#don’t compromise your soul and mind the tags

[pickingbelovedoffthesofa]

I… don’t really have anything to say for myself.

Do, uh…. Do you like priests? Sacrilege? Blasphemy? Smut?

If so, this might be the fic for you. 😅

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

An Unexpected Entrance

BTAA Scarecrow x gn! Reader (NSFW)

(1,426 words)

Summary: You find the Scarecrow in a compromising position and decide to have some fun with him.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, masturbation, dom! reader, sub! scarecrow, blackmail, fear play, pain play (kinda)

Notes: lmao sorry I was gone for so long, I just started a new semester at college and I’ve been trying to adjust. anyway, I finally got around to listening to BTAA over christmas break and it was SO GOOD and I am down so incredibly bad for scarecrow so uh, here’s this. enjoy the fic

-

You could see the pale sky beginning to darken outside. Finishing up organizing the documents, your final task of the day was to deliver the files to your boss’ office upstairs. It was getting late and there was nobody else in the warehouse but you.

Not a single soul.

So when you heard a faint voice coming from within the walls, it was enough to make you shit your pants.

In this warehouse, the feeling of fear was inevitable to anyone who entered it. From low level grunts, to helpless test subjects, and to those who were just trying to get by such as yourself, fear was the one vulnerability that nobody could hide. The more one defied their fears and faced them, the less likely they were to get the axe (literally, in some cases). Although your boss, the Scarecrow, loved to see the courage, nothing pleased him more than the wailing and panic of the frightened.

Keeping your mantras of courage in mind, you pressed onward up the stairs- determined to deliver the documents, and to finally go home for the weekend. It seemed that the further you proceeded, the voice only became clearer. You could make out hushed grunts followed by the sound of your name. Trying to tune out the eerie moans and reach you destination as quickly as you could, you practically all but crash through the door of your boss’ office, where you were greeted to the source of the noise.

“Sorry to disturb you so late, but I have the-” Your words trailed off as you looked up from your papers. In front of you was Dr. Jonathan Crane, completely red in the face, leaning over his desk in an awkward position. He seemed to be trying (and failing) to mask his surprise at your unexpected entrance. He was definitely hiding something, and with the implications of what you just heard, your cheeks began to redden.

“Dr. Crane,” you murmur. Looking him up and down, Jonathan’s expression of feigned collectedness begins to falter as you toss the files on the side drawer and make your way in front of his desk, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Were you just…”

“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, in a pathetic attempt at gaslighting. Detecting the slightest quiver in his voice, your inquisitive expression forms into a knowing smirk, realizing that for the first time since you’ve taken this job, you now have leverage over Gotham’s mastermind of fear.

“There’s no need for mind games, Doctor.” You chuckle darkly. Crossing the threshold of his desk, you briefly glance down and notice the unmistakable tent in his pants, proving your assumptions to be correct. Spurred on by his obvious excitement at your presence, you continue to toy with him. “There’s no shame in wanting to feel good you know.”

You could feel him tense up after placing your hand softly on his shoulder. “However, I do suggest maybe locking the door next time.” Your hands slowly trail up and down him arms. “I don’t think you realize how lucky you are that it was me who caught you and not someone like, I don’t know, Oswald Cobblepot?” You could hear his breath hitch.

Working around the warehouse, you often heard things that you probably shouldn’t have been hearing. You heard things that if repeated out loud, could land you in the Scarecrow’s clutches, with fear toxin running through your bloodstream or a kill collar around your neck.

“How did you..?” Crane grits out.

“I wonder what he would think after he saw what I saw.” You continue to probe. Having the Scarecrow in such a vulnerable position not only increased your adrenaline and growing arousal, but also allowed you to get away with the words you knew could get you into some deep shit. “I wonder how that would affect your deal with him on the conflict regarding Harvey Dent.”

“Oh please,” he groaned, “So, you know about one of my higher-profile patients? Big whoop.”

“It’s not about who your patient is, but rather what kind of experiments you’ve been conducting on him.” While placing a strong kiss on his cheek, you whisper in his ear. “Let’s just say, I know that it’s not your usual brand of medicine.”

Before he could protest, Jonathan let out a low whine when he felt your mouth on his neck. Your hands began to twist down his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt. You could feel him shiver at the sensation of your hands grazing over his chest as each button became undone.

“You know, I checked,” You whisper, pressing soft kisses down his neck. “On the paper work, there was an unnamed compound along with your usual shipment.” With deft hands, Dr. Crane’s shirt was completely open, leaving your hands to wander across his chest. “The compound came from an ACE Chemicals facility which, rumor has it, experiments on pharmaceuticals- typically used by psychiatrists such as yourself, with that of the Joker’s laughing gas.” Harshly gripping at his chest for emphasis, Crane winced; your blackmail seeming to increase his arousal. “…Care to explain?”

For the first time since you entered his office, Jonathan looked back where his eyes met yours. He looked intense, and dangerous- almost like a warning, but God, also so desperate. Refusing to speak, you knew that he was trying to defy you at your game. Luckily, you don’t often like to play fair.

“Ok fine,” you sigh, with artificial defeat. “You don’t have to tell me about that, instead, let’s talk about what you were doing before I came in.” You soothe your hands up to his shoulders, delicately tracing down to his collarbones. “I want to hear you say it.”

For some reason, that seemed to shake him more than your discovery of whatever shady dealings he had going on. Jonathan seemed hesitant, debating if he should tell the truth or not. When he took too long to answer, you grew impatient. He let out a loud whimper when you sharply nipped at his neck, biting just shy of drawing any blood.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” You chuckle. Your hand makes its way up to Jonathan’s throat and wraps around him firmly. Not hard enough to choke him out, but enough to show that you mean business. “C’mon doc, you usually have so much to say! No need to get all shy on me now, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

“I was jerking off.” He confesses almost immediately. Christ, he was pathetic and you fucking loved it.

“There we go!” You laugh. “Now, was that so hard?”

Jonathan shakes his head. You can see him burning with shame and trepidation at your next move. You now begin to understand why the Scarecrow is so obsessed with fear, as you drink up Jonathan’s nerves like if it were that ice cold water bottle on your nightstand after waking up from a nap with a dry throat- Excruciatingly satisfying.

You rake your nails along the back of his neck, fingernails biting gently into his skin. “Look at me, Jonathan.” You order him.

He gives a low whine as he complies, turning around and gazing at your lips. Taking his chin in between your fingers, you tilt his head to bring your lips to his in a tender kiss.

Letting his guard down, Crane practically melts, giving you the perfect opening to slip in your tongue. As the kiss grew more heated, you grip Jonathan tighter; holding him in place for when you finally decide to nip at his lips.

When he yelps in surprise, you seize the opportune time to flip him back around to face over his desk, and unbuckle his belt.

“You are going to finish what you started, understand?”

Crane nods his head.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” he whimpers.

“Good.” In a shared effort, Jonathan’s pants fall to the ground as you see him reach for his aching cock.

“…And as you fuck yourself, you are going to tell me what you were thinking about and what you want me to do to you, got it?”

“Oh God, Yes.” He groans, feeling your mouth leave marks on his sensitive neck.

“I want you to say my name, as you begin to lose yourself; just like before.”

Hearing a compliant moan erupt from his throat, Jonathan’s hand begins to jerk himself off at a steady pace, already eager to listen to you.

“…And remember, don’t let my being here stop you.”

[joonipertree]

love in all its glory (in all of its efforts)

Love is a million things. It's fear, fondness, warmth, endearment, the want, the compromises, the desperation.

Rin loves you in all of its complexities.

(or: he fucked up and realised he adores the fuck out of you)

cw: blood (not a lot), brief mention of past head injury.

pairing: Haitani Rindou × gn!reader

tags: angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, Haitani Rin is very much in love, fluff

A/N: I got my heartbroken a few months ago and I wrote this to redefine what love is for me. love takes effort and I simply wish someone would try with their everything.

Rin’s bike had sped through the streets he didn’t really want to care to remember, (hearing the shrieks of fifteen year old you, telling him to slow down. He didn’t listen like he never listened to you back then. ‘You’re gonna get hurt, jackass.’). 

It swerved into your neighbourhood and he nearly crashed to a stop, stumbling onto the curb and letting himself run on autopilot. When he made it to your gate, he jumped over (hearing your grunts as you tried to parkour yourself in like he did. 

‘I am more than capable of doing this but help.’ 

He remembered laughing as he held out his arms for you.)

Rindou’s body slammed into the wooden door, fists thumping in the same pattern you used to do whenever you knocked at the door. His breathing had turned quick and laboured, eyes blurry as he tried to hear for any signs of life but the house was dead without your laughter in it. 

(The sounds of snorts and hiccuping filled his ears, you always laughed like that with only him, always leaned against him.)

He moved, not caring that his bare shoulder bumped into the spiky concrete of your porch where doodles of butterflies and crude drawings had faded with time. 

(‘You’re so disgusting, Rin! Have some respect for my house. Don’t touch my sun!’)

One foot felt the grass and the dew stuck to his sole. 

(‘You literally wear the most basic things it’s fine if they stain, I’m wearing something pretty--- fuck that’s cold.’ )

He jumped over the large protruding rock that had split his head open.

 (Your sobs and wails as clear as day as you shrieked, ‘Rin! Please don’t leave me! I love you!’) 

Why the fuck did he leave? What peace could he have found in your sorrow?

The swing that limply hung by half of its ropes filled his vision. (the memories of him sitting on the once intact seat with tears running down his cheeks flooded his mind. He didn’t remember the reason for his pain but he remembered you, his blue penicillin. You sat in front of him on the ground with your legs crossed, patiently waiting for him to speak.)

(You always listened. Always. Why didn’t he? )

His palms burned as he grappled the jagged bark of the oak tree, nails digging in and toes propelling him upwards (‘Be careful!’). His nail broke. (‘I would probably die if you fell on me right?’) He lost his footing but he only slid an inch before going forward. ('I’ll step ten feet away just in case….do you wanna rob houses?’) His foot solidified on the one sturdy branch there was. ('Listen, you either save the kitty or you die trying…do not throw her off, motherfucker.') Your shrieks echoed through as he moved on quick feet so that his older and burdened body wouldn’t cause him to free fall to the ground. 

