

‘I do not know what to do to delight you in return.’

‘Do not trouble yourself over it, my love,’ he intoned, combing a loose strand of her hair away from her forehead. ‘There will be nigh on countless nights for us to uncover such wonders together. For now, I wish to… I wish to give myself to you. If you are still willing, that is.’

She stayed quiet, her stare fixed on some distant point ahead. This was the moment that her body had implored — yet now the leap seemed impossibly high, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. A storm of doubts and fears whirled with fierce violence, threatening to pull her away from the present.

But before the tempest could carry her away, the caress of his palm against her jaw grounded her. His hazel eyes, beacons in the blur, silenced the chaos.

‘Are you afraid?’

‘Never have I lain with a man,’ she confessed, though she knew the admission was nothing new to him. Her voice remained steady, but there was palpable vulnerability in it. ‘I know not what to do.’

‘I have lain with no man or woman. I have kissed other ladies, I will admit, but it has never gone this far. I know not if it eases your mind, but I, too, am untried. What I do know is to be gentle, and that is all I shall be. I promise you. And should you wish to stop, say the word, my sweet, and I will pull away without question or disappointment.’

‘Will you not consider this opportunity wasted on me?’

Éomer cradled her face between his palms, brushing his lips across it, until his gentle exploration came to rest at the tip of her nose.

‘There could be no more meaningful opportunity than this, lufestran. None more loving,’ he said, leaning his forehead against hers. ‘Tales of old tell of first unions as a moment when a piece of the lover’s soul is captured, a gift to carry for a lifetime. Now, I may not be a poet, nor one for grand gestures, but my mother filled my bairnhood with enough ballads to make me believe in such things. And truth be told, I would be beyond honoured to carry a piece of you with me, onto the throne and unto my grave, and for you to hold my heart in return.’

Éorhild’s thoughts turned to the future, to the inevitable day when they would part, and the prospect tightened around her heart like a vice. As she beheld him in enamoured contemplation, a smile broke through, warm and steady.

If the old stories held any truth, then the only one to hold a fragment of her essence would be Éomer. There was no question. She knew it, and deep inside her bones, she had known it for a long time.

‘Then claim it.’

Tag list: @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

If you wish to be tagged (or no longer tagged), don't hesitate to let me know!

[moe-broey]

Fellas can you take this somewhere else. Maybe. Just not in the fucking halls. Thanks 🫡

I couldn't resist drawing out these tags I wrote on a dif post LMFAO

Moe just has...... SO many problems.......

Close-ups of my fave shots!

The elusive Líf...

[dailynnt]

ONE NIGHT AS THE PRICE OF A REQUEST

⋆˙⟡ Summary: You hate your neighbor Jungkook, but you have to ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party to get rid of your annoying boss. He agrees, but you don't even imagine what you'll have to pay him with. Everything goes according to plan until Jungkook reveals his true price during the dance: one night with him or your life in the neighborhood will be hell.

⋆˙⟡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

⋆˙⟡ Age restrictions: 18+

⋆˙⟡ Index of chapters: ≣

⋆˙⟡ Number of chapter: 12/?

⋆˙⟡ Tags: enemies-to-neighbors-to-lover, fake relationship, hate to desire, dom!Jungkook, heated blackmail, one bed trope (later more than one bed), undeniable chemistry, forced deal, mutual obsession, dangerous game, unexpected feelings, passion on edge, impossible to resist, tension and desire, unprotected sex, sexual tension, slow burning

⋆˙⟡ From author: Hi guys ❤️‍🔥 I wrote part 12 for you 💗 I soooo wanted to post it earlier, but I didn't manage 💔 But it's ready today! So what do you think? I'm a little nervous because I'm still not satisfied with my writing 😣 Give me a few words so I know what you think 🥺

⋆˙⟡ Dedication: to my biggest love @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle for loving me for nothing. I love you girls twice as much 🥺🤭💜🫶🏻

⋆˙⟡ Tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @ottergirl, @vantelover1306, @deepikhaprakash, @mar-lo-pap, @zeytiable, @lallataegi, @vintagemoonsstuff, @indigomoonchild09, @diame93, @bts-ruu, @asyr97, @taeloversblog, @songbyeonkim, @miniruuu, @hubbytaehyung, @queen1599, @goldenboysmuse , @nikkinikj, @kookiesncreamri, @guwol, @unholyforjk, @hisdecalcomania17 (If you want to be on the tag list, let me know)

⋆˙⟡ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

Chapter 12. The first date

You walked into the apartment, feeling your heart pounding. You still have the taste of his kiss on your lips. You want to scold yourself for letting him do whatever he wants so easily. But yesterday, after the meeting with your mother, you were broken. The moment when he stood up for you, put his chest to your crying, opened up a different side of Jungkook for you. He no longer seemed like the arrogant, self-absorbed neighbor who did nothing but piss you off. Yesterday, you saw him as a man of great strength and backbone. He consoled you so carefully that your heart ached, and the walls of defense you had erected against him cracked and crumbled.

You had long ago recognized that you were physically attracted to Jungkook, but not morally, but yesterday everything changed. When he hugged you in bed, you realized that you needed him. In that moment, you needed him, and the sex that followed almost drove you crazy, because it felt completely different. Not as something you would regret, but as something you needed.

You're afraid you're going to fall in love with Jungkook, because it turns out he's not only good at fucking you, but he's also tender with you, and that's the most dangerous thing. You notice that he wants to touch you all the time. And when he does, you feel something strange. Like you're getting an electric shock, or a wave of heat goes through your body.

He behaves as if you belong to him, and it started with that night, which was the price for his service. Since then, he thinks he can have you whenever he wants and however he wants. And the worst part is that you want him to. No matter how hard you try to push him away or deny your relationship, you're here. You play the role of his girlfriend and you fuck whenever you want. And you want to do it a lot.

Your head is boiling from the flow of thoughts in your head, how to behave properly, how not to fall in love with him, how to learn to react to him more calmly? You didn't know the answers to all these questions. You exhaled a big sigh, dropping your things and walking inside the apartment. Maybe you should let things go? Let it happen? But won't you regret it when the deal comes to an end? Won't it be hard for you to continue living next door to Jungkook without feeling anything for him? You're afraid it will. Because even when he's not around, you subconsciously want him to be.

Why? Because yesterday you felt protected by him? But didn't you feel the need for his presence before the situation with your mother?

You are playing with fire, which can not only burn you, so it will hurt, it can burn you, destroy you. You will try to keep your cool, and maybe then Jungkook will turn away from you.

You put your things away and decided to take a bath, as the trip from Busan had exhausted you.

You barely talked to Jungkook on the way home because his phone just wouldn't stop ringing. It was because he wasn't in the office on a weekday, and there were many things that needed his attention. You were secretly watching how he conducted business, how he talked, and how he made decisions. You could tell that he was very good at what he did. He is a worthy heir to a large company and will be a great CEO when his time comes.

So, to get rid of your tiredness, you wanted to lie in the bathtub, which was perfect for relaxing your body.

You filled up the tub with warm water, added lavender-scented salt, and lathered up. You undressed and climbed into the tub. The water enveloped your body, swallowing you up like a cocoon. The smell of lavender filled your nostrils, and the warm water made you almost purr with pleasure. You closed your eyes and listened to the melody you had turned on your phone, completely immersing yourself in a relaxed atmosphere.

At first you lay there almost motionless, then you moved your arms a little under the water, stirring up small foamy waves. Your phone vibrated, your grandmother was calling. You picked up the phone, talked to her, told her that you had arrived quickly, and that Jungkook had gone to the office. Your grandmother didn't miss the chance to praise Jungkook once again and tell you how happy she was that you had him.

You listened to her with a pang in your heart. What will happen when she finds out that you're not seeing him anymore, when the agreement expires? She'll be upset, and she'll definitely be angry with Jungkook. What if she finds out that your relationship with him is fake? Will she be able to take that kind of blow? You shuddered at the thought.

You heard your grandmother calling you on the phone, because you had been thinking for too long. You said you were tired and wanted to rest. Grandma understood what you were saying and almost immediately afterwards, saying that she loved you and was grateful for everything you and Jungkook had done for her, she hung up.

You closed your eyes again, enjoying your bath, trying not to think about Jungkook, but it was not working. Moments from the morning and the past times you'd been together with him kept flashing through your mind. Your insides felt like they were being mixed a spoon when you involuntarily remembered how he entered you, what words he whispered to you. How he made you feel the best orgasm that no one before him had ever given you. You ran up to your feet, and your knees immediately touched the air, which was cool against the water.

You opened your eyes and looked at your feet. How do you stop thinking about him? But just as you were about to do so, his name appeared on your phone screen. Your heart lurched somewhere in your throat, but you ignored it and picked up the phone without wasting any time.

"Hello," you answered the call, trying to keep your tone even.

"Is the kitten busy?" you heard Jungkook's voice say. He sounded soft and playful. You immediately realized that he was calling for a reason. You had just seen him twenty minutes ago. He had a lot to do, which meant he was calling with a specific purpose.

"I'm taking a bath, what do you want?" you asked, sharper than you meant to.

"Oh... if I can video call you?" Jungkook asked. And his low voice made your body react in a way you didn't want it to. A subtle throbbing started between your legs. If you were really a couple, you'd let him call and make him wish he was around. But you won't give him that privilege because your relationship is fake. You clicked your tongue in irritation.

"Jungkook, say what you want or I'm hanging up," you warned, forcing him to get to the point of the call. You sat down, wrapping your arms around your knees.

"You shouldn't have said no, but I'm calling for a reason. Kitten, take a bath, put on something nice. In 15 minutes my manager will come to pick you up, I need you in the office."

You froze, trying to understand what Jungkook had just said.

"You mean in the office? Why?" you wondered.

"I'll explain when you get there," you heard him say. You were not satisfied with this answer. You really felt exhausted and had no desire to go anywhere else.

"We just got here, Jungkook, I'm tired after the trip, can I come tomorrow?" you asked, protesting but hoping that he didn't have a serious reason for your visit.

"No kitten, you need to be here in exactly half an hour." he replied in a tone that didn't accept objections. You exhaled a doomed breath, you saw no point in arguing with them, seemed like it had some to do with the deal, but he didn’t say it right away. And it was pissing you off.

"What should I wear?" you asked, trying to figure out what he needed you for in the office. And to avoid another argument over your appearance.

"Dress like we're going on a date," Jungkook told you. A date? He wants you to go on a date?

"I usually wear a t-shirt and jeans, is that okay?" your voice was filled with irony.

"If you feel comfortable wearing those clothes to an expensive restaurant, then sure, you can dress like a kitten," Jungkook replied. You heard him smile slightly. You exhaled nervously into the phone again. Of course, if this is a date with Jungkook, it will be an expensive restaurant and definitely media attention. So you need to dress nice and expensive.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 15 minutes." you promised.

"I'm waiting for you," he said happily.

You were the first to hang up and groaned, throwing the phone on the table. You wanted to rest so badly, but Jungkook had already ruined your plans with his "fake date."

At the entrance, right in front of the front door, you spotted a black car waiting for you. Spotlessly clean, with tinted windows, it looked luxurious. Jungkook's manager, a serious man who didn't seem to know how his face muscles worked, stood by the car. As soon as you approached, he bowed slightly, greeted you, introduced himself as Manager Lee Ji-hyun, and opened the back door for you.

You greeted back and got inside, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Inside, there was a subtle scent of leather and expensive perfume. Manager Lee silently took the driver's seat and drove off without another word.

You drove in silence for a while. You were checking your phone, and for some reason you were nervous at the thought of visiting Jungkook's office and after that going on a date afterwards.

The car drove smoothly onto the main road, the manager was silent. He certainly didn't have to entertain you, but his silence weighed on your shoulders. To break the silence, you tried to find out why you had to go to the Jungkook.

"Excuse me," you said, "Do you know why I need to go to Jungkook's office urgently..." in the rearview mirror, you met Manager Lee's attentive gaze. And thinking that you had called Chunguk informally, you quickly added, "Jungkook-nim?"

"Jungkook-nim will personally explain everything to you," he replied politely, without adding anything else.

You sighed slightly and leaned back. You stopped talking to him. Manager Lee seemed like a man who would not disobey an order even under pressure.

Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up smoothly to the huge ‘Jeon Group’ building. It looked like a glass tower that almost reached the clouds. It looked like dozens of similarly successful companies, but for some reason it seemed special. It was typical, but it stood out from the crowd.

Manager Lee silently drove into the underground parking lot, deftly maneuvering among the expensive cars. As soon as you parked, he got out, walked around the car, and gave you a short nod, inviting you to follow him.

You hurried after him across the large gray parking lot to the elevator. He pressed a special button, and a few seconds later the doors opened in front of you. The elevator was spacious, with mirrored walls and golden panels on the sides. You felt a little dizzy-not only because of the height you were going up, but also because of the tension inside you.

You did not meet a single person. It was obvious that this was a private elevator used only by executives. Your pulse was racing with each floor you passed. When the doors finally opened, you were greeted by a spacious reception area, elegant and restrained in gray and white.

Behind the desk sat the receptionist, a young woman with perfect hair and a professional smile. When she saw you, she raised her eyebrows in interest and greeted you warmly, quickly looking you up and down. Manager Lee informed the secretary that you were here to see CEO Jeon Jungkook on a personal matter.

You politely greeted her back, a little embarrassed to see her studying you. The manager did not linger in the reception area, he hurried to Jungkook’s office and you intuitively followed him. The manager was the first to enter, announcing that you had arrived.

"Jungkook-nim, Y/N has arrived," you heard him officially announce.

You held your breath as you followed him into the office. You stepped inside, and your fingers involuntarily tightened on the strap of your purse. You tried to act confident.

Jungkook's gaze, which looked up from the tablet, burned you instantly. His fingers froze over the screen. His eyes...

They swallowed you whole, as if you were the only person in this entire huge office.

You nervously brushed your hair behind your ear, feeling the cream dress cling to your skin. It fit you perfectly, you knew that, but now you felt naked under his gaze.

You watched him stand up. How he took a step toward you, and you had to use an effort of will to keep yourself from stepping back. You wanted to look calm. But inside, everything was turning upside down. You didn't understand why you were reacting to him like that. Why he suddenly caused your heart to race.

You noticed Jungkook's jaw tense slightly as he slowly looked you up and down. His eyes were dark, sparkling... almost dangerous.

"Manager Lee, thank you for bringing me the Y/N. You can go now," his voice was low, vibrating, and you tried your best not to react to it.

