#he dreams of losing the one thing that keeps him tethered that makes him GOOD

[marcusluvshelly]

What are these tags even... I'm crying

KinnPorsche Week 2022

Day 3: Favorite couple - KINN X PORSCHE

[missmaywemeetagain]

Paisley Dreams (Part 2) 🏵💛🔥

Pretty sure there's only a small handful of you still reading my nonsense, but to those who are, thank you for your patience. Also, special thanks to those who kept me going after various blocks and meltdowns over finishing this (among other things). Would've thrown in the towel completely if it weren't for y'all. You know who you are and I love you. 💗💗💗 Anyway, sorry, this is probably a bit of a mess, but so am I... 😬

If you need a refresher, here's Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵

TW: SEXXX, a little macho-possessive!elvis, the usual era appropriate female frustrations.

August 1970

If Pepper didn’t know any better, she would think she dreamt up the surreal encounter with Elvis that happened a few days ago. The only thing tethering the experience to reality is the yellow shirt he left her with, the one she’s a bit ashamed to say she’s been wearing to bed the past three nights, just so she can languish in his scent a little longer.

Of course, she hasn’t heard from him. It would be absurd if she had, or at least she keeps reminding herself of that when she finds herself spacing out during the slow moments at the diner or when taking off her stage makeup after the show. Elvis Presley is a busy man, and it’s likely he hadn’t given her a single thought since he left her pining and wanting in her drab little apartment.

Sure, he’d been good in the moment in making her feel special, and she can’t help thinking about all the little vulnerable snippets of him he showed her, all the strange things they seem to have in common…

Stop it. This is stupid. I’m never gonna see the man again.

It’s been a mantra in her head for days now, but unfortunately her touch-starved body hasn’t gotten the memo. If she had any sense, she’d drop her delusional fantasies and move on with her monotonous life.

“Hey, Pepper! Some guy is here to see you. Says it’s urgent,” Paul, the show’s stage manager, tells her briskly as she put the final touches on her face.

With no clue who it might be, a tightening in her belly warns it could be another overzealous “fan” like the one who caught her out the other night. But Paul is skilled at getting rid of the creeps, so it leaves her wondering as she makes her way backstage to the green room.

“Oh, thank God,” the short man sighs with palpable relief when she walks through the doorway. He looks incredibly familiar.

“Who…wait. Charlie?” she gasps in surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

The man looks so glad to see her it takes her aback. “You are a hard woman to track down. Aren’t you ever home?”

“I…uh, I work two jobs, so not really,” she finds herself explaining. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

“Well, the boss wants to see ya tonight, needs ya to come to his show,” he says, pushing a large white box into her arms.

“The boss?” she asks, confused. He can’t possibly mean who she thinks he does.

“Elvis. Elvis wants you at his show tonight, so here I am to get you there. And that’s for you, to wear,” Charlie says with a knowing smile.

Pepper thinks that maybe exhaustion has caught up with her because there is no way this is real. She laughs a little, a giddy feeling pulsing through her veins, until the cold wash of reality douses her.

“That’s nice, but I have a show of my own to do, Charlie,” she says, sweeping a hand over her revealing costume. Her heart sinks and she’s a little angry Elvis presumed she could drop everything to be at his beck and call. “Thank Elvis for the invitation but remind him I really can’t afford to lose this job.” She hands the white box back to Charlie, unopened.

He sputters a little with panic. It makes sense—most women probably bend over backwards to accommodate a man like Elvis, but she has other things to worry about. And Elvis knows this, which makes her even more irritated.

“But…but he really wants you there, Pepper,” Charlie says in a futile attempt to persuade her. “He’ll be mighty disappointed if you don’t come.”

Her heart kerthunks at the suggestion Elvis has been thinking about her at all, much less for him to be disappointed by her absence, but it doesn’t quell the anger starting to build in her chest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, but it’s too short of notice and I have a show to do. Tell your boss it would be good for him not to make assumptions.”

Charlie looks like she’s slapped him. She almost feels bad for him because she gets the impression, as wonderful as Elvis was with her the other night, he is not a man who likes to be told “no.”

“I need to be on stage soon. Bye, Charlie,” she says, fighting the urge to cry both with irritation and disappointment. She can’t afford to ruin her makeup this close to showtime and walks out before she can change her mind.

The smile she plasters across her face during the dinner show covers her aching discontent. She’s almost glad for the distraction—it takes her mind off the fact she’ll likely never hear from Elvis again. There is certainly no reason for a man like him to chase a woman like her, especially when she’s rejected him.

Lost in her dismal thoughts, she doesn’t hear Paul when he comes up behind her after the show. She jumps out of her skin when he touches her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Pepper, but you’ve got someone important on the phone for you,” Paul says, looking at her a little incredulously with a quirked brow, “and that little guy is back.”

What?

She makes her way back to the green room for the second time tonight, a racehorse running laps in her heart as she huffs down the hallway in her heels.

Charlie’s eyes brighten when they see her and he says nothing; he just holds out the phone receiver towards her. Trepidation makes her shake when she grabs it because as much as she wants to deny it, there’s no doubt who it could be.

“Hello?” she squeaks out, then races to clear her throat and relax her voice. “Who is this?”

“Peppercorn, you best be gettin’ that cute lil’ butt of yours down here, ‘fore I gotta come getchu myself,” Elvis familiar drawl growls commandingly in her ear.

It’s unfair the way it makes her toes curl and her thighs tighten, especially when a certain sense of fury at his orders slices through her arousal. If any other man talked like this to her, she’d hang up on him, but Elvis Presley is not just any other man.

“Well, hello to you, too, Elvis,” she says with ire. “I told you, I have my own shows and I can’t just up and leave on a whim.”

“Don’tchu worry about none of that, darlin’. I’ll take care of everything,” he says so smoothly it almost covers the impatience in his tone.

“What does that even mean?”

He sighs on the other end. “Honey, money ain’t an issue. I’ll give you more money than they’d pay you tonight to come to my show.”

The force of his words hits her square in the chest, her hand tightening around the phone. “And what about when they fire me for leaving without notice, hmm? You just gonna pay for my bills from now on? I’m not a whore, Elvis Presley. And I don’t want your damn money.”

That stubborn streak her mama always took her to task for has her seeing red, but somehow she has enough sense not to hang up on him directly. Instead, she just thrusts the phone into Charlie’s hand and storms off, not listening to the crackling voice yelling through the receiver.

Oooh, the nerve of that man, she thinks, her blood boiling at his insinuations. He’d been so nice and thoughtful the other night, not this demanding cad offering to pay her like some hooker off the street. For a man like that, offering what he did, it is blaringly obvious that there would be strings attached to such an arrangement, and she isn’t going to be some kept woman.

The audacity of his actions and words has her raging the more she thinks about him. The late show barely takes her mind off it, the entire exchange sending waves of adrenaline through her blood every time it pops back into her mind. By the time she is back home, she’s exhausted but wired, upset that her daydreams about this man were just that—fantasies.

Pepper convinced herself he wasn’t like any other man—that he was sweet and kind and didn’t just want her for her body. What a joke.He may be rich and powerful, but he certainly made his intentions clear with his demands.

Once in bed, she doesn’t bother to stop the tears leaking from her eyes and dripping into the mattress. A sick feeling of regret churns in her stomach as her rage cools and she begins second guessing all her choices. How she managed to ruin her chances with Elvis.

Buck up, kiddo, he’s just a guy. A famous, talented, and ridiculously handsome one, maybe, but still just a man in the end. He doesn’t matter. Your family does. She may not have much, but at least she has her dignity.

Or so she hopes, a certain yellow paisley shirt clinging to her body when sleep finally takes her.

*

An incessant pounding rouses Pepper from a fitful slumber. At first, she thinks it might be a whopper of a headache she’d felt coming on after last night’s events, but as she forces her gritty eyes open, she realizes it’s not that at all.

Someone is pounding on her front door.

Adrenaline kickstarts her body, despite the sleep that tries to reclaim her, and a quick look at the alarm clock on her nightstand shows it’s not quite four in the morning. She is cautious and more than a little scared as she slips her too flimsy robe on over her nightgown, pattering through the apartment with bare feet. Approaching the door with an element of stealth, which seems awfully stupid when she thinks about it, she peeks through the peephole, praying it’s not some drugged out creep looking for a good time or a maniac she needs to call the cops on.

But there is no mistaking the shock of black hair and the purple tinted sunglasses of the man causing such a racket on the other side of the wood. Her stomach drops and her heart flips.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She takes a shaky breath and opens the door before he can continue his barrage.

Elvis starts a bit when the door opens suddenly, his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. For a second, he almost looks self-conscious about his behavior, but it is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed glare before she can dwell on it.

“You gonna let me in, sweetheart, or are we gonna do this out in the open for everyone to see?” he drawls, but it has a cutting edge to it she doesn’t recognize from their first meeting.

Now that he’s here in front of her, her earlier stubbornness is hard to locate behind the butterflies in her stomach and the sudden apprehension she feels about him being here again. He sucks all the air out of the room after she wordlessly opens the door further to let him stride through.

Pepper pulls her robe tight across her body, trying to cover herself as though he hadn’t already seen her bare, as if he hadn’t knelt in front of her to dress her in that dark alley. The thought, along with the waft of his cologne as he passes by her, makes her knees weak.

“Wha—what’re you doing here, Elvis?” she asks, the words sticking in her mouth with sleep and confusion as she flips on the lamp near the couch.

She realizes the mistake the moment it happens. Now she can truly see him in all his glory—his post-show glow giving him an other-worldly quality she didn’t know was possible. His tan skin and lustrous dark hair are indulgent to her senses and it’s almost painful how endless his sapphire eyes are when he takes off his tinted glasses and rakes those eyes over her body.

It sends a shiver right down to her toes.

“Peppercorn, you’re one helluva stubborn little girl,” he says huskily, pointing a long finger at her, “makin’ me come all the way down ‘ere to talk some damn sense into ya.”

It’s piercing and heated the way he says it and she feels somewhere between a scolded child and a wounded lover, neither of which fits the strange (non-)relationship she has with him, but she feels it all the same. Logic tells her he has no right to come in here like this, but the fact that he’s here at all, looking ethereal like some sort of angry god, has all logic flying out the window.

Digging her toes into the wood floor to keep herself grounded, she finally finds her voice again, “Excuse me?”

“And all this nonsense ‘bout ya being some kinda ‘whore’,” he barrels on, “and I ain’t never said no such thing, would never say such a thing aboutcha.” The vehemence with which he says it makes it sound likeshe was the one who offended him and not the other way around.

Pepper is confused for a second because of this, as her first instinct is to apologize to make him feel better, but then she remembers why she was mad in the first place.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t offer to pay me to spend time with you and be there to satisfy your every whim, I wouldn’t think that’s what you meant,” she says quietly, her voice shaking only slightly, as she throws it back at him.

His eyes flash and narrow while his cheeks redden underneath his tan. The divot in his jaw ticks with tension, and for a split second she regrets her words.

She can’t for the life of her understand why he cares and has gone to all this trouble and seems so upset. She’s nobody of consequence, and God knows any number of women are lined up at the ready for him if he wants company. And yet he’s here.

This doesn’t help the way her heart knocks against her ribcage, though, and she squeezes her hands tight to try and control her rapid breathing.

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth, lil girl,” he growls, stepping towards her, backing her into the wall. Only the tiniest part of her is frightened despite his size and anger because his proximity and intensity ignite something molten in her veins. Her mouth parts but the quippy reply dies on her lips.

“Why don’tcha wanna come to my show?” There’s an element of hurt in his voice that surprises her, and it tugs at her heartstrings. He looks down at her and it nearly causes her knees to buckle. “I-I-I jus’ thought—”

“I would love to come. It breaks my heart that I can’t,” she whispers mournfully, the words popping out before you can think better of them.

An impish little smile plays at his lips. “It does, does it?”

Pepper can’t help but roll her eyes, tilting her chin to the side, mostly to avoid being swallowed up by those churning eyes of his. “Of course.”

“Then why you gotta be so stubborn, baby?” he replies, gently scolding her. His slender pointer finger grazes her jaw, then turns her chin back towards him.

She hopes he doesn’t feel the way she shudders from the contact. It’s embarrassing enough that she can’t seem to hold her ground with him in front of her like this. That she’s melting at his slightest touch. She struggles to get the words out, feeling heady with the heat of him so close.

“I don’t…it’s important for me to be able to take care of myself. I’ve had to for a long time. And you don’t need to give me anything for me to want to come see or spend time with you—you shouldn’t have to. Besides,” she adds quietly, looking down, “I’m not really the kind of girl who…um…takes advantage of things like that. So, as much as I want to, I can’t—"

The rest is swallowed before it can come out by the sweet softness of his plush lips pressing against her own. She gasps in surprise, but that, too, is consumed by his mouth. His hands cup her face, tilting it up towards his and Pepper flails for a moment in confusion until the gentle insistence of his kiss subdues her completely.

Warmth spreads through her limbs, followed by electric tingles which bounce around her stomach and suck the breath out of her lungs. Her hands land on his chest, feeling heat and dampness from sweat, his heart thrumming underneath her palm. It’s faster than she expects and in disbelief, she wonders if it’s because of her.

When he pulls away, lashes fluttering up to meet her gaze, it’s as if a rocket implodes inside her chest. She’s a goner—if she’s honest with herself, she has been since the moment he defended her in the alley—and she knows it’s a bad place to be with a man like Elvis. She struggles valiantly against her baser instincts.

“Wh-why did you do that?” she chokes out, still confused about the fact that Elvis Presley just kissed her.

His eyes go dark. “Did ya not like it?” he asks, concerned.

“N-No, no, it isn’t…it was lovely, I just—I mean, why me?” She looks up at him with earnest eyes.

Relief spreads across his face and he runs his knuckles over her cheek. “Honey, you are the realest person I’ve met in this godforsaken town—hell, anywhere, as a matter of fact—a-an’ the only one who ain’t asked o-o-or expected a damn thing from me in a long time. You jus’…understand.”

Surprisingly, she does.

“Now, with that said, I like ta—" His head comes down, pressing the sweaty warmth of his forehead against hers. “—give gifts and help those I care about.” He nuzzles his nose into hers. “You gonna let me help you, Peppercorn?” he whispers against her cheek.

Her mouth parts by its own accord as her insides go gooey, and those soft lips devour hers again before she can reply. Fisting the lapels of his jacket in her hands, she barely recognizes the moan that escapes her as being her own.

He pulls away slightly, pressing kisses into her jaw and down her neck. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“Elvis…” is all she’s able to groan out. He’s an assault to her senses in the best way, causing every nerve ending to go into overdrive, logic and caution be dammed.

“Gonna be good f’me?” he rasps, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers down over her breast. She gasps and her nipple pebbles hard in response under the silky friction of the fabric of his yellow shirt. Back arching, her body seeks more of him.

He hums, pulling her up into a blistering kiss that sets her on fire. Mind wiped clean, she leans into his touch when he palms the underside of her breast.

“Thought you was mad at me and here ya are wearin’ my shirt to bed,” he drawls with a knowing smirk, his finger toying with the top button. “Now why would ya do a thing like that, huh, darlin’?”

“I…” she says breathlessly but stops when she has no defense. Her cheeks turn fire-engine red, both from being caught out and from the fact he is much too deftly popping the first button, which due to the size of the shirt lies squarely between her cleavage, open. The fullness and heaving of her breasts push the fabric further apart.

“Hmm, I see,” he tuts. His finger traces its way down to work the second button. “Were ya dreamin’ about me, honey?”

Pepper whimpers and her thighs clutch together involuntarily at his whispered words, and he doesn’t miss this little tell, not by the little smirk on his face. The second button pops and the shirt falls open more.

He swoops her up against him for another kiss, his tongue swiping through her lips and rolling against hers. The rapidly-firming outline of his cock pressed against her belly is not lost on her, either.

