#how does that count towards wealth

[c0dyc0la]

"[rich person] can't give out that money, it's in stocks"

so its theoretical money?

stop siding with rich people who want to take away everything from those not in the 1%. they're not on your side. they'll knock down your house if it means a dollar more.

[cathkaesque]

The local population in countries that export bananas typically eat different varieties grown primarily by small farmers. The ones for the Americans and the Europeans, Cavendish variety bananas, are grown in huge, monoculture plantations that are susceptible to disease. The banana industry consumes more agrichemicals than any other in the world, asides from cotton. Most plantations will spend more on pesticides than on wages. Pesticides are sprayed by plane, 85% of which does not land on the bananas and instead lands on the homes of workers in the surrounding area and seeps into the groundwater. The results are cancers, stillbirths, and dead rivers.

The supermarkets dominate the banana trade and force the price of bananas down. Plantations resolve this issue by intensifying and degrading working conditions. Banana workers will work for up to 14 hours a day in tropical heat, without overtime pay, for 6 days a week. Their wages will not cover their cost of housing, food, and education for their children. On most plantations independent trade unions are, of course, suppressed. Contracts are insecure, or workers are hired through intermediaries, and troublemakers are not invited back.

Who benefits most from this arrangement? The export value of bananas is worth $8bn - the retail value of these bananas is worth $25bn. Here's a breakdown of who gets what from the sale of banana in the EU.

On average, the banana workers get between 5 and 9% of the total value, while the retailers capture between 36 to 43% of the value. So if you got a bunch of bananas at Tesco (the majority of UK bananas come from Costa Rica) for 95p, 6.65p would go to the banana workers, and 38p would go to Tesco.

Furthermore, when it comes to calculating a country's GDP (the total sum of the value of economic activity going on in a country, which is used to measure how rich or poor a country is, how fast its economy is 'growing' and therefore how valuable their currency is on the world market, how valuable its government bonds, its claim on resources internationally…etc), the worker wages, production, export numbers count towards the country producing the banana, while retail, ripening, tariffs, and shipping & import will count towards the importing country. A country like Costa Rica will participate has to participate in this arrangement as it needs ‘hard’ (i.e. Western) currencies in order to import essential commodities on the world market.

So for the example above of a bunch of Costa Rican bananas sold in a UK supermarket, 20.7p will be added to Costa Rica’s GDP while 74.3p will be added to the UK’s GDP. Therefore, the consumption of a banana in the UK will add more to the UK’s wealth than growing it will to Costa Rica’s. The same holds for Bangladeshi t-shirts, iPhones assembled in China, chocolate made with cocoa from Ghana…it’s the heart of how the capitalism of the ‘developed’ economy functions. Never ending consumption to fuel the appearance of wealth, fuelled by the exploitation of both land and people in the global south.

[malereadermaniac]

Daddy ~ Kakashi Hatake x Male Reader

A belated Father's day imagine/drabble with your sexy boyfriend SFW! NO SMUT!! word count: 600 m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Boyfriend!Kakashi going out on a regular old date with you; his cute, sexy, lovable boyfriend. The ninja ensuring to enjoy one of his few days off with you, having spent most of the morning chilling in bed with you (along with doing some other things with you in that bed), and now strolling through the village centre with you.

Boyfriend!Kakashi spoiling you, he gets paid a hefty sum for protecting the village and teaching youngsters, so why would the man not share his wealth with his beloved? The muscular man ensures to tease you when looking through new clothing imports, trying on clothing which shows off his killer body to make you blush, and making you give him a little fashion show in feminine Kimonos or revealing outfits.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who notices a lot of families out on this random day, watching with a smile under his mask as little boys and girls run around the street with their parents behind them. Very quickly, Kakashi puts two and two together, after noticing that it was mostly dads out with their kids and also seeing a few advertisements in shop windows, that the village was celebrating fathers day!

Boyfriend!Kakashi who can't stop thinking sappy, domestic thoughts! The gray-headed ninja fantasising about raising a little runt with you; thinking about feeling a wave of relief when he hears a high-pitched voice shouting 'dad!' and seeing you cooking up a meal for your family as he walks through the door, coming from a tiring day.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who isn't verbally the sappiest guy, so he decides to vocalise his cute, fluffy thoughts of raising a family with you in a jokey sense; a jokey, naughty sense.

"Hey, (Y/n), my darling~" the handsome man starts "Hm? What's up with you?" you respond, immediately weirded out by your boyfriend's sappy tone "How come you never tell me 'happy father's day'?" Kakashi questions, a comedic pout visible through the man's translucent, mesh mask "....'Cause you're not a dad?" Your expression just becomes more quizzical, your confusing boyfriend's glimmering eyes giving away that he was planning to say some stupid, pervy joke "Then how come you sometimes say to me 'Ah~ Daddy!'-" "OI! SHUSH!" you shout, moving your hands up to your annoyingly loud boyfriend's mouth to prevent him from publicly embarrassing you some more

Boyfriend!Kakashi who gets scolded for a solid 15 minuets after his very well executed joke, but just doesn't care; cause the embarrassed, cute look on his boyfriend's face and your angry voice are so worth it. And that isn't the only moment where Kakashi nods towards the liking he's taken to the idea of raising some little trouble-makers with you...

Boyfriend!Kakashi who brings up the serious conversation of children after you calm down from his remark, and despite his nonchalant attitude, Kakashi is pissing himself internally. But his face literally lights up when you seem quite open to the idea of a domestic life with Kakashi; his ego as a macho man, a provider for his lover, getting stroked so, so nicely when you give a simple 'that sounds nice' to the ninja suggesting he takes you as his house-husband.

Boyfriend!Kakashi who does his best to wine and dine you that night, giving you a taste of what is coming if you two decide to go through with your little fantasies from earlier. And don't put it past your sex-machine of a boyfriend to try for some biological babies with you that very night - he's a true believer that even as a man you can get pregnant if you two just try hard enough~

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Warden: You've never killed an innocent?

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to be truly innocent?

Zevran: But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such… never on purpose, but it happens.

Zevran: It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often.

-

Zevran: In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women… and men, or whatever it is you might fancy.

Zevran: But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining.

-

Davrin: Lucanis, how do you decide when one of your targets deserves to die?

Lucanis: Usually when the client pays up front.

Davrin: I'm serious. Do you just kill anyone?

Lucanis: No. There has to be merit.

Davrin: "Merit?" Who decides that?

Lucanis: The Talon of the house.

Davrin: And then you just carry out the order?

Lucanis: It's my job.

Davrin: Must be tough to sleep at night.

-

Lucanis: You kill for a living, too, Davrin. How do you sleep at night?

Davrin: Like a baby. The things I hunt are pure evil. Monsters. There are no shades of grey with darkspawn. But you...

Lucanis: Provide a service.

Davrin: What if your target doesn't deserve to die?

Lucanis: Who does? Good, bad, everyone dies eventually. We just speed things up.

-

Emmrich: Do you have any say in your... targets?

Lucanis: You want to know if my victims deserved it.

Emmrich: Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked.

Lucanis: Everyone wonders.

Lucanis: I've never killed an innocent, by my count.

Lucanis: I cannot say if yours would agree.

-

Emmrich: Lucanis, do the implications of your work never trouble you?

Lucanis: Everyone on this team has killed before. I'm hardly unique.

Emmrich: Yes, of course. But in your case, it's a profession, rather than an act of necessity.

Lucanis: I'm not sure the Venatori or the Antaam see the distinction as you do.

-

Emmrich: I find it extremely interesting, Lucanis, that you consider the point of view of your enemies in battle.

Lucanis: I have to. It's much more difficult to find and kill them, otherwise.

Emmrich: Exactly! A utilitarian attitude towards death, and yet you extend empathy to your victims.

Lucanis: Not that much empathy.

Emmrich: Enough to wonder how the Venatori and Antaam view your actions.

Lucanis: Death comes to everyone, in time. I get paid to deliver it. Like a letter not everyone wants to read.

-

I think about this a lot. I'm always... surprised when I see the talk that they're supposedly trying to make Lucanis into the perfect "cinnamon roll" in Veilguard, because his sweet personality doesn't "match" his profession and background. Like, no? That's a very surface level of looking at it, I think.

Zevran is like this, too. He is an incredibly chill guy, and when you romance him, he is also very sweet and vulnerable, despite being an assassin. They're not that different in that department. They were both trained to be assassins since they were children. They're both traumatized in various ways. But neither of them acts like a bloodthirsty, evil freak. But they both also take pride in the job they do (or did), and how well they can do it, and have no intention of stopping. And yet they both express surprising empathy. (Zevran argues against annulling the Circle! Quite extensively!) And they make pretty much the exact same arguments about being killers for hire, as shown above.

Death is a natural part of life. Sometimes it just comes sooner, because we're there to deliver it. There's (almost) no such thing as an innocent person, so my victims aren't innocent people. Therefore, I've never killed an innocent in my entire life, as far as I know. (At least not intentionally.)

And that's interesting and fun about them! It's beautifully deranged. Lucanis completes an assassination mission, slitting somebody's throat or what have you, and then goes on his cosy coffee break, satisfied with a job well done.

The fact that they both say that they've never, in their opinion, assassinated "an innocent", so it's all good, doesn't automatically make it true and doesn't mean it's not complicated, however. Not every line of dialogue can be taken at face value. As video game players, we're rather desensitized to this, but hearing this should normally be at least a little alarming. For a regular person, at least. And it is for the people in the game! Like Emmrich and Davrin. Davrin has several banters with Lucanis about it. Like, who decides when somebody deserves to die and which contract's going to get carried out? Well, the "CEO" of "the company," of course! What could ever go wrong that way? Emmrich tries to coax Lucanis into saying that he does feel something about the whole thing, because he really wants it to be true. While Lucanis is very matter of fact about it. He knows what the Crows are, and that's it. He doesn't glamorize or demonize it.

So, it definitely isn't that "Veilguard says that Lucanis has never done anything wrong ever in his life," just like Origins doesn't do it with Zevran. Both the men's attitude towards killing is warped in an interesting way, completely in line with their background and upbringing. It shows when Lucanis argues with Davrin about them both being killers, because it completely escapes him (or maybe he ignores it for the sake of the argument) how the killing he does (contracts where the targets tend to be people) and the killing Davrin (a monster hunter, a darkspawn slayer) does is of different kind entirely. His logic is flawed at that point. But to him, it boils down to the fact that "it's just a job," and "killing is killing," and "death is death" regardless of form, and that rightfully baffles Davrin to no end. If anything, it shows how the Antivan Crows are taught to hand wave the issue, because the arguments Lucanis and Zevran both present are too similar to be anything else.

Of course, Lucanis, unlike Zevran, as the grandson of the First Talon and her favourite, might have had some extra privileges and wiggle space in comparison, which might have allowed him to bend the rules sometimes, give him space to show more compassion and act more heroically, because people are complex and there are many layers to what each person might consider right and wrong (e.g. killing is okay in various circumstances, and slavers in particular can get fucked - hell, we do it in video games all the time), but still. The fact that his grandmother wanted to tap a new market, so she made Lucanis specialize for hunting mages, which ultimately led to him killing a lot of Venatori and blood mages, makes it cleaner, which is nice, but then again, we hardly know the full extent of all his work. Moreover, when you ask Zevran to tell you stories about his jobs, you don't get much dirt out of him, either. He talks about some of the goofiest ones he's had. One of his targets that he (unsuccessfully) participated in taking out, a royal that got his position through plotting and murder, he also describes as somebody so immoral he basically deserved it. Also very clean. (Compare both these guys with somebody like Blackwall who truly committed a despicable act of murder for money that we do know of. And this single crime sounds so much more upsetting than anything either Lucanis or Zevran describe. None of the things Zevran says is as awful, besides the murder of his lover, which is framed like it wasn't really his fault, because he was misled.)

It's also worth noting that Zevran talks about how he was the best the Crows had before he left and how it brought him respect, wealth, women, men, or "whatever it is you might fancy." All in all, it comes with benefits. By his own admission, he was well off. But of course that came with a catch, as well. The "gilded cage" Zevran talks about. But that's not what made him leave. It was the plotting, backstabbing, and ever present distrust in the end, which led to the biggest mistake he'd ever made. Much like him, Lucanis also mentions that he had a comfortable life before getting captured, in the same quest where he also talks about how he didn't actually have full control of his life. ("Even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me.") The gilded cage comes up yet again. And it was plotting and backstabbing that made him lose a year of his life in the underwater prison.

My point is: Lucanis and Zevran are both assassins, because that's what they've always been, they were trained to be assassins since they were kids, they have a very pragmatic approach to death and killing, which they were most likely taught or perhaps were forced to develop, and they both take pride in how good they are at their job, and express no intention of ever stopping. And yet they both show that they have a good heart in various other ways, turn out to be friendly and incredibly loyal, and even very sweet as lovers. Because people can be complex, and so can be fictional characters. Yes, they're very different men, with different problems and personalities, yet also not that different.

You can't think that Lucanis is "too good" without also thinking that Zevran is "too good." You can't have this problem with Veilguard unless you also have it with Origins, is what I'm saying. And I think this may also apply to some of the other Crows we meet in Veilguard.

[yeopoet]

MEET ME IN THE HALLWAY

`౨ৎ~ pairing: ateez x gn!reader genre: forbidden romance, fluff, kinda suggestive if you read between the lines ౿ ׂ ִ warnings: kissing (?) word count: 2k.

author's note: highly inspired by this post. ps: the divider does not belong to me.

﹒ ◠ ✩ hongjoong ⊹ ﹒

Two powerful families competing fiercely in the construction industry, locked in a never-ending battle over urban development projects: his family prioritizes large, luxurious complexes, while yours is dedicated to eco-friendly, sustainable initiatives. The differences between you go beyond business, turning what should have remained professional into something personal and deeply entrenched. Your parents have made it clear—they never want you anywhere near the Kims, and his parents share the same sentiment. But Hongjoong couldn’t care less about the rules. He sneaks to your bedroom window in the dead of night, not with malice, but driven by an irresistible urge to explore what he’s been told is forbidden. You’ve tried pushing him away, again and again, but nothing works. He’s relentless, and despite all the barriers that should keep you apart, to him, you’re the only thing that matters.

“You can’t just show up here like it’s no big deal,” you whisper-yell as you open your window. “They’ll find out, and that’ll be the end of both of us.”

“I’ve tried to forget about you, but it’s impossible.” Hongjoong exhales deeply, slipping through the window with ease, like sneaking into your room is something he’s mastered. “I missed our midnight talks.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Are you in love with me or something?”

He smiles, stepping closer until he’s near enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face. “And what if I am? Would that be so bad?”

﹒ ◠ ✩ seonghwa ⊹ ﹒

Someone born into a life of luxury, with a future carved out by endless wealth, isn’t supposed to waste his time with people of "lower status." As the heir to a well-established hospital chain, Seonghwa has never had to worry about anything—not even the clothes on his back. His sole purpose in life, as dictated by his family, is to follow the path toward taking his father’s place. But with dreams of his own, he somehow ended up in your studio, signing up for a beginner's sewing class. It wasn’t exactly the best first encounter, especially since your classes weren’t designed for heirs of empires, but over time, Seonghwa managed to capture your attention. He now pays for private lessons, driven by his passion to become a fashion designer. He shares sketches of outfits with you, designs he’s never dared to show anyone else. What was supposed to be a professional relationship between teacher and student gradually became something more. And honestly, how could he not fall for you?

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t stay away.” His words spill out the moment you open the door, sadness pouring at your feet. “Please, just give me a chance to fix all of this.”

“You’ve already caused enough damage.” You take a deep breath, holding back tears. Watching him beg for something you both know he can’t change feels like a knife to the heart, and if you’re not careful, you might cave. He steps closer, and you know this is the moment to slam the door in his face—before his father shows up again, threatening to destroy everything you've built if you don’t leave Seonghwa alone. But your heart wavers, seeing the redness in his eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Hwa. We can’t be together. If anyone sees us, it’ll be the end for both of-”

“Just one last time.” He’s crying now, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck like he's afraid you’ll disappear. “Let me be with you one last time.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ yunho ⊹ ﹒

It’s not easy having parents who watch your every move as if you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. But if it weren’t for their overbearing protectiveness, you never would’ve met Jeong Yunho, your bodyguard—the one who pulled you out of your monotonous life and gave you a taste of freedom. He sneaks you out for daring, late-night adventures, always careful not to push things too far and jeopardize both your lives. Yunho tried to keep his distance; he was never the kind of employee to cross the line. But avoiding his inevitable downfall with you was impossible.

“They warned me about you,” he says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand gently cradling one side of your face. “But I didn’t listen.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t.” You smile openly, wrapping your arms around his waist before pressing your lips to his with intensity.

﹒ ◠ ✩ yeosang ⊹ ﹒

When the extravagance of your world becomes overwhelming, you find yourself seeking a place to breathe. Conveniently, that place always ends up being in the arms of Yeosang, the butler of your household. You've known each other since childhood, long before he took over his father’s role and before you were promised to marry someone you don’t love. The quiet meetings behind the tallest hedges in the garden offer you a peace you’ve never experienced around your family. The love that has never faded grows more painful as your wedding day draws near, and no matter how much you both long to escape, you know you've been condemned since the day you were born.

“This is the last time,” you whisper, casting a sorrowful glance at the man lying beside you. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond right away but holds your gaze with a quiet tenderness. Then, after a few torturous seconds of silence, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “We said the same thing the last time we met,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, lingering. “The truth is, I’d have to move to another continent to ever be able to stay away from you.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ san ⊹ ﹒

He fought hard to get where he is. It wasn’t easy landing a job at one of the most prestigious networks in the country, and once inside, he quickly realized why the selection process was so difficult. His bosses are strict; they don’t tolerate irresponsibility and push him to the brink of exhaustion. Still, the salary makes it all worth it. San is building his life, shaping his dream career as a reporter, doing everything he can to avoid trouble. That is, until you, the boss’s daughter, showed up and threw all his plans into chaos. It wasn’t your intention to disrupt anyone. You’ve always kept a distance from the company’s employees, taking your duties as an heiress seriously. But who could have predicted that at a party with over 100 people, you’d end up kissing the newest intern?

“No one can know about this, promise me,” he whispers, gripping your elbow as he keeps the two of you dangerously close. “That was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“As if I wanted it to,” you fire back, your breath mingling with his as your gaze locks onto his—eyes that are saying something completely different. “But if you keep pulling me into closed-off spaces out of nowhere, people are going to get suspicious, and it won’t be my fault.”

“Right, we should keep our distance,” he says, yet doesn’t move an inch. “I just wanted to make things clear.”

“I got the message loud and clear.” With every passing second, your faces inch closer. San tightens his grip on your arm, though not enough to hurt. He tilts his head, muttering a soft “good” against your lips before making the mistake of kissing you again.

﹒ ◠ ✩ mingi ⊹ ﹒

A friendship that has lasted for years could never be shaken by something trivial—or so you thought. But could your feelings for her brother be enough to ruin everything? She’s always made it clear that Mingi is off-limits. He constantly breaks her friends’ hearts, and they always end up drifting away. So, to keep the friendship intact, she put up a wall between the two of you. Too bad it only makes things more exciting from his perspective. You try your best to resist Mingi’s advances, but he makes it nearly impossible when he walks around the house shirtless after training, or when he finds lame excuses to touch you at random moments—like holding your waist to squeeze past you when there’s clearly plenty of space. It’s ridiculous.

“You really need to stop doing that,” you say, crossing your arms like you’re throwing a tantrum. Mingi looks at you, eyebrows raised, with that same clueless expression that drives you insane. “I’m serious, Mingi.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, leaning forward to reach something in the back of the fridge.

“There are literally two other ways to get to the fridge, and you chose the tightest spot—right where I’m standing.” You stomp your foot. “And not only that, you—”

Your sentence is cut off by the sound of the fridge door closing. Mingi steps closer, and you hold your breath. “And I what?” he asks, leaning against the counter without breaking eye contact. “Last I checked, this is my house, and I can walk wherever I want.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze and staring at your toes. Mingi gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

“I thought you liked it when I touched you.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand slowly trailing down your shoulder, along your arm, until his fingers entwine with yours.

“We shouldn’t…” your voice falters. “Yena is—”

“I know, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ wooyoung ⊹ ﹒

He’s never been the type of guy to care about his friend’s girlfriend. It’s one of the most disloyal things you could do to a friendship. But when it comes to you, Wooyoung loses every last shred of honesty within himself. Falling for you was never part of his plan, and he tried everything he could to push those feelings away. If he had known that taking care of you when his friend messed up would spark such a dangerous affection, he would have let you handle your problems on your own. You, on the other hand, are deeply grateful for the countless times Wooyoung has saved you, and for showing you that love isn’t what you thought it was. All the lingering hugs, unfinished sentences, and the longing to give in to something forbidden have made you both question how much you're willing to sacrifice for each other.

“Every time I see you, I have to remind myself that you’re not mine,” he says, standing just far enough away to keep himself from giving in to his darker desires. He’s held back all this time, never crossing the line—but here you are, at his doorstep on a Saturday night, minutes after his best friend just left your house.

“So please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?!” you explode, pushing his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a couple of steps. “You decide one night that you’re going to cut me out of your life, and you expect me not to react?”

Wooyoung grabs your arms, stopping you from hitting him again. “I’m trying to make things easier,” his eyes fill with tears, or maybe it’s yours—both of you just staring at each other, struggling not to sob out loud. You finally weaken, collapsing against his chest, muffling the sound of your pain as Wooyoung holds you tight, the way he always does.

“There’s no easy way out of this. No matter what we decide, someone’s going to end up hurt.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ jongho ⊹ ﹒

The life of a celebrity isn’t always glamorous. The fear of appearing in the tabloids caught in a dating scandal can feel more terrifying than the fear of death itself. After appearing on a variety show with you, Jongho developed a silly crush that, over time—fueled by risky texts during award shows and innocent meetups while everyone else was asleep—grew into something much bigger. To keep things discreet, you both decided to act indifferent toward each other, even though it’s become nearly impossible for him.

“Every moment we spend together is a risk, but I just can’t stay away,” Jongho says as he plants a flurry of kisses across your face. He made sure to clear out everyone from the dressing room just to have a few minutes alone with you before the show.

You laugh, trying to pull away from his eager touch to keep him from messing up your appearance. “Jongho! I have a performance in half an hour. You can’t mess up my makeup!”

He immediately steps back, placing his hands behind his back in an exaggerated effort to keep them off you. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“We’ll see each other later, okay?” You give him a playful, reassuring smile.

“Okay, I’ll try not to die until then.”

© yeopoet.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Playing With Fire (Part 1) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus is forced to work on an assignment with a classmate but, while alone in her bedroom, he finds something interesting in her drawers and requests a demo.

Word count: 4’700

Warnings: mostly unhinged, explicit and shameless smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt 20 from my list, it was meant to be written as a one shot but not only am I not capable of writing short stories when it comes to Coriolanus Snow, I also happen to be absolutely incapable of not making it a series so there is a part 2 to this! 🖤

(( Part 2 ))

It had to be her.

Their professor had decided to pair up his students himself for once, forcing Coriolanus to work with her instead of Clemensia, like he usually did. He was fairly certain that it was a provocation from his professor, a way of getting him to drop from his position as top of his class, or maybe just a twisted experiment meant to amuse him, who knew ? But one thing Coriolanus knew for sure was that he wasn’t amused at all to be walking through the city to go to her house after class, there wasn’t many people he didn’t get along with but she was a rare exception.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, if anything, he didn’t care much about her at all, they didn’t hang out with the same people, nor did they have anything in common to discuss so they basically were strangers to each other.

No, what actually made him despite the fact that he had been paired up with her was that she was one of those self righteous people who had strong opinions when it came to the morality of the Hunger Games. Maybe it was because she used to live in the districts before her wealthy parents moved back to the Capitol ?

For some reason, she couldn’t help but be very vocal about the way the Capitol treated the districts, as if they hadn’t attacked them first and caused such chaos! For Coriolanus, the things she sometimes said in class were close to being considered treason and he couldn’t understand how such a wealthy and powerful heiress could ruin her reputation for a question of dubious morales…

Coriolanus stopped in front of the imposing gates of a luxurious manor, in the nicest part of the city. The garden surrounding the modern building was lush and green, contrasting with the gray of the city in the horizon and the burnt grass of less cared for gardens in the neighborhood. He shook his head, still finding it quite unfair that she had been blessed with such wealth and luxury when he had spent so many years having barely anything to eat on his plate.

He rang at the gate and announced himself through a microphone. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed in, the security around the manor seemingly high and strict. But the gates finally opened for him and he walked towards the main doors, ready to press another button to announce his arrival but they opened before he was able to, revealing a middle aged woman, in designer clothes, excitedly smiling at him.

“Coriolanus Snow, is it ?” She purred, eyeing the university student from head to toe, punctuating her analysis with a discreet nod of approval. “I was told you’re here to see my daughter ? What does the son of the legendary Crassus Snow wants from her ?”

“I’m here to work on a project with her. For class.” He clarified, with a charming smile that seemed to make her melt.

If at first he thought she was interrogating him on his intentions because she was worried, he now realized that the disappointment on her face could only mean that she was hoping for another answer. Perhaps she believed that he was here to court her daughter ? …What a ridiculous idea.

“Oh, of course, my sweet girl is such a dedicated student.” She replied, nodding at herself. “She’s brilliant isn’t she ? So outspoken and smart. I’m often told that she’ll make a wonderful wife when the times comes…”

She looked at him, waiting for some kind of response but he wasn’t sure of what to say.

“You’re late.” The familiar voice of his classmate stated, coming from the imposing double staircase in the hallway behind the silhouette of her mother, still blocking Coriolanus at the door.

He would have almost felt relieved to hear her if he didn’t hate everything about her.

“My apologies, our driver was sick and needed to go home so I walked.” He lied, making the mother gasp in horror while the daughter simply rolled her eyes.

“My goodness, you walked ?! In such scorching heat ?” She exclaimed, looking as if she was about to pass out from shock. “Oh please, don’t hesitate to let me know when you are done with your project so our driver can take you home, perhaps you could even dine with us tonight ? I’m sure my husband would love to meet you, our daughter needs…”

“Needs to work on her project, mother.” She interrupted, visibly annoyed.

“I’d hate to make her wait any longer.” Coriolanus told the lady, as an excuse to finally enter the house and join his classmate inside, although he surely couldn’t care less about her and the disapproving glance she was throwing at him.

“Of course, of course…” The mother moved out of the way and he slipped inside, hurriedly climbing the stairs as if he was running away from the talktative lady of the house, straight to the brooding heiress.

“I told you to be here at 5 because she would still have been shopping in town and wouldn’t even have known that you had been here.” She whispered, once he was just a few steps away from her.

“I’m sorry but what else was I supposed to do ? Don’t tell me the advocate of less fortunate citizens that you are would have wanted me to force our sick driver to still do his job and get me here on time…”

She looked at him and he couldn’t help but smile. He had her there, stunning her enough with his remark to leave her speechless.

Silently, she led him upstairs and walked down a long corridor to a door at the very end of it. She pushed it open, revealing a bedroom bigger than the apartment Coriolanus and his family used to live in. There was a bed larger and with more pillows and sheets than she could possibly need, a desk and modern bookshelves lining the walls, and a large window displaying the nicest view of the Capitol he had ever seen, even the president probably didn’t get to see such a magnificent scenery from his bedroom.

“What are you gaping at ?” She asked him, her tone still annoyingly upset. “Do I have to remind you - again - that we have an assignment to work on ?”