Your window was a few inches away from the crooked reach of the tree and he extended his crooked hand to grab onto the ledge. The window was already half way open, (just like the nights when he would sneak in at midnight to find a broken you on the floor, showing the shards of your soul that caused your hands to bleed.) Blood smeared on the underlay of the pane as he pushed it all the way up, head ducking and one leg making it to the floor of your bedroom. 

( ‘Rin.’ 

You would smile through your tears, voice cracking and he wondered if any smile he could ever make out of sheer joy would ever match the one that had tears collecting at the corner of your mouth. If a crack in his heart sounded the same as the one in your throat. )

He stopped and searched the room that was shrouded in emptiness. His eyes landed on the lump of blankets that had a tuft of  hair and black headphones peeking  out from the top. He knew for a fact that the lump in his throat could beat it in its enormity when all you looked like was a tiny ball. You were so fucking small and he fucking wished you were small under his embrace rather than on your own.

What if you disappeared from his grasp as he wrapped you in his arms?

His body heaved in exhaustion, lungs constricting as if to punish him for his sins that only held weight because your pain weighed them down. His heart hurt from its pounding and he knew it wanted to escape, bleed out all of his love for you because all it thought it could do was paint your floors for you to see

 His hair was left dishevelled and tangled, covering half of his face and he wondered what it would take for it to leave his sight for the rest of eternity, what would it take to never blink again if it meant looking at your every small movement and uneven breath. 

He barely saved himself from crumbling to his knees as his shaken legs walked o you, knowing that the only oxygen they would accept is the one that you would provide. His wounded hands push your shoulder towards him, as if they didn’t scream for letting even a drop of his tainted blood to smear your soft skin. 

And when your head landed on his chest, a bit too abruptly, he wished that his ribs could soften so his bones didn’t hurt you. And he held you, not letting him take your warmth but letting himself pour every ounce of kindness you handed to him unconditionally, trying to increase it tenfold. 

There was stillness, the song through your headphones playing into his ear as he pressed his cheek against your head. He couldn’t make it out, didn’t care enough because music would only echo in his hollowed out chest. 

The earthquakes came in waves, limbs twitching as if to find purchase. The trembles were followed by salt water and Rindou was ready to swim you to the shoreline, against the pull of the hurricane.

But, you were still. You were a stable wooden floor that wouldn’t bend under the shoes of man. And he realised belatedly that the tears were his. They were yours to see. Everything that was his was yours and he knew that the day he felt your small chubby hands take his awkward slender ones. A sob clawed out of his throat like it had waited for the day it could see light.

 And you-

(the you who was so human that humanity was loved by him for a second, you whose existence meant the existence of deities that grew out of the earth to watch over it)

 You turned in his hold and held his face, wiping away his pain with a single swipe of your thumb. And he knew that destiny was bullshit when your effort had caused you to look up at him with concern (and with the sun that had decided to wait out its dying days in them.)

He loves you. 

[kissingkiszka]

The Sweet Symphony - Chapter Ten: Elevator Affairs

Jake Kiszka x reader

Words:9.1k+

Summary: After Jake doesn’t keep his promise, reader finds herself in a compromising situation with a familiar face…

CW: MDNI, 18+, SMUT, finger!ng, cheating, violence, anger, fighting, blood, cuts, & bruises (gore?), cursing, drinking, jealousy, affairs, praise k!nk, pet names, angst, fem reader, everyone is so damn stubborn atm…this one is juicyyyyy

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Y/N POV

The next day was filled with the normal tour routine. Everyone packed their belongings from the hotel and made their way onto the tour bus bright and early in the morning. Heading off to the second and last show in Nashville.

The show was just about to start and your mind kept replaying the conversation you had with Jake yesterday. You weren’t going to lie and say that him flirting with the fans didn’t make you jealous, and that you were a bit nervous about it happening again at tonight’s show. But he promised to act differently and you trusted him.

As you stand in the wings, the boys make their way to their spots right before the curtain drops. As it falls, the crowd erupts into screams and cheers.

The first few songs played, and before you knew it, Highway Tune was starting.

Jake POV

As I’m playing my Highway Tune solo, I noticed a girl standing at the barricade. She had black hair and bangs that perfectly framed her face. She had freckles sprinkled across her face and piercing green eyes. Of course, she’s wearing a tight baby tee that says ‘I ❤ Jake Kiszka’. I feel so flattered. I continue to watch her as I play, completely forgetting to pay any mind to Y/N watching me from the wings.

The girl in the audience's hand travels to her back and I see her hands fidgeting behind her. What on earth is she doing?

Oh no.

Fuck.

Before I had time to think, her bra was airborne and quickly coming towards me. I knew what I had said to Y/N last night but in moments like these, there is not much else I can do. I caught the bra in a panic around the neck of my guitar. The crowd was egging me on, so I gave them what they wanted. A show.I swung the bra around the guitar neck a few times, never breaking eye contact once. I rip it off the neck with one hand, still continuing to play with the other. I swing it in a circle using my pointer finger a few times.

The crowd is definitely getting the show they paid for tonight.

I bring the bra up to my face, checking the inside tag.

36C.

Perfect.

I feel a rush of blood leave my head.

Oh fuck.

I look back up to the girl, my eyes scanning her body. I notice her perky nipples have since grown hard, almost peeking out from underneath her thin white T-shirt with my name on it. I give her a slow approving nod.

I discard the bra into the wings and I watch as it lands right by Y/N’s feet.

Whatever, I don’t give a shit.

The show must go on. I laugh it off and continue with the rest of the show.

Y/N POV

What. The. Fuck.

A bra lands right by your feet. One that Jake had just caught, continued to play around with it, and then threw right at you.

He glances over, giving you a confused look, while you shoot daggers into his soul.

You can feel the anger boiling inside of you. Your jaw clenches and your hands ball up into fists. The anger boils over, your vision blurs with rage and all you see is red. You aggressively pick the bra up and your knuckles turn white from your tight grip on it.

You storm out of the wings, tears already flowing down your cheeks. He promised he wouldn’t do this. Not again. You were hurt, sad, angry, confused, all at once. You stomp into the nearest bathroom, determined to hide away in there until the show comes to a close.

After the show, Jake is frantic to find you. He sends multiple crew members to be on the lookout for you. You can hear groups of people outside the bathroom calling your name. But you’re not going to answer. You hear footsteps nearing and Graham's voice appears on the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Where did you go?” He shouts.

A few moments later, your breath catches in your throat as the bathroom door slams open.

“Y/N? Please, come out?” Graham shouts once more. He knows you’re in here.

You swing the stall door open to be met with Graham towering over you. He looks like he’s been in a panic. And when you leave the bathroom to be met with everyone else, they all look to be in a panic as well.

“Y/N?” Jake shouts, running up to you. “What is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” You scoff, “No, Jake, what’s your problem?”

His brows furrowed and he tilted his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He throws his hands up in defense.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jacob.” you were seething.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He reprimands you sternly.

“Fine, what would you like me to call you? Huh, maybe a cheater? Does that shoe fit?” You get even more worked up. “Yeah? Or perhaps a liar? You told me you wouldn’t do that again, and you did!”

“Yeah? Well you’re a little fucking bitch! You know that?”

“You we’re eye-fucking that girl with your own two eyes, Jake!” You were far too angry to notice the rest of the boys and some crew members beginning to crowd around you.

“This is just the industry! Maybe you’re just a little too soft for this lifestyle!” His voice begins to raise, his face turning red with rage. A vein pokes out of his forehead.

You dig your finger into his bare chest. “Have fun eye fucking your fans then because you won’t be getting anything from me, you bastard.” The finger digs even farther into his chest, sending his footing backwards a bit. The jab in his chest was the final blow.

As Jake opened his mouth once more to fight back, Josh stepped in.

“Woah! Okay, break it up!” Josh begs for security, or anybody for that matter, to step in. “Guys! Stop this! Please!”

Everyone goes silent as two security guards separate you. You feel embarrassed and like you just ruined everything.

“Now isn’t the time for this!” Josh says, breaking the silence. “I thought we were adults here!”

You could always count on Josh to humble you in the worst way possible. Everyone went silent, embarrassed of the commotion that was caused. Before anyone could say anything else Tom came into the room.

“Amazing work tonight boys, you all did amazing up there. And Jake, that little stunt you pulled really got everyone going, nice work!” Tom says, clapping his hands together. Jake looks at you with a condescending and bratty smile. You just simply roll your eyes at him.

“Now, we have a flight at 1 AM heading to Salt Lake City, so we better get on the road. Get some sleep on the ride because once we're there we’ll drop our stuff off to the hotel and go to the press release shoot, so we all better rest up! Maybe after, we can get dinner.”

Tom smiles, completely oblivious to the scene that just occurred.

Jake scurries out of the room, his shoulder brushing past yours.

You scoff and turn to Sam. He has an apologetic look on his face. He follows shortly behind you and you feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.

On the plane, you find yourself sitting next to Sam. Your mind was racing about Jake and you knew this tour would be a bad idea. You were mad at yourself for still risking it all though.

“Jake's behavior was completely uncalled for.” Sam leaned in and whispered, taking you by surprise.

“What do you want, Sam? Are you just trying to get the details out of me? I'm trying to be professional here, but it’s all just a big joke to him.”

“I’m not trying to defend him but he is usually like that with the fans. Not saying it’s right, especially if you guys are…” he trails off, unsure of the relationship status.

“We’re not together, but he says he wants me to be his. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this.” You turn towards the window staring out at the night sky below you.

You haven’t even got through three shows and problems are already starting. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“Coming on this tour was a mistake. I should’ve trusted my gut.” You confide in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I just felt like this was going to happen. He would bring me, and then forget about me. I wish I never came.”

“I don’t think it was a mistake. I’m glad you’re here.” He placed a comforting hand on your leg.

You can tell Jake is watching, so you might as well give him a show in return. Since he's the one who wanted to give you the show first. Better return the favor. You take your hand and rub your thumb over Sam’s large hand.

Sam POV

I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. My hand lets go of Y/N’s thigh as I go to read the notification. It’s a text from none other than my lovely dickwad brother, Jake.