“My lil’ Peppercorn, thinkin’ she’s gotta be all rough and tough all by her lonesome,” he murmurs as he makes quick work of the other buttons, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her abdomen. She trembles at his touch. “Don’t gotta worry no more, baby, I gotcha,” he purrs. In any other situation, she might find it condescending, this way he’s taking her to task for being cautious and independent, but she can’t quite bring herself to care so much anymore.

Elvis steps back a little, those shining blue eyes flaring a bit when he gets a look at her in her simple white cotton panties. He looks almost gleeful which banishes her self-consciousness at not wearing something sexier to bed. God knows the last thing she expected last night after she showered was Elvis Presley admiring her choice of underwear.

“Lemme take care of ya?” he asks dreamily, and the words go straight to her core, tingling her swelling lower lips in anticipation of what she hopes he is going to do to her.

All she can manage is a low whine of consent, nodding her head furiously just in case it isn’t clear how badly she needs him to touch her.

Elvis smiles and flits his fingers over the cotton covering her mound. The slightest brush of his finger against her clit sends her spasming like a live wire. It’s embarrassing, yet by the boyish dimple in his cheek, she reckons he’s pleased as punch.

“You been touched like this before, baby?” he asks quietly, circling over her so lightly she feels she might explode from want.

Blinking rapidly, she tries to focus enough to reply. “N-not in a long w-while,” she admits, relishing the sensation of him brushing over the soaked center of her underwear. She can’t help the roll of her hips towards his hand, desperate for more.

“Mmm,” he tuts, nodding to himself. Thankfully, he obliges her by pressing slightly upwards, pushing his panty covered finger up into her hole just a little, the palm of his hand putting pressure on her sensitive clit.

He only gives her a second of this, just long enough for her to gasp out, before he’s moving along. Her knees threaten to buckle and she whines. Then his mouth his on hers again, inhaling her exhale as he kisses her into complete submission.

Pepper loses track of how long they kiss, only that her lips are swollen and that she aches for him with every fiber of her being. The rhythm of his mouth is hypnotic and when he slides his hand down the front of her, into her damp curls, and finally gives attention to the place she wants him most, she cries out in pleasure.

Her legs falling open, he takes the cue and teases the hood of her sex. Nothing has prepared her for this—not her imagination nor her few previous experiences with men could ever match up to the blinding arousal she’s feeling right now.

Surprising her, he bends down, continuing his kisses down her chest, over the rise of her breasts and down her stomach. When he kneels in front of her, a waft of déjà vu comes over her, except this time he is undressing her instead, making the entire scene so erotic with his kiss-swollen lips and bedroom eyes and his hair falling in his face that she feels a needy, throbbing desire between her legs.

His tongue traces her belly button, distracting her from the fact he’s pulling her ruined underwear down her legs to puddle at her feet. It’s not until his lips are pressing into her mound that she realizes his intentions.

“Oh!” Her eyes flying open, she squirms a little in panic—she’s never had a man kiss her down there, and sure as hell didn’t consider that Elvis would want to do such a thing, but there he his, looking up at her, one eyebrow cocked. His eyes don’t leave hers as he swirls that tongue of his around her bud.

“Oh—omigod,” she cries, breath hitching. Her body goes into overdrive at all the new sensations, and he just smiles against her, snacking and lapping away at her, as happy as can be. The surreal nature of it all has her questioning her sanity, but the fleeting thought is quickly overwhelmed by the coil rapidly tightening in her belly. She hurtles towards an orgasm she’s not entirely ready for because she desperately doesn’t want this pleasure to end. Mewling and begging, it only takes one slender finger sliding up into her snatch coupled with the delicious, tongued assault on her clit to send her catapulting over the edge.

Her body tenses, then shudders violently against him as a silent scream catches in her throat. The heat rushing over her has nothing on any climax she’s ever had before which becomes evident in the way her legs shake and threaten to give way completely. Thankfully, Elvis holds her steady by the backs of her thighs, not letting her slump down to the floor like a sack of potatoes as her body relaxes. She can barely breathe for the way he licks her through the end of it, his enjoyment of her arousal obviously not just for her benefit.

Pepper vaguely registers her soft moans and her shivering limbs as she comes back into herself. Her head clonks back into the wall while she tries to get ahold of senses. She can’t seem to come down, though, not with this gorgeous man prostrated at her feet, enjoying her as though she were water in the desert.

Everything goes blank, everything but him.

Then he’s upright again, pressing his body into her, into the wall, his head nuzzling the soft spot under her ear. “Ya like that, honey? That okay?”

If she were more cognizant, she might think more on how he seems almost unsure of his abilities, but as it is, she barely manages a nod.

“S’wonderful,” she slurs, though she’s completely sober.

He smiles against her neck, chin sticky with her arousal. She doesn’t care. At this moment, all she wants is to be consumed by him, crushed by him, taken care of by him. All earlier arguments are forgotten, especially when he ruts against her bare leg, his erection hard and seeking.

“Can I, darlin’?” he whispers imploringly with a punctuated roll of his hips. “Hims need her bad.”

She wants to giggle at the cuteness of his baby talk and at the gallantry of his asking rather than taking—as if she would deny him—so instead she just nods yet again, pulling at the confines of his suit jacket.

In a near-frantic battle with his elaborate outfit, his belt finally clanks to the floor along with his pants and discarded jacket. When his cock springs free, unencumbered due to the lack of underwear, she is almost shocked, but is too distracted by what seems to be a wholly perfect representation of the male form.

It makes her look him up and down with an awed and heated gaze, somewhat disbelieving this otherworldly man wants her. By its own accord, her hand palms the heavy heat of him, sending a thrill though her when he groans out her name.

Needy and already dripping from the slit in his angry pink tip, he thrusts his cock into her hand. “Please, baby,” he breathes and all at once she realizes he is as desperate to have her as she is to have him.

She’s never fucked standing before and if she were in her right mind might be a little concerned about the mechanics of such a thing, but nature has a way of prevailing and without much to-do, Elvis lifts her long legs around his waist and braces her against the wall.

They both groan as he enters her. She’s more than wet, but his size and her lack of recent experience creates a stretching burn, nevertheless. It makes her hiss and bite down on her lip and being the observant lover he has turned out to be, he freezes partway in.

“You okay?” he asks, worried, and she nods emphatically because no, she doesn’t want him to stop but yes, it has been awhile since a man traversed this part of her. The bite of her nails on his shoulders is enough to remind him to go slow, despite the desire to fuck each other into oblivion.

With the utmost patience he works his way in with shallow, gentle thrusts as she coats him with her slick and relaxes enough to let him burrow deeper. The tight fit is delicious on his cock, which he makes note of in a string of murmured baby talk praises in her ear of what a good girlshe is and how tight she feels and how he’d just make a home in her pretty lil’ beaver forever if he could.

All this has her tingling and radiating warmth from the inside out and she begins to roll her hips to let him know she’s ready. It’s not long then before he’s nestled deep inside, his sweaty forehead pressed to hers before kissing her deeply. She tastes the tang of herself on his tongue, something that shouldn’t make her moan into his mouth, but she does, clinging to his shoulders as he finally begins to move in earnest.

And consumed by him she is—by his smell, his taste, the hard and soft planes of his body sliding against her own so deftly, thoroughly slotted as if made for each other. His rings cut into the bottom of her thigh as he grips her there in such a way that suggests he thinks she might float away and disappear without him there to anchor her.

He might very well be right.

Boldly, she meets his increasingly deep and pointed thrusts with the snap of her hips, as best she can at least, considering her lack of leverage. She chases him and he her, like some sort of erotic ouroboros eating its own tail. There is nothing but him and her and the joined chorus of breath in their near-frantic lovemaking.

Pepper has never come twice in a row with a man, not ever, yet as he plunders her just the right way in all the right spots, the telltale signs of that tension in her core spring to life again. He’s skilled in making her body sing, considering he barely knows her—or perhaps he knows her better than anyone else in his gilded town. Regardless, he coaxes her back to the edge with him with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the caress of his fingers and hands in her most intimate places.

Skilled but sweet. Confident but desperate. The dichotomy of this man confounds her. Her back scrapes against the wall in time with the piston of his perfect hips, and the music of his soft moans has her near orgasm once again.

The build is slower this time and she relishes in every sensation, trying to commit them to memory. When she finally shatters around him at the crest of it all, Elvis shudders with a low groan and thrusts impossibly deep before pulsing hard, filling her with cum.

They collapse in on each other then, a panting silence filling the space around them. His breath is wet and heavy in the crook of her neck. She mindlessly runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, which is damp with sweat.

Oh, she’s in deep trouble with this one and she knows it. Part of her wants nothing more to stay like this forever, back scraping against the plaster, collapsed in a satisfied heap in Elvis’ arms.

A pleased hum comes from him, vibrating her sensitive skin, as he nestles deeper into her, despite the softening of his penis. It is needy and cuddly and unexpected based on the way he barged in earlier. But he continues to hold her tight, and she is powerless to deny him such a comfort.

She doesn’t want to.

“Come back with me, honey,” he whispers into the shell of her ear, causing her skin to pebble. “Please.”

Pepper wants to cry at the vulnerable way he says it and how it leaves her feeling so special because it seems to prove this was not just an angry, possessive fuck from a man who always gets what he wants. No, it feels charmingly sweet and melts her heart and body in all the right ways. It would be so easy to go, so tempting to fall into his arms again and again.

But things have never been easy for her and her damn pragmatic mind won’t let it rest why he showed up here in the first place.

“I—I can’t leave my jobs,” she whispers, her fingers carting through his dark hair by their own accord as his lips tackle her pulse point. She feels him smile against her skin, an action which shoots straight into her core, as if he hadn’t left her sated twice already.

“Well, I thought ya might say that, but it jus’ so happens the Hilton has a book-keeping openin’, if ya want it,” he says dreamily.

It takes a moment for her post-coital brain to make sense of what he’s saying. She pulls back.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replies, forcing his pleased grin into a serious scowl.

Her heart pounds even more than it did when his lips were on her. She knows jobs like this are hard for people like her to come by. Most casinos don’t want to take a chance on a showgirl doing their books.

This could change everything for her.

“I…but I don’t have much experience and they’ll never—” she babbles, sending herself into a panic.

“Baby,” he shushes, finally removing himself from her and setting her down gently, “you’ve already got the job.” He smooths her hair, lulling her into relaxing.

She shakes her head in disbelief. Part of her wants to balk against the kindness, telling her she didn’t earn it for herself. Elvis gleans this, however.

“Let me help you, darlin’,” he coos at her, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please. Let someone else take care of ya for once.”

Tears spring to her eyes. She can’t help it. The rollercoaster of the last few days has left her raw.

“You didn’t have to—it’s too much,” she sniffles, blinking back the tears.

“Wasn’t nothin’, baby. And you’ll be great, workin’ with all those numbers,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “And, it ain’t entirely selfless,” he muses, “considerin’ you’ll be workin’ in the same place as me and they don’t need you to start for a couple weeks. Those hours give you plenty of time to come see me. To be with me.”

She can’t help but chuckle at that. “But I have to—”

“Good thing about that signing bonus, too. Means ya won’t have to worry ‘bout leavin’ those other jobs of yours,” he says nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nope, no siree.” His eyes twinkle at her.

Her guarded incredulousness disintegrates when she realizes he listened to her. Despite the misguided way he went about it, he figured out her need to be self-sufficient, solved the problem holding her back from him, and managed to get her a job she could barely dream of a few days ago.

It’s infuriating to her head-strong nature that he’s so deftly wheedled around all the obstacles and that she wants nothing more than to be in his arms and hear his vulnerability and go to his damn shows.

“Whadya say, Peppercorn? Will ya come be with me?” He says it with only the slightest tremor of doubt, those soulful eyes of his searching hers, dredging up feelings she knows will likely bite her in the ass later.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine,” she tries to say with a hint of frustration, but she’s unable to keep her hopeful smile from raising the corners of her mouth.

The dimple carved out beneath his apple cheeks makes it all worth it and sends a shower of tingles through her body. He swoops her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and hugging her so tight she can barely draw breath.

Suffocated by Elvis Presley’s kisses wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, she thinks humorously as he takes her breath away.

“I should go clean up and pack some things,” she pants when they finally tear themselves away from each other.

He nods, looking mussed and blissful, his bedroom eyes heavy as though the night’s events have finally all caught up to him. Holding her hand until the last possible second, she’s near convinced that he’s about ready to fall asleep standing up.

She’s halfway down the hall when he calls out to her, voice husky. “Hey, honey.”

Pepper turns back to look at him.

“Bring the shirt,” Elvis says, his dark brow quirking suggestively, “I like it on ya.”

He gives her an idea, a bold one she acts on before she can think too much on it. “Bet you’d like it off me even more,” she says, sliding the already open shirt off her shoulders. It falls in a soft heap around her feet.

His eyes go wide and take in her bare form from head to toe. “Damn, woman, I think ya might be right.”

And with a growl, he charges her, sending her into shrieking giggles as she flees into her room. Tapping some hidden reserve of energy, he lifts her and throws her on her unmade bed, and then climbs in on top of her, showering her with kisses everywhere.

Loving the way his long body presses her into the sheets, she feels utterly content for once in her life to let loose a little and live in the present without a care in the world.

“Gonna take care of ya,” he whispers, running his hand reverently over her naked curves.

And she knows he will.

*

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Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[bunny584]

I started writing this long reflection about media analysis, JJK and the impact of it and this entire fandom and your story but it'll work better once H&H is complete and I can make it less ramble-y and coherent. (oh look I'm rambling again just like the now-saved draft)

Instead, let's just dip into the moments that left the biggest impact because I barely held it together.

The P word and I gasped. Thankfully no one was standing near me on the train platform.

 “You’re always to my left, Suguru.” 

Now I want to go back and see if that's always the case?

But Satoru has revoked Suguru’s access to his voice and mind space. He’s retreated to the steel entrapment in his head. Leaving Suguru to fend for himself. 

The mystique over his "really good eyesight" and their silent communication is so delectable. And then this happened, I can feel it. 

Suguru can read any page in any person’s book, no matter the language. But he can’t seem to decipher her expression.  

I loved the moments of accuracy during the active trauma. But this felt the most writing from what you know and your training as a physician. (and the chuckle from the doctor over the phone later, poor boy was too stormy to catch that but a doctor would NEVER do that if it was bad news!) 

The joy of Fatherhood, given and taken from him in a night.  

I have not experienced this type of loss, but I know people who have. And that type of grief is so intense. You didn't overstate or linger on it too long to undercut the feelings and space.

Will they survive this?

I know they will because you've said as much. But that didn't make this any less impactful. The journey and all....

He fantasizes about your precious love child.

Of all this chapter held, this moment was the proverbial straw. Especially with the dream of a girl. And the precious love of dads and their daughters. And now I am going to lose it again, just thinking of my husband and how he would've felt. (he also would've chosen me over the fetus like The Boys).

Satoru fails to swallow a gasp, and the cords tethering Suguru’s brain to rational logic snap in half.

A deft touch here, appropriately use of the intense emptions of sex and touch. I hope it is not their last (not that we need visceral descriptions of it, you've had great pacing without needing to keep reminding us of time passage)

His addiction to being needed is one he’ll never recover from.

Oh Sugu, your doting and motherhen-ing is adorable and I can't get enough of it.

I just want to like, ramble on and on and on. Wine, snacks, and a big comfy couch.

Jen my little angel 🤍🩷. I love when you do this to me with your juicy analysis and questions that make me think.

Long Author POV below:

1. The P-word. This was left field but of course she’d be. The boys have been filling her reckless. And part of me feels like their bodies knew. The way they doted on her in the fluff flash back, both kneeling to put her shoes on. They’re like dogs who sense their human is pregnant. Now though, with the loss. They’re going to be INTENTIONALLY trying to make another one. Even more desperate when reader pushes them away for a bit.

