#he went there with the intention of murder but ended up comforting and i just *sobs* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maliland · 3 months

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RESENTMENT: PT. 2

"how could you lie?" part one angel(s): e-42 miles morales & black fem reader includes: angst, infidelity, homewrecking, depressing themes, & heartbreak (men being disappointments per usual) synopsis: you used to describe your experience with love as one of complexity and simplicity all at once, but after you learn what your boyfriend did at a party with another girl while you were at home and sick, your heart is left with irreparable damage and an abundance of resentment. wc: 6.7k divider by @/cafekitsune a/n: this is gonna be my last sv fic for a hot min (or forever) 😭 savor and enjoy. ik the tag has been dead and you all have been malnourished, so yw! <3 icl, idk how i feel about it but y'all can lmk 🫶 (p.s: before ppl start nothing non-pg ever happened in this fic at any point in time. just kissing. ion get down like that 👍 thanks.)

when you arise in the morning and before you lay your head to rest at night, one thing is always definite: you are human.

humans are imperfect, so they make mistakes. genuine ones. honest ones. you’ve mixed up salt and sugar while baking chocolate chip cookies. you’ve hit your best friend square in the face while trying to spike a volleyball. you’ve missed assignment deadlines, forgotten about chores, and left the grocery list at home, all honest mistakes. a boy pressing his lips to another girl’s, though he has another he calls his own, is not a mistake. if it were up to you, it’d be a crime punishable by execution. between miles and yourself, no mercy was shown for the loyal one of you two, so why should he be granted any? infidelity; the act itself is the murder of the most important, sacred muscle, so why not return the favor?

you know your intentions before you give into the temptation of them. you knew miles knew. he knew from the moment that girl pulled him over to a vacant bedroom. did he think they’d simply exchange pleasantries? even so, why partake in such with someone who clearly has a taste for you? a taste for insulting the one you love most just as easily as she breathed?

these are all questions that would never be answered truthfully. you’d have to make peace with the reality or the only peace you’d know was the eternal kind that followed after death. and to think that you once believed in those stupid children’s fairy tales. miles made you believe that that kind of love could be real life. he almost made you believe you could attain the happy ending you always dreamed about. you were so close to it too. to have your bubble burst like that by the person you love most..? cold. way colder than the shivers repeatedly sinking down your spine.

it was a stupid idea to leave your window open.

the medicine you had taken for your cold had you knocked out in the warmth of your bed and you slept soundly. the chilly air would blow through the curtains now and then. the wind was only a light breeze at first. it felt nice, maybe even comforting, but when night finally fell, the current picked up. you were woken up by an icy blast hitting your face.

you groaned and slowly rose up, pulling the covers off of you before you swung your legs off of the bed. you drowsily staggered to your window and forced it shut, drawing the curtains closed only seconds afterward. you would just have to hope the mishap wouldn’t make you any sicker than you already were. you mindlessly carried yourself back to your bed and submerged yourself under the covers. you grabbed your phone, which was lying face down beside you.

you unlocked your phone and went straight to instagram, tapping through everyone's stories. most of the people you knew were at the party. parties weren't your cup of tea, so you couldn't really say you wished you had gone. you were more of a homebody than you'd like to admit.

you eventually got to miles' story. all he had posted was a single picture of him and his group of friends, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. seeing your boyfriend happy made you happy. you smiled to yourself before switching to your messages app. you had notifications from both miles and your friends who were also at the halloween party. you opened miles’ messages first.

9:37pm

miles: hey ma (9:37 pm) miles: i know you’re probably sleeping right now, but i wanted to lyk that i got here okay (9:37 pm) miles: i’m with my friends (9:38 pm) miles: ima go now but i love you 💗 i’ll text you soon (9:39 pm)

10:23 pm

miles: yooo just checking in 🙌 miss you a lot (9:36 pm) miles: hope you’re enjoying that nap ❤️❤️(9:37 pm)

you: hey i’m up now 😈😈 (10:52 pm) you: i saw your ig story 🙃 looks like you guys are having fun so i’ll leave you to it (10:52 pm) you: text me later, i love you so much more 💓 (10:53 pm)

you swiped out of your text thread with miles and opened your group chat with your three best friends, sasha, lani, and nae. while you met sasha and lani not too long ago, you’ve known nae for damn near your entire life.

dollz 💘 9:13pm

sasha: how’s my bedridden baby? 🫶🫶 (9:13 pm)

lani: she’s been unconscious for mad long 👎(9:14 pm)

nae: we should ditch this party n go to her place instead i’m BOREDDD (9:16 pm) nae: and what if bro’s dead (9:16 pm)

jana: girl (9:20 pm) jana: she ain’t dead 🤦‍♀️ please. (9:21 pm)

sasha: ofc not (9:23 pm) sasha: nae's right.. this party lowk boring asf🧍‍♀️ can we leave soon? (9:25 pm)

jana: yes 💋 (9:25 pm)

nae: thought you’d never ask. (9:26 pm)

10:57pm

you: y’all i’m up damn! 😭 (10:57 pm) you: is it really that boring? miles seems to be having fun (10:57 pm)

nae: he buggin then cuz it's been like two hours and this party is STILL boring as shit (11:01 pm) nae: i tried to give it the benefit of the doubt but nvm. (11:01 pm) nae: my niece's fourth birthday party was x100 more turnt than this (11:02 pm) nae: i’m stuffing all the good snacks in my purse nd then we outta this bitch 🏃‍♀️ i’ll be in the car y’all (11:02 pm)

jana: bruh🧍‍♀️ (11:03 pm)

sasha: nae beloved, you already put hella snacks in the passenger seat (11:03 pm) nae: so? 🥱 (11:04 pm) sasha: you don’t need no more tf 😭😭 big backed hungry ass (11:04 pm)

you: yes she does (11:10 pm) you: she’s thinking of me, duh (11:11 pm)

sasha: damn you right.. maybe 🤷‍♀️ (11:15 pm) sasha: or maybe she'll eat up all the snacks and i'll laugh in your face and say i told you so 🤌 (11:16 pm)

jana: uh huh... anw girl can we come over? (11:18 pm)

you: i’d say yes but miles is coming over soon (11:21 pm) you: y’all can come over first thing tmrw morning tho 💋💋(11:21 pm)

right as you sent that message, your phone began to ring and you were met with your own puzzled reflection on the screen of your phone. it was a facetime call from nae. you couldn’t come up with a reason why she’d ever need to facetime you from a party when she could text or call. nevertheless, you picked up. you forced yourself up and out of you warmth of your bed, throwing your comforter and many, many blankets off of you.

you answered the facetime call as you turned the knob to your bedroom door to leave, making your way downstairs to the kitchen so you could raid the pantry for food. when nae’s face popped up on your screen, you noticed that the interior of sasha’s car surrounded her, but neither sasha or lani were anywhere to be found.

“hey danae, what’s up?” you said into the phone as you shut the microwave. you'd settled on instant ramen since you were feeling lazy. when you caught a glimpse of your best friend's face on your phone screen a second time, you clocked that she looked worried and that made you worried too. it didn't help that she was dead silent. you raised an eyebrow. “you alone? where’s lani and sasha?"

“something happened,” nae spoke slowly, disregarding your question. her eyes were bolting back and forth between her phone camera and sasha’s car window.

“what?” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. you set your phone down on the counter, propping your elbows onto the surface while you tried to decipher nae's expression, but that got you nowhere.

“i’m gonna send you something. just hold on a sec.”

“nae, what’s going on?” you inquired, a puzzled expression painting your face.

she didn’t reply. you pressed your lips into a thin line and closed your eyes in both confusion and frustration, strings of air passing through your nostrils. whatever nae was about to tell you was obviously nothing good. you didn't anticipate anything but the absolute worst. you opened your eyes again when your phone dinged. it was photo attachment from nae. you furrowed your brows blinked a few times before tapping it, pulling up you and your best friend's text thread. your entire body went limp when your brain registered the monstrosity on your screen. all you could do in the moment was stare in shock. it was a clear shot of miles and arielle at the party making out in some random bedroom upstairs. arielle who wouldn’t quit making moves on miles. miles who would shut down her pathetic attempts every time. arielle who’s always hated your guts without reason. miles who swore on everything that you were the only one he loved.

it was all so ironic, truly. arielle was dressed as an angel, a sparkly halo hovering above her head as if she wasn’t concomitantly sinning—shamelessly home-wrecking. and you could see it now: the embodiment of your relationship, or the so-called home you and your boyfriend shared. in your mind, it was ablaze and you were curled up all alone inside of it. you were left to succumb to the searing flames, burning to nothing ash while all that you and miles share burned beside you.

the boy would come home to the walls still burning and in the process of self-purging. he wouldn’t find you, rather the remnants of what used to be you. the ash would slip through his dirty, unfaithful fingers as they trembled in horror. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. he’d desperately try to grasp you. he’d try to save you and scoop debris into his sweaty palms so he could salvage what was left of you. still, there was nothing. there wasn't a single thing in the universe that could aid the way you felt in that moment.

now, miles would have to mourn you, for he killed you. and he didn’t even know it yet.

your eyes were squeezed shut because they had to be deceiving you. you must not be fully awake yet. the medicine must be making you hallucinate. you were dreaming. you were a hundred percent dreaming. that wasn’t miles.

how could that be miles?

“i was looking for lani and found… them instead,” nae muttered. “i don’t know if he saw me take the picture, or what. i left to tell you right after.”

you swallowed hard. though a million different thoughts were racing through your mind, none of them came to be verbal. you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, because what do you even say when something like this happens? would anything you said be enough? would any quantity of words in any given order be able you place the way you felt? unlikely. highly.

your eyes continue you gape at the photo, even though the sight was making your stomach churn. you couldn’t look away. your eyes were fixed on miles' hands on arielle's hips, then her hands cupping his cheeks. nae was still on facetime explaining whatever it was she was explaining, but you weren’t listening. her words were static to your ears. there was a pit in your stomach and it was growing deeper and deeper, your wounded heart subsiding along with it. you set your phone face down on the kitchen counter and began to clutch your stomach. you swore you were going to convulse and vomit from how ill you felt.

“[name]!” nae snapped her fingers into the mic. “yo, you still with me? i’m coming over. i’m gonna call an uber right now.”

you blinked and shook your head, flipping your phone back over and taking a deep breath. you couldn’t just shut down, not now. you had something you needed to confront. someone.

“no,” you sniffled.

you didn’t even notice the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you quickly swiped them away with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie. the realization that it was his hoodie you had on made you freeze up again for a few seconds, and then you buried your face in the palms of your hands.

“what do you mean ‘no?’” nae frowned, bringing the speaker up to her ear in case she heard you incorrectly.

your phone dinged three times. in your notification center were text messages from the devil himself.

miles: hey ma, i’m leaving now (11:25 pm) miles: the party was okay at first but it got boring (11:25 pm) miles: i’ll be there in like fifteen ❤️ (11:26 pm)

you just stared at the messages, biting your bottom lip until it began to draw blood as a plea for you to stop. the taste was metallic in your mouth, but your teeth didn’t budge. you didn't want miles over anymore, but it was far too late to tell him to turn around. it's not like he'd check his phone while he was driving, anyway.

“i keep losing you, girl."

you had forgotten all about nae for a second, her voice grounding you back to earth. you exhaled, your breath coming out unsteady. “miles is on his way over. after i talk to him, i’ll call you and you can come over then.”

“okay, babe,” nae nodded with a gentle sigh.

“do… lani and sasha know?” “no, they don’t,” nae denied. “i wouldn’t tell them before you.”

you pressed your lips together and silence engulfed your kitchen. you let your mind wander some more. after all this was over and done with, you'd have to explain to all of your loved ones that miles cheated on you. the very thought of having to tell everyone—your family, your friends, your dad—it embarrassed you. you couldn't stomach the very thought, so you exhaled deeply, opting to take it one step at a time. nae spoke again. “listen, if you don’t call or text me in, like, an hour, ima come over there.”

“okay," you nodded.

“remember that you deserve nothing but the best of the best. i love you so much, okay?”

“i know,” you tried to convene a smile. “i love you more.”

you hung up the phone and rid of any stray tears on your face. after nae's face vanished from your screen, you were left staring at you and your boyfriend's message thread. without putting much thought into it, you began to type.

‘cool, i’m jus—'

your fingers froze. you couldn’t text miles. he didn’t deserve anything so little as acknowledgment. you repeatedly hit backspace until the bar was blank and shut off your cell.

you sat idly on one of the kitchen stools behind the counter, your instant ramen long forgotten about. in the moment, you were feeling indifferent as a result of shock. still, you knew yourself better. when miles finally confessed his sins, you’d want to scream. you’d bombard him with a million questions at once, only to angrily invalidate any explanation that passed through his adulterous lips. you’d want to burn every handwritten love letter, every piece of clothing, and every gift, because they all meant nothing now.

he was a liar, and he knew it. if you could kill a man and face no consequences, miles might’ve been gone before he even walked through your door.

while you waited for him, you sat there and tortured yourself in thought. you couldn’t help it. was this planned? was this the first time? had he always thought of her like this? did he wish you were her when he was with you?

when you’d exhausted all of those questions, you began to think back to your own actions and behavior as you scrolled up on your texts with him.

maybe i said something that upset him? but i think he would've told me... right..? or have i been distant? no, that’s not possible. we talk every day. is he bored of me? is that it? am i boring? none of these texts are showing signs of boredom, so what is it?

you'd soon resorted to flipping through the pages in your diary. you were really good about documenting your day-to-day life. if something happened with miles in the past that your brain wouldn’t let you dig up in the moment, surely you would’ve written it there. the pad of your index finger slid across the rough pages as your anguished eyes skimmed the entries. ten minutes in, you still couldn’t find a thing. you'd give anything for a straightforward answer, but you knew it wasn't going to come from miles himself.

when you heard a key grinding into the keyhole of the front door, you slammed your diary shut and jumped off of the stool, knocking it over in the process. you sprinted upstairs to your bedroom, shoving the journal under your pillow. as you trailed out of your room, you closed the door behind you and braced yourself for the worst.

you shuffled back to the kitchen and picked up the stool from the floor, setting it upright. you caught a glimpse of miles unlacing his jordans at the front door. this was real.

“hey. i thought you’d still be in bed,” miles grinned as he approached you, spreading his arms for a hug. he wasn’t in his costume, but in a red hoodie and black sweats. he must’ve gone home to change. his costume probably smelled like arielle’s designer strawberry-scented perfume, the one everyone compliments her on. she never shuts up about it.

“hi,” you whispered, accepting his hug in an attempt to seem normal. “i was, but i got hungry. how was the party?”

miles smelled like his favorite cologne, except the scent was unusually potent. it wasn't faded in the slightest like it normally was after he'd been out and around other people. the deplorable amount of effort he was making just to mask the truth infuriated you. it angered you even more that he clearly wasn't planning on telling you anything. if you hadn't seen it yourself, you might've never known.

“it was ight,” he shrugged, loosening his grip on you after a couple of seconds. you hated yourself for wanting to hug him for just a little while longer. he sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but for all you knew, that was the last time you’d be in his embrace. he let his hands fall down to your waist instead and it made you shiver on contact knowing he had his hands on arielle's waist not even a full hour ago. “would’ve been better with you there, y’know. you feelin’ okay now?"

“mostly, yeah,” you responded blandly, your throat tight and your voice fairly groggy. “still a bit tired.”

you didn’t know how to bring it up. this wasn't something you could beat around the bush about. you found yourself deep in thought. so deep to the point where you didn't notice that miles had started talking. you were busy staring off into space with half-lidded eyes, way past his gaze. he clocked it and moved his head so that your eyes were boring into his by force, his eyebrows lowering in concern.

“is everything okay?”

you cleared your throat and gently pushed his arms off your waist, stepping back as you began to blink back tears. there was no easing into it. standing there in front of miles pretending like everything was okay was already bad enough. it felt like you were twisting the knife that he plunged into your chest. eyes glossy, you swallowed hard and batted your lashes a few more times, desperately trying to rid of the tears that threatened to spill.

“i know you kissed arielle at the party,” you barely managed to speak the full sentence, your voice cracking when you spoke her name. “and i’m confused.”

miles’ eyebrows knitted to be one as if this news stunned him. you wished you could hear all his thoughts from start to finish after you spoke. you wanted to know whether he was planning to lie or tell the truth. would he gaslight you or admit to his wrongdoings? you wouldn’t find out now because you didn’t give him an option. this already hurt enough and it would end the same either way.

“nae told me. and she sent me pictures.”

silence fell between the two of you. it felt like it was eating you from the inside. the chirping of the crickets outside and the noise from the refrigerator running slightly compensated for it. not much.

“i just wanna know why you did it. and why her? why the girl that hates me with every last atom in her body?” you broke the silence, shrugging your shoulders. you were hugging your arms, rubbing them in an up-and-down motion as if you were cold.

miles was dumbfounded, guilt painting his features. he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. you wondered what you would say if you were in his shoes, but it didn’t give you any insight because you knew you'd never do this to him, so you gave up. instead, you stared at the neat middle part in between his two signature braids that cascaded down the back of his head, down to his shoulders. you’d braided his hair only a couple days ago, back when nothing seemed impossible—nothing like now.

though he wasn’t, miles’ hair still looked clean, freshly done even. what if arielle had redone his braids for him? she did say she was practicing, and she'd made it a goal to practice on him. you mentally cursed yourself for worrying about something as minuscule as miles' braids at a time like this. you didn't want to give yourself another reason to freak, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest. not even in silence. if miles wasn’t going to give you an answer, you’d send him on his way and come up with one by yourself.

“i don’t know why i did it,” he finally retorted.