You couldn't see, but you guessed that Manager Lee nodded and bowed. The barely audible rustle of his suit gave him away. He left and you were left with the two of you. There was a silence in the air, and you wanted to break it as soon as possible so that it wouldn't press on your ears.

"You asked me to look like we were going on a date," you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice was a little strained. You looked away, took a few steps to the side, as if you were curious to see his office. "Do I look appropriate?" I threw over my shoulder, touching my fingers to the golden rabbit statue on his desk.

There was no response. You felt his gaze on you and it literally burned you.

He came even closer, and his voice finally sounded hoarse.

"You look... dangerously appropriate." the next moment his arms slid around your waist. You felt the strength of his palms as he held you close. Your heart was beating wildly. You were frozen in place, as if you were paralyzed.

His face leaned down to your shoulder, and you felt his nose touch your skin. He inhaled your scent deeply. The sweet smell of apricots that you had chosen for yourself today seemed to appeal to him.

"Jungkook..." You whispered nervously, grabbing his hands, trying to push him away, to stop him. You were in his office, and anyone could walk in, because door was unlocked. "What are you doing? What if someone comes in?"

The answer was a kiss on the earlobe. A light bite that almost made your knees buckle.

"That's my plan..." he murmured low, his lips burning against your skin.

You turned your head, forcing yourself to keep your distance, even though his proximity was driving you crazy. Your brain was boiling.

"What do you mean?" you whispered, trying to figure out what exactly this plan was. His eyes slid to your lips, staying there long enough for you to know for sure that he wanted to kiss you.

"My mother should be here soon with Sukhi," his voice sounded almost weightless. "They wanted to pick me up to have dinner with them. But I'm busy. I'm going on a date with my girlfriend."

You were instantly filled with anger. You opened your eyes wide.

"You do it again, Jeon!" you exploded, instinctively pulling away. His hands reluctantly dropped. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place that your mother would be here?!" you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling anger and anxiety mixing inside you. You weren't ready to meet his mother at all. Not so soon. "I should to known, Jungkook! I could have at least prepared myself mentally!". Again, he confronted you with a fact.

Jungkook looked at you calmly. As calmly as if this were a completely normal situation. His eyes were sparkling. There was something... unstoppable in them.

"I knew you would react this way," he said, moving toward you.

"You knew and you are deliberately doing this to spite me?" you asked colorlessly. And then it all happened too fast. Jungkook grabbed you by the waist and pushed you against the table with a sharp movement. You gasped, and before you knew it, you felt a hard surface beneath you.

He lifted you to the edge of the table, standing between your legs, holding you tightly by the hips. His face was so close that you could feel his hot breath.

"You don't have to worry, kitten," he purred, his gaze darkened, stirring desire in you. "I'm just going to show you to your mother. It won't take more than a minute. And then we'll go..."

"I don't..." you began, but your words were lost in his sudden, passionate kiss. Jungkook's lips covered yours, leaving you no chance to escape.

You felt his arms holding you even tighter, his lips demanding more than you were ready to give. You were overcome with frenzy-sweet, intoxicating, disturbing. You felt moisture instantly soaking your underwear.

You had been in his office. You couldn't do it here. But Jungkook's touch made you forget everything but your unrestrained desire.

While enjoying Jungkook's kiss, you didn't immediately hear the office door open.

"Jungkook-ah, son..." a cold female voice said. Your heart sank to your heels. Jungkook slowly pulled away from your lips, but his arms still held you.

You could feel his chest heaving with his breath. Jungkook turned his head, and you saw them.

His mother.

And Sukhi.

They were standing in the doorway, their eyes on you.

You can't even imagine how horrible it looked in their eyes. You are sitting on the table. Jungkook is standing between your legs with his hands on your hips.

You were ready to fall through the ground. And you definitely wanted to kill Jungkook right now.

Your anger knew no bounds. You turned away from Jungkook, who was driving and didn't seem to feel any guilt at all. The music in the Mercedes was playing, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the loud silence between you. The scene you had experienced ten minutes ago flashed in your mind over and over again.

You abruptly jumped off the table, pushing Jungkook away. Your face was flushed red and your hands were shaking. Jungkook didn't take a step back. He just turned lazily towards the guests, and a half-smile appeared on his face, the same self-confident and impudent one that made you lose your temper every time.

"Mom," he greeted calmly, not even trying to hide his impudence. "Sukhi."

You were ready to break through the ground, you wanted to disappear. You had never felt so terrible. You looked down, thinking of the most horrible way to kill Jungkook.

Jungkook's mother looked at you sternly, her gaze icy and hard, but you didn't see it. Sukhi looked hurt and upset at first, and then a smile appeared on her face, a gloating, subtle smile. And Jungkook didn't like it, her first reaction was better suited to the situation.

"I see you're very... busy," Jungkook's mother said with icy restraint. "But Manager Lee assured me that you're free tonight."

"Yeah, mom, already a bit busy," Jungkook said without shame, putting his hand on your waist. You glared at him, wanting to slap him. "But never mind . Y/N and I were going to leave."

"Y/N..." Jungkook's mother repeated your name. Your insides clenched. You heard the soft click of her heels and unconsciously held your breath. She stopped a few steps away. "Is this the same girl that the journalists recently wrote about?" she asked, as if driving a knife into your body with every word.

Jungkook's mother looked at you, and you could almost physically feel her gaze.

"Yes, mom, it's her." you heard Sukhi’s voice. "Jungkook introduced me to her at the after-party for the opening of the ‘Vante Maison’ boutique."

His mother didn't react to Sukhi’s words. There was a moment of silence, and then Jungkook's mother said.

"Son, I understand why you're playing with this girl. She's really pretty, but you know... you need to end it. Tell Manager Lee to order a taxi for her and let's go have dinner with your future fiancée..." Jungkook's mother didn't have time to finish her sentence because he interrupted her.

"Mom…" his voice was steady, but the irritation in it was unmistakable. "I don’t have a fiancée. What I have is this girl — and I’m not playing games with her, I’m dating her. And right now, I’m taking her on a date, so I won’t be able to go with you."

He said each word slowly, clearly, as if to finally make it sink in — for both his mother and Suhee: he wasn’t playing by their rules.

Jungkook grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the office exit. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You felt Jungkook touch your thigh. Holding back your anger, you looked at his hand on your skin, and then slowly looked up at him. He glared at you, but quickly turned back to the road.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he said quietly, with a guilty, almost boyish smile.

"Angry?" you stared at his profile, barely restraining the urge to hit him, "Why would I be angry, huh, Jeon? Because your mother looked at me as if I were a cheap accessory to be disposed of as soon as possible?"

"Do you care about my mother's opinion?" Jungkook suddenly asked, squeezing your thigh lightly. You raised your eyebrows, not understanding what he was getting at.

"No. But..." you trailed off, catching yourself thinking that you were really upset that his mother didn't accept you.

"She wouldn't to approve you even if you weren't my fake girlfriend. She wants me to marry Sukhi. So don't take her behavior into account," Jungkook reassured you.

Those words hit you like a cold shower. Yes, you are not Jungkook's real girlfriend. It made sense that his mother didn’t welcome you with open arms on the doorstep — youwere just an obstacle in her family's big plans. You turned away. Why do you feel humiliated by this situation?

"Just warn me about your damned antics next time. I'm tired of improvise," you grunted, hiding your emotions behind your irritation.

"Okay," he replied seriously. "Next time I'll tell you right away. Although," his lips slipped into a half-smile, "you're not bad at improvising, today, for example, you were so good to keep silence."

"Gosh, just shut up," you couldn't stand his insolence. You pushed his hand away, and Jungkook didn't like it. He gave a sideways glare at you. You sat with your arms crossed and looked straight ahead. Your eyebrows remained furrowed in displeasure.

A few minutes later, you pulled up to the restaurant. Jungkook parked the car. You was looking at the expensive place and only now did it dawn on you that you had come here for a fake first date.

"Umgg.." you squeezed out. Now you felt sadness mixed with irritation, but you'd have to smile and act like Jungkook's happy girl. He turned to you.

"If you don't want to go inside, I can take you home," he offered. You could hear the tension in his voice. He didn't seem to like your mood, but whose fault was that?

You asked him without turning your head.

"Can I really refuse? Or is it your voluntary and forced choice again?" you said sarcastically. Jungkook nervously leaned back in his car seat, his posture relaxed, though his eyes said he wasn't in the mood to play right now.

"Do you want to refuse?" he asked in a serious tone that sent a chill down your spine. You finally turned your face to him.

"Yes, I do, I don't want to play your lucky pleasure toy," you said. Jungkook moved forward sharply, and in a matter of seconds he closed the distance between you. He leaned on the armrest and looked at you with a piercing gaze.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice that made your pulse quicken. You glanced at his lips in betrayal and then quickly returned to his eyes. It was no more than a second, but Jungkook caught it. He was attentive to every detail about you.

"Yes," you said firmly, without any hesitation. "Take me home. I don't want to go on a date with you." Jungkook was angry. He didn't look away. His jaw tensed, and a fire flashed in his eyes that you'd seen before, the one that appeared when he wasn't going to give in.

And then, unexpectedly, he leaned in even closer, so close that your breath hitched.

"It's a pity you don't want to. Because I've already decided that you're staying," his voice sounded dull, low, dangerous. His hand took you sharply, but not roughly, by the chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. You grabbed his hand and threw it away.

"You offered to drive me if I didn't want to go. I don't want to," you repeated again. "And don't grab me like that. I'm not your property..." you said, your voice trembling with anger.

Jungkook froze for a moment. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Then he silently unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. You followed his figure with your eyes, realizing that he was walking to your door. He opened it and leaned towards you. You stared in surprise at his face, which was close. He also released your body from the seatbelt, and before you could get a word in edgewise, he grabbed your arm and pulled you outside. Jungkook closed the car door and pushed you against it. His strong body pressed against yours felt good. Jungkook almost kissed you, keeping his lips within touching distance.

"Am I so unpleasant to you that you refuse to go out with me?" he asked, purring against your lips. You watched his lips move in awe. The way the piercing on his lower lip glistened.

"No..." you said the truth, mesmerized by his closeness, "it's just that my mood has gone to hell," you said quietly, holding his elbows.

"I can lift it very easily, you know that..." he whispered, touching your cheek with his nose. He was driving you crazy with his actions. Your heart melted and you couldn't be angry with him anymore. "Where should I lift it up for you in the car, or in the restaurant's restroom?" he asked playfully. He looked at you, and his eyes were full of undisguised desire.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling a slight wave of excitement run through your body. You glanced behind him. There were a lot of people near the restaurant and in the restaurant itself. You didn't see anyone looking at you, but it was definitely was.

"Jungkook," you tried to increase the distance between your faces, "there are a lot of people here..."

Jungkook looked into your eyes and smiled, pleased that you were reacting more calmly.

"It’s not just crowded here — there are also journalists who would be thrilled to write yet another article about our relationship." he said, kissing you lightly on the corner of your mouth. You instinctively closed your eyes, and when you realized he wasn't going to continue, you opened them.

"Did you take care of it? I think I will get a new portions hateful comments. Some people wrote that you have a taste problem." you said, smiling slightly. You remembered one of the comments under those articles where you were first called Jungkook's mistress. And that comment was not the most offensive.

"They must have a problem with their eyesight if they think I have no taste," Jungkook said irritably, his eyebrows furrowing. You bit your lips to hide the smile provoked by Jungkook's response.

"Maybe you have really bad taste?" you joked, "come on, I can tell you that if you tell me your ideal type."

"You" Jungkook answered immediately. The smile that had been frozen on your face slipped away. You felt something invisible squeezing your chest.

"Me?" you couldn't believe your ears. This can't be happening. He's just trying to play on your feelings. He's manipulating you to stop being angry with him.

"You heard me, kitten. You're my perfect type of girl," Jungkook assured you. He touched your cheek with the back of his hand. He stroked it lightly, savoring your confusion, "But your temper is a nightmare," he smiled slyly. He's a master at ruining a good moment.

"Idiot..." you said quietly, turning your head away. Jungkook laughed heartily. You were outraged by what he said about your character, because you thought you were a person of good character. Jungkook squeezed you tighter in his arms and leaned over, touching your forehead.

"But I have to admit that your character is a real challenge for me, and I love challenges."

You sighed, trying not to give in to the emotions he was stirring up in you. His closeness was intoxicating. His words were irritatingly pleasant. But you couldn't afford to lose control again.

"Let's go, I'm hungry." you ignored his words, hiding the real emotions.

"Yes, kitten, we'll go, but first, a convincing gesture that we're a couple," Jungkook said, and the next moment he touched your lips. His tongue unceremoniously burst into your mouth, demonstrating his superiority.

You felt your heart clench sharply. Jungkook was so confident that even his kiss seemed dominant, but there was no violence in it, only a deafening, slightly unbridled heat. You couldn't just pull away, even though you knew it would hurt your control. He seemed to know exactly how to exploit all your weaknesses.

You responded to him, trying to control yourself, but his bent body, his heat permeating every cell of your skin, made it difficult. When the kiss broke, you did your best not to look too confused.

"Now let's go, Jin will feed you the most delicious food in Seoul," Jungkook said as he intertwined your fingers. So this luxurious restaurant, ‘Nocturne’, belongs to Jin. The guy you met at the afterparty.

The entrance to the restaurant was luxurious. The warm light inside created a cozy atmosphere The interior was decorated in delicate pastel colors, dominated by shades of pink - from muted powdery to deeper, rich colors.

The walls were covered with soft light panels with textured plaster, and abstract paintings in a pink gradient hung between them. The silky tablecloths reflected the light, and each table had a small vase of peonies and tea roses.

The hostess - a tall, slender girl in a stylish black dress with a pale pink belt - came to you almost instantly as soon as you crossed the threshold. Her face lit up when she saw Jungkook.

"Jungkook-nim," she bowed slightly, smiling. "It's good to see you again. It's been a while." It was obvious that he was a frequent visitor here, and it was not surprising, since it was his friend's restaurant. The hostess gave you a brief, attentive glance, after which her smile became even warmer, but with a touch of professional politeness. "Please, let me show you to the best table."

She led you past several tables set up near tall windows, behind which the lights of the evening city shimmered slightly, and to a table in a secluded corner of the room, a little away from the other guests. The table was covered with a pink tablecloth, and napkins with the restaurant's embroidered initials were already waiting for them.

"Your waiter will be with you in a moment," the hostess said and politely left.