2. A reader actually made a comment on AO3 that they can’t wait to see the boys communicate more. Because it’s true, I’ve written them so in sync I leave a lot of their dialogue to the reader’s imagination. It was fun to force them to try and figure out how to verbalize things when they’re off step with each other.

3. Suguru being unable to read the doctor’s expression. *sigh* gonna get emotional here. They try to teach us divine neutrality in med school and residency. Delivering bad news while being empathetic but distant. You should be able to call time of death one minute, then walk into the next room and give another patient your 150%. I struggle with this. Elia struggled with this. I hope I did it justice with how it’s written

4. Girl Dad Suguru 🥹 I struggled writing his and Satoru’s reactions. I just wanted to explore the complexities of yes they love reader, yes they want more of her, but ultimately reader, NOT baby, is their priority. Full stop.

5. Satosugu soft sex. I hope this didn’t feel TOO out of place. Mostly because grief is MESSY. It does things to short circuit brains. And sometimes it makes you want to make love with someone to feel in control and warm and intimate. They both were crying and confused through it. And Suguru was so desperate to feel close to Satoru again. Satoru didn’t verbalize it but his “I’m so lonely” and “no, stay” was my way of hinting at that.

[ghost-proofbaby]

it is enough that we’re trying!! ♡ but a group sobbing session sounds nice - on Thursdays, we cry

Ugh, don’t get me started on Hugh Jackman especially as Van Helsing. For me, it started with watching The Little Vampire when I was a kid. Cirque Du Freak did NOT make it better and I am only slightly ashamed by my Twilight phase. It is actually quite alarming how much vampire content I was ingesting as a child and it explains so much.

Astarion has only reignited my love for vampy men.

Also yes! The ramifications of the exposure are not talked about enough!! Especially because it was hinted that breathing in or interacting with the Upside Down wasn’t good (hazmat suits S1) so how is it that they ran around Vecna’s playground most of S4 without repercussions? There has to be something! We just need everyone to turn into a version of the X-men with all of the exposure to toxic chemicals and otherworldly fumes at this point tbh

But I need to check out @myosotisa stuff because if she’s explored it I need to read it, inject it into my veins!

vamp!Steve isn’t talked about enough at all!

I imagine, everyone is worried about the kids (El and Will) that no one is really paying attention to Steve. And he isn’t worried either. His thoughts focused on his friends, his found family. But slowly the dark thoughts creep in. Insidious images that plague his dreams and it isn’t anything like what Nancy saw. He never sees Vecna but he can feel him. Lurking in the recesses of his brain. And one night he turns, writhing in pain as he sleeps. Skin slick with sweat. Veins protruding, thick and black with poison. Scars tissue from the bat bites aching like they’re brand new. And when he opens his eyes he isn’t Steve, or at least not entirely Steve. This version is angry, blood thirsty. Willing to hunt and maim and kill. And just like you said - he can justify it all! His family is in danger, you’re in danger. But soon the images of killing enemies turn to flashes of killing you and he can’t resist.

I’d imagine he’s quarantined like they did Will except Steve is stronger. Vecna will do anything to kill you because you’re the one person stopping Steve from falling fully under his spell. From allowing Vecna to have the servant he needs to fulfill his plans.

But that’s just how my brain imagines a Steve who slowly falls into madness and starts losing every bit of humanity 😅

I shall live to fuel this insanity (y’all are really just fueling mine) I need Steve to be pushed to the brink of madness and for his character to have another arc (an evil one)

-🍒🌸

ps: sorry for being long-winded, I get excited.

i'm days late but NEVER apologize for being long-winded. oh my WORD. my inbox is always a safe space to ramble excitedly and word vomit especially when it's THIS???? NONNIIIIEEEEEEE please

i giggled at the idea of everyone just becoming a version of the x men ngl

but no, you get! the! vision! the way it starts off justifiable before becoming sinister, the way everyone would turn such a blind eye!! it would be so devastating to see steve, a character who was meant to start off as awful and grow and develop into the character we now know and love, fall to an even worse fate than when he began. i'd say it would be a circle rather than an arc, but even at his worse, steve was never pure evil like that. and to be honest, i just wanna see it. it'll never be canon. but i! wanna! see! it!

you being the only person holding him back, tethering what little is left of who he was to this world. you are the only wrench in vecna's plans and it would infuriate him. and it's worse because he wants you dead, will try to manipulate steve into doing the dirty work for him, but the only thing standing in his way is still you. because you exist, and you're there, and that's enough to keep steve harrington holding out just a little bit longer.

this lil sandbox is so lovely. all the angst potential, all the soft potential for when that glimpse of old steve peaks back through. it's just. GAH. it's wonderful. i love it. i fuckin love it.

[diabunnies]

u can rlly tell how a person is based on how they perceive the itoshis' relationship. like this has been simmering in my head for the longest time now bc ive been trying to find exactly why i agree w sae so much despite having been in rin's position time n time again.

bllk manga spoilers under the cut!

ok so i gotta scribble this rq lest i lose my train of thought hence why there are zero manga panels attached. most of this basically refers to the u20 arc anyway so if u've read that i hope that u get what i mean ! a lot of this is rambling n very common shit but whatever!!!

we know that rin has p much worked his ass off for a good decade to get to the level that sae is on. that's his entire appeal: hopeful younger brother who tries so hard to be like the best person he has in his life. n so when sae comes back from spain all cold n stone-like, spewing shit abt how he doesn't wanna be the #1 striker anymore, rin saw his entire life fracture into unrecognisable pieces. but he still hopes! he still thinks that he can get sae to pick up his dream again, get sae to turn back into the kid he was before spain. even after losing that 1v1 when sae came back, rin never fully left behind the possibility that sae could just take back his words; the u20 match was one of - if not The last - opportunity for rin to prove to sae that he can still afford to dream that dream. to play soccer together, be number 1 n number 2 in the world. i mean the look on his face when sae spoke to him after the match looked like that of a child who retained such naiveness, like he was 7 again and not 16 fucked over by everyone. but the world he was slowly rebuilding shattered again when sae spat out isagi's name n not his, n u can see how much of an impact this had on rin ever since then (in the rare instances he shows up).

he's become more selfish, thought more for himself than anyone else (if this was even possible), gained even more of an ego. for once this ego is his n no one else's. it's not tied to some dream he had with his brother, it is his and that's why i think pxg matches will probably show rin at such a heightened state that his evolution from u20 will tower over everyone else's (bar isagi bc bro is blanketed by mc privileges). think abt it, sae improved so much during his time in spain bc he learnt to detach himself from everyone. he learnt to fall and grow by himself. rin was still tethered to him until their confrontation after the match. it wasn't until then that rin can also fall and grow by himself, for himself.

yea sae may be cruel but what he did, at least how i see it, was necessary bc rin would never grow to be the player he wants to be if he keeps tying himself to the idea that he needs his brother's approval. no, it's apparent that rin needed sae's cruelty to grow as a player. it's time for lil emo guy to own his dream as his n not some shared fantasy with sae. n idk fs if sae is cruel to him for this very reason but i am glad bc it got rin off his moping pity party ass. blue lock needs u to become the worst person imaginable before becoming the best, that is ego's entire mantra (as we are all v familiar w). sae was the last piece in rin's puzzle to become the best he's always wanted to be. n for that i do not and cannot look at him as a "horrible" person. everyone in this manga sucks in one way or another, that's what happens when too many people try to be the best! hurt people hurt people! sae and rin being the loudest example of this does not necessarily make one of them horrible.

yea it sucks n it hurts to read but it is one of my favourite relationships in media ever bc it is realistic. i believe that one of the hardest lessons u gotta learn is knowing when to detach urself from ppl and/or dreams that will limit from becoming the person you've wanted to be. to be able to listen to hurtful things from ppl u've always loved n turn them into reasons to become the best u've ever been even if it means leaving them behind. i love it (◞‸◟；)

[cursivebloodlines]

Dougie’s backstory is one of the most amazing I’ve seen and read and can’t wait to read the others of your handsome men. I’m all ears. What can you tell me about Dougie in a few sentences? His personality and what he does.

omg i'm literally still so shocked to be receiveing the loveliest messages like this??? would you like my heart? ITS YOURS that's genuinely so aaaaa omg.also i absolutely meant to post this last night but my brain was like SLEEP and i forgot all about it until hopping on my laptop just now. but tysm!!!! <3

right so Doug! okokok what can i say about doug. i'm so sorry if this is not what you asked for but my brain is a mishmash of everything HAHAHA.

looks like a cinnamon roll, is actually a cinnamon roll

has too many cardigans for his own good tbh. when he's on a downer he has a very specific one that he'll wear, an indicator he's veering towards a depressive episode. that cardigan will be on him for days on end without removing it. it's just a comfort thing for him and something to keep him tethered to reality i guess

still a v soft person despite of all the shit he's been through. though this does leave him with a barrel of insecurities which he still quite obviously struggles with today. is an actual teddy bear, has a lot of love to give and just wnats to give it!!! to anyone who allows him

should probably come with a warning that says: FRAGILE. HANDLE WITH CARE.

will do anything for anyone but this also leaves people to easily take advantage of him, even if sometimes they don't mean to. he has become a bit better than that over the years but old habits die hard x

would probably lose in a fight

is working his dream job as a veternarian <3 eventually he wants to open up his own rescue shelter and look after all the pets aaaaa he would be so content with that omg.

classic overthinker fr and too sensitive for his own good but nobody's perfect!

honestly i could go on about him all day dgkjsgsdg he's my darling and probably most developed character out of them all, bless him. he's just Trying His Best ya know? i hope this is helpful for you i'm sorry if it's nonsensical i just!!! he's Baby. thank you so much again for the lovely words!! makes my day <3 hope you're having a wonderful day!!

[mesmerium]

seventeen mean so much to me, i’m actually so emotional. i think i talked about this already but quite literally seventeen saved my life. if you’re bored and want to read a whole essay about their impact on my life, here lmao

tw // depression, mentions of suicide (nothing graphic!)

i took leave from med school because my depression was so bad, even when i was getting good grades and had leadership positions (plural!!???) and was doing well in extracurriculars. these things honestly only served to worsen my mental state. the pressure i had put on myself, the insomnia i developed from being anxious all the time, the fear of failure and not being liked and being made fun of for trying too hard, etc. it all came to a head, and i had to make it stop. so i did. i took a leave of absence, and all of a sudden, after years and years of keeping myself too busy to think too much, too busy to contemplate, i had nothing to do but listen to my thoughts and wallow in sadness and emptiness. it wasn’t any better, and i had honestly lost any hope for myself. at that point i had been dealing with depression for more than a decade, and even while on medication i couldn’t bear to live anymore.

so i started writing goodbye letters to the few people that mattered to me. it wasn’t my first time, but i thought that it would be the last. there was a finality to everything i was doing. in february 2022, i attempted suicide. i prepared everything the night before, woke up early, and did it. but before i could do enough damage to myself, guilt seeped through me. i thought to myself, “it’ll be my dad’s birthday in a few days, it’s so selfish of me to be doing this before he could even celebrate.” so i dropped everything, patched myself up (thank god for med school materials amirite), and cried myself to sleep. that day, with nothing else to do, no energy for anything, i tried watching going seventeen.

i became a fan of seventeen in 2016, after pretty u promotions. i watched ofd and was obsessed with the going seventeen mini album when it came out. unfortunately i decided to drop kpop as a hobby for a bit because i was really busy and living my life, so it’s a little funny that my first step back into it was when i had nothing else to do after attempting lol. when i tell you it got me to laugh after a month of not being able to. i got invested, and it gave me something to do while i was waiting for my dad’s birthday to pass.

one night, a few days after my dad’s birthday, an ex who passed away in december 2021 visited me in my dreams. i asked him what he was doing in my dream, and he took me to visit his family home. he told me he was watching over his family before leaving completely. we chatted, and i asked him if i would regret going the same way he did. he told me that it is the way it is, and that he’s found peace where he is. it was up to me, he said. i woke up and cried, because i missed him, because i was glad that he was happy, because it felt like a sign that it was time for me too.

that night i attempted again. i felt myself floating, losing whatever it was that tethered me to my corporeal self. yet i am here still typing out this post in 2023. how and why? because a thought hit me, and i scrambled to get the wire off of my neck. “i won’t be able to watch going seventeen in the afterlife, if there was an afterlife at all.” it seems so goofy and insane, especially now while looking back, but it was enough to get me to panic and stop before i could succeed.

that’s how seventeen gave me something to live for. it sounds so inconsequential and dumb, yes, but when you’re teetering on the edge, the tiniest pull matters. my motivation from then on was to make it to wednesday to watch going seventeen, then if i wanted to die after that, so be it. but the desire to watch 13 men be goofy on camera, to see them with so much adoration and affection for each other and their fans, was so much greater. it helped me get through each week, and before i knew it weeks turned into months and months turned into a year. they filled me with so much love and inspiration, helped me get back up on my feet and feel normal again, gave me a community filled with kind, creative, and equally loving people from all over the world.

they’re not the answer to my problems, i know that. i’m still struggling. but without them i wouldn’t even be able to live to see the day that i overcome those problems. thanks to them, i found the will to better myself. thanks to them, i can look forward to what the future holds. i hope i am allowed the honor of knowing and loving them like this in every lifetime. ‘til the last say the name!!!

“It’s our first time living this life, so how can we be good from the beginning? Even I’m still having a hard time. Let’s learn together.” — Hoshi

[blondrichclosetwitch]

But I thought this wouldn’t hurt a lot,

I guess not

Dreaming up an alibi

Nothing feels good like you

Limbs clenched so hard

All I want from you is a letter and to be your distant lover

that’s all I can offer at this time

Man, these bitches get scared, they tellin, tellin'

Pluto and Jupiter, I go to Venus

'Cause I got a really big team and they need some really big rings (to me this is a reference to a past life I learned about from a teacher who saw us as brothers, and he compared us to planets: Blond was Jupiter because she had the money, and I was saturn who had the wit. He went on to say that I was going to write about us, and that it was going to be hilarious. Saturn of course has the big rings.)

What happened to that, that chubby little kid who smiled so much and loved the Beach Boys?

What happened is I, I killed that fucker and I took his name and I got new glasses

When I’m closing in on death

Heroine, be the death of me

“It’s my wife.”

Hit this one out of the park

Every time you close your eyes, lies, lies (one of the practices done on me and Jakk was like a subliminal repetition that would work on us while we slept)

I really want to see you

Substituting your lies for fact

Substitute you for my mum

All my celluloid scenes are torn at the seams

Ex-cowboy (one of their calling cards for Jakk was lonesome cowboy bill, about how all the girls were hot for the lonely rodeo guy, so might be a reference to some change in his status)

Like the video films we saw

The barbarians are coming but will the dreamers stay strong

Barramundi

I Love my baby; and my baby loves me

Mars (a lot of action today)

I’ll Follow you down down down (I made a recording of me singing this in the tub for Jakk, it’s something they used to like me to perform, yes, it’s got it’s own dance)

Gain the weight of you and then lose it, believe me I could do it (have you heard the story of as the pandemic began, tricking me into believing I was pregnant? That went on for five months, because you couldnt get to the doctors. I even wrote Jakk a letter that was delivered to his work telling him I was expecting and I needed to keep calm. anyway imho that was the meanest thing she did. Though the decapitated animals was pretty bad.)

Ain’t it funny? All the twisted games

As we lay upon your bed (twisted games as you lay upon my bed; you mean like the tub of urine you threw on the underside? Or are we talking about the animal blood on the wall? Laurie I’d be happy to show you these things)

You know I’m still somebody’s daughter, see

Who the hell is in your bed (Stella says she can name the participants)

With the endless: SERGEI: I shall see her again. I know that in my heart. One last time. Until then, I shall continue to send people to her.