“oh, word?” you laughed humorlessly. you were trying not to slap the hell out of his shamefully beautiful face. “it happened not even two hours ago. you know why you did it. your memory is sharp, it always has been, so tell me.”

miles exhaled, rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead. “look, she came onto me while i was grabbing a soda. it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing! it didn’t mean any—“

“that’s what they all say, morales,” you cut him off with a scoff. “it didn’t mean anything but somehow you traveled from the kitchen downstairs to a spare bedroom upstairs so you could swap spit without anyone catching you?!” miles tried to speak, but you cut him off again. “were you even gonna tell me? because you came up in here acting like shit was sweet as if you weren’t just making out with the girl you swore i’d never have to worry about, meanwhile, i was home, sick! a fucking cold, miles!”

“i wasn’t gonna keep it to myself. i didn’t wanna hurt you,” miles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “it wasn’t gonna happen again, i swear.”

none of the words miles spoke were convincing enough for you in the slightest, so you disregarded them.

“did i do something to you? are you holding a grudge about something and trying to get me back?!” you yelled, your voice trembling.

“no, it has nothing to do with you!” he hollered back, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was stressed out. he had no right.

“so then why the fuck would you go and do this shit?!” you were silent for a few seconds, chest heaving up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. your breath was sprinting away from you and you were trying to catch it. "it's bad enough that you kissed another girl, but arielle?"

miles pleaded, “it was a mistake.”

“damn right it was!” you narrowed your eyes to slits. “i can’t believe i trusted you, like, seriously. you’re sick.”

“i let you down, princessa, i know, i’m—“

“sorry?” you finished his sentence, folding your arms. you were far more angry than sad now. “miles, you weren’t sorry when you were kissing her. don’t be sorry now either. you were gonna kiss me with her bright pink lipgloss dried on your lips like it was nothing. you were gonna sit here and play me like i'm stupid. you were never gonna tell me!”

miles couldn’t counter that. he knew you were right, so it was back to uncomfortable silence apart from your hefty breathing and sniffles. miles had never seen you so angry. you'd never seen yourself so angry. there was no one else to blame but miles. you had no idea where to go from there. it was only after you asked the question that you were about to ask on impulse that you realized you should’ve wrapped this up many minutes before.

“is this the only time this has happened?”

miles was hesitant, his eyes growing wider. “yes!” he spat.

miles had a tell—not just his disinclination to answer your question the way he normally would, but also the way his eyebrows would position as if he wasn’t so sure himself. his teeth would clench behind his sealed lips, but you could tell because his jaw was tight and he swallowed hard, and he wouldn’t know what to do with his hands.

you knew all of this about miles, yet you felt like you were gazing into the eyes of a stranger.

this wasn’t the miles you fell in love with.

you muttered under your breath, “you know what? i’m wasting your time... and my own. you won’t have an answer that’s both truthful and something i wanna hear. we’re done, you and i. give me the key and get the hell out.”

“mami, come on—“

“nigga, deuces! i said leave!” you snapped as you backed away from him, holding your hand out.

miles dug deep in the right pocket of his black sweats, handing you the key. you flinched when your skin made contact with his. you didn't hesitate to trap the key in the palm of your hand, dropping your arm back down by your side. miles sighed to himself and trudged to the door to lace his shoes back up. you didn't even watch him leave, opting to turn around and battle the tears threatening to spill from your eyes instead. when you finally heard the front door shut, you rushed to lock it. you turned around and pressed your back to the door, face twisted in pure disbelief.

this was real.

you slid down to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest, your cries echoing through your empty house. you’d never been more grateful that your father was gone for the weekend. miles wouldn’t have heard the end of it. at least now you had time to make up some lie to cover for miles' ass, and it'd be the last damn time.

not even five minutes passed before someone knocked on the front door three times and you sniffled. miles was going to drive you insane. “go the fuck away!”

“it’s me, baby,” a muffled voice said from outside, but it’s one you recognize, and it’s most definitely not miles.

you wiped your tears with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie and stood up, twisting the lock to open the door for your best friend. she was holding a box of pizza in her hand with a tote bag strap over her shoulder.

“you’re early,” you mumbled, one of your hands pressed against the rim of the door.

“i ubered home and got my car. when i got here, i just parked and waited,” nae pushed past you. you closed the door and locked it again, following her to the kitchen, where she set the box of pizza down on the countertop. “you wouldn’t have called me either way. i know you.”

she was right. you weren’t mad at her for being there though. she had always been so good to you.

nae walked over to the dining table and placed her tote bag in one of the chairs. “i brought your favorite type of pizza, and i stopped by the store to grab some snacks and soda. those are still in my car though, so—”

“i don’t think i can stomach anything right now,” you stated as you rubbed your arm. “i broke up with miles.”

saying that out loud felt weird. and final.

“oh, my love,” nae’s brows lowered and she shuffled over to you with open arms. she wrapped them around you and you did the same, sighing into her shoulder. you really didn't want to cry.

it hadn’t been long and you were already over feeling the way you did. you wanted to fast forward to the part where you got over miles for good. as an attempt to console you, nae was rubbing your back in a circular motion.

“you did the right thing,” she spoke lowly.

you withdrew from the hug and slightly opened your mouth, fixing to ask nae a question only god knew how to answer. “why did he do it though?”

she led you to the couch in your living room and sat you down, massaging her thumb over yours in a back-and-forth motion as your hand stayed clasped in hers. you stared down at your lap, sniffling every couple of seconds and swiping away stray tears.

“boys are just greedy, babe,” she shook her head. “so very greedy. they want it all. there are so many different reasons why people cheat. it’s difficult to pinpoint just one. my random guess is that… miles has issues?"

“issues?”

“mm-hmm,” she hummed. “internally. maybe he's insecure about himself, i don't know. whatever it is, it doesn’t justify infidelity. you were more than enough, it was him who was lacking."

“i don't get it. i mean, none of this makes any sense… unless i'm blind or stupid, it came out of nowhere. literal thin air. and when i asked, he said he didn't know why he kissed her,” you muttered.

nae sighed. “even if he isn't lying, he still did it.”

“i know,” you nodded. “and i'm sure it wasn't the first time. that’s why i left him.”

“and i’m so proud of you for that,” nae gave your hand a tight squeeze. “walking away isn’t easy for anyone. it takes forever for some people, but you did it just like that.”

“yeah, well, i kinda had to. it’s bad enough that arielle is gonna rub it in my face until we graduate, and even after that, she’ll probably find a way to .”

“there won’t be any of that,” nae promised. “miles isn’t going to take her seriously—if he even takes her at all. he lost you because of what he did with that bitch. he won’t even be able to look at her without feeling guilty.”

“she can have him, i don’t care either way,” you scoffed. that was a lie. you did care. you cared more than you’d let on if you ever even admit it.

“yeah, you do,” nae raised an eyebrow as if she had effortlessly read your mind. “let yourself feel. it’s how you’ll heal.”

“oh, i’m feeling alright. i’m weighing the pros and cons of murder,” you shakily exhaled, balling up your fists and closing your eyes. “i can’t believe this nigga. seriously.”

“i’d help you, but i’m not going to jail for him and neither are you.”

you let out a soft sigh, your gaze now fixed on your lap. the tears welling up in your eyes were beginning to cloud your vision. how someone could throw away so many years of loving one another so easily was so far beyond you.

“nae, i’ve been with miles for so long. he’s always been there—i don’t know how to be without him. he’s why i gave love a chance after swearing not to... now he’s shattered my perception of it. the worst part is i should hate him, but i don't. somehow, i still love him and—”

“hey,” nae cut you off. “that’s normal. how you feel is normal.”

you sniffled. “is it?"

“pshh, girl, yeah,” nae assured you, flicking out her wrist. “listen, breakups are terrible. you’re gonna cry and scream. you’re gonna wish you never met him. you’re going to go through old texts, swipe through old photos, and mope in his hoodies. all of that is okay. the worst thing you could ever do to yourself is force yourself not to feel,” nae paused. “if this is who he really is, then it's not your loss. i know it doesn't feel like that right now, but trust me... it just takes time. i don't know how long, but i know my best friend, so no matter how long it takes, you’ll be better than good without miles. i promise." "i'm still gonna miss him," you muttered, sniffling and drying your tears as they fell. nae wrapped her arm around you and exhaled. you sobbed into her shoulder, releasing all the pent-up frustration you'd been concealing in the name of keeping your cool. you'd never felt so inconsolable in your life. "i know, babe. i know."

❤︎₊ ⊹

it was late. 3:28am. time had never moved so slowly. you were genuinely considering calling 911 and telling them you were suffering from a heart attack. you were thoroughly convinced that this was damn near the same exact thing.

the moon wasn’t full tonight, but a waning crescent. it reflected you and how soulless and dejected you felt. the moonshine bleeding through your curtains was also the only source of light you would tolerate, the rest of your bedroom completely dark. you lay on your side facing the window, allowing the icy gusts of wind to hit your face. you were practically drowning in a sea of blankets all while still being in miles’ black hoodie.

nae was gone. she’d left about two hours ago, but not before suffocating you in countless hugs and forcing you to eat a slice of pizza and drink two glasses of water, despite your not wanting to ingest anything due to your unwavering nausea. you told her you’d be okay alone. you knew you wouldn’t and so did she, but you wanted to be alone, so she gave you your space and promised to check in on you when the sun rose. you loved nae dearly and you'd never take her for granted. you felt lucky to have such a kindhearted best friend.

you'd been in a 1v1 with your thoughts for a while now. your phone was powered off and shut away in one of your nightstand drawers to help resist urges. you hated that you wanted to call miles, but you did. you wanted to scream at him. belittle him until you just couldn’t anymore. and you wanted him to sit there and watch you do it without protest. you wanted him to be honest and tell you the truth. you wanted him to promise it would never happen again, and then you wanted to curl up under the covers of your bed with him and sob in his arms while he planted kisses on your forehead, apologizing profusely. you wanted him to tell you he loved you until you believed it again.

you couldn’t do any of that—you wouldn’t. it’d mean you have no respect for yourself. it felt like you hardly had any now, so you needed to keep the scarce amount that remained.

your thoughts were blank and sporadic all at once. you’d never been through a breakup, but you had a rough idea of how these things go, so you spent some time mapping it out in your head.

you'd eventually have to meet up to exchange one another's belongings. maybe rio would apologize on miles’ behalf and say she’d always love you. she’d call you a couple times a week. the calls would eventually come slower and grow more infrequent. soon, the calls wouldn’t come at all. even if there was the acknowledgment that rio’s arms were always open for you, they’d still feel closed. you'd treat them as such.

you'd barely eat because you couldn't stomach a single thing. you'd rot in your bed and binge all your favorite movies and shows. you'd go to war with the urge to run back to miles. you'd read old diary entries where you were gushing about how much you loved him and how amazing he was to you. you'd look back at old photos and videos. you'd reread old texts until you were sobbing so hard that you couldn't breathe.

you'd write letters that nobody was ever going to see and all the tears you shed would smudge the black ink and ruin your fancy penmanship. you'd lie to your dad and tell him that your relationship had just run its course and that you and miles needed to work on yourselves. your friends would check in on you, and of course, you'd tell them that you were okay every time, even if that was the furthest from that.

word gets around fast. when this dreadful weekend was over and monday crept up on you, you'd have to return to school and deal with the piercing stares and shameless gossip. you weren't ready for any of it, because now, everyone at school would know you as the girl who got cheated on by her long-term boyfriend for arielle. rumors would spread. words would be twisted and lies would be told, both about you and miles. in retrospect, it was all the more embarrassing for miles, but you still felt utterly humiliated. not to mention that you had no doubt in your mind that arielle was ready to run to his defense, preferably by kicking you when you're down.

sometimes, just for a fleeting moment, you'd forget about it all and your mind would go quiet. your heart wouldn't swell in longing and you wouldn't feel sick to your stomach. it never did last long before the same thoughts you desperately wanted to leave you alone started to pester you again. "but you two seemed so in love!" nosy girls at your school masking their prying motives behind what they thought were "supportive words" would soon tell you. the worst part is that you'd never know how to respond, because you thought you and miles were in love too. he was your sun and you were his moon. how could you so quickly forget that the sun didn't need the moon to shine, it was the other way around? you thought it was and always would be your heart tethered to his, but now you were left with a broken chain and a heartache.

you thought things would be different with miles. you truly did. now you knew that anyone could screw you over even if they crossed their heart. there weren't any exceptions, not anymore. miles proved that you can do everything right and still get done wrong. it wasn't fair. you should've known you weren't exempt from something like this happening, yet you still let yourself believe you were. maybe you jinxed it, or maybe you thought your case was special. maybe you thought this would never happen because you believed you were special. you only did because he made you feel that way.

you were sick and tired of brooding over your misfortune. you rolled onto your back with a frustrated groan and gaped at your ceiling, the cold air from outside still blowing against the side of your face. as exhausted as you were, sleep just wouldn't grant you sanction in its assuaging embrace.

what hurt the most is that you were so sure that you'd bagged a kind of love that was for the books. the kind of love you thought you could only dream about. though you weren't searching for him, the stars sent you miles morales. in your eyes, he was perfect. you loved and adored him, and swore he was your soulmate, made just for you. he was godsent and you never wanted to let him go, until tonight, when you learned that you were never the one who needed to hold on to begin with.

you came to the humbling conclusion that maybe the reason people told tales of faultless love was because real love was far too sickening to bear. it was merely a way to cope. nothing more, nothing less. maybe "happily ever after" had been a hoax all along. all the fairytales you had read growing up always began with “once upon a time”, but your story with miles ended with it, because loving him was easy—once upon a time.

maliland ©

#heavensent 🪽#miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles g morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #spiderman #miles morales x black!reader #e 42 miles morales x reader #e 42 miles x black!reader #miles morales #itsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #black fem reader

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sserpente · 4 months

Text

My little assassin

You share the bed with Gortash after you rejected Bhaal, and the Chosen of Bane makes the mistake of making it known to you that he is rather disappointed in your decision. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of his place...

A/N: I’ve done it. It’s too late now. Gortash wrapped me around his finger. Oh well. Enjoy this little piece. It’s literally based on a dream I had and when I woke up, I was like… 😲 I have to write this!

Words: 710 Warnings: implied smut, mentions of death, blood, murder, decapitation and necrophilia, evil Durge!Tav/Reader (duh)

It was strange, the concept of freedom. Considering all your sins, it was a feeling soaked in both relief and uncertainty to know that the next time your weapon struck, it would be because you willed it so—not because the God of Murder urged you to carry out his bloodthirsty message to the world. But for the first time in too long… you felt at peace, bathing in the silence this new-found freedom brought.

With an audible sigh, you stretched your naked body in the soft satin sheets. Dusk was near, you could see the last sunrays retreating and slowly drowning Gortash’s chambers in comfortable and soothing darkness.

For just a moment, everything felt right. Like you’d never been gone, never been backstabbed by Orin, never been abducted… never ended up with a damn tadpole in your head… never suffered from amnesia.

Your memories were taking their sweet time to come back to you still. But you were getting there. Bits and pieces, crumbs of information your own brain was withholding from you began to form a bigger picture.

If there was one puzzle piece, however, that had already fallen back in place, it was that Enver Gortash and you shared a history that went well beyond an amenable alliance. You were rather unfamiliar with the concept of love and so was he. What you had was a filthy connection made of lust, greed, and lechery. But you liked him—more than you wished to admit. There was no doubt you would viciously slaughter anyone who dared to touch him. Only one person was allowed to kill or fuck him—and that person was you.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about, my little assassin?” His raspy voice was accompanied by the faint rustling of the bed sheets as he turned to face you.

“You. Me. My past. The life that lies ahead of me now that I’m free to do what I wish.”

“Is that so…” he responded with slight dismay, “In all honesty, my dear, it’s a shame you rejected the God of Murder. To be Bhaal’s Chosen… an honour and a responsibility that would have kept you invincible… and more powerful than ever, fit to rule by my side.”

The sudden anger surging within you felt like daggers made of ice boring into your chest. Enver was many things but he was no fighter. He was a cunning politician with a hand for charming people into what he wanted. Before he even had a chance to react, you had already pinned him down on the mattress, straddling him. Your hand closed around his throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off his air supply but not hard enough to keep him from speaking.

“Do you think I turned good? That I want to become a hero now? That I rejected Bhaal because I could no longer bear the thought of my sins? Oh no,” you spat, “From now on forth, my sins are my own, not Bhaal’s. You’d do well to remember that and respect my decision, Chosen of Bane because as much as I enjoy the idea of your warm corpse drenching the sheets in blood, I’m not much for necrophilia.”

Enver swallowed, and you could feel his Adam’s apple dance beneath your palm. There was a sliver of panic in his dark eyes—it was one thing you liked about him. He’d never underestimate you or what you were capable of. “Of course. You can… let go now, my little assassin.”

You obeyed—for it would indeed be a pity if your renewed companion withered away so quickly. You had no intention whatsoever to kill him just yet, if ever. Still, when you voiced your threat to give your hazardous anger a vent, you knew deep down that you were not lying. “Do not question me again or I will start questioning whether your head should remain attached to your body.”

Gortash laughed, a sound you enjoyed for it usually expressed his admiration for your ruthlessness; and just like that, another snippet of information dripped into your mind. You remembered. You used to enjoy him praising your cruel savagery. You made a good team, you and him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#gortash imagine #gortash x you #gortash x durge #enver gortash #gortash x reader #lord gortash #lord gortash imagine #lord gortash x you #lord gortash x durge #lord gortash x reader #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash x you #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x durge #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #jason isaacs #lord enver gortash

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lxstfathier · 1 year

Text

Cachorrita

Los Vaqueros x Reader

Headcanons

Summary: you got caught in the middle of the narco violence, losing everything. Thankfully, the vaqueros rescued you and decided to adopt you… as a pet.

Warnings: murder/trauma mentions, pet play, collaring, poly relationship (?), slight smut.