2:04 a.m.

Jake: Get your grubby hands off of her.

I read over the text a few times and then turn around to look at Jake. His eyes are fueled by fire. The nerve of this guy. He can kiss my ass. I shove my phone back into my pocket and replace my hand back onto her thigh. I'm doing what he can’t, which is to make her feel comfortable and appreciated. The more I look at her, the more beautiful she looks.

Haha. This will be fun.

Jake POV

As soon as we walk into the hotel lobby, I make sure to pull Tom aside.

“Hey man, is there a way I can..get a separate room?” I ask him, making sure that Y/N doesn’t overhear me.

“No can do, bud. She’s your guest. You wanted her here, so you better work out whatever is going on and keep it professional.” He tells me, patting my shoulder and sending me off to my room.

I purposefully catch a different elevator, not risking any chances of being in an enclosed space with her for a long amount of time. I don’t even want to look at her.

As I make my way down the hallway, I can see Y/N swiping her keycard into the door. It's already four something in the morning and I am dying for sleep. I honestly can’t even bother with this bullshit at this hour. She steps into the room, lugging her bag behind her. I slow down, not wanting to catch up too quickly.

As I enter the room she has already claimed the one king sized bed due to her huge luggage being spread out across the bed. I look around the room and see a small loveseat couch next to the minibar.

Great.

Looks like I'm opting for the couch.

She gets up, going to get ready for bed.

“Guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch then.” I say in my best snarky voice.

“That's your choice.” She replies, giving me the same attitude back. When she notices my offended expression, she speaks up again. “Hey, don’t dish out what you can’t take back.”

“Please, stop speaking.” I reply shortly, collapsing onto the couch. I don’t even bother changing out of my outside clothes.

She rummages through her open suitcase, finding a pair of pajamas. There is no point in me even sleeping at this point as five a.m. is nearing quicker than I had accounted for. Even though I didn’t even want to look at her, I found my eyes glued to her. I watch as she slips her top off, revealing her bare back to me.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

I cannot even start with her right now. She’s trying to suck me back in, and I’m not falling for her trap. I know exactly what she’s doing.

“Fucking hell.” I mutter under my breath as I stand back up. I grab my key card, my wallet, and my phone and I make it a point to leave the room as fast as possible. If Y/N wants to act like a child, two can play that game.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I just had to get out of that room. I make an impulsive decision, I'm going to go give my little brother, Sammy, a nice visit. As I make my way to his room, my mind is racing over what the hell I'm even going to say to him. As much as I don't want to speak to him right now, it's better than having to speak to Y/N.

Knocking on Sam’s door, I hope he hasn't fallen asleep yet. He opens the door in nothing but a pair of plaid red pajama pants.

“Jakey! Hi, my sweet brother!” He greets me, sarcasm lacing his voice.

I brush past him, welcoming myself into his room. I kick my boots off and sit down at the chair next to his minibar. Infact, I reach for a small bottle of gray goose vodka.

I lay back with a sigh as I spin off the top of the drink. “Might as well make myself feel at home.” I sigh before taking a swig of the drink. Sam stares me down, an unapproving look on his face.

“What do you want?” He asks, plopping himself down on his bed.

“I just want to talk.” I responded.

“Hm, okay. Talk, then.” He sits back, ready to listen.

“First of all, I want to tell you..” I take another sip. “Stay away from her.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Ja-”

“She's mine.” I cut him off.

“Oh really? Then why did she tell me you two weren’t together?” He inquires in his classy snarky tone.

He catches me stuttering over my words. “I- uh- Well, we aren’t together yet, but she's off the market. She's mine.”

“The way I see it, Jakey, If you're not official with her, then she is free range, buddy.” He crosses his arms.

I let out a loud groan. “Sam, you're such a dickhead!” I down the rest of the tiny vodka bottle and slam it down on the side table. “And ‘free range’?! What the hell?! She’s not a chicken for god's sake!” I gather my things and storm towards the door.

“Oh, and Jake?” He stops me before I could reach for the door handle.

I turn towards him, giving him one more chance to make amends.

“She seemed pretty comfy on the airplane with me, might turn into someone else's guest soon.” Sending a wink my way.

Fuck him.

So much for that. I can’t go back to the room just yet. I decide to travel to Josh and Graham’s room. Josh is my twin, he knows what I’m thinking and knows what to say, right?

I knock on the door, hearing feet scurry over to the door. Josh opens it, putting a finger over his mouth. Graham is in the bed, fast asleep.

“I'm sorry to disturb you.” I whisper, slipping into the room.

“Josh? Who is it?” Graham murmurs.

“It’s me, Jake. Didn’t mean to wake you.” I say apologetically.

“No worries. I had to use the bathroom anyway.” He stands up and makes his way to the bathroom. Josh sits me down on the edge of the bed and takes the spot next to me.

“I already know why you’re here.” He plays with my hair. “You just couldn’t resist visiting your twin brother again, huh?”

I sigh and even crack a little smile.

“Listen to me, Jake.” He places an affirmative hand on my shoulder. “I know being cheeky with fans is the norm for you, but you need to put yourself in her shoes. She’s never been even remotely in the spotlight before.”

I let out a small groan. I really don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth. She didn’t even know what to expect when she agreed to this tour.

“Hm.” I huffed. “I thought she could have been the one.”

“She still can. Look, I know you don’t want to hear it.” He shook his head. “But you need to make that choice for yourself. Nothing will change if you don’t change first, Jakey.”

Graham walks out of the bathroom and decides to join in on our conversation.

“Gray.” Josh sits him down, wrapping an affectionate arm around him. “Come say some wise words to Jake here.”

Graham clears his throat. “Y/N is a keeper.” he stared deeply at me. “During the show, she was beaming. A ball of light. She was so fuckin’ proud of you, boys.” He chuckled, looking over at Josh.

I was honestly a little bit in disbelief right now. “Are you being forreal?”

“Sure am.” He nodded. “She’s a great girl, Jake. It would be a serious mistake to let her go. Grab on to her and hold on tight. Don’t risk it. Make sure she doesn’t slip away.” He smiled warmly. “You kinda fucked up tonight. Hell, if I were you I’d be like, wrapped around her finger.”

The one thing I always loved about Graham and Josh is that they were always so wise and always knew exactly what to say. They fit each other perfectly. The two of them just went around and healed people.

“Damn.” That's all I could manage to peep out. “I guess you’re right. I just need to stop getting in my own way.” I stand up, beginning to make my way over to the door. I better get back to my room, maybe I can talk to her if she's still awake. “Alright boys, get some sleep now.” I say with a wink, opening the door.

“She really, really likes you. It could even be love.” He smiles as he sends me on my way. “Go get her, tiger.”

The walk back to my room is long and treacherous, much worse than how I had remembered it. Probably because my eyelids have since grown heavy and my mind is racing with thoughts about Y/N and how badly I messed up. I was being so hard on her, too. She had her doubts, and I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen, and I lied.

Part of me was hoping that she would be asleep so I wouldn’t have to confront her about anything, but the other half desperately wanted to sort things out. When I came into the room I was met with her cuddled up in the bed by herself, holding a pillow close to her. I can’t help but wish I was in place of that pillow instead.

I decided to get some sleep before we would have to get up and leave for the photoshoot, which would only end up being a few hours now after all the conversations I was having. I got as comfortable on the couch as I could, and the last thing I thought about before falling asleep was the love of my life.

That morning I awoke early to the noises of Y/N shuffling around the room. I feel as if I’d been hit in the face with a brick. I feel my world crashing down on me, and it’s my own fault. It’s like I can’t even allow myself to be happy.

I muster up the power to stand, my regrets from the night before striking me once again with even more power.

As Y/N is making her way to the bathroom, I manage to stop her in her tracks.

“Hey, Y/N?” I call out.

No answer. She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, locking it.

“Please talk to me.” I beg, standing right infront of the door. “You don’t even have to talk, just listen to what I have to say.”

I hear the shower start to run.

Well here goes nothing…

“I don’t even know if you can hear me with the water running, but I’m sorry. I should’ve never done that to you. You’re the only person that I want and you’re the only person that I’ll ever want. You’re the one. You. Not some random chick that waits in the blistering sun all day just to get a tiny glimpse of me. I want you. You’re authentic, beautiful, loving, caring, unique, and everything else good in the world. The fans, they’ve got nothing on you. I can’t stress it enough, Y/N. I’ll say it until my dying breath.”

I step away from the door and a knot forms in my stomach. I need to know what she has to say. I’ve sealed my fate. I sit down on the bed and run a hand through my hair. I might’ve just ruined it all. I hope she at least heard my piece and she is in the right mindset to talk through it with me.

She walks out of the shower, her hair in a towel and her outfit for the day on.

I barely even give her a chance to do anything else before I get up and make my way over to her, making sure to leave the necessary space.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, taking another step back.

“What?” She turns, ripping the towel off her head.

“About…what I said…?” I sit back down on the couch. “Y’know, the things I said to you outside the shower door. Kinda confessed my love for you there. Please tell me you heard it.”

“Didn’t hear a thing.” She says, disgust still laced in her voice. “Maybe you should’a spoke louder.” She slips her shoes on and walks out the door without another word.

Y/N POV

Jake was trying to talk to you this morning and honestly, you we're not having it. Infact, you would do anything in your power to avoid him at all costs. You weren’t going to be as forgiving this time.

Looks like you’ll be air drying your hair today. You don’t even know where you were going to go, you could go anywhere except for the room where Jake was in. That also happened to be your room as well.

How convenient.

Sam had been texting you all throughout the night and he even let it slip that Jake gave him a visit. You decide to get the hotel's complimentary breakfast. It’s nothing michelin, but it’s something you’ll soon learn to get used to and appreciate.

You grab a plate of scrambled eggs, a blueberry muffin, and a coffee.

As you sit and eat the free meal, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

8:47 a.m

Sam: Did Jake give you any trouble last night?

You think over what to say. Should you lie? Should you even mention what he said to you this morning? Should you even respond?

8:48 a.m.

You: No idea

8:48 a.m.

You: I was fast asleep when he came back into the room last night

8:49 a.m.

Sam: That's good. Saved yourself an entire conversation with him.

8:49 a.m.