Girls all In your bed and they just ask a hunnid questions

Whole lot of 6’s

Got the key, and now the door’s open and we all goin through it

Oh and she’s known in the darkest clubs

“If she says she can do it, she can do it.” Speaking of I’ve been making a list of what was done, and how much other practitioners charge…I was being “trained” by January 2016, and the full plan didn’t start to go into effect for seven months. There was candle workings, dolls made, an unborn invoked and tethered, spells of the mind, not to mention a spell to break us up (that was the original thing she was hired for),…many of these are spells that you work on slowly, so monthly charge for each of those. And of course there was the getting me to trust her. Many of you don’t know that the TR was my closest female ally in nyc. I trusted her with everything. Even her LP knew there were times I only could handle talking to the TR, nobody else. I fell for an intimacy that was a fabrication, funded by a millennial who had a trust fund. Moral of the story: love all, trust few and beauty is only skin deep. Don’t fall for it. They’ll lie to your face while looking you in the eye without batting a fake eyelash.

Oh could it be

I passed you by a thousand times before

Not knowing who you were Then she sees the uneasy look on his face She goes back to work and all her friends are pointing

She thought she'd turn a boy into a man but in real life some things don't go to plan

Welcome to no sympathy night

I was enchanted to meet you.

(Go west) this is our destiny

Chicago

Down in New Orleans

In New York City

Don't ask me questions that you don't want the answers to

The world is so loud, keep falling, I'll find you

starvation's necessary

'Cause my head's a dictionary

“I know, dear It has been a brutal year”

Prince Johnny, you're kind, but do be careful when all your friends and acolytes are holding court in bathroom stalls

Well, your eyes flash out a warning

And we'll take this man, left almost passed out til he forgets the crawling way real people sometimes are

[jonahxrivas]

Expression positively melted at the realisation that Rohan had been waiting to see a smile to out him, it was rare these days for corners of his lips to tug upwards into one and it not come off as a pathetic, sad attempt. "I don't deserve you," he muffled into the hug, despite his mind imploring, somewhat threatening that he shouldn't drag Rohan down with him, Jonah held on a little longer, not wanting and unwilling to let go just yet, feeling that if he did he would lose that tether on reality itself. But it wasn't without consequence as selfish reverberated through his head while he clung to the other. "Everyday, everyday I will tell you this." It resonated like a promise too, he was lucky to have met and have Rohan in his life and it indeed was something of a miracle that the other stuck around. "I'm not the first and certainly will not be the last," he denied. More perched on the tip of his tongue ready to state that he was average in every way but was quick to ball his hand into a tight fist to prevent himself from spewing more negativity -- that could stay restricted to his head, should stay there too especially after all the things Rohan said. "Y... y-you mean so much to me I ... t-tha-thank you."

Nodding slowly, he agreed to that, making a mental note to ask around the aquarium staff for any sort of assistance, the theatre was still very much and a very big part of the community too and he knew more than a few of his co-workers would be willing to lend a hand. "And same goes for you, okay? Anything you need, I'll do for you whatever it takes." He might not be good but he would try again and again till a successful outcome was obtained. As conversation continued into something he had been thinking about as well, he slowly shook his head, "I don't think it'll help... I'll..." What were the fears of one human in this town anyway, he should suck it up and get over it, his brain chimed and quickly switched to far important things like being called fish boy. "Did you just...? Fish boy?" The sudden incredulity made him chuckle, "I feel like I'm back in high school and being called fish nerd."

And he wanted nothing more than that too. His head space would get better eventually in one way or another, even if it meant he'd have to bury the fear deep within and go about as normal, he would, to be functioning and not a crying, embarrassing mess needed to the new thing he had to strive for. But the forever goal, the one that deep rotted past the fear and anxiety, was a life with Rohan, the beginnings of the dream sequence before it devolved into a nightmare, that light and warmth he felt being next to the other, that happiness Rohan's presence gave him, was a thing to treasure. He wanted that again. "They're gonna love you." Growing silent in thought of his mothers, Jonah shook his head, "I want for them to be too, but they can't come here. I- I don't - It might be selfish of me to say but I hope I'm allowed to say this..." Emotions welled up in him, throat constricting as he pushed through the pain, "I can't have them lose their memories...it do-doesn't hurt physically.. bu-but the mental strain... I don't want that for them...is it w-wrong of me to decide on their behalf?" A part of him didn't care if it was, he could not put the people he loved through that because of him, he had suffered the mirage - a clear sign for the mistake of being human, but he made that choice for himself then and learnt from that the hard way. "Of course I want you, that's not a doubt in my mind. With Bri it's a bit complicated." He'd never be less than a selfish person in her eyes any more, cemented himself as someone that leaves and breaks promises, he would keep trying to not be but he had no hope. "What did you end up saying? It'll be okay though, we'll be fine."

"Ah, there it is. I caught you smiling," Rohan teased gently, tugging Jonah into a fuller embrace and planting a gentle kiss to his forehead. He gave a sigh, a smile of his own leaking through. "Oh, I eat it up. Keep telling me how wonderfully witty and excellent and handsome I am. I could listen to it all night," the witch murmured softly. "But what I will not stand is being lifted up by you dragging yourself down. No, no. You're brilliant and clever and genius. Magic is that library you keep in that head of yours. I've watched you conjure up more knowledge than I could ever imagine. Curiosity is next to adventure. You ought to take more credit for that. We don't get researchers pounding on our doors here every day. Only Jonah Rivas, who was daring enough to go where no one before had tread. Do you think we would have gone to space without humans in search of new worlds? I adore you for it."

Despite these moments of light, though, Rohan allowed his brow to furrow, shifting a bit in place as his thoughts turned back to destruction. "It is what it is. I'm just glad that...we're past it. And that we're all still here," he said, but his heart began to swell as Jonah continued. "Thank you. But hang onto your savings, okay? We're getting funders onboard, bit it's a slow process. I will take you up on aquarium cleanup day, though. We could still use some volunteers to try and salvage what we can." Nodding, then, Rohan maintained the embrace, squeezing the other man's hand back, willing, with all his might, to be a physical comfort. "Nonsense. You can ask for anything and everything you could ever want, and I would do whatever I could to make it happen. I promise that," he smiled weakly, thumbing the other's cheek.

"It's not your fault," Rohan added. "But whatever happens, we'll take it day by day, all right? I wish, more than anything, that I could undo it. But...if we just have to live with it, then we'll live with it. We're stronger than it. Do you want me to...help you find someone? To talk to? I don't know if...." He bit his lip, shaking his head. "Jonah, stop it. You're not a burden. There's no burden. I'm here to carry anything you need me to carry. You're just going to have to learn to let me love you, fish boy." This was lightly joking, but Rohan meant it. He would move mountains for Jonah Rivas.

The witch laughed at that. "No figments either. I like being able to touch you. And we're absolutely not doing that pottery thing from Ghost, okay?" He nodded. "Jonah. You drive me nuts. Of course I'm sure. I've never been so sure of anything. I cannot imagine a life without you in it. I should be so fortunate to be a part of your family." And he wanted that, badly, to have a family and a home with Jonah. The ring box was in his bag, but now was not the moment he had pictured for that question. That moment needed to be serene, happy, everything he had imagined for both of them. But this discussion, at the very least, cemented for Rohan that now was the proper time for the question.

"I'd love that. Really. I want to meet them," he continued. "I just...I want them to be part of our life. Whatever that means. I could never ask you to give up anything." He smiled, but after a beat, a weak sigh furrowed his features. "Of course. She and I are...well, I think I've disappointed her immensely too. You still want me? Even though I keep screwing things up with your cousin? It's nothing serious. I just put my foot in my mouth."

[jade-parcels]

The genshin men: fatherhood edition

With: Childe, Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, Venti, Albedo and Baizhu

—————————

Childe:

Ajax loves kids and he’ll make that known early on in your relationship

Like...This man wants five or more kids but he’ll settle for four. He dreams of a big family, getting to surround himself with you and your kids every night for family dinners, everyone getting together for big birthday parties or reunions! That’s his dream life! Plus, in Snezhnaya, most families have more than two kids anyways

He will cry so hard when his babies are placed in his arms for the first time, I mean he’s a mess. Nose is running, eyes puffy, lost of sniffling lmao he is so excited to be a dad!! Don’t you dare tell the other Harbingers how much he cried...What do you mean you took a picture when he wasn’t looking??? Hey??!?!

With his obscene amount of mora, he’ll buy a huge house that will accommodate everyone. Anything you want will be purchased that day or within 48 hours, the same goes for the kids

But they’ll all learn to be thankful for what they have. They’ll learn to fight, fish and speak multiple languages. He has high expectations but let’s face it, he’ll be proud of them no matter what

You’re gonna have to be the one to put your foot down though because Ajax doesn’t enjoy being the ‘mean parent’, he has trouble saying no to the kiddos which can create some tension between you and your husband. He has good intentions of course!! He doesn’t wanna say no to those cute, freckled faces!!

Zhongli:

Zhongli is nervous about having kids because he’s immortal. So this will go one of two ways. 1. You have the baby and the baby ends up not being immortal (or you adopt a baby who is not immortal) Then he loses you both. OR 2. You have the baby and it inherits his immortality and becomes an adeptus. Now he and the baby will have to watch you die while they both life forever.

Either way...It hurts him to think about because he loves you!! He wants to have a family with you!! He wants to give you that perfect family life every human desires!! But he’s torn

You two will just have to figure it out.

Zhongli will be a strong, male figure for your kid(s) and he will instill that traditional kindness and respect into their behavior. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ always, always offer to help someone who needs it, do good deeds and you will feel accomplished, be the best you you can be, alway try your hardest because that’s all that matters

He will be sure that your kid(s) always feel loved ALWAYS. Zhongli will tell them stories, cook for them, take them to school, anything that needs to be done. When you’ve had a rough day, he’ll step in to take over for the night without being asked. He shows interest in everything your kid(s) like and he will do his damn best to display every piece of artwork they make or every pretty rock they find

He...will make a great dad :’)

Kaeya:

Ooooh brother, at first Kaeya says no he doesn’t want kids but...Then he starts thinking about it

He observes the happy families that walk around the cobblestone streets of Mondstadt, how the kiddos smile and laugh with their parents. He’ll patrol in the afternoons, usually rounding the corner just in time to see the city’s kids leave school for the day, watching as they all run down the street to go home to their parents or play in the fountain together...Yeah, that really warms his heart

He’d want one or two kids, preferably two to avoid an only child being lonely. He isn’t on the best terms with Diluc but he can admit that they had a great childhood together, playing at the winery and running around as brothers do

Kaeya would be a very patient, understanding father. He doesn’t have much of a temper so he’d use the kids’ mistakes as learning opportunities instead of getting upset at them

He would be obsessed with the kids when they’re babies though oh man if you thought you had baby fever, he has it times ten! He loves holding the baby, watching with a twinkling eye as his baby grasps his thumb with its tiny hand... adorable

And if your kids inherited his eyes, his star shaped pupils that his ancestors passed down to him...He’s gonna get emotional

Everyone at the knights’ headquarters and the Angel’s Share will get sick of him REALLY fast cause he won’t stop bragging about how cute and smart his kids are lmao

Diluc:

Diluc would be such a soft dad don’t even get me started

He loves you so much of course he wants to have kids with you! Is that even a question?? He won’t be the one to bring it up unless he gets the feeling that you want kids but once you ask, he’ll agree so fast

He’ll be grateful to even have one kid with you :’) and he’ll be fine with however many kids YOU want. You want one kid? Perfect! You want four? No problem, the manor is big enough for ten! You...you want ten...? Time to hire some more maids then lmao

Diluc is a worry wart though, he’ll be afraid to hold the baby, feed it, bathe it, he’s terrified of hurting the baby or the baby suddenly hating him. So just help him out!! Cause when he gets comfortable with the baby, he’ll be in full dad mode

He isn’t embarrassed to walk around the manor, conducting business with a baby strapped to his chest!

Diluc is a very kind, gentle dad who will always offer helpful solutions to the kiddos’ problems. He’ll make sure all of their needs are met while also trying to avoid spoiling them... Too much... There will be a fair amount of spoiling...

His own father wasn’t too affectionate with him so that’s why he’ll be affectionate with his kids! Hugs and kisses when he tucks them in at night, big dad hugs when they get home from school, holding their hands in the busy streets of Mondstadt. His father was a great dad! He just aims to be better.

Xiao:

Like Zhongli, he worries about the mortality thing. Since he’s an Adeptus, his kid will certainly be an Adeptus too if you have kids together.

He also worries that his kid(s) will hate him. His duty is to kill demons which means that rain or shine, holidays, special occasions, day or night he’s gotta be ready to go slaughter demonic beings. So he’ll inevitably miss out on important stages in the kiddos’ lives

And admittedly... He’ll be scared of his kids lmao

They’re screaming, crying, barfing, pooping, laughing, screaming again...He can’t predict their behavior. It’s unsettling. All of that goes away one night when you sit him down and place your sleeping baby in his arms. His eyes go wide...And he just watches. This tiny, little baby...Feels no fear for him. It’s comforted by his presence. He almost cries...ALMOST

He’s still pretty much the same Xiao we all know and love but now he has a kid. “Slaying demons is what I do...Hey, go back inside and finish your dinner. Yes, even your vegetables. I don’t care that you don’t like them-...Fine. Don’t tell your mother, bring them to me. I’ll eat them” cute :)

He’s a protective dad and husband, he’d never let anyone or anything harm his beloved family

Venti:

Venti....does not want kids. He thinks they’re cute! He likes the idea of kids but he knows he wouldn’t enjoy actually having kids

You two already have so much fun together!! You don’t need a kid!! You guys have dogs!! Dogs are like kids! But they’re more independent and they’re cuter!

He’ll feel bad if you want kids and he doesn’t, he really will! But it’ll be nearly impossible to convince him cause he’s made his mind up :/

Venti’ll make it up to you somehow though, he’ll take you out more and show you all of the adventures you guys can have if there aren’t kids around

But for the sake of fatherhood headcanons, let’s pretend he gave in. Venti would be a very caring dad. He would cuddle the hell out of this kiddo and sing to them :’) the only problem is that Venti doesn’t like being tethered to one place for too long so he tends to take off and not come back for a few days... :(

Albedo:

Albedo wants kids mostly just to see what fatherhood would be like. He’s always been curious about what that part of his life would be like so why not have a kid

He’d be good with one kid, two at most cause after practically raising Klee, he knows how some kids can be and...He doesn’t have the mental capacity for more than two kids at a time lmao

He tries his best to show more emotion in his face. We all know he usually sits like this 😐 and goes ‘wow im so happy right now’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was bored out of his mind right? So he’s gotta work on that. And when he musters up a smile for the baby and it smiles back at him????? Yeah...He’s gonna try to smile a lot more now

He definitely softens up once he becomes a dad, he shows emotion more than he used to and surprisingly, he takes time off of work. Shocker, I know! He decides that he’s been in the lab long enough and that he wants to be able to be there for these moments with you and his kid(s) :’) :’) He trusts Sucrose and Timaeus to take over for him for a couple hours

He keeps a journal for each kid and writes down the date and time they have their firsts or just interesting things they do ->

- 8/4: Baby sees and plays with a cat for the first time

- 9/5: Baby smacked me in the face and laughed so hard she threw up

-9/12: Baby learns that pulling my hair gets my attention. She now continues to do so

-10/15: Baby stays at Aunt Klee’s house for the first time

Baizhu:

Baizhu really loves kids, he works with them a lot and he considers Qiqi to be his daughter anyway but in terms of you guys having a kid together, with his condition he can probably only handle one kid running around

He will do his absolute best to be a good dad. Even if he feels like death, he’ll help change diapers, feed the baby, care for it when you need a break. He isn’t contagious so when you’re sleeping and he feels gross, he’ll sit back against the pillows with the baby on his chest, the three of you resting together (though he doesn’t fall asleep...that would be dangerous for the baby)

Baizhu already tends to nag at you about your health and lifestyle choices but now?? He’ll be a menace. He’ll be constantly evaluating your baby’s condition, checking to see if a certain food is giving them a rash or making sure their skin isn’t drying out. He’s hyper aware of your baby’s health and will be the one to treat them if they get sick

He’s a busy guy since he runs the pharmacy but he will always do his best to be present for your baby’s big milestones! And when your kid cries cause Baizhu’s medicine tastes like shit, he’ll do his best to not be disappointed in their reaction lmao

When you leave him alone with the baby, he’ll wrap a scarf around himself to tie the baby to his chest while he works and...he looks so cute :) dad baizhu <3 <3 <3 <3

Bonus points for him buying the baby toy medical equipment so he can get your kiddo interested in medicine :)

[heliads]

I Wish You Could Be Honest Chapter Five: I'd Bare My Heart

HYDRA didn’t die out when it failed to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. during the time of the Winter Soldier. Now, top enemy agent Y/N L/N has been sent to finish the job by killing Steve Rogers. When she’s captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., she doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly doesn’t involve Captain America himself trying to win her over.