You looked around. Less than a minute later, a young waiter approached you with a tablet in his hands. He was a little nervous when he met Jungkook's eyes and quickly bowed.

"Good evening. My name is Jihoon, and I'll be serving you tonight. What would you like to order?"

"Can you have Kim Seokjin serve me and my girlfriend the best romantic dinner possible?" Jungkook replied calmly, not needing a menu. The young man became even more nervous, but smiled as he bowed.

"I will pass on your request to our chef. Do you have any special requests for drinks?"

"No, Jihoon, no need for additional drinks. Just serve what will be best for this dinner," Jungkook said, his voice low and calm, as if he controlled every movement in the space.

The waiter nodded and, with another quick bow, quickly left.

You glanced around the room and noticed that there were a lot of people in the restaurant. You looked around the interior for a moment longer, and then turned your head to Jungkook, and he was already looking at you, with a mysterious smile on his lips.

"What?" you asked, reservedly.

"Nothing... I just thought I've never brought a girl here before. You're the first."

You arched an eyebrow, not believing what he was saying.

"Why didn't you bring a girl here? Were you afraid Jin would see how many of them were?" you scoffed.

"Not for that reason. He already knows how many there were. And it's not dozens, as you think." Jungkook replied, putting his hands on the table and locking them. You still didn't believe him.

"Then what's the reason?" you asked sincerely. He shrugged and then looked away, sliding his gaze across the hall.

"Probably because this place is special to me. It's connected to the real me. With my best friend. I didn't want to share something so personal with someone else."

Jungkook's words impressed you. You felt special and you couldn't help but like it. The fact that he had shared something personal with you caused a warm wave in your chest. But the part of you that was used to not trusting him made itself known.

"Why did you want to share with me?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Because I learned something about you yesterday, and it wouldn't be fair of me if I didn't do the same," he answered, smiling slightly. You looked at him for a long few seconds. You understood perfectly well what he was talking about. Jungkook recognized your personal trauma related to your mother, and he wanted to share something personal with you as well. For example, he wanted to take you to a special place for him, where no one from his circle except his friends ever goes.

You didn't know what to say, because you were pleasantly surprised by his behavior, which was new to you. Jungkook was becoming more and more unlike the Jungkook you knew as a neighbor.

You were saved from the awkwardness that arose between you by Jin, the chef of this luxurious restaurant, who was rapidly approaching your table. You noticed him first, and smiled at his cheerful mood. Jungkook noticed your gaze shift and turned around.

"Did you really bring your girlfriend to my restaurant?" asked Jin, smiling and opening his arms to hug his friend. Jungkook stood up and for some reason you stood up too. They hugged each other like family.

"Yes, Jin-hyun. I thought she should know who cooks the best food in Seoul," Jungkook said as he let go of Jin. Jin bowed slightly to you, and you bowed back.

"It's good to see you, Y/N. Now I can definitely see that Jungkook-ah is serious about you," he leaned in, pressing his hands to his lips as if he wanted to share a secret, but he said it so Jungkook could hear it, "he's never brought a girl here, he's not the dating type."

You smiled sweetly, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"I'm really glad that Jungkook brought me to you, Jin-shi. and wants to go a date with me. It makes me feel special," you lied, you turned your gaze to Jungkook and met his attentive gaze. You could barely stop yourself from raising your eyebrows in surprise. He looked at you almost without blinking, with a mesmerized gaze. Your heart skipped a beat, why was he staring like that?

"It would be my honor to prepare a romantic dinner for you. I will choose the best dishes and won't keep you waiting long. I hope you enjoy it," Jin said sincerely. He put his hand on Jungkook's shoulder, pulling him away from you.

"We sure will," Jungkook said.

Jin went to the kitchen, and right after he left, a waiter brought you a white semi-sweet wine. He poured you two glasses and wished you a pleasant evening and left. Jungkook grabbed a glass and you followed suit.

"Cheers to us," Jungkook suggested. You smiled tensely.

"To our deal. For it to work," you added. Jungkook nodded and the sound of glass diluted the noise around you. You took a few sips and the flavor of the grapes blossomed on your tongue. You noticed that Jungkook was staring at you and tried to act calm. But it wasn't working out well. You were nervous about his piercing gaze today.

"Relax, kitten, you look so tense, it's just dinner," Jungkook suddenly said as he put his glass on the table. He noticed your tense state and you didn't like it. You need to control your body language better. You really need to relax, but Jungkook is the direct cause of your tension. His behavior makes your heart beat faster, and it makes you feel strange.

"I'd be more relaxed if you weren't eating me up with your eyes," you said as casually as you could. You took another sip of wine, instinctively hiding behind the glass.

Jungkook laughed, his eyes still on you, a soft laugh with a hint of amusement. You realized that he was really enjoying the fact that he could embarrass you so much. He dodged a direct answer, but you saw his lips turn up slightly at the corners.

"I'm not eating you. I'm just... admiring," he said, almost a whisper, and his gaze softened, but it made you lose control even more "It's hard to look away when looking at a woman like that."

Your cheeks lit up, and you instantly looked away. Was the wine starting to take effect, or was it him? It seems that today Jungkook decided to attack you with emotions, not words. And you were completely unprepared for it.

"Are you trying to throw compliments at me, hoping for something after dinner?" you asked ironically. He burst out laughing again.

"Doesn't a date end with sex after a romantic dinner?" he answered with a question, making his voice seductively playful. You hummed, unconsciously, pressing your thighs together. The thought of having sex with Jungkook after your fake date was already burning red in your head. You wonder to yourself how he can make you feel this uncontrollable desire. To be honest, you hope that this is how your evening will end, but you can't show it to him. There's no way Jungkook can find out that you want to have sex with him.

"Seems like all your dates end this way, huh? Hate to disappoint you, but for normal people — it doesn’t always go like this," you said sarcastically. Jungkook raised his eyebrows, looking surprised.

"Really? That's so boring," he said. You gave a short laugh.

"It's not boring," you argued. "Decent people don't have sex after the first date," you said indignantly. Jungkook was enjoying your conversation, his eyes burning with curiosity.

"You've never had sex on a first date?" he asked, smiling broadly, and sipped his wine. You raised your eyebrows.

"Never! I don't sleep with men I barely know," your answer made Jungkook's eyes light up. He leaned back in his chair and looked at you slyly, as if you had just told a lie.

"You hardly knew me either when we first had sex. But you slept with me anyway," he said, watching your reaction closely. You froze, not expecting such words.

"We've known each other for a long time..." you began uncertainly, trying to justify yourself, but Jungkook interrupted you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"I..." you trailed off, swallowing your indecision along with the bitterness in your chest. "It was different. You wanted sex as payment for a favor, and... I was... in a very difficult position at the time."

Jungkook was listening intently, but he didn't seem satisfied with your explanation. He raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips, as if to suggest that your answer was just an attempt to escape the truth.

"So you only agreed because you had no choice?" he asked quietly, but his voice was a mixture of resentment and curiosity. He wasn't angry, no. But you felt that he was waiting for something more. Maybe even sincerity.

"Um..." you really didn't know what to say. In fact, you agreed because you wanted to. If you hadn't been attracted to Jungkook, you wouldn't have even let him touch you. "Yes," you lied. You were afraid to tell him openly that you liked him. "You threatened to make my life in the neighborhood terrible." You remembered what he said.

Jungkook tilted his head. He couldn't believe that you didn't want him as much as he wanted you. From the first day you met him, he could feel the sexual tension between you and he knew, that you felt it too.

"And the other times?" he asked, "you also had no choice?"

You felt a heat run up your spine. You felt hot, and you wanted to end this topic as soon as possible.

"We actually talked about dating," you tried to change the subject. Jungkook smiled, he could see how nervous you were, and it made him feel hot.

Jungkook didn't look away. His smile became slow, almost lazy, and there was something predatory and alluring about it.

"Yes, we talked about dating..." he trailed off, as if savoring every word. His voice became low and deep, and you caught him trying to suppress a subtle laugh. "You're contradicting yourself. You assurer that you don't have sex with men at first date, because you don’t know his well, but you agreed to have sex with me, a man you barely knew," Jungkook summarized.

"You don't take into account the circumstances under which I agreed," you said, unhappy, clutching your glass involuntarily.

"No, you're just not the good girl you want to appear to be," Jungkook said, still smiling slyly. Your eyes widened in shock, indignation, and... anger. Who was he to make such a judgment about you?

Jungkook stood up, put his chair next to yours, and sat down, boldly and brazenly violating your personal space. As always, without asking permission. His knee touched yours. And you seemed to be frozen.

He leaned closer, so close that you could feel his warm breath sliding across your cheek. His voice was low, muffled, dangerously slow.

"You act like you're only interested in control, only in rules... But your eyes tell me more than you want to. You want to be exposed. To have your soul bared."

You held your breath.

His fingers touched your wrist. Gently. Barely. But it was enough to make your body tense.

"You're the kind of person who's afraid of their desires, but dreams of someone guessing them. For someone... to stop you from running away from yourself." His gaze did not let go. Warm, but commanding. Piercing. He slid his fingers down the outside of your thigh, over the fabric of your skirt, slowly, steadily, as if he were testing how far he could go without saying a word.

You gulped in a breath, your heart beating with double the force. His touch was light, but a wave was already rising inside you.

"Look at you," his voice was barely audible, almost a whisper, sliding over you like silk. "You're trembling because you want me to touch you..."

You tried to say something, but the words dissolved in his breath. He leaned in even closer and gently touched your lips-not with a kiss, but with a seduction.

"In fact, you love sex and are ready to sleep with a man on the first date if you like him. You're ready to suck his cock like any whore's can’t do, and let him have you completely and totally. You have a lot of hidden kinks that affect you and you don't mind exploring even more perversions if you're comfortable with your partner."

Jungkook's every word is like a blow to your solar plexus. You forget how to breathe. Your lips are slightly parted, and you see his eyes slide over them before meeting yours again. The look in Jungkook's eyes is one of confidence, of being right, and fuck, he's right. He good learned you and it scares.

"I'm not..." you wanted to argue, but your voice was shaking.

"Yes, you are," Jungkook replied quietly, his voice a dangerous, pleasant whisper. "You agreed to have sex with me, barely knowing me, because you're attracted to me, kitten." He slid his hand down under the skirt of your dress.

You felt your stomach clench with tension, and then he gently spread his warmth down. It seemed that he was not penetrating your skirt, but your skin.

You felt him touch your underwear. The pulse between your legs increased and moisture began to leak out.

"I can finger fuck you under the table right now and you wouldn't mind... that's how bad you are," he whispered in your ear. His breath burned your skin.

His fingers slid down to your thighs, pushed the edge of your thong away... and touched your most sensitive spot. At first hesitantly, teasingly, as if studying you. His middle finger slid along your wet slit, and you almost screamed.

You squeezed his hand with your legs, not stopping him, but rather pressing him closer. Your hand instinctively grabbed his wrist, and your cheek rested on his shoulder.

"Jungkook..." you whispered, chained by both fear and excitement. "The journalists... they..."

"They won't," his voice was hoarse, hard, almost angry. "I've chosen the perfect angle. Now, be quiet and obey."

He pressed harder, his thumb slowly beginning to draw circles on your clit, sensitively, without rushing, making you clench. The other two fingers penetrated deeper, stretching, pulsing inside you.

"So wet..." he breathed out, and his tongue touched your earlobe. You felt your whole body tremble.

He was taking his time. He was torturing you, corrupting every inch of you.

"Come on, kitten... Feel it. I want you to come here. For me."

A few smooth strokes, then a change of rhythm - faster, deeper - and then slowly again... He played you like an instrument.

You could feel your body being filled with waves. Each touch was like a flash. Your internal muscles began to tremble. You couldn't breathe.

His voice was the last push:

"You are my bad girl. Whoring under the table is your new name. Cum for me, kitten."

You clenched around his fingers, your body merged into one climactic wave, you gasped for breath, moaned softly, digging your fingers into his shirt. Your clit throbbed, a few more soft touches and you crumbled, helpless and trembling.

Jungkook kept his eyes on you. His fingers were still touching you-softly, gently, almost tenderly, as if they were calming your storm. Then he slowly pulled his hand out from under your skirt. He took a glass, took a sip, and said calmly:

"See?" his voice was softer but still deep, "You just came on my fingers." You clenched your jaw. A wave of shame and desire mixed in your chest, making your heart beat faster. "You want me even when you're not supposed to. Even when there are people around. And you hardly know me, so don't lie to yourself."

He leaned down and lightly touched your lips with his. He tasted each of your lips in turn, and finally pulled away with a reverent gesture. He sat up straight, as if nothing had happened.

Jungkook took another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving yours. There was everything in his gaze: triumph, desire, possession.

But you couldn't say anything. Your breathing hadn't steadied yet, and your heart was pounding in your chest as if it wanted to jump out.

Your legs trembled a little, and you tried your best to sit upright, even though you were still pulsing wave after wave inside. You clenched your jaw, trying to pull yourself together. Your hot cheeks gave you away.

And at that very moment, the waiter approached your table with a slight bend and a professional smile.

"Your appetizers," he said, placing the plates on the table. You tried your best not to look at Jungkook and not to give yourself away. You just took the glass of wine and took a sip, hiding the trembling of your lips.

"Thanks," Jungkook said calmly, as if nothing had happened. He pushed the plate over to you and whispered very quietly, keeping his eyes on you:

"Now, pretend to eat while your body still remembers my fingers."

You almost choked on the wine, but you gathered your strength. The smile on your lips was nervous, but your eyes were burning with... desire. And shame.

⇠ Previous ⟡ Index ➩ ⟡ Next ⇢

[vroomingrussell]

Papaya Rules doesn’t Apply to the Heart 🧡

Part 1 of 5

Oscar Piastri is in love with Y/N Brown. Y/N has been and probably will be in love with Lando Norris, and Lando, is in love with the attention and the thrill of chasing his first championship.

Note: this will be part smau & partly written; all pics are from Pinterest and in this Y/N is Zac Browns daughter. The fic takes places over the course of the 2024 season.

Thanks for Reading!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Y/NIntsa posted to story

Photo 1 caption: Ms Graduate

Photo 2 caption: time to join my dad in the world of cars go fast

Photo 3 caption: Hello from Monoco

F1paddocktalk posted to insta

F1paddocktalk: CEO of McLaren Zak Browns daughter @yninsta has been spotted entering the paddock of the Monoco GP with her father. F1 fans following Y/N now private Instagram account, has confirmed that Y/N is in Monoco and has been since she graduated college earlier this month, she is rumored to be joining her father at McLaren for the remaining race season.