Coriolanus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her and instead, decided to smile in a way he knew usually won everyone over to his cause. But she, as always, didn’t seem very receptive to it. She didn’t even bother to politely smirk back at him, sitting down at her desk and taking out her studying material with a loud, obnoxious, sigh.

He sat next to her and fix his gaze to the white paper in front of her, on which she only had written the title of their project for now. It was no surprise that the assignment they had been given revolved around the Hunger Games. Coriolanus knew that Dr Gaul and her team liked to get the opinions of university and academy students alike from time to times, in hopes of finding new ideas to improve the games. All they had to do was write down a few suggestions, detail why they believed it could work and then it would be done, they’d never have to speak to each other ever again… Except that their point of view on the Hunger Games were completely opposed to each other, and that was the very reason why Coriolanus believed their professor wanted to mess with him by pairing him up with her.

“I think the tributes shouldn’t be on display for all to see at the zoo, they are not animals.” She started. And once again, he had to resist his urge to roll his eyes at her.

“Having them there is a good way to get people to be interested in them.” He countered, wondering if all her ideas would be as counterproductive as this one.

“Maybe but they deserve some dignity… The Capitol could have them stay in comfortable bedrooms, give them some privacy and not mix them all together to avoid accidents…” She continued, and maybe she had a point when it came to that last argument. “Imagine being treated like an animal when you are already tired, starving and afraid! People were talking about you being a great mentor a few years ago, they said you brought them food so you know that it’s not right...”

“Feeding them would give them enough strength to fight and in turns, it might give us a better show.” He thought, out loud.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” She protested, clearly upset that the only thing he seemed to care about was making the games even worst.

“No, indeed, you are suggesting we treat rebels who have no shame and no hesitation when attacking us and killing our people, with more honor than what they deserve.”

“Because they still are human beings! And the tributes are just children, they didn’t do anything wrong…”

“The districts attacked the Capitol!” He exclaimed, unable to understand why she defended people who perpetuated such cruel acts.

“But children have no say in politics, they are innocents! If we put some notorious criminals in there instead, then maybe it’ll be more fair, especially if the idea is to punish the rebels for their crimes.”

“Children are sent into the arena to represent all the innocent lives we lost during the war, changing that wouldn’t make sense…”

“But it’s barbaric !” She protested, clearly disgusted by his point of view.

“It’s fair!” He riposted, determined to not let her point of view on the matter affect the quality of their assignment.

She opened her mouth, ready to counter with something but the voice of her mother, calling her name from behind the door interrupted her. She was fuming, her brows furrowed in disapproval and her knuckles white with frustration as she got up and excused herself to go open her bedroom door for her intrusive mother.

“Did you think about offering your friend some tea and scones ? Or maybe a saltier snack ? It’s not every day that you get such an opportunity to make a good impression on a man of his rank, did you remember to mention that your father is studying some marriage arrangements for you?” The mother said, whispering but he still heard every word of it. She glanced over her shoulder with embarrassment, fully aware that her mother wasn’t exactly being discreet so she stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her, hoping to make their conversation more private.

Coriolanus chuckled and moved the piece of paper in front of him, pondering which of his ideas he should present first. Surely, he couldn’t let her write her own, it would cost him his position as top of the class and might even flag him as a potential traitor if he showed this much mercy to the districts and their tributes.

He shook his head as he thought about the things she said, wondering how she could possibly think that she could get away with such ideas on their assignment. Even if the Hunger Games were revolting and barbaric in her eyes, it would have been smarter on her part to simply comply to what the university expected of her… But Coriolanus guessed she had nothing to worry about with a family as wealthy and powerful as hers, she could go on and protest against the Games, defend criminals and rebels and get away with it with a single word from her all mighty father… In many ways she reminded him of a certain boy he used to know, back during his Academy days. The kind to do foolish things and end up hanging from a tree in a public place.

Lost in his thoughts, unwanted memories filling his head, his pencil ripped on the page, a sharp line ruining the neat start of his presentation. He sighed and looked around, in search of an eraser to try and fix his unaesthetic mistake. He foraged through the compartiments of the desk, finding an exaggerated amount of study supplies and notebooks in each one but not a single item he could use to fix the page.

He sighed again as he moved to open the last drawer, forcing it a bit as it seemed blocked by a plastic box. Intrigued, he pulled it out and opened it, peeking inside despite knowing full well that he surely wouldn’t find what he was looking for in there. But his curiosity simply got the best of him, after all, he wanted - no, needed - to know what kind of dirty secret a woman like her may hide. Because if there was something he had learned in the past few years, it was that he was better off knowing everybody’s secrets in case he found himself in need of leverage.

He wasn’t disappointed when he saw what was inside the box, his eyes growing wide and his mouth hanging open as he took a closer look at the toy hidden in the box. It was shaped like a penis, making its purpose pretty clear. He felt his whole body tingle at the sight of such an unexpected discovery, his mind going blank when he realized that the toy was roughly the same size as his own cock. Even the veins on the shaft and the soft pink head resembled his, a realization that caused his imagination to run wild with images of her using this toy to pleasure herself. Did she like the feel of the veins rubbing against her walls ? Did her pussy have to stretch to accommodate for such a big toy or was she so used to it that it fitted her like a glove by now ? And if it did, did it mean that his own cock would fit effortlessly inside her too ? There was no way she could know what his cock was like, yet with an ego like his, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had chosen this toy in particular because it was almost a perfect replica of him, a device to train herself to take his whole size in, perfectly.

Her footsteps and the door opening pulled him out of his contemplation. He shoved the toy back in its box and threw the plastic container across the room. It landed on the bed, next to a pillow that slightly concealed it.

She walked through her bedroom and sat back down at the desk without noticing the blush on her classmate’s cheeks or the bulge in his pants.

“My mother insists that you stay to have dinner with us, she wants you to meet my father. I said you had other plans but she won’t listen.” She sighed, grabbing a pen from one of the drawers he had explored. “But before thinking about dinner, maybe we should at least get started on this assignment.”

He watched her, his perception of her completely altered by what he had discovered hidden in her desk. Now all he could think about was her, using her replica of his cock to pleasure herself multiple times a day.

“Well, I thought about your idea of sending criminals into the arena, I don’t think it will be good enough for our professors but if it’s important to you, we can write it down…” He offered, deciding that being in her good graces might help his cause.

She raised an eyebrow, sucpiciously glaring back at him.

“And what exactly would this great act of generosity on your part cost me ?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that made her cleavage even more voluminous.

“What makes you think I’ll ask for something in exchange ?” Coriolanus asked her, really struggling to look at her beautiful eyes and not lower below her neck.

“My father’s a businessman, I know nothing is ever free.” She stated and he couldn’t help but grin at her answer, it was the first smart thing he had ever heard her say and it happened to align perfectly with the way he viewed the world too.

Instead of answering, he leaned down, his hand brushing over the last drawer of her desk, causing the young woman to jump off her seat in panic.

“Don’t!” She warned, ready to throw herself between him and the content of her secret box to keep him from seeing what was inside… Buf from the amused smirk that instantly appeared on his face, she understood that somehow, he already knew. “Did you go through my stuff ?!”

“I was looking for an eraser.” He justified, which was the truth after all.

“Then you should have asked, not rummaged around in my bedroom !” She fumed. She opened the drawer in question herself, instantly blanching as she found it empty.

“So here’s the deal, I’ll write down your idea on our paper but in exchange, I want to see how you use your big toy to make yourself feel good.”

She stayed silent for a moment, looking at him with a mix of mortification and anger.

“You can’t be serious.” She finally said, hesitating between a scoff or a slap across his face.

“Oh I’m very serious when it comes to making deals.” He assured her, leaning back on his chair in a victorious stance.

“Alright… What do you want to know ?” She asked, still slightly hesitant.

“I don’t want you to tell me about it, I want a demo.”

“You…” She started, but the embarrassment that she felt stopped her from finishing her sentence, her cheeks turning crimson when she finally spotted her precious box on her bedsheet. “You’ll put my idea on our assignment and defend it in front of our professors ? In front of Dr Gaul if it’s considered worth being transferred to her ?”

“I will.” He promised, doing his best to not scoff at how naive she was. There was no way Dr Gaul would ever be interested in her ridiculous ideas to care for the tributes, all the head game maker wanted was more blood and gore to serve as an example for years to come.

She nodded and took a deep breath, standing straighter and holding her head high like a true lady of the high society of Panem as she walked to her bed. She sat on the edge, gulping down her anxiety as she reached for the plastic box and retrieved her very realistic looking toy.

Coriolanus sat straighter on his chair in anticipation of the show that he was about to witness, all the blood in his veins suddenly changing course and rushing to his cock instead, making it even harder and bigger as it strained against the fabric of his white pants.

It took her another couple of minutes to start moving again, very visibly at war with herself about it all. When she finally moved to tug her pants off and closed her eyes as she brought the toy to her lips, Coriolanus already felt on the edge of bursting into his pants.

He shuddered as he watched her suck on the pink tip with hunger, giving him a clear picture of what it would look like if he ever had the opportunity to fuck her pretty mouth. Drops of saliva escaped from her lips, rolling down the veiny length she tightly held in her fist. He was watching so attentively, he could almost feel everything on his own cock, begging to replace the toy already. But he behaved, not interrupting her until she stopped licking the toy, satisfied with the amount of saliva she had coated it in.

He saw her fingers caressing their way down her stomach with still a bit of uncertainty. Then, she tugged her panties aside, revealing her perfect pussy to him. Once again, his mind went blank with shock as he observed the shiny sheen that coated her skin, a clear sign that, despite exceptionally having a spectator this time, she still was pretty aroused at the thought of fucking herself with her big toy.

She pushed the tip of the fake cock between her folds, moving it up and down a few times to spread her arousal and the saliva still coating the silicone further. It seemed pleasurable already, making her close her eyes again and lean back down on her bed, her legs folded against her stomach, giving her attentive onlooker the best view possible of her wet pussy.

Finally, she pushed the soft tip inside her, gasping as her hole stretched to welcome it in. Coriolanus shuddered again, the urge to touch himself in front of such a delightful show becoming almost unbearable. He dug his nails into the armrests of his chair, focusing his pale gaze on the length of the toy slowly disappearing as it entered her and stretched her out wider and wider.

Her breathing was loud and sharp, her belly rising and falling almost in synch with the movements of her hand, pulling the toy in and out of her, agonizingly slowly at first. Did she like to be teased ? Or was she simply the kind of girl that needed to take it slow ? Coriolanus couldn’t quite decide but the one thing he knew without the shadow of a doubt was that, if it had been him and not some kind of silicone replica that she had full control over, he wouldn’t have been as patient and gentle with her.

Eventually, her toes curled and she sounded like she was struggling to be silent, biting down on her lower lip as she arched her back and came with a desperate whimper.

Even if it had been a bit too slow and soft for his taste, it still had been a lovely demonstration. She knew her body so well that it didn’t take long for her to climax, but he was still curious to see more. So much more.

She sat back straight on her bed, after pulling the toy out of her. A shiny layer of her arousal still covered the pink synthetic material. Her face was flushed and she didn’t dare to look at Coriolanus right away, awkwardly pulling her panties back in place instead.

“I’m not sure if you fully held your end of the deal.” He stated and she glanced at him, still lightly panting.

“What else did you expect me to do ?” She asked, her tone frustrated and breathless.

“Well, I’m sure you know better ways to put that suction cup in good use.” He remarked, pointing at the round end of the toy. She looked at it, as if she needed to make sure it was indeed a thing and blushed, her face turning a few shades darker, making his imagination run wild with possibilities, surely if that was her reaction, she must have been doing some even filthier things with the help of that suction cup to hold her toy in place. “Show me.”

His voice was low and commanding which didn’t leave her any opportunity to protest. Or maybe it was just because she actually enjoyed being the center of his attention, showing him her body and the delicious things it could do in a controlled way.

She stood up, bringing her hand to her mouth and spitting in her palm. She used her saliva to prepare the suction cup to stick, but Coriolanus’s body was reacting in a whole different way to such a suggestive gesture.

He had expected her to stick her toy up in the shower, or maybe on the shiny surface of her desk, but never had he imagined she would glue it to the large window behind which the sun was setting on the Capitol.

He admired the curves of her body, her ass still cupped by her wet panties and his need for relief became almost painful. His cock was begging to cum inside her warm pussy and yet, she preferred to be fucked by a plastic toy mimicking his size.

This time, she pushed her panties down to her knees and turned her back to the window. She took a few careful steps backwards and impaled herself on her toy, her gasp of pleasure loudly resounding through her bedroom, making his cock twitch with despair still constricted inside his pants.

She seemed to enjoy herself even more this way, getting fucked from behind with her legs closed and the whole city to witness how her dripping cunt swallowed the replica, over and over again as she rocked her hips back and forth.

“Are you not concerned someone might see you ?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but ask, wondering if - if he managed to sneak into her street at night - he might be able to watch her from the sidewalk across the street as she used her window as a prop for pleasuring herself.

“Not really, the possibility of being watched by strangers always sounded pretty exciting to me.” She admitted, so caught up in the intensity of the pleasure she was giving herself that she didn’t care about being embarassed anymore, shamelessly pleasuring herself as she even held his gaze with defiance.

She squeezed her round boobs with each of her hands, leaning slightly forward as her legs started trembling from her efforts. She was so close to him, it would have been easy for him to pull his erection out and force her to take it into her mouth as she’d keep rocking herself against her toy. They both would have enjoyed it immensely, but Coriolanus Snow was a gentleman and, as his request had only been about watching and not touching, he made sure to respect it, even if it pretty much equaled torture.

A few desperate cries escaped her lips as they still kept their gaze glued to each other and the sticky sounds of the toy thrusting inside her soaked pussy filling the room were enough to make his cock unload itself inside his pants, the warmth spreading over the fabric as it kept coming out like an erupting volcano, making him feel pretty miserable about it all. She hadn’t even touched him after all.

It didn’t take long for her to follow him into a blissful climax, her breathing becoming so erratic that it almost sounded like she was suffocating until she fully pushed herself back, fully leaning her body against the window, the toy completely buried inside her as she whimpered even louder, shaking with pleasure and relief.

“Coriolanus.” She breathed, as she shook with violent spasms of pleasure and another load of wasted cum pooled in his pants at the sound of his name on her lips. Was she thinking about him ? Imagining that it was him who was fucking her from behind ? Or was she just attempting to speak to him and tell him that the demo was over now ? Whatever it may be, he was pretty sure that he’d never forget such a lovely sound, a melody to his ears.

“Can we… Get back to… Our assignment now ?” She asked, breathlessly as she once again pulled the toy out of her and put her panties back on.

“Of course.” He nodded, glad that she didn’t notice the wet spot on his pants. He didn’t want to seem pathetic for coming undone without any help.

She put her pants back on and abandoned her wet toy on top of her bed and, despite the relief he got, it took Coriolanus all his willpower to not attempt to fuck his classmate on top of her desk for good measure. But, charming as always, he behaved, even letting her believe that the show she had given him didn’t have much of an effect on him and only served to satisfy his curiosity… Little did she know that, as soon as he got back home that evening and after he rewrote their entire paper, he spent hours pumping his cock and milking every last drop of cum out of his body while thinking about her perfect curves and the delightful sounds she made when she was getting fucked by what could have been his own cock.

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Uptown Girl (Part Three)

Summary: After an eventful morning of bickering between you and Tommy over a misunderstanding on his part. He attempts to make amends in his own way by inviting you out for the evening. But as growing feelings start to arise between the two of you, so does Tommy's frustration for your continued defensive stance about your fiance's violent tendencies towards you.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, mentions of domestic violence

Word Count: 5286

Authors Note: The song played during the performance is called "Pas De Deux" by Tchaikovsky. A famous song you may have heard from the renowned ballet "The Nutcracker".

He can't come. No. Absolutely not! Why did he even agree to it? What was he up to? your nagging brain bugged you with a deluge of questions about Tommy's unexpected acceptance of invitation to your engagement ball as you tossed in your bed, kicking the white linen covers tangled around your legs with a huff. Had he caught on to your plan? Was he going to...sabotage it? your eyes flew open as you bolted up, your head quickly snapping to the wall behind you and the squatter that dwelled in the room next to yours.

That bastard, your burning eyes narrowed in on the empty ivory wall, accusing him of a multitude of misgivings your tired weary brain had concocted up. Now it was you, who was lacking in sleep.

For just as you had refused the blue-eyed trespasser little rest with your impromptu morning wake-up calls. Tommy had been quick to return the favor, when during the late hours of last night, he had invited a guest to his room. Keeping you up with her incessant moaning, begging and whatever other ungodly noises he had coaxed from her.

He did it on purpose, you convinced your frazzled brain as you glared at the wall and the scuff marks from your furious banging that seemed to only have spurred on his loud antics. But as Arrow Houses' bustling life entered your ears, dulling out your frantic thoughts, your body slumped down to sit at the end of the bed in a heap. The anger you had felt for the entirety of the night as you plotted your next retaliation, rapidly seeping from you as a sudden wave of exhaustion settled above your shoulders, weighing them down with further despair as you watched the fluttering shadows of the large oak tree outside your bedroom window dance across your paneled flooring.

How many more years would you keep this act up for? That you could battle through anything, with only witty comebacks to hide behind? You could feel your facade slipping day by day. And in the quieter moments of your life where you found yourself alone with your thoughts, you would remove your mask and find the vulnerable girl scared of not only the future, but the next hour staring intently back at you.

The lack luster you felt for the life you had been born into, had started to feel as foreign as the many Latin books your governess would have you learn in your dreary years of schooling. Mr Shelby's presence only making your feelings ever the more poignant

For as much as his appearance into your life had conjured up a fury enough to match that of Grannie's short temper, he had also brought excitement. And after the previous nights' relentless noise, jealously. Jealousy for the sounds of pleasure you yourself had never experienced. For the love you assumed they shared.

Is this what you were destined for, a life of service to your awaiting husband? Seen not heard, like an unwanted child? Forever chained to his wealth, but penniless? Violently rutted into like an animal at his will? you thought to yourself as your absent stare, welled with tears blinked through your soft sobs. Suddenly it seemed easier to wear the mask after all. Rather that than face your potential future and the tormenting hope you still held out for that the deeds to Arrow House would return in your favor.

Poor little rich girl, they would surely call you when everything came to light, when the scandal broke and the gossiping began. And with your lack of funds to give yourself a life of meaning. Those words couldn't be truer.

"On the left. No, to the left, Curly. Bleeding Christ man!" you heard the raspy voice from outside your room as you rubbed the tears from your eyes, when a loud thud to your door had you racing for its glossy brass handle.

" What...what on earth have you done to my wall?" you frowned upon seeing two men outside your bedroom with a stack of boxes between them and a large dent in your once immaculately painted hallway.

" Moving this junk to the attic" the tallest with a peak cap and a burning cigarette between his lips spoke as he picked up the hefty box in his arms.

So you were the posh girl that Tommy had been burning his ears with every bloody day after work. Same girl he wouldn't stop ranting and raving about until last orders at the Garrison, he thought to himself as he squinted at you through the fumes of tobacco drifting between you both. Infatuation for a pretty face, and a stubborn enough will to match his own, more like.

" Not junk, Charlie. Get a pretty price down market for this" the other eagerly replied as he pulled out a pair of ladies' hair rollers and a bundle of weathered ballet programs.

"Shut up, Curly" his friend replied, notioning with his head to the end of the hallway, when you stopped him and began rummaging through the contents in his hands.

" Junk! JUNK!" You shouted, grabbing the dusty box of your mother's belongings from his arms as his brow furrowed at your erratic reaction, now frantically pulling all the remaining boxes into your safeguard.

" Who told you to..." you stopped yourself, as your hand came to your sweaty forehead and an agape smile of both disbelief and annoyance appeared on your reddening face as the only culprit capable came to mind. "Him right?! The squatter?!" You pointed to Tommy's door as your hardened stare flew to the two men staring back at the unlikely image of a woman that had spent most of her life learning her P's and Q's, waving her finger around maniacally like a mad woman with wild frazzled hair.

" That's it. That, is, it!" you shouted as you stormed the few feet to his bedroom door, your marching arms making a strong enough point to your two bystanders just how furious you were.

" Better warn Tom, Charlie" Curly leaned quietly into him as he watched you begin to pound on the door with angry fist's

" Nout we can do for him now. Best leave 'em to it" he replied, pinching his cigarette between his fingers from his lips as he turned down to the stairs. "Curly!" he called after his giddy friend as your once perfectly primed patience lost its ability to wait any longer, and you threw open his door.

" Fucking hell, here she comes" Tommy mumbled, turning his head to see you charging towards him with a face like thunder.

" Get up. Get up!" you screeched at him and the stranger sleeping beside him as he reached to light a cigarette before you pulled the covers from his body without any caution as to exactly how much clothing he was wearing.

With a gasp of shock from you, and a horrified scream from the woman beside him, you quickly span around with blushing cheeks from the image of Birmingham's most notorious gangster as naked as the day he was born. Oh dear. You may have taken it a little too far this time.

"What the fuck! Crazy bitch!" the stranger who had spent the night with him bellowed aloud as she leaped from the bed, scrambling for her clothes.

" I'm ever so..." you began to apologise to the woman who shut you up in one quick scornful glare, waiting by Tommy with her hand out as your curious eyes darted subtly to the side to see the exchange of money for her services. So you had been wrong. They were not lovers. At least, not in the sense you thought, your mind quizzed you as to who exactly had been servicing who last night with the sounds of her moans of ecstasy still ringing in your ears.

" Learn to knock" the woman spat, pushing past your shoulder with a thud as she sauntered from the room.

" Mr Shelby..." you said at the sound of the door closing when Tommy stopped you from not only giving him his daily telling off, but from your flushed face from turning around.

" Unless you want another look, sweetheart. I'd stay put until I put some clothes on" Tommy said with a smirk, practically seeing your rolling eyes of irritation from the back of your head.

" I do not" your heated cheeks huffed impatiently as you let the weight of your annoyance sit on your hip cocked to one side. Something Tommy had no shame in enjoying the view of as he pulled up his trousers, purposely taking his time to button them up to get a better look at your nightie draped over the curves of your waist.

"Are you decent?"

"Yes" he mumbled through the cigarette now clasped between his lips as he ignited the orange glow, pulling his eyes away from the plump bum in front of him.

Spinning around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, and if he wasn't careful, a blow to his perfectly chiseled jaw. You came face to face with not a fully clothed man, but one only partially dressed.

Decent, you huffed to yourself in annoyance at his inability to dress correctly in front of company, as your lingering eyes that seemed to have garnered a brain of their own lately, glanced over his strong form and the various inked tattoos across his torso.

"Y/N?" Tommy broke the brief silence with a grin, blowing out a cloud of smoke as his own eyes raked over your less than modest clothing. Sheer enough to see the beckoning shadow of your...

" Do you possess anything other than a pair of trousers, Mr Shelby? A shirt perhaps?" You frowned, scrambling away from your heated thoughts about the half naked man in front of you.

" It's summer, Y/N. And hot " Tommy replied nonchalantly as he stubbed his cigarette out on the metal knob of the bed frame, earning him another scornful glare.

" Hm, really? I thought you looked rather cold" you smirked, looking down at his suited trousers as Tommy cocked a brow, and audibly loud scoff at your snarky remark that he was not as endowed as his enormously large ego simultaneously leaving his lips.

" I think you're the one that's cold, love" Tommy nodded down at the thin fabric loosely shielding your modesty. The open window and summer morning breeze drifting through, resulting in an embarrassing pointy display. Or that's what you told yourself, and not the result of your eyes falling upon the sizable manhood you had just insulted.

" Go on then. Tell me what I've done now, ey?" Tommy asked, perching himself up against the bedroom dresser as he watched you stomp towards him with a knitted blanket now guarding your revealing sleep wear, and a ferocious frown to match it. A frown he had begun to find a small, endearing charm for. His very own personalised greeting you welcomed him each morning with as you barged into either his office or bedroom.

" You may have commandeered my office, Mr Shelby. Crammed it full of your ghastly sense of decor. Taken over half of my house. But nothing, nothing gives you the right to move those boxes" your lip quivered with fury at the thought of your mother's memory being banished to the attic in the house she had died in, when ill health prematurely took her from you.

" Boxes, love. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist over. If you were wearing any that was, his intrusive thoughts about what lay beyond your night gown entered his brain as he cleared his throat. "They were collecting dust. Damp with water "

" Boxes to you, Mr Shelby" you replied, hiding the pang of guilt now sitting in your stomach for the care he had shown for them and not that of your own, having been so caught up in your life's recent events to notice your mother's possessions slowly spoiling.

" Y/N" he grabbed hold of your arm, realising they held more meaning than what you was willing to let on as you tried to escape him from seeing your rapidly mounting embarrassment, and misplaced emotions." They were sitting in water, love" he marched after you as you shrugged off his hand. " Had them moved to the attic until the leak was fixed" he called out, following behind your plodding steps down the stairs as your Grannie watched in the foyer, waiting for the morning tea you had arranged with her to finalise the last details of you father's funeral set to take place the following day.

" Not talking to me now, eh?"

" No I'm not!" you turned around, abruptly coming to a sudden stop. " I wouldn't even have to entertain the thought of talking to you if you would just leave my house and stop being so stubborn!" You bellowed, using the occasion to push him to vacate your home.

" I'm stubborn?" Tommy scoffed pointing at himself as your Grannie watched the half clothed conflict with widening eyes, steadying her racing imagination with her cane firmly adhered to the marble flooring.

Oh dear lord, he had corrupted your innocent nobility. A backstreet criminal! Grannie's brain whirled dramatically in horror at history repeating itself. Her own history, that was. Filled with unsavory secrets she had done her upmost to not see the light of day until she herself was firmly six feet under to avoid the scandal it would create among high society.

" Darling, you're the one having the tantrum" he said following after your stomping feet as you continued your decent down the stairs, ignoring his remarks before you launched something at his head, and the last of your taught lady like manners along with it.

" Annie" you said coming to a stop in front of one of the youngest maids under your employment as Tommy loomed beside you, the unfinished argument and continued half-assed silent treatment only grating on him further. " Please tell the cook to prepare chicken for lunch" you smiled to her as you turned to leave, only to walk into the blue-eyed barrier right behind you.

" Mutton, Annie" Tommy corrected your dinner orders as you stood mere inches from his muscular, sweaty frame. So close, you could see the follicles of the graying tuft of hair on his firm chest and that of his armpits as he waved his arm about.

" Excuse me, but no. No we won't be having "mutton" "you did your upmost to mirror his deep brummie lilt, replicating the heavy grovel of his accent with as much flare as you could as Tommy's arching brow looked down at you.

" Chicken, Annie. Please" you span back around, only for Tommy to interrupt your dinner suggestion a second time as the young worker and your Gran watched your bickering recommence with darting eyes.

" Shut up! Shut up!" Annie blurted out with scrunched eyes when her hand flew to her mouth as her outburst caught up with her frazzled thinking

" Annie" you gasped in surprise, when both a giggle from you and a low chuckle from the trespasser behind you followed. Mutually finding amusement in the usually composed maids' sudden scolding of you both as your Grannies hand flew to her chest in horror for the disorder of things you two had created in such a small amount of time.

" Oh god. Please don't fire me, or...or shoot my knee caps off" the young maid panicked as Frances rushed to bring things back to a status quo, ushering the jittery member of staff away before an ambulance was called for your Gran, who was now frantically fanning the dizzying distress from her face.

" I'll ask the cook to prepare both chicken and mutton. Can you both agree on that? " Frances looked between you both with raised brows as a mother would her unruly offspring, trying to keep the peace in her chaotic home free from the constant bickering of two strong-headed children.

