#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...

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Hmmm. Having a predicament and I am curious to see what I should do cuz like:

So one of my players will not be available to play in the next session of our fairy tale ttrpg game. Not a big problem, but we have had this planned for weeks as it was one of the only times all 6 people are avalible to play. Now, we could just catch them up later.

But last session I thought it was about time to reveal some big plot things to the players (ie their world is not real, they are characters in a book, the world has just been destroyed and now they have to figure out what to do next as a group, they believe everyone they know to be dead, they arent but they dont know that yet, there are wars going on abt things they dont even know abt yet). And we couldn't play the week after the big stuff, so now we can finally play.

But I dont want to leave anyone out of these big things, as I am going to be revealing even more stuff abt how the world works now and going thru some individual character story arcs with them. I could just put off doing those things till later, not that big a problem usually. But I have also been doing that since the very first session.

And also everyone is really really eager and wanting to play again, and this is not the first time someone has had to miss a game, actually we havent had all 6 players there for a session together since the first one, and that was 5 months ago. Every other time I put off revealing the big things, but now I already did, and cant really put any more filler in it for them (and last session when the world got destroyed, I had anticipated all players to be there, and 2 couldn't make it at the last minute and I went through with my plans anyways, and caught up the others later in individual sessions. And that worked out well enough, it was just alot to do, and now that things are more serious I anticipate ill be doing that for everyone who misses a session, because things are going to be moving at a much faster pace now.)

And I am also very very tired of planning out things for them, and then having half the players be there, and having to come up with new things and not being able to continue or create any bigger plot points, and now seeing as we are in the bigger plot things going on, I kinda really would like everyone to be there from now on. But also. I do not anticipate being able to get everyone there for any session, as it has been an impossible feat for the entire campaign.

I AM going to be consulting with the group to see what they would like to do as a whole, but you know. I am curious to see what other people would do tbh.

[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

[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

[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

[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.

[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!!

[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.

Taglist

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

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

[ghostbeam]

all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter | dabi/touya todoroki

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

notes: hiiiiii so this is a repost from last year because I unfortunately did not have time to finish dabi’s birthday fic and then I remembered I deleted this one from tumblr bc I suddenly hated it ajshsjhdjd but anyways I edited it a bit but it’s also on ao3 (unedited but I’ll do that later) soooo yeah happy birthday to my greatest love or whatever (gross)

warnings: minors dni, no smut but implied sex, f!reader, blood and injury, angst, hurt/comfort, dabi picks reader up

words: 2.7k

Dabi returns home to you on a Thursday afternoon. He carries a beat-up overnight bag not filled with much since most of his wardrobe now lives in your closet, his toothbrush sits next to your sink, and his stash of fancy chocolates lies inside one of the drawers in your kitchen.

He drops the bag at his feet as he steps through the door, the key you made for him hanging around his pointer finger as he slams it shut with one foot, opening his arms for you to greet him with a hug.

His arms wrap around you tightly, walking you backward as he buries his face in your neck. He’s been gone for a little longer than a week, off on a mission for the league in a few cities over, a mission that you are completely unaware of. As far as you know, Dabi was visiting his family.

“Missed you.” You murmur against his neck. Dabi lets out a deep breath, preparing to pull away to look at your face. He cups your cheeks in his hands and grins.

“Really?” He questions. You reach your hands up to rest over his wrists.

“Mhm,” you nod, “did you miss me?”

“What do you think?” He rolls his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he drops one hand to your waist and pinches your cheek with the other. You swat his hand away, glaring at him, but it only makes him smile.

“I think maybe you did.” You shrug in his arms, “You know, judging from all of the random pictures of cats you saw on the street, and the constant messages asking what I was doing, and all the times you asked for pictures—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He shushes you again with another kiss to your lips, deeper and hungrier than before. You’re breathless when he pulls away.

“You totally missed me.” You tease, pulling away from him and walking past him to the door. He sends a slap to your ass that makes you jump as you walk by, shoving him away so that you can pick up the bag he abandoned when he arrived.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much in here.” You comment, judging by the weight.

Dabi hadn’t packed much for the mission, just enough to get by in the shitty hideout that Shigaraki had set up for him. But you aren’t meant to know about that, so Dabi lies.

“I dropped some stuff at my place.” He shrugs as you look inside. You pull out a cheap box of black hair dye, looking up at him.

“Your roots are showing?” You question, and he nods.

“You cover them up the best.”

“Oh, yeah? How can you know that? Are there other people dying your roots for you?” You cross your arms over your chest. Dabi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in.

“Maybe.” He smirks. You let your jaw fall open, pushing on his chest. But Dabi keeps a tight grip on you.

“Then they can dye it!” You resist, but Dabi pushes your arms down at your sides, trapping you there. He shakes his head, placing kisses across your face as you try to stifle the giggles that threaten to bubble from your throat.

“C’mon,” He rasps, resting his forehead against yours, “you know there’s only you. I don’t think I could find anyone else to put up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with anything.” You say, softly. Dabi pulls away to look at you. “‘Course, I’ll help you with your roots.”

The process is easy enough, one you’ve gone through many many times with him, something Dabi considers important to him. It’s that mix of being taken care of and trusting someone enough to allow it. Dabi couldn’t remember what that felt like—until you.

In the beginning, Dabi resisted you. He hated that wanting feeling and tried to ignore the burning in his chest when he looked at you. You came along and threw his priorities all out of whack, and Dabi was furious with himself for even considering you.

But at some point, the want became need, and there was no longer any doubt about keeping you in his life. Even if it meant hiding things from you. He never planned on not telling you about his villainous activities. He thought about getting it out of the way for a long time. He would tell you and maybe you would scream or cry or call the heroes. Or you’d tell him you hated him, and that had always seemed much worse than being locked up. So want was need, and Dabi was not Dabi he was just yours, and you were something he couldn’t stand to lose.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly way older than you look?” You question him, washing his hair over your tub after letting the dye sit in his white roots. Black swirls around your drain as he chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure.” He says, before pausing to look up at you “Unless…do you maybe have a thing for older guys?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head back under the running water.

“I mean, I am getting up there. I’ll be twenty-five soon. Does that turn you on?” He teases.

“You are the worst. Wash your own hair.” You groan. You watch him run his fingers through his hair to get the rest of the dye out, thinking about his words again. “How soon?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning off the water and taking the towel that hung over the tub. You watch him scrub his hair with his brows furrowed.

“How soon will you be twenty-five?” A smile stretches across his face, and he wraps the damp towel around his neck to free his hands. He reaches for you, pulling you towards his chest.

“God, you totally can’t wait ‘till I'm old and gray, can you?” You roll your eyes at him, pushing at him lightly.

“I’m asking about your birthday.” You stare at him. Dabi looks away from you for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, cause you’re counting the days.” He smirks. You hook your hands around the towel around his neck and pull him down to your level.

“Dabi.” You warn, touching your forehead to his.

“You know, you really can’t get this close to me and expect me not to kiss you.” He speaks, bumping his nose against yours. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and you slowly begin to lean in. Dabi leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, but you don’t let him linger for long. He follows after you, eyes still closed, satisfied with moving to your jaw once you’ve pulled away.

“When is your birthday?” You ask him, a little breathless. He places a soft bite at the side of your neck that makes you shudder before speaking.

“It’s Wednesday.” He speaks against your neck. You freeze, moving your hands up to his head to pull him from your neck.

“This Wednesday? As in a few days from now?” You ask, your hands still in his wet hair.

“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” He tells you. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he celebrated a birthday. He most likely would have missed it if you hadn’t brought it up.

For Dabi, birthdays are a reminder of time working against him, of the clock ticking on all of his plans, everything he’s working towards. He’s also reminded of how those plans seem so small now, compared to waking up with you in his arms every morning.

“We don’t have to make a big deal of it.” You tell him. You move your hands from his head down to rest on his chest. “Can I just…make you dinner or something? Or I can order from that one place you like?”

“Just dinner?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. Dabi squeezes your hips, making you yelp and you jolt in his arms. He smiles at the reaction, “Dinner and one gift?”

“No gifts.” He shakes his head, bringing his hand to the back of your head. You look up at him.

“What if it’s the greatest gift ever?” You ask. He smiles softly and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you.

You let him deepen the kiss, though you know it’s a way to distract you, pressing you into the bathroom counter as he traces your lips with his tongue. Your hands tangle in his newly dyed hair, arching into him as he moves his lips against yours. He lifts you onto the counter, pulling away from your lips to place kisses against your neck.

“C’mon,” You try, your breath catching in your throat, “just one.”

He bites down on your shoulder hard, earning a soft moan from your throat. He kisses over the mark, leaving more kisses down your chest, “No gifts.”

He runs his hands up your thighs as he lowers himself to the ground. He draws circles on the inside of your thighs, looking up at you. “Yeah?”

“No gifts.” You say, running a hand through his hair. He grins at you, kissing your thighs. “Just come at six okay?”

“I’ll be here.” He promises, biting your skin and making you shiver. “Now shut up. I missed you.”

….

Wednesday arrives quickly. You send a happy birthday text to Dabi paired with a scandalous photo of the blue underwear you’re wearing underneath one of his shirts, and he answers immediately. You remind him of what time he’s supposed to come by before leaving your phone behind on your bed to get ready for the day.

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

The League of Villains, the anchor calls them, a name you find vaguely familiar. You don’t pay much attention to the news at all, but you can recall hearing of the group in passing. You don’t expect to hear your boyfriend's name in relation to them. You, at the very least, have half a mind to turn the stove off before you sink to the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. A villain. Dabi is a villain. For some reason, it doesn’t scare you as much as it should. More than anything, you’re upset about being lied to.

You know that the smart thing to do is call someone, the police, a hero, get someplace safe. You don’t want to do any of that though. You want to stare at the cabinets in front of you, and you want Dabi to come home.

You can’t think of anything but him, not the damage he’s done or the people he’s done it to, just him and the promise of his presence at your door at six o’clock. You can figure out the rest later.

He isn’t there at six, though, or seven or eight or any hour after that. You sit on the floor with the buzzing of voices on your television for hours before you pick yourself up. You pack up dinner numbly, placing things into tupperware that you put in the fridge without thinking. You turn the TV off, and you don’t change out of the dress you wore tonight specifically for him, and you don’t wash your face either. You just pull back the covers to your bed and clutch Dabi’s pillow tight. You don’t fall asleep.

Dabi comes home at around two a.m. He stumbles through your front door and leaves his key in the lock, slumping against the counter. He hears you come out of the bedroom, stopping at the end of the hallway and staring at him. He looks up at you for a moment but averts his gaze in shame. He’s a mess, staples missing and bleeding from his seams. His skin is raw and irritated against his clothes, and he’s sure some of his ribs are bruised.

And you, you look gorgeous, in that dress that Dabi’s always liked on you, your mascara lightly smeared underneath your eyes. Have you been crying? He can’t tell. He hopes you weren’t, not for him.

You walk toward him slowly, a little cautious, caught in between yelling at him or holding him. You can yell later, you think. Right now, you just want to stop the bleeding from his face and ice whatever injury he’s clutching at his side.

Approaching him, you bring your hands to rest at the side of his neck, urging him to look at you. He won’t. You sigh and push yourself closer to him. He doesn't move away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, blood smearing across your skin, and you bring a hand down to his.

Silently, you pull away, tugging lightly on his hand for him to follow you. He stumbles for a moment before catching himself, walking behind you into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and thinks about when you dyed his hair for him, how long ago that feels now, how you might never do it again after tonight.

He watches you pull a first aid kit out from beneath your sink, rummaging through the supplies and setting them on the counter. You wash your hands and dampen a cloth, before leaning down to gently clean up the blood on his face. You do it all in silence, gently pulling away any staples that are near falling out, careful not to hurt him more than he already is. You remove his jacket from his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head, examining the rest of the seams in his skin. The ghost of a bruise is forming on his ribs, and you stand up to find something to ice it. Touya grabs your wrist before you can leave, his grip limp, tired. You could pull away easily if you wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps. You pause, turning around to look at him.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him.

“I’m late.” He says. “And I’m–”

“I don’t care.” You don’t care about what you saw on TV, or how late he was. You don’t even really care about the lying anymore, not when he’s bleeding on your bathtub.

Dabi stands with a groan, and you reach toward him to steady him. He takes the cloth from you and rests a hand on the back of your neck. He gently wipes your cheek in the place where his blood is smeared. You close your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders leave your body.

“Things are never going to be how they are now ever again, you know.” He speaks, setting the towel down on the counter. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “You’ll know everything because I’m not going to hide it from you anymore, all of the gory details, everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do.”