Comments:

user15: finally my princess is HOME; Y/N the kids have missed you 😭😭

User1: Landoy/n rise one again? User2: @/user1 landoy/n? Im new here, what’s the lore!! User1: oh im so glad you asked @/user2 I’ve been WAITING to talk about this; okay so back in 2020/2021 Lando and Y/N were SOMETHING; relationship never confirmed but they were seen almost everywhere together during summer and winter breaks. Even when they weren’t together, they were constantly calling each other, Y/N use to post her daily FT screenshots with Lando, he mostly use to game while she did homework…. Then Christmas is 2021, they unfollowed each other, her page went private and we haven’t seen her since. Lando never mentioned her again even though he use to bring her up EVERY 5 minutes on his streams. But now she’s back, graduated collage and is gonna be at McLaren for the rest of the races, soooo this should be interesting!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

You clutched your phone anxiously in your hand, you hadn’t been to a race in years, hadn’t seen him in person in years, of course you kept tabs, it was hard not to when he’s all your dad seems to ever want to talk about.

No one really knew what happened between the two of you, not that you did either. Years ago, you were something or almost something… more than friends but never defined.

Friends that kissed til your lungs burned for air, friends that touched so tenderly the moments between you felt like glass. And just like glass, your had heart shattered when you saw the photo of Lando and a beautiful blonde posted on a gossip page. He told you the blonde was a friend, and you wondered just how many friends like that he had, for you it was always him, no one sparked electricity through your body just by looking at you, no one made you smile the way he did, no one made you believe in love the way he did, but you were smart, smart enough to know that he didn’t return those feelings.

So, you did what you always did when emotional and feelings became too much, or got too complicated.

You detach, and shrink away until you weren’t in his life anymore, holiday plans canceled, too busy with school, projects and test and even pretend dates until he no longer called, no longer there, blocked and removed, nothing messy. Quiet disappearance.

But years have passed and you’ve both grown; the oceans of emotions in your heart was had stilled until today, where every wave of want and love lashed at your stomach.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm, what?”

“I said are you okay? You look a little sick”

“Sorry dad, I’m okay just nervous, I forgot how hectic race weekends are” i you smiled at your father “I know” you sighed at the look of concern on his face “if I feel overwhelmed I’ll find your office and take a break, promise”

“I’m happy you’re here Princess” Zak smiled and kissed the top of your head “I’ll see you okay”

“I’m happy to be here too”

As you parted ways and you began to walk around the hospital; it dawned on you that you knew no one, not really. A lot had changed in the couple of years you’d been away. You knew Alex and George, but they were getting prepared for free practice, none of the WAGs were your friends, Lilly was nice enough the few times you’d spoken to her and Alex but she wasn’t at the race.

You were consumed by your own thoughts that you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking until you felt strong arms gripping your shoulders, stopping you from colliding them with them.

“Hey- whoa be careful”

“Sorry” you quickly apologized, looking up to see a face you have become familiar with, even though he might not know you “Oscar, hey I’m Y/N, Zaks daughter”

“Yeah? It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about, feels like I know you already”

You playfully rolled your eyes “my dad never shuts up huh?”

“No um Lando, actually, he’s been pretty much singing your praises since he heard you were coming”

“Oh” you forced a polite smile “that’s nice of him”

“Osc!” You heard a familiar voice call out, your heart began to hammer against your rib cage, the closer he got, the louder it sounded in your ear.

“Found y/n for you”

And before you could make your escape, there you were, in his arms, it felt as familiar as ever, and every caution went to the wind, you wanted to stay there, buried in the scent of his perfume.

“I missed you”Lando said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Missed you too” you said, finally relaxing and hugging him back. It had been years, you were both grown, you were ready to let go of the hurt you felt in the past and move on, rekindle the friendship you lost, because, above everything you feel for Lando, his friendship, truly meant more to you, and you’d love nothing more than being his friend again.

Friend, defined and uncomplicated.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

F1paddocktalk posted to instagram

F1paddocktalk:

Spotted by one of our followers in the McLaren hospitality, Lando Norris and Y/N Brown. Rumor has this is the first time the pair has met or talked since Christmas 2021; they were previously linked but a relationship was never confirmed, could the old friends be rekindling their old flame?

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Comment if you’d like to be tagged in future parts

[rhiannonsknife]

heyyy first of all, i just needed to say that your writing is soooo fucking good like i was genuinely impressed when you said that english isn't your first language because I can't imagine how this could get any better. Also, it isn’t only about the way you write but also the way you just get each character perfectly. That's just... woah, just woah. So yeah, I hope you keep on writing for a long time for the sake of everyone's happiness lol

And lastly, you remembered us about how you also write for the rest of the yellowjackets, not that I don't enjoy the whole "let's give love to all ella purnell's characters" thing going on here buuuut i remembered one scenario has been in my mind for a while and I'd love if you wrote about it.

Shauna, after losing so much to the wilderness, carries this relentless, overwhelming anger that keeps most of the other girls at a distance. Even those who aren't outright scared of her still know better than to get too close. She obviously needs love and comfort, but god help anyone who tries to say that to her. And then r decides to take a shot, carefully inching closer without setting her off. Slowly but surely, r makes progress. First, just being allowed in Shauna's space, then a hand on her shoulder, brushing her hand, maybe even touching her hair. When Shauna finally lets her guard down, r sees just how touch-starved she really is, how deeply she needs someone to just be there, to be her person.

Shauna and r start disappearing for hours, slipping off to somewhere, maybe the airplane, where r can pepper her face with kisses, making her feel safe. And Shauna just lets herself melt in those moments, holding r close.

my mind just goes ogdofgkditwukymg w her

── NO ONE COULD SAVE ME BUT YOU

— summary: shauna shipman needs a hug. that’s it. that’s the summary.

— warnings: hurt/comfort. canon typical dark themes. implied cannibalism (duh). child loss. etc. so: angst. some fluff. did not beta-read this. + i had no clue how to start or end this fic.

— a/n: woah thank you so so much!! i genuinely appreciate that <3 i’m not planning on stopping any time soon! anyway, i hope you like how this turned out!!

out here, she’s lost everything. you all know it, though none of you dares to actually talk about it. it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that she’s beginning to lose herself too. it’s concerning all the same.

shauna still gets her chores done, so it is not like you don’t have her support in this poorly built system, this attempt to keep things under control when -really- all last restraints of control were lost the morning you’d found jackie’s body, buried in the snow, and with all that came after that. the things no one ever speaks about.

perhaps that is why none of the girls have approached her yet: as long as she does what she’s supposed to do, why would anyone try and cross her, or potentially upset her? after what she’s done to lottie, it’s no surprise. sometimes, in moments during which you find yourself staring at her hands for reasons beyond you, you can see the flash of a scar, standing out against the thin skin of her knuckles.

maybe they’re scared of her. or scared of what she’s become, out here. it doesn’t make a difference. maybe you should all be scared of what you’ve become.

either way, it’s not fair. you obviously know that she needs the same comfort some of the other girls have found in each other, whether shauna wants to admit it or not.

so you -with nothing better to do for the most part- make it your mission to be this comfort for her.

at first, shauna gives you short, cold responses when you try to make small talk, but you keep at it. there’s nowhere to go anyway, nowhere she could flee to get away from your slightly awkward attempts to just talk. it’s a first step.

gradually, you notice her replies get a little longer, her posture softens, just slightly, and she doesn’t seem so quick to brush you off. a small sign, but it means you’re beginning to earn her trust. you don’t talk, not always. sometimes, you’ll just linger nearby and watch her prepare the last remaining pieces of meat or sit in the same room as she scribbles in the journal she’s brought from home.

sitting with shauna in silence becomes its own form of closeness; she doesn’t say much, but she lets you be near her. you can’t remember, now that you think about it, when she was last hugged. when she last felt the touch of another person. your heart aches at this realization. could it have been jackie? it already feels like a whole lifetime ago, that she'd been among the group.

over time, she actually starts letting you sit close enough that your legs touch. you hope it’s her way of saying that maybe she doesn’t mind your presence as much as she lets on.

one day, after a particularly hard night, you take a chance and rest a hand on shauna’s shoulder. you’ve noticed, even from a distance, that she doesn’t sleep well. truthfully, no one out here does. but, with your makeshift mattress closest to the spot she’s preoccupied in the farthest corner of the room, you often notice the way she flinches in her sleep, or shoots up in the middle of the night, panting heavily.

when you notice it that night, you slip out of the more or less comfortable ‘warmth’ of your blankets and make your way over to her.

she tenses, but for a moment, she doesn’t pull away. her silence feels like a monumental moment, a sign that she’s slowly starting to let her walls down. you sit like this, hidden by the darkness of the cabin and with none of the others awake, for a long moment. neither of you moves, neither of you even dares to breathe, afraid it’ll pass by as fast as it has come. then, she shrugs away from your grip and mutters: “i’m fine”. she’s not, obviously. but you take it as a small victory. you’ve felt the way she relaxed under your hold, the way she didn’t immediately push you away.

as weeks pass, you notice shauna becoming less and less guarded in your presence. she’s still wary, still sharp, but you can sense the small shifts, a quiet murmur here, a shared look there, that suggest she’s warming up to having you close.

maybe that night is what’s to blame, or maybe she’s genuinely beginning to realize how much she craves the warmth of another person. your warmth.

it’s one of these days where she’s angrily scribbling down words into her journal when shauna reaches a first ‘breaking point’. she’s sitting beside you in silence, the weight of the wilderness and the day pressing down on both of you. the only noise is the angry scrape of her pencil against paper. in a rare moment of boldness, you reach out, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face.

you’re not sure why you do it. but shauna seems so far away from everything, so detached from the reality you live in, that you just want to offer her something grounding.

her first reaction is to freeze, her eyes widening with a flicker of surprise, and you nearly pull your hand away, wondering if you’ve overstepped. but instead, shauna lets out a breath and holds still, allowing you to tuck the strand behind her ear. as your fingers brush her cheek, you can feel her breath catch, her defenses lowering just a little. it’s a brief, fragile moment, but one that feels much bigger to you: an unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she’ll allow more of this.

that’s when things begin to change: shauna starts looking for you after difficult moments, lingering by your side in ways that tell you she needs someone, even if she won’t say it; too stubborn to ever admit it out loud. she lets you take her hand quietly, her thumb rubbing yours a wordless promise that, just for a while, she’ll let you be her safe place.

it becomes routine for you and shauna to disappear to some quiet spot when the cabin feels too heavy. no one has figured you out yet, although you’re sure that they can put two and two together by now: tai has caught your eye, the last time you sneaked off together and lottie has long claimed that the wilderness has its fucked up ways of communicating with her. whether any of it is true or not, something about the glances she shoots in your direction tells you that she knows. that she might even appreciate it, though that could just be because she won’t be the outlet for shauna’s anger anymore.

after a particularly tense exchange with the others, she brushes past you, muttering, “let’s go.” you follow her immediately, of course, and the two of you wind through the forest until you reach the plane’s wreckage. inside, it’s silent and dim, a place that’s somehow managed to become a safe haven. the last reminder of civilization, somewhere far far away from you.

shauna lets herself lean back against the metal frame, shoulders dropping in relief, her usual guarded expression softening as you sit close beside her.

she doesn’t say anything, but her hand finds yours, squeezing it tightly, as if she’s grounding herself in your presence. then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she leans her head on your shoulder, her eyes closing as she lets out a shaky sigh. you wrap an arm around her, pull her closer, and let her melt into you, feeling her tension slowly give way as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

together, you stay like that for hours, just holding each other. shauna curls into your arms, letting herself fully relax in the quiet. you actually dare to cradle her head and press gentle kisses to her forehead, feeling her melt into your embrace, and trusting you in a way she hasn’t trusted anyone else in a long, long time.

“you’re…you’re way too soft for this place, you know that?” you hear her whispering. she doesn’t stop you, though.

when it’s time to return, shauna doesn’t say a word but gives you a look that says it all: gratitude, trust, and something almost like relief.

even when you’re not together, shauna’s glances toward you become longer, her eyes lingering with something that remains unspoken, as if she’s trying to understand this newfound feeling.

around the others, she is still hesitant to be openly affectionate. in the cabin, it is only late at night, when it’s just the two of you, that she lets herself fall into your arms. It’s the only time she allows herself to be unguarded, clinging to you silently as if afraid you’ll vanish too if she lets go.

that same night, you catch a quiet confession under her ragged breath. she’s facing the other way, letting you spoon her from behind. only this way, does she dare to open up about how everything seems to slip away from her. she’s scared but hides it behind anger and frustration. you’re the first person allowed to see her tears.

you can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through. all the things she’s been robbed of: girlhood, like all of you. even if you’re ever rescued (which seems less likely with every day that passes) how are you supposed to move on? how are you supposed to live, like none of this ever happened? her best friend, who no one dares to talk about anymore, afraid it’ll bring back the things you’ve done. it’s like she was never here at all which, you think, must be even worse. motherhood, too, though she never even wanted it. no one seems to acknowledge that, out of everyone out here, she might just be the one to have lost everything to the wilderness.

in an attempt to comfort her, you trace mindless shapes against the back of her hand, slowly soothing her back to sleep. the letters of her name, a loopy S, gliding across her scarred knuckles with a tenderness so contrary to everything these hands have done. your own name, next. you hear a gentle chuckle coming from shauna. she knows what you’re doing, of course. you don’t stop.

the outline of wiskayok, as you remember from the map. she doesn’t seem to recognize this one, a little crease between her brows. “home” you tell her quietly and the crease vanishes.

it feels surreal that, somewhere out there, home is still a place. that wiskayok still exists to the people, to your families, your classmates, and everyone else back there. that it’s more than just a fading memory.

“you suck at drawing” she finally manages. it’s the first time you can hear the glimpse of amusement in her voice.

“what? you think you’re any better?” you whisper quietly, wanting it to last.

shauna shifts beside you, and takes your hand with a gentleness you didn’t think she possessed still.

now it’s your turn to lay back and feel. she starts with words. “yellowjackets” she spells out. a small smile flashes over your features as shauna studies your face attentively. then, though it’s harder to make out, she traces the word: “champions”. your heart feels heavy with everything that could’ve been.

shapes are next: a tiny heart, resembling the shape of jackie's necklace, then a simple circle.