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Your first day out of your cell ends the same way every other one does, with a beginning. You return to your incarceration block when the sun slips away, and in the morning, you leave it once more. You go back to your job as a prop S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, you do your best to not give anything away, and in the meantime, you wonder what the hell Steve is playing at.

A few weeks have passed, and you’re no closer to cracking him than he is with you. It’s frustrating, at times; you’re supposed to be the unbreakable agent, not him. Steve Rogers is the one who loses himself whenever he hears a mention of his former best friend, James Barnes, the one who’s more heart than head and barely keeps himself on a tether long enough to go out and save the day.

So why is it that you can’t get past his Good Samaritan exterior long enough to figure him out? Steve Rogers does not hate you, his would be assassin, nor does he love you. He tolerates you, then defends you to the very S.H.I.E.L.D. agents you once betrayed. He makes sure you’re always seen on security cameras so the Avengers can get a lock on you if need be, then seemingly dangles a key to your escape before your eyes.

What does it all mean, then? There are two options before you, as far as you can tell: either Steve is a genuinely good guy, one who actually wants to see you get out of HYDRA and fold back into the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., or he’s a damned genius who’s got some mad plan to trap you in fairyland dreams just before he cracks you once and for all.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to decide which one he is. One day, you’re certain that it’s the latter, that Steve Rogers may be even worse than you when it comes to knives in backs. He has the strongest moral compass you’ve ever seen, there’s no chance he would ever let a killer like you run free in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most notorious base like a kid in a candy store.

Then, he catches you alone when the two of you are walking through the corridors, and you start to doubt yourself. He smiles like a saint, and he tells you stories of how he used to be a kid in Brooklyn who made Christmas trees out of cardboard boxes and twine, how there’s so much more to him than just a uniform.

Eventually, you decide that the only thing you can do is just keep holding out. Other than the one incident with the knife hidden in your newly acquired S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, you have received no word from HYDRA. No coded messages, other than that slip of paper. No leads for you to follow.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’d admit that it scares you, this silence. HYDRA will come to save you, right? You’re one of their best agents. That isn’t even a brag, just the plain fact. Baron von Strucker has trained you like a daughter, and Alexander Pierce handpicked you from the masses of new agents many years ago. You are their best and brightest, and there’s no way they’d leave you to rot in a holding cell. They can’t, because if they do, they violate every belief you have about how they’re the better ring of spies.

It makes no sense. If anything, HYDRA should have left you a cyanide capsule by now. They have few spies left in S.H.I.E.L.D. due to a mass culling of any potential moles the last time HYDRA showed its face, but there should be at least one friendly face still breathing. Surely they’d get you out, or at least provide you with an opportunity to shut yourself up for good. You know too many secrets for them to leave you, right? Right?

Still, they don’t come. Days pass, nights pass, and after the second week of you being allowed to run semi-free around the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, you decide that the only way forward is to assume that nothing is going to happen. You can’t keep acting like you’ll have some way out, or Steve is going to suspect something. The only way forward is to find an escape on your own, and if something stumbles across your path, all the better for it.

Steve. He’s the only person stopping you from running right now. If you tried it, you think you could probably get out, albeit sporting a couple injuries and in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation or weapons to save you. It wouldn’t last long, but it could work.

Yet you find yourself staying, hour after hour and day after day. Perhaps it’s because you’ve never met a riddle you couldn’t solve, and Steve breaks that pattern. You can’t bear not knowing his true motives, so you stay. That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

You find yourself growing into a steady rhythm. Although you’ll always be shadowed by enemy agents, never allowed to truly fend for yourself in a place that holds every S.H.I.E.L.D. secret you’ve always yearned to know, you don’t need Steve to shadow your every footstep anymore. You ‘reveal’ HYDRA codes when you’re working in the intelligence department, even if they’re only from a list of preapproved signals for use during capture. You sit in on minor meetings, just you, yourself, and the judgmental stares of the agents assigned to follow you.

Still, you manage to find a place for Steve in your schedule after all. Sometimes, it’s just quiet. Steve lingers in the corners of the training room, watching you empty every one of your bullets into the dead center of the target. His gaze pulls the trigger just as much as your fingers, and his eyes race through the air along with the rounds of ammunition. You don’t know what he sees, but it is enough to convince him to stick around a little longer.

You return the favor, hanging around outside when Steve picks up his shield and goes to war against the various concrete columns set up in his designated area. He hurls the familiar metal disk at speeds you can’t believe are real, and he never misses a shot, not once. He catches the shield with a brisk tap of his fingers, he sends it spinning up to the sky like a fierce hope for something better. You watch the taut cords of his arms and wonder how you thought you could kill him with bullets alone, back in that warehouse all those weeks ago.

The two of you are growing closer, after everything. You don’t know if Steve still sees his would-be killer every time he locks eyes with you, but he must like what he sees, because he keeps staring even after you look away.

He talks with you, too, about the frustration of S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols getting in the way of worthwhile missions, how he sometimes yearns for the 40s-era excursions when he didn’t need a team of a dozen or two guards just to take down a single man.

Sometimes, when the night grows late and the shadows under his eyes grow deep, Steve says more than he means. He’s never sure whether what he’s doing is right or wrong, just that the supposed good guys are deciding it. They see a musclebound gun, a perfect soldier who takes orders and never doubts why he’s holding a gun to the head of an innocent. He doesn’t know if he’s any different from that, either.

You don’t talk, during times like those. That’s partially because once Steve gets going, you’re afraid to interrupt for fear that his guilty conscience will snap back behind his steely exterior like a trap, and then you’ll be back to square one. You’re not even sure that you’re listening for secrets anymore, just as a friend.

If you can dare to admit it to yourself, you’re also afraid, afraid that he’ll stop seeing his perfect charity case. You’ve long since passed up the chance to have a good heart. Sure, you throw yourself into your work at HYDRA with the goal of making a better world, but you don’t think that Steve would believe it as you do. Perhaps that makes him smarter than you, in a way.

However, you’ve gone too long without spilling your fair share. About three weeks after your capture, Steve walks with you through the endless corridors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex. He leads you to a living area, grabbing a drink from a minifridge as if you’re old college friends, and offers for you to take one as well. 

You eye him cautiously, then grab a glass bottle with amber contents sloshing noisily along the sides. In the light of the setting sun, the liquid looks almost gold. Do you take it because you think it could paint your insides that perfect metallic shade, finally make you good enough for your company?

Steve opens a door at the far end of the communal area and steps out onto a balcony that’s more function than form, all harsh concrete edges and solid iron railings. Still, half obscured by the quickly fading light of dusk, it does the job.

Steve gestures for you to take a seat on one of the two chairs conspicuously placed so they face each other on this narrow strip of land in between you and the setting sun. “Thought it would be easier to talk this way. Feels like there’s always someone breathing down our backs otherwise.”

He’s not wrong, at least here there aren’t any agents. That doesn’t mean they’re not watching, though. “How do I know you haven’t got about a thousand security cams up here?”

Steve gestures around the balcony, sitting down on one of the chairs while he’s at it. “Feel free to take a look, but there aren’t any.”

He isn’t lying, but you check anyway. Old habits die hard. Once you’re satisfied, you slump into the other chair, crossing one leg over the other as if you’re just a couple of good friends ready to spill gossip instead of highly confidential secrets.

“So. Why have I been brought to Interrogation Room 2.0?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches up in the half smile you’ve grown to like quite a bit. “Why do you always assume it’s an interrogation?”

You chuckle. “What else would it be?”

“Maybe it’s just a conversation,” he offers, “Just us, conversing. Not everything is a trap.”

You swallow a mouthful of your drink, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I bet. I tried to kill you, Steve. You have no proof that I’m not still considering it. No one would actually treat a potential assassin like you do.”

He raises a brow. “And how am I treating you?”

You spread your hands. “With kindness.”

Steve smirks at that. “Who wouldn’t treat you with kindness? HYDRA, I presume?”

You stare at your bottle, it’s an easier target than the man in front of you. “You’re trying to get me to talk about my feelings regarding my favorite spy organization. It won’t work.”

Steve takes a sip of his own drink. You watch the shadows of his throat as they swallow the liquid down. “Why not? I talked about S.H.I.E.LD., so I’d say it’s more than past time you returned the favor.”

You dismiss this with a wave of your hand. “That was your choice. You’re still here, anyway. It’s easy to talk about your own employer while you’re under their roof.”

Steve leans back against his chair. “You think it’s different because you’re not under HYDRA’s roof? I would have thought it would be easier.”

You rotate the bottle in your hands, the cool glass warming beneath your touch. “What do you want me to say, then? That I hate it? That being here, amongst all your good guys and righteous heroes, makes me realize how wrong I was to ever choose HYDRA’s side? It’s not true, and it never will be.”

Steve crosses his arms across his chest. “Then what is true? You chose HYDRA for a reason. What was it?” He raises a hand at your warning glance. “I’m not asking you to incriminate yourself. Not a word of this conversation will leave the balcony, I swear it.”

He’s telling the truth again. You don’t know when you learned to tell his lies from his facts, but you can’t seem to stop now.

Regardless, the offer still stands, and you surprise yourself by taking it. “I joined because I thought it was the only way to actually do something worthwhile. You’ve complained about that, haven’t you? S.H.I.E.L.D. loses itself in its policies. They’re so committed to maintaining order in the world that they refuse to look at the benefits of a new one.”

Steve frowns. “Won’t tearing down our current world hurt more people than it helps?”

“Won’t keeping this one do the same?” You counter. “You know as well as I do that there are innocent people being crushed under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s boot every day. There are kids growing up with the government watching their every move. There is no freedom in our future, not if we keep going on this track. HYDRA wants to offer up a different story.”

Steve cocks his head to the side. “What kind of world would you be making, at any rate? One where sniping national symbols is a common practice when it gets you what you want?”

It’s a blow, but it’s not personal. “We’re not the only ones taking shots whenever we can, Steve. I’d start looking in some of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s older files if I were you. There are inhumans that disappeared under your agency’s supposed care. They could have been national heroes. Or, what about the up-and-comers who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time? S.H.I.E.L.D. is built on dead bodies. You just haven’t been looking hard enough to find them.”

There’s a hardness to Steve’s gaze that tells you that he’s thought about this before. “So you want to get rid of that. Sure. What makes your new world so different from ours?”

You consider this around a swallow of your drink. This time, it’s Steve’s gaze on your lips, even after you put down the bottle. The sun has all but set, and the last of the daylight is trapped in his eyes. You think you could down that blue just as quickly.

“We get rid of the old precedents. We set up new rules. It takes time, and many won’t like it, but they let more people in the door. A lot of it will be similar to the old world, but with just enough changes that it’s not as bad. There will still be villains, there always are, but at least we’re starting from a better place.”

Steve nods. “And what happens in ten or fifteen years, when a new crop of kids with big plans sees you as the enemy just as you see S.H.I.E.L..D., and they want to tear the whole thing down and start the cycle all over? You can’t sustain that forever.”

You raise your chin. “We would listen to them. We would not make props out of good men.”

That gets to him, you can tell. For a moment, Steve lets himself consider it. “It’s a dream,” he says, “Nothing more than a dream. But a good one.”

You smile softly, staring out over the sunset. “Of course it’s a good one. That’s how it stays alive.”

Steve’s eyes take on a new layer of depth. You’ve told him far more than you meant, and opened up more than you should. He doesn’t look at you with pity, though, just hope. You feel almost uncomfortable with it, as if Steve is proud of himself for finding yet another example of the woman he wants to see, his sort of soulful martyr.

He doesn’t force it on you, though. Instead, he stands, stretching once as he mentions that he’s going to go check on something down the hall. One of the new interns has texted him for help again. Although he’ll never mention it, Steve has never considered himself to be above anyone, even interns. He’d advise a high schooler if he thought he could. Maybe that’s what makes you smile fondly at his empty chair, but only after he can’t see the expression on your face.

You freeze up soon enough, however, when someone slides into the newly vacated seat. This man is familiar, but nearly unrecognizable due to the wig and colored contacts neatly fitted into his disguise. 

You breathe his name in something that could almost be described as horror. “Moore.”

The man grins, much like a shark just happening upon its prey. “You shouldn’t say that name here, you know. I’ve got a fake one that works much better.”

You know him, after all. Agent Moore was there at the briefing for your mission to kill Captain America. He argued with you about whether taking down Steve Rogers was actually the best possible plan. If he still holds his past embarrassment against you, though, he gives no sign of it other than a greasy lilt to his smirk.

This is it, then. Moore is HYDRA, just like you. You had almost given up hope that they would come for you, but if he’s here, you must have an escape available after all.

You settle back against your chair, feeling your back straighten. Not a hair is out of place, and you can show no weakness around this man, who holds your freedom in the palm of his wrinkled hand.

“What’s the plan, then? You’d best hurry.”

Moore appears unhurried, though. “What, you worried about your dear friend coming back? No need to stress, Rogers shouldn’t come back for another half hour. Not that you’d mind, of course,” Moore takes this opportunity to shoot you a knowing wink that makes your skin crawl, “You haven’t seemed to despise his company all that much.”

You arch a brow. It’s funny, you hadn’t realized how much your facade of top agent had left you until it came ricocheting back to show Moore up. “It’s called undercover work, Agent. I hadn’t realized I would need to teach you that.”

He straightens his tie unhappily. “And you don’t. I managed to sneak you a blade, didn’t you notice? I’ve been here a while, and I’ll be the one to get you out.”

You nod, happy that you’re steering the conversation back to safer waters. “When do I leave? We could probably even go now if we played our cards right.”

Moore shakes his head, giving the air of a half-tipsy grandfather who wouldn’t dare leave his in-laws’ place before thoroughly outstaying his welcome. “Oh, no need to rush. We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

You cross your arms across your chest. “You’re enjoying this a lot, aren’t you? What reason could we possibly have to stay?”

Moore gestures irritably at the door. “We’re not alone here, obviously. You’re already on thin ice for staying out of their range for so long with Rogers. The halls out here are practically crawling with guys who just happen to be out getting a coffee run in the hopes of hearing something. I’m not ruining my cover for you, no matter how much you want to go home. I hope you haven’t lost your nerve, L/N.”

You scoff, hoping he can’t hear how hollow it sounds. “Of course I haven’t. You think I’m having a good time out here? It almost makes me want to have a conscience. Almost.”

Moore snorts, then stands, extending a hand to you. “We’ll all be glad to have you back soon enough, even with that attitude. Stay ready, like I said. We’ll get you out of here before you know it.”