Sam: Don’t sweat it, don’t even give him the time of day.

Even though Sam was right, you deeply missed Jake. The Jake you knew, or thought you knew. You missed how you could talk to him whenever, about whatever. You missed how loving he was. You missed how much he cared for you. You missed that he knew exactly how to treat you, the things you liked and didn’t like. He knew all of your soft spots and just about every inch of your world.

8:50 a.m.

You: I suppose you’re right.

8:52 a.m.

Sam: wanna stop by before we have to leave for the shoot?

8:52 a.m.

You: Sure, I’m getting breakfast now but I’ll be up soon.

8:52 a.m.

Sam: Oh okay, then I’ll just come down to you. I was hungry anyways. Plus I need a coffee. Or 5.

You place your phone down, secretly dreading having to talk to Sam. You had a feeling he wanted something out of you, something he could report back to Jake. You would have to tell him everything that happened, and you just didn’t want to do that to him.

A few minutes later you watch as the elevator doors open, and out walks Sam.

“Hey” he spots you at the table. He pulls out the only other chair at the table and sits down. He lets out a loud sigh only to stand back up and go over to the food section. You laugh at his awkwardness.

When he returns he has a black coffee and an apple in his hand.

“You doing okay?” He asks, placing a hand on the table for you to take.

“I suppose so. Thanks Sam.” You sigh, debating on taking his hand but ultimately decide to reject him. “Things will be okay though.” You said, much quieter.

“Yeah, they will.” He nodded.

Just then, Tom slipped out of the elevator and made his way over to you.

“Good morning you two! Did you both sleep well last night?”

“You could say that.” Sam said, unsure.

“Slept like a baby.” You replied sarcastically.

“Don’t babies like, barely sleep though?” Sam questioned.

“Huh, yeah. I guess so.” You replied, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Good to hear, good to hear.” Tom said, sipping on a coffee he already had. “So, we should get on the road in about…” he looks down to check his watch. “15-20 minutes?”

“Sounds good. Thanks Tom.” You thank him before he walks away.

“Y/N.” Sam says, pulling your attention back to him.

“I wanna talk to you about something, before everyone else gets here.” He sits up, becoming more serious.

“Mhm.” You nod him to keep talking.

“Last night, Jake came to my room. He told me to stay away from you, y’know yada yada, he went on a whole spiel about it, in fact.”

“Yeah.” You nod. “I figured. He left the room before I went to bed and just didn’t come back. He had to have gone somewhere.”

Almost like clockwork, you received a text from Josh.

9:00 a.m.

Josh: Goodmorning! Wanted to give you a heads up, Jake did visit my room last night.

You roll your eyes when you see Josh’s text. Who else was going to tell you that Jake visited them last night? All while he was ignoring you.

9:01 a.m.

You: Thanks for letting me know, he also visited Sam. Now who else did he go to? Danny? 🙄

9:01 a.m.

You: What did you guys talk about?

9:01 a.m.

Josh: Graham and I spoke some sense into him.

9:02 a.m.

Josh: expect an apology from him today.

9:02 a.m.

You: Gotcha. Thanks.

Good to know that he visited everybody and their mother last night, but was too scared to even try to talk to you, let alone be in the same room as you. You were awaiting a text from Danny, maybe even Tom as well, to tell you that Jake also paid them a visit.

After a little while later, the boys all gather in the lobby one by one. You and Jake keep your distance. You two keep catching glances at one other. You won’t lie, he looks so hot. He's wearing a black button up, black pants, and black boots paired with his signature sunglasses. If you weren’t fighting, you would run over there and rip all his clothes off of him like some animal.

Of course, he got some snide remarks from Sam. “Looks like Jakey is going back to emo.”

“Can It, Sam.” Jake growled under his breath.

The ride to the photo shoot venue was awkward to say the least. Everyone was mostly silent, except for the sweet, low whispers and giggles coming from Josh and Graham in the back. Unfortunately, not every couple on the bus could be all buddy buddy like that.

“Alright, lovebirds! we’re here.” Tom clapped his hands together as the bus pulled into the parking lot. He was very clearly aiming this comment at Josh and Graham.

You were assigned to do the hair for this shoot, and you were dreading doing Jakes. You didn’t even want to have to look at him. You pulled yourself together and told yourself you had to stay strong, pretend like you weren’t affected by what he did. Pretend your whole world wasn’t crumbling down around you.

Maybe you could have some fun with this…

The boys all came into the room, one by one, ready for their hair to be styled. First up was Danny, he comes in with perfect curls. There wasn’t much to do with his already near perfect hair. Then Sam, he just needed a good brush through. Then Josh, he’s a bit of a diva when it comes to his hairstyle so he did take a bit longer. And then finally, Jake.

He waltzes in, quickly sitting down in the chair. “C’mon. Let's get this over with.” He urges.

“You’re gonna need to take your glasses off.” You tell him.

You watch as he slips off his sunglasses to reveal his perfect chocolate eyes accompanied by perfect eyeliner.

Shit.

You doubted yourself for a second. There was no way you could get through styling his hair without crumbling.

No, no, no, you could.

You just had to stay strong.

You pick up the brush, and begin using it much rougher than in the past. You can see in the mirror in the corner of your eye, his face scrunching up with each stroke.

“Ouch.” He sighs under his breath.

“You have a knot.” You told him shortly, pulling on his hair even tighter. He did not have a knot, you just wanted to toy with him. In fact, his hair was already picture perfect. You could have just sent him off as is, but where’s all the fun in that?

Everyone steps into the studio, bright ring lights and greenish-gray velvet couch in the center of the backdrop.

You all greet the photographer, a fairly young and attractive woman.

“Oh, an attractive woman, try not to eye fuck her while you’re at it, since y’know, you seem to do that with every girl you look at.” You lean into Jake's ear and tell him in a low whisper. He just shoots you a glare and decides to ignore you, which is probably the smartest idea either of you have had all day.

Each of the boys get their pictures taken individually, Jake being second to go, Josh and Danny being the last two people to go. As he steps in, he has his acoustic guitar in his grip. He takes a seat on the couch and begins to pose, completely ignoring your presence. You watch as he changes up his poses every now and then, not even batting an eye at you.

The more you watch the more your thoughts begin to race and the more you feel yourself succumbing to the pain that he had caused you.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. You jumped up out of your seat and rushed towards the door. On the way out, Sam caught you and held you back by your upper arm.

“I can’t be here anymore. Let go of me.” You mumbled to Sam.

He reluctantly let go of you. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. I’ll let you into my dressing room.”

He follows you out of the studio and into the elevator, pressing the button to the floor that the dressing rooms were on. The two of you stood on complete opposite sides of the elevator, it was obvious that you weren’t in the mood to talk. He was just going to let you into his dressing room, where you could take a breather and have some alone time.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked.

“Sam…” You sighed and crossed your arms.

Suddenly, the elevator began to rattle and eventually came to a halt. You and Sam went quiet with anticipation, looking around the elevator in confusion.

“I think we’re stuck…” Sam says, attempting to open the elevator doors with his bare hands.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You pull him away from the door and your fingers roam over the button panel, landing on the ‘call’ button.

A bell dings and a voice comes over the intercom. “Can we help you? Is it an emergency?”

“Yes, the elevator is stuck!” You call out, trying not to panic any more than you already were.

A few moments pass before the same voice comes over the intercom,“Alright, We’ve contacted maintenance. Help is on the way, stay put.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go, so I guess we do have to stay put!” Sam expressed. He turns to you, starting up the conversation again. “Well, now that we have time, lay it on me.”

You sigh, having no other choice. This is the worst case scenario for you. “I just don’t understand why he would do everything he’s doing. He told me he wanted only me. I just-I feel like maybe he doesn’t want me anymore. He made me a promise he wouldn’t do it again, and then the fucking bra thing happened. He’s acting as if I’m the one who fucked up.”

He runs a hand through his hair seductively. “I would’ve never done that to you. He needs some sense smacked into him. His loss. Who wouldn’t cherish a darling girl like you?” Sam spoke, pushing himself off of the elevator bar he was holding onto, beginning towards you.

“Sam…” you sighed once more. “We can’t do this.”

“We sure can.” He says smirking at you bringing himself closer to you.

Staring down at the floor you knew it was wrong. But he seems to be the only person that cared for you recently, like he actually cared. You feel a finger under your chin, bringing your sight back in line with his.

You step back until you are pushed up against the elevator walls, with nowhere else to go. You grasp onto the elevator bars for dear life as Sam continues inching closer to you.

“You can say no.” He whispers softly.

“What makes you think I would say no?”

He eyes you up and down, his towering stature stared deeply into your eyes for what felt like hours. Not wanting to give in, you stared right back into his warm brown eyes.

Eventually his lips collapse into yours, with no other choice but to give in. He lets a soft moan escape his lips and he pushes his tongue past your lips.

“Tastes…so…sweet..” he moans into your mouth.

Your mind was so conflicted, you didn’t know if you should push him away and wash your mouth out with soap, or if you wanted to keep things going with him. His fingers began to dance around your curves, inching down your body lower and lower.

Your grip on the bars tighten as you feel something harden against your upper thigh. This was going way too far, and you had to snap out of it. You had to push him off of you. You had to do something quickly. His tongue was still connected with yours and it wasn’t right.

“Sa-” you began to whisper into his mouth, only to be cut off by the elevator door quickly sliding open. Your head shoots to the doorway, finally breaking the kiss.

To your surprise, Jake was standing on the other side, a look of absolute horror written on his face.

“What the absolute fuck is going on here?!” Jake shouted, taking a step back.

“Jake-” you plead, pushing Sam off of you.

“Don’t start.” Jake warns.

Sam decides to step out of the elevator and closer to Jake. “And what if I do?” Sam taunts.

Jake’s breathing intensifies, “I thought I told you to keep your dirty little hands off my girl. You motherfucker.”

“Last time I checked she wasn’t your girl.” He spat, both of their voices laced with venom. You could taste the tension in the air.

“Oh that’s it-” he stepped towards Sam and threw his arms up, throwing him to the ground. “You fucker.”

Jake hovered over Sam, giving him several blows to the face. As his fists continue to make contact with his face, you are screaming and crying at them to stop. Fear ran through your blood.