" Fine" you both said in unison before going your separate ways, having been reprimanded by your housekeeper. Both of your abilities to rile the other up in an exceptional amount of time, simmering for a brief moment for the rest of the household to take a well-earned breather from your back and forth demands.

" Frances, dear" your Grannie beckoned your loyal housekeeper quietly to her. "Tell me" she said, holding onto her arm with her frail hands as she leaned in. " How long has it been since war was declared?" she queried, pressed to puzzle through what she feared was truly behind both of your dramatic disdain for the other. For nothing could get past Grannie's keen eye, and knack for discovering the truth.

" Ever since Mr Shelby shot Miss Y/N's piano, Mam. I'm starting to believe they're enjoying it" Frances sighed as your Gran nodded her head in agreement, fearing you had inherited the same taste in men she herself found her younger years in a pickle with after a dally with a man from Digbeth she'd sneak out to see every night.

" It seems so, Frances. It seems so..."

" Get changed" Tommy ordered you as he swung your bedroom door open later that day, rummaging through your wardrobe, then throwing one of your many evening dresses into your lap as you read quietly in the corner by a small lamp.

" I will not" You scoffed as your eyes darted up to see him motioning with his hand to do as you were told as if it was the norm between you both to just barge through someone's bedroom.

" Come on. Chop, chop" he said, cupping the domes of his palms around the flame at the end of his cigarette.

What did he want to do, watch? Not that you would do anything he says, you huffed with your brows raised as you returned to your book, neither questioning nor entertaining what exactly it was you had to change for.

Well, you hadn't told him to leave. That was a start. Did you want him to stay and watch? Tommy's mischievous eyes perked up as a playful smirk etched on the corner of his plump lips.

" Y/N" he said, snapping the book close between your fingers with a grin. Gaining your attention and a knitted frown firmly sat on your brow.

" What do you want?" You pouted, placing your book to the side as he loomed next to you. Awfully close next to you. A red cheek inducing closeness that your eye level met not with his insufferable cocky face but, halfway down his body to his buckled belt.

" Think of it as my way of saying I was...wrong" he said, removing two neatly pressed pieces of paper from within his jacket." This time" he pointed to you before your triumphant smile grew any bigger as he handed them to you.

Since your blazing row earlier that morning, Tommy had made a point to understand what exactly had you so riled up over a few boxes. So, after making a beeline for the attic, and to the items in question that had you barge into his room. He quickly came to the sudden realisation of what caused your unexpected emotional outburst when he pulled out a bundle of aged ballet tickets crayoned with hearts and flowers in your younger self's name and that of the former lady of Arrow House. The keepsakes of precious memories spent together buried within many trinkets and cherished belongings. Your mother's belongings. Shit.

" Ballet?" You looked up at him with a quizzical brow. " Didn't think you the type"

"No. But you are. How longs it been since you last went to Royal Theater, eh?"

"Many...many years" you said absently turning them in your hand as a yearning to for your childhood years panged in your tightening chest and the olive branch of peace he had offered you

" And if I decline what will you do? Shoot me?" You quirked a brow as Tommy's lips tightened together with a smirk.

" I've shot people for a lot less, love" he said shoving his spare hand in his pocket as he took a drag from his cigarette with a smile.

"Be ready in an hour" he turned to leave, not giving you any further opportunities to decline his offer. " And if you behave yourself, I might even treat you to a packet of sweets " he called out before shutting the door as you looked down at the tickets in your hand, the inner child in you excitedly biting your bottom lip as a wave of gratefulness for his thoughtful gesture warmed your heart. Not that you would tell him of course, you smiled to yourself as you mischievously planned to delay your readiness by thirty minutes. Just so things were clear, that you were still furiously irritated by his presence. Wasn't you?

After a short drive into town and a bickering match over the quickest route to the theater. You managed to take your seats in the renowned function room without killing each other, with a brown paper bag of lemon drops in your hand promised to you by Tommy on route if you would just give his ears a rest for five minutes.

" 'ere" he beckoned his hand out for one of the boiled treats he had already helped himself to half of as you shoved them into his awaiting hand, succumbing to the fact that he had infact, brought them for himself.

As the lights dimmed, you shot your unwelcome houseguest a stern look of disapproval at his rummaging hands noisily wading through the small packet of sweets. His rolling eyes taking one last lemon treat before folding them into his suit jacket. Since when did he start listening to your bossy demands?

As Tommy quietly sat back in the comfort of his crimson chair, you couldn't have been further off the edge of yours as your hands rested on the balcony edge, watching each pirouette in front of your eyes as the lulling tune of Pas De Deux's strumming harp prickled your skin with each delightful note.

Mesmerised by the graceful dance, a sudden wave of your childhood memories came hurtling towards you, taking you aback with the emotional rippling tides of times spent that came with them.

As you stayed silently captured by the elegant twirling in front of you, Tommy's eyes flicked back and forth towards your glistening stare as you gasped at the male leader throwing the ballerina into the air, then capturing her in his arms before spinning her in his hand.

And there it came, rushing towards him. His own sudden gentle wave in the sea of peaceful music of violins vibrating through his chest and quickening heart, captivating him as it did during your very first encounter. Holding his full and undivided attention as he sat silently in the shadow of the candelabras casting their orange glow around the beauty before him.

The most annoying, most irritating, strong-willed, stubborn woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. The same woman he had tried his upmost to ignore the yearning her beauty had coaxed from him every waking hour. You. Insufferable you.

" I want to thank you, Mr Shelby" you said after returning from the evening of graceful dancing, unaware of Tommy's heavy breath following your every move. The two hours he had spent watching you as your gaze stayed distracted by the nimble-footed dancers whilst he took advantage of the peaceful moment of silence between you both to take in the delicate details of your beauty. The soft feather-like batting of your fluttering lashes, the way your skin puckered with a dusting of goosebumps as the drums boomed throughout the theater, your wetted lips glistening in the light of the soft glow of the candles surrounding you.

Fuck. What was happening to him? You were the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever encountered. Wars with rivaling gangsters were a breeze compared to the daily headache you gave him, he thought to himself as he slowly trekked up the stairs behind you, lingering out his goodbyes for the evening.

" For what?" He questioned you as he came to a stop with you outside your adjoining rooms, yearning to see the peacefulness you had let him glimpse at earlier in the evening that took his breath away.

" For tonight. For letting me forget everything" you replied as you darted your eyes to and from his piercing stare boring into you.

"It was my pleasure" his gravely voice tapered off as you waited on him with a small frown at his sudden lack of snarky remarks. "Y/N, I..." Tommy softly added as your doe eyes and plush lips beckoned his rising hand closer before you turned your head away, unaware of his approaching touch that had already swiftly found its way back home to his side with a sigh.

" I should get some rest. My father's funeral is tomorrow at nine" you said, brushing an escaping lock of hair from your neatly pinned tresses as you watched the knot of frustration bob up and down in his neck.

" Right" he cleared his throat as he stepped back, suddenly feeling like a shy schoolboy with a one-sided crush. Was it one-sided?

" Thankfully, it will only be a small ceremony. Just close family. Me, my gran and brother. My father seemed to have burned all bridges with everyone else he knew. Not that I blame them" you exhaled with a small laugh, babbling through your nervousness and the shift away from the constant arguing you had both become accustomed to, absent from your date. Date. Was it a date?

" Your fiance won't be accompanying you? Tommy questioned with a furrowed brow as he watched your hand clasp around the polished door handle as you shook your head.

" He has business to attend to" you replied, as his confusion about your defense of Cal's priorities began to grate on him until he could no longer withhold his opinion on exactly what he thought of Earl Astor and his heavy hand.

" Doesn't sound like the actions of a man about to marry the love of his life" Tommy scoffed as you swallowed back the reality of your loveless circumstances and how true his words were.

" It's complicated. He's complicated" you did it again, without thought. Was you trying to keep up the act, or were you trying to find reasoning for why you gave him so much say in your life?

" He's certainly something" Tommy said as he looked to your bruised wrist, your weighted bracelet having unveiled the blotchy marks as you rested your hand on the knob of the door.

" It's not what you think. You wouldn't understand" you said, quickly covering the blackening marks of violence stained on your soft skin.

" I think I understand perfectly, love" Tommy's brow raised, as he watched your irritation for the truth he was laying bare simmer under your tightening jaw." There's no difference in class when it comes to a man that lays his hand on a woman. The only question I have is why, Y/N? Why does a woman so bloody strong headed, so..." Tommy stopped himself with a sigh at your furrowing brow and scrunched nose in response to his less than flattering remark as his patience grew thin for your acceptance of fate. "so...smart" he said, as his eyes drifted to your blushing cheeks and batting eyes looking up at him. " Let a man like that bastard ruin her beauty and spirit?" he finished, holding your gaze as a silence settled above you both. Tommy's compliments and truthful words of reality embedding themselves into your spinning thoughts.

" Because I have no choice, Mr Shelby " you said, stiffening your bottom lip, stifling both your mounting emotions and threatening tears from escaping.

How could he possibly understand the plights of a woman's life? The pressure engraved into you from early childhood to find a husband and bare his children before you turned into a barren spinster. To be locked away in embarrassment in the darkest room of your family's home, for the future you didn't provide to further their finances and noble name.

Withstand, endure. And if you were lucky, flee from the life you were born in to until that darkened dusty room took it for you.

" Goodnight Mr Shelby" you flatly bid your goodbyes as you opened your bedroom door. Holding onto your sobs until the click of the handle safely shut you away from his watchful eye and you was able to release the sorrow you felt for your almost inescapable future.

" Goodnight"

When the following morning came around, Tommy sat quietly in his Watery Lane office, mulling over the previous night's events and your parting words as he stared absently out the weathered glassed window, listening to the bustling life of Small Heath awake. As the hand of his gold pocket watch struck nine, Tommy rose from his leather seat, striding over to his hat and jacket.

" Tommy, Johnny wants to know where to dump the latest shipment" Arthur sniffed as he pushed the door open with a folder of papers under his arm. "Tom?" He said as he watched his brother adjust his peaked cap on his head, checking the hour of his watch for a second time.

"Sort it out. I've somewhere to be" Tommy replied, as he tucked his gold trinket back Into to the safety of his waistcoat.

" Where?" Arthur called out with a huff, dropping the files of papers onto the mounting stack on Tommy's desk that had yet to be signed.

"Somewhere important"

Stood by the open grave of your father, with your grandmother and brother opposite you and the freshly dug hole. The priest waited with sighing breath at the sorrowful lack of attendees at the service he was set to give.

" Shall we begin?" he looked up to the only three remaining family members before opening his book of prayers.

" Dearly beloved, we gather here today to..." His voice trailed off into silence as your blinking eyes filled with tears looked down at the coffin of your father feet from you when the distinct smell of burnt tobacco and sharp notes of whisky filled your senses, the warmth of his arm pressing into yours as he settled his position next to you.

" We lay our servants' body to rest. That he can..." The priest continued as you turned to look up at the smartly dressed man beside you.

" You came, why?" You quietly sobbed as tears trickled down the curves of your cheeks, a fleeting frown of surprise creasing the soft flesh between your brow at his unexpected appearance.

" To pay my respects" Tommy replied as he looked down at you, and the small smile of gratitude whispering back to him silent thank yous.

" Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." The priest prayed as your father's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and your grandmother's weeping for her only child broke through the silence of the graveyard as your brother held her frail body steady against his own.

As the thud of the coffin hit the bottom of its final resting place, a sudden sob of pain escaped your throat as you stood afar from the comforting arms of your grandmother and brother. That was until your own subtle gesture of comfort was felt when the calloused pads of someone's hand brushed soothingly along your knuckles. The same hand of the man that had shown you more sympathy, more care and attentiveness than you had ever received from your supposed future partner in life.

Mr Shelby. Tommy.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @steddiemas Day 1: Deck the Halls read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve’s annoyed.

More than annoyed, really.

He’s supposed to be at the Munson’s, sitting between Wayne and Eddie, watching the Hoosiers play. Well, trying to watch the game, at least. Eddie has a habit of dozing off before the first quarter ends, head thunking against Steve’s shoulder so he can’t move for the rest of the game.

But no.

His mom just had to call and demand he set up their stupid Christmas tree before she and his dad get home tonight because the annual Harrington Holiday House party is this weekend, and she doesn’t have time to do it herself. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s trusting him enough to decorate the thing. He can count on one hand how many times he was allowed to hang an ornament on the statement piece in their living room.

He can’t even celebrate the decorating victory, though, because he’s still trying to assemble the goddamn thing. Nine-foot trees really aren’t meant to be set up by one person. At least, that’s what Steve’s learning as he tries to balance the next segment of the tree over his shoulder as he climbs up the ladder.

Focused on not falling, Steve doesn’t hear the front door open or the stomps of boots coming into the room. It isn’t until Eddie tuts does Steve startles, nearly toppling over.

“Woah, there big boy,” Eddie teases, reaching out to steady the ladder. “Don’t fall.”

“Don’t scare me then,” Steve snaps. It takes a moment, but he manages to get the next piece into the slot before carefully climbing down the ladder.

“Christ, someone’s feisty today,” Eddie says, hands up in surrender. “I guess it’s a good thing you bailed on me and Wayne to uh…” He glances at the half-assembled tree in the middle of the room. “What are you doing exactly?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Building a stupid Christmas tree.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Eddie asks, shaking his head. “You can’t build trees. You grow trees.”

Steve snorts. “It’s an artificial tree, Eds. My mom called as I was headed out to your place. Said I needed to get the stupid thing up and fluffed before she got home tonight because she needs a full three days to decorate the damn thing for the annual Harrington Holiday House party.”

“This thing is blasphemous!” Eddie says, circling it like a predator stalking its prey. “I thought rich people love Christmas trees. Don’t you like custom order the biggest one to show off your wealth?”

“Uh, no? My mom says real trees make too much of a mess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, abandoning the tree as he stalks towards Steve. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a real tree before? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You’re being weird,” Steve says, shaking Eddie’s hands off his shoulder.

“I am not being weird. You’re being weird. You’ve never had a Christmas tree! Do you even know what they smell like? Steve, you haven’t lived until you’ve smelt a freshly cut down Christmas tree!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Steve snorts.

“You think this is bad. Wait until I tell Wayne. He’s going to flip out!”

“Wayne has never flipped out in his life.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Eddie crosses his arms and then immediately uncrosses them, clapping his hands instead. “That’s it. You’re coming with us this year. Don’t make plans for next Friday! I’m stealing your Christmas tree virginity.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Steve groans, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll go with you. If you help me with this thing.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair trade-off, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit,” Steve says, bending down for the next segment of the tree. “Now grab an end.”

Steve yelps when he feels a firm hand squeeze his ass. All it takes is one deathly glare over his shoulder for Eddie to stop cackling and get serious.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“I’m going to sue your family,” Eddie whines, collapsing on the couch a few hours later.

“Don’t be a baby,” Steve scolds before dashing off into the living room to grab a couple of beers.

“Excuse me! That thing attacked me! Multiple times! Look at the evidence,” Eddie shouts, yanking up the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt to examine a dozen or so scratch marks up and down his forearms. “And don’t even get me started on my hands! How am I supposed to play guitar, Steven!”

“I told you to wear gloves,” Steve shrugs, returning to the room. He passes Eddie the cold can of beer before sinking into the couch beside him.

“I shouldn’t need gloves because you shouldn’t need to fluff a tree! They already come fluffed because they’re not rotting away in a box all year.”

“You poor thing,” Steve playfully tuts. “Guess I can’t hold your hand now since they’re so beaten up.”

“I never said that,” Eddie squawks as he yanks Steve’s hand into his own.

They sit in silence after that. Nursing their beers as the Christmas tree stands in its makeshift glory in front of them. Steve can tell which side he fluffed and which side Eddie did. The giant gap between the top two layers is obvious, and he knows he’s going to have to climb the ladder and fix it before his mom gets home, but that’s a problem for future Steve. Right now, he wants to sit here with his boyfriend even if his boyfriend is gearing up for another faux Christmas tree rant.

“Don’t tell me your mom is one of those people who only puts those stupid decorative ball things on the tree, too.”

“What do you think?” Steve says, hiding his smile behind the can of beer.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

🎄 🎄 🎄

It takes a bit of convincing and a formal invite from Wayne, but Steve keeps up his end of their deal, joining the Munsons on their quest for the perfect Christmas tree for the trailer.

Eddie has a habit of embellishing when he tells stories, but Merrill’s farm lives up to all the hype. As done, the process of selecting and chopping down the perfect tree. Steve gets stuck being the tie-breaking vote when Wayne and Eddie end up arguing over which tree to bring home. Naturally, Eddie throws a minor fit when Steve sides with Wayne, whining that he likes him better than his own boyfriend, which has Wayne rolling his eyes.

Steve gets to make the first chop but passes the ax off quickly. He doesn’t want to impede on their tradition any more than he has. Besides, axes have never been his thing. He prefers to swing bats instead.

“See, isn’t this much better than building a tree?” Eddie asks, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder as they stand off the side while Wayne pays.

“It definitely smells better.” Steve inhales deeply, scents of pine and hints of peppermint flooding his senses. Someone should bottle this stuff up and sell it as a cologne, he thinks. He’d definitely wear it.

“It’s easier, too.”

Steve scoffs. “Speak for yourself! You’re not the one who helped Wayne drag it all the way up here.”

Eddie laughs, eyes sparking mischievously. “Wait until you have to help him load it into the truck. That’s always the worst part.”

Steve eyes his boyfriend through squinted eyes. He ducks out of Eddie’s grasp and settles his hands on his hips. “You set me up! You just brought me here so you wouldn’t have to do manual work!”

“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart as he staggers backward. “How can you think so lowly of me.”

“Because I know you, Munson,” Steve teases.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Eddie says, slinking over to Steve. “Maybe I had ulterior motives, but it's only fair after what I suffered helping you with that abomination you call a tree. At least now you’ve experienced a true Christmas tree experience.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as Eddie beams proudly at him.

“Ready to go, boys?” Wayne asks, rejoining them. They both nod, watching as Wayne makes his way over to the heavier side of the tree.

“You don’t have to carry it, Wayne,” Steve says, mischievous flooding his own veins. “Eddie and I will carry it to the car.”

“You bastard!”

“Hey,” Wayne scolds, swatting Eddie’s shoulder. “No swearin’ ‘round kids. I ain’t raise you like that.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he watches Eddie sigh dramatically before carefully shoving Wayne away from the tree. He waits for Eddie to follow his lead, squatting down before he counts them off. On three, they hoist the tree over their shoulders and start heading back out to the car.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks later, passing Steve a mug full of Wayne’s signature hot chocolate. “Is it better than your tree?”

Steve knows the answer immediately, but he takes a moment. Wants to make Eddie squirm as he admires the tree in front of him. It’s not perfect. It’s a little crooked, and there are hundreds of pine needles littering the floor. The lights are bright, though, and the branches are full of homemade and sentimental ornaments that span decades. A homemade star sits on top in lieu of the traditional angel. A star, Eddie tells him, he and his mom made by themselves the year before she got sick.

It’s perfectly imperfect.

His own traditional, straight out of the pages of a Home and Garden magazine doesn’t stand a chance against this one.

“Yeah, Eds. It’s better than my tree.”

“Victory!” Eddie shouts, nearly spilling his hot chocolate all over himself.

🎄 🎄 🎄

A month later, Steve’s belly is full of the Munson Christmas feast, but instead of lazily lounging on the couch enjoying his food baby, he’s carefully taking ornaments off of the dead Christmas tree that nearly caught fire twice since he’s been here.

“I take it back,” Steve says, carefully taking an ornament off of the dead tree. “Artificial trees are better.”

“They are not!” Eddie whines, wrapping the ornaments Steve hands him in tissue paper.

“I don’t know, Eds. I’ve never had to take down a tree on Christmas before!” he grumbles, reaching for another ornament. “This sucks.”

“It’s all your fault. If you chose my tree, it would have lived for another week! I just know it.”

“Sure it would have,” Steve snorts.

“Look on the bright side, at least we have firewood for the New Year's Eve bond fire now. We can’t do that with your stupid tree.”

“Nope, because I get to use my tree again next year, and you have to buy a new one. Think that’s another point for fake trees.”

Eddie screeches, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and tugging him off the ladder and onto the couch. Despite their full stomachs and tired eyes, they wrestle and laugh as Wayne shakes his head from the doorway, a light cigarette perched between his lips.

“Cut it out, you too,” he scolds when things get more heated between them. “Need it out before it really goes up in flames.”

[knavesflames]

Hi! Remember this?

I decided to finally make a part two. Unfortunately, no, there isn’t a happy ending. I tried and tried but couldn’t find anything that would let them be happy. The quality of this is also not as good as the first one, I fear. Alas, it is here. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1147

Contents: bro just sadness

utc!

Arlecchino doesn’t come home for hours. The night ticks on and for the first hour, you just sit there in tears, your outfit not at all matching, though that seems to be the least of your problems. By the second hour, your eyes and throat burn, and you feel like it’s almost impossible to stop crying, and you wonder if you ever will. You drag yourself out of the bed, the bed you’ve made love on so many times, the bed she has laid you on as she coaxed our every single orgasm you’ve ever had. The tangled bedsheets and what’s remaining of her imprint from her body is a cruel, painful reminder. A reminder that you are not the one she’s been in love with this entire time, that you were just a replacement.

You wander the halls of your home, a gigantic, lavish home. Much larger than it needs to be, really, but Arlecchino always loved to show off her wealth. You don’t look towards the walls, you know that you’ll only see many, many photos of you and Arlecchino. Ones you that you hung there, and you remember the grin on your face when they were in place. You remember how your smile faded slightly when Arlecchino replied with a simple “that’s nice, dear.” You assumed she was only tired. Every single thing you remember but ignored comes crashing onto you, and all you can do is stare at the floor like some pathetic dog being scolded for doing something they shouldn’t have. You feel pathetic, or worthless, or angry. You can’t really tell which when they all blend together. You pad around the hallways aimlessly, a hollow, miserable look in your eyes.

You find yourself in the bathroom, and one look at yourself breaks the dam and your eyes fill with tears again. You can only see her, yet you look nothing like her. Therein lies the problem, you realise. Your hair is not red, nor do you have her white headband. You stare at yourself, muttering hateful words until yourself is not yourself. Your reflection is just a blur and you can’t tell what you look like. Your fist clenches, and you understand you have to leave the bathroom before the mirror shatters over the floor. Sombrely heading towards the living room, you’re met with pure rage at the sight of the lumidouce bells. A scoff is heard from you as you notice the picture of you three right next to them. Yet again, it went unnoticed, or perhaps, ignored. In a fit of impulsivity, the photo frame crashes to the floor with a guttural scream of “I hate you!” And of course, the vase topples to the floor too. You give no fucks as to the fact it’s four in the morning, or that the neighbours will probably complain. Let them complain, you think.

Arlecchino finally comes through the door at 9am. Your face is so swollen and puffy she wonders if you’re even the same person. You hear rustling and look towards her. There, in her hands, lies a bouquet of lakelight lilies, and yet it stings more than ever before, being the second choice. But doesn’t it fit so well? Perhaps too well. You quickly look away to avoid the sixth batch of tears.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

A bitter laugh leaves your throat before you can even stop yourself, your gaze refusing to even glance in her direction, your voice practically a sneer.

“What, did they run out of my favourite?”

“Stop that. Please. You know I love you.”

How are you so angry, so hurt, yet your heart still beats for her? Her lips come to your forehead in a kiss, and there’s a whimper before you burst into quiet sobs again.

“You admitted you don’t. What am I to you? A friend, a lover, the way I thought we were? Or some sort of sick rebound?”

Arlecchino has a tendency to stay silent when someone is correct and she does not want to admit it. Maybe because she won’t can’t admit it to herself, maybe because she can’t see you cry anymore.

“You are a cruel woman, Peruere. You use me all these years, you pretend I am someone I am not, you ruin me, and yet I find myself choosing to wait for you to want me like a dog with a bird at the door. A stray dog chasing after any sort of attention you will give me, don’t you realise, you stupid woman? I whine for you and your affection and you choose to muzzle me and leave me at the side of the road to favour someone who died so long ago. Is that what I am to you? A mutt, waiting and ready for you to kick when you’re down?”

Your outburst is unexpected, the usually stoic and unfearing woman flinching at the sheer desperation in your words. Her lips begin to form your name, but you snarl, cutting her off.

“Call me for who you think I am. Strays and mutts cycle through names anyway, so why does it matter? Say it.”

When she doesn’t respond, your anger explodes, and you push the lilies out of her hand, trampling on them and shoving her over and over again as you demand that she calls you the name you know she’s been secretly calling you. If anyone were to push and shove her the way you’re doing, they’d be ash, a new spirit to haunt her in her dreams. Yet, she withstands it with a blank face, her eyes swirling with regret and sadness.

“Shall I bark for you, Peruere? Get on my knees and beg for you to pay attention to me? Would that make you feel better? Or shall I dye my hair red and buy a white headband, and wear that damned necklace I know you keep?”

Eventually her eyes close, and she mutters a word so quiet you almost can’t hear it over the sound of your rushing heart and your ragged breathing. Your eyes burn again, but you only wish you could burn her in her own flames until she herself becomes a spirit.

“Clervie.”

That seems to do it for you, barking out a harsh laugh that’s anything but happy. You move towards the door, sliding whatever shoes you can find on.

“Oh, my poor, mad, cursed knave. You live up to who people think you are, after all. When you’re dying in the war that will occur when your precious god gets what she wants, I hope you scream for me. I hope I’m there to watch.”

With your final words, you slam the door so hard it almost comes off of its hinges, leaving a stunned, hurt Arlecchino Peruere to clean up the mess of what she had caused, both physically and mentally, though she wonders if she ever could.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Saccharine Recoveries.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

series masterlist.

authors note - a part two was highly requested, so here you all go! not going to lie to you all, i’m not the happiest with how this turned out, but writers block is a total bitch. i’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your standards. 🫶

word count - 7.9k

in which, after being in a medically induced coma for the past four days, your eyes are finally open, just when your husband thinks that everything is rosie, trials and tribulations occur once again making the processes of your recovery ten times harder, but he’s optimistic and always looks on the bright side , even when that all comes crashing down.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Recovery Day One. — 15th August, 2022.

19:03pm.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

The sensation of the tube in your throat was uncomfortable, a reminder of the ordeal you had endured. You instinctively reached for your voice, your lips parting to form words, but the effects of the coma lingered, rendering your efforts into silence.

A group of doctors entered the room, and your heart skipped a beat as they approached your bed. Dr. Parker, his eyes kind and understanding, stepped forward.

"Hello, Mrs. Styles," he greeted you with a gentle smile. "I'm glad to see you awake."

Your gaze shifted to Harry and Alfie, their expressions a mix of hope and concern. Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted your hand, pointing toward them. A stray tear slid down the side of your face, its path traced by a mixture of emotions – relief, gratitude, and the unspoken words that your voice couldn't yet express.

Dr. Parker followed your gesture, his gaze softening as he understood. "Harry and Alfie are right here with you. They've been waiting for you to wake up."

Your lips curved into a faint smile, your eyes locking onto Harry's and then Alfie's. Your heart seemed to speak for you, conveying the depth of your emotions and the overwhelming love that surged within you. Your hand trembled slightly as it remained pointed toward them, the tear on your cheek a testament to the profound connection that held your family together.

Dr. Parker's voice carried a note of reassurance. "It's okay, Mrs. Styles. Take your time. Your body is still recovering from the coma, and your voice will return when it's ready."

As Dr. Parker finished his conversation with you, his gaze turned gentle and concerned. "Are you experiencing any pain, Mrs. Styles?"