A/N: i can’t stop thinking about Ale and Rudy, they’re both so cute and boyfriend shaped and i love them very much 💗 so i got this silly idea in the middle of the night and decided to write it, don’t ask me what the hell is this, just enjoy it. And please remember that english is not my first language. Hope y’all like it :)

♡ Your parents were killed by el sin nombre, and you were kidnapped for a few days with the intention of human trafficking. Luckily, you were rescued by los vaqueros before you ended up being trafficked for real.

♡ It was nice to be free again, but everything you had ever know didn’t exist anymore. Not even your home. You had nowhere to go, and such a naive little girl like you would be an easy target in Las Almas… again. That’s why the vaqueros offered you to stay with them, in their base.

♡ You accepted immediately. They saved your life, and you would trust them with it.

♡ At first, it was weird to live among military men. Seeing them always with a serious look on their faces and yelling orders was quite scary, but soon you got used to it. You got along with everyone, and they all treated you in the nicest way possible, so it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

♡ They even gave you your own little room!

♡ Once you started to get more comfortable, you gained the confidence to get out of your room more often, exploring the base and helping around with the daily tasks, learning the basic things. And it wasn’t long until you grew closer to Alejandro and Rodolfo, following them around any time you could.

♡ Alejandro thinks of you as one of those stray dogs that Rudy used to bring into the base (in a cute way), that’s why they started calling you “Cachorrita”.

♡ You love the nickname, but you loved it even more when they actually started treating you as a puppy, making sure that you’re always happy and taken care of.

♡ One day, they surprise you with a pretty collar. It’s made from the softest and most finest leather, in your favorite color, and it also has a cute heart-shaped tag that says “Cachorrita” and “Propiedad de Los Vaqueros” in the back. Such a sweet gift. It made you teary. You hugged every single one of them as a thank you and then Alejandro put it around your neck <3

♡ It doesn’t matter if they’re all at the base, or just a few soldiers, you always go out to spend time with them. You keep them company, listen to anything they have to say, comfort them, or just snuggle on their lap while they play with your hair. They say often that you’re way better than a therapy dog, but you don’t really think so.

♡ One time you decided it would be a great idea to cook something for them, so you prepared chilaquiles con carne, and they all went insane, saying that it was delicious, better than the bland military food they were used to eat daily. So now you cook for them almost every day, remembering the recipes your mother taught you.

♡ Even though they all agreed to collar you, only Alejandro is allowed to put a leash on you. He doesn’t do it often, just when he has to do a lot of paperwork in his office, taking you with him to keep you at his feet for hours. “Good girl” he says petting your head while you rest your chin on his thigh. “Keep being obedient and i’ll give you a treat when i’m done”. If he gets stressed, he might use that pretty little mouth of yours.

♡ They won’t hesitate to spoil you. You want new clothes? Stuffed animals? Jewelry? The newest iphone? don’t even worry about it, Ale and Rudy will be buying it all for you.

♡ When they go away on missions, they always text you whenever they can, making sure that you’re fine without them. Rudy always gives you one of his credit cards, telling you to use it if you need something. But you have never used it, you have everything you need at the base.

♡ When they come back, the first thing you hear is Alejandro yelling “Dónde está nuestra cachorrita?”, and you’ll come out of your room as fast as you can, running to them to hug them tight, glad that they’re all safe and sound.

♡ Sometimes, when Alejandro or Rodolfo get horny (which is often), they come to you, and you spread your legs for them, happy to please them however they want. Rudy fucks you sweet and slow. Alejandro fucks you fast and rough. But you like it more when they both fuck you at the same time.

♡ When you get your period, they all treat you as if you were dying, giving you everything you want and need. Alejandro makes sure you have pain pills and a hot water bottle to put on your tummy, and Rudy goes to the store to get more pads and your favorite snacks.

♡ When you wake up in the middle of the night because of your constant nightmares, you sneak into Rudy’s room, getting in the bed with him and cuddling up in his chest. “Qué pasa, cachorrita? you got nightmares again?” he asks, half awake, and when you whisper a “si” he just holds you closer, hearing his heart beat until you fall asleep.

♡ They teach you how to use a gun, just in case. But you really hate it. Those things are heavy and loud and scary.

♡ Speaking of things you hate, you also don’t like going outside due to your trauma. But Alejandro and Rudy insist on taking you out at least once a week, going to the local market for some groceries, and you hold Ale’s hand as if your life depended on it, way too scared to let him go. But, if you behave well, they buy you ice cream on the way back.

♡ You’re not a brat, but sometimes you accidentally do something they don’t like. They’re the military after all, highly disciplined men, and you aren’t used to that. If you do something slightly disrespectful or don’t listen to orders, it will result on Rudy or Ale yanking you by the collar, planting a firm smack on your ass. “Don’t do that again, entendido?”.

♡ You love stealing Ale’s military jackets. They’re comfy, oversized and smell like him. But you didn’t expected him to get you your own jacket, embroidered with “cachorrita” on the front and a bright pink armband that says “emotional support”. And you love it, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from stealing his jackets again.

♡ You have an oral fixation, and Rudy thrives off it, letting you bite his arms, lick his neck or have a really messy and heated up kissing session (if he’s not busy). Sometimes he even lets you suck his fingers, but be careful with that one cuz he might want to give you something bigger to suck on.

♡ If any of Los Vaqueros gets hurt on a mission or training, you will take care of them just like they do with you, not leaving their side until they feel better. You can’t stand seeing any of your -new found- family in pain, makes you feel sad :(

♡ When your birthday comes, Alejandro and Rodolfo enter your room early at morning, singing las mañanitas and giving you the gift they got for you. It’s exciting, so you quickly open the box, eager to see what’s inside. Gasping when you finally admire the pretty set of fluffy ears, tail plug, and thigh high socks with paw print, all in your favorite color. “Why don’t you try it on for us, cachorrita?” Alejandro suggests, and you’re more than happy to do so, already feeling a tingle between your legs.

♡ You’re on birth control, obviously, but Rudy and Ale are already thinking about getting you off those stupid pills…

#alejandro vargas smut #rodolfo parra smut #cod smut #alejandro vargas x reader #call of duty fanfic #rodolfo parra x reader

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lynnlovesthestars · 7 months

Text

Masterlist- Baldur's Gate 3.

Hello my stars, since my brain went from somewhat sane to "How can I live without Astarion" I decided to put everything I've been posting in a masterpost.

Also I'm opening my requests, right now I'll be writing only about Baldur's Gate, but later I might venture in other fandoms. At the bottom of this masterpost, I'll leave the requests rules.

This being said, whether you are here to look for a treat, or to request your fantasies, what can I do for you?

My prompt list. (currently under maintenance)

Kofi, patreon for those who'd like to tip!

dd:dne infos for those who might be interested in finding out how it works.

Requests questions!

Taglist form. for those who wants to get tagged.

Work in progress page.

Other places where you can find me:

@ask-karlachbear (karlach rp blog) currently inactive, for roleplaying please dm.

@wisterialynn (my oc rp account)

@lynnloves-thestars (the one where the follows come from aka my primary blog)

Astarion Acunin:

Scars: Astarion x Reader. Angst. Set in act 3. "When your fears catch up to you"

Blood: Astarion x Reader. Part 2 of scars. Angst, fluff. Set in act 3. "How long does it take to heal those scars?"

One and Only. Astarion x Reader. Smut, fluff, lil of angst. Post act 3. "No one will ever love me like you do"

The sun, the moon and the stars. Astarion x Reader. part 2 of One and Only. Angst, fluff, smut (kinda). Post act 3. "When he thought he couldn't ask for more, you gave him back his freedom."

I wandered lonely as a cloud. Astarion x reader. Hurt, comfort, fluff, eventual smut. Set in act 2. "Let's pretend just for a few hours that we are okay, that we fell in love."/ Golden Daffodils (chp 2)

Why? Astarion x reader. Angst, hurt/ comfort, something similar to fluff. "Why? Why? Why?"

-Tick, tack, ah.- Astarion x OC (Lynn). Hurt no comfort.

Amygdala- Astarion x OC (Lynn). fluff, angst, a bit of confort?. "pain comes in many ways"

Serendipity - Astarion x OC (Lynn) fluff?. "astarion was supposed to have a meal and ended up catching feelings- or something like that."

Golden- Astarion x Tiefling!reader. angsty?, lots of thinking, self-doubt, avoidance. "the huge tear in his shirt caught your eye again, and you decided to give him a reminder that someone cared about him." (somewhat pt 2 of "Why")

Avoid- Astarion x Wyll. Angsty. Prompt 11.

Wisteria- Astarion x OC (Lynn). Fluff, smut, angst. Set post game. "In an universe where they don't end up together while tadpoled, Lynn comes to the conclusion that he loves Astarion."

Sleep tight- Astarion x OC (Lynn) fluff.

Lesson One- Astarion x GN!reader. Fluff.

other beginnings

mess

kiss me slowly

Karlach Cliffgate:

Bedsheets. Karlach x reader. Requested. Fluff. Post act 3. Ticklish adventure.

Wyll Ravengard:

Sleepless. Wyll x Reader. Smut, fluff if you squint. "Everyone is asleep, and all he can think about is not next to him."

Headcanon: anal. Smut.

Something. Wyll x reader x Gale, poly, fluff. They are something.

Avoid Astarion x Wyll. Angsty (check under Astarion)

Seasalt. Wyll x reader, smut

Gale Dekarios:

Arabella - Songfic, fluff. Prompt: 169 “Oh, fuck. Do that again.”

Something. Wyll x reader x Gale. Fluff. (look up!)<3

Tea- Gale x reader. Drabble. A tea to fall in love.

Shadowheart:

TBA

Lae'zel:

TBA

Halsin:

TBA

Jaheira:

Dinner is served. smut.

Minsc:

TBA

other characters:

"Let me show you how this will benefit you"- Gortash x OC (see more on post), smut- check TWs.

HC bg3 men with caring Tav

Request rules:

My requests are currently open, of course there's some rules I'd like to enforce so all of the readers, as well as me, are comfortable.

-no nsfw from anons or ageless accs

-no abuse from the romantic interest with the intent of having them fall in love (I see you Stockholm syndrome lovers, but this is not the place), while the mcs trying to murder each other before kissing it's our fav trope here, abuse it's not.

-no dubcon or noncon

-no b3stiality, no inc3st, or minors characters, even if aged up.

-and yk the usual do not interact warnings.

-can definitely use prompts, one liners, tropes, whatever comes to your mind for the request, and I'll try my best to fulfill them.

Navigation tags:

#lynn: updates ☆ (updates on what im working on, or published content)

#ask: lynn ☆ (answers to the asks I get)

#lynn: i wandered lonely as a cloud (ff related tag)

#vault: lynn ☆ (what I posted)

#asklynn☆: request (requests fulfilled)

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randoimago · 1 year

Note

Aah, can I also request some letters for RK800 and RK900? M, S and Y, please!

Alphabet Headcanons

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Character(s): RK800 (Connor), RK900 (Nines)

Type of Request: Alphabet Headcanons

Note(s): Calling RK900 Nines just because I like that better than his model number!

M - Memory (what is their favourite memory with you?)

Connor

A favorite memory he thinks fondly of from time-to-time is when he went on a walk in the park with you. It's simple and the moment was on the casual side rather than romantic, but he noticed how relaxed and happy you looked.

The smile on your face and seeing you stress-free is kept in his memory banks. Sometimes, he finds himself smiling at the memory popping up out of nowhere.

Nines

It was after a chase with finding a deviant android, one that murdered for the sake of enjoying it than defense. Nines saw you retreat to the roof of the building and he followed you, curious as to what your intentions were. You ended up just talking, mentioning similar cases with humans. Nines added to your comments with logic and how faulty programming caused this.

Nothing romantic happened at all, but hours were spent just talking under the night sky and Nines ends up going back to that moment quite a bit, it was the first moment that he really felt that he got to see you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Connor

I feel like Connor would be very protective over you once he's reached deviancy. He realizes his feelings and doesn't like the idea of you being hurt in any way, but he also has to stop himself from rushing to your side every time because he knows that level of protectiveness could upset you too.

Connor would prefer to not resort to violence so he tries to be charming and sly as he gets you out of any uncomfortable situations. That doesn't mean he won't punch someone for you, but he is better with his words. And as such, he's very good with giving you compliments and cheering you up in those situations too.

He usually views other's well-being over his own so having his S/O take care of him makes him happy. He does remind you that it's unnecessary to comfort him, but the smile on his face shows that he very much enjoys it.

Nines

He doesn't realize his protectiveness to his S/O. Nines sees you in danger and he ignores his programming giving him a percentage of your safety as he goes to immediately help you without a thought.

He knows he's strong and physically capable to keep you safe, but then he sees you in emotion turmoil. Nines convinces himself that he's calming you so your performance doesn't jeopardize his, but he is fast to find information and read your tells to make sure you are okay.

Nines would never ask that you protect him. He's a machine and can't feel pain. But if you defend him in conversation or even just stay by his side when he needs you (not that he'd say he needs you) then that causes some system errors that he doesn't quite know how to handle.

Y - Yearning (how do they cope when they are missing you? are they alright with being without you for an extended period of time or would they prefer to be with you every day of their life without exception?)

Connor

Definitely is a bit of a puppy when it comes to his S/O being away. He tries to not let it affect his performance, but Hank is quick to call him out on it. He ends up getting his coin out more often or trying to find ways to occupy his mind as a small timer is going on in the back of his programming for when you'll be back.

Very much would prefer you to be around him all the time, but he also knows that would be unreasonable and illogical to ask for, so he just awaits for your return.

Nines

Nothing seems to change for Nines when his S/O is gone for a while. He still performs highly and functions just fine. Nothing really seems wrong except for the fact that he acts more like a machine while you're away.

He does miss you, but he can't let it get in the way of his work. Would request that you not leave so often or not be gone for too long as he wants to make sure you're by his side and not in danger of being hurt.

#kats alphabet headcanons #detroit become human x reader #dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh nines x reader #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #connor x reader #nines x reader

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xohachi · 10 months

Text

illuminate

| sherlock holmes x u |

word count: 966

u have a date tonight! ur actually on the date for the first half of the story and sherlock’s brooding about it so badly that he can’t sleep :( BUT u come back sad 😧 so he comforts u ☺️. {angst/comfort/cute ending} {this is for the girls w no dad.}

(LOOK AT HIS PUPPY DOG EYES I WANNA CRYYYYYY) (i hate writing stories in my notes app but I watched American beauty last night and that “you could never be ordinary,” scene literally ate me so i just haddd to write something based off it. so enjoy this blurb i wrote first thing in the morning at a sleepover)

The mundane tick of the clock nearly lulled Sherlock to sleep. He persevered through the heavy bricks on his eyelids, pacing the room thinking of you. The time now was 12:34am. You’d left for a date at around 8, you never went on dates. Sherlock preferred it that way, maybe then he’d get some sleep. He thought of you, the image of you in your little black dress and red heels… the way you styled your hair and left a few dangling curls to frame your already perfect face. The stubborn detective would never say it but it enraged him to see you dressed up like this for another man.

…

“How do I look?” You asked sheepishly. He watched your eyes meet his, inhaling the presence of your soul snaking its way into the void where his was supposed to be. Somehow during the time that the two of you had roomed together at 221B Baker St, Sherlock had fallen in love with you and he hated the fact that he didn’t hate it.

“You’re leaving?” His tone was low, monotonous.

“Yeah silly, I happen to have a date tonight.” You gave him a spin. His eyes locked onto the slit in your already short dress and how it hiked up even higher when you moved. A scowl snuck onto his face as he thought about you dancing with lesser men at sub par bars, the way they’d probably slide a hand down your back, itching for an invitation to taint you with their touch.

…

‘A date,’ He muttered to himself. A cigarette sat between his lips. Sherlock leaned onto the fireplace and pulled his head back as he exhaled. Finally, your footsteps echoed up the stairs. He put out his cigarette and scrambled to find a place in his chair. Quickly picking up his violin, fumbling with the tuning to look busy. You’d left the house wearing heels yet your footsteps showed no indication of heels on your feet. You’d probably taken them off after too much dancing & the thought brought a red jealous haze back into his mind but he decided to let it go. Your dark silhouette emerged from the shadows. Something was wrong. He quickly scanned you with his eyes. Messy hair, your left dress strap sliding down your shoulder, your hand on your right shoulder seemingly massaging a bothering ache, perhaps from carrying your purse. Turning around, a yelp emerged from your throat.

“Sorry,” You choked out, trying to mask your sobs, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You glanced down at the violin in his hands, yet his attention was solely on you. Sherlock’s eyebrow was cocked as he continued to silently read your tells. Shaky voice, running mascara, you’d been crying. Your arms were hugging your body, you’d been hurt. He stood up cautiously.

“He hurt you…” Sherlock concluded aloud, inching closer. His hands were somewhat extended towards you as if he wanted to touch you but couldn’t.

“No, Sherlock he didn’t, I’m alright.” You closed the space between the two of you. The sudden feeling of your small hands on his chest electrified him yet also diminished a fraction of his anger. Physically sure, you seemed to be okay. Sherlock realized that you were hugging your body to console deep emotional pain. Physical or emotional didn’t matter to him though, all that mattered was that you were in pain.

“You’re crying. He made you cry, I’ll murder him.” His rough calloused hands cupped either side of your face, his words venomous with intent. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but Sherlock had never allowed himself to touch you like this. The most touch you shared was when he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder during long train rides, even then he felt like he was playing with fire.

“He was good to me, I promise,” a small silence, “I did this to myself, with my own insecurities.”

“Am I… ordinary, Sherlock?”

The streetlights trickled through the curtains, illuminating the silhouette of you both holding back from indulging in your deepest desires. The image of you, gazing up at the cold detective with wide teary eyes, clinging to his word like he’s god reciting the bible directly to you. Him, his hands on either sides of your face, soothing you with his words, “You could never be ordinary, not even if you tried.”