“Dabi.” You try to speak, but he doesn't let you. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, keeping you focused on him.

“I’m not a good man, and I don’t deserve you. And if I was better, I would let you walk out of here. But I’m not. I’ve always been weak, and I’m not losing you.” He’s desperate, so afraid that you’ll walk away, leave him, tell him he’s too much. “So you have to tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“I want it.” You speak, almost frantically. “Maybe something is wrong with me, but the only thing that mattered to me tonight was that you’d come home.”

“I am home.” He speaks, pulling you tight against his chest. He winces at the pressure on his ribs, but when you try to pull away, he only squeezes tighter. “I’m home.”

You wrap your arms around him, “Sorry your birthday sucked so bad.”

“We’ll try again next year.”

[roseghoul26]

Part 3

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

"'Do you love me?' You asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Arthur nodded, gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

'Then say it. I promise you, nothing bad is gonna come from it.'"

Synopsis: A retelling of the mission "Blessed are the Peacemakers", where instead of Arthur getting kiddnapped, it's you.

Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, torture, mentions of sexual assault, no actual SA, dutch is father figure, so is hosea, arthur morgan deserves everything, fem reader, afab!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, not beta read

Author’s Note: soooo this was meant to be the final part but i got carried away so now there are four parts :D

also like 99% sure the location i describe later in the part doesn’t exist but im too lazy to figure out an actual one so just go with it please. and i have no idea if the robbery plan “arthur” came up with actual works. there’s a reason i write fanfiction and don’t rob houses.

part 1 ❉ part 2 ❉ part 3 ❉ part 4

Arthur had stayed by your side ever since then. He was gone some days, returning to you exhausted and sleepless, but still returning nonetheless. He helped take care of you as you recovered, attending to your every need with no complaint (you had joked that you were going to turn into an actual princess with his treatment)

By the end of the first week of your return, you had regained enough strength to get up on your own, being able to take small walks around camp and chatting with the others. You found yourself being able to stay awake longer, only having to stop a rest once or twice throughout the day. Also, most of your superficial wounds were pretty much healed at this point, small scabs and scars the only proof of their existence. 

By week two, you had started contributing with the chores, doing lighter work around the camps like sewing. You stayed outside of your tent more and more now, the weather at Clemens Point usually pleasant. The wound on your shoulder was doing much better now, and where deep purple bruises once resided were patchy yellow marks. 

When the third week rolled around, you were starting to go insane, having been confined to the one place for so long. You were pretty much back to normal, your energy returned and your wounds healed. You had begged every person who left camp to take you with them, but to no avail. 

You had even begged Charles to take you out hunting, but the steadfast man didn’t budge. Upon seeing your disappointment in his rejection, he relented… partially. Finding a spot far enough away from camp to not be an issue, but close enough for safety’s sake, Charles set up a small practice range for you to shoot your bow and guns at. You had hugged and thanked him profusely, your fingers itching to pull a trigger. He just requested you to not make him regret his decision.

The rest of the time that week was spent at the range, building back up the strength and endurance in your arms and shoulders. Your aim at the beginning was questionable, to say the least. Targets you’d normally have no issue hitting were becoming difficult, and you struggled to hold your pistol up for longer than ten seconds, your hands shaking and straining at the effort. Still, you persisted, and you found your marksmanship began to, slowly, come back to you. 

It was now the first day of the fourth week, the evening sun soaking the range in gold. It wasn’t particularly hot out, yet you still found yourself wiping beads of sweat from your brow as you started down the barrel of your rifle. There was one target left, a small green bottle roughly 200 meters downrange, slightly obscured by some hay barrels until only a portion of it was visible to you. Every other bottle lay shattered except for this one, which you’d been trying to get for what felt like forever. 

Grumbling angrily to yourself, you refocused on the object, sheer spite keeping your feet planted at the range instead of returning back to camp to retire for the night. There was a slight breeze, not enough to deter the path of the bullet, but enough to cause a few pieces of hair to flick you in the face. Your eyes focused on your target, and the world around you seemed to grow still. It was right in your sights, and you just had to squeeze…

You took a deep breath in, holding it for a split second, before releasing it. Your finger moved with your lungs, squeezing the trigger gently. A loud blast shook through you, and if there were any birds still sticking around, they would have flown away at your angry outburst afterwards.

The bottle stood intact, and you swore it was grinning smugly at you. With a huff, you released the empty shell, joining the growing pile at your feet. The sound of hoofbeats from behind caused you to lower your weapon, slinging it over your shoulder. The motion caused a slight tinge of pain to shoot through you, going away as quick as it came. Still, you couldn’t help the slight grimace of pain from appearing on your face as you turned to see who was behind you. The place that Charles had selected for you was just off the entrance of camp, so you had a slightly obscured view of people coming and going.

The sight of a familiar brown horse, and the sound of an even more familiar gruff voice had you smiling widely. Quickly scooping the empty shells into a bucket, the fresh one burning your hand slightly, you headed back to camp. 

As you approached, you heard many voices all at once, all greeting Arthur as he got off his horse. As he patted his steed, you saw him glazing around, eyes darting around as he searched for something. He must’ve not found what he was looking for, as he had a slightly confused expression as he made his way toward Dutch. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang stood outside his tent smoking a cigar as he warmly greeted Arthur, clapping the younger man on his shoulder. Arthur had his back to you as he talked with Dutch, and you were just out of earshot of their conversation, barely in the camp at this point. 

Passing Pearson’s wagon as you approached Arthur, you saw Dutch look around as well. When his gaze landed on you, he greeted you with a friendly smile, before pointing at you with his cigar over Arthur’s shoulder. 

Your lover spun around, an enormous grin on his face when he finally locked eyes with you. Finally close enough to hear the two of them, you heard Dutch say “We’ll talk later,” practically shoving the younger man away from him and towards you. He gave Dutch an incredulous look before returning his attention to you, smiling impossibly brighter when you were finally within arms reach of him. 

Setting the bucket and gun down at your feet, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burrowing your face in his chest as you held him close. A pleased hum left you as you felt one of his hands hold the back of your head, the other wrapping around your hip. “Hello, princess,” you heard him say. Tilting your head back so you could see Arthur fully, you stood up on your toes so you could kiss him. He held your kiss longer than what was probably appropriate for being in the middle of camp, but you couldn’t care less. After pulling away, he rested his head against yours, one hand still around your backside. His hat sat precariously on his head, dangerously close to falling off. 

“Hi, Arthur,” you breathed. “I’ve missed you.”

“Already? It’s only been a week. I’d’ve thought you’d been sick of me already.”

“Never.”

“And just what were you up to while I was gone?” You saw him eye the bucket and rifle forgotten behind you, and the two of you took a step back from the other, still close enough to touch though.

“I’ve been doing some shooting. Charles set it up for me.”

“Did he now?” He asked, not out of jealousy, but more out of concern of you overexerting yourself. 

“It was either that, or take me hunting. I’ve practically begged everyone in camp to take me out. I’ve gone a little crazy being stuck here.”

Arthur chuckled. “Noted. So,” he gestured to the weapon, “any luck?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you turned and  picked up the items, the rifle going back over your shoulder. You stepped out of the shade created by Dutch’s tent, the light causing your eyes to scrunch close. It was close to sundown by this point, but a nice amber glow still washed over the camp, with the lake turning into a body of lava. “Mostly,” you scoffed, and began walking back toward the range, determination now taking over you again. 

You expected to hear footfalls behind or beside you, but when you didn’t, you turned back around with a puzzled expression. Arthur just stood there, still in the shade, mouth parted slightly as he stared at you. 

Cocking your head, you thought that might get his attention, but you started to feel a little self conscious (and worried) when he continued to just look at you. “Is there something on my face?” you joked half-heartedly, tapping a rhythm on your waist as you awaited a response. 

The cowboy had a slight rosy tint on his cheeks as he shook his head, but he still held his eyes on you. “Nah, it’s just… you look beautiful.”

That was certainly not what you were expecting to hear, nearly dropping the bucket of empty bullet casings. “Well, thank you, Arthur,” you responded bashfully. 

“I mean it,” he continued, slowly walking towards you now. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but somethin’ ‘bout the light… you look like an angel, like you were taken out one of them paintings.”

You certainly didn’t think so yourself, but with the way Arthur looked at you, you just had to believe him. His hands now cupped your face, thumbs rubbing gently against your cheeks. “My angel…” he said, the words leaving his mouth gently like a secret. 

He held you, transfixed, until someone else in camp awkwardly cleared their throat. His hands dropped back to his sides, but he still had a lovesick look in his eye as he gestured for you to continue walking. “After you, my angel.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments. “So what am I, princess or angel?” You teased, willing your heart to slow down. You could feel Arthur’s heavy gaze on you as you walked. 

“You can’t be both?”

“‘Fraid not. One or the other.”

“Says who? ‘Cause they clearly haven’t met you.”

“You’re a silly man, Arthur Morgan.”

“I’m only tellin’ the truth! I swear!” 

Finally reaching the practice range, you stood where you had prior, and you set the bucket back down. Turning your head to look at Arthur, you were slightly startled at his closeness. Wrapping  around your midsection, he rested his head on your shoulder that didn’t hold your rifle. “‘Sides, you love it,” he continued. Kissing your temple lightly, he rocked with you back and forth, just enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms. You didn’t bother to reply; you both knew what your answer would be. 

Resting your hands atop his, you leaned back into him, your purpose for being where you were forgotten temporarily. The last rays from the setting sun lit up the field, but the growing darkness was beginning to take over. Sighing, you lightly stroked his arm, rousing his attention. “If you’re trying to distract me, you’re doing a good job at it.”

“Sorry,” he drawled, the slight laugh in his voice making it clear that he wasn’t at all. 

“I’ve got one more target. After that, I’m all yours.”

After a beat of silence, Arthur responded by opening his arms to let you out. The lack of heat from his body caused a slight shiver to wrack your body, the cooling night temperature not helping either. Bringing up your rifle and staring at your target through the scope, you found it hard to concentrate with his eyes on you. Still, you took a deep breath in, then pulled the trigger upon its release.

The shot from the gun shattered the peaceful atmosphere in the field, a few birds that had returned flying away instantly, their angry squawks and your angry curses following the blast. The shot went wide by a few inches, to your not surprise. Incoherently grumbling, you discarded the empty round, the new one loading in with a click. 

You fired off a few more rounds, each one missing your target by a small bit. It was getting late now, and it was starting to get hard to see the bottle now. 

Bringing the gun up again, you were about to fire, until a soft wait from behind you caused you to lower the weapon, looking over at Arthur confused. “No, no, bring the rifle back up.” As perplexed as you were, you complied, bringing the gun up like you were going to fire it, but keeping your finger off the trigger. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Arthur stalked around you, eyes scanning over you, assessing. 

You tried to keep still, but you couldn’t help but shift your feet nervously as his ocean blue eyes observed you. “You’re holdin’ it differently,” Arthur finally spoke, and you lowered the rifle back down.

“Huh?” Bringing it back up again, you did a mental scan of your body. Nothing felt different, but then again you did have a significant time off from using your guns. Maybe your marksmanship wasn’t coming back as well as you thought. 

“Nothin’ major,” Arthur continued. “It’s… it’s your shoulder. The left one. You’re rollin’ it forward more, and I think that’s what’s affecting the shots.”

So you tried rolling back your left shoulder, the injured joint stiff as you readjusted. Apparently that wasn’t enough, and you felt Arthur come back behind you. His chest brushed your back as he brought his arm up to your left shoulder as you held your gun up, holding it but not pushing yet. “Let me know if I’m hurtin’ you,” he murmured, and you could feel his other hand settle on your waist. 

After you nodded, you felt him press the shoulder back. It was slightly tender, but it didn’t hurt too bad. When he was satisfied with your new posture, which was starting to feel familiar, he mirrored the other hand on your waist. His lips were dangerously close to your ear as he leaned in, the fingers on your waist tightening ever-so-slightly. The proximity, while not unwelcome, caused you to take a sharp intake of breath. 

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed, a satisfied hum leaving him when you did so. God, his voice was doing nothing to help your flustered state. “Good… now, shoot.” 

Praying that your exhale wouldn’t come out shakily, you breathed out, pulling the trigger as you did, like who had so many times before. However, this time, instead of the sound of the bullet hitting the hay bale, the sound of glass shattering hit your ears.