You managed to summon the energy to nod your head slightly, a subtle indication that discomfort still lingered. The faintest flicker of concern crossed Harry's features as he watched your response.

"Where are you feeling the pain?" Dr. Parker's voice was soothing, his attention focused solely on your well-being.

Harry's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze fixated on you. "M’love, where does it ‘urt?"

You shifted slightly, your gaze fixed on Dr. Parker. Weakly, you managed to lift your hand and gesture toward your chest and ribs, the source of your discomfort.

Dr. Parker's expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll make sure you receive the appropriate pain relief."

With a gentle smile, he turned to leave the room, leaving you and your two boys alone once again. Harry's eyes never left your face, his concern palpable.

"Darlin’, are y’okay?" Harry's voice was laced with worry, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You managed a weak smile, your gaze never leaving his. The silent exchange between you carried a wealth of emotions, unspoken words of comfort and reassurance.

Dr. Parker returned with a nurse who began administering the prescribed pain relief. As the nurse worked, Dr. Parker approached your bedside once again.

"We'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Dr. Parker assured you. "Your body has been through a lot, and it's important that you're not in pain."

Harry's voice was a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Thank you, Doc."

Dr. Parker nodded, his attention shifting to you. "Rest is crucial for your recovery. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know."

As the nurse finished administering the pain relief, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The tension in your body began to ease, and you gave Harry a small smile – a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence by your side.

"We'll be here with you, love," Harry's voice was filled with determination. "Every step of the way."

And as Dr. Parker and the nurse left the room, you found comfort in the knowledge that your journey to healing was not one you had to travel alone.

The doctors then turned their attention to the monitors, checking your vitals and heart rate. Their movements were methodical and practised, their focus on ensuring your well-being.

Satisfied with their assessments, Dr. Parker looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Your vitals are looking stable, (Y/N). Your body is responding well."

You managed a weak smile, your voice still struggling to find its strength.

"We're going to give you a moment with your family now," Dr. Parker continued, his tone considerate. "Harry and Alfie are here with you."

As the doctors began to step away, Harry's presence came into view. His eyes were fixed on you, a mixture of relief and emotion evident in his gaze. Alfie stood beside him, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

" ‘ey, m’sun," Harry's voice was a soft, soothing balm. "How are’y’feeling?"

You managed a faint smile, your fingers reaching out to Harry's hand. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes – a silent reassurance of your connection.

Alfie shuffled closer, his eyes wide with wonder. "Mummy?"

You offered Alfie a tender smile, your hand extending toward him. Your fingers lightly brushed against his, a gentle touch that conveyed your love and presence.

Harry's voice was a mixture of encouragement and understanding. "Y’safe now, (Y/N). We're all here with ya’.”

As the doctors left the room, the atmosphere settled into a quieter, more intimate calm. The warmth of Harry's hand in yours was a constant reassurance, a lifeline that tethered you to the present.

Harry's eyes, filled with a mixture of love and concern, never left your face. His voice, gentle and soothing, filled the silence. "Y’been asleep f’a lil’while, m’love. There's some catching up t’do."

Your gaze locked onto his, a flicker of anticipation in your eyes.

"M’postponed the American leg ‘f the tour," Harry began, his voice carrying the weight of the decision. "It jus’didn't feel right being on t’road without ya’."

The news hit you like a shockwave, and your eyes widened in disbelief. A tremor ran through your body, and you started to shake your head, your voice struggling to find its strength.

Harry reached for your hand, his touch grounding you. "M’know it's a lot, m’sun, but it was necessary. Our family comes first."

You searched his eyes, finding reassurance in the depth of his gaze. The unspoken promise of unity and support between you was unwavering.

Harry continued, his voice soft and filled with emotion. "M’mum flew over as soon as she heard. She wanted t’be here f’us, for Alfie. And Gem, she's flying out soon too. We're all in this together."

A sense of gratitude swelled within you, knowing that your family was rallying around you during this challenging time. The bond you shared with Harry and the love you held for your son were at the heart of it all.

As the conversation with Harry continued, Alfie, who had been sitting patiently by his father's side, leaned in and whispered something into Harry's ear. The words were hushed and filled with earnestness.

"Can I go and sit next to mummy?"

Harry's eyes softened with understanding as he glanced at his son. He nodded, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. " ‘f course, buddy."

With gentle hands, Harry lifted Alfie from his spot by his side and carefully placed him on the bed beside you. Alfie's little frame nestled against your side, and he instinctively shifted closer, seeking the comfort of your presence.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you felt Alfie's warmth against your body. The tenderness in his touch and the trust in his eyes were a testament to the special bond you shared. It was a moment of quiet connection, and even though you lacked the energy to cuddle him back, the love that flowed between you was palpable.

Harry watched the two of you with a soft smile, his heart undoubtedly touched by the sight of his son seeking solace in the arms of his recovering mother. It was a moment of unity, a reaffirmation of the strength of your family's bond.

19:30pm.

In the quiet stillness of the hospital room, Harry leaned in, his lips poised to share a deeply personal revelation. The weight of the secret he held had been on his shoulders for too long, and he was determined to share it with you. His eyes, full of anticipation and love, met yours.

Just as the words were about to leave his lips, the door to the room opened, and the nurse, entered with gentle steps, entered at precisely seven-thirty. Her presence was unobtrusive, and her warm smile radiated compassion as she approached your bedside.

You greeted her with a subtle nod, your curiosity piqued by her arrival. Harry, ever the vigilant protector, looked up from his tender embrace of Alfie, his concern mirrored in his eyes.

"Good evening, Mrs. Styles," the nurse greeted you softly, her voice a soothing balm to the quiet room. "It's usually dinner time now, but given your recent awakening from the coma, we need to proceed cautiously with your diet for the time being."

Your gaze remained focused on her, a silent invitation for her to continue. Harry, still cradling Alfie with the care of a seasoned parent, nodded in acknowledgment, his concern for your well-being unwavering.

The nurse, her eyes kind and reassuring, continued to explain, "Your digestive system may need some time to regain its strength after the period of inactivity. Therefore, we've decided to provide you with a special formula through your IV. This way, we can ensure that you're receiving the right nutrients and proper hydration."

Harry's response was immediate, his voice laced with gratitude and trust. "Whatevers best f’her, Nurse. We want t’make sure she's getting ‘hat she needs."

You managed a faint but appreciative smile, your eyes conveying the depth of your gratitude for their unwavering support and care. Despite your current inability to speak, the silent bond between you and your family spoke volumes.

The nurse proceeded with her preparations, her skilled hands deftly checking the IV line to ensure its proper function. Throughout the process, Alfie remained fast asleep in Harry's embrace, his peaceful slumber a testament to the exhausting day he had experienced.

With her preparations complete, the nurse offered one final reassurance. "We will be closely monitoring your progress, (Y/N). This is just a temporary measure to aid in your recovery."

The nurse had just left the room, her instructions regarding the specialised IV and dietary changes echoing in the air. Harry, sensing the moment was right, leaned in closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Alfie was securely cradled in his arms as he gently took your hands, his gaze never leaving yours.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Harry spoke the words you had both longed to hear. "Y’pregnant, m’sun."

You reacted with a swift, adamant shake of your head, your eyes wide with disbelief. The shock and confusion etched across your face were undeniable.

But Harry, determined to share this moment with you, leaned forward, ensuring that Alfie remained comfortably nestled in his embrace. He spoke with a tender reassurance, his voice a soothing balm amidst the swirling emotions.

"Yes, y’are," Harry affirmed, his voice steady and filled with unwavering love. "T’doctors said y’thirteen weeks along, ‘n’everything's fine, m’love. T’baby is fine."

Overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation, tears welled up in your eyes. Emotions surged within you, a mixture of astonishment, vulnerability, and joy. The reality of the situation began to set in, and you couldn't contain the flood of tears that followed.

With Alfie nestled between you both, Harry's comforting presence and the assurance that your family was growing filled the room with an overwhelming sense of love and unity.

Harry continued to hold you close, his soothing words offering comfort amidst your tears. "We're in this together, (Y/N). You, me, Alfie, ‘n’our little one on t’way. We’ll face everything together, just like we always do."

20:07pm.

As the evening hours continued to pass, the time for Harry and Alfie to leave the hospital room drew near. Harry turned to you, his eyes filled with both longing and a sense of duty.

"Alf’s goin’ school in the morning," he explained gently, his voice soft and reassuring. "But I'll be back straight after I've dropped him off, alright?"

You nodded your head in understanding, your silent agreement filled with trust and love. Leaning in closer, you pressed a gentle kiss to Alfie's head, your lips conveying all the warmth and affection you felt for your precious son.

Harry's heart swelled with love as he watched you share that tender moment with Alfie, a silent promise of your presence and love even in his absence.

Turning his attention back to you, Harry then leaned in to press a loving kiss to your lips, a feeling that both of you had missed dearly during this challenging time. The warmth of your kiss was a poignant reminder of the deep connection you shared, a source of strength that would carry you through the days ahead.

With one last loving glance, Harry and Alfie left the room, the door closing softly behind them.

As the door gently closed behind Harry and Alfie, you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hospital room. The silence of the space enveloped you, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. It was in this solitary moment that you finally allowed yourself to embrace the vulnerability that had been suppressed for too long.

With one hand instinctively resting on your stomach, you pulled the hospital blanket closer to your body with the other. Its warmth and softness provided a semblance of comfort in the stark, clinical environment.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and, without hesitation, they began to flow. They traced a path down your cheeks, unburdening the emotions that had been building within you. These tears were not borne of despair but were simply a release, an acknowledgment of the pain and uncertainty you had endured.

Your ribs ached with each breath, serving as a constant reminder of the accident, and your throat still bore the discomfort of the breathing tube that had sustained you during your coma. The physical pain mirrored the emotional turmoil that had gripped you since that fateful day.

As you allowed yourself to cry, the hospital room witnessed the rawness of your feelings. The tears, like a cleansing rain, carried away the weight of your journey, drop by drop. In their silent descent, you found a sense of relief, a moment to acknowledge your strength in facing adversity and to grieve for the challenges you had encountered.

Recovery Day Two. — 16th August, 2022.

08:31am.

The new morning painted the world with a sense of hope and renewal. Harry and Alfie, hand in hand, approached the grand entrance of Alfie's primary school. The sun's gentle rays played through the leaves of towering trees, casting intricate patterns on the path they trod.

Alfie's backpack, on his petite frame, appeared comically oversized, an emblem of his premature birth three months prior. It slung over his shoulders, almost grazing the ground with its weight. Yet, it was a symbol of his resilience, a testament to his eagerness to embrace this new day.

Harry, looking down at his son and offered a warm, reassuring smile.

"Y’going t’do great today, Alf," he encouraged, his voice infused with love and unwavering support. He couldn't help but marvel at the little boy who had already faced so much in his young life.

Alfie, his tiny hand holding on to his father's with a mixture of trust and nervousness, clung to the familiarity of his touch. The weight of his backpack seemed nothing compared to the emotional burden he carried on his first day back at school since you had been hospitalised.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Alfie finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. The uncertainty of returning to school after an extended absence weighed heavily on his young heart.

Harry knelt down, coming to eye level with his son, his eyes mirroring Alfie's with a gentle understanding.

"S’okay t’feel scared, buddy," he assured, his words carrying the reassurance of a father's love. "But remember, y’not alone. Y’friends ‘n’teachers are here f’you, ‘n’Mommy will be so proud ‘f y’when she hears ‘bout y’first day back."

Alfie nodded, a glimmer of determination shining through his eyes. With a deep, steadying breath, he took that brave step through the school gates.

As they approached the classroom door, Mrs. Lucas stood outside, offering warm greetings to the arriving students and parents. Alfie's steps grew slower, and his grip on Harry's hand became hesitant. Mrs. Lucas, with a kind smile, extended her welcome to them.

"Good morning, Alfie," she greeted with genuine warmth. "It's so good to have you back."

But when those words reached Alfie's ears, his steps came to an abrupt halt. He turned to his father, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The plea in his gaze was clear – he needed to be picked up.

Harry tilted his head in concern as he knelt down to Alfie's level. Without hesitation, he gently lifted his son into his arms, Alfie clutching him tightly. Tears began to flow down Alfie's cheeks as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

With genuine worry, Harry asked,

"S’wrong, buddy?" His voice was soft, a comforting presence in this moment of turmoil.

Alfie, his voice quivering with emotion, didn't immediately respond. He simply continued to cry, his tiny frame trembling in his father's embrace.

With Alfie still nestled in his arms, Harry tried once more to coax words from his son.

Amidst the sympathetic gazes of the other parents, Alfie's tears continued to stream down his cheeks, his sobs growing more intense with each passing moment. Harry's heart ached as he held his son close, longing to soothe the pain that had gripped the young boy's heart.

"S’wrong, Alfie?" Harry asked once more, his voice tender and filled with empathy. He knew that Alfie needed to express his feelings, to release the emotions that had built up during the time when his mother was in the hospital.

Alfie hiccupped, struggling to find his words through his tears. Finally, in a soft, quivering voice, he managed to convey his deep longing, "I don't want to go to school... I want Mommy."

Harry's heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces as he held his son tighter. He understood Alfie's pain all too well, and he wished he could make it all better. In that moment, he felt the weight of your absence more than ever.

Harry held Alfie close, his arms wrapped around his trembling son as they stood outside the classroom door. Alfie's tears still glistened in his eyes, and his grip on his father remained firm.

In a soft, soothing voice, Harry began to speak. "Y’know, Alfie, t’second I pick y’up after school, we can go’n’see Mommy. But right now, it's important f’y’t’go t’school’n’learn all sorts of new things."

Alfie's response was a shaky, tearful shake of his head. He reached up to play with the soft peach fuzz at the back of his father's neck, a comforting gesture that harkened back to his baby days.

Harry, understanding the depth of his son's reluctance, tried a different approach. "Y’remember y’best friend Casey, right? Well, he's in y’class already’n’his daddy texted me last night sayin’ that Casey really missed ya’ Do y’think y’could go in’n’see him today?"

Alfie considered this for a moment, his watery eyes reflecting the uncertainty he felt. Eventually, he nodded his head, a small but significant step toward the classroom.

Harry gently wiped away the tears under Alfie's eyes, his heart full of love and pride for his brave little boy. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Alfie's forehead, their foreheads touching briefly.

"I love you, Alfie," Harry whispered.

"I love you too, Daddy," Alfie replied, his voice filled with trust and affection. With that final exchange of words, Harry lowered his son down to the floor.

Watching Alfie take those uncertain steps toward the classroom, Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his brave boy.

After Alfie had taken those hesitant steps into the classroom, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Lucas, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He approached her with a polite smile, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy.

"Mrs. Lucas," he began, his voice soft and earnest, "I just wanted t’let y’know that if, at any point during the day, Alfie starts getting upset or, well, anything happens, please don't hesitate t’give me a call."

Mrs. Lucas regarded him with a curious yet understanding gaze, her concern evident. She knew that something had been amiss, but she also respected Harry's discretion.

“Of course, Harry," she replied kindly. "I'll keep an eye on him and be sure to reach out if he needs you."

Harry nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He appreciated Mrs. Lucas's willingness to support Alfie during this challenging time. However, when she inquired further, her voice gentle, about what had happened, Harry hesitated.

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said quietly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Just, please, call me if Alfie gets upset. That's all I ask."

Mrs. Lucas nodded in understanding, recognizing the importance of respecting their privacy. She gave Harry an understanding smile, appreciating the depth of his concern for Alfie's well-being.

"Of course, Mr. Styles," she reassured him once more. "We'll take good care of Alfie here."

With that, Harry offered his gratitude with a nod and turned to leave the school, knowing that, despite the challenges ahead, Alfie was in capable and caring hands.

09:00am.

The room was bathed in the gentle morning light as the clock on the wall struck nine. It marked the beginning of another day in the hospital, a new chapter in your journey towards recovery.

A soft knock at the door signalled the arrival of a specialist, a man named James. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a beacon of hope in the sterile environment of the hospital room. With a warm smile, he approached your bedside, his eyes filled with empathy and reassurance.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying the calm confidence of someone experienced in helping patients on their path to recovery. "I'm James, and I'm a speech therapist. How are you feeling today?"

You nodded in response, your eyes locked onto James, eager to hear his guidance and reassured by his professional demeanour.

James continued, his words measured and encouraging. "I want you to know that since your coma was relatively short, only three days, your speech should recover quite well. It might take some time and effort, but we'll work together to help you regain your full communication abilities."

James gently pulled his briefcase onto the bed, a sense of purpose in his movements. From it, he carefully extracted a pack of flashcards, each adorned with colorful images. He placed them on a small table beside the bed, arranging them neatly.

With a kind and encouraging tone, James explained the exercise ahead.

"We're going to start with something simple," he said, his voice soothing. "I'll show you some pictures, and I'd like you to try and name what's on each of them."

As he revealed the first flashcard, you looked at the image, your eyes focused. A glimmer of determination flickered in your gaze as you attempted to find the words within you. You opened your mouth, trying to conjure the sounds, but it was a formidable challenge.

The effort required to speak felt overwhelming, and a wave of frustration washed over you. Your body seemed to slump into the bed behind you, the weight of the task pulling you down.

James observed your struggle with empathy, recognizing the immense effort you were putting into this seemingly simple task.

Seeing your struggle and the evident frustration it brought, James reached for a glass and a jug of water from the bedside table. With careful movements, he filled the glass, and then he placed a straw inside it.

"Let's take a little break," he suggested kindly, offering you the glass. "Having some water will help keep your vocal cords hydrated, which can make speaking a bit easier."

He held the glass to your lips, allowing you to sip the cool water through the straw at your own pace. It was a small but essential gesture, a reminder that the journey towards recovery was a series of steps, each one significant in its own way.

James sat on the edge of the bed, his presence calm and reassuring. He held up the flashcards once more, looking at you with encouragement in his eyes.

"Would you like to try again?" he asked gently.

You hesitated for a moment, the memory of your previous attempt still fresh. But deep down, the determination burned, and you nodded your head, a sign that you were willing to give it another shot.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the task at hand. As you looked at the first flashcard, your lips parted, and you began to speak. However, the words that emerged were not the smooth, effortless ones you once knew. Instead, they came out in stutters and hesitations, like a rusty engine struggling to turn over.

"Th-th-that's... a b-b...bird," you managed, your voice breaking into a series of stutters.

James listened attentively, his expression unwavering.

James, ever patient and understanding, held up another flashcard, maintaining his reassuring presence. He had seen your determination and knew that progress was often marked by small, steady steps.

You looked at the new image on the flashcard, gathering your resolve once again. The previous stuttering attempt had not deterred you. With a deep breath and a sense of focus, you tried again.

"That's a... c-c-cat," you stammered, your voice still marked by hesitations and stutters.

James nodded approvingly, acknowledging your effort with a warm smile. Each word, no matter how challenging, was a testament to your resilience and determination.

James lifted another flashcard, his calm demeanor providing a reassuring backdrop for your efforts. He understood the significance of these small steps on your path to recovery and was there to support you every step of the way.

You focused on the new image before you, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. With a deep breath, you began to speak once more, your voice still marked by stutters and hesitations.

"That's a... d-d...dog," you managed, your determination shining through despite the challenges.

James nodded encouragingly, his smile warm and appreciative.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, held up a total of ten flashcards, one after the other. Each image presented a new challenge, a test of your ability to express yourself despite the obstacles in your path.

With unwavering patience, you faced each card, taking a deep breath before speaking. Your words, though marked by stutters and hesitations, emerged with determination and clarity. Ten times, you summoned the strength to name each object before you, each success a hard-earned victory in your journey to reclaim your voice.

James observed your progress with a sense of satisfaction, recognizing the strides you had made. He wore a gentle smile as he leaned in slightly, his voice filled with encouragement.

"Now, I'd like to take it a step further," he began, his tone still reassuring. "I'd like you to try speaking a few sentences. I believe you can do it."

You nodded your head, your confidence bolstered by the progress you had made with the flashcards. This felt like a significant step forward.

James handed you a piece of paper with several phrases on it. The sentences gradually grew longer, each one challenging you a bit more. It was a carefully crafted exercise to help you regain your ability to construct sentences and express yourself more fully.

He looked at you, offering his support.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, ready to listen and guide you through this next phase of your recovery.

The phrases on the page seemed like stepping stones on your path to recovery.

You looked at the first sentence, its simplicity contrasting with the complexity of your journey.

With a deep breath, you began to read it aloud, your voice still carrying the echoes of your previous stuttering attempts.

"I... like... to... pick... flowers," you managed, your voice steadier than before.

James nodded approvingly, his eyes filled with encouragement. The progress you had made in the short time you had been working together was remarkable.

He pointed to the next sentence, which was longer and more challenging.

"Take your time," he encouraged, ready to offer guidance if needed.

James, encouraged by your progress, nodded and presented another sentence. This time, the sentence was a bit longer, intended to further challenge your speaking abilities.

"Let's try this one," he said with a supportive smile, handing you the piece of paper. "Take your time, and whenever you're ready, go ahead and read it aloud."

You accepted the paper, your determination shining in your eyes. With a deep breath, you focused on the sentence before you, prepared to tackle this new challenge head-on.

“Exploring... new... horizons... broadens... our... perspectives.” you said, your words coming out with more fluency than before.

James nodded, his smile growing wider with pride.

"That was wonderful," he praised. "Your progress is truly remarkable."

He pointed to the next sentence on the page, which was even longer, yet he had full confidence that you were up to the challenge.

"Whenever you're ready," he encouraged, providing you with the space and support you needed to continue improving your speech.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, observed your readiness for the next challenge. With a supportive smile, he handed you the paper with the new sentence.

"Let's work on this one," he suggested kindly. "Remember to take your time and speak at your own pace."

You accepted the paper, your determination unwavering. You focused on the sentence, recognizing that it was longer than the previous ones but confident in your ability to meet the challenge.

With a deep breath, you began to speak, your voice gaining strength and fluency with each word. James watched, filled with pride at your progress, ready to offer guidance and support whenever you needed it.

As you finished reading the longer sentence, James couldn't contain his excitement. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing with a sense of accomplishment. You looked up at him, tilting your head inquisitively.

With a beaming smile, James leaned in closer to you and spoke with genuine enthusiasm. "Your stutter has gone, and you're saying the sentences in full!"

Your eyes widened with joy and realisation. It was a moment of triumph, a sign that your journey to reclaim your voice was progressing even better than you had hoped. Your excitement bubbled over, and James, equally thrilled, wrapped you in a quick but heartfelt hug. It was a gesture of celebration and encouragement, a recognition of the significant strides you had made in your speech therapy.

With a warm smile, James expressed his delight at your progress. "I'm going to go inform the nurses at the station about your incredible improvement," he said. "And I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."

He then couldn't resist adding a lighthearted touch to the conversation. "You know," he chuckled, "when your husband comes into the room, you can surprise him with your newfound voice. I'm sure he'll be amazed."

James's positive energy and humor added a sense of camaraderie to your sessions, and you nodded with gratitude for his support. His dedication to your recovery was evident, and you looked forward to the day you could indeed surprise your husband with your progress.

12:07pm.

Around lunchtime, the door to your hospital room gently swung open, and in walked Harry, carrying a bag of Raising Cane's, the scent of delicious fried chicken filling the air. He had a warm smile on his face, relief and affection evident in his eyes as he saw you awake and alert.

He carefully placed the bag of food on the tray table, positioned at the edge of the bed, ensuring it was within your reach. Then, his eyes fixed on you, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you and placed a tender kiss on your lips. It was a kiss filled with love and longing, a silent expression of how much he had missed you during your recovery.

As he pulled away, he gazed into your eyes, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

"I brought y’favourite," he said, a hint of excitement in his tone, eager to share this moment with you. The sight of you awake and engaged was a testament to your resilience and strength, something he admired deeply.

Harry turned to refill your glass of water, his heart lighter with the knowledge that you were awake and speaking. As he poured the water, his mind was already occupied with thoughts of the delicious meal he had brought for you.

However, when he heard your voice, a voice he hadn't heard in days, his movements froze. The glass hovered over the pitcher, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes widened in astonishment as he slowly turned to look at you, a mixture of shock and joy dancing in his gaze.

"I didn't think I was allowed to eat," you said, your voice a little raspy but undeniably yours.

Harry's heart soared at the sound of your voice, and his lips curved into a wide, elated smile. He took a few steps closer to your bedside, setting the glass down with a gentle clink. Overwhelmed with emotion, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Y’speakin’," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and relief, as if he had been granted a miracle.

Harry's heart raced as he rushed over to your bedside, his eyes fixed on you in disbelief. Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to pick up your hands. Gently, he brought them close to his face, pressing tender kisses to your wrists as if to confirm that this moment was real.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked at you, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Can’t believe it," he murmured, his breath hitching. "V’been ‘ere f’days, prayin’ t’hear y’voice again."

Even though you had been awake for a day, one thing he was craving was the sound of your voice, it was the one thing that made him feel same.

Before the accident, when he would get home from a heavy day full of meetings and executive decisions revolving the tour, he would come home exhausted and collapse onto either the sofa or the bed you shared, wherever you were that night and would lay his head on your lap, your hands running through his hair and your voice lulling him to a slumber with tales of what you did throughout the day, it was as if he was the same age as Alf.

His eyes never left yours, and he continued to place sweet kisses on your skin, each one a testament to the overwhelming relief and love he felt in that moment.

"Y’ave n’idea how much I missed you," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

Harry's fingers gently traced patterns on your palms as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"Was so scared," he confessed, his voice cracking with vulnerability. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle and reassuring gesture.

"But y’here," he said, his voice steadier now, filled with determination. "And y’speaking, and m’so, so grateful."

Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. It was a kiss filled with months of worry, days of longing, and the promise of a future together. In that moment, he held you close, cherishing every second as if it were a precious gift.

As you pulled away from the sweet, lingering kiss, your fingers tenderly brushed under Harry's eyes, wiping away the glistening tear tracks that had formed there. You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you gazed at him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Why did you bring food?" you asked, your voice filled with light-hearted amusement. "I thought I wasn't allowed to eat. The nurse explained about the IV and all."

Harry held onto your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. He chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that filled the room.

"Well," he began, his voice playful, "Was walking through t’ward, Nurse Lauren came up to me." He paused for dramatic effect, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. "S’told me they reviewed y’vitals’n’explained that y’could eat solid foods again."

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. "They did?"

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Ye’, they did. S’practically sprinted t’the Cane's next door, knowing s’y’absolute favorite."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout your heart. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Harry's smile grew wider, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Only the very special ones," he whispered, his voice filled with love and adoration, "like you."

Recovery Day Three. — 17th August, 2023.

14:54pm.

The next day painted a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the previous day. As late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, it did little to alleviate the tension in the room. Your face, contorted in anguish, told a different story.

You had decided to try and have a little nap whilst Harry departed your side to go and get your little love bug, you were tired, you would wake up during the night confused about where you were and just decided to close your eyes, even if it was for five minutes.

Lying in the hospital bed, you were locked in the grip of a restless nightmare. Your brow was furrowed, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to your forehead. The morning sun, instead of casting a gentle glow, seemed to intensify the torment of your dream.

Outside, the world buzzed with life, oblivious to the turmoil within. Your slumber was anything but serene, as you wrestled with unseen demons in the depths of your subconscious. The room, too, held its breath, but not in quietude; rather, it was a silent witness to the tumultuous nightmare that held you captive.

Despite the sunlight's attempt to illuminate the room, a pall of unease lingered, a stark reminder of the night's torment. In that moment, the hospital room became a battleground between your deepest fears and the fragile flicker of hope that sought to break through the darkness.