"that's a soccer ball" she whispers expertly. for the first time, you laugh. it only lasts a short moment before you remember where you are, and that the others are trying to sleep just a couple of meters from you.

you fall asleep with her hand in your own, as both of your eyes grow too tired and you drift off together.

other nights, when she’s fast asleep and -for once- doesn’t seem haunted by nightmares, you find yourself watching over her. it’s the only time you get to see her the way she’d once been: when her features aren’t tense or pained, but relaxed. when she’s the girl you met at the very first soccer practice years ago, who hasn’t known any of the things that’ll happen to her in this lifetime. you stay up all night, only realizing how much time has passed when light starts spilling into the cabin and she stirs up.

you know shauna hates being pitied. so while you do feel for her, instead of asking if she’s okay, you just stay close, offering your warmth and presence. when shauna’s frustration bubbles over, she lets herself scream or cry in your arms, knowing you won’t turn her away. you hold her tightly all through the waves of emotions, murmuring quiet reassurances, and she clings to you, even as she struggles to accept that someone genuinely cares.

“everyone else… they don’t understand. they couldn’t. but you-“ she murmurs softly. “you’re the only one who sees me. the only one who wants to.”

shauna begins to show subtle signs of protectiveness over you, too: always looking out for you and offering the little comforts she can manage. even though her gestures are often quieter than yours, and less obvious, she's found her own way of showing she’s come to care for you, and that she’s willing to fight for you as much as you’re willing to be there for her out there!! <3

[redrose10]

A rare non Yoongi centered writing (he does make an appearance because I can’t help myself). This is a part 2 to this one I was supposed to write a long time ago and just now got it finished.

Namjoon x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, divorce

Word count: 1,722

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Divorce was never something you had in the plan for your future. Things happen unfortunately and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Of course there were nights that you laid awake in bed reliving your marriage over and over wondering if maybe there was something you could have done differently to stop Namjoon from falling out of love with you. Could you have smiled more? Cooked more meals at home? Been more experimental in the bedroom? Maybe you just should have told him you loved him more often?

Maybe if you had done one of those things or even more then you wouldn’t be alone sitting on the floor of your sons nursery crying as you tried to put together the rocking chair you purchased a week ago. It was supposed to be easy to build, but no matter what you did you just could not get the parts to fit right.

After staring at the directions for a little while longer you decided you needed a break. With a loud groan you slowly got yourself off of the floor and gently patted your bump thankful that the baby would be here in a few weeks. You weren’t sure how you could grow any bigger and still function properly.

You were on your way to pick up dinner when you saw a cute little baby boutique not too far from your place. You might not know much about building furniture but you could definitely pick out some more cute outfits for your little one so you decided to enter the store.

“When were you going to tell him?”, a deep voice spoke next to you. You jumped slightly before realizing that it was Yoongi. You hadn’t seen him since before the divorce.

You continued to browse through the onesies hoping he would just go away, but he was persistent.

“Y/N…”

“Bold of you to assume I’m pregnant with his baby.”, you spat, “Maybe I moved on too. Hmm? Ever think about that?”

He put his hands up in defense, “You’re right. I apologize. But… I also know that you loved Namjoon more than anything and wouldn’t have been able to move on that quickly and with the timing of everything it just seemed right...”

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself you nodded, “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay.”, he chuckled, “I seem to be getting my head chewed off by pregnant women all the time these days any ways so I’m used to it.”

You turned to look at him with wide eyes”, Oh my god! You and Sana?!”

He nodded with a big gummy smile, “Yeah a little girl.”

“Aww congratulations!”, you hugged him tightly. You were genuinely happy for the two of them.

“Soooo back to this little situation.”, he said pointing at your bump, “Y/N you really should tell him. He deserves to know.”

You scoffed at his words. You weren’t necessarily mad at Namjoon. You didn’t hate him or anything and didn’t want to spite him. He followed his heart and was open and honest with you and you believed him that he never cheated, but you wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t sting a little and leave a bitter taste in your mouth some times.

“Why should I tell him? What can he do that I can’t for this baby? I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to get him back or trap him or anything. I think…maybe it’s best if he just never knows.”

Yoongi took in a deep breath, “Look, it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life or get involved. I can only imagine how hurt you are by all of this. But this is more than just about you and Namjoon. There is a little baby coming that deserves to have their father in their life.“

It killed you because you knew Yoongi had a major point with that one. It was something you struggled with since the beginning of this whole ordeal and it often got you worked up.

“But what if…”, you sniffled, “What if I do tell him and he doesn’t care? What if he just gets mad?”

Yoongi grabbed onto your shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze, “I highly doubt that will be the case, but you’ll never know until you do it.”

“Okay.”, you smiled. “Oh hey by the way…do you know how to put together a rocking chair?”, you questioned as he was starting to walk away.

“Yeah. I’m going out of town for a little, but I know a guy. I’ll send him over.”, he said with a wink. You should’ve known.

“So much for not getting involved.”, you grumbled to yourself and made a mental note to give Yoongi a piece of your mind next time you saw him.

“So he wasn’t lying.”, was all Namjoon could say as he took in your form. You invited him in to have a seat.

There was a lot of nervous tension in the air between you both. Since your encounter with Yoongi a few days ago you had been working on a way to tell Namjoon everything, you didn’t expect to have to be ready so soon.

“Y/N…I….”, he began slowly. Clearly thinking of the best way to go about this. “I’m sorry.”, he chuckled, “I’ll admit I’m not quite prepared for this conversation. I came over here fully believing Yoongi was just fucking with me. I…when did you find out?”

“A few days after you told me about her.”, you whispered.

You could tell he was getting angry. You watched as he chewed on his inner cheek, a habit of his to try and keep himself calm. “Why didn’t you tell me Y/N? Were you just going to hide this from me forever?”, he asked.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want you think that I was only telling you that I was pregnant to try and make you stay with me. I kept saying I would tell you and then one month turned into two. And then I ran into Yoongi. And just I don’t know Joonie. Everything happened so fast and there were so many changes and I didn’t know what to do.” A few sniffles escaped you as you tried your best to stay composed.

“Hey hey hey it’s okay. Please don’t cry. Please.”, he said scooting a little bit closer to you so that he could rub your back, “I’m sorry I got upset. I just…I guess it hurt that even after all of our years together you didn’t think that you could trust me enough to be there for both of you.”

“Namjoon, we’re divorced. You moved on to someone else. How could I be certain that you would be there?”

“I know.”, he nodded, “But Y/N just because I fell in love with someone else doesn’t mean I completely stopped loving you. Yes I love you in a different way now, but you will always be an important part of my life. You and our baby will always have me no matter what else is going on. You never have to worry about that. We’ll figure it out as we go. This chapter of our life is new to both of us.”

For a while you just sat there crying into his shoulder. It was warm and comforting although in a different way than it used to be.

“Is…is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need? I’ll help in any way I can.”, he finally spoke up after it seemed that your cries were dying down.

“Do you want me to make you a chocolate cake with pickle and garlic cream cheese frosting?”, he asked.

“Eww! What?!”

“I…I don’t know. Yoongi said he has to make it for Sana all the time. I thought maybe it was a pregnant woman thing.”, he shrugged.

“No.”, you laughed, “I’m good. Plus I don’t want you anywhere near my kitchen. Your kitchen mishaps are no longer my responsibility.”

Both of you laughed as he nodded his head in agreement.

“Actually…there is one thing.”, you said motioning for him to follow you.

“I’ve been trying all week to put this thing together.”, you said pointing at the half built rocking chair, “Do you think you can finish it for me?”

A few hours and many curse words later the two of you stood back to admire the newly built chair. The pretty pastel blue cushions looked soft and fluffy just like you wanted.

You went to try it out, but Namjoon quickly a stopped you, “I should be the first to try it. You know…just in case.”

You nodded and stepped out of the way realizing he had a point.

He took a seat reveling in the comfiness. It only took a few seconds for there to be a very loud distinct cracking noise and next thing you knew Namjoon was laying on the ground on top of a pile of boards and screws that had been your rocking chair just a few short moments ago. It took all of your strength to stifle a laugh as you watched him stare at the ceiling and rethink everything.

Finally after a few minutes he pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling?”, you asked confused.

“Yoongi.“

The phone only rang for a couple of seconds like he had been waiting for the call.

“Yep.

Mmhmm.

I sure did.

Yep.

Okay thanks Hyung.”, he said putting his phone back in his pocket, “Yoongi said he’ll be right up.”

You followed Namjoon into the living room, “He said he was going out of town.”

“Nope.”, Namjoon shook his head, “He lied. He’s been waiting down in the car. He knew you would ask me to build the rocking chair and he also knew that even though I would do my best I would end up breaking something so he is on his way up here with his tool box to put it together.”

Laughing as you went to get some drinks you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. Life may not have turned out exactly how you planned, but you were now looking forward to seeing how it came together in the future.

[neetily]

hi neet! i’d love to see how you would write a sam/seb/fem!farmer kidnapping story 🫶🏼 she just kept leading them on, y’know? she was just asking for it!

love a good sambastian duo x

warning: kidnapping, noncon/rape, creampie, restraints, gag wc: 2,617

Never in the many dreams he's spent restless nights alone with only the thought of you to keep him company did he ever imagine that you'd look so nice draped in silver.

It's chunky. Maybe a little too big for your size, but pretty nonetheless, he assures you! Shining nicely under the dull light of Sebastians basement bedroom, and the glittering that sparkles under your soft squirming around pairs nicely with the attire he found you in tonight— that being of your barely there to begin with pyjamas. Short shorts and simple top, breezy in the mooonlight, an invitation, right?

The frantic clink! of the chains wrapped around, well... Pretty much every part that they can wrap around—your neck, your ankles, your wrists—the sound of your squirming gets him excited. Makes him feel powerful, a sickening joy settling thickly in his stomach at the sight of your new jewellery. And the desperate pleas spoken in metal drags him out of his self indulgent thoughts to instead bear witness to how well you wear fear as Sebastian tugs playfully at those very same shorts.

It's a pity Sam can't hear your likely pretty begging and whining behind the makeshift gag adorning you. Can't listen to how nicely you'd sob stop. Can't have you asking for help, can he?

"You should go first," Sebastian mutters, though Sam can quite clearly hear the smirk in his words. Like an excited child, the act of peeling your shorts and panties from your goose bumped skin looks similar to a child opening their Christmas presents. "You put in most of the work securing her, it's only fair."

They'd spoken about who should go first countless times, y'know. Because you're so special to them, even if they talk about you like you're not even there. A mere object, right? Spent hours mulling it over to be honest, going back and forth on several different points. Like who loves you more. Or who's wanted you for longer. Or, more immaturely, who's older. And though Sam is more than happy to be the first to touch you tonight, already hard before getting a mere glimpse of your puffy pretty pussy, he figures he's got a better idea for how tonight should pan out.

You can thank the expression of dread you greet him with for that— it's soooo cute. Turns him on so much, y'know...

And it's not his fault that he finds you attractive, right? You should feel happy, thankful, that his cock is rock hard and pointing directly towards you right now. He just wants to keep you looking so pretty. Fuckin' hot when you stare up at him with those big doe eyes, body trembling under his watchful eye, begging without having the words for it. You should keep looking at him like that— it only turns him on further.

And that's the sole reason for his change of plans. To keep you scared. Keep you soft and pliable and fucking scared.

"Nah," he sighs, almost idly if not for the way his hooded lids remain trained on you. "We should go together I think. Have fun at the same time."

"Y'don't gotta tell me twice." Sebastian hums back at him, taking advantage of your captivity by digging his nails into your flimsy pyjama top, and tearing it right down the middle. Sam would like to say that they'll get you a new one, but after a sharp suck of air at the sight of your exposed chest, he's not so sure about that.

The panicked, though muffled behind the poor gag, sob you let out only earns some barked laughter from Sam, who kindly explains the situation you've now found yourself in.

"Couldn't rightly take it off nicely, could we? Not with those chains in the way..." He pouts, adopting a tone one would when telling off a child. Complete with a waggle of his finger. Like he's toying with you. Like he's having fun tormenting you. "S'the only way to do it m'afraid."

"It's okay," Sebastian quickly reassures you, though Sam is just as quick to pick up on the true mocking tone underlying his gentle petting over your now exposed tummy, and the slight tut to his words from looking down at you. "We can play nice from now on. Promise."

Maybe you can, Sam thinks to himself. But he, on the other hand, is practically ready to burst from the sight of your heaving chest, quick fast paced breaths that give your true feelings of terror away from just a quick glance. The shaky closing of your legs as if doing so would somehow keep your dignity intact. And it's exciting, like hunter and prey. Except he's already captured you, and he intends on enjoying his reward to the fullest extent— starting with drooling over your pretty tits.

So cute, especially with your laboured breathing. Bouncing a little with your fear, and oh, so, kissable. A shared thought, no doubt, given how Sebastian seems to immediately latch onto a nipple. Eager to show you his held back affections— though perhaps a little too eager, shown in the way your back arches in an attempt to get away from his sharp teeth and rough claws that paw and pad at your unattended tit.

Well, Sam thinks. Time for his reward.

You've got no idea just how long he's been waiting for this, really. Him and Seb, plotting together like two thieves in the night, intent on stealing you away. And more importantly, your innocence. Your sense of safety, turning you into nothing but an object for them to love— which is what you are, right? A pretty little thing, writhing under Sebastians lewd touch, wide eyes begging for Sam to do something, literally anything to help.

You're lucky that he loves you so much, because he knows just the thing to help.

The floor isn't the place you deserve to be fucked, but it'll have to do for tonight. You'll learn to love it regardless, maybe even gain enough courage to ask for better treatment eventually. But he doesn't mind helping you along that way in the meantime, ignoring the way tears well in your eyes at the sight of him unzipping and pulling his pants down, because if he stares for too long at your spilling tears then he's sure to bust a load before even getting the chance to prove himself to you. Tugging his pants and boxers down just enough to have his cock spring free, the tip slapping back against his toned tummy with a soft thud, leaving behind a string of precum as another beads to the surface.

"Leave some for me." Sam laughs at Sebastian, though he nonetheless bites down on his bottom lip as he catches sight of the way Seb palms at his fat bulge hidden under his tight pants, getting off merely to pleasing you.

Sam understands. Intrinsically. Intuitively. They're the same. And by that, he means greedy, perverted to the bone.

And he's got one just for you, baby. Rock hard and throbbing at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, bobbing along with his movements as he crawls closer towards you, hovering right above your puffy cunt as Seb makes room for him with a pop! off of your pretty nipple.