Lowering the gun slowly, a joyous laugh left you as you finally registered you hit the target. Spinning around so you were facing Arthur, you smiled brightly, the same expression on his face. “Atta girl,” he practically purred, taking the rifle from your hands and setting it on the ground beside the two of you with a thud. His praise caused a jolt of warmth to shoot through your body, causing your blood to feel like it was simmering. 

Linking your hands around his neck, you played with some of the hair that stuck out from under his hat. “How’d you know I was holding it wrong?” you asked. “It wasn’t even that obvious, you said so yourself.”

You felt him shrug. “I dunno.”

“Spend a lot of time lookin’ at me, then?” Looking up at him, you could tell that some of his confidence was beginning to falter, scared of what your reaction would be to his answer. 

“I…” he trailed off, and you could feel his fingers, which had returned to your waist, begin to pick nervously at your clothing. 

“I don’t mind.” It must have alleviated some of his worries of making you uncomfortable, because his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you nearly flush with his own. His eyes darkened at the contact, and when you tugged slightly at his hair, and a similar whine to the one he let out last time left him. The two of you had shared a good amount of kisses over the past few weeks while Arthur was still here, but they ended before anything happened. This was only the second time you’d heard that noise from him, and you had forgotten how addicting it was. 

He said your name in warning, and you gave him the most innocent look you could muster. 

“You must look at me a lot if you’re able to notice something like that.” You couldn’t help the teasing tilt in your voice. 

“It ain’t my fault you’re breathtaking. And I sure as hell ain’t the only one who looks at you.”

“You’re the only person whose eyes I want on me.” Grabbing one of his wrists, you dragged his hand up your body, bringing it up until it reached your chest. His breath hitched at the action, staring at you with pleading eyes as his hand hovered uncertainty over your breasts. “And the only person whose hands I want on me, too.”

He pulled you impossibly closer, space nonexistent between the two of you. His lips were mere centimeters from yours, and you could feel his shaky exhale as you rocked your hips against his. There was a new heated tension in the air, something you hadn’t experienced with each other yet, but you were more than willing to cross that line tonight. 

“I love you,” he whispered, an utter devotion in his eyes that you’d only seen in the most zealous devotees. But there was nothing holy about the way his lips crashed against yours, desperate and needy and hungry.

The hand that once rested on your waist cradled the side of your neck, holding you securely as he kissed you. His other hand finally made contact with your chest, and you let out pleased groans as he felt you, causing your mouth to part slightly. Eagerly taking this opportunity, Arthur’s tongue swept into your mouth, and your hands fully tangled into his hair as he deepened the kiss. His hat fell somewhere on the ground, the soft thump unheard by both of you. 

He continued exploring your chest, and you craved nothing more than to rip your shirt off so you could feel him touch on your bare skin. Imagining the calluses of his hand running across the delicate skin caused you to shiver, which didn’t go unnoticed by the cowboy. You felt him smile against your lips, before moving his kisses to your jaw, to underneath, then trailing down your neck. 

“You like that?” his spoke, voice debauched. 

“Your hands…” was all you were able to get out before your focus dissolved. 

“What ‘bout them?” He spoke between kisses, littering them across your neck. 

“I want… I want you to touch me.”

He squeezed your chest gently. “I am.”

“Take my shirt off… please.”

“As much as I’d love that, we don’t want the whole camp to see you now. You only want my eyes on you, right?” You felt his teeth nip gently at the base of your throat. 

Groaning, you rolled your head back, partially out of frustration, and partially to give Arthur better access. His touch left your chest, trailing back down your body, inching closer and closer to your center. Rutting your hips up, you tried to meet him halfway, but he remained just out of reach. Instead of touching you where you wanted, you felt light touches circle your waist, lightly brushing the small of your back before settling lower. Grabbing a handful of your ass in his large palm, you felt him smile against your neck as you let out a surprised noise. 

His other hand left your neck, and in a show of strength lifted you into his arms, both hands now holding your backside. Interlocking your legs around his waist, you couldn’t help the shocked laugh that left you. It was no secret that Arthur was a strong man, his muscular build evident of that, but the effortlessness in the way he picked you up had your stomach doing somersaults. 

Still attacking your neck with kisses, you felt him begin to move forward until you felt bark against your back. “Arthur…” you panted, and you heard a pleased groan leave him. An unmistakable hardness pressed into you now, and you felt yourself unconsciously rolling your hips against him. Your own name left his lips, the last syllable trailing off into a moan, which he muffled in the crook of your neck. 

“Please. I need you, Arthur,” you whined out, and Arthur lifted his head up, resting it now against your own. 

“Here?” Arthur asked, breathlessly. When you nodded, you could see him fighting with himself internally. “You sure? It’s… you deserve better. Should take you out… get us a room. Hell, get us an actual bed.”

“I just need you.” You ran your fingers through his hair, the brown locs haven been thoroughly tussled by your hands. Pressing a light kiss on the crooked bridge of his nose, you poured as much sincerity as you could in the action. 

“Fuck… alright princess. But we’ll have to be quick. Someone from camp-”

An unmistakable raspy voice cut through the clearing, startling poor Arthur to the point he nearly dropped you. “Arthur!” John called out, and you felt the man below you grow deathly still. 

“Where the hell are you, Arthur?” John called out again, and you could tell that Arthur was debating whether or not to respond. When the younger outlaw yelled out again, he let out a regretful sigh, before slowly lowering you to your feet. Your knees wobbled, and you held on to his broad shoulders momentarily for balance. A small proud smile adorned his face, which promptly fell when he heard John’s voice again. 

“What?” He yelled back, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. His hands were on your waist, tapping randomly as he awaited a response. You saw the light from John’s lantern begin to illuminate the clearing, so you tried your best to fix up Arthur’s appearance, smoothing out his clothing and adjusting his hair. Based on how the two of you looked, it wouldn’t be hard to determine what was happening, but you wanted to save some of the man’s dignity when facing John. 

Looking down, you saw him adjust himself, trying and failing to hide the obvious tent in his pants. Luckily, it was getting quite dark out, so he wouldn’t have to try too hard to hide it. You gave him a sympathetic smile, and he just sighed defeatedly. “Don’t kill him,” you half-joked, noticing the death glare he gave the figure approaching the two of you. 

Pulling away from you, he turned and walked over to John, you trailing behind him by a few steps. Gathering up the items you’d brought, you returned the rifle to its home over your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, barely visible due to the lack of illumination, you saw Arthur’s hat lying in the grass, which had been knocked off his head by your hands. 

You put it atop your own, and you found it sliding around as you walked up to the two men, wrapping your arm around Arthur as you joined in the conversation, which was turning into more of an argument. 

“You’re needed back at camp,” you heard John say angrily, not even looking at you as he stared the other man down.

“And I’m sayin’ it can wait. I’m busy.”

“Oh, really?” John challenged. “Doin’ what?” 

Arthur just gave him a pointed look in response, expecting John to figure it out.

“No, really. What is so important right now?”

You could hear Arthur roll his eyes. “Maybe the wolves really did eat your brain, Marston.” You let out a chuckle at that, and John finally seemed to notice your existence. Confusion, then realization, then finally embarrassment washed over his face as he took in your disheveled state and Arthur’s hat on your head. 

John shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with you any longer. “Just… just get back quickly,” he muttered, leaving the two of you as quickly as possible. You heard him grumble something under his breath, before wrapping you into a tight hug, locking your arms to your body. His hat barely stayed on as you tried to look up at him, and you saw his eyes widen as he registered what you were wearing. 

“You’re makin’ it real hard to leave, ya know?”

“So are you.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, yet made no move to loosen his grip. 

Arthur held you for a few moments, the fire that had been growing during the last minutes subsiding to a small candle flame. As much as you both wanted to just continue, the duty to the camp and gang took priority, especially for Arthur. 

Wiggling out of his arms, you returned the hat to its owner, but the angle you placed it at caused it to cover his eyes. “C’mon, cowboy. Giddyap,” you teased, lightly smacking his backside while doing so. You started walking back to camp, following the direction John went

You had gotten a few feet away before Arthur began bounding towards you, causing you to break out in a sprint. Laughing wildly, you ran through the trees, the branches whizzing past your face as you ran towards camp, Arthur hot on your heels. 

Because you weren’t far from camp, it only took a minute or so before you ran in, panting in exhilaration. Running to your tent, you looked behind you, expecting Arthur to be right there. When you were met with empty air, you halted, dirt skidding up at the sudden stop. Looking around, you peered through the darkness, barely able to see anything in the evening light. 

You saw Javier, Bill, and Micah all sitting around a nearby campfire, mindlessly conversing while Javier strummed on his guitar. You saw Molly in her and Dutch’s tent, which was between yours and Arthur’s, getting ready to retire for the night. Abigail was with Jack, sitting with him on her lap while Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen sat around another fire, drinking and laughing with each other. But for the life of you, you couldn’t find Arthur.

Without warning, you found yourself pulled into a strong embrace, the smell of leather and gunpowder filling your senses as Arthur grabbed you. A startled noise left you, turning into laughter as you felt his place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Gotcha, princess.”

“You scared me! How’d you do that?”

He gave you another kiss on your cheek in apology. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Is that all the explanation I’m gonna get?”

Arthur paused for a moment, debating your words. “Yes.” When you just shook your head in amusement, he gave you one last kiss before letting go, albeit reluctantly, and he walked around so he was facing you.. “I’ve gotta go see what they want,” he huffed. And… I just wanna say I’m sorry for tonight. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Arthur.” You tried to reassure him, but he continued to frown slightly. Cupping his face with one palm, your thumb brushed the top of his cheekbone lightly, and you felt him relax under your touch. “I know you’ll make it up to me, eventually. Tonight, just come see me when you’re done. I’ve… It’s been hard sleeping without you.”

“Alright,” he conceded, kissing your hand before returning it to your side. “Go get ready. I’ll be back shortly.”

“You better not keep me waiting, Arthur Morgan,” you warned, backing into your tent slowly. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he said with a wink, then turning and walking toward Dutch, who stood with his arms crossed, watching the whole interaction between you two. You chuckled to yourself, knowing Arthur would never hear the end of it from the other men and camp. As your tent flaps closed shut, you heard Dutch say something to Arthur, who grumbled something out in response. A hearty laugh from Dutch filled the camp, and you just knew that Arthur’s face was beet red right now.

Undressing quickly, and now only in a chemise, you sat atop the bed, you glanced around your tent. Your tent, which was slowly becoming Arthur and your’s tent, was still lit up by candlelight. Your shared bed (which was yours and Arthur’s cots pushed together) sat in the middle, with the same pelt operating as your flooring. Arthur had yet to fully “move in” with you, but most of his belongings, which wasn’t a lot, sat beside yours. You guessed that in a few weeks he’d be offering his tent to the other members of camp.

Picking up your copy of A Cristmas Carol, you began reading, trying to pass the time as quickly as possible. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

As much as you tried to stay up, the minutes turning to hours as you waited for Arthur to return, you ended up falling asleep, not even tucked into the bedsheets. Your book lay open if you lap, as it had fallen out of your grip.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember how the words on the page began to blur, and how it became so hard to focus on the narrative. Eventually, you succumbed, no longer fighting the growing heaviness on your eyelids. 

The bed shifting caused you to stir, groaning slightly as the kink in your neck made itself known, the awkward sleeping position causing your body to protest. You felt the blanket get pulled out from under your legs and wrapped around your body, then a warm body cuddling up next to you, arm resting on your midsection. Shuffling back until your back was flush with their front, you heard Arthur murmur out an apology for waking you. 

You adjusted so your head was now resting on your pillow, and you wove your fingers through Arthurs. “It’s alright,” your voice was heavy with sleep. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry,” his breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “Dutch wanted me and Lenny to go scout somethin’ out. Went longer than we thought.”

You let out a light hum, and a yawn threatened to overtake you as you spoke. “Tell me more in the mornin’. Get some sleep.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Arthur replied, nuzzling into your hair and sighing deeply. 

Sleep came back easily, and you found yourself being roused a few hours later by the smell of coffee and light chatter. You and Arthur had swapped positions in the night, and you woke with an arm across him and your legs intertwined. 

As carefully as possible you disentangled from him, halting all movement when you heard his breathing change. Eventually you were free, and you sat on the edge of the bed. Glancing behind, you saw Arthur still fast asleep, a light snore coming from the man. 

It was nice, seeing him so at ease. The normal furrow in his brow was smoothed over, the creases around his eyes seemed less prominent. Everything about him seemed softer somehow, like all the troubles in his life had been sucked out of his body while he slept. You just hoped that one day you might bring him that same peace in the conscious world. 