In the depths of this haunting nightmare, you found yourself ensnared in a nightmarish tableau. Behind the wheel, your hands clenched the steering wheel with an iron grip. Alfie was in the backseat, his voice a haunting crescendo of terror as he called out to you.

"Mommy! Mommy!" His tiny voice trembled with fear, echoing through the confines of the car.

Beside him, a baby girl, a chilling glimpse of the child growing within your belly, wailed inconsolably. Her cries were a haunting lament, a stark reminder of the fragile life depending on your protection.

The world outside the car window blurred into a nightmarish frenzy, colors blending into an incomprehensible whirl. Tires screeched, a discordant symphony of desperation. The vehicle careened out of control, spinning and swerving as if propelled by malevolent forces.

Then came the deafening crash, a cataclysmic collision that reverberated through your very core. The world exploded into chaos, metal screeching against metal, an eruption of sound and fury.

In this nightmare, you teetered on the edge of consciousness, imprisoned within the nightmarish wreckage of the car. Through half-shut eyes, you beheld the unimaginable horror unfurling in the backseat. Flames danced, fierce and relentless, licking at the edges of the car seats. Orange tendrils of death reached hungrily toward Alfie and the tiny, wailing baby girl.

"Mommy, help me!" Alfie's desperate pleas were a chilling refrain, his voice tinged with terror and helplessness.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you strained against the invisible chains that bound you to the twisted metal. You could feel the unbearable heat, the scorching breath of the flames inching closer with every passing second.

The baby's cries grew louder, a heart-rending symphony of fear and agony. In this agonizing nightmare, you reached out a trembling hand, your fingers desperate to soothe the infant, to cradle her in safety. But the inferno was relentless, its searing fingers inching ever closer.

"Please, Mommy," Alfie's voice cracked with fear, his eyes wide with terror.

"I'm trying, Alfie," you whispered through trembling lips, your voice barely more than a quiver.

In this nightmarish realm, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils, the acrid taste of fear clinging to your tongue. Your heart pounded in your chest like a relentless drumbeat, and the weight of powerlessness bore down on you like an unyielding stone.

Flames engulfed the backseat, painting a hellish tableau of despair. It was a nightmare you couldn't escape, an agonizing loop of terror that clawed at your very soul. Your mind screamed for action, for salvation, but your body remained pinned, an immovable captive.

The cries of the baby grew louder, her tiny voice a heartbreaking plea for rescue. You stretched out your trembling hand, fingers straining toward her, a silent promise of protection. Yet, the flames danced ever nearer, their scalding touch tormenting your outstretched arm.

"Please, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with desperation.

In the midst of this living nightmare, you were rendered powerless, a witness to a tragedy unfolding before your eyes. The world dissolved into a surreal nightmare, where time seemed to stand still, and the relentless flames threatened to consume all you held dear.

The shrill, frantic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a discordant symphony of alarm that pierced the air. It was as though the nightmare from your dream had spilled into reality, an unrelenting cacophony of distress.

In an instant, the tranquility of the hospital room shattered. The door flew open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces etched with urgency and concern.

"What's happening?!" one of the doctors exclaimed, his voice taut with anxiety as he approached the bedside, his eyes darting between the monitor and your face.

Another nurse swiftly checked the vitals monitor, her fingers dancing over the buttons. "Her heart rate is skyrocketing! We need to stabilize her!"

A palpable tension filled the room as medical personnel worked in unison, their practiced movements a testament to their training. They adjusted IV lines, administered medications, and conferred in hurried, hushed tones.

Amidst the frantic activity, you felt a profound sense of helplessness, trapped within the confines of your own body. Your heart raced uncontrollably, its furious pounding echoing in your ears.

The lead doctor, a seasoned figure with a commanding presence, addressed the team. "We need to get this under control now. Administer sedatives if necessary, and prepare for an EKG. We can't afford to lose her."

With a sense of urgency, they acted swiftly, the room becoming a whirlwind of activity. Amid the commotion, your fear and desperation were evident in your wide, frightened eyes.

Just when the doctors and nurses thought your condition had stabilized, a sudden jolt coursed through your body. Your limbs convulsed uncontrollably, your fingers clawing at the sheets, and your eyes rolled back as a seizure gripped you with merciless force.

Panic filled the room once more as medical professionals scrambled into action. They lowered the bed's side rails to prevent you from falling, their faces tense with worry.

15:10pm.

Harry leaned against the school gates, patiently waiting for the school day to end. His eyes scanned the children as they poured out of the building, searching for Alfie among the crowd.

As he stood there, a woman with a confident stride approached him. She flashed a flirtatious smile and initiated a conversation, "Well, hello there. You must be Alfie's dad, right?"

Harry nodded, offering a polite smile. "Ye’, S’me. M’here t’pick ‘im up."

The woman, her tone flirtatious and forward, continued, "I've seen you here a few times before. You're a handsome dad, you know. What's your name?"

Harry chuckled nervously, feeling a bit taken aback by her directness. "M’Harry. Nice t’meet ya’."

She leaned in closer, her gaze fixed on his left hand. "Harry, huh? And are you married, Harry?"

Harry held up his left hand, showing his wedding ring. "Ye’, M’happily married,been married almost five years in fact."

Undeterred, the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Happily, you say? Well, you know, sometimes a little excitement outside of marriage can be... refreshing."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a clear signal that her advances were unwelcome. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite committed t’m’wife."

The woman seemed slightly disappointed but didn't give up easily. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

The bell rang, and the main doors of the school swung open, releasing a flood of excited children, all eager to reunite with their parents. Among the crowd, Alfie emerged, his face lighting up as soon as he spotted his father.

With a joyful shout of "Daddy!" Alfie dashed toward Harry, his small feet carrying him as fast as they could. Harry crouched down, ready to catch his son, and as Alfie reached him, he scooped him up in a warm embrace.

"Daddy's ‘ere, buddy," Harry said with a grin, feeling the energy of Alfie's hug and seeing the paint stains on his school uniform. "Did y’have a good day at school?"

Alfie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, we painted today! Look at this, Daddy!" He proudly displayed his hands, covered in a rainbow of paint colors.

Harry chuckled, looking at his son's colorful hands. "Wow, y’quite the artist, Alf! Let's get y’cleaned up before we go see mummy."

15:27pm.

Harry and Alfie had just entered the bustling ward when a sudden commotion erupted from your room. Doctors and nurses hurried in and out, their faces filled with urgency, and the chaotic energy in the corridor was palpable. Harry's heart clenched with worry as he instinctively tightened his grip on Alfie's hand.

Harry and Alfie quickened their pace, the corridor seeming to stretch endlessly as they rushed toward your room. The knot of dread in Harry's stomach tightened with every step. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As they reached the doorway, Harry's heart plummeted in his chest. There, on the hospital bed, you were having a seizure, your body convulsing uncontrollably. The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching. Harry's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move closer, his grip on Alfie's hand never wavering.

The sight of you having a seizure was too much for Harry to bear. In that harrowing moment, he couldn't maintain his composure any longer. He released Alfie's hand, and his legs gave way beneath him. Harry fell to his knees outside your hospital room, his hands trembling as he watched you convulsing, unable to do anything but feel the sheer helplessness wash over him.

Alfie stood there, wide-eyed and frightened, looking at his father on the floor and then back at you. His small world was unravelling before his eyes, and he had no idea how to make sense of it. Harry wanted to be strong for his son, but the overwhelming fear and concern for you had shattered his resolve, leaving him vulnerable and devastated.

A doctor yelled above all the commotion that was taking place, directing his speech to one of the nurses. His voice sounded desperate, he needed to help you as quickly as possible.

"Seizure activity!" one of the nurses called out, her voice strained as she rushed to retrieve necessary medications and equipment.

The lead doctor called for additional assistance, his voice urgent and commanding. "We need a crash cart, now!"

tag-list: @itsgigikay @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @emgoldenharry @cat-loves-music @be-with-me-so-happily @cherrycolas-things @white-wolf-buckaroo @gem1712 @sleutherclaw @viktorialah @woody32271 @alienorknight @psicoatyles

[seraph5]

So I get a lot of people mentioning that they are surprised that I dress John in black and I wanted to sort of talk about my design thinking a lil bit (for the hell of it). So when I think about The King aside from the descriptions in the pod which I’ve incorporated, I considered

- How kings present themselves: incorporating details that communicate wealth, inspire reverence, show trophies or monuments to victories. While the king is a fallen king (if we are sticking to the play interpretation) I believe he would have a certain kind of regalia. I put a row of teeth around his neck from some massive creature and from his horns are hung threads adorned with trophies from the realms in which he presides. Unlike jewels or rare materials I imagine these more like items of the people whom he consumed with madness. His ‘armour’ is more minimal given that he is more influential through magic and madness then war however I did want him to have some nod to armour in the gnarled wood that forms his horned crown and pauldrons.

- His ability to influence through fear: when thinking about what might be scary to be hunted by I thought about the first thing that humans fear - the unknown. He has a mask with no face and within his cloak is only darkness manifest. His claws and body are long and his tendrils are a part of him.

Thinking of all this (in abstract terms at least) I then thought about John. When John arrives he ‘knows nothing’, he has nothing and in this way he has been stripped of all of the regalia, all the trappings of powerful terror he has as the king - all the way down to the eponymous colour of the king severed from him by circumstance. As time goes by John has also affirmed that he is who he is and that he does not want to be returned to the king.

When Yellow hits the scene Arthur gives him that name and in a way connects him to the king more directly than he ever did with John. He gave Yellow that power in giving him direction and meaning towards the king and power (in a bad way unfortunately). In a lot of mythologies words have magic, names have magic. I feel like because of this connection and because of Arthur’s choices Yellow being in a Yellow cloak made sense to me.

None of this is me saying that I’m right or that anyone else’s choices are wrong by the way, I have more favourite John’s and Arthur’s and kings than I can count in this fandom. A real warehouse of Chad John’s and Arthurs and kings I can tell you. This is just me discussing the thoughts I had around it.

[lovelybeesthings]

Stupid bunny ch 1? 2 3

Coriolanus Snow x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Y/n Ashwood was the daughter of a very powerful family that was a part of the structure of the Capito, the Ashwoods had been one of the few honorable families to survive the falls of the most powerful families. Y/N was a very sweet innocent girl who never had to survive by eating raw meat or scraps and didn't have to fight for a scholarship to attend the Academy.

Alongside her wealth she was a beautiful girl with long lashes, rosy cheeks Doe eyes, and plum lips, her hair was in bubble braids or in long curls her hair was silky smooth by the touch of it and her looks were ones of a saint, y/n was looked at as a white soft rabbit or a doll to some as her life seemed to be in the hands of her family.

As Y/n attended the academy it was inevitable she was popular she had the looks and the Brain which amazed her peers how can a girl who looks like a saint and fragile to touch look at such hordes of sights? Y/n had known of the Snow family as they were one of a higher class but close to the bottom she knew exactly of Coriolanus Snow his long curly locks and his charming looks.

There was also one more reason Y/n Ashwood knew of Coriolanus Snow she had been his fiance since the moment they were both been born the Ashwoods and The snows had set the engagement in motion when y/n was 7 years old she met snow on one occasion and it was breath taking she still remembers it the way he had walked toward her as she hid behind her mother he took her hand and kissed it introducing himself.

*Present day*

As our days with our distracts pass soon to the games I notice how Coriolanus looks at his distract trains Lucy grey I’ve seen her girl from distract 12 I see the way she build skinny pretty from her distracts condition but to me there’s no hope a performer in an hunt I say shell die in the first 10 minutes but the way I catch his eyes longing at hers every moment at her*

My trainee was a boy named Reaper his build was strong and what I’ve read he had even attacked a peacekeeper which betters the odds.

“Coriolanus!” *I say as i see him alone for once passing by as I say his name he turns his head as his eyes lock to mine* “y/n?” *I walk closer* “I’ve missed you it’s been so long it just seems your time has been consumed so much into the game you know my family’s gonna. Host another dinner party you should come!” *I say smiling brightly* “I don’t think so I-i have to see how to better Lucy’s chances” *I look at him and my nose crutches from his response* “you mean your tribute right?” *I say harshly* “Yes, is their something the matter y/n?” *he responds more in colder tone* “it’s-s just seems like your mind is more on the girl then the goal of winning I mean she’s not the strongest tribute and doesn’t seem that smart” *I say as my words drop with venom getting so hung up on my words I don’t notice his expression to get more pissed* “Y/n! I have to spend my time on her, okay? I don’t have the riches to pay for the academy I need to be on this scholarship you can’t even view my point as your life is handed to you” *he says coldly making me shiver and I realize where I went wrong* “Coriolanus wait-t I didn’t, I wasn’t trying to make it seem that way!” *I say as my face blush’s from the embarrassment and I try to resolve this small argument* “y/n just shut it I have to get back to Lucy” *I feel this utter poison in me as I grab onto his shirt as he begins to walk away* “STOP! Don’t leave me!” *i say as a demand he quickly turns and looks at me but his eyes cold his look disturbed with my existence* “you’re just a stupid bunny” *he says as his words feel like a ridicule*

I’m end it here cause I started to hate it 🥲 if you have any suggestions or anything just tell me plz

[mandos-mind-trick]

00:00 (Zero O'Clock)

Summary: On the run from your family, you meet your soulmate after he's sent to retrieve you. Can he offer you what you've been yearning for since your mark first appeared? Or will he turn out to be just like everyone else in your life?

Loosely based on the BTS song of the same name.

Pairing: Hunter x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, some brief mention of kink related things, brief mention of a knife kink, canon typical violence, some semi-descriptive mentions of abuse and child abuse, some angst, lots of fluff, as usual reader has a backstory for plot.

A/N: I'm trying a bit of a new format with this one, at least as to how the story progresses. I'm not sure about the beginning, but let me know what you think.

MASTERLIST

Five Minutes.

Your legs are aching almost as much as your lungs, but you don’t stop. 

You can’t stop. 

Tree roots and vines threaten to trip you with every step, but you push onwards. Get to town. You just have to get to town and you can stop. 

Three minutes. 

The timer on your wrist is like some twisted countdown. When it appeared over ten years ago, you were confused. Your soulmate couldn’t be that much younger than you. You had thought perhaps they were a different species, one that matures faster than others. 

Ten years, forty-seven days, six hours, and fifteen minutes. 

That had been the number seared onto your skin one day, the numbers slowly counting down as time went on. You tried to mark the exact day on the calendar, but it was difficult. You went off galactic standard time, as your countdown seemed to match how the hours and days passed for you. 

You daydreamed constantly about your soulmate. You researched species after species, trying to find any sort of answer you could as to why your soulmate mark had shown up so late. 

It wasn’t until the war when things began making sense. 

It wasn’t until the war that things began falling apart for you. 

The sudden appearance of the clone army, millions upon millions of beings created over the ten years before the war started, answered many people’s questions. Millions upon millions of beings in the galaxy that had lived for years without a soulmate link suddenly having theirs appear in the last ten years. 

Your soulmate’s a clone. 

Your father was not pleased. 

Your home planet was not part of the Republic. It had always been independent, and once the war started, the governing body decided to side with the Separatists. Your father was a loyal supporter of this decision, funneling your family’s vast wealth and resources to aiding the Confederacy of Independent Systems. 

You thought the entire war was stupid. Why couldn’t people just be happy with being either part of the Republic or not? 

The first time you spoke out against it in front of your father, he dragged you from the room and beat you with his belt. 

The second time you spoke out against it, at a dinner with several important political figures including your grandfather, he beat you right there in the dining hall. 

When he discovered your soulmate timer, it got worse. 

He tried everything he could to remove it. 

You knew it was useless. Even cutting the skin off with a knife, the mark would only appear again as it healed. Burns, scars, even chopping the limb off wouldn’t work. It would simply appear elsewhere. 

Your father thankfully never went that far. 

Your hatred towards him only deepened as time went on. 

News of your grandfather’s death reaches you shortly before the end of the war. You don’t cry. You barely knew him, and what you knew of him was that he was equally as cruel as your father. 

As the war ends, so does the Republic. 

Shortly after, the Empire is on your doorstep demanding allegiance. They get it, and the occupation begins. 

Six months later, you run away. 

You run and keep running. A month later, the bounty hunters begin appearing. You evade them easily enough, and when you can’t evade them, you make sure they can’t follow you.

It’s been almost a year since the war ended. Your timer is still steadily counting down. Your soulmate is still alive somewhere. You debate trying to find them, but you know finding clones means getting close to the Empire. You know nothing good would come from getting caught by the Empire. Even worse, they might return you home. 

Two minutes. 

Your feet hit solid ground, relieved to be free of the damp mud you had been running through for the past ten minutes. You race into town, hoping to lose him. 

He had appeared an hour ago, your little shack that had been offering you reprieve his target. He’s here for you, sent by the Empire or your father, you’re not sure. Either way, you’re not keen to find out. 

You were gone long before he reached your abandoned hut. You had headed towards town, hoping to reach the spaceport and convince someone to take you to their next stop before he even noticed you weren’t in the hut anymore. 

Except it was a long trek to town, and this wasn’t a normal bounty hunter. 

The first shot had narrowly missed you. 

A warning. 

You had taken off running, zig-zagging through trees as fast as you could. The shots had followed right behind you until they had died out, leaving nothing but the sound of the jungle, and your own heavy breathing. 

He’s right behind you. You know he is. You should have run for it from the start. 

You desperately need to stop. You need air, your lungs beginning to spasm painfully. You’re not going to get much farther without a reprieve. You hope you can lose him in the evening crowd, ducking into an alley. 

You press your back against the wall, putting a hand to your wheezing chest. Your eyes screw shut for a moment, urging air back into your lungs. Your legs are trembling like they may give out under you, but you know you don’t have long. He’s probably already in town. You need to stay ahead of him. Pray you can catch someone leaving at the spaceport and escape. 

One minute. 

Your soulmate is about to appear. Maybe they’ll help you get out of this mess. You can’t reach the spaceport in that short amount of time. You glance at both ends of the alley. There’s no one. So who-

A hand wraps around your throat, slamming your back against the wall behind you. Your hand is quick to grab your knife, aiming it for the throat, but his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping it.

“Give up, kid.” He drawls, tightening his grip around your wrist until you’re forced to drop the knife. “You’re not going to win this.”  

You struggle against his hold, even though you know he’s right. 

30 seconds.

Just thirty more seconds. You can fight that long. 

You drive your knee up into his stomach, but he doesn’t release you. His grip tightens around your throat, black dots beginning to form in your vision. You drive your fist into his elbow, his arm bending awkwardly. His fingers slip from your throat and you inhale sharply, your vision swimming for a moment. 

“Let her go.” 

You both look up in shock at the voice. Modulated by a familiar looking helmet, grey with an orange stripe down the middle. He’s standing at the entry to the alley, blaster drawn and pointed at the bounty hunter. 

“She’s my quarry.” The bounty hunter says, hand dropping to his own blaster. “I found her first.” 

You quickly duck, covering your head as the shots ring out. Your gaze is drawn down to your timer, eyes widening a bit. 

00:00:00:00:00

This is your soulmate? 

You push yourself back up, glancing at the body of the bounty hunter for a moment before your gaze falls on the clone. His armor is pieced together, lacking the normal consistency you associated with clones and their armor. Had you been wrong? Is he not a clone after all? 

“It’s you.” You whisper, dropping the knife from your hand. 

“Give up the fight, kid.” He says, voice distorted by his helmet, blaster trained on you now. 

You make a face. “I’m not a kid. I’m older than you.” You press your back against the wall. “When I pictured us meeting, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

He tilts his head, and you can picture the confusion on his face. You hold up your arm, revealing your soulmate timer now at zero. He lowers his head slightly, looking at it. He glances down at his own arm for a moment before lowering his blaster. You watch him fiddle with his vambrace, tugging it down with his sleeve enough to reveal tanned skin underneath. He’s quiet, staring down at his skin for a few moments. 

You could run. You could use his distraction to try and escape.

You don’t want to. You had been destined to meet at this moment. Since your creation, maybe even before. 

Maybe he can help you. 

But he was sent after you. 

He wouldn’t really return you to your father, would he? You had heard about clones being forced to reject their soulmates under the Republic. Was the Empire enforcing that too? He wouldn’t...would he? 

Your legs are shaking still, your body exhausted from running for so long. Always on edge, always watching your back. You slip down the wall, sitting on the ground. You stare up at him, finding him watching you. “Are you with the Empire?” You ask. 

“No.” He says, straightening up a bit. “We were sent after you by a third party.” 

“Oh.” You say, nodding. “Are you...going to take me back to my father?” 

He stares at you quietly for a long time. This was going to complicate things for both of you. Would he still return you to your father, even now knowing you’re his soulmate? Did you try to run, leave behind your soulmate to try and save yourself? You know it’s only going to get harder to be apart from here. Now that you’ve met, the longing will start, the need to be close. 

That’s why the Republic wanted clones to reject their soulmates. Not even the best programming can undo the natural need to be close to one’s soulmate. 

“I’ve caught her.” He speaks into his comm. “Get back to the ship and meet us at the spaceport.” 

“You should just reject me now.” You say, and he looks at you again. You wish you could see his face, read his expressions. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? At least, that’s what the Republic wanted.” You shrug. “It’ll hurt less for you later when my father decides to kill me.” 

“Why would he go through all this trouble to get you back if he’s just going to kill you?” He asks, stepping closer. 

You snort. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?” 

“You’re a runaway rich kid, and your father is willing to pay a lot to get you back.” He says, wrapping a hand around your arm. He hauls you to your feet far too easily, spinning you so you’re pressed against the wall. 

“Moving a bit fast, aren’t we?” You quip, his hands gripping your wrists behind you. 

“Can it, kid.” He grunts, cuffing your arms behind your back. 

“I’m not a kid.” You huff, tugging against his hold, but you quickly give in. 

This wasn’t what you were expecting when you pictured meeting your soulmate. Of course, you’d spent most of the war hearing nothing but propaganda against the Republic and the clone army, so you really didn’t know what to expect. They’re not quite the mindless soldiers like you’d been told, at least that’s what you’d discern since this group was apparently working independently of the Empire. 

“You’re making a mistake.” You say as he takes your arm, tugging you towards the end of the alley. 

“I’m sure you see it that way.” He says, leading you onward. 

You plant your feet, trying to get him to look at you. “No, I’m trying to warn you. If you actually bothered to look into who I am, you never would have taken this job in the first place.” 

He finally stops, turning to look at you. “Why do you care?” 

“You’re deserters, aren’t you? I’ve only heard propaganda, and seen clones in passing once, but I do know most of them are loyal to the Empire now. Most of them aren’t out here playing mercenary and bounty hunter. You received coordinates for a place to drop me off, right? Somewhere in the D’Astan sector? You know what that sector looks like right now? It’s crawling with Imperial troops and ships. The war had barely ended and they were already invading. I ran because my father is a cruel man who spent my whole life beating me to submission. He’s a weak man who can’t stand things not being in his control. The Empire has completely taken over and I’m one of the few things he has left he can control. I don’t want that.” 

He stares at you for a while. You know he’s thinking over your words. He won’t trust you, not completely. If you can just get to him a little, though, you may be able to save your own skin, and maybe his as well. 

“You’re my soulmate.” It feels unreal saying those words. You’d pictured it a thousand times, and yet, none of them had come close. “If nothing else, trust me on that basis. I know you’ve been told your whole life to reject me. I don’t want you to.” 

He stares at you for a moment longer before turning, tugging you along as he makes his way towards the starport. Tears prick your vision. You have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. For all you know, he doesn’t believe you and he’ll take the risk returning you to your father. 

He has no reason to trust you. 

For all you know, he’s going to reject you. 

If that’s the case, though, why hasn’t he done it yet? 

“Can I at least know your name?” You ask softly, looking up at him. 

He stays silent, walking you into the starport. Thankfully it’s late enough that it's not very busy. This looks bad, it looks really bad for you. 

“Hunter!” 

Of all things a child runs towards you two. 

“We were getting worried.” The child says as Hunter leads you towards an Omicron-class ship. 

He leads you up the steps, three more clones inside. Well, at least you think they’re clones. None of them quite look the same, at least size and height-wise. One is lankier and is wearing goggles, the other is a giant of a man, and the third has a cybernetic arm and legs. 

Hunter pushes you down into one of the seats rather roughly, pointing his finger in your face. “Don’t move.” He says threateningly, leaving you sitting there.

It’s not like you have much of a choice. There’s not much room to move anyway, as the large one and the child join you. The ship rumbles as it comes to life, forcing you to press back into the seat as it lifts off the ground. Your arms are pressed uncomfortably behind you, hands going numb as the cuffs cut off circulation. 

Your stomach churns with the familiar jump to hyperspace, Hunter not returning until the ship is well on its way to most likely your drop off point. You’re nervous, not just for yourself. Hunter must not have believed you. You’re sad for them, and yourself. 

The large one pulls off his helmet with a sigh. Though he’s very large, his face is unmistakably that of a clone’s. They really must have been hired by a third party. Your father never would have stooped that low. He’s in for one hell of a surprise when they show up to hand you off. 

Your gaze is pulled away from the big one as Hunter enters the hull, removing his own helmet. He doesn’t look like you expect a clone to. His hair is long, held back by a red bandana. He has the rugged face of a clone, but the left half is covered in a skull tattoo. It’s intimidating, just like his gaze as it burns into you. 

The one with the cybernetics follows him, his helmet removed as well. He’s paler and gaunter than the others, a headset wrapped around his head. He takes a seat at the computer, typing rapidly. 

“If what you said is true, we can’t risk turning you in.” Hunter says. 

“Why would I lie to you?” You ask, though you already know the answer. 

“To save your own skin.” He says. “I believe you, that you were running for a reason. But that could be any reason. Not just the story you told me.” 

“Then by all means.” You say, trying to get comfortable with your hands behind your back. “Research away.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments, part of the screen visible over their heads from where you’re sitting. You are telling the truth to them. You have no reason to lie. Especially not to your soulmate. 

“You’re a Separatist?” Cybernetics asks you. 

You roll your eyes. “You know, just because someone lived on a Separatist planet doesn't mean they were Separatists too. I hated them. I thought the war was stupid. Why couldn’t they just be happy not being part of the Republic and the Republic just leave them alone?” 

“I think it was a bit more complex than that.” Hunter says. 

You roll your eyes again. “Well, it’s not like I was ever getting the truth there. We were fed Separatist propaganda for years, even before the war started.” 

The ship goes quiet again, broken only by the sound of Cybernetics typing at the computer. 

"She's telling the truth." He finally says, breaking the quiet. "Imperial files have that whole sector listed under their control.” 

“We can’t risk revealing ourselves.” Hunter says. “But we need those credits.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes once more. “If you bothered to check my bag, you’d see I have plenty of credits in there.” 

Their eyes fall to where your bag has been placed on the chair behind them. Hunter opens your bag, digging through until he finds the box of credits. He opens it, looking inside. 

“That’s far more than we’ll get from Cid for this job.” Cybernetics says. 

“You can have them.” You say. “It’s my dad’s money anyway. I took what he had on hand before I left.” 

“You’d just let us take this.” Hunter asks speculatively. 

“If it means saving both our skins and keeping me from having to see my father ever again, then yes. You can have my whole bag, if you’d like.” 

Hunter stares down at the credits for a moment before heading into the cockpit once more. 

“Hey, Cybernetics.” You call before he can follow Hunter.  

“My name’s Echo.” He says with a frown, obviously offended by your nickname. 

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you’ve been very hospitable.” You shrug as he disappears into the cockpit too. You nearly jump out of your skin as you turn, finding the child standing next to you. “Oh my, you’re a sneaky little thing.” 