“Stop it, Please!” You shouted through tears. “We can talk this out like adults!”

They acted like you weren’t even there. Sam let out a loud groan of pain.

“Maybe this will make you think twice before you decide to touch my woman!” Jake hisses as he throws more punches.

“Jake, you're hurting him! Stop it! And Sam, you should’ve never kissed me! It was beyond stupid!” You shouted at them but once again they didn’t pay any mind to you. You stepped away from the scene for a second, looking for any nearby worker or security that could help you.

You luckily find Tom around the corner and frantically pull him over to the scene. Sam is now on top of Jake, his knuckles bloody as he continues to throw punches.

“Boys!” Tom shouts, immediately snapping them out of their trance. “What the fuck is going on?” He shouts, his face becoming red at the sight of the two boys fighting.

“Tom-” Sam starts as he stands up. “I-”

“You two are brothers, so act like it! You're professionals!” He yells.

He's seething.

Hell, all of you are.

Both of the boys stood up, fully speechless.

“Does anybody want to tell me what's happening?!” He inquires

“Sam came onto me, the elevator broke down, and then we kissed. Conveniently, the doors opened while we were kissing and Jake was standing there.” You explained.

“Sam!” Tom turns to Sam and shoots daggers into his soul. “You know that she’s off limits. We’ve been over this!”

They've been over that? Have they had to have a talk like this before?

Sam has a look of shame and embarrassment written across his face as he wipes the blood pooling from his mouth. “She ran into the elevator, I- I had to follow her in. Let her into the dressing room.”

“Y/N, why were you even in the elevator in the first place?” Tom asks, his tone much softer than his tone with the boys. “Your job is to do hair, not dilly dally in the elevator.”

You catch a glimpse of Jake, and flick your eyes away. He's standing far back, still trying to catch his breath. Even though you feel like you hate him right about now, your heart can't help but break a little at the sight of the blood on his face.

“I just, I just needed a minute.” Your voice shaky and unstable. “I was getting very overwhelmed with..”

You shoot a look over to Jake, letting him know he was at fault for this.

“…things and needed to separate. I was going to come back after but then the elevator broke down.”

Jake's eyes widened. “So, I'm the reason why this went down?”

All you could do was give him a blank stare. His face was fucked up and bloody, all you wanted to do was run over there and patch up all his cuts and bruises.

“Fuck, Y/N.” he mumbled before turning around and dashing out of the room. “FUCK!” he cried out.

The entire room went silent as you heard a door slam in the distance.

“Just give him time.” Sam came up behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“You have some scrapes on your face there.” Tom said. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“You should see the other guy.” He laughed but immediately shut up when he saw nobody else was laughing along.

As mad as you were at Sam, and yourself, he was the only one that was here for you. If Jake wasn’t there for you, Sam would be. You were okay with filling the hole that was meant for Jake with Sam, for the time being.

Sam was being led out of the room by Tom. “Let's get you a medic, boy.”

You hesitated, wondering if you should say anything at all. You contemplated having the commitment of being the one to fix him up. “I have a first aid kit in my bag.” You finally spoke up.

The rest of the day was a mess with so much tension on the set. Sam and Jake were forced to be separated during the day, someone always being with them with the fear that one would try and start another altercation. The dinner plans for that night were canceled because of the fight for obvious reasons and everyone was getting taken straight back to the hotel after the photoshoot.

You were so mad at Sam for what happened, but were you allowed to be? You reciprocated it and kissed back. You felt cared for in the moment. As everyone is getting their stuff together you all head back onto the bus. You made sure to sit as far away from Jake as possible while also steering clear from Sam. You opt to sit on the couch between Danny and Graham. The short bus ride felt like forever, wanting to get out of that bus as soon as possible.

Once at the hotel, you gather your things to get off the bus. Right as you get off you look in the distance to see Jake already walking in the hotel's revolving doors. He really didn’t want to be near you, and you didn’t want to be near him either.

You didn’t want to stay the night with Jake so you told yourself you would stay with Sam, and you would gather your things in the morning while Jake was still asleep. That way you would avoid him completely.

As you and Sam ascend in the elevator, he turns to you. “I know it’s been a really hard day Y/N, but you didn’t deserve whatever happened.”

You shoot him a slight smile. “Thanks Sam.”

As you step into his hotel room, you collapse onto his bed. He begins to take off the temporary bandage on his cheek. You watch as he winces in pain.

“Here. Let me help you with that.” You lead him into the bathroom and instruct him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. As he obliges, you walk out to get your first aid kit that’s mixed in with your hair supplies.

You sit across from him on the edge of the bathtub. You wash his various cuts and scrapes with warm water and some gentle soap.

“Okay, this may sting a little.” You say, dabbing a cotton ball with a bit of hydrogen peroxide.

He hisses at the sensation. His eyes are glued to the floor as he denies any eye contact.

“Sam, I’m sorry you had to deal with this. That shouldn’t have happened.” Your face is filled with empathy. “This all happened because of me.”

“Yeah, well, for you, it’s worth it.” Sam smiles, softly looking up at you. Your eyes meet for the first time in hours.

You let out a small giggle and try to contain blushing at his words.

“They can cut me up all they want. I’d go through hell n’ back for you, baby.”

“That’s very sweet.” You softly whisper. A few moments of silence pass by.

“Do you regret it?” He asks lowly, staring down at you.

“Maybe.” You shrug, your eyes catching his.

“What do you mean maybe?” His brows furrow.

“I regret you getting hurt, and Jake getting hurt too.” You tell him, dabbing some Neosporin on his cheek.

“Anything else?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“What about the kiss?”

“I know I should, but I don’t.” You have a tinge of guilt in your voice.

You unwrap a few bandages to address the cuts on his face. You delicately cover each wound he has, including his knuckles.

“Would you do it again if there were no repercussions?” His hand caresses against yours.

You nod. “Yes.”

He begins to lean in. “Would you say yes if I kissed you right now?”

“Yes.”

He takes a hold on your chin, leaning in closer. His lips collide onto yours, still living in the moment in the elevator just hours earlier.

He pulls away and catches his breath.

“That was ten times better than I imagined.” He smiles.

You chuckle. “That wasn’t our first kiss-”

“I know. You just keep getting better and better.”

You can’t help but blush a little bit and Sam smiles brightly when he notices.

“Wanna go to bed?” He stands up, putting his hand out for you to take.

“Mhm.” You nod as he leads the way to the small double bed. He begins to strip, leaving himself in only his white boxers.

Plopping yourself down onto the soft white comforter, Sam tucks himself in at the spot next to you.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He says, pulling the covers over himself.

You hesitantly slip out of the jeans you were wearing and climbed into bed with only your black T-shirt and panties.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Sam chuckles. “A great personality and a banging bod?!”

All you can do is let out a small giggle. “You’re too sweet, Sam.”

“I can show you something sweet.” He smiles.

He leans in to kiss you one more time, this time more slow and sensual. He takes his time as his tongue softly slips into your mouth. His hands rest on your hips.

He lets out a soft moan as his tongue continues to explore your mouth. You feel butterflies in your stomach and your lips intertwine with his. You place your hands on his bare chest, feeling up his pecks. The kisses became more heated, but still tender and delicate.

“You taste…sweet.” He breathes through kisses. His hands begin to travel lower and lower until they reach the hem of your panties. The same pair Jake had bought you. “Shall we see if you feel sweet too?”

“Fuck.” You whine. The butterflies in your stomach turned into fire and desire. You nod your head with want. Your core was becoming wet at the thought of him. He was no Jake by any means, but he was Sam. You squeeze your eyes shut with pleasure as you feel his fingers move your panties to the side, allowing him room to slip his fingers in.

“You’re so wet, so sweet.” He whispers, his fingers taking in all your slick. “So gorgeous. Oh god.”

Your breathing begins to pick up as he slides his fingers into your core, pumping in and out.

“Sam!” You let out a loud moan.

“I’ve been dreaming about you like this. You look so beautiful when I have you like this- with my fingers inside of you. Even more beautiful than I imagined.” He whines, his fingers still working in and out. “You take my fingers so well.”

You feel yourself clench around his fingers as his words leave his lips. “You feel so good, fuck!”

“So good baby, so gorgeous and tight. You’re such a good girl Y/N.” He says with a shaky breath, his fingers exploring your clit. “Jake doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you.”

“Sam! I’m gonna-” you moan, nearing the edge.

“Good girl.” He moans. “Cum for me.”

“Fuck! Sa-” you moan his name and other obscenities as you cum on to his fingers. The wave of pleasure makes you see stars.

“You’re so beautiful, your cum looks so heavenly on my fingers. You felt like heaven.” He smiles, admiring the slick dripping down his fingers. “Let’s see if your pussy tastes as sweet as your lips taste, as sweet as you feel.”

He brings the two fingers to his mouth, sucking on them intently. He makes a ‘hmph’ before he pulls away, making intense eye contact with you as there’s a string of saliva connecting his mouth and his fingers.

“You taste like heaven.” He places the fingers up to your lips, partly them slightly. “Go ahead, taste just how sweet you are for me.”

You part your lips even further, allowing his fingers entry to your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, looking back up at him seductively. You moan as you taste your own slick. You send a shiver down Sam’s spine.

“Oh, fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me sweetheart.” Sam groans as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “If Jake doesn’t ever treat you right again, my door is always open for you.”

Jake POV

It's the wee hours of the morning and y/n still hasn't come to bed. And I know exactly why. I'm in desperate need of a drink, so I decide to text the band group chat.

2:58 a.m.

Me: hey, anyone down to get drinks at the hotel bar?

I put my phone down and slip on a pair of shoes, knowing I'm going to the bar regardless if anybody is coming with me or not. I'm in dire need of a drink.

2:59 a.m.

Danny: I'll be there

2:59 a.m.

Danny: In 5?

2:59 a.m.

Josh: Graham is out like a light.

3:00 a.m.

Josh: I'll see if I can make an escape.

I leave the room and saunter down to the bar. I check my phone once more and notice Sam is the only person who hasn't responded. Huh. I bet he's with Y/N. I know I messed up everything with her. I just need to let it not get to me.

3:02 a.m.