Stretching as you stood, you quickly got dressed, being careful not to make any loud noises. You wore something simple today, opting for a pair of pants and a shirt. Eying Arthur’s growing pile of belongings, you chose to wear one of his button ups. You smiled as you put it on; despite being freshly cleaned, it still smelled like him.

Tucking the blue shirt in, you left your tent after putting your boots on. The bright morning sun caused you to squint heavily, making your way to the communal coffee pot. If you had to guess, you’d say it was about nine or so in the morning, most of the camp up at this point. Saying good morning to those you passed, you poured two cups of coffee, the liquid precariously sloshing over the edge of the cups as you walked back to your tent, drinking yours while you walked. 

You were about halfway back when you spotted Lenny sitting at one of the tables, who kept anxiously looking up at your tent while cleaning his gun. He gave you a polite smile as you approached, which heavily contradicted the impatient way he tapped his foot. As you got closer, you saw how tired he looked, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Good morning, Lenny!” You greeted, trying your best to sound chipper. 

“G’morning, miss,” He tried his best to not sound annoyed, you could tell.

“Care to tell me why you’re glaring at my tent?” You teased.

Sheepishly, he dropped his gaze, the tapping of his foot slowly subsiding. “Sorry, miss. It’s just… I need Arthur up, and he’s in your tent, and I don’t wanna be improper and walk in there…”

Laughing loudly, you set one of the cups down on the table before patting him lightly on his shoulder. “You’re too good for us, kid. I’ll go get him up for you… if I get to come with you two, that is.”

“How’d you… you don’t even know what we’re doing.”

Shrugging, you took a sip of your drink. “I like surprises. So, do we have a deal? I’ll save you from having to walk into a lady’s tent, and then I get to tag along on whatever y’all are doing.”

“I guess,” Lenny sighed, but you could tell he wasn’t upset. He sounded more tired than anything.

With a final light tap on his shoulder, you picked up both drinks, taking another hearty sip from your own. “Thanks, Lenny.”

“Nah, thank you. From me and my dignity.”

His response had you rolling your eyes, shaking your head as you entered your tent. Excitement was growing in you, your desire to finally leave camp finally being fulfilled. Arthur was still passed out, and you felt bad for reaching down and shaking him gently. You watched his eyes flutter open, and you smiled warmly. 

“Good morning, pretty boy,” you brushed his hair back, and his eyes threatened to close again. He was barely awake, and you could tell because he had barely any reaction to what you called him. “Lenny’s waiting for you.”

That seemed to stir him, and he practically shot up out of bed, nearly causing you to spill both of your drinks. He cursed to himself, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes as he paced around the tent. He was still fully dressed from last night, the only things missing being his hat, shoes, and gunbelt, which you watched him grab and put on, turned partially away from you as he dressed. The furrow in his brow was back, and you also noticed the heavy dark circles under his eyes. 

Pressing the hot beverage into his hand, which he took with a soft thank you, you set you own on the nightstand before fixing the collar of his shirt which got all messed up during the night. “What time did you get back?” 

“Late,” he responded between gulps, either not noticing or caring that the liquid was scorching hot.

“Arthur…” you sighed. “You look exhausted.”

He just shrugged, neither agreeing with or denying your statement. “How long has it been since you’ve slept for more than four hours?” You’d always noticed how tired Arthur always was, pushed to his limits day in and day out, and this conversation wasn't new for either of you. Even before the two of you became lovers, you’d always hound him on his sleep, or lack of it. It was, however, the first time you’d asked him that question, and you could tell he was trying to come up with an answer or excuse. You found yourself coming up with a plan that would get you and Arthur away from camp, at least long enough to let him sleep for a while. 

“After we get done with whatever you and Lenny are doing, me and you are gonna take a little vacation. And you can’t say no.” You added that last bit when he opened his mouth to protest. 

As he woke up more, a confused look crossed his features as he comprehended what you said, and he turned towards you. “We?” 

“Yup. I’m going with y’all.”

“I don’t…” he trailed off with a sigh, realizing that arguing would be pointless. “Are you sure?” You nodded.  “Alright. We’ll fill you in on the details on the way there. Shouldn’t be too complicated.” He took a final gulp of his drink, and set the empty cup next to yours. “Also, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me, princess. You focus on getting yourself back to normal.”

“But I am pretty much back to normal! And you’ve taken such good care of me these past few weeks, it’s time I return the favor.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Maybe I don’t. But I’m gonna do it anyway. I want to help you, to care for you. And like I already said, you can’t say no.” 

“You’re difficult, woman,” he shook his head, as if amused by your antics. “We’ll discuss this later. Don’t wanna make Lenny wait any longer.”

“Alright,” you accepted. “I’ll see you outside, love.”

Arthur actually short-circuited at the use of the new pet name, and you giggled as he stood there dumbfounded, and you left the tent before he could say anything. “Arthur’ll be right out, Lenny!” you shouted out, the man’s head snapping up as you spoke. 

Getting to his feet and slinging the very ocean repeater over his shoulder, Lenny gratefully smiled at you. “Thanks again, miss. Did he tell you anything or…?”

“Nothin’. Said you tell me on the way there, and that it ain’t supposed to be too difficult, apparently. Not that anything ever ends up that way,” the final part you muttered more to yourself, and it went unheard by the other. 

“You got a bandana? Gonna end up needin’ it. What we’re doing ain’t exactly lawful.”

“My favorite. Lemme go grab one-”

“I got it. Here,” you felt the cloth placed around your neck, Arthur securing it with a knot. “Go ahead and meet us by the horses, Lenny. We’ll be right there.”

With a nod, the younger gunslinger headed toward the hitching post. Adjusting your hair so that it sat over the bandana, Arthur then combed the stands back so that they were tucked behind your ears. “Is that my shirt?” He asked once Lenny was far enough away.

“You just noticed?” You chuckled, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Shut it, princess.”

“Never.” You stuck your tongue out at him, then started heading toward Lenny. “You don’t mind, right?”

“God, not at all. I’d give you all of ‘em if it meant I’d get to see you wear ‘em every day.”

“Then what’d you wear?”

“Nothing, but I suppose you’d like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you faced forward to hide your expression as you imagined a shirtless Arthur. “Hush now,” you feebly reprimanded.

“Never.”

By this time you had reached your destination, mounting your horse (after thanking Lenny for saddling him up) who knickered excitedly. Both of you hadn’t been out of camp in some time, and you both missed the feel of the wind in your hair and the exhilaration of the ride. You wanted nothing more than to just bolt out of camp, but you held steady, tapping your fingers to try and let out some of the building energy within you.

Arthur, after mounting, took the lead as your group exited camp. After saying goodbye to Javier, who was standing at the front of camp on watch, Arthur began explaining the plan, going at an easy trot as the three of you rode, looking over at you as he spoke. 

It was a home robbery, and a rather large one at that. Located east of Valentine, about a mile or so from Emerald ranch, stood a large multi-story house that was rumored to be filled with precious items and jewels. Lenny and Arthur’s scouting provided intel about the guards that patrolled the ground, getting their general numbers and learning the relative schedule they operated on. By learning that information, they were able to figure out when it was best to move in order to not be spotted. 

Originally, when it was just going to be two of them, only Arthur was going into the house itself, Lenny staying back on watch, ready to create a distraction that would allow Arthur to leave unnoticed. But now that you were tagging along, it was up to you to decide what you wanted to do: join Arthur, or send Lenny with him and be on watch yourself. 

“Well, saying the last time I was on guard duty didn’t go so great, I’ll go in with Arthur.” Your “joke” seemed to only amuse you, but then you saw the way Lenny tried to hide a light chuckle. 

When Arthur had finished explaining, you were still only about a quarter of the way there, the casual pace Arthur had set making your journey slow. You tried not to seem too fidgety, knowing that Arthur and Lenny were quite tired and probably wouldn’t like to go as fast as you’d like, but there were a few times when you had to slow down TT and ease him back; it seemed you were both getting antsy. 

Arthur, bless him, took notice of this, and he moved himself off the road to let you take the lead. Taking your spot, you cocked your head, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. “Go to Emerald Ranch. Wait for us there.”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re about to pull out all your hair. Go ‘head and ride out ahead of us, fast as you like… but be safe. We’ll meet you there.”

You’re sure you looked crazy with the excited grin on your face. “You’re serious?”

“Very. Now,” Arthur shooed you, “go.”

“I love you, Arthur Morgan,” you said, before taking off in a cloud of dust. It took little encouragement from you to get TT moving, snorting wildly as he pushed as hard as he could, happy to finally stretch his muscles out. With a loud whoop that bounced off the rocks and trees, you quickly rode away, Arthur and Lenny becoming small specks on the horizon. Arms outstretched and your eyes closed, you took in the feeling of the wind finally being back in your hair, trusting TT to take you to where you needed to go. 

You hadn’t even realized you were crying, the sheer happiness you were feeling overwhelming you. Yes, you loved being at camp, and you loved the people there, but you were starting to feel trapped. You knew that being put on a “bedrest” was for your health and to allow you to fully recover, but it was exhausting. You were still an outlaw at heart, and you needed to roam. You couldn’t be tied down to a place for so long, and a part of you knew that’s why you and Arthur became friends in the first place: two wild hearts that needed space to ride free, the only bonds holding you being the ones you held for each other in your hearts, not where you called “home” or where you lay your head at night. 

Opening your eyes again, the world around you passed in a blur as TT ran, hooves barely hitting the ground. As you passed other riders, you heard them cry out, startled, but you paid them no mind. Right now, you were allowed to be as selfish as you wanted on the road. You were barely able to make out a signpost that showed that you were going in the right direction. 

Patting his neck, you urged your horse onward, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around him, just like the last time. However, instead of it being the ride between life and death, it was a ride of pure joy. Joy that you had survived and overcame so much. Joy that you finally confessed to Arthur the love you had for him, and that he felt the same, and you were now closer to him more than you ever thought possible. Joy that despite the honestly shitty cards you and the gang had been dealt, you were all still thriving, able to create bonds and relationships in spite of the hardships. 

Life, in all of its bullshit, was treating you well. You were going to enjoy it for as long as you could, and you were going to do everything in your power to bring Arthur the same joy you felt. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You arrived at Emerald Ranch nearly fifteen minutes before the other two.

Letting your horse drink heavily from one of the many troughs available, you walked around the area, chatting with a few of the farmhands as you waited for Lenny and Arthur to arrive. You had even traded some items with the fence, Seamus, for a little extra cash, in the middle of stuffing it into your saddlebag when you heard them approach. 

“You already robbed the place?” Lenny joked as you remounted, falling back to your original position in the formation. You were surprised, however, when Arthur didn’t take the lead, instead motioning for Lenny to lead the way as he took his spot next to you.

“Y’all were taking too long,” you chuckled. “Nah, just selling a few trinkets I had.”

“Get a good amount for ‘em?”

“Nothin’ crazy. But money’s money.”

“Take what you can get, I guess,” Lenny shrugged, falling into silence as he continued forward.

“How was your ride?” Arthur asked, finally speaking since meeting you at the ranch, which you had now left. 

“Amazing. It was… needed. Thank you, Arthur.” You beamed brightly.

“Of course. Can’t blame you for wantin’ to do that.” You watched him glance towards Lenny to see if he was paying attention before leaning over, as well as he could, to whisper to you. “And, for the record, I love you too.”

“I guess if we’re saying things for the record,” Lenny didn’t even bother to turn around as he interjected, “then you should know that this one turned bright red once you left. Didn’t think I’d ever see a man like him that flustered, but here we are.”

“Aw,” you cooed, flicking the rim of Arthur’s hat down as he was still leaning close to you. “Did I embarrass you, Arthur?”

“Am I really gettin’ ganged up on by both of y’all?” Arthur sat back upright now, scoffing in disbelief when you and Lenny both nodded. “I see how it is, then. Well, I’ll just leave you two to it…” Arthur sighed, a slight grin peeking up at the corners of his mouth. 

“No,” you dragged the word out, nearly falling out of your saddle as you reached to grab his reins. “I’m sorry,” you laughed. 

“I ain’t,” Lenny countered. 

“Remind me why I keep you around, kid?”

“Well, it ain’t up to you if I stay or go. And I distinctly remember you asking me to go with you on this.”

“And I am startin’ to regret my decision.”

“You can always change your mind. Want me to go get John? Or Sean?”

“I pick you, cause unlike them, you don’t annoy me. Which is slowly startin’ to change.”

You had held on to Arthur’s reins during this entire exchange, you head moving back and forth as they spoke. “What has gotten into both of you?” You couldn’t help laughing in surprise. 

Finally, Lenny looked at you. “Sorry, miss. Just… tired.”