“Sorry.” She laughs. “My name’s Omega. That’s Wrecker.” The giant clone waves. 

You nod back, your arms still cuffed behind your back. “Hello.” 

Hunter reappears, coming to stand in front of you. “If you’re tricking us in any way, I will not hesitate to shoot you.” 

“If you knew the things my dad did to me growing up, the things he would do to me if he ever got his hands on me again, you wouldn’t hesitate to trust me when I say I want absolutely nothing to do with him or the Empire.” You stare into his eyes as he kneels in front of you. “He’s a horrible man and he can waste all of his money and resources looking for me for all I care.” 

Hunter undoes your cuffs, and you rub your sore wrists. “We’ll drop you off on the next inhabited planet we can find.” 

You frown. “So that’s it? We’re not even going to talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He says, turning his back to you as he sits at the computer. 

“Like hell there isn’t. If you’re that dead set, then just reject me now and get it over with so we can both move on with our lives.” 

“I can’t trust you.” He says over his shoulder. 

“I’m not asking you to trust me.” Your voice wavers a bit. “I’m asking you to talk to me. Either talk to me, or just reject me and get it over with.” 

***

The ship is quiet as it floats aimlessly through space. You gaze out the viewport at the thousands of stars in front of you. Hunter is in the seat across from you, his seat turned to face yours. 

“I have to protect them.” He says. “If anything happens to them...” 

“I know.” You nod, turning to look at him. “They’re lucky to have you. All my life I’ve been wishing for someone to care that much about me. Someone who would protect me. My mother was always too scared he’d turn on her if she said anything. It wasn’t long after the war started that I figured it out, that my soulmate was a clone. My father wasn’t happy about it. He tried everything he could to remove my timer. It never worked.” 

Hunter tenses a bit at your words. It feels good, talking about it finally. Even if he did decide nothing was to come of your link, it still felt good to tell someone about what had happened to you. You’ve never had that chance before. 

“I never thought much about my link.” Hunter says, turning his gaze out the viewport. “I couldn’t. The Kaminoans created the rules about seeking out soulmates and the Republic agreed. I didn’t have time, anyway. We were always moving, always on a mission. I hoped the war would end before the timer reached zero. I’m not sure I could have rejected my soulmate. Most of the clones ignored those rules. They kept their links, secretly keeping contact with their soulmates.” He shakes his head. “I figured it would happen when it happened. I didn’t think it would be like this.” 

“What, that you’d desert the army and wind up bounty hunting your soulmate who was a Separatist?” 

“Something like that.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“Where do we go from here, Hunter?” You ask, turning to look at him. You take in his profile. The skull tattoo, the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. He’s handsome. Ruggedly handsome. Not totally what you would consider your type, but perhaps the link to him was more than just looks. 

You’d been raised with the idea of becoming someone’s trophy. You’d never hold power in your own family. You’d be someone’s pretty little wife who served drinks and made babies and made her husband look good. You’d marry someone just like your father who would beat you with a belt if you spoke out in opposition against him. 

Then your mark had shown up, and with it came the idea of something else. Something more. Something different. 

Hunter is different. 

So very different. 

He turns to look at you, his eyes studying your face. “What is it you want?” 

You smile, leaning back in the seat. “I want to live on a farm on a small planet with kind people that care about each other. I want to care for animals and to play in the dirt. I want a house that’s just the right size. I want to be happy and safe away from politics and war and my family.” You stare into his eyes, deep into the rich depths of them. “I want to be happy with my soulmate.” 

***

You lay in bed, staring out the open window. The cool morning air is blowing in, rustling the curtains. The sun is just starting to rise, painting the sky in yellows and oranges. It’s quiet, the only noise the occasional bird song as the world begins to wake up. It’ll be warm today, the perfect time for you to finish planting your garden for the season. 

An arm wraps around your waist, warm lips pressing kisses to your exposed neck. You smile, leaning back against the broad chest. 

“Morning.” You murmur, biting your lip as his stubble tickles the sensitive skin. 

He murmurs his greeting against your neck, his hand trailing up your bare side. 

“We have to get Omega up for school soon.” You say, his lips working on sucking a mark onto the skin under your ear. “And we should take that milk into town.” His hand slides higher, cupping one of your breasts. “And we need to get the guest room ready for when Crosshair arrives.” 

Hunter hums in your ear, pulling you tighter against his chest. You can feel him, hard against your lower back. “Worry about that later. Right now, I need to make love to my wife.” 

It’s been nearly two years since that fateful day your soulmate hunted you down during your escape from your father. 

Not long after, you had found this place. It was almost exactly what you had imagined, what you had told Hunter you wanted. It had felt too good to be true, at least until you began to settle in. It took some adjusting for the others as well, but they eventually found their places. 

Echo decided to leave with Rex, feeling it was the right choice. You know it hurt the others to let him go, but you felt if he was happier fighting with the rebellion, then he should. You still see them occasionally when they drop by for a quick rest. 

During one of those rests, they had brought a new figure into the house. They had stumbled across Crosshair being held at a facility and had rescued him. That had been a big adjustment, as he dealt with a lot of trauma from his time being controlled by the Empire. 

Eventually he healed, and he grew bored. Echo and Rex offered him a place with them, helping them, but he decided on a different route. 

He became a bounty hunter. 

He still stopped by every so often, spending a few days on the farm before he’d leave, heading out to catch more quarries and get more credits. 

Wrecker and Tech settled into farm life nicely. You had worried Tech might work himself to a coma as he spent endless hours learning everything he could about the planet, its flora and fauna, its weather patterns and seasons, the native cultures. He’d set up the house to best utilize the weather and natural phenomena, picked the best crops to grow and which animals would be the easiest to keep. Wrecker was more than thrilled to help with the actual farm work, tending to the animals and the more heavy-lifting aspects that came with it. 

Omega settled in best of all, making friends in the nearby town and starting school. Hunter’s happy in this domestic life. You can tell just looking at him. He had shared similar dreams with you, settling down on a remote planet so that Omega can just be a kid while she still can. A place that’s safe, far from the reach of the Empire. 

It’s been quiet since you landed here. You haven’t seen or heard anything from the Empire or even a bounty hunter. You had all been a bit on edge at first, waiting for the inevitable arrival. 

It never came. 

You’ve been safe, you’ve all been safe, for the first time ever. 

Marrying Hunter had been an easy decision. There was no legal benefit in it, since he was a clone and you had left your family and its name and its standing behind you. You had done it mostly because you wanted to. Adopting Omega had been the natural next step, of course. It hadn’t been a legal adoption, again for obvious reasons, but it still felt good to put a name to it all. 

You’ve built a new family, one you actually want. 

One you actually love. 

Hunter turns your body just slightly, his hand trailing up to your jaw. He cups it gently, looking down at your face. 

“What?” You ask, your cheeks flushing just a bit. Two years and you still feel a bit sheepish under his gaze. 

“You’re just so beautiful.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. 

“You say that all the time.” You murmur against his lips. 

“Because it’s true.” He murmurs back, deepening the kiss. 

You press your body back against him, touching as much of him as you can. He’s softened a bit in two years, you’ve noticed. With the constant strain of fighting and continuous missions behind them, they’ve all softened a bit. Farm work is hard, but not nearly as demanding as what they had spent their entire lives doing. He’s still just as strong, but the hard ridges of muscle are gone, leaving soft edges in their wake. 

That, and finally getting some real food in them has helped. 

You like him no matter what, but you prefer his soft body. It means he’s well rested and well fed. Something he deserves after everything. 

His lips trail down your neck and shoulders, his deft fingers sliding from your jaw down your body, pausing just to pluck at one of your nipples playfully. You gasp quietly, reaching back to tangle a hand in his hair. 

You’ve had plenty of time to learn each other’s bodies over the years. Your first time together had been rushed and desperate in the fresher on the Marauder. It had been a result of the yearning, the need deep within your souls, your very beings, to be linked together. To be as close as you possibly can to each other. It had been awkward fumbling in a too-small space. 

Once you’d found your home, you both finally had space and privacy to take your time. Testing, trying, playing. A few times you’d allowed his knives in bed, and once you’d reenacted your first meeting, except that time ended with you being fucked handcuffed against a tree on the edge of your property. 

Most of all, though, you enjoyed the quiet moments like this one. The gentle lovemaking on lazy mornings, the quick moments when you can slip away from your responsibilities. The nights when he gets that look in his eye during dinner and you know you’re going to end up tangled in the sheets, moaning his name. 

Twelve years ago you never would have thought this could be real.

Two years ago you never thought this could be real. 

Fate is hardly ever wrong. 

You gasp quietly as his fingers slip between your thighs, finding your slick folds. He licks and nips at your skin, leaving a trail of marks no doubt. He has said more than once he loves your scent and the taste of your skin. It had taken some adjusting to his enhanced senses knowing he could hear and smell everything, and he has a habit of smelling and tasting everything. 

His hand grips your thigh, draping it over his waist. His fingers slip through your folds again, gathering your slick on his fingers before he presses one into you. You’re already wet, anticipating a rather satisfying morning. He runs his thumb over your clit and you jolt a bit, still sensitive from the night before. 

You moan quietly, tugging lightly on his hair. He groans in response, breath fanning across your ear. His scalp is sensitive. You’re able to reduce him to shivers by just raking your nails across it. 

He slips a second finger into you, his pace lazy and slow as you writhe in his arms. You can cum easily just from his fingers, something he’s rather proud of. To you, it’s a testament of just how perfect you are for each other. 

You know he wants you to cum on his cock this morning, yet you can’t help but whine as he pulls his fingers from you. He shushes you, shifting you ever so slightly before the head of his cock slips along your folds. You moan, walls clamping in anticipation. You’ll never get tired of him, of his body, of how perfectly it fits against yours. How perfectly it fits inside yours. 

He slides in, in one go, pausing for a moment once he’s seated fully inside you. His arms wrap around you, holding you as close to him as he can. You can still feel it like the first time you had sex, the bond between you. The link tying you together. The energy thrumming through you and into him, and then back like a circle. 

It’s something unexplainable. Something precious and unique and it fills you with warmth every time you think about it. 

“Hunter,” You whisper, walls clamping around him. 

He shushes you, lacing your fingers together. “I’ve got you.” 

He begins to move, slow and steady. Your eyes drift closed, savoring the feel of him, the drag of his hips, the stretch of his cock. The softness of him around you. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing can hurt you, nothing can touch you. Nothing can ruin this moment. 

You’re not going to last long, his fingers slipping between your thighs to circle your clit once more. Your legs shake, walls gripping him like your body is trying to hold onto this moment forever. 

You cum quickly with a quiet cry of his name, his own thrusts getting sloppy as he moans quietly in your ear. He stills as he reaches his own release, his groans vibrating through your back.

You lay there for a moment, clinging to each other, basking in the early morning glow. Neither of you have the will to move, wanting to stay like this forever. 

Alas, that’s not possible as a loud crash is heard from downstairs followed by Omegas giggles and Wrecker’s rather loud apologies. 

“The kids are awake.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“Yes, it seems they are.” You say, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“We should get up before they destroy the kitchen again.” 

“Agreed.” You say, reluctantly pulling away from him. 

You both dress, preparing to start another busy day. Hunter pauses by the door, leaning down to kiss you softly. 

“I love you.” He says, practically beaming down at you. 

You smile, tracing your fingers over his cheek. “I love you too.” 

And you mean it. 

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry, @6oceansofmoons,  @ladytano420, @spicy-clones, @kaminocasey

[mllersjoel]

good old fashioned lover boy

Pairing: Regency!Wyll Ravengard x gn!reader

Summary: It's dreadfully boring at this ball, especially when Lord Gortash won't stop talking to you. Lord Ravengard steps in, and just maybe, this night can be saved.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: why does no one write for my bb boy. i love him. have some regency au (writing comms r open btw!)

It’s your second year as an eligible member of society, and you are bored out of your mind. Your guardian has dragged you to yet another ball, with dancing and schmoozing that you would rather die than be doing. Thankfully, you’ve managed to avoid just about everyone who wants to sign your dance card with a glare or pretending to choke so hard tears well up in your eyes. You came here because your best friend, Astarion, promised to accompany you this time and fill up your dance card with his name only, but that plan swiftly fell out the window as he laid eyes on a pretty half-elf.

You could see him check out of the conversation, eyes flitting to them then back at yours. 

“Just go, Astarion,” you sigh, shoving him playfully.

His eyes blink back to yours, trying and failing to pretend like he wasn’t ogling another person. “I have no idea what you’re on about, darling.”

“I can handle myself and it’s pathetic watching you try to concentrate on me. Go.”

Astarion smiles broadly, kissing your cheeks. “Have I ever told you you’re the light of my life?”

You snort. “Just when you want something.”

He shrugs, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “If you need me, just shout.”

He leaves, and you’re barely able to let out a breath before another man (greasy, looking like he needs two decades of sleep) takes his place. Without asking, he signs his name on your dance card. “Enver Gortash, Lord of this estate. Care to dance with me?”

You are pulled to the dance floor before you can even answer and you desperately try to come up with an excuse. “I—I can’t dance right now,” you protest, attempting to extricate yourself from his grasp without seeming rude, “I’m waiting for someone.” He ignores you, laughing. 

“Don’t play coy,” he says, assuming a waltz position. The music begins, and you have no choice but to dance with him. You catch Astarion’s eye and watch him square his shoulders, ready to pull you out of there as you minutely shake your head at him. 

‘Don’t make a scene,’ you mouth.

The entire time you dance with Lord Gortash, he drones on and on about his estate, how he fought for his wealth (although it was an open secret that he participated in less than savory business practices), and how immodestly he thinks women are dressed now. The song feels like its going on forever, then, blissfully, the music stops. There is a slight bustle as everyone switches partners, looking at who’s next on your dance card. Lord Gortash takes your hand, and with a predatory grin realises you have no one else on your dance card. As he takes your pencil, eager to write his name again, a hand grips his wrist and stops him.

You look up and see a beautiful man, dark skinned, hair braided closely to his head and a slight stubble covering his cheeks. He has a deep brown, almost black eye, while the other seemed pale and translucent. His smile is charming and bright, without a hint of sleaziness the other man seemed to carry in bucket loads. “I’m terribly sorry to cut in,” he says, the dulcet tones of his voice sending a slight shiver down your spine, “but I believe it’s my turn to have the pleasure of their company.”

Lord Gortash scoffs, brandishing your dance card towards the handsome man. “Your name isn’t on there. Mine is. Get lost, Ravengard.”

The man—Ravengard—nods, taking a step back. He seems as if he’s about to leave, and your heart sinks at the prospect of another dance with this man when he leans back in, pointing near the back. “Oh, before I go, I fear I spy Lady Karlach on her way. She mentioned something about—what was it now?—getting even?”

You see Gortash’s face turn white as he whips his head around, trying to spot someone. Without sparing you a second glance, he practically runs out of the ballroom, tripping on his own feet as he’s nearly sent sprawling. You hide your laugh behind your hand, catching the eye of Ravengard. “Thank you,” you say, adjusting your clothes, “he just wouldn’t stop talking.”

“You seemed like you were in need of saving,” he says, taking your hand and planting a feather-light kiss on the back of it. “Lord Wyll Ravengard, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You give your name back which he tests immediately, smiling at the way it sounds. He gestures to your dance card, his hand still holding yours. “May I?”

You nod, delighted that this night seemed to be turning around. He writes his name in neat, precise cursive, finishing just as the band begins to play the notes of the next song. His hand is warm as it envelops yours, large, course fingers wrapping around your glove, leading you to the middle of the dance floor.

A slow dance begins to play, and suddenly you are swept up in his movements. He dances easily, leading you as if it was second nature. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” you say, matching his movements easily.

He smiles bashfully, looking down for a second. “Ah, I’ve been away.”

“And how do you like being back?”

He twirls you, catching you easily when you return back into his arms. “I like it a lot better now.”

As you waltz with him, you catch Astarion’s eye once more. He mouths, ‘Good?’

You nod and smile, glad when he gives you a thumbs up of approval. ‘He’s sexy,’ Astarion tells you, and you accidentally snort, looking away when Lord Ravengard raises an amused brow at you. “Too clichéd?”

“No, not at all!” You scramble, trying to school your face into a neutral expression. Every time you looked at his face, however, you started giggling again. Lord Ravengard laughed along with you, still not missing a step and barely even wincing when you inevitably stepped on his toes. “My friend is being stupid, that’s all.”

“Well,” Lord Ravengard starts, stepping closer than what was deemed proper, “if it’s not my horribly cheesy sayings, may I say that you look more stunning than the goddess Aphrodite herself?”

You gasp in jest, smiling. “Careful, my lord, your hubris may see you cursed.”

The song ends, yet he remains still, holding you. “A small price to pay to adequately compliment your beauty.”

Your heart stutters as he steps back, bowing as you hesitantly remember to do the same. “May I see you again?” You ask, hoping your forward nature doesn’t put him off like so many other men.

He smiles broadly, genuine. “I would love that.” 

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Lance Stroll x Reader

The Heir's Keeper | Prologue previous | next

synopsis: you’d been offered a position in the stroll corporation; the big-shot of all business companies. exciting and thrilling, but you can’t help but wonder, what does this position entice?

word count: ~1.3k

You never thought this day would come, the day where you’d be hired by a huge company like Stroll Corp. The lobby itself felt way too luxurious for you; decorated by sleek gold details. You’d worn your best suit for this, yet you still felt under-dressed - that’s how grand this felt. You clear your throat, walking up to a receptionist.

Her eyes land on you and her gaze is composed, she’s dressed in a beautifully tailored black blazer and her hair tied up in a neat bun. She gives you a slight wave as she speaks, “Hi there! How may I help you today?”

“Hi, I’m here for the meeting with Mr. Lawrence Stroll, is he here at the moment?” you speak, trying to radiate confidence, but you still feel a slight tremble in your voice.

The woman sitting by the reception gives you a nod, pushing up her glasses with a warm smile.

“He should be available, let me check…” she hums, her hands reaching for a cable phone, “Hi, yes, is Mr. Stroll available at the moment? Yes, I have someone who has a meeting scheduled with him. Yes, alright. Thank you.”

She nods along as she talks, hanging up after a minute or so, a pleasant smile tugging at her lips, “Yes, Mr. Stroll is ready and waiting - his office is on the fifth floor, it’s labeled with his nameplate. You should see it straight down the hall.”

“Alright, thank you ma’am.” You give her a nod as you head towards the nearest elevator.

The elevator was not that spacious, fitting about 5 people - luckily, you took the ride alone, pressing on the button numbered 5. You couldn’t help but feel your nerves, this wasn’t a small thing after all. You were gonna be hired at one of the biggest corporate workplaces in the entire world - this is a huge step. Maybe college was worth it, after all.

The elevator dings as you arrive on the fifth floor, someone else standing outside the elevator. He’s tall, his dark hair neatly styled, falling just above his brow in a subtle wave. His sharp features and well-tailored suit give him an air of confidence, though there's something oddly familiar about him, like he belonged in the magazines in the lobby. It was as if he radiated richnessーlike wealth was quite literally woven into his very being.

He only gives you a nod as you step out of the elevator and he steps in. You return the favor right before the door closes. You could’ve sworn that there was something magnetic about him, the way he carried himself or maybe the way his eyes were focused and half-lidded and expectant, as if waiting for something only he could anticipate.

Who was that? It’s quite literally like he stepped out of a book or somethingーmaybe he’s an exec? Maybe even worse, someone you should know.

You dismiss the short interaction though, turning around to find Mr. Stroll's office, and like the receptionist said, it’s right down the hallway. You make your way down, giving the door a slight knock and you hear Mr. Stroll's muffled voice behind the door, giving you permission to enter.

You creak the door open feeling your heartbeat increase and you step in, the room's design was sleek and spacious, beautifully decorated with the wall behind him being made of glass to not only give a view of the city but to let in natural light as well. You could only dream of how beautiful the view would be at night.

Your focus then returns to Lawrence, giving him a small bow and reaching out your hand. You felt a little embarrassed, you for sure had just stood there admiring his office for a good 5 seconds; but you paid it no mind.

He gives you a pleasant smile, shaking your hand delightedly, “You must be the one my assistant reached out to, pleasure to meet you. Sit down.”

You do as he says, sitting yourself down in the chair in front of him - your posture straight, “Yes, it’s a pleasure Mr. Stroll. I’ve heard amazing things.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” he laughs, though his tone doesn’t sound very humoured, “I had my assistant reach out to you for a good reason, your previous work and your credentials caught our attention almost immediatelyーimpressive I must say. Though you must be used to hearing that by now.”

There’s a short pause and you can’t help but hold your breath - your heartbeat increasing and a lump forming in your throat. You fiddle with your thumbs underneath the table, a nervous habit that you couldn’t seem to get rid of. It wasn’t hard to be nervous, his praise should have put you at ease, but the intensity of his gaze did the opposite. It felt like he was appraising you—measuring you against some unseen standard. Maybe it was the fact that he’s the CEO or maybe it was just your nerves tricking you.

“The reason I had her reach out was because I’d like you to be my son's manager and personal assistant.” His tone is firm, yet still gentle.

“Your son? I’m afraid I’m not too familiar, sir.” You let go of the breath you were holding, more confused now than nervous.

“My son, Lance Stroll,” he looks into your eyes, his gaze sharp and intense, “He’s the heir to this company—exceptional in his own right, but the responsibilities he carries are immense. I believe he’d benefit from someone like you to help manage them.”

Your eyes widen slightly, your posture straightening. You’d be the personal assistant of Mr. Stroll’s son? The pay—how much would it be? You clear your throat, regaining your composure.

“This is quite the position, sir - but if I may ask, what would this position mean? What would I do?” You ask, your eyes not breaking contact for a single moment.

“Well, you’d be his right-hand so to speak; you’d manage his schedule, PR presence, meetings and so forth,” He spoke, leaning forward on the table, “you’ll be someone who makes sure he stays on track.”

You give him an affirming nod, “Alright, and how much does this pay?”

He let out a hearty laugh at that, a warm smile spread on his face, “A fair question—it would pay around 5 thousand a month, competitive of course.”

You feel your eyes widen at this, too. Five thousand a month? The figure echoed in your head, playing on loop like a broken record—not only does this mean that the stakes are high, but so are the expectations.

You try to hide the tremble in your voice as you speak, “Five thousand is very generous, sir—may I ask why the pay is this high?”

“Well, there are certain… Difficulties that might come up during your working hours. My son can be quite a handful, the pay is fair; let me tell you that.” Mr. Stroll's words weighed heavily.

“Don’t get me wrong, Lance is brilliant,” Mr. Stroll continued, his voice softened as he spoke, “But him and his circumstances—they’re unique. Balancing his personal and professional commitments takes a special kind of person. This isn’t just about managing his schedule, it’s about understanding him and earning his trust.”

You sigh as he finishes speaking; your body stiffening a little at the realization of how real this really is—but the pay and the position? Still like a dream, and dreams don’t just achieve themselves, there’s always some sort of challenge or difficulty. So you shake off the nerves and give a determined smile to Mr. Stroll.

“This opportunity is very well appreciated sir, I won’t let it go to waste—when can I start?”

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

authors note: this is my first (posted) work, and my first post!! ahhhhh i'm so nervous haha, hope you enjoyed it!

[crash-and-cure]

Devil In Your Eyes (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: It’s a party and you’re invited to the mysterious and eclectic Mr. Preley’s estate, to properly meet your father’s employer.

A/N: This is based on this request here made by @itlover8000​. And I know I promised to have the next part of If I Were You up, but I'll post later as to why it may take a little longer than originally planned.  This one was a lot of fun to write, and I hope to god that I did the mafia aspect justice, while still keeping reader relatively in the dark. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat of last time and it gets in the tags the first time. Also just to give a timeline as to the fic, in this story Elvis was pretty much drafted right before he met the colonel which halted his entire music career and he started his criminal one right after returning stateside. If you would like to be added to my taglist let me know!

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis but also introducing... Mafia Boss!Elvis, though he’s not called that in the story. There are themes of delusional, manipulative, and gaslighting behvaior depicted. Smut, including oral (f. recieving) and first time are depicted. Sexual tension galore. Implied violence toward reader’s father. Gratuitous but non-sexual use of the word Daddy, but more in the general southern sense of affectionately referring to one’s father. Reader is young but over 18 when she meets Elvis for the first time. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 

Word Count: 13.9k

My Masterlist

When you were young you asked your daddy what he did.

"I’m an accountant, little bug" he said with a kiss on your forehead.

When you were a little older, you asked him what does an accountant do?

"I handle money for other people Sweetheart,'" he would say as he looked at rows and rows of numbers that may as well have been hieroglyphics to you.

The boldest question you ever asked him was how much he made as an accountant. You asked because another girl had invited you over to her house and yours was nicer by far, which was weird because she had told you that her dad was an accountant as well.

He stiffened at that question, and it almost looked as though he were trembling. He took a swig of his drink and he would tell you "don't worry about where the money comes from Gem. Worry about where it's goin'."

Before you could argue further he reminded you of that upcoming school dance and how you deserve a real nice dress to go. That's how he would handle any follow up questions afterward.

You're daddy was an accountant, but you didn't live like an accountant's daughter. Your mama passed when you were real little and ever since then your daddy did his best to spoil you with the nicest jewelry, the finest clothes, and the fanciest schools in all of Memphis.You hardly even remember your mama, but that’s not something you say out loud anymore because of how sad he would get at that thought. 

You’re given everything you could want, but these days it feels as though you’re rarely ever given what you actually want. 

Gem he called you as a pet name, because even with all the money and wealth he had gotten over the years, he wanted you to know that you were his most precious. He had worked hard to raise you without a mama, and as an accountant he did his best to earn a living for you to thrive. 

But not a lot of things about his job made sense. He never went to an office, some men would bring boxes and boxes of papers to your house, and would take others away. He rarely ever let you have friends over because he worried about them looking into said boxes. But the oddest thing about his job would be how the whole world seemed to stop the moment the phone rang.

The phone calls weren't that frequent all things considered, but he would drop any and everything to answer it. That was one of the few rules your house had, to always pick up the phone and to always hand it over if a Mr. Presley called. You’ve answered the phone a few times and heard from the mysterious Mr. Presley, but it was never more than a few words asking for daddy, who was always quick to drop whatever he was doing to answer the call. The conversation between the two of them would always be over before you even left the kitchen, and within minutes daddy would be out the door and be gone for a few hours.

When you were little you had a slight resentment toward Mr. Presley for how busy he kept your daddy, even going so far as to slip him a letter in one of those boxes when you were 8 or so, asking him to give your daddy less work so he can play with you more. That was one of the only times that your daddy had ever yelled at you, and it was apparently your polite tone and Mr. Presley’s good sense of humor that prevented your daddy from losing his job. Now his eccentric ways of doing business are the only thing keeping you from going stir-crazy and giving you some much needed breathing room from your daddy. 

You were going to graduate this weekend, but you could hardly say you were looking forward to not being able to go to school anymore. Daddy seems to hover around you more and more these days, you guess, because he’s trying to keep you in the nest as long as possible at this point. These days it’s rare for you to even leave the house period, and forget about leaving the house without him. 

Of course you tried to make the best of it, afterall you had spent years wishing he would be more present in your life, and not just in your house. But it’s hard not to feel embarrassed when your daddy is a constant looming presence at every dance and social event your senior year. He doesn’t even trust you anymore to be alone with your girlfriends, so forget about being with a boy. 