Although your crying had ceased, his words broke the dam behind your y/e/c eyes. Your head fell into his chest and the sudden intimacy caused Sherlock tense up. He could feel you needing him, begging him to hold you just this once, to tell you that everything will be okay…and that he loves you so. He opened his mouth to protest the hug, only to be cut off by a small, “Please, just this once,” whispered into his chest.

Frozen in time, the gears in his brain began to short circuit. He was a sociopath, how could he feel like this? The two of you were never even meant to get this close. He could feel his defenses crumble. Every alarm inside his mind palace blaring. Emergency! Emergency! The void where his soul should lie was no longer empty. You’d fought your way past his defenses, seemingly effortlessly. He lived and breathed you. He burned for you, and only you. Your soul igniting him, Sherlock finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around your small figure tightly. His chin resting atop your head. He wouldn’t admit any of this aloud. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t say anything at all. This was enough for now, he’d just be here, with you, for you, in the moment.

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes #fluff #angst comfort

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

Text

Hallelujah (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @troubleinapinksuit

Summary: In which Cinderella is a no-nonsense, semi-workaholic nurse and Prince Charming is a drug-addicted rockstar on a downward spiral and newly discovered obsessive tendencies. Truly a fairy tale worthy of sin city.

A/N: Anybody ever open up requests and then disappear for like two weeks or am I alone? I promise that the next ones should be out sooner than this one at the cost of being shorter, but I came up with the opening line and I just went off. Did you know that gatorade used to be in glass bottles? It makes sense but it’s a weird thing to think about. Why am I telling you all this? Becuase I did about twenty minutes of research on this topic for a detail that ultimately did not make it into this story so this is my way of making up for it to myself.

Warnings: Depictions of a person experiencing and accepting death. Depictions and POV of a person experiencing an overdose. Non-consensual drugging for both Elvis and the reader. Dubious consent (Please note this is not related to the non-consensual drugging, this is here due to alcohol and false pretenses being involved). Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), and worship kink. Mentions of religion that borders on zealotry and a bible quote. Self-blame. Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Angel” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: 10.8k

My Masterlist

They don’t know, Elvis thinks as he starts to sway. These folks don’t know they’re watching a murder.

Elvis can feel it in his bones, that this stage is where he’s going to die. To be honest he felt it maybe five songs ago. He almost takes comfort in how fitting it is, that his life was a stage and now it’s gonna end on one.

He knows he should want to fight it, if not for himself then for Lisa, Priscilla, his daddy, Dodger, somebody else who relies on him, anybody really. But he's so goddamn tired of all of it, and he just wants to rest.

Not even an hour ago he had learned the hard truth about that son of a bitch. How he’s lied to him for years, and how that rat bastard clipped his wings. He had originally come out here with the intention of giving a hell of a performance, firing that asshole right up here, walking off stage and leaving Vegas forever.

But I’ll show him. I’ll show ‘em all, he thinks hazily. I’m gon’ fly away from here, maybe all the way to the rock of eternity if I can.

“I’d like to turn the house lights down,” he says like he has a hundred times before. “Now that you’ve seen me I’d like to take a look atchu.”

He had made that plan before his tongue started feeling like sandpaper in his mouth, his head started spinning like a top, and breathing became far more laborious than he remembers it ever being. He idly wonders if this is how his mama felt when she went. He can probably ask her when he sees her soon. Dying up here doesn’t scare him too much anymore now that he’s had time to accept that that is what's happening. So he figured if this was going to be his last performance, this was undoubtedly going to be his best one.

He never understood that phrase swan song, why sing when you know you’re going to die? But the better question now is why not sing when you know you’re going to die? Why not declare I’m dying and I want everybody to see it?

Let them watch, he thinks venomously as he breathes heavily into the mic for what will most definitely be the last time. Let them all witness what “Colonel Tom Parker” did to me.

“Ladies and Gentleman, you’ve been a lovely audience,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too slurred. “Thank you.”

In that single moment before he knows he’s going to collapse he looks one last time out into the audience he loved so much, but his blurry vision makes it impossible to see most of them. This is what he chose, this is who he chose over, everything his family, his friends, his health. The fact he can’t even see most of them, hurts him in a way that the drugs can’t mask. It’s cruel yet fitting really, this is nothing less than he deserves.

But in a sea of faces that all blur and blend together the one thing he can clearly see is you. You’re standing in the front row, your brows drawn together and concern marring your beautiful face, something he appreciates so that he can at least leave this earth knowing that at least someone cared. You're dressed in a pure white dress, something much more simple than he's used to from the women that attend his shows. Even amongst the women you’re surrounded by, you stand out as a daisy in a bed of roses, he’s glad at least the last thing he’ll ever see is something so beautiful.

It gets windy all of a sudden, as he feels cool air blow against the side of his face.

No… wait… he’s just falling.

He hasn’t been sleeping much in the past few days, but if there was ever a time to do so, now feels like the perfect time for it. He simply waits for the inevitable feeling of his head hitting the stage, though with everything he took before coming out here he doubts he’ll even be able to feel that.

But it never comes. Instead he feels his head being cradled in a soft hand, and he opens his heavy eyelids and you’re there again. He watches as you use the table to scramble onto the stage before the curtains close, and he sees you up close for the first time. He doesn’t know if it’s from the spotlight behind you outlining your silhouette or something else entirely, but having a better look at you, your beauty goes from simple to nothing short of otherworldly.

An angel? He thinks blearily. Mama always did say they would be beautiful. He can see that you’re saying something, but his head is too muddled to process any of it.

So you’re here to take me away from this awful place, he thinks with a small smile. He didn’t like to think about death too much before he was faced with. He is was a firm believer in a heaven and hell, and many things he’s done in his life have more than earned him a spot down below. But you’re here now so it couldn’t have been all that bad in the grand scheme of things.

He reaches out to touch you and you grab onto his hand, look at it for just a second. He sees your worry grow as you get in closer to his face and he feels your feather-like but oh-so warm touch to his lips that feel so cold now. He feels other hands on him now trying to lift him up, and he notices his crew around him, but all he can focus on is you. It’s hard not to when you physically keep one of his eyes open, and he sees your worry go into full blown panic.

He tries, but it’s getting hard to breathe let alone speak right now. Please, he wants to say, don’t leave me with them. All he’s able to do to convey this message is a pathetic squeeze to your hand, and suddenly you’re gone just as quickly as you came. He feels his eyes well up so afraid now he’ll die without you there.

Everybody is surrounding him now trying to speak to him, but he’s desperately looking for you, and he feels as though there’s something he’s forgetting to do but he can’t remember what. Jerry comes into view and his mouth is moving and it looks like he’s shouting but nothing is coming out. Billy is there taking off his jacket, bunching it up underneath his head but still he can’t see you. Red’s slapping his face while Charlie’s pouring water on it, though he barely feels either of them. Everybody’s trying something, trying to save him, but he’s only concerned about you finding him and taking him away from here.

All these hands are touching him, most of them he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t recognize. Maybe he is going to hell or fuck, maybe Vegas is hell for all he knows. It makes about as much sense as everything else in his life, which he doesn’t need to worry about for much longer. He feels like there’s something he’s supposed to be doing right about now but he’s too goddamn tired for any of it anymore and he wants to close his eyes until he sees you once again.

You look more disheveled than he remembers and now you’re furiously swatting at all of the hands on him as you shout at all of them. He feels your hands on his chest now and you’re pressing down repeatedly, before he can even speculate what you’re doing he feels your lips on his and it’s the warmest he thinks he’s ever felt. The kind of warmth that fills up his whole chest…

Oh right… he needs to breathe.

It feels as though he blinks and suddenly he smells the familiar tobacco scent of the casino. He still feels like he’s on his back but he’s floating and you’re above him the harsh lights of the casino floor giving him a better look at you. I was right, he thinks. You’re going to take me away from here. Satisfied with his assumption, he closes his eyes for what feels like the final time and he can feel his lips curve into a smile as your lips meet his once more.

Suddenly what feels like a bolt of lightning strikes through him, and his eyes are wide open again. For a few seconds, everything looks and sounds so much clearer, his muscles seem to have finally woken up, and his breathing has become far steadier. Is this what Captain Marvel Jr. felt like when he would say Shazam? It had to be because in those few moments he felt as though he could take on the world, especially when he finally gets a good look at you.

You’re hovering over him and the smile you give him would have made him weak in the knees if they weren’t already so. He reaches out, desperate to touch you but he feels darkness creep back into the edge of his vision once more. He knows he’s going to pass out right before he does, but he still tries only barely grazing your neck before the weight of his arm becomes too much to bear. But his hand catches on something before it eventually gives way and it finally falls.

He feels something in his hand but he’s far too tired to speculate, only using the last of both his conscious thoughts and strength to grip on tight to it. But he loses the strength to even keep his eyes open and he blacks out.

He can’t open his eyes, but he’s awake. Though that comes and goes and even then there isn’t much to say about it. He hears a mix of familiar and unfamiliar voices, the bed and sheets he’s laying in aren’t as comfy as he’s used to, and all he can smell is an oddly sterile smell. But something he can definitely feel is your parting gift in his grasp. Everytime he feels conscious he would focus on that and spend his energy trying to figure out what it was in his hand.

Ironically enough what does bring him back to the waking world is when he feels a small hand trying to remove it from him. His eyes snap open to try to find the culprit only to be met with his own blue eyes staring back at him.

“DADDY!” Lisa Marie sobs into his chest. “You’re awake!”

The next hour or so is a flurry of activity with doctors and nurses surrounding him asking him questions and checking the various machines around him. Now that he’s awake he is able to get a good look at what you left him: A small crescent made of smooth white stone and a very broken gold chain.

You were real, he thinks, practically giddy before he’s quickly brought back to Earth as he searches the room only to find you’re not there. Even seeing Priscilla after so long since the divorce doesn’t do much to soften his disappointment at your absence.

“‘Cilla what the hell happened that night?” he would ask after Lisa had fallen asleep tucked into his side. He had avoided the topic as long as he could stand by this point, the doctors keeping quiet about it.

She takes a long sigh, her eyes glassy, before she gazes out the window and upon seeing the International in the distance she hardens herself for what she has to say. “You stopped breathing. From what the doctors here told me, Dr. Nick gave you way too much of something and you just stopped. There was a girl in the front row that was able to keep you goin’ until the ambulance got there.”

“Who was she? The girl who saved me.”

Priscilla shrugs at this, “Just some nurse.”

She has never been more wrong about anything, Elvis decides at that moment. “What was her name?” Elvis questions, maybe a little harsher than needed.

Priscilla looks slightly taken aback at his intensity, “I don’t know Elvis. I got here the day after you collapsed and when I learned what she did, I wanted to thank her personally. But even the guys say she was long gone by the time they got here the same night.”

This makes him incredibly sad, that you would leave him so soon after you saved him.

“Elvis,” Priscilla says severely. “I’m not going to put Lisa through this again. So either you shape up and go to that place in San Diego, or…” she cracks at this one. “Or you’ll never see either of us again.” It’s certainly not a light threat for her to make, Elvis realizes, but nobody wants to watch a person slowly kill themself. And as he rubs his thumb along the pendant of your necklace, he realizes why you had to go.

Jerry finally came to see him the next day, looking worse than Elvis felt. Him and his father had been given the hard job of damage control for the whole incident, as Elvis has now found himself without a manager. Apparently some of the “medicine” in Dr. Nick's bag was at best less than reputable and at worst fully illegal, and when pressed Nick pointed the finger at The Colonel. Both of them were taken into custody and were currently under investigation, but considering the world of shit the two have found themselves in, it looks like their best bet will be to pay damages and more.

In real time Elvis heard as their house of cards fell apart, and suddenly the prospect of his life didn’t seem as daunting as it did when he accepted his death a week ago. Even if he had died, this was all inevitably meant to come out, the only difference being he wouldn’t have been here to see it.

But he is still here, all thanks to you. His Angel.

In one fell swoop, you not only saved his life, but made his life worth living again. Even if you were of this Earth, there is no doubt in his mind that you were heaven-sent. The lord works in mysterious ways and ain’t no way this was all a coincidence. You were meant to be in that audience. He was meant to have gotten to this point. You were both destined to be.

To him the message couldn’t be clearer: He had to leave Vegas, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you.

“Jerry this is it. I gotta get clean,” Elvis says, clutching onto the token you left for him. This has been a long time coming, he didn’t listen when he was told the obvious by Priscilla, by his boys, even by himself. “‘Cilla told me about this place in San Diego, and I think I best go.”

“Course, EP,” he says with a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You take the time you need, and I’ll handle everything from the outside.”

“You’re a good man,” he says as he hesitates about what he’s going to request next. Of course Jerry is no stranger to a task like this, but this ain’t like those other times. Because you’re not just some girl he wants to fuck between shows, you’re his angel. But he himself won’t be able to do this while he’s getting clean. “While I’m in there, I need you to do somethin’ for me” Elvis said, surer in his next course of action than he has been in years.

The next few months were hard, honestly if it weren’t for knowing that he had to get better before he could see you again, he’s not sure he would have lasted. So he followed all the rules, took what the doctors gave him, went to therapy, the whole nine yards. There were even days where he could hardly get out of bed, it was so bad.

But it was you, his angel, that gave him strength. Those days in rehab when he felt so cold to the point of shaking, he thought of your warm touch, and he could feel himself steady. When he felt his chest getting tight, he imagined your lips on his breathing life back into him, and he would breathe easier. The nights when he could do nothing but pace around his room restless and irritable, he would press your necklace to his lips and recite a prayer to you, and he would dream sweet dreams of a life with you. He made vows of loving and cherishing you once he found you, and promises of everything the two of you would do once he got clean. How the both of you would never see that hellish place again, and how happy you would be together.

Every single success he had in rehab was because of you, but as his leave date approached he still worried about how long he would be able to keep this up without you. However he trusts Jerry, that if you weren’t already back at Graceland, then at the very least he would know where to find you.

But Jerry failed. He couldn’t find you, and Elvis’ subsequent rage was one for the history books. All of them had the gall to be surprised at his reaction, having never seen him getting so worked up about a girl.

They don’t understand, he thought. You’re not just some girl. You’re my angel.

The only thing that was able to reel him back was their hail mary of a plan to lure you out. The closest any of them could come was that you were in some way associated with the ER he ended up at, but nothing else. He hated the idea of going back to Vegas, but if it brought you back to him, so be it. You walked into hell to save him, so how could he do any less for you?

The days leading up to his last Vegas show, he spends time with Lisa Marie, knowing that he won’t be able to do so again until he’s found you. On that last night she ends up asking for a story, and he could only really think of one that was worth telling. He told her the story of the foolish king, the evil wizard, and the beautiful angel. How the angel was sent by the lord himself to save the king from the evil wizards clutches. And it was with her help was the King finally able to banish the evil wizard forever.

“And did they live happily ever after Daddy?” she asked while drawing you as he described.

He pauses at that and looks down as he fidgets with your necklace before he says, “They sure will baby girl.”

—-----------------------

You were not having a good time.

Of course you would be the one responsible for patching up almost ten men after a bachelor party ended in a knife fight. Only in Vegas, you think as you stitch up your third man that night. You scowl slightly at the crooked sutures before you, but you try to hide that considering that the man before you is one of the more affable (read:sober) ones in the group.

I’m out of practice, you think bitterly. Luckily the rest of your lot seem to only have surface wounds that just require bandaging, so you don’t have to see your work get progressively sloppier. Even though you had been back for awhile since your leave, you had been readjusting to the pace of the ward, and tonight was the first night Verna, your Senior Nurse, trusted you to handle more than administrative work.

You’re not sure if you can blame your poor job entirely on being out of practice as there is still some stiffness in your now mostly healed hand, though you’re not about to go saying anything lest Verna hear anything about it. That traitor, you think, who turned what was supposed to be a two week mandatory vacation, and added a three-month paid medical leave for a broken hand, in spite of your protests. So the last thing you want or need is more time off.

What stings the most about the injury to your hand was that it wasn’t the initial injury that did the most damage it was the fact that you kept using it that really fucked it up. And Verna was able to point that out as a metaphor for why you were in desperate need of a break.

Though it’s not like you had a choice but to keep using it that night. And in all honesty you would do it all over again.

Once you finish up on the lot of them and have them on their way out, all under some light painkillers and apparently the best of friends again, you figure now is as good a time as any to take your lunch. It’s a Friday night, from experience you know things are only going to get progressively crazier tonight, and eating now as opposed to later is the way to go. So you make your way to the cafeteria for the blandest food in the world, and find your work mom.

When you first began at this ER, Verna had all but immediately adopted you as her own, and what started out as an overbearing and slightly annoying mentor relationship, turned into a more endearing friendship than you could have imagined. Though that didn’t mean she still didn’t have those overbearing tendencies of hers, as evidenced by her previous crusade to get you to finally use your accrued vacation days. And the way she’s practically buzzing in her seat tells you that you haven’t seen the last of it.

“What are you planning?” you question as you sit down with your food.

“What do you mean?” she says feigning innocence.

“You have that same look in your eye that you get when you’re scheming something that will inevitably teach me a lesson about my life and/or job,” you say, self-aware as to how these things usually go.

“Bones, you’re being paranoid,” she all but sings, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the use of your nickname. Nurse Bones the rest of the staff call you, after the Star Trek character, and you can’t say it doesn’t fit. Abrasive and brusque is how you’re usually described by patients, and admittedly you could stand to work on your bedside manner. But to be fair it tends to be the very thing that’ll keep most patients alive. Due to your stubborn attitude, you have found that you have a knack for getting answers out of even the most belligerent patients, which has done wonders in saving time and reducing the likelihood of accidentally causing more damage due to a patient lying.

You narrow your eyes at her, but she still maintains that innocent smile.

“By the way, you have next Friday off,” she casually drops, while taking a sip of her coffee.

“Goddamn it, Verna.”