You shake his hand, although you scarcely feel the pressure of it. This is what you’ve been waiting for all along, the chance to finally ditch S.H.I.E.L.D.’s restraints and go back to your normal life at HYDRA. Hearing that you’ll soon be leaving Steve in the dust is the best news you’ve gotten in weeks.

Isn’t it?

series/marvel tag list: @maluisamarvelfan123, @navs-bhat, @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv-blog, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Desire

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Female!Succubus!Reader

Summary: From this list, the (loosely taken) prompts “Is this a dream, or a nightmare?” and “You stepped into my territory, which means you belong to me. And I don’t let things that are mine go.” 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: 18+. Succubus!Reader (btw, everything that the characters partake in is consensual. Ik I probably don’t have to tell you that, but to me there’s some implication of dubcon or noncon in Succubus/Incubus stories, so just in case), smut, D/s dynamics, sub!Ivar, some choking and biting/marking as always, and a bit of blood.

A/N: Hi! It’s been a very long time since I’ve written anything for Ivar, much less smut for Ivar, so I apologize in advance if this is OOC or just not very good. Still, I hope you like this!

Also, lets assume this is an AU where he knows his dick works. Also also, this takes place around the taking of York.

Fyi, this quote owns my soul and it shows: “I thought I knew hunger before this. I found that kind of touch unbearable. To witness. To want. Desire is ugly. Incessant. Shaped like two hands wrapped around a throat.” By S.K. Osborn.

I wanted to write something for spooky season, hence this, but my thoughts are apparently too horny to go in a horror direction, so smut it is. Happy very late Halloween! 🎃

Btw, if you recognize a line of the show at the beginning there, I’m proud of ya 😉 It literally means nothing tho, it is my own way of teasing Ivar through quasi-meta writing.

Desire was something Ivar always resented. It wrenched control from his grasp, it reduced him to nothing but want. It was incessant, unbearable.

He often thought of his desire, of this wretched longing for what has always been beyond his grasp, and pictured it like two hands wrapped around his throat. A defeat that he was too weak to keep himself from, a set of shackles so painfully human, a weakness he is powerless to ignore.

Yet with your body moving above his, your tight, wet heat enveloping his cock and driving pleasure like lightning over his skin, down his spine, pooling low in his belly; he arches his back off the bed, head tilted back and throat bared to you, and when your hands wrap around his throat, he offers only a haggard moan. His defeat is something he seeks now, his shackles now keep him tethered and grounded, weakness has no place on his body that now sings under the pleasure you draw from him.

Your breaths are ragged and fast and in his head echoes the realization that such a reaction is because of him, your eyes darker than he has ever seen them as you force him by will alone to keep his gaze focused on you, and with a smile of bloodstained teeth you lean closer.

You retrace the marks you have already left ruthlessly, teeth closing once again over weak flesh, tongue roughly soothing away the pain of the blood drawn; and Ivar can do nothing but writhe uselessly underneath you, hoarse calls to nothing as air is robbed of his lungs, as thoughts are driven from his mind, as everything fades except you and this maddening want.

You continue the path downwards from his clavicle, alternating between bites and kisses and Ivar can’t quite decide which one is worse, which one tortures him the most, which one might make him lose his mind for good.

You stop right over his heart, your hands no longer pressing against his throat -yet he can’t draw in air, and realizes force was never what kept him powerless-, instead trailing down his sides until they stop at his waist.

In between hurried breaths that stumble over one another, Ivar tries returning control to himself, tries having his body obey, and looks down to meet your gaze. You smile, wolfish and dark, and utter a single word,

“Mine.”

He cannot contain the hoarse yell that leaves him when you sink your teeth on the skin over his heart, pleasure and pain intertwining until all he can do is surrender to it.

Just as he feels the pain of your mark on him and the pleasure of your heat around him threaten to take him further underwater, to push him over the edge, he feels your weight disappear from above him, and with you both pleasure and pain fade to almost nothing.

And he’s left jolting up in his bed, chasing the touch and the warmth of a ghost that was never truly there.

With a grunted curse, Ivar drops himself back on the bed, dragging his hands over his face. It is almost bitterly that he does his best to ignore the hardness in his pants, the evidence of his body betraying him.

It has been entirely too long of this madness. He isn’t sure if it has been weeks, or months, it feels like an eternity anyhow.

You have been haunting his dreams, taunting him by always being too far from his reach, ever since he and the army took York, and you, the woman the Saxons spoke of as a ‘demon’, decided to stay instead of fleeing with the rest of the town.

He has barely seen you a few times, he has only heard your voice when he catches you talking with people in the market, and yet your face and body are burned in his memory so that even behind closed lids he can’t escape you, and your voice is painfully familiar to him a if he has saved the sweet sound somewhere hollow in his chest so he can recall it whenever he wants to.

Ivar is certain you are somehow doing this on purpose, that you have cursed him, or…or bewitched him in some way. This is not his fault, he is not like his brothers, he isn’t to be so easily rendered mindless by desire.

He refuses to let you get away with this, to let you keep playing with him like this. You will give him answers, and you will leave York.

The next night he refuses to go to sleep, and pretends there isn’t a part of him that wants to sleep, wants to dream of you again; and instead waits for night to fall, and only then starts the slow trek to the home in the outskirts of the town.

The door to your home isn’t locked, and with rightful anger and a strange humiliation burning away at him, Ivar doesn’t have it in him to pretend to be above barging into the house.

He finds you standing by a window in the small home, your back to the door as you work on what looks to be a wreath of dried branches and flowers.

You don’t turn around, and in anyone else Ivar would be inclined to write it off to his steps being very much telling of who it is that approached, but he can’t shake off the feeling that you keeping your back to him is a dare, a threat.

Letting him hear the smile in your tone when you say, sing-song tilt to your voice,

“Please, don’t just stand there,” Finally you turn around, and the smile is as wolfish as he was expecting. The words echo in his head like he has heard them before, and the mocking tone in your voice only manages to tangle his thoughts on that impression. You gesture with one hand, “Come in.”

“Who are you?” He asks instead, eyes venturing to study the place you have made your home but unable to resist the pull to return to you, to your eyes that haven’t left his.

Your smile makes your eyes narrow just a bit. Ivar has the errant thought that you narrowed your eyes and are smiling to mask it, though.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You are the one stepping into my territory,” With a chuckle at your own words, you step forward, and amend, “My home.”

He holds his place, both refusing to step back against your almost threatening approach, and refusing to let go of his inquiry.

“I asked first.”

You insist on keeping up the smile and the mask it provides, motioning with your hand to the bed, which seems to be the only possible seat, and order,

“Sit,” Ivar frowns, at the tip of his tongue sharp words about how you must be forgetting who he is if you think you can order him around, but he saves them when your smile softens. The way you are looking at him as you take a seat at the foot of the bed is different, not so performative, not so calculated, yet it still puts him on edge. He feels like you are hunting him, like you are…toying with him. Before the realization can take root in his head, before he can let his thoughts chase themselves in circles, before he can feel the cold and the distant but familiar ache of shame, of being mocked, you speak again, “If you come sit with me, I will answer your questions, Ivar.”

He frowns, “You know my name.”

“Would you prefer I didn’t?”

“I would prefer if you were honest.”

“I am,” You answer simply. Biting back a sigh, Ivar walks towards you, trying to read your expression and understand what your thoughts are as you watch him approach you. When he finally sits next to you, trying and failing to ignore the heady scent of lavender and something else, something darker, that seems to surround you and cling to the furs of this bed, you nod your head, a silent praise that isn’t lost to him. Neither is lost to him the way it affects him to know such thing. “Thank you.”

He twirls the crutch in his hand but realizes that gives away his restlessness and instead rests it by his side on the bed; and instead studies you in silence for a few breaths, not really sure what to do with his hands so he just sets them on his thighs, and not really sure what to think about how close you are to him but there is nothing he can do to help that.

Instead, he returns to his curiosity. Ivar has a feeling you are skittish about direct questions, so instead he starts,

“There are whispers, about what you are. The Saxons said you were a…demon, that you are sworn to their devil.”

This time in your smile you don’t bother hiding the satisfaction, and Ivar looks away, clearing his throat and feeling shame burn away at him at the warmth that fills his chest at knowing he has done something to please you again. This pathetic warmth he so craves, it leaves him restless and pliant at the same time, and though he wants to confront you about what you are doing to him with nothing but your smile and your voice, he cannot do so without admitting to more than he wishes to; so he has no choice but to stay quiet.

You startle him when you slowly reach for him, letting your fingers trail up the inside of his forearm before the slowly, torturously, trail back up. Ivar holds his breath, watches you in silence and the words die on his lips. He has the errant thought that with such a simple touch it feels like your small hands are wrapped around his throat, that with nothing but a caress you’ve shackled and defeated him.

But he does not dare stop you, does not want to. If anything, he wants more, but he is starting to realize what rules you play by, offering softness when he does as you say and offering your touch when he shows he can play your game; and above demanding more he wants to earn it.

“And what do you say I am?” You venture, lifting your darkened gaze from the aimless path of your fingers to meet his eyes again. Your smile widens, teasing, before you add, “Don’t say a witch.”

You startle a chuckle from him, his shoulders loosening some of the tension for a moment.

“There aren’t many things I can think of,” And how true that is, he can barely think when you are sitting so close to him, when you are still tracing invisible lines over his arm and leaving a burning trail after your touch. “Are you…mortal?”

You furrow your lips to hide the widening of your smile, and he cannot help but find it endearing.

“I am just like you, Ivar. I just happen to be drawn to…desire.”

“Desire.”

“Mhm,” Your hummed affirmation sounds like a rumble, a purr. Your head tilts to the side, smile widening, wolfish. “Your people revel in it. The bloodlust during a fight, the…well, lust that comes after a good battle. It is…intoxicating, to one such as me.”

He almost wants to argue that you are the intoxicating one, that there has to be some truth to the tales the Christians would speak of you and how you drove men mad with desire, with need.

But he plays by the rules, not really sure why he feels so compelled to, not really sure why he is funding such solace in following your lead.

“Is that why you are in York?” Is that why you torment me?

“I was here before you.” You answer simply, but Ivar shakes his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m sure the Christians lusted after you as much as any of us.”

“Us?” You repeat, and Ivar feels his face burn with embarrassment for a moment, gritting his teeth at the admission you so effortlessly pulled from him. Still, you drop the teasing expression soon enough, the smallest of furrows between your brows as you explain, “I do not need to be lusted after, nor do I want to. That is not why I linger here.”

“Then…then why do you appear in my dreams?” He ventures, turning his head to look at you, trying desperately to find any answers yet petrified at the thought of those answers being that his dreams are nothing but dreams, that he is making up in his head anything more than this, that he is deluding himself into thinking you somehow want him.

“Dreams?” You repeat slowly, a glint in your eye. Refusing to give away anything more, Ivar holds your gaze in silence. Your tone speaks of a secret, of teasing, when you admit, “I have been having…strange dreams too.”

“So they aren’t dreams.”

Your gaze lowers to his chest, and the heat of your gaze feels almost exactly like the trail of your mouth did, down from his neck until you stop right over his heart.

Lifting a brow, you say, “My mark isn’t there, is it?”

Your voice, a hoarse whisper with the force of a fierce command, echoes in his head, the one word he has heard you say in his dreams, the one claim he would give to none but you.

Mine, mine, mine.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“I am drawn to desire, but I have desires of my own,” His breath hitches in his throat as you lean closer, and he knows you notice, it is written in the way you linger for a moment, letting him feel your faint breath on the side of his neck before you speak, lowly, almost a secret, “Power.”

There’s a moment where he feels cold creep up on him, a painful realization as his worst thoughts whisper that the only reason you are close is that he conquered York, that he leads the Great Army. For too long he thinks it is worth it to let you get close, even if you want the power he wields and not him, if that means he gets to have you, be yours.

But you dispel such thoughts, such worries, with but a touch. For your hand, daring, burning him with the simple touch, comes to rest on his chest, right above his heart.

Where your mark blossoms each night and where it disappears from each morning.

“You are…you are unlike anyone I have ever met, Ivar. I can feel the power you wield; I hear it in your voice when you talk to them, I see it in their eyes when they look at you,” You lean closer, tilting your chin up just slightly, and his breath stutters at the promise of a kiss you aren’t quite granting yet. Heart beating wildly at your praise, he wonders dazedly if you can hear it, he wonders how it is possible he can still hear you as you continue, “And I can taste your ambition, Ivar, your bloodthirst,” Ivar cannot help but lean just slightly towards you, the silent plea he doesn’t dare voice and you do not answer to. But your gaze still travels to his mouth, and when you lick your lips, he imagines it is because you crave the taste of him as he does of you, and has to bite back a whimper. Your voice washes over him, a whisper, a breath, “Your desire.”

He isn’t sure why having you admit to seeing such things, to feeling such things, shames him the way it does. Desire has always been a shameful thing, most shameful when it is him who feels it. Ivar, always wanting things beyond his reach, hoping for what he does not deserve.

It isn’t with scorn or mockery that you say it, and it burns all the more because of it. He feels as if he has been bared of any armor, and with gentle touches and a soft voice you’ve lured him into facing the more pitiful parts of himself, voicing the truths you see and he wishes he could ignore.

The smile he attempts at offering you is rueful, pitiful, but he makes sure to look away before catching your reaction. It petrifies him to imagine you might look at him with pity.

“Hm.” He offers, and even in the short sound his voice wavers.

You don’t waver, instead turning in your place to face him better, and though Ivar knows you are trying to get him to meet your eyes, he cannot bring himself to do so.

He hides well the instinct to flinch when your free hand reaches to cup his face, lest you think he doesn’t want your hands on him; and grits his teeth but obeys when you gently prompt him to meet your gaze.

There is no pity in the softness of your gaze, there is no mockery in the sharp curve of your smile. There is hunger, there is darkness, but he isn’t sure he could imagine you without either.

“That is why I have stayed, that is why in my dreams I seek you,” You admit, unwavering, ardent. Your hand starts a slow path upwards, until it rests at the base of his throat, and it takes everything in him not to move into the touch, not to seek the press of your hand against his throat. You lean closer, or maybe he does, helpless under the spell of your darkened gaze, and with your lips a breath away from his own you whisper, “Because I desire you. And I want you to say yes.”

The word stumbles past his lips before you are even done speaking, a plea, a whimper,

“Yes.” Please.

But you shake your head, hand continuing to creep up until you are holding him by the throat, keeping him looking at you. As if he’d ever look away.

“No, my sweet,” You chastise, and the rejection cannot sting right now, not when the term of endearment leaving your lips washes over him, not when being spoken so softly to by you is making Ivar’s eyes flutter shut. “If you give in to me, if you surrender, it has to be because you want to.”

“I want to. I-I want you, I-…” Admitting desire should be difficult, his words should be weighted with each time he dared hope and was rejected, his voice should waver with the shame of being weak enough to feel longing; but he finds the admission comes easily to him, and leaves him weightless once it is done. “Please.”

You smile, pleased, and with that smile returns to him that same warmth from before, that restless peace that comes with knowing he has been good, has made you happy.

“Please what, hm?”

“Please, t-touch me, take me, just-…” The words stumble past his lips and he feels his face burning more and more with each one, and judging by the way you’re looking at him you aren’t planning on stopping him; so instead he stops himself, stalls his breath for a moment before he dares admits a more coveted desire, “K-Kiss me?”

The hand on his cheek offers a caress that makes his chest pull tight, and slowly, torturously, you lean to cross the distance between you. The anticipation building within him is enough to make pleas almost leave his lips again, but Ivar holds himself still, awaiting with baited breath for the moment you bring your lips to his.

He could cross this little distance between you, could end this dance you seem to enjoy extending, but he wants you to be the one to kiss him. Foolish, pathetic maybe, but Ivar wants to be kissed, wants to be touched, not because he demands it, but because you want to, because you want him enough to no longer stand the distance between you.