All it takes is a look. A shared delusion, spurred on by how desperately you attempt to escape your chains. Which, of course, you know is impossible. So the only other reasonable explanation for your squirming must be that you're aiming to turn them on more, right? Looking to rile them up, of which you're doing so so expertly, prompting Sam into sighing with horny frustration as he lines himself up to your wanting hole, tugging your legs open further far too roughly if your high pitched squeal is anything to go by.

"Keep cryin'," he huffs, clearly excited by the broken sounds he rips out of you. "Yer only gittin' me harder, baby..."

With the faux pout of his words, he hopes to communicate just how much he adores your sweet sobs. Especially as he rubs the tip of his leaking tip up and down your sopping slit— your body gives you away, poor thing... All that teasing Sebastian was doing must have prepared you well, huh?

"C'mon," Sebastian goads him, rushed breaths and all. "Take it, take her, she's practically beggin' fr'it."

Sam always knows when Sebastian is really into it, the slur of his accent showing is tell tale enough. As if the hidden bulge his friend sports isn't evidence enough.

But it's with this prompting, the enticing offer to give you exactly what you're wanting, that he finally gives in to his selfish desires. The ones he's been holding close to his heart, and even closer to his cock, pretty much since you moved into the valley. Sebastian too, he's sure. And he did want to fuck you as a duo, but you've got him feeling so selfish baby... Cause it's his cock that he wags against your hole, teasing your entrance with rushed breaths and cocky tuts. It's his cock that he dips the tip into your wet little hole, his hips instinctively bucking at the immediate warm heat that envelops him. It's his hips that push deeper, further into your little sopping slit with tense huffs and sighs. Tense arms too that hold him upright, lest he falls right on top of you as a full body shudder runs through him at just how tight and perfect you feel.

He immediately wants to fuck his shape into you.

And he barely gives you enough time to grow accustomed to the sudden intrusion before he's already fucking it in and out of you— fully intending on a slow pace to help ease you into it, but the way your hole so eagerly squeezes around his fat cock upon burying himself balls deep has him weak in the knees, makes his hips buck at a too fast pace for him to settle into, in spite of your whining. Perhaps because if your whining, if he's being more honest with himself.

"Oh, fuck—" he shivers above you, doing his best to take in the sight of your scrunched up face— pain or pleasure, he's not sure. And he doesn't really care either, to be honest. "Tight— tightest fuckin' hole, God—" his tone is pitchy himself, whines out from his closing throat as he endures the nice suck of your hole, plapping against you as his balls smack back against your ass with every greedy thrust.

"She good?" Sebastian asks, as if it's not fucking obvious. But Sam is too busy rutting away inside of your pretty captured pussy to do anything but dumbly answer back with a quick yeah, yeah, yeah. Mind numb thanks to how well you take his cock, hynoptised by the sight of your pretty tits bouncing in time with his fucks. You're perfect, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect— Like you were made to take his cock, confirming that he and Sebastian made the right choice in stealing you away tonight.

And other nights, because is he fuck letting this tight cunt go any time soon. And once Sebastian has his turn, he's certain that he'll agree with this assertion. If he ever gets a shot of you that is, because shit, if you aren't half convincing him to keep you all to himself tonight.

Little cunt sucking him off so well, yeah? Tight with fear, squeezing his fat cock just right, good enough to leave him gasping for air above you. A little drooly too, salivating over the sight of you trying your hardest to play hard to get. With eyes tightly squeezed shut every time he buries himself balls deep into you, bullying his tip against your squishy walls like they were his to own. And at least for tonight, for right now, they are. How could you not be? Given the way you dribble saliva for Seb to lick up too, spotted from a mile away under the dim shine from the failing cieling light, a sudden jolt of pleasure coiling in his tummy when Sebastian takes to slobbering all over your face in response. Kisses, maybe, but it looks more like he's trying to eat you alive. Leave his mark on your somehow, somewhere, with fat drops of tears only adding to his friends salty pleasure.

"Don't— haah," God, the sound of your squelching cunt leaves him more than a little breathless, the muted whines and cries you crack out are so cute too, like you're struggling to breathe. You'd look even cuter actually choking, he bets. "Don't hear y'askin' for us t'stop, huh?" He mocks you from above, matching his harsh words with even meaner thrusts, inevitably fucking you up the cold hard wood floorboards from how greedy he is to feel good.

"S'right..." Sebastian coos against your sticky cheek, though nonetheless eyes up your sticky cunt too. Coated in Sam's precum, your own slick just gushing out of you with every fuck to give away how you truly feel about their assault tonight. Drooling all over his cock, yeah? Mindlessly babbling and sobbing to yourself as if that isn't the hottest thing either of them have ever fucking seen. "Almost as if... You want this, right? Want us t'be a little rougher, baby? D'ya like it when Sammy fucks you? Feels good, huh? Bet you—"

It doesn't matter what Sebastian is yapping about, because Sam catches you feebly trying to shake your head no, God, no, and he can feel himself grow infinitely closer to the sight alone. Nevermind the fact that Sebastian is knowingly turning Sam on just as much as he's attempting to make you wetter, and it's fucking working. The thought of filling you up faster, harder, humping your tight little hole silly all night long, until he's nothing but a mess of fluids and you're left dumb on the end of his cock, the thought of it all has his balls tight and his tummy flipping. Filling with butterflies of desire as he pounds your shape into the floorboards below with so much speed and force that he can barely keep up with himse. He's never been the best at holding himself back... Or accountable, really.

Which is why he makes no effort in pulling out of your perfect little angel cunt as soon as he feels himself tipping over the edge. Nor does he warn you, really, save for a slight stutter in his imprecise thrusts as he seeks only his own end for now.

There's plenty time to look after you later, right?

A brief fuck escapes him as thick ropes of sticky seed paint your insides white, tacky and fucked in and out of you with lazy thrusts as he milks himself fully into your pretty pussy— and the way you continue to squeeze around him? God, he never wants to leave. Making sure to push his hips flush against your ass and thighs as if attempting to plug your hole full of his cum, better not let any of it go to waste! Or he might just need to fuck another load into you, yeah?

And he's barely got time to catch his breath from abusing you before Sebastian is tugging him off and out, a silly whine escaping Sam at the loss of heat and tightness as his cock pops! out of you.

"S'my turn," Sebastian slurs with as much restraint as his sly smirk gives away. "The look on your face, Sam— gotta feel her fr'myself."

Whether you like it or not.

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 12/April/2024

So close to finally being done with the character creator, editing, and clean up code (though I think that will be something I continue to do as I’m writing and find variables I can condense or sort out)!

This part has taken soooo much longer than I planned or wanted, but I have to remind myself it’s worth the work—especially when it means I can just transfer what I’ve spent so long sorting for this book to the next one and just add on the variables for the last book. It does make me realise just how many threads and branches Wayhaven now has!…But also makes me all the more excited to get to write them when I see where they are going! :D

But I’m getting some serious writing withdrawals…to the point that I may have done a little bit towards the next chapter this week, lol!

At least once this is completely done, the writing should progress much quicker, and I can really settle myself into the actual story writing. Something I am even more eager for after going over Chapter One’s writing for editing! I absolutely love what I have! The love interest openings gave me such romantic (and sometimes steamy!) vibes. It sets the perfect tone for how the book really will have that seriously romance focus, particularly with the villain pushing the love interests forward on that, hehe! ;D

But I’m excited to get into the storyline for this book too! Something very different for what I’ve done with Wayhaven so far, and even a mechanic I have only for this book! I’ll be excited to find out how your MC’s react to it!

I will be pushing on to get the final tasks done on this demo chapter and get it over to the editor this weekend. It IS happening this weekend, even if I have to stay up all day and nights, lol! Which means next week it’s back to writing! Yay! I am SO ready for that, as well as being much quicker at it, lol! :D

Hope you all have the most fantastic weekend! I’ll be working the weekend, but will be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week! <3

[sea-of-dust]

Hello. Could you do a headcanon or story about Yandere Acheron x Reader (gender neutral).

The reader doesn’t care about Acherons yandere-ness.

Example:

Acheron: I killed someone.

Y/n: Uh-huh.

Acheron:…you… don’t care?

Y/n: No. I don’t know the person anyway. Soooo what now? Wanna game?

Yandere! Acheron x GN! Reader

"So if I were to-" "go for it"

N: thank you for the request annon!! First yandere request 🎉

Warnings: mentions of death, murder, stalkers, murder, most you'd expect with a yandere fic

Acheron isn't a yandere that would usually kill. She is, at most, a scary dog. Always lurking over your shoulder in public and sitting closely to you. This apparent part of her nature is why you rarely catch onto her yandere like habits.

The fact that when there were obvious signs like her staring down a person that looked at you for longer than she'd like. You just didn't care. She could plan something about how to get rid of someone she saw as dangerous toward you out loud, maybe on a pen and paper, and stick it to the fridge. You'd look at it for two seconds, "must be a new hobby" and then go on with your day

Acheron, however, was non the wiser. Even though she already has you, she's afraid you'd leave her because of what could be considered a major overreaction. Even though you could have reported a stalker of yours to the police wouldn't it be quicker to just take them out? She isn't gonna take any chances after she killed them, turning off the news to a different channel, saying that it's always the same thing, not wanting to take the chance that maybe the family didn't cover this one up, her being unable to make eye contact with you for a short while is also telling that, she knows what she did would benefit you, but how would you feel if you had known?

So another fated event, another person eyeing you with glints of admiration, obsessing over every muscle that moves in your face to make words, to blink. nearly drooling over you. At the very least, she would be annoyed, leaving the cafe and hearing "I think that guy's on a wanted list" from you, inspired maybe too much looking over your back while walking home and then doing enough research to know his whole family. As soon as he was an established threat, she had already known his route home, sneaking away from you to cut him off. All she had to do now was go back to you and-

"Acheron?" You narrow your eyes. "Y/n." She froze, it would be strange to leave the scene now, she tries to think of a way to leave only for her thoughts to rage on about how you had caught her. "I gotta start paying more attention to you, how do you get so far?" you exhale grabbing her hand "let's go I finally found a couch co-op game" you tug at her hand, finally getting her to move, walking away you lean onto her shoulder. "You killed him didn't you" "what makes you think that?" She remains calm, walking at the same pace she always did, her hand as firm around yours as usual.

"There was a strong smell in that alley, not to mention" you poke her finger "there's a red spot on the hand you wield your sword with" you hum but she stays silent, continuing to walk with you. "What will you do?" Her response is low squeezing your hand subconsciously. "Nothing" you reply to her, holding her hand reassuringly. "Knowing you, they were probably bad news to begin with" you unlock your phone to show her the game you were telling her about. "Now let's get home and play this!" Your eyes sparkle going on about the game. Acheron smiles as a wave of relief crashes over her, thanking every Aeon known to man. She'll enjoy seeing that precious smile of yours, till the day you care about how far she's willing to go for you

[blueberrybeomgyu]

It's 🍒 anon again,

Can I please get some headcannons of sub leehan? Can you pretty please include something with reader jerking him off. If you can't that's okay, thank you for answering anyway.

I really like the idea of taking leehan apart slowly. (Omg can I get some milking in here too? ). Making him sit back hands held against his sides as you milk his cock dry.

I wanted to include that I really think leehan has a skinny but lengthy penis, because i know you fuck with that.

I like to think leehan, really has a thing for watching you jerk him off. It makes the pleasure more intense for him.

Okay I'm done bye bye -🍒

HIHIII CHERRY NONNIE <333 MWAHMWAH some headcannons about jerking leehan up oh this is soooo up my alley

leehannie would be the absolute best to take apart slowly, he's a patient person and prefers sex when there's no rush to it, both of you like handjobs cause they're often a bit more relaxed than other positions

my fav handjob position is wraparound, leehan sitting in your lap on the bed or couch, head leaning back on your shoulder, and he's definitely watching every moment as you touch him, he wants to see you flick your thumb over his head and rub the sensitive spot below it, seeing it happen just heightens the pleasure so much for him (and i just read the part of your ask where you LITERALLY SAY THE SAME THING we are so on the same page rn cherry nonnie)

i also love the idea of jerking him off when he's pressed against the wall, hips chasing the friction of your hand while you kiss him and swallow his little noises, but i think a position like this works better when you guys arent home and are in a little of a rush, so let me fr not get sidetracked

i agree that leehan has a longer penis (i do fw that!!) that's a bit thin in size, he likes watching the slow strokes of your hand over the entire length, he personally likes the way his dick looks and it's a huge confidence boost to know that you do too

i think leehan's a bit of a toucher, if you want his hands put up you'll have to remind him a few times because he's a fidgeter, he'll wrap his hand around your arm or wrist, or he'll dig his fingers into his own thighs, or he'll hold onto yours for support, he's just a touchy boy in moments like these

id give anything in the world to milk leehan,, he doesn't mind not knowing how many you plan to pull out of him tonight, he'll just go with the flow, and his deep voice will get all soft and whiny, he babbles a lot when he's overstimmed but he's never really saying much, just a repeat of please and so good

i think out of all legal line members, he'd probably enjoy overstim the most, how mind numbing it feels and how you're working him through orgasms over and over, he likes when you pay special attention to him like that!!

[ayy-ayycaptaiin]

Truly funny how the only way dickbabs shippers could ever “win” is by having the bat writers trying to remove and retcon how much Dick loved Kory, and even then the ship is still garbage compared with dickkory. Such a hollow and embarassing “win” lol.

Trying hard to be objective here. While i dislike DickBabs with all my being, i must disagree that they're garbage. They're far from it. I truly believe they could still be a good ship without shaming and retconning characters left and right. The keyword here being could. Dick and Babs themselves aren't safe from the retcons either, lol.

I've read DickBabs' famous runs. Nightwing 1996, BoP 1999 (i love this BoP era btw), Nightwing/Oracle Convergence, Taylor's NW run, etc. They have cute banters, supportive relationship, deep connections with each other, and love that transcended disability. Those are good qualities to have in a ship, no? but it's just not enough for them. Writers just had to retcon Dick and Kory's romantic past (and other characters too, but that's for another post). What got me pissed off too was how they had to put down other women (Kory, Helena, Shawn Tsang, and Bea) to uplift DickBabs. Even their so called best writers like Simone, Dixon, and Taylor had to bring up (and down) Kory to make their ship look good. Do debate me on this, but has there ever any occurence where DickKory in their relationship had to put down beloved characters in order to make their love work? 😭

Even Batman himself wasn't safe from the retcon, too. Remember the infamous alien xenophobic remark he made for Kory? When that very man genuinely supported Dick's relationship with her in NTT run? Or that he has a best friend called SUPERMAN?? Y'know, the friendship dynamic that has been one of the biggest parts of DC since the dawn of time? Yeah the story got retconned and the entire thing is no longer canon, but hey i'm not surprised, it's always about retcons with DickBabs.