She puts her hands up in defense with an easy smile. “If you want you can think of it as work considering you’re going to be representing the hospital itself.”

You sigh in defeat knowing you can’t say no to her. “What is this all about?”

“Oh just about a certain rockstar who's doing his final performance in the city and he wants the entire medical staff that saved his life present,” she says, all the while, still able to maintain the coy act.

It admittedly takes you longer than it should to put the pieces together because you honestly haven't thought about that night in a while. When your sisters had come to you with the extra ticket to the concert you had been excited for it, even going so far as to plan for it to be the kick off to the vacation Verna had been bullying you into taking.

“You’re one of my best nurses in the ward,” she had argued. “The last thing I need is for you to get burnt out from working too hard.”

You didn’t expect much from the vacation itself, you just wanted to sleep, see a couple movies, maybe finally get around to saying yes to that drink with that cute x-ray tech.

Only as usual the lord himself laughed at your plans. The girl you asked to sub your scheduled shift came down with a bad stomach flu, and was unable to make it, forcing you to work a double. And even when you were officially over with your shift, you were reluctant to leave due to how full the waiting room looked. If it weren’t for Verna all but shoving you into the cab meant for the International, putting a twenty in your hand, and ordering you to have fun, you probably would have skipped the concert entirely.

You were still dressed for work, so you were forced to try your luck with one of the shops at the casino, and the best you could find was a white sundress. You usually try to avoid white, because something about it being the color of your uniform just made you antsy as though you were still on duty. But the alternative was going to a show in your dowdy nursing gown, so you ended up buying it anyway.

When you were able to meet up with your sisters, they were both in contrast dressed to the nines, making you feel even more underdressed. In spite of the less than ideal start to the night, you were determined to enjoy yourself. After all this concert was supposed to be the official marker to the start of your vacation, and it was also fulfilling one of your childhood dreams of seeing him live. And while your “love” for him had cooled since you were 12, that didn’t mean you were any less excited when one of your sisters had won front row seats to his show.

When he walked out onto that stage all your troubles were seemingly forgotten and you could focus on this captivating man. He was nothing short of amazing to see live, and you truly believe that your younger self simply didn’t think big enough when picturing what it would be like to see him up close and personal, especially with how good the seats you got were. He took all of your expectations of it and blew them all away.

Then he started getting a little wobbly.

Then he started getting very wobbly.

Then Elvis fucking Presley had the audacity to nearly slip into a coma right in front of you.

“Ok, but… I wasn’t officially on the emergency team, so I don’t technically count,” you say in an attempt to worm your way out of the night off, all the while stabbing at your potato salad in your frustration.

“Ok, but technically,” she teases. “You belong there more than anybody considering you did pretty much all the work of stabilizing him.”

“I was just doing what anybody would have done,” you downplay.

“Y/N, you were literally surrounded by hundreds of people that night, and nobody acted like you did. Hell not even that doctor that was there did what you did.”

You huff at that, because thinking about that fucking doctor will always get you heated. You’ve encountered your fair share of inadequate doctors before, but Elvis’ personal physician crossed over into cartoonishly incompetent. What kind of doctor who is not only prescribing morphine, let alone over-prescribing it, doesn’t carry any goddamn naloxone on him. And just as the cherry on this very fucked up sundae he tried to use an amphetamine in an effort to cancel out the opioid effects. That is the kind of logic that has brought many users to the ER or worse the morgue, and you at least expected better from a trained medical professional.

But nothing pissed you off more than the penguin looking man, who you would later learn is/was Elvis’ manager, asking if he would still be able to do the midnight performance. You remember just giving him a look, all the while maintaining your rhythm on Elvis’ chest, and you were able to make that man take a step back in fear. The way he stood there and watched as he shook like a leaf, you could tell whose fault this was.

Truly that entire night experience should serve as a testament to both your focus and your patience. Though you did have to remind yourself after every stupid question and comment that came from either of those mens mouths, that you had to focus on preventing brain damage in Elvis, and not try to induce it in those two. You were so fucking close to trying it when Penguin man had the audacity to criticize you on being too rough with your CPR technique, but lucky for him, the EMTs had finally gotten there.

On the other hand, the luckiest break you had all night was that you were familiar with one of the paramedics, so you were allowed inside the ambulance as an extra set of hands, and because no immediate family could be found. After you were able to stabilize him with the Naloxone and the paddles, you were able to catch up with Verna at the ER, and warn her of what that stupid doctor was trying to do back there.

Though by the time you had gotten there, the adrenaline had subsided and you finally noticed the throbbing pain in your hand. You had caught his head before it could hit the floor, which you knew was the equivalent to a bowling ball dropping on to your hand, so you’re not surprised that it did cause some damage to you. You put a brace on your hand and end up sleeping in Verna’s office until her shift ended and she could take you home. The injury turned out to be more severe than you initially thought, and you were put on Medical leave against your will for months.

“How ‘bout this Bones,” she says. “As repayment for losing your necklace, you’ll be my date to the concert.”

You know better than most that Verna is not one to be messed with, and the fact that she’s resorted to guilt tripping this early, means she desperately wants you to go. The necklace in question is the one she gave you after your first successful year in the department, something she gives all the nurses that choose to stay put in the hell that is Vegas’ premier Emergency Ward. Each one was unique to the recipient and yours, in reference to your nickname, was a small ivory stone shaped like horns held by a delicate gold chain. So delicate in fact you somehow lost it somewhere between here and the International with no clear picture as to when exactly it happened.

You let out a long sigh before conceding. In response she mockingly rubs her hands together like a supervillain, and says, “Haha, my dastardly plan to get you to have a fun night has worked.”

“I had fun at the last show,” you argue.

“Y/N, I worry about you if that was your definition of fun.” she says, and you throw a pea at her. “Also I hear rumors that a certain x-ray tech also got a ticket.” she whispers conspiratorially.

This does get a bashful smile out of you. If you can take one thing away from that forced medical leave was that you did end up having those drinks with Ricky. And a few more after that. And then some dinner. Currently you’re in that awkward “what are we” stage that neither of you are too eager to be the ones to define. But hopefully this concert will be the turning point for that.

“By the way, we were asked to wear all white,” Verna casually drops, as she walks away from the table.

“Goddamn it, Verna,” you curse with a mouthful of jello.

The week passes faster than you would have liked, and suddenly it’s friday night. You didn’t really have the time nor the motivation to buy yet another white dress that would sit in your closet, so you end up once again in front of the International in the same sundress, though this time with notably better company.

Though that feeling of being underdressed is somehow worse considering who could actually afford to go to his final concert this time around. His near death experience and the accusations that his previous doctor and manager were facing had caused his fans to rally around him after this, and factoring in that this is going to be his last performance stateside, the tickets to this show were perhaps some of the most expensive in the history of Vegas. There were rumors that even the nosebleeds would cost you somewhere in the $70 range, so you could only imagine what your front row seats would have cost. But the fact that these tickets apparently sold out within minutes was a testament to how beloved he still is.

It’s not exactly a secret amongst the staff that you had been the mysterious good samaritan at the concert, but by the time you had gotten back from leave, Elvis being in your ward had become old news. You weren’t exactly eager to spill, and no one was curious enough to ask. Though you did get a few questions this week from some of the more vulgar nurses asking if you had tried to slip a little tongue when giving him mouth to mouth. You laughed it off and half-jokingly replied, how if anything he did. You’re seated between Verna and Ricky, who had the honor of making sure you hadn’t accidentally cracked a rib when performing CPR on the King, farther away from the stage than you were last time, though you weren’t too cut up about it. You’re one for one for people nearly dying when you’re in the front row, and you figure if there’s a repeat performance tonight someone else can take over this time.

As you’re talking to Ricky as to what songs he’s hoping to hear, you don’t so much as hear but feel the familiar horns start to blare, building anticipation amongst the crowd, and evidently yourself as you’re teased over the little dance you’re doing in your seat. And as the music starts to build, you have to remind yourself that you’re still technically at a work event, so you can’t get too wild. Though with the atmosphere you find yourself in, you can’t guarantee your best behavior if you can get Ricky alone.

Then he finally steps out and it’s just as magnificent as you remember. He looks alot better this time around, far more sure footed in his steps and the white jumpsuit with its gold accents stood as a nice contrast to his tanned skin, and you and the rest of the crowd show your love when you see the cape in all it’s angelic winged glory. Even the light sheen of sweat already on his face is doing wonders of making him look as though he’s glowing, as opposed to sickly like his last show.

Considering how well you thought his last concert was when he was high off his ass on morphine and on death’s door, it’s no surprise how incredible this one is, when he’s far more present and alert this time around. Though more being the operative word, as he does seem to be somewhat distracted this time around, and he does seem to hover around the two tables the hospital staff are at.

You can hardly fault him for feeling a little uneasy about being back on stage again after he nearly died on one. Oddly enough you can even see the logic of having an entire medical team ready at a moment's notice for his return if nothing but for the comfort of that extra level of security.

But you’re not here to analyze why a famous man does what he does, you’re here to have a good time, so that’s what you do; You sing, you dance, you laugh at Elvis’ jokes, you flirt with Ricky, you take advantage of your tables covered tab, the whole nine yards. All too soon though it feels like the concert wraps up quicker this time, though you figure he’s simply eager to get his world tour started as soon as possible.

“I’d like to turn the house lights down,” he says.“Now that you’ve seen me I’d like to take a look atchu.” This seems familiar, you think flippantly. “Before I go, I wanna give a special thanks to a few people up front here. The emergency staff of UMC Hospital, Ladies and Gentleman.”

There is a resounding round of applause for your group as the spotlight hits the tables, and you’re just drunk enough to not retreat from the praise and recognition and simply give a cursory wave to the crowd. “But there’s one special lil’ lady here that deserves recognition. Without her folks, I can promise I wouldn’t be here tonight.”

You look around expecting to see Priscilla or maybe even his daughter somewhere around here, but you’re quickly wrenched from your thoughts as you feel the table beneath your elbows jostle a little. You look back toward the stage and find that Elvis no longer occupies it. Instead he is walking on top of your table and giving no regard to the glasses or items atop it, your co-workers acting quickly to save what they can. Before you can even put together who exactly he’s walking toward, you find the king of rock and roll crouching down before you.

“What’s your name angel?” he asks you with the biggest grin on his face, before putting the mic in front of you. The room itself is dead silent, everybody apparently eager to hear your answer, and Elvis, even more so, with the way he’s looking at you. You even move slightly to the left in some vain hope that he’s talking to someone behind you only for the mic to follow you. Whatever drunkenly warm feelings about attention you had quickly vanished, and the only thing stopping you from crawling under the table is that you’re not sure he wouldn’t follow.

You’re floundering and also painfully aware of the seconds that are ticking away, making your pause all the more uncomfortable, and you’re barely able to squeak out your name.

Oh my god, do I really sound like that? You think mortified after hearing your answer repeated through the amplifiers.

“Beautiful,” he says, his eyes shining and he looks at you as though you hang the stars themselves. “Folks, y’all don’t know it, but Y/N here is my very own Guardian Angel.” His statement generating “awws” from the crowd. “Last time I saw her, she left something with me and I think it’s high time I give it back.”

And with a flick of his wrists he produces a gold chain with a bright white pendant at the bottom of it, and you’re stunned when you recognize it, truly believing it was lost forever to you. It’s mind boggling to think it had been with him this entire time, having figured it was in a ditch or melted down by this point. You reach out for it hoping this will be the end of the interaction and you can begin to work on forgetting this ever happened, only for him to pull back.

“...but only if she goes to dinner with me first,” he says mischievously. At his proposition the audience responds with a series of wolf whistles and applause, which only amps up your anxiety of being seen, and it’s made all the worse when some women (some of whom you know) are trying to answer yes for you.

Pressure and stress is something you’re familiar with, but the scrutiny you're currently under not only with your co-workers, but an entire room full of strangers makes you want to shrivel up and die. This feeling is only further perpetuated by the dazzling grin he’s giving you. Words fail you and you doubt anything that comes out of your mouth will be even the least bit coherent, so you instead shake your head in the affirmative before you bury your face in your hands.

“She said yes folks,” he says, his grin going from ear to ear at this point, and the crowd goes wild. This is all punctuated by the return of the music as Elvis winks at you and makes his way back to the stage. The music itself stands in stark contrast to how you’re feeling, sounding bold and triumphant, as you’re escorted backstage trying to hunch in on yourself and avoid being seen. You’re even more mortified as you recognize the lyrics he’s singing, and you purposefully try to avoid looking at him.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help

Fallin’ in love with you

You’re used to the break neck speed that comes with the territory of working in the ER, but even this is going far too fast for you. Not even five minutes ago you were trying to figure out if you were too dressed up for a burger with Ricky, now you’re standing alone in a penthouse suite waiting for the most famous man in the world for a … a date?

Oh god Ricky, you remember. How are you going to explain this to him? Things were going so well, and you planned to finally sleep with him tonight, but now this happened. And oh… fuck, that’s what people are going to assume what’s happening right now isn’t it? Given Elvis’ reputation, you can deny until you're blue in the face that nothing happened and you’re still unlikely to be believed.

…Because nothing will happen, you’ll eat, you’ll make small talk, he’ll thank you for your part in his life being saved, and you’ll never have to think of this night again. It wasn’t so much that the necklace meant that much to you, but you weren’t exactly in a place to say no to him at that moment. So maybe if you leave right now…

Your fleeting thoughts of running are interrupted by the hand suddenly on your shoulder, making you nearly jump out of your skin. “Woah there angel, settle down now. It’s just me,” he says softly.

That’s hardly comforting, you think. You open your mouth determined to leave at this point only for him to hold up a finger to you before grabbing a folded piece of paper from the piano and handing it to you. You’re hesitant to open it until he says, “my daughter begged me to give this to you if I ever saw you again.” You unfurl it to find what is clearly a child's drawing of an angel with a nurse cap, though with seemingly your general coloring as well as your necklace. The bottom reads “thAnK U 4 sAVing mY dAdY, love lisA.” You can’t help but crack a smile at this, and you feel yourself lose some of that tension you walked in with.

He seems pleased with your reaction, rubbing the back of his neck as he explains how his daughter came up with the angel moniker for you and it kind of stuck for him, considering how he didn’t know your name.

“It’s fine,” you wave away. “I get trying to explain it to her in a way she’d understand.”

“She’s been sayin’ for awhile now that she wants to be a nurse when she grows up,” he admits with a bit of a chuckle. You can’t help the way your heart melts at that. “Hope you don’t mind, I ordered food already. I-I figured you’d wouldn’t want to eat so late.”

“I don’t mind,” you reassure, amused at his slight stutter. “The job’s made me a bit of a night owl, so I’m more on lunch time right now.”

“Guess we got time then,” he says, settling down with a bottle of wine at a table by the window.

“I guess we do,” you say, unable to hold back a smile..

The longer you stick around though, the easier it is to talk to him, his hair is messy and he’s out of the jumpsuit so it’s easy to forget that you are talking to the one and only Elvis Presley. So engrossed in your conversation you hardly notice when the food arrives, and the two of you hardly touch it. He looks at you with that same dopey smile as you talk about your life, your job, anything really. And he reciprocates talking about the places he’s been, the places he’s going and beyond. He even bashfully admits he came back to Vegas for the last time in order to find you and thank you properly.

“I swear Angel, I tried lookin’ for ya after I got out,” he sighs, sending a dirty look at the city right outside the window, his face highlighted by the neon lights below. “I was afraid this godforsaken city swallowed ya whole.”

“Yeah Vegas’ll do that to you,” you commiserate with him, a smile on your face gazing out the window. “It’s an absolute cesspit here.”

“You ever think about leavin’?”

“No, not really,” you say, hardly needing a second to answer, as you take a sip of your drink. You grew up here so you hold no illusions to the glitz and glamor that the city holds. Not to mention your job primarily consists of dealing with patients who are often the byproduct of this awful city. But this is still the city where you were born, where you’ve made your life. A life you’re honestly proud of.

He looks taken aback by your response, and in that moment you have the pleasure of seeing a man who has been nothing but confident and sure of himself stumble over his words. “Re-really? There ain’t no place in this whole world y-you’d rather be.”

“Nah,” you say casually, holding two fingers up. “There are two types of people who live here, ‘This place is a pit and I’m leaving’ or ‘this place is a pit and I’m never fucking leaving.’ No real reason beyond just… liking it here,” you guess shrugging your shoulders. “Besides, I just got back from medical leave, I think I've had enough of a vacation for awhile,” you say, your drink having loosened your tongue.

“What happened?” he asks, his brow furrowed, looking genuinely concerned for you.

“Oh, umm…” you say, sucking your teeth. And that’s really the elephant in the room neither of you are addressing. The fact that you’re only here because of what you did for him. “Well I kinda broke my hand… that night… when I caught you.” You follow this with perhaps the most awkward laugh, which you quickly cutoff when you see the guilty look on his face.

As you're floundering for some sort of recovery, he gently takes your previously injured hand in his, as he places a small kiss to the back of it. “I’m sorry I put you through so much trouble.” he whispers against your hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” you say, trying to even out your breathing, suddenly going from pleasantly to too warm in a matter of moments. “I would have done the same for anybody else.”

“But not anybody else coulda done whatchu did.” he says. “It’s almost sounds like it was all meant to be,”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” you say, sipping your drink. “But if this city has taught me anything in all the years I’ve lived here, it is that luck, good or bad, has its hands in almost everything.”

“You’re too good for this rotten city,” he says, softly rubbing his thumb along your knuckles, his ocean blue eyes piercing into your own. “Y/N, this city ain’t good for no one,” he says. “You gotta get you outta here.”

“Elvis…” you say, putting down your drink. “I’m not saying this city is good, but I’m not saying it’s all bad. It just… is. And I’m fine here. I’ve built my life here and I’m really not interested in leaving.”

“Not even for me?”