It felt like you were hardly out of his sight anymore, and you were suffocating. Ironically enough the most freedom you had anymore was in school, where you didn’t have to worry about him listening in on your girl talk or chasing away every boy that even glanced your way. You had tried talking to him about it only to be met with some half-hearted apologies and promises to let up once you were out of high school. Though with how from how much he’s dissuaded you from making any plans over the summer due to a mysterious trip to he’s planning, you aren’t holding your breath.

Even the night before your graduation, you could hardly expect much. While your friends were out and about on the town, you were relegated to packing for said trip. The flight was on Sunday, and you were hoping to use your daddy’s promise of letting up to go properly celebrate with them after the ceremony.

You truly believed it was going to be a night like any other, until you hear a knock at the door only to find a decently sized gift box, with a large bow on top sitting at your front door. To Y/N written on the tag in beautiful calligraphy. With graduation being tomorrow it's not too surprising to receive a gift, but when you open it up you find a pair of masks (one a simple black domino mask, the other a beautifully embellished, soft blue venetian mask) and you’re confused by the gift until you find a thick piece of cardstock at the bottom of the box. 

Huh, so Mr, Presley’s throwing a party, you think idly as you look at the invitation for you and your daddy. It’s odd and a bit rude that you received an invite the day of the party, but that doesn’t seem very out of character, when you consider the bizarre ways he does business. You know what Masquerade Balls were, you were gunning for it to be the theme when you were on the Prom committee, but ended up losing to Tina Fike’s Midnight in Paris theme. 

Picking up the blue mask you can’t help but think as to how perfectly it matches your prom dress in color. You hadn’t been able to wear it due to the shop messing up the dates and not having it finished in time, so your only option was to wear one of their loaner dresses that didn’t quite fit right. They ended up finishing the dress by the next Saturday, and it’s sat in your closet, unworn, taunting you ever since. 

It seems like the stars have finally aligned, and considering that this is from Mr. Presley, there is absolutely no way your daddy would refuse an invitation from him. He’s been called in for business in the middle of the night, you doubt this will even register as being unusual to him.

“Daddy! Daddy, look what just came!” you exclaim, bursting into his office. You don’t even question why the invitation was addressed specifically to you, and not him. Nor why you see the blood drain from his face as he reads the letter. You’re busy picturing what will undoubtedly be the ball of your dreams.

“Gem, uhhh….” he swallows hard at this one. “Your graduation tomor-”

“Oh I know,” you cut him off. “But since it’s at noon, I figure it won’t be too bad if we stay up a little later.” You say as you turn around to start rifling through his suits, to find something appropriately black tie for him to wear. 

“Baby, I…” he swallows hard. “I got the dates wrong for the tickets. Our flights leave at 6 tomorrow morning,” he said with a sad pitying look on his face. 

“...but my graduation is at noon tomorrow.” 

“I know,” he says solemnly.

“...”

“...”

“Oh.” 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he says, reaching for you, but you jerk yourself away. 

“I’m not,” you reply, your voice cracking as you try to hold back your tears as best as you can. 

“I know, Baby girl,” he said, bringing you closer to his shoulder. “But you gotta trust me when I say that this is for the best. I’ll explain everything when we get there, but for now,”  he says, giving you a sad kiss to your forehead, “Just go finish packing.”

“...ok daddy.”

You had been packed and ready for weeks by this point, so as you lay in bed, you try to justify it in your head, try to imagine where this mysterious place he was taking you could be that would warrant skipping your graduation ceremony and missing what could be the last time you would see many of your friends. But short of the moon, you can’t. Anywhere in the world you could be, but the one place you want to be tomorrow is with all of them.

So a grand party, your graduation, and possibly the last time you would be seeing many of your friends are all the things you wanted but would miss, in favor of something you didn’t even want in the first place. 

You hold up the blue mask in front of your face and you imagine the kind of party it would be. Your mind conjures up the most lavish of gowns and the best music. The riveting conversations to be had and the interesting people to meet. The more you thought about it the more tantalizing it became. But you quickly scrub those useless ideas in your head. 

It’s a party for daddy’s boss, you think to yourself. What could be more boring than that?

Not to mention, even if you did go, you recall how boring of a time you had at your prom as you could practically feel your daddy breathing down your neck the whole time. 

But daddy was still here, you didn’t hear any of the usual sounds for when he was about to leave and you would be forced to stay with Old Mrs. Sack next door. So he’s staying home, is what you think. This would mark the first time you’ve ever seen your daddy reject an invitation from Mr. Presley.

Well he wasn’t technically invited, you were… your eyes snapped open at that thought. So really it would be on the invited person as to whether or not you would go, so technically you could go on your own. You aren’t his plus one, he’s yours. 

It’s a party for his boss, you argue with yourself, so it’s not as though you would be able to go without him. At that moment, do you realize that it'll be the first time in almost a year since you’ve done anything without him practically trying to hold your hand. You think you know why your freedom has been severely stifled as of late and it all stems from a single act of rebellion almost a year ago to the day. 

You remember last summer when your daddy had pulled you out of school early claiming it was going to be an early summer vacation. But what proceeded was perhaps the worst week of your life. During the days when he wasn’t driving for hours on end, he was glancing over his shoulder wherever you were stopped at. And those nights he would hardly sleep a wink in the rundown motels you would be stopped at, and you could hardly blame him because you were very much in the same boat. Worst of all was how little you knew about the whole situation, and you hated how even within the confined space of the car he was somehow still able to dodge the questions you had. 

Where are we going?

Why now?

When will we be going home?

By the end of the week you were at the end of your rope and wanted to go home, you missed your bed, you missed your friends, and you were bored out of your mind within the motel. There was only so much TV you could handle before your brain would start dripping out of your ears, and you had already read the few books you had managed to grab before daddy forced you out of the house, a couple times each at this point. 

Your daddy was never one to deny you anything you asked for, and so knowing the power of your requests, you never tried to push it. Even when he showered you with gifts, you were careful to accept it but not ask for much else. So it was jarring that of the few requests you have made on this trip, all of them were rejected, in spite of the fact that they were all relatively simple. A request to stop at some corny roadside attraction. No, it’s a waste of time. A new book from that store across from the service station. No, we’re trying to save money. A quick dip into the motel pool. No, you’ll get pink eye.

This one was especially infuriating due to the disgustingly hot summer night you found yourself in, one that makes your sweat sticky and your clothes cling to your body. To add further insult to injury the room your daddy rented was seemingly the only room without a working AC. He was somehow able to fall asleep with the TV still on and you took the opportunity to stare longingly at the pool of the El Rey motel in the middle of who knows Texas, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable tacky feeling of your shirt. 

You hadn’t been allowed to do anything this whole trip, and you’re sick of it. His latest excuse being your breaking point, treating you like some little kid that didn’t know any better. You had just turned eighteen and yet he still insists on treating you like a little girl. This is your last summer before your senior year of high school, and you’re spending it without your friends far from home.

But… did you really need his permission? 

Fine, you thought as you gazed at the temptingly blue pool right outside your window. If he ain’t gonna listen to me, then I don’t gotta listen to him. People can call you spoiled all they want, but you thought you were at the very least entitled to water in the desert.  

You grabbed a hold of one of the towels in the bathroom and tip-toed past your daddy’s bed as he sleeps like a corpse, and closed the door to your room as you left as quietly as you could. There weren’t that many cars in sight and not a soul to be seen, and with it being well past midnight you figured the coast was clear for your little act of rebellion as you padded your way barefoot across the parking lot pavement. 

You didn’t pack a swimsuit with you, didn’t have the time to, but you figure your regular underwear covers about as much as it would. You still double and triple check that you’re alone and no lights are on and no windows are open in the surrounding rooms. The humid night air makes the pool all the more inviting and you quickly shimmy out of your skirt and peel your blouse off your body and before you can lose your nerve you jump into the pool. 

It’s a nice shock to your system with the water being cool but not frigid, and as you opened your eyes beneath the water you felt like you were transported to a different world entirely. The light coming from the pool didn’t help clear your blurry vision, but as you look up and see the night sky meet the surface of the water, it looks as though there is no distance separating the two. As though your hand could break the top of the water and you would suddenly find yourself out amongst the stars.

It should be terrifying, but it’s not. In fact it's exhilarating. There’s no one here but you and the unjudging night. You feel like you’re the only person alive and as you breach the surface of the water to take a deep satisfying breath you feel reborn. You feel freer than you ever have been, you're not the perfect unquestioning daughter any longer, you’re a woman who can demand answers and leave if she so chooses.

You were always a good girl, and always listened to your daddy, because you wanted to feel like you deserved what he gave you. But all that pales in comparison to the intoxicating feeling this act of rebellion fills you with, and wanting to make this feeling last, you forgo your original plan of a quick dip and choose to make the most of your time there. You do your best to try to swim like a mermaid. You swim to the bottom to get a feel of the pool tiles that make up the palm tree design. You repeatedly try to break your own record for holding your breath, and you let yourself float to the surface and enjoy the view of the night sky above and the liberating feeling of being weightless.

But it’s the slight burning aroma in the air that drags you back down to Earth. It smells like tobacco and leather and various other spices you can’t quite place. You raise your head out of the water and look around to find the source of the fragrance. The chlorine has made your vision a bit hazy, but you can see clearly enough to see the handsome man dressed all in black, save for a blood red tie, sitting near the pool and chewing on a cigar. 

Your first instinct, stupidly enough, is to duck back into the pool and hope he goes away, but that hope dies as quickly as you begin to feel the burning in your lungs for oxygen. You tentatively surface figuring you’ve been caught already, no use in denying it. 

“I didn’t realize there were pool hours,” you say through your teeth.

The handsome stranger gives an amused huff at that. “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” he states, a small smirk creeping up on his face. “Don’t worry Darlin’. I won’t tell if you don’t.” he says, using his cigar to point behind you where you find a no smoking sign. You let out a small giggle, some of the tension sapping out of you as at this little conspiracy you hold with this stranger.

“Sorry, I ain’t used to doin’ that,” you say, casting your eyes downward where you finally realize how your cotton bra became slightly see-through, and you pray that he’s too far away to notice. He raises an eyebrow at your answer.

“That I believe,” he chuckles. “So you’re a good girl afterall,” he remarks, and something lights up within you as he says that. The closest you’ve ever felt to this was when you had been kissing Mickey, your next door neighbor, at your friend Jasmine’s birthday party. It had been a simple game of spin the bottle and the kiss had started innocently enough in that hallway closet, as you were too shy to do so in front of everyone. Though it quickly turned into something more when he had put his hand on your lower back to bring you closer to him and something akin to lightning crackled underneath his touch and up your spine. The feeling had been so intense that you audibly gasped and pulled away from him, and now that same sensation runs through your body again. 

What was scariest most of all was that this man was able to cause this with his voice alone, a good five feet away from you. 

“Not always,” you answer, your voice only slightly cracking in nervousness. You swim closer to where he’s sitting, in part to hide yourself from his view, though mostly to hear him better, as you’re inexplicably drawn to him. 

He chuckles at your answer, “Now that’s the biggest lie I ever heard,” he tells you, sure in his assessment of you despite the fact he hasn’t even known you for more than a minute. You're caught between being flustered and offended, at how accurate it is. 

“What gave me away?” You ask not to be snippy, but genuinely curious, how he was able to have you pegged so quickly. 

“Between your big ole’ doe eyes and your school girl get-up right here,” he said gesturing to the clothes you had haphazardly left on the deck chair. “Figured you’re too honest for your own good.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

He looks a bit taken aback by your response, before he gives an amused sigh, “No. Fact it’s a little refreshin’ to know people like you still exist. I’m Elvis by the way.” 

“Well Elvis, you still haven’t answered my question.”

His lips curl up, amused at your boldness. “It can be, if you meet the wrong sorts.” 

“And are you the wrong sorts?”

“Y’know you ask a lotta questions for someone whose name I don’t even know,” he remarks, though his smile keeps the tone light. “But to answer your question, it depends on who ya’ ask.”

“Well, I’m Y/N and if you ask me you look like a decent man.”

“And who taught ya’ what decent men look like?” he says as he leans closer to you, resting his elbows on his knees,

“My daddy, “ you say earnestly. “He’s a good, honest man, so I know what to look out for.” 

He narrows his eyes at that as he takes a puff of his cigar. You’ve never been a good liar, never quite figuring out what your apparently obvious tell was, but everyone you've ever met is apparently able to. But whatever it is he was looking for he apparently found, as he proceeds to ask, “So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all the way down in bumfuck Texas?”

“Oh umm…” you say, momentarily shocked by his free use of such language. “I’m with my daddy on vacation.”

“No kiddin’, where y’all headed to?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you sigh, putting your head down on your arms resting on the pool's edge. “He says he wants to keep it a surprise.”

“You havin’ any fun?”

“...yes?”

“Now that’s three times you tried lyin’ to me sweetheart,” he chuckles. “One more time, and I may not be so kind.” You don’t really understand why that made your breath quicken.

“You don’t even know my name,” you argue, sinking slightly so that he wouldn’t so easily see his effect on you. “How do you figure you know me so well?”

“I work just about everywhere, and part of my job is knowin’ a good liar from a bad one,” he explains. “And you sweetheart are one a the worst I ever seen.”

“What do you even know about lying?” you ask, a bit defensive of the truth.

“I know how to do it right,” he states genially, before raising an eyebrow to blow some smoke out of his nose. “I can teach you if you want?” You’re at a bit of a loss, though you quickly shake your head yes as you figure what’s the harm in hearing him speak. 

Now that you’re getting a better look and the chlorine is seeping out of your eyes, you can truly see how attractive he is. He’s the scary type of good-looking, the type that makes it hard to look at him for too long, lest all your breath be taken from your chest. You have to consciously rip your eyes away from his face several times so that you don’t get too caught up in it. Truly he’s not like any man you’ve ever met before, but that’s not saying much considering how little you ever really interact with men. Sure there are boys your own age, and a few teachers here and there but, none of them talk with you so candidly, ironically enough given that this is a conversation about lies. 

“Now the key to lyin’ is to always sprinkle it in with the truth,” he would say. You liked the way he spoke to you, not just because of how he sounds, but because of the way he treated you as you spoke. When he spoke to you, he made it feel as though he were passing on the secrets of the universe to you, and you just about hung onto every single word he uttered. You even bring most of your body out of the water simply to hear him better. 

“Why don’t we play a game now lil’ one?” you face heating up slightly with that nickname he gave you. “Two lies and a truth.”

“Isn’t it two truths and a lie?”

“Usually, but you need to get better at the lyin’ bit, so we’re gon’ do it the other way.” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ok,” you say as you exit the pool. “But you go first, and show me how it’s done.”

His lip curls up into a full blown smile, but it quickly drops and he fixes his gaze on the sky. You’re confused at his reaction until you glance down and remember you’re not wearing a proper swimsuit. You scramble forward and do your best to quickly dry off and put your clothes back on all the while as Elvis keeps his eyes closed like a gentleman.

“Thank you,” you said quickly as you sat down and draped the soaked towel over your shoulders to hide the way your shirt clings to your wet brassiere. “Why do I even need to learn how to lie?” 

“Sweetheart, take it from someone who knows what the world’s like,” he says. “Being good and honest won’t get you shit in life, especially not what you want.”

“Well…” you swallow unsure of your next words. “Now I think that’s a lie,” you say boldly. 

He quirks a brow at this, and a bit of satisfied smile can also be just barely perceived as he is evidently impressed with your ability to stand up to him. “Y’know people are gonna be stirrin’ real soon, why don’t we head up to my room and finish up this game properly,” he offers casually, as though he was offering you a stick of gum. 

You’re absolutely struck dumb by that question. Of course you’re not so naive as to what’s on his mind, you got the same wait till marriage speech every other girl in Sunday school got. And as adamant as you were that you would, it’s a very different situation to face now that the hypothetical has become a reality. 

To say the least, that man had ignited something within you that you’re not sure how to say no to. 

Scratch that. 

You’re not sure you want to say no to. 

“Y/N?” 

You whip around so fast when you hear that familiar voice behind you. Your daddy is standing at the doorway, eyes darting between you and Elvis and he looks like he’s close to passing out. “Hi, Daddy, I-I uh…” your mind blanking, everything Elvis had just taught you about how to lie. “This-this isn’t what it l-looks like?” you say, but your tone makes it sound more like a question. A quick glance at Elvis sees him pursing his lips in a futile attempt to hide his smile, at your miserable excuse for a lie.

You look back at your daddy to find that his stare is focused solely on Elvis, who as of right now has perhaps the most easy-going expression in the world. 

“Get inside and dry yourself off, gem. I don’t want you gettin’ sick.” he would tell you forlornly. 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer obediently. Though it was as you were about to enter the room did you look back to Elvis still having not moved from his seat, whose focus is still solely on you, not even acknowledging your daddy. You want to say goodbye to him, but you're stopped by a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“Head inside, Y/N,” he says, his voice detached and his eyes distant. “I’m gonna have a few words with that man.”

You expected him to be angry at you, and if you’re being honest, a part of you you wanted him to be. And it was for a selfish reason of just wanting something to justify you breaking the rules in some way. But this is worse, he’s not mad, he’s not even disappointed. He looks heartbroken, seeing you with Elvis out there, knowing you didn’t listen to him. 

You’re under the cool spray of the showerhead for a good half hour trying your best to scrub the chlorine smell off of your skin and waiting for that heat in your belly that Elvis caused to die down. You find your daddy sitting facing the window, and you can just barely make out his reflection in the window. There is a solemn expression on his face as he fixes his gaze out toward the pool area.  

“Gem, I-I know you ain’t been havin’ any fun on this here trip,” he would say, not turning around to face you. “Believe me when I say we were going for a good reason,” you try not to perk up at his use of past tense, but you can’t help it. “Bu-but things changed sweetheart, and it’s up to you.”

“Up to me to what?” you ask.

There is a bit of a pause at that, and if it weren’t for that look of pain that you see in his reflection as you said that, you may have even thought he hadn’t heard you. “...To choose if we go home or not.”

“Oh…” you say, unsure of this offer. Choice is not exactly something you’re used to with daddy, aside from the occasional “pick your favorite color.” So you’re shocked at the question to say the least having fully expected to simply suffer through the rest of this trip and hope the destination was worth it. But you’ve never been a good liar in your life. “Yes, I do daddy.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep long breath before you see him nod his head, still not turning around to face you. “Well… that’s that then…” he says, as though he’s resolved himself to something, though you don’t know what. “I-I’m gonna go… settle up with the office right now. You get some rest cuz we’ll be heading home come mornin’.” Not wanting to jinx it, you follow his orders and lay down back on the scratchy sheets.

The guilt still eats at you, and as he opens the door, you quickly apologize to him for your disobedience, but his nod of acknowledgement does little to ease that uneasy feeling in your belly.

The trip back was in some ways better this time around, but you could hardly say that it was any more bearable. Daddy warnings came true and you woke up with a pretty bad bout of pink eye, but he wasn’t so stingy about either his time or money so stops were frequent. You were well beyond the age that you should enjoy the cheesy tourist traps, but they are welcome reliefs to the hours long car rides wrought with silence that would follow you and daddy from state to state. Not to mention you’re actually aware of your intended destination this time around, but you do your best to stamp down the burning questions within as to why such a heel turn, especially since the change in plans came immediately after your little stunt.

If he was mad at you, you wish he would just say so, but you can’t even sum it up to that anymore considering the way he looks at you sometimes. There was always a bit of a quiet sadness in his eyes when he looked at you that never quite left even once you got home. He got better and better at hiding it after you brought it up to him but you would still on occasion find that expression on his face from time to time when he thought you weren’t looking. Your best guess is that you’re starting to look more like your mama. 

There were some nights where you would wonder if any of this new treatment from your daddy would have happened had you simply not gone into that pool, or even simply gotten out when you had promised yourself you would. You’d like to believe if you had known that that dive would have been your last taste of freedom, you would have done a better job at savoring it. That being said, when you caught a pair of icy blue eyes watching you and your daddy leave the El Rey motel, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret anything about that night.

Daddy was being even more tight-lipped as to what this trip is about this time around. What’s worse, is that he’s not describing the trip as fun or even necessarily relaxing, just “necessary.” with no further explanation. 

Elvis’ words about what happens to good and honest people ring in your mind. And as you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you ponder whether or not there was any truth to that statement. 

You want to go to this party, if for the simple reason that you would like to dress up and have some fun. You want to go to your graduation ceremony, because you worked hard to finish school, and want to see the fruits of your labor. You want to celebrate with your friends for what may very well be the last time, because… because… well because you want to and it doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.

In another life they all aligned perfectly so that you would be able to do all three of these things, but you live in this life and a stupid flight for a trip you didn’t even want in the first place took priority over all of it. 

Of course… that is if you get on that flight.

No that’s crazy, you think to yourself. You have to be on that flight tomorrow morning, which is why you need to be ready to leave and so you have to go to bed early. It would be a real shame if you were out so long and slept through the flight. 

Maybe… maybe if I did stay out long enough and we miss the flight… There wouldn’t be any reason why I couldn’t go to the Graduation ceremony. You feel awful for these thoughts, and you recognize how sneaky and manipulative the plan forming in your head is. You do your best to ignore them by trying to remember how much your daddy wanted to go. But you want to be with your friends tomorrow, you want to graduate, and see them off properly, because your daddy hasn’t given you a clue as to when you would be coming back. 

People have always remarked how lucky you were of all the things you have in your life, but you’ve always known that there was a difference between taking what you’re given and getting what you want. Every fancy or expensive thing you own comes with a story. They’re really all the same, daddy missed a school thing, a recital, a birthday, etc., because of work and in return he would give you something expensive in lieu of his absence. 

You were of course grateful for these things but all you ever really wanted was your daddy there. So you always tried to strive towards earning your keep with good grades, good attitude, good social standing, truly all the markings of a perfect daughter. All of this done in an effort to earn his presence.

And what has the perfect daughter earned? You think bitterly to yourself as you pack your outfit into a garment bag. You quickly fix your hair up all fancy like and fix your makeup, all the while planning your escape route. 

It’s truly a miracle that you were able to make your way out of your bedroom window without a scratch, but you’re not about to count your blessings yet, as your plan hinges on being able to get there, and you have no idea how to drive. But you know someone who does, which is how you find yourself pounding on Mickey’s front door. 

He was the typical boy next door type who was your first kiss as well as the kid who put bugs in your hair when you were little. He was home from college for the summer with his shiny Lincoln Continental, his daddy gave you and according to his little sister, very sweet on you. He was therefore the best/only candidate as your date to this thing. You were lucky enough that he almost immediately agreed, and bolted upstairs to grab a suit to wear. You’re on a bit of a time crunch, so you quickly change in his little sister's room, and before you know it the both of you are on the road.

“S-so Y/N, who-whose party is this anyway?” he stutters out once, while stiffly but trying to appear casually resting his arm behind your seat.

“Oh my daddy’s boss,” you say casually. “I don’t know his full name, I just know him as Mr. Presley.”

He goes a bit, bug-eyed at your statement. “Re-really?”

You confirm, a bit confused at his reaction. “Do you know him?”

He restlessly taps at the steering wheel, before swallowing and saying that he knows of him. “Di-did he invite you personally?”

“Yeah,” you say, and you show him the invitation that was addressed to you personally. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh,” he responds, the worry still evident in his voice. “Does your dad know you’re goin’ there.”

You swallow, nervous at this new line of questioning. “...yes,” you answer looking out the window to avoid being seen by him. 

“Does he know I’m with you right now?”

Your tongue is weighed down by the lies, and you’re unable to speak, so you merely hum in the affirmative.

“Hmm…” is all he responds, and the conversation peters out after that, with the only sounds to be heard being the hum of the engine and his anxious rapping of his fingers, as the two of you make your way to the big white house in Whitehaven. 

Finally you come upon the bronze gates of the eye-catching estate. You show the Valet your invitation and they let you through easily, and you’re too busy marveling at the grand residence before you, that you failed to notice the way Mickey seemed to be sweating through his suit right next to you. No, you're occupied by trying to get the mask to sit just right to notice, and when you hand over the domino mask, he declines stating he’ll put it on after he parks the car. He tells you to go on ahead without him, and so lost to your excitement, you do just that, trusting that you would meet up with him soon. 

As you made your way to the back of the house, your mind was already conjuring up this ideal image of your grand entrance to the party, where everyone would stop what they were doing to marvel at your beauty. Where you would be the mysterious unknown woman who had just arrived and took everyone’s breath away. 

You realize your folly when you actually do come into view of the gathering at large and many people do notice your arrival. It’s not as flattering as you would have thought, and regret starts to seep into your belly. 

The men wore pretty standard tuxedos, while the women were all wearing bold reds, striking golds, or even sophisticated black dresses, making you and your soft blue and white prom dress stick out like a sore thumb. It was almost like you had “outsider” written on your forehead. The men don’t really see you or actively look away from you and the many women look like they want to rip your hair out or pinch your cheeks. Despite how perfectly the dress fits you feel like that little girl who tried walking around the house in her sick mama's shoes, trying desperately to get her to smile, only to end up twisting her ankle, and making mama worry more.

You overhear some people say how celebrities like BB King, Johnny Cash, and even Frank Sinatra were present, and this just further tightens the knot in your stomach, and you wonder what you are even doing here. 

Not even a full half hour and you’re ready to leave, as you’ve never been put into a situation where you don’t know a single person and you’re far from comfortable simply inserting yourself into conversations. You search to find Mickey, but in spite of the fact that he had worn a pretty distinct suit, you can find neither hide nor hair of him.

This was all too much to handle on your own and you’re silently cursing your earlier, bolder self. The entire floor seems to fall silent for a moment and everyone else’s attention is drawn to one direction for a moment. All except for you, as you take this opportunity to make your way outside of the party to gather yourself. Why did you think this would be a good idea? To go to a party where the few you could only vaguely recognize some, and know not even a single name? You remove your mask, ashamed you ever thought you would be able to pass yourself off as a woman and not the child you were.

All of these doubts are only further compounded as you feel a tap on your bare shoulder. “Pretty sure the point of these things is to wear a mask,” a voice like honey whispers near your ear. You’re so scared that you’ve unknowingly broken a cardinal rule and that you were about to be kicked out, though this eases somewhat as you see a light quirk on this stranger's lips.

Unlike the other men you’d seen at the party, he didn’t wear a simple black mask, no his was far more ornate, and with the burnt burgundy color to match his tie, in stark contrast to his all black suit, overall giving him a very devilish look. Whether it’s the perfectly coiffed hair or the plush lips, something about him feels deeply familiar. 

You’re not able to pinpoint what exactly until you're finally caught by his icy blue gaze that was almost entirely muted by the red of his mask. “Elvis?” And when he gives you that devastating grin of his you launch yourself into him to wrap him in a hug. “What are you doing here?” you question, though you’re glad nonetheless to find at least one somewhat familiar face in a sea of masks.

“Like I said I do business everywhere, ‘specially in Memphis,” he said, pulling away to answer you yet his hands remain on your hips. 

“Oh so you know Mr. Presley?” 

He looks taken aback at your question for the briefest of seconds, before a soft smirk crosses his face. “You can say somethin’ like that,” thoroughly charmed by you. “So whatcha you doin’ in a place like this all by your lonesome?” 

You let out a tired sigh before giving a sad smile and saying, “I don’t even know, anymore.” 

You feel him put a finger under your chin, and you're brought to look him in the face. He looked genuinely concerned for you as he asked you “hey, now what’s wrong lil’ one?”

“Nothing,” you say, trying to dismiss his concerns.

He gives an amused chuckle, and he sounds mighty satisfied with himself as he says, “Still ain’t gotten any better at lyin’, huh Y/N?”

That does get a laugh out of you, albeit a sorry imitation of one. “Can’t believe that’s what you remember about me,” you say.