Their shippers like to debate that writers change and characters change with the flow of time. Retcons are normal within the comic medium, yes. But, there are good retcons and bad retcons.

They ALWAYS like to reference PeterGwen and PeterMJ in their defense. Since y'know, Gwen was retconned, she was never supposed to die and MJ was never meant to be Peter's love interest originally, cmiiw. But here's the thing, despite originally not planned to be together, PeterMJ is widely beloved by the global population because their story and relationship work naturally and are written better. Comic readers and general public LOVE THEM. Yes there are retcons for PeterMJ, but PeterMJ and DickBabs are never and will never be apple to apple in this discussion. Their impacts are not the same and will never be 😭

Don't even get me going with their recurring themes of Dick's "it's you, it was always you" and "all the best parts of my life, you were there". Those tropes aree soooo disrespectful towards his past with Kory. As if during his time with Kory, he loved Barbara more than his time with her. Newsflash, Kory and Dick had significant impacts towards each other. Do they forget that Kory was one of the reasons why Nightwing even exist? Do they forget how he helped Kory navigate het life on earth, or how when Kory helped Dick to avoid being Batman 2.0 in his development? (No hate towards Bruce and Babs, i love them, i truly do)

Dick and Babs only work when they grew from their trauma and past in Nightwing and Oracle mantle. The whole Robin Batgirl childhood mutual crush is harmful towards their respective characters AND other characters. They're the best as Nightwing and Oracle. Never before that time.

If i have to be honest, i would ship DickBabs had only their mutual romance was developed prior to DickKory. I think it's a good ship with revolutionary tropes in disabled character. But sadly, their rival ship is DickKory—a globally beloved couple originating from a comic book run that was SO popular and iconic, that it rivaled X-Men back in the day and saved DC from bankruptcy ❤️

This is just my personal take. I understand that people can interpret comic books, especially ones that have existed for decades very differently. People are very welcome to correct me if i wrote any misconceptions or mistakes in my post. I'm always open to discussion 🥰

[glitteringcrab]

I FIGURED OUT* HOW THEY DID THE SWITCH

*maybe

AND IT'S BRILLIANT

Soooo @jerrysbeestruther had figured out the moment of the switch (spoiler alert; it's this moment)

If their theory is right, Eyepatch Morty's yellow portal did not lead them straight to Prime's lair, but... somewhere else...

...where Eyepatch Morty armed Morty Prime with a special eyepatch (which my guess is can read minds, heal the wearer from injuries... and yes, mind-blow the wearer) and with those little yellow override cylinders. In addition, the two kids had actually time to plan a switch between them (we know Eyepatch Morty has a huge time crystal in his home, so all that is possible).

But in any case, we didn't have the how of they did the switch. @jerrysbeestruther's original theory involved a mind-swap of some sort, but I no longer think that's the case (although I do think they were right about the "moment" of the switch). I think it was an actual body swap of some sort.

Of course, one would think "oh, it's just some sci-fi method to instantly switch places. This is Rick and Morty, they have crazy science stuff, the exact how doesn't matter"...

...and they would be right.

Of course, it would also be cool if the method was already discreetly introduced by the show, but, eh...

And then I was just thinking today, that we absolutely do have a method to make people instantly switch places that was introduced by the show.

But it wasn't discreetly introduced.

In fact, we have heard it explained "in great scientific detail"...!

BOOM:

...aaaand a way to restore the timelines in the way they were before.

BOOM:

The cherry on top for this is that we don't know if Eyepatch Morty has ever faced this plotline, but we know for certain that Morty Prime has heard the idea explained, in great scientific detail. I'm willing to bet anything that HE was the one who pitched the idea of the switch to Eyepatch Morty, who had the equipment, resources and knowledge to take Rick's shitty idea and expand on it, improve it, and make it more useful than any Rick was ever willing to do.

So what happens is:

1. The kids isolated a moment in time,

2. Split the reality in two. In the vat-of-acid episode, Morty "splits his probable selves", but that would result in two Morty Primes and two Eyepatch Mortys, so some more elegant method, or a workaround would have to be used.

3. Shunted each other into the other's near-duplicate, equally probably reality, both transported into each other's reality at the moment of parallel determination.

The great, brilliant part of it, is that there isn't one Morty who takes another's place (in which case the copy has to... die).

They're both taking each other's places!!!

4. Then they merged the probable realities. It's even possible that two Morty Primes and two Eyepatch Mortys were indeed created, but they were insta-merged without horrible things happening to the original before the merge (that some Morty had to experience), so it was functionally the same as temporarily splitting the timeline without splitting the Mortys.

In the end they're both left in ONE reality, switched in the blink of an eye, with none of Rick's horrible drama.

BOOM

SWITCHED

Of course, I could be wrong, and it could be something entirely different. But I do think it would be so much better if the switch was based on something already introduced by the show, and I can think of no better example.

In addition, there is no accompanying pink cloud, but I don't think this is all that important. Either Eyepatch Morty was a lot more careful (this technique had to be performed right under Rick Prime's nose...!), or this is just what the switch looks like from the perspective of an external observer.

My favorite parts about this theory:

Eyepatch Morty and Morty Prime worked together

The switch was performed right under Rick Prime's nose

It was 100 times better than the shitty cruel thing Rick did

IT WAS MORTY PRIME'S IDEA

[xxblairexxss]

Jibber-jabber

Pairing : Mason Mount x reader

Theme : Fluff

This was so so so cute I had a blast writing it!

Your relationship with Mason wasn’t a secret amongst his fans. Two years ago, Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and a few months later, he uploaded a picture of you on his Instagram story which proved all those rumours that has been flying around to be true. His fans had found your social media way before Mason posted or confirmed anything and it was only because they saw Mason following you, a random girl with no more than 1000 followers and never missed to leave a like on every posts of yours though he never left any comments.

ynusername

Liked by masonmount and others

ynusername 🥐☕️

ynbestfriend miss uuuu

masonmmupdate you are soooo pretty

footballwagssoon mason’s gf??

rebeccaa__19 are you mason’s girlfriend? 🥹

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

masonmount has added to their story

12th June

ynusername has added to their story

2nd July

Even though everyone knew you were together and that you were no longer an unfamiliar face amongst the fans, you chose to keep it as private as you can. There would be an occasional pictures of you guys holding hands together or showing off your matching socks or a 2 seconds view of him in your Instagram story to which the fanpages would cut the part of the 15 seconds video and reposted it with the slow motion effect. It wasn’t because you were trying to hide anything or trying to be mysterious but it was because you wanted to use the social media platforms as your personal diary and no one stayed on one topic in their diary.

You had been staying at Mason’s house a lot this month as he tried to sort out his contract which meant he wasn’t at home that much so you would occasionally treat yourself on a solo date where you would took a stroll near the park or got yourself a coffee at the new coffee shop you came across. It was therapeutic sometimes to spend time with yourself.

But today, it was different. Mason asked you out to buy some stuffs at a department store. You told Mason that you wanted to do a vlog and that he didn’t have to be in it. He didn’t mind, of course but what he didn’t knew was that it wasn’t actually a vlog.

You already had your phone recording when you did your makeup earlier so as you talked thorough all the products that you were using, you decided to talk about the plan as well but in a whispering tone now. Not that Mason could hear but just to be safe. “So, we’re going out and I wanted to prank him. I’m gonna chatter about 20 random topics I could think about at one time and none of it are gonna make any sense. I’m not sure how he’s gonna react because he never gets annoyed with me so…”

“Babe, you ready?”

“Yeah!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“So, I went to this one bakery the other day, yeah?”

Mason had his hand on your thigh, like he always did whenever he drives and nodded to your question. Your phone was propped against something on the car dash to record both you and Mason. You had asked him once again if he wanted to be in the camera and he said of course he wanted to be seen in the camera with his girlfriend.

“And I asked the worker which one was the best-selling and she said it was pain au chocolat but they had a new menu that made them won the— Oh! Do you know the history of pain au chocolat?”

Mason blinked, trying to catch up with you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know but babe, what about the new menu?”

“Mase, listen! So August Zang..”

“Wait, who’s Zang?”

“The one who brought pain au chocolat to France! This is why you should listen.”

“Okay, baby, I’m listening.”

“Oh! And there was this cute dog that passed by—”

“Was it Zang’s dog?”

“….what? Mase…” You gave in and cackled at his question. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it, princess.” He pinched on his furrowed brows, didn’t find this whole thing funny, in fact, it was kinda stressing him out but were you gonna stop? Not yet, of course so you continued.

“Then I felt like getting a green tea but there was a stranger that walked past me and the smell of coffee from the one that she was holding— the new menu was something to do with cranberry I think.”

“Okay, babe, are you okay?” He teared his eyes away from the road as the traffic light turned red and placed his hand on the side of your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you…want me to stop talking?” You leaned into his touch and trailed off.

“No, no. Keep talking. The topics are kinda complicated but I’ll manage. So, you were talking about the dog, yeah? No? Was it the coffee? Cranberry? Zang? Which one do you want start with?”

“I want to talk about the street art I saw…” You forlornly returned his gaze.

“Okay, I don’t mind adding one more topic. Let’s take it slow, okay? What about the street art?” Mason stroked his thumb against your jawline and took your hand in his. To him, you looked the most adorable when you talked. He had a hard time catching up, sure but he didn’t mind. The sight of you blabbering, the way you bit your lips to think off the next topic, the way your hands moved randomly with every words you said. He sworn he wouldn’t trade this moment with anything else. He was listening attentively but he also couldn’t stop gazing at you full of admiration. His precious girl.

To you, he didn’t look annoyed, didn’t look irritated. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to read his mind but the public could be the one to decide on that when you posted the video on your Tiktok.

[crash-and-cure]

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 19.8K

Masterlist

----------

You look like an angel (look like an angel)

Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)

Talk like an angel

But I got wise

You’re the devi-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For with the dawn, you'll be gone 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your story went wrong. 

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

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

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

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

Well not everyone.

He certainly knew. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the first time you tried to leave him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I don’t understand.”

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

“Am I bad at this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you kidding?

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

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

It wasn’t worth it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.

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

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

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

In case you need help

feel free to call

(xxx-xxxx)

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

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

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

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

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

Things were bad a lot towards the end. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Gladys died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Like a wish?”

“Sort of,” you answer.

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

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

And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel. 

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

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

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

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

In theory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grief he’s still causing you more like it. 

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

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

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

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

You vividly remember your first time with him.

Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The very wall you shared with your parents. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

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

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

He is here. 

Elvis is here.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of the many left behind at Graceland. 

Fuck.

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

He thinks you wanted him to find you. 

Didn’tchu though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is not a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No 

You can’t think like that otherwise…

This has to work. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not playing pretend well enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go,” you say sternly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the familiar gates come into view 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re back in the fucking hotel room.

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

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

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

Because it always goes back to him.

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

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

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

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[gerec]

hey! thank you soooo much for your recs, you're truly a life-changer. do you have any regency cherik recs?

Hi Anon!

Yay one of my favourite genres! Here's a list of regency aus for you to enjoy!!!

First Impressions by sirona

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse – or the nearest set of curtains to hide behind, if you were to believe Mr Charles Xavier. Little does he know that he himself will soon put test to that very truth.

No Longer in Silence by Black_Betty

It has been eight years since Charles has seen Erik. Eight years since they parted under unkind circumstances and Erik went off to sea. The boy he once knew is Captain Lehnsherr now and they are as known to one another as strangers, and yet--Charles finds that eight years has done nothing to diminish the feelings he had when he was 16 and in love.

It's unfortunate then that Erik doesn't feel the same way.

(Persuasion AU)

Roses & Cinnamon by TurtleTotem

Charles Xavier lost more than his leg in the war with Napoleon, and the man he’s just pulled out of the water has ghosts of his own – especially when Charles’s involuntary projected hallucinations prove catching. Raven, meanwhile, faces the choice of whether to marry respectably or run away with a carnival fortune-teller.

Pride & Prejudice - Rip it from my hands by Synekdokee

“Say you forgive me,” Erik whispered, his breath warm against the skin of Charles’ neck.

Charles stood quietly by the window, looking past their reflections out into the yard.

“You made your feelings quite clear,” he said, stepping away from Erik.

Erik grasped his wrist hard, refusing to let Charles walk away.

“Please.”

Dance With Me by wallhaditcoming (uvcatastrophe) 

After his most recent tour, Erik Lehnsherr has finally earned the rank of Captain and a commission on a vessel all his own. With the prize money he has collected and this new rank, he finally feels secure enough in his future to propose to the man he has loved for years. He just prays that Charles is willing to have him.

Sonnet for a Poet and His Pirate by luninosity, velvetcadence

Erik had, of course, known his name before they’d ever met. Charles Francis Xavier, Viscount of Westchester. Famous, or infamous, for those scandalous little books of poetry, plain-bound and sold under discreet covers and scorchingly breathtakingly obscene.

The changeling; or, Charles Xavier (a Novel by a Lady) by aesc

[1834] The changeling Charles Xavier, friendless and dispossessed of his fortune, arrives at Ironhill Hall to tutor the two children of the mysterious Mr. Lehnsherr. Or, the one where XMFC meets a heavily-revised Jane Eyre meets steampunk.

Move Still by Black_Betty

Erik Lehnsherr hates dancing, but has a very specific reason for throwing a ball...

What We All Long For by Nos4a2no9

Charles Xavier was heir to a vast fortune before his stepfather stole his birthright, his dignity, and his freedom. Forced to serve as Kurt Marko's informant and as a sexual plaything for the wealthy men of Europe’s upper crust, Charles yearns for nothing more than a quiet life free from shame and abuse.

The death of his stepfather seems to offer a way out, but Charles is once again forced to serve the Markos when his stepbrother offers him up as collateral in a game of chance. Suddenly Charles becomes the property of Erik Lehnsherr, a mysterious gambler with a thirst for revenge.

When love between the two men begins to blossom, Charles finally discovers what is at the heart of Erik’s tragic story, and why he is set upon a devastating course of revenge that will endanger Erik, Charles, and everything they have longed for.

Tryst With a Stranger by Lindstrom

Charles will do his duty and marry a man he’s never met to save the family estate, but he has one night of freedom left. His body is his own, and he’s not saving himself for his dull and ruthless fiancé. His mother is throwing a ball and Charles develops a plan: he’ll find a stranger at the ball and seduce him . . .