“Promise me you’ll get some sleep when we get back. Both of you,” you made sure to look at Arthur when you said this. “I’ll talk to Dutch, see if I can’t get a break for the two of you. There are sure as hell others who can do this type of work, if only for a day.”

“That ain’t necessary-” you cut Lenny off with a raised brow. “Alright. Thanks, miss.”

“Of course. And don’t think I forgot about what I told you, Arthur.”

“No I didn’t.” He responded unenthusiastically. 

Wonderful. Now,” you finally let go of Arthur’s horse, “let’s go rob these sons of bitches.”

It took about twenty minutes for your group to reach your target, pulling off the trail and into a thicket as the house came into view. Dismounting and then sending the horses away, you stayed crouched behind Arthur as the two men made their way to the house, keeping to the dense underbrush, remaining undetected by the guards you saw. 

Arthur held a hand up, and you came to a halt, and he pulled out binoculars and a pocket watch. Quickly surveying the area, he then handed the binoculars to the other man before checking the time. “Right. Here’s the plan. You see them guards over there?” Arthur pointed to two of the guards that patrolled one of the side entrances to the house. “They rotate out every hour, meanin’ theres about a two minute window where there’s no one. That’s when we move. Inside, from what we can tell, isn’t heavily guarded, but be cautious. There shouldn’t be any homeowners or servants or anything like that either.”

 Arthur now pointed at the house. “Once we’re inside, you can take the top floor. When you’re done, meet where we entered. Lenny will give us twenty minutes, then he’ll create a ruckus, giving us an opportunity to leave. We’ll meet up at Emerald Ranch, then head back.” He took a deep breath. “Make sense?”

“Yeah. How long until the next rotation?”

“It’s 10:53, so about seven minutes. I’ll give you a heads up.”

Nodding, you settled back on to your haunches, adjusting the equipment on your body as you waited. “Are you fine with what you’re doing, Lenny?”

“Yes, miss. Ain’t my first time doing it. Arthur can vouch for me.”

“He'll be fine.”

Content, you sat in silence for the next couple minutes, staring off into space until someone pulling your hand had you refocusing back on reality. Arthur’s face was now covered by his bandana, but his eyes crinkled as he pulled you along, and he motioned for you to affix your own bandana. Securing the fabric, you relinked your hand with his, keeping crouched as the two of you approached the house, being mindful of any branches or twigs that you might step on that would alert the guard.

Just like Arthur had said, when the top of the hour rolled around, the two guards stationed at the side left, turning their backs to you as they moved to their new spots. Glancing both ways, he bolted for the side once he deemed it clear, holding on tight to you. The door, thank goodness, was unlocked, and the two of you slipped inside, seemingly unnoticed.

The first part, and arguably the hardest, was done. Glancing around, you took the large bag that Arthur handed you as you both took in as much as you could. You were standing, wll, crouching in a large walled in  dining area; a large oak table stood in the center adorned with expensive china and silverware; a tall china cabinet stood in the corner, various baubles hiding within the shelves; a large staircase was directly at your right, which you started to make your way towards, stopping when Arthur grabbed your hand. 

“Promise me, that if you get caught, you’ll get the hell out. Run. Don’t look back.” He spoke low to not alert anyone, but it made it no less emphatic. His words were surprisingly familiar; the last time he spoke like that was right before you got kidnapped.

“And my answer is still the same: I can’t promise anything, but for you I will try.” It was all you could say before you went back to trying to climb the staircase, time being a limited resource. You had seen the fear in Arthur’s eyes, and you could feel your own worry for him as well. Things were different now, and there was more on the line this time. But you couldn’t afford any anxieties; you had a job to do.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You had to commend yourself on a job well done, clearing the top floor quickly and efficiently. You bag was almost filled to the top, and you slung it over your shoulder, looking like some evil version of St. Nicholas. The house had no shortage of jewelry, gems, and other valuable items, and you doubted whoever owned them was going to be missing them for long. 

Shuffling slowly down the stairs so as to not make too much noise, and you sat on the bottom step as you waited for Arthur to finish, as you literally had no room to carry anything else. Making sure your bag was securely closed, you peeked through one of the windows that were parallel to the door you had entered. Two new guards stood watch, chatting with each other without a care in the world, not aware that two people were currently robbing the place of all its valuables. 

Arthur only took a few more minutes than you, bag equally as heavy as he plopped down next to you on the stairs. Pulling out the pocket watch, he read the time, before turning towards you to read. 

11:16. 

Sighing, you leaned back, the back of your head thumping against the hardwood flooring. You dared not speak, just in case, but you let your guard down slightly. There was no one in the house, just as Arthur had said. It seemed like this whole adventure was going to go off without a hitch, for once. 

Maybe you were too relaxed, because when you felt Arthur rest his hand on your thigh, you jumped out of your skin. It was hard to tell because of the mask, but you think he whispered an apology. As Arthur rubbed the muscles there, you felt yourself relaxing again, resting your head back and closing your eyes.

You weren’t expecting Arthur to slowly bring his touch further up your thigh, massaging as he went. Peeking at him, you found him already looking at you. He halted his exploration, raising his brow in silent questioning as he tested the waters. When you nodded, he didn’t continue, still giving you plenty of time to change your mind if you wanted. 

“Please,” you doubted he could even hear you, but he seemed to understand, continuing up your thigh at a slow pace. He shifted closer to you, the creak of the wood barely audible over your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Still holding eye contact with you, he continued his ascent, mere inches away from the junction of your thigh and hip. 

Instead of moving inward, however, you felt his touch disappear before reemerging on your other thigh, repeating the same process as he caressed you. You said nothing, only letting out small pleased sighs that were only audible to you. 

Finally reaching the apex of your thigh, his squeezing and massaging turned to featherlight touches, barely felt through the material of your pants. Running his fingers across your hips, he repeated the motion a few times, laughing when he heard you finally let out an audible noise, which was a frustrated huff. Like last time, he was so close to where you wanted him to touch you, but he remained so far. You knew that he wasn’t going to do anything here, in the middle of robbing a home of all things, but a part of you hoped that he would just throw all caution in the wind and take you right there.

As soon as the touches started, they left. Arthur leaned back, looking almost startled in a way, like he’d just been snapped out of a trance of sorts. “Shit… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease-”

Shouting from outside had his head snapping towards it, and you were immediately on your feet, peering outside the window with Arthur behind you. His proximity behind you wasn’t helping you calm down, but you forced it down. There would be time later to get him back for his teasing, but right now it was time to go. 

Lenny, back on his horse, had approached the house, standing far enough away to lead the guards away from the house. The two guards were only a few feet from Lenny now, and roughly twenty feet away from the house, giving you enough clearing to leave. They were engaged in a heated discussion, one of the guards training his gun on Lenny while the other did more of the talking. 

Both of you slung the bags over your shoulders, the metal items clunking as they were jostled around. Grabbing your hand, he led you out the front door, moving slowly to not create any too much noise. The argument with Lenny seemed to have the guards full attention, and loud enough to allow you guys to move faster. 

Before long, you were far enough away to safely whistle for your horse, who came running from a nearby bush. Both of you secured your bags to the horses, riding as far away from the house as you could and toward Emerald Ranch. Pulling the bandana off, the breeze did little to cool you down, the fire consuming you only able to be put out by one thing. The look in Arthur’s eyes as he rode away had you shifting in your saddle, but not because you were uncomfortable. You took off after him, and you took a steadying breath. 

It was going to be a long ride back.

[wings-of-ink]

Hello! I just wanted to say GC is soooo good! I've replayed it several times and every time I play I fall in love with the entire cast, they are all so interesting and adorable (especially Oswin if I could I would make him the biggest cup of hot chocolate and shower him with compliments) 🥹🥹🥹 The writing is also amazing! Your pacing is really good, every scene is always interesting and I never skip over paragraphs (which is a bad habit I tend to do when I'm bored while reading). I have started to get into writing and I was wondering if you have any tips you could share on plotting IF, pacing stories/scenes, making interesting characters, or anything else you want to share!

Hello dear! I am so glad you are liking GC so much! I too am guilty of skimming (mostly on re-reads, but sometimes my ADHD is like, go on - do a flip!). And Oswin would totally be down for some hot chocolate and compliments - ideal date material there.

I get a little teary eyed every time someone mentions that they like the writing. We are our own worst critics, so it just lights up my soul that my writing is enjoyable for you. I will try my best to give you some bits that have helped me, but no one formula works for everyone. The key is to find your formula, try things out and see what jives with your way of doing things.

Apologies, this ended up way longer than I anticipated, but I kept thinking of things that I wanted to include, lol.

What I would recommend for sure is to actually do some self-study on editing and not necessarily just writing. That helped me quite a bit. Originally, I was going to return to college for some sort of certificate or Associates in the editing/writing spectrum. But, I am in a situation that I cannot afford to pay for classes for (another) degree that I end up resenting, lol. So, I studied editing myself to see if I felt it was something I would like and would be capable of. I learned a lot and really enjoyed.

*I highly recommend "Intuitive Editing" by Tiffany Yates Martin, and "Self-Editing for Fiction Writers," Second Edition by Dave King, Renni Browne, Dave King.*

There's a lot out there to choose from though. Also, thriftbooks.com has helped me score very affordable copies when money was tight. I applied a lot of what I learned in those books as best I could, especially when it comes to pacing and cutting out those things that readers tend to skip. A key thing to take away from those books is how to write dialogue. I focus on dialogue a lot and I am always working to make it as good as I am able. And really, you can google this too, there's lots of articles about it.

With pacing, I'm not sure if I can put it as good of words as other books or articles can. You sort of need to just keep in mind of where you're going - push the plot forward always. But also remember that IFs take more space in this realm because of the different paths, especially if you have a romance element. IF readers want variety and they want to impact the story.

You can't get too lost in the details and descriptions all the time. If your setting is temporary - you don't need 6 passages about how the moss on the stones reminds your character of their emotional pathway in life. This is also a stylistic choice - I cannot write this way, but others are totally gifted to do so. For me, I like to let my reader make part of the setting - give them the framework and the important details, and their imagination fills in the blanks (but I will say there's a balance that, one I am still working on, lol). This helps move you along since your key points aren't broken up by paragraph upon paragraph of description.

As for planning & plotting, that part can be hard for me - ADHD, lol. I had no particular method for this, I just understand my limitations (attention and memory to name 2). GC started as a plot point in a note on my phone. It was really just the MC and their situation. From there, I just grew it out and kept thinking about it. I had a notebook that I brainstormed things in, from plot to characters and setting, I just jotted things down. I would recommend that before you start writing you know where you're going. You don't have to have everything plotted out bit by bit. You need your key moments, landmarks to hit on your journey through to where your ultimate destination is (or destinations if you want multiple outcomes).

Don't be reluctant to change things as you go. There are parts of GC that I thought for sure I'd have that ended up changing a lot or removed for the better. Be flexible, but if you have a specific scene in your head - write it - even if you don't know what comes before or after. If you use it that's great, if not - save it for later or for another story.

For characters, I don't know for sure, but I imagine everyone's approach is different. I don't even have a set method for this, some characters sort of spring to mind on their own. Sometimes, you may think of a personality you like or even a tragic backstory, and the character forms from there. I'd recommend keeping it a bit realistic - make them bad at things, give them a few defining characteristics/ticks/quirks, but remember that they can choose to act differently sometimes.

Something helpful to get to know your characters is to do profiles and such for them. There are lots of character templates out there that will ask you questions to help you flesh them out. One of my favorite things to do is to actually take a personality test or two from the point of view of my character - to see how would they answer these questions. The results you read can just help cement them as an actual person, and if you're not sure how they'd respond to something, you can consult these. I like to use https://www.16personalities.com/ just keep in mind that personality is not a set science at all, but reading up on them can really help you bring them to life.

For IFs specifically, I am still new to this. It is similar but different to writing a regular novel with set characters. Flexibility is key, but you have to remember you cannot appease every single reader even if you want to. When I write passages, I try to think of different ways things could go, or how different MCs might want to influence the situation. This can get daunting, so you sort of need to mitigate what is worth writing unique outcomes for (is the energy to do it and the impact worth it?).

Probably the biggest thing I would recommend for IF writing is to makes notes and track your stuff. For GC I have a document just for code and variables. I pre-write the code so I can copy and paste it and then fill in the unique text for whatever variable I'm on. I also keep separate documents that are "living" for each character, an overarching outline for the whole plot, reminders, editing notes - whatever I need. For me, it helps to do separate digital (searchable) documents, it just depends on your style of working.