And with one last stuttered breath against his lips, you bring him to you, the hand on the side of his face holding the back of his neck as you take control of the kiss, your tongue venturing past the seam of his lips and making a choked moan leave his lips before he can stop it.

He loses himself in the feel of your kiss, in the subtle taste of you, in the electrifying warmth of your hands on him; and when you tug almost petulantly at the shirt he wears, Ivar rushes to take it off, as desperate to feel your skin against his as he hopes you are.

Humming contentedly, you trail warm hands over his chest. Ivar remains still under your touch, eyes taking in your expression, breath hitching at the want he sees shining clearly in your gaze. He still cannot believe you are looking at him like that, that him and his body are what makes you look so…hungry.

That same hunger, that same desire, makes heat pool low on his belly when you kiss him again, sends a shiver down his spine when your hands grasp and touch at whatever part of him you wish to.

Your hands grabbing a hold of his wrists startle him, but he remains pliant under your touch as you move his arms up over his head.

Still, he has to ask, “Why?”

You dart quickly for a peck on his lips, smile pressed in a quick kiss against his own smiling lips.

“Because I can,” You retort, letting go of his wrists to trail your hands down his chest, over his sides, as you rest your weight on him. “Because I want to.”

Ivar tilts his head up, a silent request to have you kiss him again, and you comply, kissing him deeply and sighing quietly against his lips as you part. The darkness in your gaze, the subtle mark of him on your lips, the heaviness of your breaths, it gets to him more than he thought it would, they are small pieces to prove he affects you at least slightly.

And knowing you want him, knowing you want him like this, it leaves him breathless, mindless.

Whatever words, whatever attempt at a retort was to leave his lips dies on his throat when you nuzzle at the side if his neck, demanding silently that he bare his throat to you.

He feels your smile against his skin, pressed in a soft kiss, a gentle prelude to the pain he knows is to come. It is all so strikingly familiar, to be here with you, like this.

“I-Is this a dream, o-or…?” His words die in a shaky breath, and try as he might he can do nothing but surrender to the feeling of your hot breaths on the sensitive skin of his neck, his head tilting back in the silent plea for more that he wouldn’t voice even if he could have his body obey him right now.

Your short laugh is teasing, almost fond, sending a shiver down Ivar’s spine.

“Or a nightmare?” You finish for him. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but with the way your thigh is torturously teasing in its drag over his cock over his pants, he dazedly wonders if perhaps it is a nightmare. So close to having what he wants, yet powerless to do anything to take it.

But this powerlessness does not feel like torture. Ever since you first said his name and your strange accent clung to it, the short word on your lips sounding like something entirely more delicate than it is, Ivar has felt control steadily be stripped away from him; and though it is something he desperately craves, right now control -over what’s happening, over his body, over himself- feels yours to have, whatever power he might have past these walls he knows he can surrender to you.

And neither does this weightlessness feel like drowning. With each touch you drag him further and further down, and with your scent, lavender and something just yours, you cloud his senses and his thoughts, letting him forget anything but you and your body against his; it almost feels like floating underwater, nothing but his own heart beating in his ears and nothing but your hands on him keeping him tethered, and though with each touch it feels like the tether you offers threatens to pull him further underwater, he has never felt safer.

You nip at his earlobe, wrenching a short gasp from Ivar and returning his attention to the present. He realizes you said something and he couldn’t hear you, too lost in his own thoughts and the haze of being with you like this, so he amends weakly,

“Hm?”

“I asked,” You start pointedly, a reprimand clear in your tone. Ivar finds the sudden and almost urgent need to put his hands on you, to apologize for his mistake with his touch, but your previous command to keep his hands up on the headboard keeps him restrained better than any bindings ever could. He wonders absently if that is why you didn’t restrain him physically, because you want him obeying through nothing but his own resolve. You continue, “…which one you think it is. Is this a dream, or a nightmare?”

“N-No, this is…this is real.” It has to be.

“Perhaps,” You concede, a tilt to your voice that speaks of a secret you aren’t sharing. He feels the tip of one finger trail over his collarbone, and try as he might he cannot control his ragged and quickened breaths, he cannot control the answer of his body to such a simple touch. “We will see when morning comes. If these fade…”

With the speed of a predator darting for the kill, you lean closer again, biting on the skin over his shoulder hard enough that once again pleasure blends with the pain.

“Ah!”

Knowing he bears your mark again, knowing this time it might stay, it overwhelms Ivar, and tears prick at his eyes, even when he squeezes them shut.

“It was a dream, and tomorrow we will do this all over again,” You finish, pulling back. He forces himself to open his eyes, desperate to meet your gaze. Your eyes are dark, and shining with want like he’s never seen, and the way you’re looking at him, like something you hunger for, like someone you need, is enough to keep him tethered to your gaze, under your spell and awaiting for your next move. Ivar thinks dazedly of prey freezing under the steady approach of a predator, but when you lick your lips he sees the faint stain of his blood on your lips and realizes the hunt is over. Brazenly, without hesitation, you lean close again, licking over the most recent mark and making Ivar whimper at the maddening pleasure blending with lingering pain. “If they don’t…”

He knows the rules now, he understands the game, and so the words escape his lips in a gasp, a plea, finishing your sentence but sentencing him as well.

“I’m yours.”

____

Thank you for reading! Hope this was alright, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! Thank you!

Ivar Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​ @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @fae-sedai​  @zuxiezendler​ @crazybunnyladysworld​ @stupiddarkkside​ @northumbria​  @aprilivar​ @yourwonkywriter​  

[inquisitcr]

Weakness was for people who did not, or would not, step on the necks of others to get what they wanted. Somniar had never classified himself as weak. He had crawled to the top. He had woven his web as Lloth intended and it was by pure skill that he had been noticed. Luck was not something that he believed in. Weakness was even worse. He would be neither. If he got something, he had earned it. If there was strength to be had, it wasn't because he was weak. No, it was because he was desperate to have more power than he could ever dream of. Weakness was not something he could afford to have.

It was something that applied to him when it came to Felandaris though. Weakness. He had never thought himself weak until the architect had cast his gaze upon him. He had never known weakness like that, but it had made him crumble to his knees. It wouldn't have been noticed though. Nobody would have been privy to that information unless he wanted them to know. Wasn't that his role in all of this? He was to put the fear of Ayi'ig into the eyes of every captured individual. He was to get information and keep that information within the palms of only their hands. Yet he was sure the look in his eyes when he so much as blinked in the other's direction could be noticed by anyone who saw him.

Weakness. That was what love was. Felandaris had tethered them to each other with his name across Somniar's heart. He had let that happen and he had not uttered a word of disapproval. But Felan wasn't the only thing that he loved. He realized that now as he saw these leeches clinging to a life that they were about to lose in mere moments. Somniar wasn't sure if that would be his fate, too. He hadn't ever really come to terms with the fact that death could come to him, that death could come to these illithids that he had raised from their inception. The Elder Brain was tattered along with everything else that he had worked so hard to build. They were a weakness. Just like Felandaris. And, just like the architect, he would not have them die on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

An outstretched arm pulled itself inward and settled at his side as he turned his head. The half of his face that was still in tact caught a glimpse of Felan's face. It caused his eyes to close, more half breaths leaving his mouth as he did. Tears were a weakness. Felandaris was a weakness. Somniar was a weakness for the architect just the same. He could tell that now. As his body was slowly stitched back together, he could feel himself trying to slip away. There was a part of him that still felt like the man holding him wasn't actually here. It was all just a dream. Maybe it was one of those things where someone's life flashed before their eyes before they died. He wondered what that was like. Then he wondered...if he thought someone's whole life, flashed before their eyes, did that mean that was what Felandaris was to him? His whole life? He supposed so.

He didn't open his eye as he spoke, but he was sure that a semblance of a smile would've appeared on his face regardless. It would probably not be seen as it drifted away just as fast as it had made itself known. "Is it...crazy...if I say....it feels...kind of...good?" A bit of laughter came out of the corner of his mouth, only ending when he started wheezing. He could barely speak, but he was going to try to give Felan some sort of hope that he was making it through this. Even if he didn't believe it himself. Death would feel very good, he determined right there as he opened his eye. The hand he still had lifted to try and reach the other's face, but it fell immediately after he let a finger brush Felan's cheek.

"I would...love...if you...killed...me."

Blind, white hot, scorching rage pumped its way through Felandaris' veins. He'd once been a creature pious to false Gods, and the absence of their salvation hadn't been enough to drive him to such ends. The drow would tear the realms apart, break every bone across the World Tree and grind their miserable lives into dust if anything happened to the Inquisitor.

Love. Such a weak, pathetic term. Love at it's very core was selfish, it made you compromise the things you valued most of all: Felandaris had not fallen in love out of loneliness or necessity, he was comfortable in the solitude that his soul inhabited. He was fine in the dark. All the conquests and all the casualties, the bodies left in his wake, the secrets that Felandaris had harboured. He'd brought an empire to the ground floor of the mortal realm, and still walking beside Somniar had become his life's greatest privilege.

To continue without him, Felandaris' love would be like trying to breathe without air. He had become his everything, his reason for every heartbeat, his purpose behind every treachery; in the darkness that Somniar exuded Felandaris found solace in a life that had seemed so barren. It was an emptiness that the Architect knew well, so palpable that he'd forgotten how love could sting, how love could burn, and how it could ruin all those left in its wake.

The love they shared was a flame that others yearned to ignite in their hearts, undying loyalty, death would not be the greatest loss in Felandaris' life. Far more profound would be the void it left in the heart of the soulmate that Somniar would leave behind. An unnatural death, a cruel death, a black hole that would consume him and drag everything into its core. The light, the realms, and the stars itself. He'd invoke every deity of the Abyss, fling open every gate he could find, he-

Somniar spoke and Felandaris praised Lloth under his breath. Balefire crackled about the Inquisitor's scorched skin, it eroded at Felan's magic but dissolved shortly after. Powerful.

"Fool." Felandaris sniffed, his face was streaked with tears, though he had no awareness of their presence, the sensation was so foreign to him now that the drow wouldn't have recognized himself. He sat against the wall and cradled the Inquisitor's head gingerly in his lap, beautiful but forever scarred. Felandaris' shadows worked to stitch the other's wounds closed as he wove restoration with masterful skill and precision. "I'll kill you myself if you ever try to leave me again." Their forces were scrambling, the drow's numbers still greatly outmatched the fey and even the senate as well. Not that they weren't largely otherwise preoccupied, but the many failures here today would come with a price. Still, Felandaris couldn't bring himself to think about anything but the Inquisitor, thoughts of how to deal with the Titan again would have to wait.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Tethered- Fred x Reader

‘Don’t ever scare me like that again’ kiss with Fred where he lives (I’ve been crying about it lately) xoxo @starofthedawn

Your chest was tied up in knots, eyes burning and bile rising in your throat. The dust that permeated the air felt like gravel in your airways and you couldn’t help the wet cough that slipped past cracked lips. Even as you blinked away the tears that were running out, the world remained blurry and unfocused. 

After all, how could anything make sense when Fred was face down on the cobblestone. Pieces of the castle you two had called home burying him. 

“Lost in my eyes again, Y/N?” Fred asked, a playful tilt to his mouth. You were in the library, head buried in a book and not at all gazing into Fred’s honeyed eyes. You must’ve not heard him come in so when you looked up and saw him you couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest. 

You liked the way his lips were pulled up by an invisible thread as you finally took notice of him.  It wasn’t quite a smile, but a familiar expression that you held dear to your heart. It was understated, especially for Fred Weasley, but the expression was one of his most sincere. 

“Can’t help the fact you’ve got dreamy eyes, George,” 

“Sod off,” Fred said with no real venom, sitting in the chair beside yours and kicking his feet up onto the table. He was lucky Madam Pince didn’t often come to this corner of the library, otherwise she’d have his head.

You stuck your tongue out at him, even daring to toss a quill at his head- but before you could he caught your hand and held on tight. Your bright grin wavered at the edges but that joy was still blooming in your chest. Suffocation was a sure thing. 

“Everything okay, Freddie?” Voice soft, slow. You understood sometimes he just needed a hand to hold and you wouldn’t let yourself believe it was more than that. What it was, was Fred trusting you and needing you as a friend and that was more than enough. 

He nodded, his eyelids heavy and his demeanor sluggish. He almost seemed like a sleepy cat but you could see the way his shoulders dipped as you posed your question. 

Fred squeezed your hand as he sank down into his chair, knees now drawn to his chest in a protective ball. “Course I am, nothing could ever be wrong when I’ve got you to tether me to what’s good,” 

--

Your knees buckled as you stumbled the last foot to where Fred lay. Unmoving, broken, probably not breathing- You shook your head wildly even as the tears burned and your brain ached. Just like every other wizard, every other soldier at Hogwarts today, you had your fair share of injuries but you felt the pain dull to nothing; Your vision tunneled to the familiar hand that stuck out from the rubble, the feather soft shock of red hair that was visible under all the grey, lifeless stone. 

With a flick of your hand, some of the rubble broke loose and found themselves discarded on the burned and torn up grass ten feet from you. The panic pounding at your ribcage was only eased by the determination you felt to get Fred out of there, alive. There was no other option. 

Waves would stand still without the moon, plants would dry up without water, and you would cease to be anything but a shell without Fred Weasley. 

--

It had been an honest mistake at the time, George had tugged you away after class one day to an empty corridor and nearly begged you to ask Fred and put the both of you out of your “self sabotaging misery”. Problem was, all Katie Bell saw was George whisking you away somewhere private a week before the ball was to commence, both of you dateless. 

By the time you had both gone to the great hall for lunch, your group of friends were deep into speculations. 

“Going to the ball with Y/N then?” Fred fixed George with a look you couldn’t quite decipher but the shock of him thinking such a thing had you missing that usual twitch of his eye when he was aggravated. 

George whipped his head to you in confusion but it went unnoticed when Lee said, “Great! Of course you two got dates before me,” gesturing wildly to the twins. 

All of the confusion had your head spinning but hearing that Fred had a date to the ball made you steady again, the lead pit in your stomach anchoring you. Anyone would be a fool to not want to go with Fred. 

“You’ve got a date?” You said a bit too loudly, eyes narrowed at Fred. 

“Asked Angie,” 

“Yeah, two minutes ago,” She snorted. “Guess he didn’t want George to beat him by too much of a landslide,”  

George let out a too-loud laugh and tossed his arm back over your shoulders. “Take that Lee, we got two of the hottest girls in school to be our dates,” 

“Go with me instead and I’ll buy you as many sugar quills as your heart desires, Y/N” Lee bargained and George swatted him on the back of a head with a faux glare. 

You couldn’t help but snort at Lee’s antics, looking at George with gratitude. You could tell he was trying to talk you up, keep your heart from falling too far. However, his efforts couldn’t completely ease the ache in your chest. You were tethered to Fred and you didn’t think anything could change that. 

--

You’d done your best to completely immobilize Fred when most of the rubble was removed, only some of the smaller chunks of wall now littered over his legs and back. The immobulus charm had to be enough to keep him stable. If he was still alive. 

It was the uncertainty that kept you going in this moment. If there was even a slim chance Fred could be alive, you would do all you could to save him. You refused to lose him and that was that. You wished you could see his chest moving, or any sign of life but he was still too buried and the dust that settled over the battlefield made your eyes unfocused. 

Even though the final battle had ended an hour or more ago, how long had it been since you’d found Fred?, you were shut off from any of the joy that the win could have brought you. If Fred wasn’t going to be there to celebrate then how could you? 

“We’ve got to fix up the shop a-and get butterbeers,” You sniffled, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you worked your way through the rubble. You kept speaking as if holding Fred to his promises would bring him over the threshold and into your waiting arms. 