That catches you off guard and you’re at a loss for words, because who says that to someone they’ve only just met. And instead of giving an actual answer, you give a short, nervous laugh, and make a comment as to how funny he is. Though internally you’re questioning if his eyes have always been this intense.

“You know when I was in rehab,” he trails on looking at your connected hands. “That necklace a yours, got me through some of the darkest times I been through.”

You swallow thickly at his admission. “Well rehab is one of the hardest things to do. If you want to hold on-”

“No, no Angel,” he chuckles in that deep baritone of his, as he removes the pendant from his wrist. “I’m a man of my word. And I promised to give it back.” He stands up from the sofa, and holds out his hand to you. “But first, I at least want to see you wearin’ it.”

You’re not really thinking anymore, or maybe your thoughts are being drowned out by your pounding heart beat, as you stand up and turn away from him, allowing him to put it on you. Whether it’s the heat radiating off of him from his close proximity to you or the way his hands feel brushing lightly against your neck, your decision is made even before he plants a kiss behind your ear.

Your relationship prospects with Ricky are shot, most of the people you work with saw you leave with him, and they are all gonna assume what they want about what the two of you did. So why not do what you’re going to be accused of? Really there are other reasons not to, but they all die as soon as your lips meet his.

It only occurs to you now that this is not the first time this has happened, but you could hardly compare either experience. The mouth that ravages your own is worlds different from the cold lips you breathed life back into, and you find your hand even wandering into his open shirt as you relish in the now strong and steady heartbeat beneath your palm. He stops at that, noticing what you’re doing, and you see his eyes go glassy for a moment before he goes right back to kissing you, though this time around it’s slower, more… tender, as he leads you back to his bed.

He probably has reasons of his own for this, though you struggle to understand them. Initially you think, rather crudely, that since he’s leaving in the morning, never to return, you suppose you’ll be his final ‘what happens in Vegas.’ But everything he does once you’re in his bed doesn’t quite match up with this assessment.

The way he touches you, it’s not sex, it’s not fucking, it’s not even love making, if you had to call it anything, more akin to worship. Leaving not a single inch of your body untouched as he undresses you, he takes his time to kiss every spot and blemish on you, even paying special attention to the hand he had inadvertently broken, as though in penance. He whispers something into your skin with each kiss, and you’re not able to make out what, but he has an almost reverent tone, as though he were praying. Though any curiosity you had for his words is quickly lost when you feel him bury his face in your cunt.

He’s still fully dressed, you notice, the silky caress of his shirt on the back of your thighs, as you feel his wicked tongue spear inside you. The idea of being so exposed is usually horrifying to you, but now, here with him, you don’t even think about that, truly lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, and you’re sure to be very vocal in your appreciation. He eventually removes his mouth, and you let out an embarrassing little whimper at the loss until you feel the cool metal of his rings brushing your burning core. You can only imagine what kind of image you make right now writhing and unraveling on this man's fingers, wearing nothing but your necklace. From the pleased rumble that emanates from his chest he approves wholeheartedly as he sits on his knees to get a better look at you. He even goes so far as to readjust your necklace so it rests prettily between your breasts, looking for that perfect image of you.

Much of the night proceeds like that, his own pleasure apparently put to the side, as he adjusts you into whatever position he cares to see; sideways, on all fours, above his face, on your knees with your hands holding the headboard, standing up with your back against the window, etc. For his part, he simply watches you fall apart over and over again on his tongue, his fingers, or whatever body part of his you wrap your legs around.

You begin to suspect that this is some fucked up form of repayment for what you did, and several times through out you quite literally paw at his belt in an attempt to get him to join in. Each time he gently takes a hold of your hands, reassuring you each time he’s focused on you alone.

What finally gets him to crack is when you beg tears streaming down your face, “please I need it,” your voice whiny and your eyes frantic to behold all of him. You bring your mouth to his as you whisper, “I need you.” He’s quick to strip down after your plea, and seeing him fully leaves your mouth as dry as the mojave. For both personal and professional reasons, you’re no stranger to the male anatomy, but seeing his is… baffling, simply put.

You feel like a teenager fantasizing in your room about your favorite celebrity again, simply due to how perfect this all feels. Too perfect in fact. You’ve lived long enough to know that things that are too good to be true, usually are, especially in this town. But these lessons are far from your mind as he goes at an agonizingly slow pace to push himself into you, reaching depths you’ve never even imagined ever reaching. You’re left a panting mess beneath him savoring the delicious stretch he’s causing you, and you’re only quieted as he takes your lips once again.

Once you’ve had time to adjust to him being buried to the hilt within you, you beg him to move as you feel that knot in the pit of your belly begin to form once again. He seems charmed by how needy you’ve become, going at a near snail pace within you, telling you to say how you were his. So desperate were you, that you agreed without even thinking about it.

He rewards you with a sweet kiss, as he starts to pick up the pace. You throw your head from side to side as aching whimpers escape your lips, eyes squeezed shut because dear lord, does he know how to move his hips. He takes a hold of your chin, “look at me Angel. Look only at me.” he orders, his lips barely brushing your ear. You're in no position to argue, and especially as he pins your wrists above your head.

He’s so beautiful, you think to yourself as you open your eyes to see him; the light shimmer of sweat on his brow, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, truly this man is too good to be true. But as he picks up the pace to be far more brutal and punishing, you become lost to all the sensations he’s causing you. Despite the tears streaming down your face you can’t say you’re not enjoying yourself, reveling in his incoherent whispers in your ear and begging for him to fill you up over and over again.

By the time you both finished, the two of you have been at it for what feels like hours at this point, and it is only now as the early morning rays of the sun hit the side of his face do you realize how late (or early?) it is. And as he takes in the image of you below him in the light of day for the first time, your angelic image is only further cemented in his mind, he gives you a tender kiss as he has the curtains closed and he’s absolutely sure of what he has to do next.

You wake up to the sound of voices and rummaging in the other room, and the taste of regret on your tongue. Regret tastes a lot like dehydration, you think, helping yourself to both the full glass of water and the tylenol on the nightstand. The curtains and your pounding head make it impossible to tell what time it is or how long you slept. You know you’re in no condition to work, but contemplate going anyway, as you can only imagine what kind of shit you’re going to get from doing so. But with the state of your back right now, you don’t really have a choice.

You’re using the low light peeking beneath the door to gather what you can of your outfit, though as you blindly scour the room, you would settle for your dress and purse at this point. Your head is fuzzy at best so you hardly notice that the white dress you put on is completely different from the one you arrived in, nor did you pay any mind to the salty aftertaste on the back of your tongue that the pills left.

There’s no getting around that you’re about to embark on the most humiliating walk of shame in history, but you were at least grateful that he hadn’t been there when you woke up. You’re glad to have avoided that awkward encounter at the very least. But this small mercy was quickly snatched from you as you open the door only to walk right into the back of the man you were hoping to avoid.

Wait… how did I miss that? You think blearily. You don’t have the luxury of an answer as he quickly turns around and you watch as his face lights up upon seeing you.

“Sorry for waking you Angel,” he says, as he wraps an arm around your waist to give you a quick peck on the lips. “Just had to pack up a few things before we go.” While you aren’t someone prone to having one night stands, you also can’t think of anything to say to this man whom you’re never going to see again. At least he won’t see you, while you’ll probably have to live the rest of your life seeing him as a celebrity.

“It’s fine” you say as you look around the room behind him for your purse. A hopeless endeavor as there are far too many men in the room, who all quickly avert their eyes from you. Though you do see it’s well past sunset, and that just adds to your embarrassment.

“How ya feelin’ Angel?” you hear from him as he puts a hand on your forehead. The cool metal of his rings feel heavenly, but you are also a woman on a mission. The mission being get the hell out of here.

“I’m okay,” you answer, pulling away. “I-I hope you don’t mind I used the aspirin on the nightstand.”

You see his smile lift ever so slightly at that, “That’s why it was there Darlin’. Why don’t I take you home now?”

“Oh you don’t have to do that,” you wave away as he’s walking you to the door.

“You don’t gotta worry Angel,” he reassures you, his arm already slung around your shoulder. “I don’t mind one bit. Hell it’s probably on my way.”

“...ok.” You answer, unenthusiastic at the prospect of having to see him more. But being seen by others as you are right now doesn’t sound any more appealing.

As you're making your way down the hallway with him, you remember your purse that is back in the room. And as you swivel around, you feel the night hitting you all at once, and you’re forced to lean on Elvis to keep your balance. He catches you and with an arm around your waist he helps you to the elevator.

“Wait,” you say weakly. “My purse.”

“Don’t worry, Angel,” he says, kissing your hand. “It’s downstairs already.”

That’s not where I left it, you think, when you do in fact find it already in the backseat of the town car. You tell the driver where your apartment is before pressing your head to the cool glass of the window, your eyes closed. Even with the tinted windows, the neon lights of the strip are doing a number on your eyes (later you would wish that you had chanced it and gotten one last look at home). You don’t understand how you’re this tired considering how much you’ve already slept and you simply lean in further into him, waiting for that aspirin to kick in.

You’re not sure as to how much time passes, but eventually he does help you out of the car and up some stairs. You’ll kick yourself later for not realizing sooner where you were until you felt Elvis start to buckle in your seatbelt. You open your eyes, but even with your blurry vision you recognize that this is definitely not your apartment.

You struggle at your harness, but your fingers aren’t cooperating whatsoever and you’re left helplessly pawing at it. You see others enter but your pleads that you have to leave fall on deaf ears as they all conspicuously avoid looking at you.

You don’t understand why you’re like this, because other than the drinking from the night before you hadn’t had anything other than… the aspirin.

How could you be so stupid? How could you have walked into this trap? Why did you think you could trust him? You start sobbing as you hear the cabin door close, because you have no answer for any of these.

“Please I have to go home,” you weep.

“I am takin’ you home Angel.” and you have no choice but to lean on him as he brings you closer.

Finally once you’re in the air he unbuckles and stands the both of you up. Men you vaguely recognize from the hotel, all again avert their eyes as Elvis proceeds to walk you down the aisle and you beg them to help you. You’re still feeling the effects of whatever he gave you so you don’t really put up much of a fight until he opens the door and you see a bed on the other side.

“I ain’t gon’ hurt you Angel,” he says soothingly. You don’t believe him. “I know you’re mad right now, but I know one day you’ll forgive me. Because this is for your own good.”

“Why?” you sob into his shoulder as he lays you both down. “Why me?”

“Because the lord himself brought us together, Angel.” he says and you see that manic look you’d only gotten glimpses of in your short time together on full display. “And what God has brought together, let no man separate.”

“What?”

“Angel I know you may not believe in all of it,” he says, rubbing your cheek. “But I don’t believe it was just a coincidence that you were there that night. I know someone up above sent you to look out for me. And I ain’t gon’ let you slip away again.”

This man… this man had no issue ripping you away from your life all under some delusion that you needed saving, because that’s what he needed. You’re under the control of a man that cast you as his savior… and god forbid should you ever turn out to be otherwise. This is your life now, because no good deed goes unpunished.

“You and me, Angel.” he says merrily into your hair, holding your hand that rests above his heart, giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. “Today we’re flyin’ away for good.”

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno

#elvis 2022 #yandere elvis #elvis x reader #yandere elvis presley #elvis #yandere x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere austin!elvis x reader #yandere #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis #austin butler x reader #austin butler #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 7 months

Text

COLLISION

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 6 - 3.4K WC - NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 NSFW 18+

Chapter 6 NSFW 18+ (you are here!)

Chapter 7 NSFW 18+

Warnings: Cazador getting his shit absolutely wrecked, inner turmoil, penetrative sex & oral sex NSFW 18+ (no descriptions of genitals, gender neutral), fluff, drug usage (elixir), violence/murder

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You laid in the lush grass atop a hill near camp. Using the owl bear as a pillow, Scratch under one arm, and Grub under the other. Your eyes hazily watched the sunset, the comfort of the animals making you feel warm and happy inside.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people you know…” you say aloud.

“How did you know I was there?” Astarion scoffed.

“Maybe you’re not as stealthy as you think.” You smiled, opening your eyes fully to see him.

Astarion sat next to you, gently going for your hand. The owlbear lowly growled. Astarion snatched his hand back, looking at the owlbear as if it betrayed him. You giggled before slowly sitting up and stretching. You gave each animal their well deserved pets before chucking Scratch’s ball down by the stream where they all ran off to.

“That oversized snack growled at me.” Astarion said, still in shock.

“Maybe it’s because you call them ‘an oversized snack.’” You said as you shifted your position so you were lying down but your head was in Astarion’s lap.

“Something’s troubling you my love?” Astarion’s eyebrows were drawn together in concern, his big doe eyes present. He smoothed over the creases of your face, pushing your worries away.

You huffed. Tomorrow is the day you take down Cazador and you worry Astarion will elect to ascend himself. Over the past few weeks running around Rivington and Baldur’s Gate, every time he spoke of Cazador, he spoke of the ritual. He spoke of how he wanted to ascend. You picked at your nails, maybe now is the right time to tell him about you, so he can make a better choice.

“I think it’s time I tell you the truth.” You said eyes flicking to him before sitting adjacent to him. He immediately went to hold your hands, growing more concerned by your stoic face and distant eyes.

“Darling whatever it is… it won’t change us.” He spoke softly.

“I’m not sure how to explain it, and you'll probably think I’m insane by the end of it….” You paused, sucking in a breath before letting out a sigh. “I'm not from Toril… I’m from Earth which is pretty similar to Toril. My world is full of technology, it’s run by machines…” Astarion’s eyes watched you intently.

“In my world… there is a game… and it’s where all of you live… you’re a game character where I’m from. It’s why I know so much about all of you… it’s why I’m so nervous about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow I’ll finally be free.” Astarion said with a tinge of confusion in his voice.

“Free, yes. But you have a choice to make and that will decide everything.” You gave him a minute to process everything.

“What happens tomorrow? You said you knew about us all so you must know how everything ends.” he asks curiously.

“You will choose to ascend or not….”

“And once I do?” he said.

“You’ll be free and have power… but you’ll lose yourself. Everything about you that makes you… you… it’ll be gone. You won’t love me, you’ll want to control me. You’ll kill so many people…” you looked anywhere but at him.

“The spawn? There’s only seven and they aren’t exactly innocent.” he scoffed.

“Not seven… 7000. Children, innocents, fools, the random unlucky… That is what troubles me, Astarion. I love you and I want you to be happy and live a life you can be proud of… and I understand after spending 200 years in the shadows power sounds delicious… but… but you become something… other.” your voice wavered a bit at the end and Astarion didn’t miss it. “But I will leave the decision with you, it is not one I can make for you… just be prepared to live with the outcome of your choice.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Astarion said, sitting in silence with you for what felt like days, “So you’re from another world?” He smiled at you a bit. “Glad to know my charm works across the worlds.”

You chuckled a bit, the worry still eating at the back of your mind, this wasn’t a game. You can’t simply pick the right dialogue and make him not ascend. This will be his choice, he has to make it alone. And you just have to hope to god he chooses the right thing. You’ll love him regardless. You have to, he has your heart.

“I have questions…” he started.

“I figured you would… Anything you want to know, I will answer.”

“What is the year where you’re from?” He looked like a child, ready to burst with inquiries.

“2023,” you smiled at him, “I was born in ____.”

Astarion’s eyes looked at you with wonder, “Are there more things like your phone in the future?”

“Oh yes, much grander too. Our technology knows no bounds. It is always changing, advancing.” you told him.

“Sounds powerful, helpful even.” he said tracing the lines on your palm.

“It has brought humanity great advances… and great pain.” you said solemnly.

“What do you do in your realm?” he changed the subject knowing the slight pain in your voice, not wanting to make it worse.

You laughed, “I’m an… alchemist.” this wasn’t entirely untrue, you worked in the chemistry lab at your university, working to make a substitute for white blood cells which would aid the world immensely. You had only been doing it for a few months before you got sucked into the game.

“Is that why you chose to be a cleric?” he asked.

“Yes, though the alchemy I practiced was to aid humanity. The alchemy I practice here is… different.” you said, not knowing if those were the right words.

“Vampires in your world?” he asked.

You giggled. “Maybe once, but for the most part they are fantasy. So is everything else you have here. Dragons, fairies, druids, potions, wizards, devils… all of it. None of it exists in my world, they’re fairy tales.”

“Sounds mundane,” he retorted. “Are people in your world happy?”

“Is anyone truly happy?” you asked, your eyes looked dull. “I… I’m staying here, Astarion. I don’t want to go back. I am happy here, with you. And… that, that’s all I need. It’s all I want. Us, everything else is background noise.” you said kissing the back of his hand, eyes finally looking up to him.

“I… don’t know what to say.” he said.

“I dropped a lot of information on you. I’m from a completely different planet, possibly a different plane of existence… you take all the time you need.” you told him shifting to get up.

He held your hand and got up himself before slipping something on your finger. The shadowblade ring, his hand adorning the other. “I do know that I want you with me, always. I may not understand your world, perhaps I never will. And you chose quite the damaged artifact to love,” You shook your head at him holding his hand tightly, caressing his face gently. “Whatever comes, we shall face it together. I care for you deeply, I love you, I see you.”

You knew you were crying like a big sap, but you couldn’t help it. You let out a relieved chuckle, pulling him into a kiss, just as the sun faded away behind the horizon. “I see you too. Together?” you asked him, holding out your pinky. He stared at it not really knowing what it meant. You hooked your finger with his, “Promise, this means promise.” you explained.

He squeezed your pinkie in his, “Promise.”

-------------------------

The battle against Cazador was long and brutal. You used everything you had in you, your spirit guardians fighting to give you some sort of reprieve. Cazador’s helpers fought hard and by the end of the fight, everyone was exhausted.

Astarion ripped Cazador from his coffin, screaming at him. You hung back with everyone, wanting to let Astarion take the lead on this. Astarion held Cazador’s staff, the iridescent red lights swirling about. Astarion had a decision to make. His eyes held fury towards Cazador, he wanted to make him pay.