An Affair to Remember or Forget? by pinkoptics

Erik has journeyed to England to survey the land for his new steel factory, but also to meet his fiancé whose family owns that land. Of the two, Erik is more excited about the former. The marriage contract is a truly business contract, nothing more, which suits him well. Undoubtedly, his fiancé is just another brainless and foolish member of the gentry, so the less they have to do with one another the better.

When Erik seduces a man in a darkened hallway at a ball (surely there is nothing wrong with finding a little pleasure on this business trip), he is shocked to discover that the man he has seduced is none other than his fiancé, Charles Xavier.

Can expectation and reality be reconciled?

Fine Men of Fine Taste by velvetcadence

The Xaviers move into Westchester manor with a handsome guest in tow, causing quite a stir in the neighborhood. Miss Raven Xavier meets her match in Henry McCoy, and though Moira MacTaggert is a possible and pleasing suit for Mr Charles Xavier, there seems to be more than meets the eye in his strange friendship with the brooding Mr Lehnsherr.

Or, the one where Charles and Erik one-up Bingley and Darcy's rad bromance, and maybe level it up too.

A Pride and Prejudice AU.

Connexions by keire_ke

When Mr Lehnsherr of Thornfield first began seeking a tutor suited to educate his young daughter, he could hardly have expected the young gentleman who turned up at his door, nor the connection they would forge.

Without the Words (this, and my heart beside Remix) by flightinflame 

Charles knows that this arrangement will work out well for all of them. He gets the heir he needs, Doctor Shaw is saved disgrace after his ward's indiscretions, and Erik gets a fresh start. It would be easier, though, if Erik at least pretended to hide his hatred.

To Turn and Look Back When Thou Hearest the Sound of My Name by lachatblanche

North and South AU.

Erik, the master of the Genosha steel mill in the north, has lived a hard life, building his industry from scratch with the aid of his adopted sibling, Emma. When Charles Xavier, a young, southern gentleman, takes up residence near the mill, Erik finds himself drawn to him, despite Charles making it very clear that he cares neither for the north nor for Erik.

Expectations by motleystitches (furius)

Conservative-minded alpha Erik is in love with omega cad Charles. While Erik is expecting a lifetime commitment, Charles is less than amused at the prospect. And of course, everyone else has an opinion on the matter as well.

A Regency AU that's less drawing room romance than a bedroom aftermath.

these ties, how fast they break (by ikeracity; kinkmeme)

And a couple by me for your consideration:

The Master of Charlton Park by Gerec

On the brink of losing his ancestral home, omega Charles Xavier agreed to do the unthinkable; he would sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of his family, and bear a child for a married alpha and his mate.

But Charles never expected that alpha to be Erik Lehnsherr, with whom he shared an impossible love and undeniable passion.

All of You and All of Me by Gerec

Erik Lehnsherr aka Magneto is King of Genosha, forty-three and the veteran of countless wars against the British Empire.

Charles Xavier is his new husband, in a marriage arranged by the King of England as part of the peace treaty between their two kingdoms.

Logan Howlett is Charles’ long time friend and bodyguard, in a secret love affair with the married Prince Consort.

[totally-not-your-babe]

Welcome to Hawkins Prologue

A/N: I had soooooooooooo much fun writing this I'm pretty sure I'm gonna continue. I named our poor Freak 1 Peter. Also it's way longer than I originally planned it to be but well...

Hawkins, Indiana - 5th of November, 1984.

„You are soooo full of shit Gareth” Jo looked at him as she sat across from him at the table, then continued painting her nails. She did it so many times before the others stopped complaining about the smell a long time ago.

“I swear on my… I swear on anything. Tim saw them have an argument and the Byers kid took Nancy home.” The younger boy stuck to the story.

“You wish to tell me” She screwed the cap back on top of the nail polish and started to blow her nails. “Hawkins High’s golden couple broke up in the middle of a Halloween Party and Johnatan Byers took Nancy Wheeler home and THE Steve Harrington let that happen?” She looked at him with raised brows.

“I saw Wheeler leave with Byers too.” Doug spoke up and Peter nodded along.

“Holy fucking shit.” Jo leaned back on her chair crossing her legs.

“Now, now Josephine that’s at least three dollars in your precious swear jar.” Eddie called out eating whatever the high school dared to call food. The swear jar was Jo’s idea years ago, every time someone cursed the person had to put a dollar in it, when the jar was full they used the money to buy stuff for the band, or for Hellfire. Everyone put their fair share into the said jar but it was an open secret that it was made up most of Jo's dollars. Jo and Eddie had a separate jar back at Wayne’s trailer, that was their tattoo-money-jar.

“Well Edward” she turned to her brother giving him a two-can-play-this-game look. “let’s make it five with a not so lady like fuck you.” Jo picked up the bottle of the nail polish at his brother, who knowing his little sister well enough was ready for it and caught it easily. “So, King Steve became single the last year of high school.” She coffed looking around at the cafeteria to see if she could spot the person in question. “And here I thought the most shocking thing will be him ditching shithead Tommy H and that Perkins hag.”

“That’s seven” said Eddie not looking up as he was searching for something in his launch box. ”Maybe, now it’s your time to shoot your shot sis.” he added sarcastically which made the other boys at the table laugh until Jo gave them a death stare.

“Yeah, sure. When I wanna be prom queen and dance around in a fluffy pink dress.” She rolled her eyes.

“You are the one who had a crush on him.” Jeff had a shit eating grin as he said that.

“Which my dear brother promised not to tell anyone.” she hissed giving Eddie a pointed look. “But like have you looked at him? He looks so good, it’s ridiculous, straight up witchcraft.” she reached over the table snatching Gareth’s orange juice not caring about the boy’s protest . “The point is, it was only a moment of weakness, a dark part of my past.” She said dramatically.

“Amen!” muttered Eddie under his nose offering his sister a half teasing smile.

“Shut up! Tell us what you are planning for the camp…”

“Well look at that!” Gareth interrupted her pointing towards the cafeteria’s door. They all looked at the direction, Peter and Jo had to turn around in their seat as they were sitting with their back to the entrance. There he stood, “the new boy” in his knee length jeans, white shirt crowned with a red hoodie. His blond hair was messy - he reminded Jo to Gareth in that matter -, looking like it didn’t see a brush in days, he had chipped nail polish on his ring decorated fingers. A half smile played on his lips, but Jo could see he was more than nervous, as he looked around for a place to sit, the food tray in his hands slightly shaking.

“The fresh meat walked in.” They heard the jocks laughing and Jo turned to them, the irony of it all Billy being the loudest of them all.

“Hey Hargrove!” she raised her voice and heard Eddie trying to shut her up. “Aren’t you just as fresh California boy?”

“Wanna say that again?” He stood from his chair and Jo was ready to do the same.

“No, she doesn’t!” Eddie grabbed her sister’s arm and hold her so she couldn’t stand up. “I’m not spending the night in Hopper’s office, for being beaten up because you pissed off the new jock.” He hissed under his breath and squeezed Jo’s arm to give weight to his words.

“Fine.” she hissed back, turning her attention to the boy at the entrance. “He looks like a kicked puppy.” she said pouting her lips dramatically and looked back to his brother.

“No way.” he shook his head pushing his tray away.

“Come on Ed, you said we help the lost sheep, here is a lost sheep.” Jo gestured towards the blond boy still standing awkwardly. Eddie looked at the boy for a long minute with an unreadable expression and shook his head again. “He is kinda cute, don’t you think?”

“A little downgrade after your crush on Harrington don’t you think?” he rolled his eyes, but Jo could see a little pink taint on his face.

“Eddie” she looked at him with wide eyes like when she was a little girl and really wanted something which made the other boys snicker. They already knew Jo had his brother in her pocket, no matter how much he tried to show otherwise. “Little sheep.” she added in a small voice with a half-smile. “Who knows, maybe he plays D&D.”

“Fuck, I’m going to regret this.” Eddie shook his head with a sigh. “Hey Red!” he shouted and boy looked at his way, Eddie motioned for his to come over. The boys face lit up and had the brightest smile on his face they’ve ever seen.

“God, the guy is like a toothpaste commercial.” groaned Gareth and Jo kicked him under the table. “Hey!” Jo ignored him looking at his brother with a frown.

“He is blond.”

“The hoodie is red.” he shrugged putting his launch box on the ground.

Jo only rolled her eyes at his brother’s words but soon a friendly smile appeared on her face as the boy in question took a seat on her left side.

“Hey!” he greeted them with the same wide smile that was on his face when Eddie urged asked him to come to their table, his eyes settled on Eddie. “Thanks.”

“Sooo” Jo tilted her head getting Simon’s attention. “Who can we welcome to our table of misfits and freaks?” she asked rather theatrically. Ronnie always said she would be a good DM just like Eddie, but Jo liked his brother’s campaigns, and she always thought she could never come up half as good challenges as he did. “Or should we just call you New Boy?”

“I’m Simon. Kalivoda, and I know it’s sounds weird and kind of a tongue murderer.” he added which made Gareth and Jeff scoff.

“Sounds like something pulled straight from D&D if you ask me.” Jo shrugged her shoulder. “I’m Jo, call me Josephine only if you have a death wish. This is Peter” she pointed at the boy on her right. “Those idiots are Doug, Jeff and Gareth. And the very man who was gracious enough to allow you to join our table is my brother Eddie.”

“Thanks again.” he said squirming a bit and as he leaned a little closer to Jo she could smell the faint scent of weed. Now, now.

“Where are you from?” inquired Doug chewing on some… God doesn’t even know what.

“And why did you leave in the middle of the school year?” Gareth leaned closer, like he wanted to interrogate Simon. He would never admit it, but he was more interested in gossip than some retired old lady.

“Jesus H Christ…” Jo and Eddie muttered under their breathes feeling bad for Simon already.

Eddie kept watching the boy who stood out in their table like a sore thumb. He seemed social, someone who is liked for no reason at all, with a smile that probably would make even some off the cheerleaders walk out of their panties. He looked like someone who got on well with others, maybe not the popular guys, but certainly not with people like him and the others at the table. And yet here he was letting Gareth get all Chief Hopper on him. But why?

“Well long story short” Simon cleared his throat, making a face as he pushed his smashed potato around. “my parents wanted to move for a while now – they just forgot to tell me and my brother -, but when another murder rampage went down, they said Fuck it, packed up and here I am.”

“M… murder rampage?” Peter stuttered and Simon just shrugged while practically throwing down his fork.

“Yeah, well Shadyside being the Killer Capital and all that shit.”

“You are from Shadyside?” Jo looked at Simon with wide eyes. “Killer Capital and Witch Town?”

“Before the witch’s final breath. She found a way to cheat her death. By cutting off her wicked hand. She kept her grip upon our land. She reaches out from beyond the grave, to make good men her wicked slaves. She’ll take your blood, she’ll take your head” Simon started in an eerie voice, Eddie had to give him, the guy had a thing for dramatics. “She’ll follow you until you’re dead.” he finished louder, slapping his palm on the table, which made them jump a little, and earned some looks from the other tables.

“Jesus, dude” Jo chuckled, looking at her brother trying to read his face.

“Well, one of my friends Deena says it’s the place that makes people go nuts and go around murdering people. I’m fine with the witch story though.”

“So” Jo tried to take the conversation to another route. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah, Timothy. He didn’t come today; he had this almost OD thing not too long ago sooo… Yeah. He’ll come tomorrow though, he is fine, already back on the good stuff, so he wasn’t really traumatised if you ask me.” Simon kept rambling. Jo could see Eddie perk up at the mention of Timothy buying stuff, his mind was screaming potential costumer, an imagining dollar bills all around.

“Where did you move?” looked up Jeff who was quiet so far.

“Trailer Park.”

“Really? I haven’t heard someone was moving in. Ed?” the girl looked at her brother who seemed to be still in his I-will-get-money trance.

“Wayne said something the other night. Don’t know I was… busy.” He said clearing his throat.

“Do you mean high?” She teased and Eddie throw a piece of bread at her. “Well seems like we going to be neighbours.”

“Cool. I could use some familiar faces.” he said with a frown, then his signature smile returned. “So, you guys are…” he tilted his head to get a better look at Jo’s shirt.

“We have a D&D club.” she helped him out.

“Oh, that’s cool!”

“You play?” Eddie was still watching Simon like he wanted to see right through him, like he wanted to read all his secrets out of him.

“Nah, but I heard it’s fun.”

The interrogation lasted until the bell rang and they all headed for their classes. Eddie had to take another Math lesson after Jo’s last one, so she waited for her brother at the parking lot next to his van. The van he inherited from their father. She could put into words just how much she hated that man, she always thought Eddie and Wayne were too forgiving. If it was on her, she would have let him sleep with the dogs under the stars the next time he turned up for… Anything. Breaking his nose didn’t seem like a bad idea either.

“Earth to Jossie” she blinked a couple of times when her brother’s hands waved in front of her face. “You good?”

“Yeah, zooned out a little” she said with a forced smile, reaching her hand out so Eddie would help her up from the ground.

“What’s in that head of yours?” Eddie’s tone was as serious as it could get and he was watching Jo like a hawk, with concern in his eyes.

“Fathers’ sins” she answered carelessly and walked to the passenger side of the van. Eddie let out a sigh, but he knew better than to say anything about the topic. He wasn’t about to start an argument or rather a screaming fit with his sister, and this topic, talking about their father always led to one of those. They were almost at the trailer park when Jo spoke again. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?” Eddie didn’t look at her as he turned the wheel.

“About our Little Sheep.” she said with a smirk.

“What do you want me to say? He stands out like a sore thumb; he doesn’t play D&D…”

“Oh, come on Ed! Gareth didn’t play D&D before he joined Hellfire. He just moved, he lives in the same shitty trailer park like us, he has a brother who OD-ed, he knows no one here. He needs...”

“Us?” he looked at her with raised brows as he parked the van.

“Maybe. We will never find out if we don’t give him a chance. What’s the worst that can happen? He walks away. Big deal. But even if it happens, we can tell that we tried.”

“Jesus, with monologues like that, you’d make a terrifying politician.” Eddie scoffed while playing with his keys. “Fine, I give the Red a chance. Just one. He fucks it up he’s out.”

“I don’t think he will. I have a good feeling about him.” Jo said with a satisfied smile. “And he is kinda pretty.”

“Shut up!” Eddie pushed her shoulder and got out of the van. He had a feeling that Simon Kalivoda kid would turn his word upside down.

I really hope that I will not regret it.

@snazzynacho

@headofeddienatio