Most of all, if you love writing, write. Find your voice. Try different things. Just do it. Don't fret about if it's been "done before" because, to an extent, everything really has - but no one has written your version of it. Write what you like, what you know. No one else is you.

Just a personal note from me - I got so caught up in being an "adult" with a college experience and jobs that left me withered like a husk, that I stopped doing what I loved for a long time. I have loved writing since I was a child. I wrote for fun with my best friend. I made stupid funny stories for my high school crew. I even did very bad comics for a while. It was just a downward spiral, and I hardly read or wrote anything for years. So, just keep at it. Even if you don't use what you write, it's good for the soul. Even if no one reads it, just do it for you.

I hope something in there is useful for you. Sorry if it's a lot, you let this dog off the leash and I got into literally everything (sorry I also piddled in the living room again). ^_^

[pedge-page]

I saw gladiator 2 and have some words (spoilers below)

Alright so I primary saw this for Pedro and knew he would have a short ish role right before going in. Leading up to the premiere though, i did kinda expected more given he was credited second as if he was gonna be a lot more pivotal.

I've got gripes with other parts of the movie (like I don't understand why lucius had to be maximus son but whatever) but im going to focus more on Pedro:

First, I saw a lot of people say Lucilla didn't deserve his love and I ....20000% agree.

That being said, I was hoping to see a lot more of him get defensive over her. I wanted Acacius to live at least towards the end, and have him watch HER die. The payout of his revenge and total mayhem against macrinus would have been waaaaay better. I live for drama and plot, ans you can't have a character who preaches how much he loves his wife and puts her first and NOT give us the ultimate extent of that. Having him die first, while yes I see how it furthered the rebellion, just felt very... hollow. Like we were missing a LOT. She's also didn't react very much which really emphasized how much she didn't reciprocate his devotion. Shit would have been a lot better if they fleshed her love for HIM over her rekindled love for lucius.

(Also she was like "I found my son again!" No ma'am he was enslaved and coincidentally brought here. You didn't "find" him. You didnt even search. Like please tell me why her love of him was so important if we don't even see it... movies are SHOW don't TELL!)

There's also clearly so many behind the scenes photos that were part of cut scenes of him. Ans you could tell the movie was cut at strange parts.

For instance, the scene where macrinus visits lucilla in her home was definitely longer. And it was cut so awkwardly. They were mid convo and then it cuts to macrinus talking to someone else about her son. acacius definitely was supposed to be in that scene, which would have furthered a drama between the three. Would they have known he was on to them? And again, macrinus deals the final blow to her. So having a LOT more personal space between all 3, especially if there's implication that acacius always comes to her rescue but WOULDN'T if he were dead, etc.... there could have been so much more to further that interpersonal conflict.

I also swear there was a deleted scene of young lucilla and acacius. There's photos of pedge in different armor we never see, his hair/beard is all dark and youthful (no streaks of white) and it's the same time lucilla sends lucius away. Like what happened? Is that how they meet? Did acacius see a young lucius already? God i wanted so much more out of them. Soooo much of the secondary plot was around them and they cut almost all of it to build their relationship just to get to the plot.

Also fuck lucilla "go risk everything to save my son who definitely hates me while I never really tried to find him" and acacius is like "Yes I will risk our entire plan in the works for years to to get his ass on a whim. I dont even know what he looks like"

And back to his death: i think it would have been so much better if he didn't die (or at least, survived the arena). I know the praetorian guard wasn't loyal to him but it would have been VERY interesting to see them NOT open fire on him. And then the emperor's are livid at the sheer lack of loyalty in their own ranks, which would then make lucius AND acacius need to fight together to get everyone in.

And then of course acacius watches lucilla get killed which yes, there would have been such better payout for that to see him lose the one thing hes devoted himself to. Her attachment with acacius was a lot stronger that lucius so macrinus being hunted by acacius wouod have been a lot more satisfying death than lucius dealing the final blow. It also would have served a much better alignment of lucius no longer hating acacius for everything about Rome, and fleshing out their common goal now is to avenge her.

Lucius was like "I never saw the man" but really that change in his attitude was after 3 sentences from acacius??? No. You gotta built that out. Lucius can't just change his mind simply because "i love your mother" when at this point lucius still resents her!

(Also felt like the budget ran out towards the end. Two giant armies facing up but all we see is a young guy beat up a old guy in a creek. I get the "big battle" was the first scene but shit.... it was a way better scene. You can't de-climax the final scene when you spent all your money in the first 10 minutes. )

Again, even in the actual movie, her death was sooo.... short. She got shot in the chest, and was able to speak perfectly clearly for her final words, and then I swear we don't even wait to see her DIE before lucius is just running off. Like what? You can't frame her to be so pivotal in these relationships to the plot and just brush her death off.

Anyway.

I left and was like "when are we getting a pedro movie where he's fleshed out and wins and gets the girl" and let me tell you the last time we got a fulfilling pedge role was tlou s1 and the next time.... all my chips are riding on fantastic 4. Because the next piece of pedro is fucking TLOu2 which doesn't inspire any confidence at all. And then the Materialist where he's once again gonna be a devote excellent husband and the girl chooses the loser waiter. Like fuck. Give my man a win??

Idk if he's gonna live past mandalorian movie but I discredit it a LOT because I really want to see Pedro's face and acting in the flesh. I dont want him to just be a voice role. His physical PRESENCE brings all his work to such a different elevation. Its just disappointing to only use his voice.

I wanted to go home and watch a happy pedro movie but it's Sucks that he's not been able to utilize his talent for the first 40 years of his life, so we only have such short span of movies and shows he's in. And he fucking LOSES IN SO MANY. Like ok fink the fox is it??? Really??? (And javi but I've seen tuwomt so much now. It's the only thing he's not dying in)

My final thoughts are.... i wanted more pedro. Yes because I'm a slut for him but also because it genuinely felt like the movie needed more of him. They used pretty much all his scenes in the trailers and promotion, leaving nothing new for us in the actual movie. He was the most interesting character. He brought the most stakes. His strain between lucilla and her son was the ultimate climax for me in this movie and it just....fizzled. I expected lucius and acacius to have a lot more going on between them to get more emotions out of both characters. Like cmon. Acaius literally ordered his wife's death in front of him. That's some heavy duty conjecture. Make it fucking personal, ridley!!!

But then lucius was like "ah I guess he was aight. Seemed pretty important dude to everyone else"

Anyway. Yes. That's my spin. Disappoint.

[stafyliaa]

"Miles it's me!"

Prowler!Miles x Spiderhero!Reader (gender neutral)

cw: angst,Jeff being funny,mentions of Jeff death (sorry it's earth 42 😭),tears,no comfort (maybe there will be on part two) "betrayal" and a big misunderstanding

Hii! This is my first time writing hehehe give me a chance and please be nice :D im gonna do a ending to this fic but it's gonna take a while

I'm more than happy to write requests so don't be shy!!

You are Miles lover..but you are also the friendly neighborhood Spider hero! While Miles is the Prowler! And the worst..you both didn't know that

But you never thought Prowler was a bad guy,he actually helped people too but- he kinda hates you for some reason

maybe he was jealous of the amount of popularity you have and how you are incredible strong and how your suit was soooo pretty so yeah,who cares about Prowler anyways? He's a douchebag

As for Miles..He is the best!!

He looks like he is trying to poop everytime with that "scary" face of him but he is really sweet and respectful boy

he respects your space and supports your decisions,he is great with gifts (handmade or purchased) and never fails to make you feel especial regardless of anything ♡

You were great friends with his family too! They love you! But, something happened

His dad was captain Morales,he passed away doing his job..being a hero without spider powers or something like that yeah good guy

You remembered that when he was alive he didn't liked the ideia of a masked hero around (another jealous man),but after some events you kinda "worked together" to protect the peace at the city

The Spiderhero and captain Morales protecting our dear Brooklyn! couldn't get better

he enjoyed talking about his son and you can't deny it was fun to see what Miles was like from his father's point of view

"My boy has a beautiful significant other,i consider them as my own child! You know? Don't tell anybody but i kinda get jealous on how much of attention my wife put on them cause like,does she like them more then me?!! That's unacceptable hmfp"

Yeah and things like that was really fun too

But that day you couldn't saved him

You tried.. But unfortunately it didn't worked

Miles was devastated..you felt so guilty every day for not being able to save his dad but you always comforted him whenever he need it and he is very grateful for that

If you thought you were nobody under your hero mask you are sorely mistaken! You are everything to Miles,you are his hero

it's been sometime since that happened and everything seems to be okay

Until now

It was a random night you were patrolling the city when you ended up realizing that you were close to where Miles lived

It wouldn't hurt anyone to take a look would it?

But the last thing you expected to see was this

And this i mean

Prowler on the rooftop at Miles building

[•••]

What if he is planning to hurt Miles? You couldn't let that happen, could you?

You were ready to attack him sneakily but his mask came off

Curious to know who your unbearably annoying enemy is you decided to wait a while

Then..you saw him!Miles Morales was the Prowler,and he wasn't alone..Aaron was with him

You were surprised! Who wouldn't tbh

You decided to stay a little longer to see what he is going to do:

- Miles..we will finally catch that spider,i can feel it.- said Aaron

- Yeah,i can't wait for that Tio (uncle) Aaron

You noticed that Aaron seemed to be hesitant to tell Miles something,then he said:

- Look Miles,they.. could be anyone -you thought to yourself "does he know I'm the spider hero!?-

- What are you trying to say?

- I'm trying to say that - he hesitates one more time - don't forget why we are doing all this ok? Mi hermano (my brother) ..Your dad, está muerto (is dead) because that "hero" couldn't save him,they saved everyone but couldn't bother to save him and - Before Aaron could say more Miles interrupt him

- I know tio,don't worry - his mask returns to his face - esta noche(tonight)..I'm gonna kill that spider

You know what he said

You know what he is planning to do

Miles..the boy you love

Is going to kill you

[•••]

You are on the edge of the building

The only thing keeping you from falling is Prowler

He got his claws ready to kill you

Your heart is beating fast

"I don't want to die! I can't die yet! I don't want to get killed by him! Miles please!"you thought:

- Who are you?

- I... - he moves his claws closer to your face

With his claws he slowly takes off your mask

When he took the mask off you ,tears rolled down from your eyes

That look of fear and your watery eyes

Made Miles heart break

"This wasn't supposed to happen"

Miles thought

"Why is this happening?":

- Miles.. - you said whispering looking at him

Miles is feeling a lot of emotions

He is scared

He is angry

He is confused

And he is sad

Miles face is revealed

You see a tear fall down from his eye:

- Amor.. - you can hear by his voice that he is hurt

He don't want to do this,he can't do this!

But still

Miles doesn't let go of you:

- Miles..look i know why you are doing this! And i swear my love i really tried to save him!

"My love" he loves when you call him that,you always call him with so full of love on your voice that always make he feels warm

But is he feeling warm now that you are calling him? With so much despair trying to prove your point?

He close his eyes for a second and looked away as if he was trying to ignore you:

- Please! The fact that i couldn't save him still hunts me..Look at me Miles

He looked at you

More tears fall down from your eyes:

- The hardest thing about this job is that you can't save everybody..It took me a while to accept this but it's the truth

It took a while to accept this? That made Miles wonders if you even asked to be a hero at all

He loosens his grip a little

You wanted to tell him everything

How much it hurts you to be a hero

But you keep it to yourself:

- I know it hurts Miles,i know you want to kill me but please..Those people - you you looked around - they need me..let me do for them what i couldn't do for you

He moves his claws close to your face

You look deep into his eyes and said:

-Please..if you find a little sympathy in your heart.. forgive me for everything- you said honestly - I love you Miles

you shut your eyes and...