“Astarion” your voice rang out, it sounded distant and echoed in his mind. He was lost in a haze of hatred. He could feel the power emanating from the staff. The world was at his fingertips and all he had to do was take it. He came out of his trance when he felt a trembling hand cover his on the staff. Your eyes were puffy, tears brimming but you wouldn’t let them fall. Your voice quivered as your lip trembled.

“Astarion…” you said again with a whimper.

“Darling… the heavens and the earth are ours to take… I want to give you everything… give us everything.”

“I have everything I need…” you said softly, voice still wavering. “I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth but… but you have to stand with me. Please…” you begged him, the tears starting to slip at the very thought of him ascending. You smoothed your thumb over his ring, the one matching yours. The one tying you together. “I cannot face the world alone, darling please...” you looked into his glowing red eyes. Perhaps he was too far gone.

Astarion shoved you back before planting the staff in front of him, red magic swirled about the room as if it was leaking from every crevice. Astarion twisted the staff. You heard… the gates in the hall open? You whipped your head back to look at Astarion. He was looking down at Cazador, staff discarded on the floor.

He didn’t ascend.

You watched him in what felt like slow motion, he stalked towards Cazador, pure resentment on his face. He stabbed and slashed his old master repeatedly. Until he was nearly cut in half. The others looked at Astarion with horror and understanding. He fell to the ground sobbing; finally, you rushed to him. Arms securing themselves around his waist, head resting on his shoulder. He slumped into you, shaking violently. You whispered words of affirmation to him, hoping to calm him. The others left the hall, getting to the spawn to explain the directions to the Underdark. Astarion eventually turned catatonic, it felt as though he wasn’t breathing. You gently pulled away to peer at his face. His eyes were closed, he looked… at peace. You barely touched your fingers to his jaw. His eyes stirred beneath his lids for a moment before opening to reveal his scarlet eyes. His eyes were soft, his face relaxed. He looked so vulnerable like this.

“Are you ok?” he whispered.

“What? Of course I’m ok, are you ok?” you asked in disbelief.

“I’m… numb? The weight of everything, it’ll take time to settle in.” you nodded in agreement. “Can we go home?” Astarion asked, searching your eyes.

“Let's go home.” you kissed his forehead. You both stood, pain settled in different parts of your body, reminding you of the battle.

-----------------------

You met everyone else out front, everyone looking empathetically to Astarion. You entered the portal and were instantly transported to your little grassy hill. You led Astarion to his tent, both of you sitting on the bedroll. The silence between you was comfortable.

“Thank you.” Astarion said randomly.

“For what?” you asked genuinely.

“For saving me from… myself. I felt a fraction of that power and it was glorious, but… I also felt no love when I looked at you. I wanted to dominate you, control you - nothing more. It felt wrong. I couldn’t do that to you.” he admitted, feeling disgusted with himself.

“I’m proud of you, ya know. You gave 7000 people a chance at life again.” you said, smiling at him.

“Ever so hopeful.” he chuckled at you. His eyes held the smallest bit of fire in them, but fire for what?

Astarion grabbed your hips and draped you across his lap. You gasped, taken back by the swift action. He softly captured your lips in his, moving slowly. His hands explored you with a feather light touch, getting progressively needier. His hand snuck up your leg, between your thighs.

“May I?” he asked quietly, barely pulling away from your lips.

You nodded, attempting to pull him back to you.

“Words, I need words.” he said leaving kisses on your jaw.

“Yes… please…” you breathed out, already lost in him.

Astarion put his hand to work, pleasing you with intentional touches. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled. You ran your hands over his chest, trying to feel all of him. You tugged at his pants. His eyes met yours before he hooked his fingers into the soft fabric, pulling it down. Astarion forced your hips down roughly, holding your waist tight with one arm, the other holding your face. You and Astarion moved your small clothes to the side before having him fill you up in the most splendid way.

“I love you” Astarion whimpered out, his breathing becoming more ragged by the minute.

You rode him slowly, savoring each movement. Astarion pulled your shirt open, going to town on your chest and all the spots he knew made you tick. Astarion picked up the pace, he was desperate and sloppy. You came first with a stifled moan, Astarion soon after with a grunt.

You rolled over to reach inside your supply pack. You handed Astarion the familiar bottle, Elixir of Folly.

“Oh my, how I’ve corrupted you.” he said with a smirk, resting on his elbow as he opened the bottle. He took a few swigs of it before passing it back to you, the warm numbing feeling overtaking his lips.

“Hush, we deserve to celebrate.” you smiled while drinking the rest of the potion.

Finally laying down together, you traced the features of his face, “Perfect.” is all you could say.

Astarion smiled at the word. He kissed you again before cuddling into the crook of your neck.

“What do you dream of?” you asked softly, playing with the curly wisps of hair at the nape of Astarion’s neck.

“You.” he mumbled into your neck, you could feel the smile on his face.

You chuckled before gently tugging at the roots of his hair. He groaned before pulling his head back enough to look into your eyes.

“Seriously, you’re free. And immortal. Gotta come up with some plans to fill that eternity.” your finger traced down his nose and ghosted over his lips.

Astarion looked off distantly. He was immortal. He hadn’t even considered the fact that he would live forever and you would not. He knew he wanted to turn you. As you said - a life without each other is no life at all. He could help you as a spawn and then you could make your plans to see the world. You just have to agree to a life in the shadows. Astarion didn’t know if he could ask that to you.

You noticed the silence but let it beat on. When Astarion’s hold tightened you spoke up, “What is it?” you said, looking at him with concern.

“I… I have something incredibly selfish to ask of you…” he said, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Honey you can ask me anything, why do you sound so scared?” you said, face scrunched up.

“Because it would change everything…” his eyes met yours.

“Oh gods please don’t tell me you want to have a baby…” you looked at him with shock and a bit of caution.

Astarion laughed, a full laugh that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, it calmed your heart. “No darling… vampires rarely conceive anyways.” he sucked in a breath and willed his unbeating heart to calm itself. “I want you to become immortal.”

Silence.

“I know it would change you and everything you’ve known. You’d have to live in the shadows. You’d have to drink blood. You’d become undead. It is possibly the most selfish thing I could ask of you and I understand if that is not the path you want for your life… but… the thought of you… not being with me for eternity… it eats away at me and I can’t… I won’t… I just…”

You pulled him into a tender kiss. Silencing his babbling. You knew the moment you fell for the vampire that your fate would forever be mingled with his. If that meant giving up aging and your days in the sun - it was a small price to pay. 1000 lifetimes, one true love. What more could you ask for?

“Astarion,” you said, your eyes glazed over, the elixir working in your body. Unwinding every muscle, relaxing every joint, quelling every concern, a euphoric pit in your stomach. Astarion watched you with big eyes, bracing himself for the worst. “I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth as long as you stand with me. Forever?” you questioned holding your pinky out to him. He smoothly rolled on top of you so he was straddling your frame. He lent down, sliding his hands into yours and moving them above your head. His lips met yours, “Forever, until the world crumbles around us.” he kissed along your neck. The elixir was amplifying all of your sensations. His kisses felt like fire against you, contrasting against his icy fingers that trailed along the hem of your shirt. Not waiting for him to ask, you pulled your shirt off.

Astarion traced his lips over any and all available skin, never getting enough of you. He slid his hand up your thigh as you raised it to wrap around his waist.

“Eager little pup?” he said between kisses. “Allow me to show you my gratitude? And what you have to look forward to for eternity." He wore the most sultry, lust filled, down right devilish smirk.

You nodded at him, watching as he descended to plant himself between your legs. His arms hooking around your thighs to keep them open and keep your hips pressed to the bed. The second his mouth was on you, your hands flew to his snowy curls. He knew exactly what made you feel good and yet, he explored you. Trying to find every little thing that made you see stars. Your back arched and Astarion’s grip on you tightened. He loved feeling you writhe beneath him at every little touch. The more you moved the closer you got and Astarion could feel it. He continued his ministrations, adding more pressure. You toppled over the edge, the elixir setting your body alight as you came. He kept on you until you tugged his head back, breathing heavily and trying to regain any semblance of composure. You pulled Astarion to you, capturing him in a deep kiss.

“Was it good?” he asked.

“Pffft… was it good? I think that was the hardest I’ve ever cum in my life.” you laughed, kissing him again before looking at his pants and back to his eyes.

“No more darling, one is enough for me.” he said, caressing your face, you nodded in understanding.

“When do you want to turn me?” you asked, basking in the afterglow.

“When do you want me to?” he asked, this was about you in almost every way. Your comfort and consent was his priority.

“Tomorrow?” you asked, playing with his hand that found itself tracing the curve of your waist.

“Tomorrow it is.” he said.

“Will it hurt?” you asked, the smallest bit of apprehension in your voice.

“It isn’t pleasant… it will hurt but only for a few moments. Then you’ll just feel… numb for a bit.” Astarion said, trying to recall how he felt 200 years ago.

You nodded, figuring it wasn’t all roses and daisies. Anything was to be endured if it meant you had him forever.

“Sleep now darling, tomorrow we embrace eternity together.” he said, kissing your lips, cheek, and forehead.

You snuggled further into his chest, legs mingling with his. The elixir pulling you into slumber quickly, “Love you.” was the last thing you whispered out before soft snores came from your lips.

Astarion traced letters into your shoulder as you slept. A - E - T - E - R - N - A , he paused briefly before continuing his writing, A - M - A - N - T - E - S. He would love you forever, and he hoped to all the gods in a collective prayer, something he hadn't done in a millennium, that you would love him back - just as much - for just as long.

Hey everyone! I hope this chapter is to everyone’s liking, I think this story might be coming to an end :( don’t worry tho! I’ll post other new stuff. Please send requests, I love them! Thank you all for reading Ilysm 💖💖💖💖

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 2 years

Text

Black of Hair (Part 6)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Warnings: On the Citrus Scale, I’d say we’re at a lime. So PG-13. First time mentions (for now). Describing past sexual events. Mentions of murder, animal cruelty, etc. Crude jokes told by Theon, so that deserves a warning.

Word Count: 5,193

Tags: black of hair got

Summary: War is brewing... and your family is behind it.

Series Masterlist: Here

Taglist: @way-too-addicted-to-anime @akaward-potato @fuckoffupstairs @soleil-dor @depressedcuppatea @thegirlwithoutaname87 @taylorsfilms @100kindsofblake @quietlycalum @lustgardn @thebitchinleo @coffeethenink @theminiestofmins @callmefroggie @greinch @icemanhoneybadger @ietss @theminiestofmins @qhbr2013 @savingprivatecass @fossilisedtreeresin @freshfreakoaftrash @sarcasm-n-insomnia @a-lil-bit-nuts @megzdoodle @gruffle1 @burninggracesandbridges @dead-pool-simp @sonnensplitter @flowercrowns3438 @bport76 @apollonshootafar @serenefreakgeek @hybridlamb @kittykylax @johnmurphys-sass @magnitude101999 @pughslov @fall-winter-heart97 @plumes-de-nuit @spid3rgwen @gwyneirastorm

VERY IMPORTANT A/N: Please please PLEASE if you want to be added to the taglist, please pm/ask box me! Some have slipped through the cracks because they comment/ask on individual chapters and it’s hard for me to scroll through those notifications and keep track of them. Thank you, lovelies! Comment, like, and reblog! That'd be appreciated!

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

~~~

The next couple of moons after your wedding were more wonderful than you could have ever imagined.

Your first night as man and wife was awkward, to say the least, but it was informative and full of reassurances for the future of your marriage. Robb was, as you observed before, eager to please behind closed doors as well as in public. He was attentive and eager to learn. And in return, you also tried your damn hardest to learn and be instructional for both of your sakes. While a part of you wasn’t expecting anything out of your first time, it was enjoyable, despite not fully finishing. It still felt nice, despite not feeling the way experienced ladies in your uncle’s company once explained to you when you were younger. Your mother nearly killed Tyrion when she heard about this incident. It wasn’t Tyrion’s fault. You were little and snuck after him when he went into a whore house. He didn’t know you followed him. But those ladies also mentioned that the first time is usually never the greatest time.

So after consummating your marriage the first night, both you and Robb didn’t feel the need to rush anything else from then on. For the first couple of days, the weight of expectation was a weight that no longer dragged your shoulders down. You were content with how your life turned out, despite having to say goodbye to your Uncle Tyrion.

With a heavy heart, he left on the fourth morning after your wedding. Your only family left in the North, gone by the end of the day. He promised to write throughout his journey so that you would know he was safe, and the thought of still being in contact with anyone outside of Winterfell comforted you.

To distract yourself from feeling so alone, you asked Robb to be your husband again that night and he accepted without question. Listening to the voices in your head, you were able to communicate your wishes to Robb even when you had trouble forming words between breathless gasps. Listening to your voice intently, Robb followed your instruction, and this time, with slight adjustments, you felt that climbing anticipation you have only heard of. He gladly undid your fears and inexperience with careful hands and slow ministrations that pushed and pulled you into bliss several times throughout the night. You weren’t sure what caused the walls to crumble, but by the next morning, you felt like you knew more about your husband than your own mother knew about your father. Before he could get up to dress for the day, he bedded you once more and it was just as blissful as the night before, even leaving you comfortably sore throughout the day.

All of a sudden, Robb was able to read you inside and out, or more specifically, your body. Your emotions and inner thoughts are still endeavors he has yet to explore, but now he’s exceeded all expectations you had in a husband and more. As you’ve said before: Robb is full of surprises.

It both excited and terrified you to realize your heart started speeding up every time he looked your way, or when your face felt warm when his lips touched your hand every morning at breakfast. The thought of you falling in love with him did cross your mind, but you pushed that thought down and delayed it to the best of your ability, not yet wanting to acknowledge it.

You busy yourself during the day with your tasks, both personal and political. You read and write letters, now sealing them with your name and your husband’s sigil. You read and take account of the stocks before coming up with a solution to make more before the upcoming winter. Rickon loves to make your duties a challenge, but you welcome the distraction. The little lord is bored beyond measure with the majority of his siblings gone from Winterfell. He busies you with games and stories and often begs you for a ride around with your horse. Fawn was still young and could be trained to deal with children, so you happily taught Rickon how to take care of her.

Today was one of those days as you hand Rickon an apple to gift your noble steed. He was jealous over breakfast because Bran’s special saddle was finally finished per Tyrion’s instruction, and Robb wanted to take the boy out to ride for the first time in months. Theon tagged along, but you were tasked with distracting Rickon.

You were teaching Rickon about how to rig a saddle onto a horse when the gates opened. Looking up, your eyes widen as alarm bells start going off in your head. Bran was no longer on his saddle, instead, Robb was carrying his little brother as one of the boy’s legs continued to bleed. Theon had the horses’ reins in one hand and a rope meant to act like a leash in the other, the woman attached to that leash looked wild, with her hair and eyes unhinged with fear and possible rage.

You rush forward, stepping toward Robb and Bran, “What happened?!”

“We were attacked by wildlings,” Robb explains as he moves to sit Bran down on the nearest bench and allowed you to tend to the boy. You kneel in front of the younger Stark boy while touching the knee that was injured.

“Bran? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” he nods, “I can’t feel it.”

Your heart hurts when you hear the disdain stitched close in his voice. He looked away as you press your handkerchief to his wound while you instruct Rickon to fetch Maester Luwin. Once the little boy returned with the maester, you step away to reach for your husband.

“Are you injured?”

“No, I’m fine,” he smiles gratefully, extending his arm in the direction of Theon and their prisoner, “We killed all but one. She begged for servitude in exchange for her life.”

“You best bow to your knees,” Theon snapped at the wild woman, pushing her forward, “You’re in the presence of a princess.”

“What are wildings doing so far south of the Wall?” You questioned Robb with curiosity.

“I don’t know, but they appeared desperate to take Bran’s horse and head further south of here... like they were running from something.”

The phrase chilled you in a way you couldn’t describe. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good as you watched the wildling woman’s back as Theon dragged her inside.

~~~

A week goes by and she doesn’t say much, at least in your presence. You’ve seen Theon cause her grief -though she appeared to take it in stride- and you’ve scolded him for doing so. It was awful enough to watch her walk around with those chains dragging around her ankles. Robb assured you that the chains were to prevent her from running away, but you countered that the chains just made it easier for men to catch her. Theon laughed and made a horrible comment that you didn’t dare to repeat, but Robb caught sight of how disgusted you looked and snapped at his friend. Theon frowns and doesn’t speak for a while after that, making you wonder if he and Robb were fighting.

You try not to think about mending that conflict while your mind still wandered off to the wildling girl, who was technically a woman, a few years older than yourself. You find her one-morning sorting hay, distributing bits throughout the stables, "... What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't say." She said plainly, not even looking up from her work.

"Can I know what it is then?"

"... Osha."

"Osha,” you smile, despite the other woman never acknowledging your presence, “My name is Y/n."

"So it's not 'Princess' then?" She asked sarcastically.

You laugh under your breath, "I would hope not. That would be a stupid name.”

You catch a glimpse of a smirk under Osha’s wild, matted hair, so you continue, “I apologize on Theon's behalf. He's become a bit... reckless as of late so I hope he didn't hurt you."

"I've had worse men than him try to scare me. He's nothing but a pup."

Her voice was confident enough for you to take the words to heart, "I believe you."

She finally turns to face you, having trouble glaring you down behind the matted hair in her eyes, "... What do you want?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence, "Why do you assume I want something?"

"No one here talks to me unless they want something."

She was blunt and quite the observer. Osha was well aware of her place among these Stark people and you had to respect that. The stories tell of how wildlings were-- well, wild, but the stories never talk about how smart and cunning they were.

"Well, Osha... I want to see you properly clothed and fed. I want you to be able to actually see where you're going if your hair was properly groomed. I want you to have a warm bath next to a fireplace and a feather bed to sleep on."