“I remember alotta things darlin’” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Despite the fact that you’ve only met him twice in total, you know that there is no use in lying to him. So that’s how you find yourself regaling this man with your teenage woes as well as your devious plan to circumvent your fathers wishes. Elvis luckily enough is sympathetic to your plight, and seems thoroughly unimpressed with your fathers reasoning as to why you’re going to miss a major milestone in your life. “This was a bad idea.”

“Nah, it wasn’t a bad idea,” he reassures. “So-so execution, but not a bad plan.”  

“I really should just go home,” you say, shaking your head. You try to turn away from him, only to be lead by the waist back to the party.

“Tell you what, Satnin,” he says. “I’ll take ya’ home by the end of the night. But first you gotta do somethin’ for me.” A devilish smirk crosses his face when he sees your breath quicken. “I want you to be my date.”

“What?” 

“Well the flaw in your plan was, you don’t know anybody else,” he says. “But you know me, and I can make the proper introductions to everyone back there and you don’t gotta be Johnny’s daughter, you can be my new girl.” 

He reaches to take the mask in your hand and steps behind you to put it in place. The more you think about his offer the more it makes sense. You’re alone here, and you could use a friend right about now, and it makes sense for said friend to be someone who is intimately familiar with this sort of lifestyle.

“What'dya say, darlin’,” he says as he quickly fastens the ribbon of your mask in place. “When you wear this mask here you can pretend to be anyone you want to be. So why not pretend to be my date?” He offers his hand to you and you hardly even hesitate a moment to take his hand.

Elvis is able to talk you through how to walk, talk, and overall, how to act like you belong here in the slightest. He doesn’t mind you practically clinging to his arm for most of the night, and he is able to make introductions to almost everybody attending. Elvis even introduces you to the mysterious Mr. Presley, a soft-spoken salt and pepper haired gentleman, who insists on being called Vernon. You hope your face doesn’t show it, but this is far from the man you always imagined in your head, the man whose name alone could make your daddy quake in his boots. 

Though whatever thoughts you have about your host is quickly wiped away as Elvis quickly moves you to the next, more interesting guest. People have a tendency to gravitate towards Elvis, offering their congratulations to him, and remarks on how you’re one lucky lady. You bask in this, as for what for the first time in your life, people look at you and don’t see a child they see a woman. 

It is around midnight when your good mood comes to a screeching halt, as you hear a loud commotion coming from the front of the party. “Y/N!? Y/N!? Where are you!” you hear your daddy yell amongst the crowd, accosting several women with even a passing resemblance to you. You quickly try to shield your face with your hand for all the good it would do, your face burning in humiliation. 

Elvis seeing your distress quickly takes you by the elbow and leads you out of the bright lights of the dance floor, and into the shadows of the outside, and before you know it he’s leading you through the backdoors of the grand house.

“I don’t think we’re allowed in here.” you whisper to him as you still continue to follow his lead.

“Trust me, baby,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, where you notice an open bottle of champagne. “Boss man won’t mind too much.” 

“What’s this party for anyway?” you ask as you relieve yourself of the shoes you had been wearing, and take a seat next to him on the ground beside the couch.

“Mr. Presley’s gettin’ hitched tomorrow.” he says flippantly, all the while removing his mask.

“Oh…” you say, glancing down at your blue and white dress. “Oh dear lord, and I showed up in white,” you say, burying your face in your hands, embarrassed beyond belief at your faux pas. 

“Don’t think nothin’ of it baby,” he says, taking your chin in his hand, to bring you to look at him. “Most a the folks out there don’t even know. ‘Sides you dressed all in blue brings back some nice memories a Texas.”

“I wasn’t exactly wearing blue, back then.”

“You weren’t exactly wearin’ much a anythin’,” he says with a coy grin, and you swat at his shoulder in retaliation. “Y’know, I been thinkin’ a lot ‘boutchu this past year and what you said ‘bout bein’ honest.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips. “I realized I needed more honest people in my life.”

“Oh,” you answer simply, unsure as to how to really respond to that. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“But enough ‘bout that. You remember that game we tried playin’ back in Texas?”

“The lying one?”

“That’s the one. Let’s play that again, ‘cept this time we’ll make it a little more interesting.” With a soft smile he holds up the half-filled bottle of champagne, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he says, “you guess wrong or the other person gets it right, you gotta take a hit of this.” You think only for a moment, before ultimately agreeing, not wanting the night to end just yet. 

You didn’t expect to win, but you didn’t expect to lose so miserably. He’s able to suss out any and all lies you state. He even changes the game midway to have it be two truths and a lie, hoping you’ll fare better with only needing to tell one lie rather than two. The few swigs he takes are from when you take your chances and randomly guess as to the true or false statement he’s making. And even then you get the impression it’s more to humor you.

Though as the bottle dwindles, you find yourself becoming bolder with both your lies and your truths, but it was all in an effort to keep up with how fantastical his statements were getting, not just the lies, but the truths as well. It really puts into perspective the kind of life he’s lived compared to you where any of the stories he tells you would be the craziest thing to have happened to anyone, yet they all somehow happened to him.

“I got played on the radio. I’m the most feared man here. I dodged the draft.” He said in one round, nothing about his body language giving him away, but with the amount of champagne you had you doubt you’d have picked up on them anyway. You also can’t quite remember at this point if it was two truths and a lie or two lies and a truth. With his fiendish attitude and rebellious nature you figure it was the last one and you tell him as much. 

“Nah, darlin’, I did my due diligence for the country. Wish I didn’t sometimes, but that’s a whole other story.”

“Wait… you got played on the radio?” The idea of which was mind-blowing to you, but what was more shocking was his sudden shy demeanor. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, fiddling with one of his rings. “It was a small thing, song didn’t even make it outta the south.”

“Could you play something for me,” you ask, doing your best impression of a doe. You already like the way he speaks, so you can only imagine how it would sound for him to sing. 

His eyes grow soft, at your request, and you're reminded of the pool at the El Rey Motel. How inviting those waters were, and how it felt almost like a cool balm on your restless soul. 

“Maybe next time sweetheart,” he says. “‘Sides it’s your turn, and you ain’t even taken your shot yet,” handing the bottle, where you realize, there is perhaps only a mouthful or two left of the bubbly concoction, and it’s your turn. 

“Ok, hmm…” you muse, after you had taken your drink, swirling the remnants in the bottle. Point wise, you have already most definitely lost the game, but that doesn’t mean you’re about to call it. 

What was it he said about what makes a good lie? You internally ask yourself, trying to remember that little tidbit he gave you almost a year ago. That there’s always a bit of truth sprinkled within. And it’s as you remember this, that an idea suddenly strikes you.

“2 truths and a lie,” you announce to him. “I can’t ride a bike. My favorite candy is Lemonheads. And…” you hesitate, but power through before you lose your nerve completely. “And… I want to kiss you right now,” you’re finally able to stutter out

His eyes widen a little at your audacity, but he’s quick to collect himself, clearing his throat slightly and giving you a rakish smile as he answers. “That second one’s too specific to be fake.” he says, bringing his hands to cup your chin. “And ain’t no way that last ones a lie.” all the while coming closer to you. “So Imma go with the first one bein’ a lie.”

When his lips are maybe an inch away from yours do you put the bottle between the two of you. 

“Drink,” you command, backing away from the bottle slightly. “I cannot ride a bike to save my life, it was the last one that was a lie,” you state, willing your voice not to waiver. “I don’t want to kiss you.” To really drive it home how good you’ve gotten at this lying business.

“O-oh,” he says, looking down ashamed. 

“The truth is… I really, really want to kiss you,” you say, giggling ecstatically that he fell for your little ploy. 

You get the pleasure of seeing a look of shock and confusion pass through his face, before it’s quickly replaced with a look of pride directed solely towards you. You worry slightly until you feel an arm slip around your waist and you're brought closer to him. So close that you find yourself straddling him. You’re not sure if the burning in your face is from embarrassment… or… something else entirely.

“That’s a dirty little trick there darlin’,” he says, his hands firmly on your hips keeping you in place, as though you would even want to leave at this point. “Who taught ya’ to lie like that, huh?”

“You did,” you declare, moving closer to him so that you’re practically nose to nose with him. For as bold as you’re being right now you wait for him to close the distance between the two of you. And luckily for you, you don’t have to wait long. 

Of the few kisses you’ve had, none have ever been even remotely close to this. This isn’t the demure cheek kisses on your porch that just barely grazed the corner of your mouth, nor was it the shy pawings in a hallway closet after a game of spin the bottle. Those were experiences with boys, while Elvis… Elvis is a man. 

It started out similar enough with a soft brushing of your lips with his as he slowly but surely the two of you became bolder and bolder. His lips capture yours to nibble lightly on your bottom lip, which you meet by throwing your arms around his neck. He throws you a bit off balance by planting his hands underneath your thighs, so you steady yourself by planting a hand on his slightly exposed chest. 

It isn’t until you felt his tongue lightly brush against yours, did you pull back gasping for air. You can only imagine the kind of image you made right now with your chest heaving and your no doubt blown out eyes, but from the fiery look in his eyes he seems to enjoy it very much.

He leans forward into you as he starts to leave open mouthed kisses along your neck, which does nothing to help even out your breathing. Especially not when you can feel one of his hands begin to undo the pearl buttons along your back, while the other slowly inched its way under your dress.

“Follow me upstairs baby,” he whispers in your ear. “And I can teach ya’ so much more.”

Thoughts like the fact that this house doesn’t belong to either of you or that your daddy is out there looking for you are far from your mind as you breathlessly say yes to him. As you move to stand up, he stops you, “Take off the dress sweetheart,” he orders softly, his gaze searing into you, while he loosens his tie. “I wanna see all of you.”

You shakily move to stand and you undo the final few buttons on your lower back all the while hyper aware of his stare. You’re still untrained in the arts of seduction so rather than draw it out, you simply let the material drop down and pool at your feet and onto his lap. A part of you feels embarrassed at your undoubtedly boring white cotton bra and panty set you were wearing, and you silently look up and away from him to await his approval.

“That’s my girl,” he hums in approval, and you’re able to release that shuddering breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Though you quickly draw air back in when you feel him place his hands on your hips and give a quick kiss to your cotton covered kitty. 

Your heart is fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird as he leads you by the hand up the stairs and the warmth in your belly and the fuzziness in your head makes all of it feel like a dream. Not helped by the intensity of his oasis blue eyes, and you’re once again bathed in that same feeling when you were in that motel pool: that of being the only person alive. 

You often thought about that night at the motel, and wondered what would have happened if you were a little quicker on the draw to his invitation back to his room. Through Mrs. Sacks talks and your friends' whisperings you understood the basic mechanics of it, and that if the man was good, it was supposed to be very pleasurable, but not much else. Elvis in many ways was a safe choice to fantasize about, as you never would have guessed you would see him again. 

But as he lays you down in the largest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, do you really begin to question how well your fantasies have prepared you. He removes his shirt with practiced efficiency, all the while keeping his eyes squarely on you, the dim lighting doing little to shield you from his piercing stare. You’re left to pathetically writhe on the bed as he stands back up to unbutton his shirt, not being helped one bit by his bitten off smirk at your state.

You’re practically heaving as he crawls over you, and he captures your lips once more. In the privacy of this bedroom, the kisses turn from tender to filthy. His tongue probing your mouth with wild abandon as one hand deftly unhooks your bra. It is as you’re about to 

“Lord, I’ve dreamed about these,” he says as he drags the soft cotton material off of your chest. You fight the urge to cover yourself, still wanting to obey his earlier command to see all of you. He leaves a trail of open mouth kisses down the slope of your breast until he finally meets a budding peak and takes it into his mouth. The act catches you so off guard that you can’t stop your lewd reaction to it.

“Ain’t a single day passes that I don’t think about you in that pool baby,” he whispers into your skin. The soft mewls from the warmth of his tongue as he laves at your nipples, are swiftly replaced with sharp yelps when you feel his cool breath blow lightly on the moistened area. Part of you doubts you’re even going to survive this night, given the difference in experience between the two of you. “Seein’ your sweet tits just beggin’ to be touched.” and he emphasizes his point with a slight scrape of his teeth on your nipple.

You’re hoping to make up for your lack of experience by sheer enthusiasm, so when you find him making his way off the bed, his eyes fixated on that final piece of clothing that hides your woman hood from his view, you spread your legs, eager to show him how much you wanted him. But when you’re rewarded for your eagerness with a kiss to your inner thigh, that immediately wants you to close them once more, but his strong hands make that impossible. 

“Though I think these are just as wet as they were back then,” he purrs before licking a stipe up the seam of your kitty. You’re lost to the sensation of it, wanting to recoil but simultaneously embrace what he’s stirring up inside of you, much like back then.

You hear a ripping sound coming from him and you suddenly feel the cool night air fully hitting your burning core and you shiver at the delicious sensation of it. Even those few times you were brave enough to do anything remotely close to this it was always over the fabric and now you were left completely defenseless to this man's eyes. And if that’s not enough vulnerability for him, he proceeds to ask how you touch yourself.

You’re at a loss for words at his invasive question, but not so offended that you don’t answer him. And you shamefully tell him how you’ve only ever occasionally rubbed yourself against your pillows to chase that euphoric feeling. 

“I’d like to see that sometime, doll,” he purrs, making you shiver. “But for right now we gotta getcha good and ready for me.”

Before you can question what he means about that, you feel something probe at your entrance, and you feel his fingers soft circle that secret little button you’ve always been too afraid to mess with. You’re a panting mess and you’re giving into whatever feels good at the moment, and you can’t help the way your hips move in tandem with his fingers, as it was simultaneously too much yet not enough. Though you quickly learn what is too much when you feel not one but two of his fingers within you and start going at a steady rhythm, all the while the palm of his hand continually rubs at that button.

You’ve long since given into the depravity of this act, but you’re still grateful that Elvis has the judgment to try to muffle your wanton shrieks with his sweet kisses. So sweet that it stands in sharp contrast to the lewd things his hands are doing between your thighs. All too soon, just as you’re getting used to that stretched feeling does he pull his hands free and you let out a needy sob as you’re left feeling achingly empty.

He chuckles at your neediness, as he brings his hand up and you see for the first time the evidence of the long-dormant immodest side of yourself glistening on his fingers. Before you can even begin to feel the burn of shame, he sticks those fingers into his mouth and lets out a long-satisfied hum, and you find yourself burning in a different way.

“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he whispers against your lips and you’re helpless to do nothing but open your mouth to have a taste.

You think you know what to expect next, until he makes a show moving down your body until he’s crouched down between your legs and gathers all the excess wetness between your thighs with his tongue. Your confusion is apparently evident as he takes a moment to pause and look you in the eye as with that trademark devilish smirk on his lips as he dives straight to the source of your heat. 

None of your friends had ever described anything close to this, or if they did they failed to mention how wonderful it would feel. Your back arches almost entirely off the bed, as your thighs reflexively box in his head, and you’re moaning freely at the sensation of it. His tongue quickly replaces his thumb at the sensitive bundle of nerves, and with the fingers that were already going at a steady rhythm inside of you, you’re a goner. 

After you come down from that euphoric peak, you’ll apologize to him for all the embarrassing noises you made. He’ll quiet you with a kiss, and you shudder at the more potent taste of yourself. “Y/N, you’re one a the few people in those whole fucked up world who can’t hide how they feel. It’s why you’re gon’ be mine,” his dark rasp only adds to the bliss you’re feeling, as he gives you a soft kiss.

He pulls away from you once your breath has steadied somewhat. In spite of how tired you were, you still wanted to know more, now that you’ve come this far. 

You go a bit wide-eyed when you see him unbuckle his pants and you see in person for the first time what makes girls and boys so different. You have done a bit of exploring on your own, and you understood from what Old Mrs’ Sack’s birds and the bees talk, that boys have something like that, but you didn’t ever realize that it could be so big. Your mouth is dry as you speak, “How… how is that going to fit?” 

Even in the low lighting of the bedroom, you can still make out his dazzling smile before he gives you a soft kiss to your nose. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that sweetheart,” he says as he cups your chin. “This is the most natural thing in the world. You were made to take me like this darlin’.” You don’t fully understand why that gets a particularly wanton moan out of you, but you don’t fight it. “Just lay back and relax baby girl, and I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, taking a nibble of your earlobe.

You follow his orders and lay amongst the pillows as his strong hands align your hips with his. There is a burning sensation below as you feel the head, and he gives you a moment to adjust, and you bite harder into your lip, until he takes his thumb and gently removes it from between your teeth to give you a sweet kiss.

“I wanna hear ya’ baby,” he says, his lips brushing against yours, as he starts to slowly push forward.

And forward.

And forward.

And forward.

Until you finally feel all of him, long and oddly heavy, fully sheathed within you. You fight back your tears, but his gentle kisses along your face and praises in your ear as to how good you’re being all make the experience far more bearable. He shifts ever so slightly within you, causing a particularly filthy moan from you. 

Elvis takes this as his signal to almost entirely remove himself, and your tiny whimpers are only quieted as he slams himself back into place. The suddenness of the act robbing you of a voice, and it would have scared you to death, were it not for his whispers asking if you trust him on this. 

“I do,” is all you’re able to manage, and that seems to set him off like a switch. The hunger for you is apparent in his eyes and as he picks up the pace and you’re freely keening and whining, he plants his mouth on yours as though he wants to consume you entirely.

How can he move his hips like this, is perhaps your last coherent thought of the night as he continually rocks back into you. You, in vain, try to keep up with his thrusts, but your amateurish movements are quickly outmatched with his as he moves his hands on to your waist to move you in tandem with his and you love every single second of it, especially when he’s able to hit a particular spot within you that you never knew existed. That coil in your belly straining further and further, until it finally snaps and you let out an unrestrained cry to the heavens themselves.

He’s not too far behind you as his thrusts begin to sputter, until he finally stills and you wrap your legs around his hips, enjoying the pleasantly warm feeling of his seed within you. 

You’re nothing more than a boneless heap after all was said and done, barely having enough strength to  open your eyes. Elvis is able to maneuver you under the silky sheets with him and the wonderfully cool fabric is able to dissipate the last remnants of burning heat within you, allowing you to settle in his arms. You shiver as you feel yourself leaking on to a complete stranger's sheets, but you’re so tired right now you figure that that can be a problem for tomorrow.

You’re brought back to the land of the living when you feel the warm rays of the sun on your back, your eyes aching and your nether regions pleasantly sore. You don’t immediately do anything about your current state, wanting to bask in this feeling for a little while, though eventually the soft ticking sound of the clock radio reminds you of why you embarked on this adventure in the first place.

You shoot out of bed to see that you have most definitely missed your graduation ceremony by this point. You hang your head, and will yourself not to cry at the almost karmic punishment, you’ve been dealt. But you can hardly call it one because this is a direct result of your own actions.

And it is as you’re internally berating yourself for your willfulness, do you realize that Elvis is nowhere to be found. And that is truly the cherry on top to this awful sundae, knowing you spent  a night with a charlatan in favor of getting what you want. 

You feel used and humiliated, and it is as if you're trying to prevent the tears from flowing, do you see the attached bathroom, and realize that you’re in the master bedroom. 

Oh dear lord, this is Mr. Presley’s room, you think while burying your face in your hands. You’re absolutely humiliated that you put yourself in this position and you worry as to how you’re going to get home. The solution before you is simple but it is far from an easy choice. It’s hardly a choice at all, considering that the alternative is sneaking off of the property and taking your chances walking home alone in nothing but a white silk robe you found.

And that’s how you find yourself aimlessly walking around a strangers home, and silently praying that they are charitable enough to take you home. Good humor or no, you doubt there is a world where Mr. Presley doesn’t look at daddy differently after this. 

Once you’re downstairs do you finally come across a closed door with some sign of life behind it. You’re so desperate you don’t even hesitate in opening it only to be met with at least a dozen pairs of eyes on you, all of which were surrounding your missing lover, sitting with his feet propped up on a desk. “Ahh Y/N yer here just in time, why dontcha come on in?” he half sings to you, patting his lap. You’re beyond confused by this point that you don’t even think twice about doing so, instead focusing on making sure that your robe stays closed. “Sonny, go get ‘em.” you hear from him, as he puts his feet down on to the floor and brings his hands outward to you, and with all of the eyes on you, you comply. 

He sits you on his lap, and you can hardly begin to comprehend what’s happening, before you hear a big commotion somewhere in the house, that only seems to be getting closer. You see the men begin to set down a tarp on the floor and you see a row of weapons all sitting casually before you on the desk before you. Panic begins to set in as you see Elvis for the first time in the light of day, and his deranged focus is solely on you. 

“Elvis what is going on here?” you question, tears in your eyes, his firm grip making escape impossible. 

“I’m gettin’ what I’m owed sweetheart,” he whispers, as the door  bursts open and you see two men throw a third to the tarped floor face first. You almost don’t recognize him at first, as you can’t comprehend why he would be here, but eventually there is no denying it. 

“Daddy?” you say forcibly pulling yourself off of him to try to get to him. Some of the men hold you back as you see Elvis saunter his way over to him before you can. 

Elvis says as he crouches down to where your daddy was forced to his knees, and forcefully pulls your daddy’s head back by his hair to face you directly. “You wanna tell her Johnny boy, or should I?” 

Your daddy sputters, eyes darting between you and ELvis once again, before he looks down and tries to say. “Gem, I-I… I don’t kno-”

“You lyin’ sack a shit!” Elvis explosively cuts him off producing a gun from his waist. “Tell the fuckin’ truth to your daughter,” he says pressing a gun to your daddy’s temple. Your daddy looks devastated at his words, his mouth opening and closing, apparently choking on his own words as he looks between you and Elvis. 

You’re frozen in place at that moment, too scared of the man you thought you knew, and too scared for the man you thought you knew. 

“Y/N, I-I…” he looks close to tears, something you’ve never seen on his face before. “I-I been workin’ for Elvis-”

An ominous click, cuts him off, and the man in question sneers “try again.”

Your daddy audibly gulped at this point. “I’ve been handlin’ the money for Mr. Presley here for almost ten years,” he says in a low whisper. 

That sort of answers some questions, but you can hardly figure out what this has to do with you. But hearing who exactly Mr. Presley, is and that you spent the night with him is incomprehensible.

“After,” he pauses to take a steadying breath. “After your Mama passed, I-I needed all the help I could get, and… and… I took more than my fair cut.” he says his eyes closed, avoiding looking at your face, as he takes a steadying breath. “Last year, when he found out what I was doin’, I tried ru-running with you.” 

“A liar, a thief, and a fuckin’ coward, is what you got for a daddy Y/N,” Elvis japes. “It’s a literal fuckin’ miracle you came out so perfect doll,” he says as he gently brushes your cheek with his knuckles. You would have recoiled, had it not been for the very present fear you had for this man and the gun still pointed at your daddy’s head.

“Whe-when found us he gave me one last chance to settle. He made me a deal there, that he would forgive me if I… if I…Promised him…” his lip is trembling by this point and he can’t even look at you.

“Daddy… What did you promise him?” You say in a small voice, having a sneaking suspicion and praying to god that you’re not proven right.

“Baby, I-I’ve done some bad things in my life, but I did it all for you,” he says looking down, the tears streaking down his face. “I-I promised him… you.”

You step as far away back as the desk allows you to, and your knees almost give in beneath you at what you just heard. Because there is absolutely no way that he had just said what he did. You can’t believe it, but the more you think about it the more things begin to make sense. WHy your freedom has been limited in the past year. Why your daddy made you focus especially on learning Spanish this past year. WHy you weren’t allowed with any boys. 

“One year, Johnny,” Elvis says, interrupting your spiral. He is holding up a single finger in front of your daddy’s face as he continues, “That’s how long I gave you to get her used to the idea. And you fucked it up, for not just yourself but for her. And I gotta find out last minute, that you been wasting it planning another fucking trip?” 

“I couldn’t go through with it,” daddy pleads. “Please I-I’ll get the money, I’ll do whatever I gotta, just please let her go!” 

“Now how the hell am I supposed to trust that? You already backed out of a deal once, how the hell am I supposed to trust this one?” Elvis asks him as he walks away from him and towards you, while daddy has the decency to look ashamed. “Now lucky for you, your daughter ain’t nothin’ like you, Johnny,” his tone is almost reverent as he speaks of you. “And I don’t believe she’s in the business of makin’ promises she won’t keep, right sweetheart?” 

“Elvis… I don’t understand,” you say with tears in your eyes. 

“It’s real simple baby,” Elvis says. “I’m given’ you a choice. Walk away and your daddy pays back what he stole the hard way. Or,” he says cupping your cheek far too tenderly for what he’s about to offer. “Be my wife and your daddy can go free.”

It’s hardly a decision for you at that point. Because for as mad as you are at him, that’s your daddy and you could never wish him harm. But there is a burning question, in the back of your mind, and you know whatever the answer is, it’s going to hurt. And yet the newly discovered masochist within you demands an answer.

“How much?”

“What?”

“I need a number,” you declare, “How much was my life worth daddy?”

He looks heartbroken as to how you view the situation, but really how else can you look at it? Your daddy took money from a dangerous man, and now, said man is looking for what he paid for. Nevertheless he lowers his head and he mumbles out a number. 

The number he gives is large, but it’s still not nearly enough for what you thought your life was worth in your mind. Your father hangs his head in shame, evidently knowing you well enough to know how much he’s hurt you.

You can hardly call what you had a proper wedding, Elvis is cruel enough to make you go through the motions of it in the still somewhat setup backyard. You’re put into a beautiful white dress that fits like a glove, and handed a gorgeous bouquet, and you’re only a little disturbed by the fact that the dress is perfectly tailored or that these are your favorite flowers. Though these quickly leave your mind as you see your father at the bottom of the steps. 

A part of you wanted to refuse your father and walk yourself down the aisle. That petty part, wanting to further twist the knife of his future exile by denying him this near sacred final right of a father to be able to do so. But the better part of you prevails as for as much as you want to be seen as a fully grown woman, you still very much feel like a little girl who needs to hold her daddy’s hand in a scary situation. And this is undoubtedly the scariest thing you’ve ever done.

Which only further burns as you’re reminded that you’re in this situation because of him. 

Your father walks you down the makeshift aisle of the backyard with a busted lip and a vacant look in his eyes to match your own. For as mad as you are at him, you don’t want him to be hurt or worse for what he did. That doesn’t mean you want to have to look at him anymore. 

Your daddy was an accountant, but as you signed your name on that marriage license, you realize you aren’t an accountant's daughter any more. And just like that you’re a proper married woman. 

After the ceremony, there is only a small reception to follow, with those closest to your new husband having been invited. Evidently your father didn’t make the cut, which may be for the best as you doubt you will even be able to look at him right now as Elvis sits you on his lap while all of his men dole out congratulations to the two of you. 

Later on when you’re alone with him you will beg Elvis for a reason that isn’t just some power trip over your father or that he truly believes that you were something worth the amount that your father took from him. You’re willing to believe anything at this point.

“Oh baby, you don’t gotta worry one bit,” he reassures you while kissing away your tears. “If this was about money, I woulda taken what he offered way back when. But no I’ve loved ya’ since Texas.”

“But why?” you cry. 

“Because of that satnin,” he says. “You’re a rare breed these days: honest. I knew it since the moment I saw ya’ that you were what I needed in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you can’t lie for shit. Especially not to me.” he says, planting kisses along your newly exposed skin. “I know I chose the perfect wife for me.”

Would you have chosen him if given the choice? You don’t know. You may never know, but if growing up a not-accountant’s daughter has taught you anything is how to take what you’re given and be grateful for it. 

Ending note: I was 9k in when I realized I pulled a “I sold you to one direction,” Welp that’s the way it goes sometimes. 

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