Josh: I escaped, and he is still sleeping!

3:02 a.m.

Josh: call me Houdini

3:02 a.m.

Danny:😂

3:05 a.m.

Danny: I'm here. To your left.

I look up and see Danny in a seat, 2 open stools next to him. He's already got a drink in his hand that he's making quite good progress on.

He turns to me and brings me in a side hug. “Hey, bud!” He shouts.

“Hey, Dan the Man!” I playfully punch his shoulder and sit back in my seat.

“What's going on?!” He asks, taking another sip of his drink.

“Eh…I think you know.” I told him, wanting to avoid any and all topics surrounding Y/N. Even if he didn’t know, he could definitely tell from the gashes on my face. My face is all fucked up now, but fuck it.

I order a Jack Daniels on the rocks and slowly sip away at it. A few moments later, the elevator doors open to reveal Josh. He's got his head raised, eyes closed, and his arms out, almost like he had just ascended from heaven. He always needs to be the one to make an entrance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had gotten a built in spotlight just for that bit either.

“Don't fret, Your guardian angel is here!” he exclaims, stepping out of the elevator and up to us, taking the other seat next to Danny. He gives nobody a chance to greet him properly before he turns to the bartender. “I’ll take an old fashioned, please.”

Fuck.

Y/N’s favorite drink.

I feel my heart drop with regret and sadness before he turns his attention back to us, me especially. “Jake, we have some talking to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, Josh.” I nod and take another sip of my drink. “I know, I fucked up.”

“Good.” He nods. “You did fuck up, and you looked fucked up too. God, did no one get you a medic?”

I shook my head ashamedly. I stormed out before I could get help, being the idiot I am. I just washed my cuts off with some soap and water in my dressing room bathroom and called it a day.

Danny picks up on what we're talking about and chimes in. “Yeah, why did you do that whole bra thing? Y/N really is a great girl-”

Josh cuts him off. “How many times do we have to say this to get it through your thick skull?”

I set my drink down. “Alright, I didn't come down ‘ere to be questioned. I know I fucked up, and I regret it. Now, is somebody going to give me an idea on how to mend things with her? Because I don't want to lose her.”

Josh shrugs. “Hmm, all I can tell you is… don't be a dumbass. Show her she’s the only one for you. It's really simple, actually.”

“Agh” I groaned in frustration. Josh is right. I am a dumbass. Only dumbasses catch bras fans throw at them. Only dumbasses treat the best woman they’ve ever met like a piece of chopped liver. Only dumbasses catch the woman they love playing tonsil tennis with their younger brothers because they were too proud to confess how they feel.

Danny snaps me out of my self-deprecating thoughts. “Wait, where’s Sammy?”

I sigh, getting ready to face the ugly truth.

“He's probably with Y/N. I can’t imagine he would let her sleep in your room, Jake, after everything that happened.” Josh says, finally confirming the thoughts that ran through the back of my mind.

“Do you think they would…go all the way?” Danny asks. A question I am dying to know, but would also kill not to know the answer to.

“Hm. Probably.” Josh hums, his eyes grazing the bar area before snapping back to me. “Sorry Jake. It was bound to happen. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, especially after the way you treated her.”

“Disappointed but not surprised.” I quip, downing the rest of my drink. It was true. I was beyond disappointed, but I was not surprised. It was a fear I was in denial about. Even though this was the answer I feared, I'm glad I have an answer at all. I caused this, I shouldn’t be upset about it. I just need to sit with this, think on it.

“I need to head back.” I slam a few bills on the table without another thought and go back up to my room. I fall asleep in a cold and Y/N-less bed, hoping that tomorrow I can work up the courage to face her and tell her just how much she means to me and how committed I am to her.

Tag List:

@gretnavannfleet @theweightofjake

[bullet-prooflove]

You: Jimmy Lanik x Reader

Tagging: @annieradcliff @cosmic-psychickitty @daniacat

Jimmy knows that you’re an attractive woman. He’s seen the way other men look at you and he doesn’t blame them, you are beautiful. You have a way of making the people around you feel special. He knows because you’ve done it to him.

When he sees a resident make a play for you by the bar, he’s rolling his eyes. He’s not a jealous man by nature, he knows you don’t need a white knight to come and rescue you every time a guy makes a pass.  He’s secure in the relationship, there’s not a doubt in his mind that you love him as much as he loves you. However, there’s still an urge deep down inside of him, to claim you and he’s not used to feeling. He’s had a lot of that since he met you, a lot of emotional firsts.

He'd locked himself away for such a long time after the debacle with Anna, shut down parts of himself that had been ruined in the carnage of that relationship. When he met you, it was like spring was coming into bloom, he had felt himself coming back to life.

That night of the toy drive had changed everything. He didn’t believe in soul mates before he met you and he thought romance was messy. He saw the drama of it in the E.D every day, Halstead and Natalie, April and Choi, Rhodes and Ava…

He wanted no part of it.

He didn’t mind eating alone, he could sleep on whatever side of the bed he wanted and his time, it was his own. There was no one to compromise with, no sacrifices to be made, there was just him.

Then he met you and it was like a burst of colour had exploded into his life. He hadn’t realised how small his world had become. He had become so focused on his work that he’d actually stopped living. He didn’t do a lot of things before he met you.

Now he was getting tipsy on an expensive Pinot Grigio and making out on the couch until three am in the morning and teaching you ASL because you’d see him signing with his sister over Facetime and wanted to learn. You shared his passion for fine dining, trying new foods and flavours. He hadn’t shared that part of himself before, he hadn’t explored it. The two of you dined out frequently, cheese festivals, whiskey tastings, pudding clubs. It was a flurry of laughter and excellent food. He revealed to you he’d almost taken up culinary school before becoming a doctor instead. He loved to cook, but he couldn’t bake to save his life. You had laughed because you loved to bake but lived off pasta.

It was easy being with you, easier than he had thought it would be. His last relationship had been tempestuous but you, you were something else. You were happiness, you were bliss, you were everything.

Maybe that’s why he pulled you into the bathroom this time, he wanted to remind you how much he loved you, how much he cared. It was exhilarating, the feel of you pressed against him, your legs wrapped around his waist, skirt hiked up over your hips. Your fingers were in his hair as he loved you. He couldn’t get enough, he wanted to chase this feeling forever, to lose himself in the ecstasy. He’s learned your symphony, he knows when the crescendo is approaching, and he guides you over the peak, his lips on yours, drinking in your moans as you cling to him. It’s the intimacy of it all that tips him over the edge, a moment of connection in the midst of the euphoria. He’s fucked before but with you it’s different. With you he makes love. He understands that phrase now, in a way he never did previously.

He looks at you, your flushed cheeks and bright eyes and he smiles as he cradles your face in his hands because it’s you, it’s only ever been you and it will only ever be you.

Love Jimmy? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[riftdancer]

[ *DASH : SPELL OUT YOUR URL USING SONG TITLES. THEN, TAG AS MANY PEOPLE AS THERE ARE LETTERS IN YOUR URL. ]

rip us with long urls A lot of these songs actually correspond with my muses.

[░r] ewrite (cover) - AmaLee || Revive and rewrite this tale of pointless fiction and make it one you won't forget / So now rise and rewrite as you awake from the grave to give it everything your body heart and soul

[░i] gnorance - Paramore || It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture / I'm just a person, but you can't take it

[░f] low - Masayoshi Soken || I'll catch your tears, quench your fears with joy til you near the shore / Where in time, all shall as hope be reborn, ah // For this journey's end is but one step forward to tomorrow

[░t] o The Edge - Masayoshi Soken || (Hell take us, heaven can wait) // (Our hearts beat loud, unafraid) / On hands and knees we pray to gods we've never seen

[░d] o You Remember Love? || Through and through I will accept the love you gave to me, in return just behold me / Like the sunlight is igniting the distant moon

[░a] Way of Life || Deep inside my mind / I didn't compromise just for the love / Everything made sense to you, Nobody stopped to see them fade, your eyes seemed so innocent

[░n] ation Blue || Wherever you lead me on this sparkling blue road / I'll always be by you, even if we're far away from each other

[░c] ome - Amuro Namie || Don’t you see? You’re the only person / In the whole world who means everything to me

[░e] cho (cover) - Lollia || I can't get a grip, but I can't let go / There wasn't anything to hold on to though.

[░r] eturn To Oblivion - Masayoshi Soken || A voice from the past echoes loud like a drum oh, yes / No more goodbyes, though my heart is still aching / Now open my eyes, one more time, Here I come

TAGGED BY: @mathcs; Thank you! I had some fun with this!

TAGGING: If you want to do this, feel free to!

[webnewsify1]

Self-Love: The Key to a Happy and Healthy Life

To love oneself is to acknowledge and value one's imperfections and overall being. It entails being gentle, empathetic, and courteous to oneself. When you love yourself, you are more likely to take care of your physical and emotional health, make healthy choices, and set boundaries with others. You are also more likely to be confident, happy, and successful in all areas of your life. What does self love mean? Self-love is the act of valuing oneself and nurturing one's mind, body, and soul. It implies prioritizing one's happiness and wellness. Additionally, self-love involves meeting personal needs and not compromising one's well-being for the sake of satisfying others. There are many benefits to self-love. Most important benefits include: Increased happiness and well-being: When you love yourself, you are more likely to feel happy and content with your life. You are also less likely to experience negative emotions such as anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. Improved physical health: When you love yourself, you are more likely to take care of your physical health. This entails maintaining a nutritious diet, engaging in frequent physical activity, and ensuring sufficient rest. Stronger relationships: When you love yourself, you are more likely to have healthy and fulfilling relationships. You are less likely to be codependent or to attract toxic relationships. Increased success: When you love yourself, you are more likely to be successful in all areas of your life. This is because you are more likely to believe in yourself and your abilities. You are also more likely to take risks and to go after your dreams. If you want to be happier, healthier, and more successful, it is important to practice self-love. Here are a few tips for practicing self-love: Be kind to yourself: Treat yourself with the same kindness and compassion that you would treat a friend. Forgive yourself for your mistakes and learn from them. Do things that make you happy: Make time for activities that you enjoy and that make you feel good. One's activity could range from perusing literature to strolling amidst the natural environment. Set boundaries: Learn to say no to things that you don't want to do and to people who are not good for you. This is important for protecting your time, energy, and emotional well-being. Take care of your physical health: Eat healthy, exercise regularly, and get enough sleep. This will help you to feel your best both physically and emotionally. Spend time with positive people: Surround yourself with people who love and support you. These are the people who will lift you up and make you feel good about yourself. Self-love is a journey, not a destination. Learning to love oneself requires effort and patience. However, it is one of the most important things you can do for yourself. When you love yourself, you are happier, healthier, and more successful. So, start practicing self-love today! Tags: self love quotes, self love art, self love songs, self love books Read the full article