You threw her off, you could tell, from the way Osha’s mouth opened and shut while trying to form words. Finally, she settled on a skeptical expression, trying to intimidate your smile, "... Why?"

Your smile only widens, "Because even though my husband says you're a guest here, you're not exactly being treated as one. And as the lady of the keep, it's my duty to host and care for all of the guests of Winterfell."

"Duty. Is that why you want to help me?"

"It's a part of it, but so is the kindness of my heart, believe it or not. You're a clever woman, Osha. You're definitely not stupid,” she almost looked proud, squaring her small shoulders as you continued, “Your eyes are sharper than Theon gives you credit for. But I will be honest, Theon doesn't give most women credit. I believe he entertains me only because I'm his best friend's wife... and because my father wears a crown."

Osha continued to suspect an ulterior motive from you but doesn’t protest when you order a room made up to her liking. The chains remained on her ankles unless she was given a bath and changed out of her clothes, but even when temporarily freed from the chains, you kept a close eye on her. Theon and Robb must have reconnected as friends again when you weren’t looking because they both agreed on how Osha was not to be trusted when you told them what you did, but you waved them off. You assured your husband that even though Osha was alone in her room, you weren’t stupid enough to leave the door unguarded. You left one of your own soldiers in front of Osha’s bedroom door and when Robb questioned the window, you scoffed.

“That window stands high above the ground. No one could survive a fall from that distance.”

You purposely said this when the two of you were alone, not wishing for Bran to hear your comment. Robb considered the matter settled after that. Osha remained a guest in chains but was more comfortable in her surroundings. You even took some time out of your mornings to help braid her hair out of her face. In a strange way, you understood her. You understood what it was like to be trapped in a place you weren’t familiar with, so you tried to make Osha feel comfortable.

Also, it didn’t hurt to gain friends in a strange place.

~~~

Weeks pass and Tyrion has not sent you a letter for some time, so you began to worry. You write to King’s Landing as soon as your paranoia sets in, anxiously waiting for a reply. To no surprise, you get a raven within days, and it's with the Master of Whisperers' sigil. As your eyes scan the words within the scroll, Varys describes how Tyrion Lannister was taken prisoner by Catelyn Stark under the Hand of the King’s orders. The events that followed were the effect of this scandal. Your Uncle Jaime openly attacked Ned Stark out on the streets, killing his men and leaving him injured before Jaime fled the city, likely to rally beside his father at Casterly Rock as they prep for war.

You see red, and before you could think properly, you raced to Robb’s chambers and shook the letter in his face, screaming in a fashion that you could only have inherited from the Queen, “By what right does your mother have to arrest my uncle?!”

“Y/n, I...”

“No! Don’t even try to lie!” You snarl, “I know a liar when I see one. I know the way people look whenever they are hiding secrets from me. I grew up in King’s Landing, boy. I know how people whisper!”

Robb’s face falls from empathy to one of venom, “Do not call me boy!”

“Or what, boy?" You demanded answers, "Is that why your mother left Winterfell? Is that why you were so cold to Tyrion? How dare you and your mother conspire against my family?!”

“Your family?” Robb echoes with an accusatory tone, “Your family were the ones who conspired to kill Jon Arryn and then pushed my brother out of a tower window!”

Silence. The room still felt tense, ready to snap given the word. Your anger froze, your eyebrows scrunching together in denial while trying to search for the lie on your husband’s face. Your chest felt tight, unable to expand for air as the words come out quieter than you intended, “... Wha... What?”

With your confusion comes with Robb’s deflating anger, sighing deeply as he spoke, “I knew you wouldn’t know about it. At first, I thought you wouldn’t know of such things because you were a child but now... now I know that you wouldn’t do something as horrible as trying to kill an innocent boy because you have a good heart. You’re not like your mother or brother. You’re not your uncle.”

You swallow, choking as your throat constricts. You want to scream or demand an explanation, but as of right now, all you can think about is your poor uncle trapped in a cold cell somewhere. The words that spilled out of your mouth were pleas, “... N-No, my uncle is good, too. Tyrion is good. He’s always been good,” the man in front of you scoffs, looking away until you stepped forward, a hand resting on his cheek to keep your gaze locked, “Please, Robb, listen to me. Even when I had nothing, I had my uncles. Now I know that where you’re from, killing a king or being a whore lover is honor-less, but the Kingslayer and the Imp are my family, and believe it or not, I prefer them over my own mother and father. I don’t know what you’ve heard but whatever you believe my uncle has done I can promise you that it wasn’t him. I know him better than my own father. In fact, I consider Tyrion to be what my father could not.”

Robb’s expression softens, but the doubt was still hiding his eyes, as clear as day. You wet your bottom lip, blinking before deciding to confess, “You know... before he left for the Wall, my uncle made me a promise. A deal, a bet, call it what you will. The deal was that if he didn’t make it to our wedding, I wanted him to take me away from here,” Robb’s eyes widen for a fraction before reverting back to normal size. Blink and you would’ve missed it. He let you continue without interruption, “I wanted him to bring me back to King’s Landing. But, if he did make it and I lost the bet, he didn’t want bragging rights or for me to do as I’m told and be your wife. No, if my uncle won, he wanted me to make a choice. He wanted me to do whatever made me happy, and that would make him happy. Everybody wins. He said that if I wanted to go home, then he’d bring me home. And if you remember our wedding at all, my Uncle Tyrion did, in fact, attend the ceremony and even gave me away to you before your gods, might I add. I lost the bet. And when the time came for me to pay my debts... I couldn’t. Not fully. In the end, I realized I didn’t want my uncle to take me home... because this is my home now. And even though I didn’t know you enough then, I knew you and this place could make me happier than King’s Landing ever could. I’m telling you this in confidence because you are my husband and I am begging you to have your mother release my uncle. Have no harm come to the only man who deserves to be my father, please.”

A war was going on in Robb’s eyes, conflict meeting conflict. You had to wonder if all Starks were good at brooding if a distant memory of his bastard brother served you right. Your hand, still resting on his cheek is finally acknowledged when Robb reaches up to take it in his own hand while glancing back at you, “And what if he is guilty?”

“He’s not.”

“And if he is?”

Your worry your lip, your own thoughts brewing a mile a minute before answering, “... I don’t know. If he is... kill me alongside him. I would defend him until the very end.”

He sighs, leaning forward until your foreheads touch, his eyes closing with a wince as if in pain, “That wouldn’t make me happy.”

Your heart skips at the words, your breath was involuntarily stolen from the man in front of you. After a moment, Robb squeezed your hand tightly before releasing you, stepping out of your space, “Y/n... even if it wasn’t your uncle, someone in your family killed Jon Arryn and tried to kill my brother. If not Lord Tyrion, then who?”

“I... I don’t know that either. I just know it’s not Tyrion.”

Robb nods, gaze hardening once again as he kept his gaze locked with yours, “And what happens should we find the Lannister who did these unforgivable crimes?”

He closely watched your expression shift with hawk-like eyes, clearly testing you and your loyalty. Ice settled in your veins, your eyes widening in disgust. You were appalled by his accusations and his suspicion of loyalty, wondering if you would choose between him and your family. With this conclusion, you let your heart harden again as you glared right back at your husband, “Then swing the sword yourself... and look me in the eyes as you do so.”

~~~

Some weeks later, you receive a letter from the Eyrie. Confused as to why anyone from House Arryn would want to speak with you, your hands carefully unravel the scroll. Once your eyes first settled on the handwriting, you breathed a sigh of relief when realizing the letter to be from your uncle.

Y/n,

I am safe. I was mistaken for an assassin and brought to the Eyrie to face judgment. It’s a long story, one of which I do not want you to worry about, but I will now be heading for Casterly Rock. Wish me luck. All that I ask is once you read this letter, have it burned. Do not question it. Just know that it’ll keep our family safe as long as no one else reads this. Stay quiet and stay safe, but most importantly, be brave.

Tyrion

Without hesitation, you walked across your room and threw the letter into the fire, watching the flames until they completely engulfed the parchment to the point of indefinable. That evening, when you entered the Hall for dinner, Robb, Theon, and Maester Luwin were already there, huddled around each other until you approached. Theon and Maester Luwin eyed you with a weary gaze while Robb kept his expression neutral, a scroll unraveled in his hands.

“My mother has set your uncle free. He had won his freedom in a trial by combat.”

“I see,” you dare not react, keeping your head held high as you stared down your husband, “Then the gods must have found him innocent on all charges.”

“There was another letter, Princess,” Maester Luwin decided to break the tension between you and Robb, drawing your eyes to stare at the old man, “Addressed to you. And another to Lord Stark.”

Both you and Robb take your respective letters, opening them up simultaneously. You recognize Varys’ words and read them to yourself. All eyes watch as your jaw visibly tightens and your eyelashes flutter. Your eyes struggle to focus as they slowly lift from the page and you swallow something building up in your throat as you spoke, “King Robert is dead. Killed in a hunting accident.”

The room grows silent. Robb wants to say something but instead watches as you stare at the floor, the letter now hanging loosely in your hands. Robb decides to fill the room with the sound of his letter crinkling as he starts to read the words, recognizing the handwriting to be Sansa’s. At first, he remains stoic until it slowly crumbles away to confusion and betrayal. He stares at the maester then back at the parchment in disbelief, “Treason? Sansa wrote this?”

“It is your sister’s hand, but the Queen’s words,” your head rises at the information, bewildered as Maester Luwin explains the letter, “You are summoned to King’s Landing to swear fealty to the new King.”

“Joffrey put my father in chains, now he wants his ass kissed?”

Spiraling, you don’t think rationally before snatching the letter out of Robb’s hands to read the words yourself. It was true. Robert was dead and now Joffrey has taken the Iron Throne. One of his first decrees was to have Ned Stark arrested and the remainder of his men and loyal servants killed. Sansa, now a hostage, spoke as Luwin described: with your mother’s words. You knew them all too well, to the point your hands began to shake at the thought of it.

Maester Luwin bows his head, “This is a royal command, my lord. If you should refuse to obey--”

“I won’t refuse,” both you and Theon look up at Robb’s words, watching as his eyes harden with determination, “His Grace summons me to King’s Landing, I’ll go to King’s Landing. But not alone.” He takes the letter from you, crumpling it up before handing it back to the maester, “Call the banners.”

Theon smirks while Maester Luwin appeared shocked, “All of them, my lord?”

“They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not?”

“They have.”

“Now we see what their words are worth.”

Luwin smiles in approval before walking out of the room. You, now have suddenly lost your appetite, retreat back to your chambers, nearly out of breath by the time you closed the door behind you.

You sit down next to the fireplace when your legs felt too weak to keep you standing. Still in shock, you watch the world move outside your window, swarms of ravens flying past with scrolls attached to their legs. Dozens of those black birds, bearing the call to war for all of House Stark’s bannermen sent an uncomfortable roll of your stomach to flip as you watch them all fly away.

The thoughts kept you from peace and quiet. Your father was dead. He may not have given you much notice, and sometimes he may not have remembered your name day, but he was still your father. A part of you felt disgusted, however, when you barely felt grief over his death. Perhaps a part of you was always prepared for this to happen. Your father was a fat drunk who loved to hunt to avoid his responsibilities... and naturally, those two things don’t mix.

Your brother is king now... that one bit of news involuntarily sent a shiver down your spine. Joffrey wasn’t a good person, and that was only putting it lightly. For most of your lives, Joffrey would try to be cruel to you, but it normally backfired. You were born first and were naturally taller until he finally hit a growth spurt. After that, he was horrible to you. Hitting you, tripping you, pulling your hair, and always when no one else was looking. He even threatened to cut open Fawn once and knowing what happened with one of Tommen’s cats, you couldn’t take that chance. That day, you politely asked your Uncle Jaime to take your horse out on one of his evening stakeouts outside the Red Keep, coming up with the excuse of how guilty you felt not being able to let your dear Fawn stretch her legs as often as you should. Jaime gladly took her, none the wiser. After that, you always strategically sent out the stable boy to tend to Fawn whenever Joffrey’s whereabouts were unknown.

Growing up with Joffrey was like walking on eggshells, so you could only imagine what the weight of the Seven Kingdoms will do on that boy’s shoulders before he snaps. He’s already imprisoned your husband’s father and is currently keeping his sisters captive. Suddenly, your room felt smaller than it was, as though your alliance marriage was about to start wearing thin as a thread. More than ever, you felt like an outsider... a Baratheon and a Lannister daughter... surrounded by wolves.

It wasn’t long before Robb walked in and interrupted your thoughts, silently closing the door behind him. He only makes a few steps in before speaking, “Y/n--”

“I hope you had a letter sent to your mother,” you keep your voice strong while staring into the flames, avoiding whatever tone Robb was pitying you with, “She deserves to know.”

“I had Maester Luwin write one up. She’ll get it by tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

Silence fell through the room, beside the crackling of the fire. After a moment, careful, slow footsteps draw near to you, “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shoot up when you felt his presence lingering over you, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed the sympathy in his expression, “For what?”

“For your father.”

A scoff escapes your lips before you could even think about it, your eyes averting back to the fireplace as your husband sits in the seat next to yours, “You should not apologize for something that was bound to happen. I should be apologizing to you. My family has half of yours held hostage in King’s Landing.”

“Not for long,” his voice deepens with determination, “Once the bannermen get here, we’ll leave immediately.”

“But what about your brothers?”

“Maester Luwin will stay and watch out for them... as will you.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and you nearly felt a laugh bubble up in your throat in response to his confidence. You stood your ground, “No. I’m going with you, I’m not staying.”

“Yes, you will,” he meets you head-on as if he believed this was a battlefield he has practiced for, “I--”

“You, what? You command it?” His mouth shuts, and the sneer from before appeared on your face, “You’re not my king, Robb. And I’m not just a lady who knits and sits behind a castle wall waiting for her husband to come home from war! You need me with you in King’s Landing if you intend on rescuing your father from my family’s clutches. My brother sits on the Iron Throne. My mother is Queen Regent. My grandfather and my uncle are raising an army to go to war for her against you. The only way you can safely bring home your father, mother, and sisters are if I go with you and beg my family for forgiveness without too much bloodshed!”

Robb looks away, deciding that the fire was more interesting to brood over. Your posture relaxes, guilt taking over as you slowly reach your hand to touch his arm. You decide to try and win him over by softening your words, “I know you’re no fool, my love... You know I’m right.”

His curls bounce with his nod, his eyes firmly staring at his hands as he closes them together, leaning his elbows against his knees, “It shouldn’t be this way. If none of this was happening, we could stay here.”

“And do what?”

The side eye you receive is playful; mischievous, “I could think of a few things.”

You entertain a small laugh with him, forcing down the heat threatening to rise in your cheeks, “I suppose as Acting Lord of Winterfell, you are due for a couple of heirs.”

Robb’s gaze softens, turning his face fully to you, “There’s no need to have children so soon, Y/n. My father is still alive and even if something were to happen to me tomorrow, he still has two legitimate sons.”

The words fester before your lips turn down. Apparently, a part of you did not like the idea of Robb dying. Even if you despised him, which you didn’t, you wouldn’t wish an early grave for him, “Don’t speak so low of yourself. You are his firstborn son and heir. Now that you are married, it is your duty to ensure your father’s legacy will live on.”

“... His legacy might be in danger... if King Joffrey decides to murder him and we go to war. Do you think your brother is capable of such a thing?”

You wanted to laugh at how silly the question felt when hearing it out loud, but you quickly remember that Ned Stark was at your brother’s mercy, and you decide not to spare Robb the details, answering his question with honesty. Your words were soft and grave, retelling a distant memory with disdain and horror, “When Joffrey was little, he cut open a pregnant cat and proceeded to show our father all the dead kittens, lifeless in his small hands,” Robb’s eyes widen but otherwise said nothing, so you continued, “Robert was disgusted by it, yelling at Joffrey until the boy wet himself... the King summoned me to his chambers that night, and I was scared that somehow Joffrey had pinned this whole horrible incident on me. Of course, Robert was drunk when I arrived, but for some reason, he wanted to spend some quality time in my company.”

You smile unconsciously, starting to feel a small bit of sadness as you clung to one of the few good memories you had of your father, “I don’t think he meant it, but I remember him plainly stating, behind his wine goblet, that I should wear his crown, that Joffrey didn’t deserve it, but unfortunately it had to be this way. Unless he wanted to repeat the Dance of Dragons, he could never name me his heir.”

Robb doesn’t say anything, and since you weren’t looking, you didn’t see the thoughtful blue eyes scanning your face. Your words seeping into his skin, he tried picturing a younger you, sitting beside a fat, old Robert while he drunkenly confessed wanting you on the Iron Throne instead of Joffrey. Robb’s mind was spinning at the picture. A pretty, far-off picture. You, a woman grown, wise and just, sitting on that throne of smelted swords, chin high and eyes fierce, wearing a beautiful gown of your family’s colors and a smaller size of your father’s crown settled onto your head.

The picture in his mind was so clear, part of him wondered if it wasn’t much of a thought, but a vision. Other thoughts began brewing in secret, but they betray the small smile on Robb’s face, fire twinkling in his eyes.

~~~

A/N: I like adding small sentences into certain monologues that sort of remind me of Easter eggs. For example, Y/n Baratheon never considered herself as even half-Lannister and the smallest things she does proves that. When she says that she couldn’t repay her debt to Tyrion, I wanted to further prove that she wasn’t a Lannister, since we all know that ‘Lannisters always pay their debts’.

Again, PLEASE ask/pm me if you want to be added to the taglist! DO NOT comment underneath each chapter! I won't see it right away or I might even miss it. It'll be easier if every ask was sent to me in one place so that I can easily see it.

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#black of hair got #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark fic #robb stark #richard madden #game of thrones #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #got imagines #got imagine #tyrion lannister #theon greyjoy

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