[•••]

Please be patient cause this fanfic will have a ending!! Thank you for reading ♡

[superineffable]

let me yap for a bit. i'm tired but have thoughts so i'm gonna let it out here.

i've been a member of dropout for only 5 months so far (been a fan longer but decided to buy a membership as a birthday gift to myself 💙 best gift ever) and i knew i wanted to get into d20 because i keep seeing out of context clips for it and i find them so funny even though i've never had any interest in dnd or any ttrpg content. so i started watching fantasy high because it was the first released season for d20 and because junior year was being posted/teased at the time. my thoughts were that by the time i finish the two seasons of fantasy high i could get to junior high in time for the finale. unfortunately, i did not expect to have my attention span challenged 💀

i loveee the characters (gorgug is so beloved to me) and i love the stories and the quests but sometimes the lore takes a serious turn for way too long than i can pay attention for and i zone out, so i'll be honest, there are parts of the story that i only piece together by context clues. but i enjoyed s1! and i'm still at s2. it's a bit harder to get through because there aren't any of the props or editing they had back then and it's a full livestream so i'm taking longer than i expected to get through the episodes. but i'm liking the story (though there are still some moments where i don't pay attention haha)

anyway! that really ruined my plan to watch junior high around the same time everyone else was watching it. prior to realizing junior year was ongoing, my plan was to watch the d20 shows in order of release, but, evidently, that isn't possible! i cannot pay attention despite wanting to 😭

i decided i'll finish fantasy high on my own time, put all the other d20 shows on hold because i cannot handle them together (i promise you, i don't think i fully understand the mechanics of the game yet). then watch one of the following once im done with junior year: dungeons and drag queen (cause i saw that clip of twyla and her thinking she's invisible), mentopolis (first d20 ep i watched when it was one free ep + i liked that clip of alex's character selling newspaper to a pretty aggressive man), starstruck odyssey (cause it sounds so cool), or a crown of candy (probably my first choice of the list, genuinely what i think would be my favorite based from clips i've seen of d20)

so tell me why d20 decided to do an action based story during a time in my life when i'm binging through action movies for no reason other than i felt like watching actions movies?! i had gone through the realization i didn't enjoy action movies as much if there's no comedy in it, so they really made sure to make an action comedy themed d20 show for me to enjoy (though i know brennan made it for izzy which makes this 100000x better). when i saw the trailer i kinda lost my mind, which was so weird because i genuinely haven't kept up with d20 shows except when i figured out which one was best to watch. then i made the decision to watch the first ep when it came out and i laughed so much 😭 it was the first d20 ep where i was genuinely devastated i finished an episode because it hit me that there isn't a next one until the next week. and then i was again devastated because it was only going to run for a couple of episodes 😭😭

but i am soooo obsessed with nsbu! paula is my everything and izzy plays her so wonderfully i am laughing as much as all the players when i'm listening to the show which is not good since i listen at work 😃 there's still very tiny moments where i get lost but i get swept up in the action again and it's soooo fcking cool and funny and i love all the characters so much oh my god im so happy there's another episode soon sjfhwknskks this really ruined my plans to watch everything in order, but i cannot hate it. i love this show so much.

i'm still watching sophomore year in between! almost donee !!! because i'm watching ally playing on nsbu & sophomore year at the same time, i really get the comments that are amused about the irony of ally being the one to keep the table on track. (actually wanted to watch d20 shows in order of release because i liked seeing someone's growth in learning a skill and wanted to see ally slowly get better at playing, but this is real good too.)

ok this went on too long i am Exhausted now. i really just wanted to say how much i love nsbu and that it's given me a whole new appreciation for d20 & other ttrpg (even though i think they mentioned they've done something different mechanics-wise)! if there's anyone who also wants to enjoy this veryyy long shows but get lost in the deep lore or the serious moments sometimes pls give nsbu a try because this is one of the most fun things i've watched in a while 💛

edit: also very cute i'm watching d20 live and they keep saying "when you're here, you're family" and i keep hearing nsbu saying "la familia" in my head

[iwriteloveletters]

Bring Me to Life (Yan!Eren Yeager x Reader)

Hello it's Cherub! It took me a bit to write this chapter but thats bc I am lazy but i am soooo hoping I can write more frequently. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this if this fic happened to be your cup of tea, sorry if things are moving slow but i pinky promise its gonna pick up!

Warnings - Death being briefly mentioned

Spoilers - NOT A SPOILER FREE FIC

Description - Eren finally realizes he's reliving the exact day he loses everything and develops the desire to wipe out all of the titans, but what happens when his focus shifts to you? You now become his purpose and reason to fight.

Tag(s)- @dreamsarenicer

Words - 5K

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

“Can you see the future?” He asked, tilting his head to the side in hopes it would make him look like he was asking an innocent and silly little question all kids must ask at some point. 

It wasn’t. To Grisha, it felt like Eren knew something he didn’t and wanted to torment him even further than he has already, this was another stab in the heart from his future self.

All the man could do was force a chuckle followed up with “why do you ask such a silly question?” He was beyond nervous, while no one would believe Eren, it was terrifying enough that he knew something, even if it was the tiniest detail. It was more than enough for Grisha. His young son was practically tormenting him with such a question. 

Eren looks up at him with empty green eyes, thinking of how he’s going to word this next. He knows what his father is seeing, he was there while it happened the first time. 

“I know,” Eren started off, “I know what I am doing, I know what I’ve done.” His words were no longer spoken like a little boy’s, neither a man's, but someone who has guilt transcending lifetimes hovering over him at all times, worrying Grisha even more. What has he done? 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You do, and I need to tell someone about this otherwise I won’t know how to go on. Again.” 

“Again?”

Eren nods slowly, placing his hand out. 

“You’re going to go on your trip and you’re going to give me the key.”

Grisha’s eyes widened, the Eren he spoke with was an Eren that knew a lot more than he anticipated. He was practically being commanded by his own son. 

Eren still kept those empty green eyes locked on Grisha’s own eyes, reading him as best as he could. He may not have been intelligent compared to Armin or naturally strong like Mikasa, but he was able to read facial expressions, he was observant.

“Why? Why do you need the key and what are you trying to tell me.” Grisha hesitated, he knew what Eren was capable of even at this age, he didn’t want to question him of all people. But he needed to know, what was it he needed?

“I need everything to happen the way it’s supposed to. I need the future I was a part of to happen again, you’re unable to understand that because you grew comfortable too fast. Did you really think your past wouldn’t catch up to you?” His pupils began to dilate, memories of Carla’s death alongside yours flooded his brain, causing adrenaline to flow through him. He felt it all happen again. He didn’t want to keep answering Grisha’s pointless questions, he wanted the key, he needed him to leave, and he needed someone to know that he was here. 

Grisha was truly haunted in this moment, not by his past but by his son – or the ghost of him that is. Was this him failing as a father at this moment? 

His hands shook as he reached for his own throat, grabbing the wire that wrapped around it. After a second of hesitating and overthinking what he was doing he finally did it. He gave up his basement key and gave it to his son. 

“Now go.” He commanded, “go do what you have to do.” 

This was someone who truly knew what Grisha’s final purpose was. And that was to carry out Eren’s goal, always as planned.

Eren laid his head to rest, hearing the muffled voices of his mother and father, he thought of how much he was gonna miss them and the quiet moments like these. He truly didn’t want to see them goal but he’s so certain that his end goal is to save you, and he was more than happy to put you above himself. 

He heard the door close and now everything has been set into motion. All he had to do was be patient. This made him feel a sense of dread, eventually his life will end abruptly and another will begin. His poor, poor mother. He actually felt sick to his stomach now, but he didn’t want to see his mother for comfort. He didn’t want to get too attached to her; there was no way in Hell he’d be able to save her. Things happen for a reason, him coming back a second time for example.

 He was there for a reason, but not to save her. 

He decided to shut his eyes so tomorrow can come faster, then he’d get to see you again. This makes it all worthwhile, seeing your genuine smile and ignorance of how cruel the world truly was worth it for him. 

Then as he was dozing off into a deep sleep after an exhausting life he heard the door open, they were quiet footsteps but not light enough for him not to hear, it was his mothers. 

“I know you’re asleep but I love you.” She whispered, “and tomorrow I’ll make you a wonderful breakfast since you didn’t eat dinner.” She placed a small kiss on his forehead. 

His heart dropped, his skin felt cold, the feelings from earlier were returning but he tried so hard to keep still. Enough for him to not catch her attention. 

He waited till she left the room before he bursted out into sobs, he didn’t want to do this but it was the only way. He had no choice, was there any choice? Of course he was a normal child and not a titan shifter so he couldn’t really weigh out his choices. 

“Mom… I’m so sorry mom…” He whispered to himself between sobs. He was horrible for these actions. 

But you were an end goal he was going to achieve. It had to have been done. 

He truly felt like he was the Devil, turning his own mother into a martyr? What an awful action. 

But after years of little to no sleep in uncomfortable places he finally slept, with tears still coming out of his eyes and his breath shakier than normal. He slept comfortably. 

Everything felt warm like he was supposed to be there and when he opened up his eyes, he wasn’t in his bed. He was somewhere completely different, he was in a forest, with his back against a gigantic tree, everything felt confusing. The sunlight was shining above him and there he saw you standing in the middle of a field of your favorite flowers. This was a dream of course but it felt too much to be a dream. 

He got up and practically ran towards you, you were older. This is how you looked when you died, this was the last version of you he saw. You were in your black uniform, you looked at peace, simply staring at the sky. Eren aged as well, he was also the last version of himself. 

You turned to him, “Eren…” you sighed and gave him such a warm smile.

“(Y/N)...” was all Eren said in return, he’s always happy to see you again.

“You have to let me die, Eren.” 

He felt disgusted with your choice of words, how could you say that? How could he think of you saying these things? 

“You can’t keep clinging on like this, this will only make you worse.” 

Before he could fight against you and your sickening words, he woke up. He was shaking and sweating, how dare you say that? 

He had to find you and make sure you were okay. He will never ever let you go again,

He rushed out of the bed and quickly his own house, only shouting goodbyes to his mother while she got the table ready for the day. He will simply eat whatever is at your house or he will have lunch. Breakfast wasn’t on his mind right now, you you you you only you. That was all that was going through his head. 

He needed to find you again, he was desperate. Due to it being early you were at home, finding you was the easiest thing he could ever do. You didn’t live too far from his house, four or five houses down and there yours stood. 

He frantically knocked on your door till someone answered, it was your mother. 

“Yes?” She looked down at him, confused as to why one of your friends was looking for you so early in the day. The sun was only out for about three or four hours now, she felt like he didn’t need to be so frantic over you at this hour and the simple fact that he sees you at every given moment. It was like Eren never knew what space was, a very obvious crush on his end but she never pushed you for any details about it. You were both young anyway.

“Is (Y/N) awake Mrs. (L/N)?” He asked, practically shouting it. 

She flinched at his volume, “No need to be so loud kid… Yes (Y/N) is up.” Your mom was a lot more different than his. She was a lot more casual with strangers compared to his mom who was more polite and soft spoken. 

“Can (Y/N) come down to play with me?” He tried his best to force a smile despite all the stress he’s been under since yesterday. 

“Sure,” She said as she turned around, “(Y/N)! Your friend is here to see you!” She screamed into her quiet home. 

Footsteps began to boom down the hall, there you were excited to see him. Maybe you had a crush on him too. Again not her business and she didn’t care for the most part. 

“Eren!” You ran to him, “what brought you here so early?!” Your smile meant everything to him. How he wanted to keep you smiling like this for the rest of his days, he would devote himself to keeping you happy like this. 

“Just wanted to see you, that's all!” He cheered, “c’mon let’s go I don’t wanna waste time.” He added, he truly didn’t know how much time you two had left. Anything was possible in this timeline, and he didn’t appreciate that. 

He gestured to you to follow him and you did just that. You followed him to his favorite tree so you two can sit and enjoy the early morning sun. He wishes you could follow him everywhere, he’d take you all over the world if it meant you’d follow him.

“You seem to be doing better than yesterday.” You congratulated him, you were worried and even a bit scared by his behavior yesterday. That was unlike him and you thought maybe he had a secret second personality or had hit his head and got a concussion, but he appeared to be in better shape thankfully. 

“Yeah, I always have been, you know?” He said.

You chuckled at his response, “absolutely not, you were going crazy yesterday! No one had seen you like that.”

Well yeah, he did die, watch you die, watch almost everyone in his life die, just for him to come back into a world where none of that happened. It was strange, scary, and stressful all at once. He would think to himself. He was definitely going crazy. 

“Was not.” He grumbled, still trying to convince himself and everyone else that he was fine. He wanted to be his old self more than anything. He was so angry and so ignorant, now he’s simply angry. 

“You were definitely crazy, haha.” You reminded him once again. 

Eren chooses not to respond and only watches you play with the grass below you, you twist it into little knots and throw it back on the ground. 

More silence passes and Eren still watches you, you’re so focused with your own thoughts and your grass. But you know, you know he’s watching you. It makes you truly wonder what had happened to him. One day he’s loud and almost annoying in an endearing way; now he’s silent and only watches the world around him. You can tell there’s something wrong but he won’t say anything. 

“I have to tell you something.” He finally speaks. 

You were dying for this moment. 

“Yeah, what do you wanna tell me?” You begin to nervously play with the grass, maybe you can finally find out what it is that’s been bothering him for the past day. 

Eren sighs, preparing to break horrible news to you. Hoping you’d believe him.