[wint3r-h3art]

"a kiss that is leading to more but is interrupted by a third party" for the kiss prompts mayhaps? (I know it in my heart and soul that the third party is katy... I just know she would bust into shangqi's room for whatever reason like showing him a cool meme or something, see the two in a compromising position, say something along the lines of "it was about damn time" and leave 😂)

A/N: LMAO I LIVE FOR THIS!! Remember you asked for this 💛

As always your likes, comments, and reblog are greatly greatly appreciated 💛💛💛

Pairing: Shangqi/Shang-chi x f!reader

Warning: spicy enough to wet your appetite, but not enough for me to put a disclaimer on here

Tag: @sunrays-in-the-sea @missusstark @sapphireamethystpatch @lovelyrdjr @yoheyyosup @meegggoooo @gmsbtpo @krmjsc @0mni-verse @dangerouslyclose @tayloramato

The uber ride back is unbearable.

You cannot stop fidgeting your fingers as Shangqi sits tensely beside you, eyes staring straight ahead. He sits so still that he almost feels like a statue beside you. His fingers gently strokes your clothed thigh in a circular pattern. Occasionally, his fingers would drift farther into your inner thigh, teasing you, stroking the sensitive flesh,  making you swallow nervously. The corner of his mouth would pull into a smirk as he catches you breathing shakily.

The night is supposed to be the night you let loose since Katy is out of town, but you take it too far when you constantly tease him, touching him suggestively as you dance at the nightclub, not realizing that you have stirred something in him.

When the Uber comes to a halt, you both quietly exit the car. The tension hangs thick in the air as he leads you into his modest apartment. You know about his situation, and you just don’t care. You’ve been wanting him for quite sometimes now, and it’s just recently that you feel bold enough to approach him about it.

His lips find yours the moment the door is shut. He wraps his arms around you while his lips are still on yours, kissing with much fervor than you’ve ever experienced before. It seems like whatever control he has, slips right at the moment he reaches his apartment--his safe haven where he can have all of you to himself.

He’s all tongue and teeth, you gladly welcoming him with the same urgency and ferocity.

You let out a soft yelp when he backs you till you hit the mattress. Shanqi settles between your legs and continues to devour you whole as if you’re the only thing that needs right now. Your fingers reach down to his shirt and yank it up. He gladly takes it off and throws the content over his shoulder. Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at him, your fingers trace over the hard ridges of his muscular form. You've suspected that he’s fit, but now it’s evidence that he’s really fit. The sight of his taut stomach alone, makes your mouth waters with anticipation of what to come.

You let out a surprised yelp when he takes you by the chin and pulls you in for another open mouth kiss. His tongue slips easily into yours as he slowly pushes you back against the mattress. Nothing matters at the moment. You just want to feel more of him.

“Baby,” you moan softly when he tears his lips away from yours to kiss along your jawline. His fingers skimming the hem of your shirt.

As his fingers skim dangerously close to the waistband of your jeans, sparks of amber light suddenly appear out of nowhere. Both of you stop suddenly as you watch Wong and Katy step out of what looks like a portal.

“Ayo, Shaun. Let’s go get some Korean BBQ tonight. Wong is paying,” Katy says without looking up. You can feel your cheeks burning up as your stare at Katy then at Wong.

“Do you guys mind?!” Shangqi yells out loudly, hiding behind the duvet trying to cover himself.

Only then that Katy looks up from her phone. “Oh shit! Oh shit! You and--Oh my God! Jesus, finally!”

You can only offer an awkward smile at Wong.

“Good job,” Wong says to Shangqi, looking less impressed than he sounds.

“Get out!” Shangqi yells at them again.

“Fine. Fine. Have fun, kiddos,” Katy says before she waves goodbye to you. “Wrap it before you tap it, Shaun!” She yells out before the portal closes, leaving both of you feeling flabbergasted and quite embarrassed.

[lemonlushff-iy]

Do you want to play a game?

You do? Good.

You know how these games work if you’ve ever seen one of Clearwillow’s...but game rules are HERE since it’s slightly different! I hope this is fun for people...that was my goal! And I hope you catch the “Easter Eggs” in it. I’m curious how many people will find them all. 

I’ll post everything once it’s done on FFN and AO3, and you can catch what I’m doing for @clearwillow‘s game early on my Patreon HERE! (It might be more smut...It might be fluff. WHO KNOWS! It will be OLR related...and it will go up as soon as it’s finished!)

Special thanks to @underwater0phelia​ for kink help and @clearwillow​ for additional edits...and the IYFF BC for brainstorming! Art by @clearwillow​ for @eringobroke​ - used and edited with permission. 

And now without further ado... The first treat (aka, the “freebie”).

Starting Fires

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the Inuyasha universe.

"Inuyasha, stop," Kagome giggled, trying to wriggle out of his hold as he pressed wet kisses up her neck. "I don't want to burn your bacon…"

"It's just bacon," he reasoned, his hands sliding up under her shirt. Or should he say his shirt? Fuck...there wasn't a better sight in the world than his best friend...his best girl...Kagome...Wearing his shirt in their kitchen in their house. Now that he had her again, he weren't never letting go of her. "I don't mind eating something else for breakfast."

"You will when your stomach is rumbling later," she blushed, grabbing his hands and pulling them down, his fingers grazing over the lace fabric of her panties. "Behave yourself and go grab a cup of coffee."

"I'd rather grab your—"

"—Coffee!"

She reprimanded, flipping the bacon in the pan. He placed a gentle nip to the side of her neck before moving away from her, a disappointed pout on his lips.

"Fine. But let it be known that I'm doing it under protest," he grumbled, moving to his cabinet to pull out a mug.

"Your protest has been duly noted, Sir," she teased, turning away from the stove to pick up her own cup of coffee. She brought it to her lips, sipping from it as she watched Inuyasha pour himself some. Their life together felt so surreal still. It felt strange to wake up in their house and cook them breakfast.

But it was a good kind of surreal.

The kind where she found herself pinching her arm to make sure it wasn't all some crazy dream. This was their life. And...she loved it.

"Mmm," he moaned, taking a sip from his cup. "As good as ever, Kags," he grinned toothily, and she risked entering his personal space to press another kiss to his lips.

"Glad you like it," she replied, running away from him again when he moved to squeeze her ass. She removed their bacon and eggs from the pan as a text message chimed on both of their phones, and Inuyasha raised a brow in curiosity. She watched him slide his thumb across the screen, before muttering out a low "Huh" as he read the text.

"What is it?" she asked, picking up their plates and placing them onto the island.

"See for yourself," he shrugged, placing the phone down next to her plate. "It's from Sango."

That already piqued her curiosity. Kagome picked up the phone, leaning over the countertop as she read it.

"Hey Guys!" She began aloud. "Miroku and I decided to throw a Halloween party this year. We know it's a bit last minute, but we were hoping you guys could come since you aren't heading back out to California like you thought. Let us know if you can make it! Trying to plan in terms of food. Love you!"

"Love you too," he grinned, and she couldn't stop the shy smile even if she wanted to. She didn't think she would ever get tired of hearing that again from him. The words were like a balm to her soul.

"What do you think?" Kagome asked, handing him his phone back as he began digging his fork into his eggs.

"Up to you," he shrugged. He really didn't care either way. He was just glad he didn't have to go out to California with her. Though, to tell the truth, he wouldn't have minded. They could have had a night in...just the two of them...And he was always a fan of nights in with her. But..."We can go. I know you wanna…"

It was true too. He had seen the way her eyes lit up when she was reading that message. The way she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Kagome didn't want to spend the night in. She wanted to spend her first Halloween back in Montana at a party with old friends.

"But...You...Don't?"

He shrugged.

"Don't matter either way. I'm fine going. I'm fine staying home and fucking ya seven ways from Sunday."

"Yash!"

"What! It's tha truth," he replied with a smirk. "And you can't tell me ya don't like the sound of it," he continued, running his tongue over his fangs. The cute little blush he pulled from her was worth it.

"Well...How about a compromise?"

He paused, lifting his brow in curiosity.

"Go on…"

"What if we went to the party...Just for an hour or two...and then afterward we can come home and have sex? Oh! We can even wear couple's costumes again!"

The phrase couples costume made his butt clench so tight he could probably twist off a beer cap with his cheeks.

"I'll agree to go to the party...but not the couple's costume."

"But Yash," she whined, coming around the island to take his hands. "That's part of the fun…"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll wear something slutty?"

"N—" He began, ready to tell her no again when his brain processed her offer. "Keep talking."

"I'll wear something slutty and sexy?"

"...Uh-huh...And what else?"

"...And you get to take it off of me?"

He almost said yes...but he was a greedy fucker. He was probably gonna take it off of her even if she hadn't offered that.

"Do I get to do more than that?"

"You mean other than wear a matching outfit?"

"I do."

"Well," she began, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips in thought. "I'm assuming that sex is a given…"

"But you can say it anyway, and make it interesting," he shrugged. If he was going to get roped into this...because he was going to say yes, because he loved her...then he wanted to squeeze as much as he could out of this.

"Ok...If you do it, sex is on the table...and I'll also add you picking the place and position," she decided, causing his eyes to light up.

Place and position huh?

"Well...In that case Darling, you've got yourself a deal!"

Her childlike squeal and the way she giddily clapped her hands, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, made him feel like he made the right decision.

"Now let's talk costumes…"

He groaned, shaking his head and digging his fork into the eggs on his plate.