“You’ve got to give me that birthday present you’ve been bragging about for months, and you’ve got to help me prank Lee for singeing my favorite sweater with one of your fireworks,”

And on and on you went, all of the promises Fred had ever made you falling from your lips as you pulled the last of the rubble from his body. One of his legs and all of the fingers on his right hand were bent at grotesque angles. There was a line of blood that started somewhere behind his hairline and trailed down his temple, dripping off of his jaw and onto the ruins he had nearly become a permanent part of. 

You wouldn’t permit your legs to shake as you stood, the sun being further down in the sky than you remembered. The wave of your wand was light and methodical even as every step towards help weighed you down. 

Time passed you without you taking note, the sun sank beneath the horizon and you stumbled your way through the dark. Eventually, you were taken off guard by the light of someone’s wand. Time caught up to you then as you stared with bleary eyes, trying to recognize the face before you but having a hard time sorting anything in your over exhausted brain. 

“Help him,” Was all you had energy for, before darkness took over. 

--

“...understand how she did it,” 

“...miracle, really,” 

“Poor girl must’ve....” 

Conversations floated around your head as you lay cemented underneath the sheets that you had been securely wrapped in. You wanted nothing more than to swat them away like pesky flies, the voices weren’t loud but to you it was as if someone had put a speaker in the empty space of your skull and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Everything ached. 

“Am I dead?” You croaked, eyelids still too heavy to even attempt opening. 

Immediately, a woman nearly screamed and a cacophony of other voices rose up- both familiar and not. 

“You look like you wish you were,” Someone joked to your left and your eyes snapped open so quickly you became dizzy. You felt frozen in place as honey eyes swept over you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Despite being covered from the chin down you felt as if you were being looked through. A shiver ran down your spine and it was followed by a deep ache that had you groaning despite the emotions bubbling up within you. 

“Damn you Fred,” Was all you had to say before everyone else around you was clearing out. For a split second you felt guilt when you realized your parents as well as the Weasleys had come to stand beside you as you healed. 

“I’ve come back from the brink of death and that’s what you have to say to me?” He teased but his voice was torn to shreds and you had the terrible image in your mind of him screaming for help until he lost consciousness. The blood drained from your face. 

Fred seemed to take notice as he shuffled out of his bed that was right next to yours. He paused at the edge, fumbling for the crutches that were at his bedside. It felt like years the time it took for him to fall into the chair nearest you, his hand stretching for yours. 

You moved pathetically against the sheets but in your weakened state you couldn’t grasp his hand. “Freddie,” You croaked, eyes filling with tears in frustration. You’d thought him dead and now you couldn’t even move a damn blanket to touch him, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“I’m here,” He reassured, moving the sheets on your side gently until your hand was free and you could tangle your fingers with his non-broken hand. 

“How?” 

“I’ve been telling you for years now, you’re my tether. Just when I thought I was going to cross over, I heard you. All the promises we made, and all the chaos we have yet to make, all the things I haven’t said,” Fred’s bottom lip trembled as he brushed his thumb over your scabbed knuckles. You were faintly aware of a needle in your forearm, attached to an IV but all that mattered was the warmth you felt from Fred. 

“You could break them all and I’d still be counting my lucky stars that you’re here,” You cried, falling into a coughing fit. Fred was quick to press a still cold glass of water into your hands and help you sit up even from his place on his chair. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, hand remaining at the back of your neck as he settled you against your pillows. That genuine not-smile was back and you chewed on your lip to keep from crying again. You still weren’t sure he was here so any reminder that it was really him had you at a breaking point. 

“Can you make me one more promise then?” You caught his gaze but found you couldn’t hold it, the intensity making your stomach swoop and your heart pound against your rattled ribcage. 

Fred had yet to move, his hand steady behind you and his face close. Your noses were nearly touching as he said, “Anything.” 

“Don’t scare me like that ever again,” 

You chanced one more look at him, eyes wide and pleading. You were going to make him promise on everything in him but the rest of your words were lost when you stumbled over the loud adoration in his eyes. As if on autopilot, you removed your hand from his to brush your fingertips against a gash on his cheek. 

“Never again,” He whispered, frozen in place. He didn’t dare move when you let your movements wander over his lips, taking your time before you let your hand fall against the junction of where his shoulder met his neck. Beneath the collar of the hospital gown you could see garish bruising that only served as another reminder you’d almost lost him. 

That was enough to remind you that there was much unsaid between you and the man you loved. You could feel his shaky breath, his hand squeezing yours just enough that you felt the reassuring pressure. When you took your third look at those eyes, you knew. 

You moved at the same time, in tune to one another in a way you always have been. It was with a sigh that your lips met, frightened and curious and wonderful. You were careful of his head would as you played with the hair at the back of his neck and he made sure not to move you anymore than tilting your head to slot your lips against his at a better angle. 

Fred pulled away when his smile dared to take over his face but you couldn’t complain about the loss when you could feel his pulse beating strongly against your fingers, his chest moving steadily with life. 

“I’m just as tied to you as you are to me,” You laughed softly, in disbelief. 

Fred looked surprised for all but a second before he was placing his lips against yours, cautious but deliriously happy. 

Waves swayed with the moon, plants flourished with water, and you were never far from Fred Weasley. Each were tethered to their counterpart and nothing could change it. 

[blossom-hwa]

oh my gosh oh my GOSH oh my gosh deja vu with seonghwa!! i am an absolute sucker for this catboi and also a sucker for vampire aus. put them together and i combust 🤩

now this. THIS. I just rewatched the vampire performance again for inspiration and Jesus Christ just. anon. thank you for requesting this. I hope you like it :)

Winter break drabble game: send me a WIP and maybe a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble from that WIP for you!

~

Title: Monster

WIP: Deja Vu

Pairing: Seonghwa x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 781

Triggers: N/A

~

Illusion

Seonghwa remembers a time before he became this.

It was a blessed time, and unlike many others who do not treasure what they have until it is too late, Seonghwa approached each day as though it was his last. He had a home. He had a life. He had food, water, a comfortable living. But most importantly, he had someone he loved and who loved him back just as dearly. He had someone he could come home to every day, someone with whom he could spend lazy mornings and early nights in their bed, both simply content to be in the presence of the other. It was blissful. It was everything Seonghwa ever wanted in his life. 

He still remembers their name. It will never pass his lips again, not after what he did, but where other details of his many past lives have faded and blurred, their name rests in his memory with a crisp clarity that he both hates and treasures. It might be easier for him to lose sight of their name and their identity, but it is one of the last threads that keep him tethered to his humanity. The monster in him rages for him to forget. 

That only makes him want to remember more. 

And it is a good thing that he remembers, because when your hand presses against his forehead, it is the only thing that keeps him from losing himself entirely. 

“I- what?” You finally react to his words, dropping your hand. Seonghwa feels the warmth of your palm like a hot coal against his skin even after you are no longer touching. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t sick or anything -”

Touch me again, he almost begs right then and there. Touch me again, please, let me feel your warmth. Because by God, the human left inside of him aches for the simple warmth of living touch, of the touch of someone who cares. Of someone who loves. 

It has been so long since Seonghwa truly felt loved and it still feels like a dream even now, having known you for almost a year already. Every moment with you feels like an illusion, an illusion of something beautiful from centuries past. It reminds him of when he used to fully human. When he was still worthy of love. 

But there is a monster in him now, a monster with fangs that only cares for the smell of your blood and snarls when it retreats, your arm dropping back to your side as you look at him in confused bewilderment. And while the human in him rejoices that the monster has been beaten back, if only for a moment, that only heightens the monster’s rage. Makes it howl. Makes it scream. 

Makes it yearn even more for blood so sweet, torn straight from a human’s veins. 

“It’s alright.” Seonghwa tries for a smile, all the while feeling the poke of his fangs against the inside of his lips. Go, please, stop caring about me. It’ll be better for you. “I’m alright.”

Don’t end up like them. 

“I promise.”

Something melts in your expression, frustrated love that Seonghwa knows all too well - it is the same expression he always saw in his lover’s eyes when he worked a little too late or too long. “You don’t need to pretend, Hwa,” you say, and he shivers when the nickname falls from your lips. It sounds so much like the voice he heard from centuries past, a voice he never thought he’d hear again until he heard you speak -

“We can leave early if you want,” you offer, a little smile on your lips. Concern has written itself in every area of your face, but still you smile like you know that Seonghwa craves it, craves the tiny expressions of love that have been lost throughout the years. “Nothing much is happening.”

It would’ve been fine. Everything would’ve been fine, Seonghwa thinks, if you had just stayed where you were and let him be. But you step forward instead, once, twice, and then a hand rises once more to cup his cheek the way you’ve done just a handful of times before, none of which ended well but you kept trying anyway, kept trying to show him the blighted love you hold for him. 

You don’t know. You couldn’t know. You never knew about the monster within Seonghwa, the monster he always took care to keep hidden. But your sudden proximity, combined with the phantom touch of your hand against his cheek - it’s too much, too much, too much -

And the monster in him wants more. 

[khaleesiofalicante]

Oh man goodbyes really are horrible. At the same time good byes mean new beginnings and fuck if this family doesn’t deserve them. Some quick thoughts about this chapter:

“We made it.”

I loved this because it really spoke to all the sacrifice, the uncertainty and the hard work that went into the LB fam getting to Albany. It wasn’t just about Alec becoming governor, it was about them becoming a family, finding love in the most unlikely of places, giving up parts of their freedom to be together. The creation of the life Malec made together, the love that they held onto regardless of distance, of health, of doubt. When Magnus said ‘you made it’ and Alec corrected him to remind him that it isn’t just about Alec’s career. That Alec could not be there, living his dream life, with his dream partner and his boys, without Magnus by his side. Even though it’s not all perfect and exactly what Magnus wanted, I think he didn’t really realise that his sacrifices, his strength to push through, was a pinnacle in Alec’s ability to never stop fighting to be seen. That in Magnus giving his strength to Alec, he too was apart of creating history, of being the catalyst for Alec’s determination to climb the highest mountain, knowing he will never do it alone. I love how Malec’s love translates and transcends into different forms. How they find strength to pour into their children, to creating harmony between each other, to changing laws that provide queer people equality, to healing and evolving alone whilst knowing that one day they will find each other again.

To make a house a home.

The symbolism in this chapter around ‘home’ was so wild to me. The fact that Magnus never really ‘chose’ either of the mansions but learnt to make them a home because it’s where Alec was. The uncertainty that came with each time they moved into a new place, of finding safe spaces where he would feel comfortable to feel empowered in navigating with his mental health. The irony of Magnus keeping his Brooklyn apartment as physical anchor to a home not tethered to a person or an idea. A space that he worked for, he created and nurtured on his own, a place that can never be taken from him. I think that Magnus almost feels that both mansions are places he can never truly be himself, places where he still has to pretend, to be a Lightwood, to hide his depression, to be the governor’s husband, to be ‘Magnus Bane’. For him, the reality and realness of his apartment is a space he can pour fragments of life into, even when it’s vacant and uninhabited. It’s almost like a symbol of his inner emptiness, a void space that is neither here nor there but will always remain as uniquely his own. As much as Alec is his home and his safety he knows that some things are sacred for himself. Sometimes he needs to remember himself too.

I was also thinking about this whole idea of ‘Brooklyn’ getting lost in Albany. Both as Malec’s unborn child and also as Magnus being Alec’s home. The connection between Magnus’ mental decay and the almost unforgotten lifelessness of his Brooklyn apartment. Such a big symbol of the loss of Magnus’ personal agency, that he was so consumed by his depression, he even lost touch with his inner most sanctuary. Alec didn’t only lose Brooklyn his child, he also lost Magnus, his home. Brooklyn was where he lost sight of his love, when and where the dream life began to show it’s self in the destruction of illusion. Where Magnus and Alec had to realise that the life they had created wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. That they couldn’t both keep making sacrifices for the other and just pretend everything is okay.

It’s crazy though because Brooklyn is now the place where Alec is finding his home again. Where Magnus has found himself again. Brooklyn is the place that is bringing them back to themselves, bringing them back together. Brooklyn was the place where Alec realised he couldn’t pretend everything was okay anymore, where the desperation of his need for Magnus was juxtaposed against the nihilism of Magnus’ apartment. Brooklyn is now the place where Malec come to converge, where Alec comes to meet family, where Alec is coming for family therapy, where his home (Magnus) is safe again. Timeline 2 Alec didn’t know how to go home because his house was void of his home. Timeline 3 Alec knows where home is, where his happiness is and he’s prepared to wait, wait until it all comes home to him again.

“I want you to choose yourself,” she whispers. “I don’t care how selfish that sounds. Choose what is going to help you survive.”

This was such a beautiful line because I think it really reminds us of how important it is to remember our needs too. Alec was at a point here where he was so scared of losing his love, where he was so sure of his life, where he felt so out of controlling in keeping it close. It was really a moment he came to realise that sometimes the sacrifices we make for others mean that we have to confront our deepest fears. That we have to choose ourselves in our to choose each other. It was so interesting the way this scene lead into Magnus’ letter because Magnus was asking Alec to never let him go, that he would never let go of Alec. Which is insane because that timeline was all about Alec letting go of Magnus! It just goes to show that sometimes ‘letting go’ doesn’t mean ‘giving up’ it means knowing when giving any more to something will drive that very thing away from us. It means self preservation and knowing that we need to protect ourselves too. It means trusting that in the process of allowing people to find their peace, we are giving ourselves a chance at a new kind of happiness that we didn’t know possible.

Something that stuck with me from last week was when Magnus said to Izzy that Alec was always his first choice. It’s like he’s so used to putting other people first but this time he realised that by choosing himself he was choosing them. He knows how much Alec loves and lives for him, he knows that if he didn’t choose divorce Magnus would do something to himself that his loved ones would never recover from. He doesn’t want to cause them anymore pain so to him removing himself from the situation was the best option of the two. To put it simply, it was either life or death, pick up the pieces and heal or no more peace to be found for all.

“All of this is yours. Only yours.”

I loved this line because it speaks of the fact that only Alec will ever see Magnus at his most intimate and vulnerable self. That Magnus trusts him and their love so much, that he will selflessly bare all that he is, knowing that Alec will always catch him if he falls. That together or apart, Alec will always be by his side fighting for him.

Patient Alec.

Shout out to the homie because the way he is giving so much trust to life being good to him is so sexy. I love that he is no longer doubting that things will work out for him, that he is stable in his emotional regulation, that he takes time to consider himself when he thinks of others. I think that when Magnus finally builds the courage to show Alec how he feels it will be so much sweeter. It will be Alec realising that his strength is not always in what he does, but what he allows people to do for themselves and consequently for Alec too. The man deserves to be pampered, cared for and loved and I’m so happy he’s giving himself a chance to be happy again.

——

My favourite theme about this chapter is how it taught me about choices. The fact that we journeyed through the timelines from ‘we have to leave regardless’, to ‘there’s no choice but to leave’, to ‘I am choosing to leave/stay because it’s the right choice for me’. The power of being able to decide freely, without fear blocking you from making the right decisions for yourself. Knowing that your family and those around you will support you no matter what.

Song rec for our forever evolving Malec: All of Me - John Legend (because nothing is sweeter than watching the love of your life have a teenage crush on you)

One more chapter, I am scared. So many emotion. Stay safe Dani dearest 💋

The song rec is iconic af.

I've read this analysis twice now and I keep going back to what you said about making a house a home.

You know, the more I think about it, the more it feels that the Brooklyn apartment was more than just a house or a home or anything like that.

I feel, just as you pointed out, it represented something more.

A sense of ownership.

Something Magnus isn't used to.

He isn't used to owning things. He isn't used to having things to his name.

I think that's one of the reasons baby max freaked him out because a child is so much more serious than a house lol.

You always make me understand my writing better.

Thank you <3