“The world is going to go to shit soon and I really want you to be prepared.” He said. He didn’t mean being prepared by having food and water but being prepared emotionally. You were about to lose everything you knew. 

You burst out laughing nervously, “what?! What are you talking about?!” You yell, he’s starting to worry you even more now. Your friend of a year or so suddenly acts strange on a random day and proceeds to tell you things are going to end soon. You were scared and wanted to believe he was wrong. 

“It’s not funny!” He screamed, “I’m trying to prepare you and you’re not listening!” Moments such as these were the only times you saw the Eren you always saw and not the one who has just been watching the world carefully as if something was going to happen at any given moment. You didn’t enjoy the sudden change in him, but you were willing to accept it. 

“You need to relax.” You inhale after laughing so hard, you simpy didn’t know how to react and you felt a bit guilty for laughing at something he seemed to believe so hard in. 

“No, I can't relax, (Y/N).” He grumbled, he was unhappy with your reaction but he knows that you won’t understand it well nor understand him. 

“Yes you can, let’s just go find the others and maybe not talk about the world ending, we’ve been at peace for hundreds of years, we’re fine. You’re fine.”

He wishes you were right. He wanted to be fine more than anything, he wished for safety and comfort, he wished he could just have a normal life with you. The one he promised the both of you all those years ago. 

“No, you have to listen to me. Everything is gonna take a turn for the worse. You NEED to listen to me.” 

“Eren, you’re scaring me.” You said as you were getting up. 

He wanted to pull you back to the ground so much, but he didn’t. He didn’t get up to follow you, he didn’t want to scare you even more. He just wishes you’d listen to his warnings. 

As you were walking away you slightly resembled the version of you he saw in his dream, just younger of course. Would ten year old you wish to die as well? Would you ask him personally to let you die? The further you walked away the more dread he felt, as though you were going to die right this second.

All these possibilities and none of it made him feel better. 

He finally gets up to chase after you, “Wait!” 

You turn around, preparing yourself to hear more insanity. 

“Just… Just stay safe. Be careful.” He huffed, trying to catch his breath. 

“Okay, I’ll be safe, Eren. I suggest you do too, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt, trust me, I’m more worried than anything.” 

You walked away from him finally, you felt guilty for not hearing him out but why would you? You didn’t want to think about losing your family as well as the only world you knew, especially not to titans or a plague. Whatever the cause of the world ending was, it was something you didn’t want to hear about or prepare for. All you can do is hope he gets the help he needs currently, something is clearly eating him up. 

There was, but you didn’t know that yet. Eren didn’t want you to know that either. At this point you would be better off not knowing and simply finding out for yourself, not to prove that he was right but because he wanted you to experience it first hand again. He wanted you to see how cruel and unjust the world was to people like you. All at the expense you lose your whole world of course, but everyone lost something close to them that day right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have been as passionate as you once were. 

These things happen for a reason, he thought to himself. 

He wanted you to be the same (Y/N) he watched grow into a marvelous person, the one he fell in love with at sixteen. There were some things he wasn’t going to interfere with, the loss of your family and his own mother was one of these things. He simply wanted you to survive, and he will interfere with your life because he knows it's what’s good for you.

He was willing to throw down whoever to achieve his goals, he has and will do it again. Even earlier in his life. He truly believes you’d appreciate all the work he’s going to put into keeping you on this Earth. Even if his subconscious is telling you otherwise. 

After some thinking about how he was going to do this in the next upcoming years he decided to walk home, he was starving. He hasn’t eaten good food in a long long time. While the food was poor quality given the living situation for everyone in Shiganshina, it was a home cooked meal made by his mother and he loved it. He will surely savor these last few moments with his mother. 

In a matter of time he made it home, seeing smoke rise from the home's chimney. She either was still preparing breakfast or just finished making it. He’s certain there’s still some of what she made for breakfast ready for him. 

He opened the door to Carla and Mikasa sitting at the table, it was oatmeal with bread on the side; it must have been bought the night before or Carla wanted to get rid of it before it molded and became a waste of money. 

“Where have you been?!” She scolded him before he could even greet her, “all because it’s just me at home doesn’t mean you can just leave like that. Anything could have happened to you.” 

“I went to see (Y/N)...” He pouted, he hopes that he believes her. He had no reason to lie, but he knows sometimes people may think the worst of things when they’re worried. 

She glares at him, as much as she didn’t like being mad at her one and only son, him being hard headed and insisting he does his own thing without consulting her didn’t help her one bit. She wasn’t furious with him but she wanted him to know that he couldn't do whatever he wanted. That's how you raise terrible people after all, if you don’t show them that they had to abide by basic rules they could become terrible people. Her son wasn’t meant to be a terrible man. 

“You cannot run out of the house without telling me at least, you’re only a boy. Anything could happen to you.” She sighed while placing a hand on his head. She truly can’t stay mad at her boy. 

“Even if it’s to see (Y/N)?” He asked. 

“Yes, even to see (Y/N). You have to ask next time. Besides, what made you wanna leave so urgently?” 

“Had a nightmare that something happened to them.” He frowned, seeing you at nineteen years old asking you to be left as dead was a tragedy and he had to make sure that you were okay, that’s how he saw it at least.

“What was the dream about?” Mikasa asked from the table, still enjoying her oatmeal. 

“They died.” Another thing that wasn’t far from the truth.

“Oh.” Her jaw slightly dropped, she didn’t ask for any details beyond that. Death was a sensitive topic for her and wouldn’t want to think about a close friend of hers dying. She can’t handle another loss. 

“Yeah, anyways is there any breakfast left for me?” Eren said, it was a perfect chance to change the subject. He walked into the kitchen which was also the dining room. 

“Yes of course, and you have to apologize to me Eren. I don’t want you scaring me like that ever again.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked at his mothers soft expression, she truly was worried about her baby. He looked down afterwards because the tears were threatening to spill out again.

 No matter how much he pissed her off she wore that soft expression amazingly. She was truly a gentle woman, loud but gentle. He will make sure to appreciate this face more than he did last time. He will never allow himself to forget it.

She walked over to him and gave him a hug, “but you’re not getting off that easily, you’ll be doing garden work today while me and Mikasa read for a few hours, we found a book we thought we’d enjoy together.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “what?!” He truly thought his reasoning was kind and noble enough to escape any form of punishment. That soft face tricked him once again like it used to. 

“Oh it won’t be so bad, now eat up so you don’t pass out, your father is in another district currently so we have no way to reach a reliable doctor if that does happen.”

“Yes mom…” He grumbled. 

One thing he didn’t miss was his mothers scolding and punishments. He hated the consequences of his actions, a lot like all children his age. 

As he stepped outside he enjoyed the silence one last time, this would probably be one of the last days of his life where he will find peace. It felt bitter, it felt angry, he wanted to rip the flowers out of his mothers beloved garden and scream! He was almost ashamed of himself, but he had to keep moving forward. He had to for you. No amount of shame or sorrow he felt for anything he’s done will stop him from preventing your death. 

He sat in the grass, he had some time to kill before he had to go to work, he wanted to enjoy this. He wanted to breathe in the fresh air, the air smelled like pollen. It was summer. He was as free as possible in those moments. If he had to die again he could only wish he could come back to this day for the rest of eternity. Maybe next time instead of crying like a crazy person he would try to hold your hand instead. 

He looked up at the sky and something didn’t feel right, all the birds were headed in the same direction, but everyone knows that birds don’t do that till the end of fall. 

“Shit. Was today really the day? It can’t be.” He began to tremble, maybe it was a storm on the way but he knew the truth. 

He heard a loud boom. Stones were raining from the sky, today was the day. The start of it all. 

“No no no no.” He ran back into his house, Carla and Mikasa were frozen in their tracks. They heard it too, everyone heard it. 

“We have to go!” Eren grabbed Mikasa.

“Eren what is going on?” Carla screamed to him, they could barely hear each other over the screams and crashed outside. 

Eren wrapped the scarf around Mikasa’s neck and grabbed her hand, he can’t do this. He didn’t want to do this. 

“Titans are breaching the walls mom.”

“What?!” 

He pulled Mikasa, he just wanted to get the hard part over with. He needed her to die, it was the only way. 

“We all have to get out of here.” He said as he opened the door. 

One titan, two titans, then three, they’re starting to grow in numbers. He needed to escape as fast as possible.

“Where are we gonna go?” Mikasa said while following Eren outside. 

Carla was falling behind, her legs were going weak from fear. It wasn’t flight or fight at this point, her body just wanted to give up and die. 

“Mom, you have to hurry!” Eren shouted, even though she had to die he still wanted to do everything in his power to fight for her. A part of him wanted Carla to live, would his plan work out? Would he still join the Survey Corps? He didn’t wanna stray away from saving your life so he will have to sacrifice others life to achieve it. 

“I’m trying to catch up, just keep running.” 

Was this simply fate forcing her to die? Was she never gonna make it no matter the universe? Though Eren needed her to die here, he still wishes that she lives in every other universe, she has to! 

More debris came falling from the sky, a stone falling on top of the house he grew up in. Carla was barely getting out the door. Eren and Mikasa are only a couple feet ahead of her, the distance made such a drastic difference, that could have been them and Eren’s attempt at a second life would have all been for nothing. He never considered how close he was to dying besides that one time where he was swallowed whole by a titan. 

“Mom!” He screamed. He truly was reliving the same sense of horror and grief the way he originally did in his first life.  It felt terrible, it felt ugly, he felt ugly. He was the monster who somehow caused this to happen yet he was so unaware before. Was he innocent then or does that make him as evil as it did now? 

“Eren! Mikasa! Get out of here!” She screamed, the pain she was feeling was unimaginable. Luckily due to the rush of adrenaline she didn’t feel as much as she should be feeling. That gave Eren peace of mind. 

He even had a rush himself, but it was too much for his body; it caused him to freeze in place. He wanted to fight for her more than anything, but he had to weigh his chances for once. This was a fight he could not win, a fight he was never destined to win because a version of him was pulling down that scale to the depths of Hell. 

“We can’t leave your mother.” Mikasa said, rushing over to whatever was left of his childhood home. The only home he’d ever known. 

“Wait!” Eren chased after her. 

They began to attempt to remove the rubble off of her body but with the roof weighing her down it was near impossible to get her out. 

Hannes ran up behind them, “what the hell are you two doing?!” He said as he quickly realizes their attempts are not being wasted on a dead woman but rather one that was alive. He was heartbroken to see it was Carla who got caught in the midst of this. 

“You have to take them Hannes, please!” Carla shouted. 

“No. You’re not taking us!” Eren said, he wasn’t going to give up. It’d eat him alive otherwise

The smiling titan nears his home, Hannes try to step up to it and fails, deciding to snatch up Eren and Mikasa and run away. 

He could bite, kick, and scream all he wanted but deep inside he already knew. But this only fueled his urge to have a grief fueled tantrum even more. Knowing but feeling like a powerless pig at the slaughterhouse angered him more than anything. Regardless of all of this, this only made him certain that his destiny now was to protect you. 

He saw the way that titan carelessly ate his mother and imagined the way she hurt in her final moments. 

It made him wonder, were you scared moments before your face was blown into pieces? What did you think of? Did you think of him? Most importantly, were you in any pain? 

He eventually made it to the last escape boat and caught sight of you and Armin, you look so scared. This invoked an emotion he’s never felt before in either lifetime. 

“Y/N!” He screamed and frantically waved his hands, you looked up at him like he was your savior. You actually felt happy to see Eren despite how weird he’s been acting these past few days. 

“Eren!” You shouted in return. 

He finally dashed up to where you and Armin were, it seemed that the only remaining adult in any of the children's lives was Armin's grandfather. You lost everyone you knew, you felt so alone in the world but seeing your friends; you felt somewhat safe despite the bloodshed you witnessed. 

“How are you feeling?” Eren pulled you to the side, where the others couldn’t hear you. 

“Scared and sick.” Was all that could leave your mouth, you didn’t know what else there was to say, your family got trampled by titans and you were the only survivor of your family. You had no clue how to go on in life, especially this young and helpless. 

Eren was determined to be your savior however, he wanted to save you from this dark place. He was gonna make sure you were never gonna be afraid of the world ever again.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna kill them all.” He hugged you, you surely needed one. After all, now all you had was Eren right? 

As long as you had him you would never be put in harm's way ever again, this was the promise he will carry out for you. Even if it meant putting the entire world down once again. 

He knew what he was going to do from here on out. He was going to wipe out all the titans and humanity. Because he knew who truly killed your family and everyone else's.

He was going to be your hero.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