Then again...Maybe not…

He let her prattle on for a while, running different ideas past him...But he knew that it ultimately wouldn't matter. He was going to give in to whatever she wanted. If she wanted him to go as a hot dog, and she was going to be a bottle of mustard? That was what was going to happen. Wasn't sure how she could make it sexy...but sure. Her call. Prince and Princess? No fighting it. Batman and Catwoman…

It had piqued his interest, but she almost instantly changed her mind. The cowl would be uncomfortable for his ears.

So, she decided on a fireman and a dalmatian. He looked over at her phone when she held up a picture of the costume she had found for him and sighed.

"That's what you want?"

It didn't look too bad. And it looked like he could maybe get away with just wearing the pants. He was going to have to be sneaky about it though...He could do just a t-shirt and those pants.

"Please?" she beseeched, batting her long lashes at him. "It will be so cute! And you'll look so good!"

He tilted his head to the side, and she chewed the inside of his lip as she watched him roll her suggestion around in his head. She really liked the fireman outfit. She thought it would be fun! And he would look good in it too...She could already picture him slowly taking off the jacket to reveal his bare torso...the suspenders holding up his pants hanging limply at the sides as he slowly peeled himself out of—

"—What are you thinking about Kagome?"

She looked up at his face and saw him looking at her, a smirk stretching his lips as he limply held the phone, leaning down across the island.

"N-nothing," she blushed, swiping out to grab the phone from him, but he pulled it away from her at the last second.

"Nu-uh. I can smell it when you're lying…and I can smell it when you're—"

"—NOTHING!"

She insisted, grabbing the phone from him this time, and his grin turned predatory.

"Ain't nothing, or you wouldn't be smelling like that," he countered cheekily before his gaze began to darken. "Ya know...You don't have to keep that bottled up…"

"Inuyasha," she warned as he straightened, running his carefully filed and declawed fingers along the island countertop as he slowly came around to her side.

He was ignoring her, however.

"Kagome," he replied, closing in on her in just a few short strides. "Were you thinking about me in that fireman outfit?"

Sometimes she swore he could read her mind.

"N-no…"

"Liar," he purred, placing his hands onto the granite top on either side of her hips. He had effectively trapped her...and he was looking at her like prey.

It made her swallow because her mouth was suddenly dry. And made her lower abdomen heat. The intensity and desire in his gaze...the slight glint of fang in the morning light…

Fucking hell...She wanted to be his prey. Wanted to be captured and eaten and...eaten…

He inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lowly moaned, "Fuck Kags…"

"W-what," she swallowed, and his smirk widened into a fangy grin before his lips crashed into hers.

AN:

I WILL ONLY DO THIS WALL OF TAGS ONCE! All future treats will be completely hidden under cuts so I don’t spam everyone’s timeline with in your face kink!

@clearwillow, @keichanz, @dangerouspompadour, @nartista, @kaze-ranna, @superpixie42, @sticky-llama-perfection, @pinkpigeonstudio, @mcornilliac, @itzatakahashi, @zelink-inukag, @juliatheanimelover7, @i-dream-of-soup, @smmahamazing, @the-lucky-ones311, @cyncyn981, @animemomma96, @ayari17, @underwater0phelia, @sailorbabydoll92, @l-taisho29, @animelove1313, @littlemissinukag​, @gofoulpuppycollector, @umacaking, @chanin29​,  @willowandfog​, @lebiishoujo​, @theinuyashareader​, @bluejay785​, @irrationalandimpossible​, @cstorm86​, @ruddcatha​, @desiree239​, @littledaisy91​, @liz8080​, @cannibalsforbreakfast​, @horriblehowl​, @arcprz​, @daisy-st-pati3nce​, @senneth-pendra​, @nsr0716​, @eringobroke​, @kagometaishostory​, @thisshipisbananahs​, @sunsetskys​, @ajoy3fanfics​, @sangoslays​, @v0dka-cat​, @cloudsz04​, @lavendertwilight89​, @yurawiththegoodhair​, @saturnsilence​, @lavaffair​, @blairex​, @fawn-eyed-girl​, @fandomobsessions016​, @neutronstarchild​, @preciouslyours​, @kalsies​, @shnuggletea​, @ladyphoenix0711​, @littlestuffstohide​

See you at 500 notes!!

[sophie-i-guess13]

The Dead Guys’ Girls

I was unreasonably in love with this one lol

“No one knows how Sherri feels after the murder death of her boyfriend. Well, except for maybe one person.”

|Words: 1785|

|Characters: Sylvia, Cherry Valance, Bob Sheldon, Dallas Winston|

|Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort if you squint|

|Tw: Underage Drinking, Character Death, Murder, Suicide|

Tag! @apricot-colored-feathers @ralphmaccchiato. If you’d like to join, let me know :)

There's no right answer on how you're supposed to grieve. Sure, there are books and pamphlets for losing your baby, your husband, someone you've had time to love.

But no one told me how I was supposed to grieve for you.

Do I stay up all night, laying in my bed like it's made of hot coals? Do I stay up with the moon until it ducks back under the horizon, replaying our last words like some scratched record? Or do I remember you as our parents did, perfect in every aspect, the guy who'd be the final piece to the puzzle and give me everything a girl could dream of?

It's cold tonight and the sky is dark, but I know it isn't as cold as the earth we buried you in. It's not as dark as the casket you were laid to rest in, but it's just like the last night you had with us. With Randy, with Marcia. With me.

My heart burns every time I think of you. I think of the day we first met, the day we first spoke. I think of the days we spent on the playground and how you'd wave to me from the monkey bars while Marcia twisted my hair into braids. Everyone says their chest aches when they grieve, but that couldn't possibly describe how I feel about you.

I thought we were gonna be happy. We'd been together since the ninth grade, so waiting one more year to get married didn't seem like some impossible feat. You were gonna get me out of Tulsa, remember? We'd move somewhere nice, close to our families though, and we would build our own. I wanted horses and a son, you wanted dogs and a girl. You said we'd compromise because you'd spend our money on a ranch, rather than another line of pearls like your parents did.

Their eyes burn like bullets, even under the thick haze of smoke, weed, and whatever else, they know who I am. They know what I've done, all because of you.

I painted so many pictures of us in my mind. We were gonna be the high school sweethearts, as flawless as those on the television, and we'd love each other until we grew old. None of that will happen now, obviously. Not when you are doomed to rot in a box six feet under the frozen dirt, all because of the liquor burning like poison in your blood. None of that will happen now that your name still clings to me. It's on my lips, my skin, my clothes, it's even on your mother's ring, the one you said you'd give to me when the time was right.

I know it shouldn't, but the rage burning in my soul is hotter than the seventh circle of Hell -- the one so many people are convinced you now occupy.

How could you do this to me? How could you have let me love you for so long, despite every fight and flaw, and leave me?

How could you leave Randy like this? It's been weeks since I've seen him last, he disappeared as soon as they put you in the ground. He loved you like a brother, you know. Randy's loved you just as long as I have, and you let him watch you die. You took Marcia's boyfriend from her too, but everyone knows it isn't the same thing. Sure, both our boys vanished into the night, with nothing for us to remember them by except a memory, but it isn't the same.

There's only one girl in all of Tulsa who knows what it feels like, Bob, and she's sitting on the floor, rifling through his drawers with bloodshot eyes. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to break the silence. I want to leave. I want to leave her here to her own devices, going through his clothes and the only things he's left behind. You had so much. Your car, your clothes, your room, me.

But what did Dallas Winston have? As it turns out, very little.

Blankets and clothes, garbage, and her. The room's been everything except for completely demolished, and she sits in the middle of it, staring down a pile of t-shirts. They're all thin and threadbare, and it's all I can do not to cry when her long, slender fingers reach out and brush against the fabric. Like if she was too rough, she'd wipe away his very essence.

The floor creaks as I cross the threshold, that's when she looks at me. Makeup is thick and heavy, smeared down the side of her thin cheek and clumped under her eyes. Maybe they were once loud and bold, like all the other greaser girls we'd seen before. Now they swam with defeat as it mingled with tears and whatever was sitting in the bottle beside her hip.

It's silent. Silent like the car ride when you dropped me off after the Drive-In. Silent like the kitchen when Mom got the phone call. It's silent like the kitchen table when the detectives came to ask me questions. Silent like your funeral. You had so much. And yet, it was never enough for you, was it?

"You're the dead guy's girlfriend," she says to the clothes in front of her. No one's ever called me that before, but she's right. It's been weeks since your death, but you're the only reason people know my name. Months will pass, and I'll still be your girlfriend. Years, even, and that's all I'll ever be. They're all right, anyway. It's not like we ever broke up.

"I was about to say the same thing to you."

She's like a shattered mosaic, I think. Her clothes are filthy, her nails are bare and chipped. It's clear she dyes her hair, now that her roots are as brown as the dirt they used to bury your casket. She really is a beautiful girl, but ultimately shattered. That's what her voice sounds like too, shattered glass. It's high pitched, but it wobbled and cracks like the beer bottles you had stuffed under your car seats. "Dally wasn't my boyfriend," she snarls. "He broke up with me. Before..."

Before you tried to drown a kid in a fountain. Before his buddy, Johnny Cade, stuck you with his switchblade and left you for dead. Before Johnny died in the hospital a few days later with a broken back. Before Dallas Winston got gunned down for robbing a convince store. Dallas broke up Sylvia, but here she was. On the floor of his bedroom, taking whatever piece of him he's bothered to leave her.

You left me with too much. I think that's the problem.

I sit down beside her after a while. She flips through his clothes slowly, methodically, like she was searching for clues as to why he left her behind.

"If Dallas wasn't your boyfriend, why are you in his room?"

Sylvia doesn't look at me. Like if she pretends I'm not there, I'll disappear completely. I can't blame her, especially when I've been doing the same thing for days now. "Left some clothes here," she mutters thickly. Her pale complexion only makes the flush in her cheeks even more obvious. She hides it well though, with a quick wipe of her eyes before reaching for the bottle and taking a quick sip. "What're you doing here, Valance?" Sylvia asks stiffly. Her eyes linger on the red t-shirt on the top of the pile. It's ripped here and there, even stained on the collar, but she pulls it to her lap anyway. It reeks of cheap cologne and smoke, but by the way Sylvia holds to its fabric, you would've thought it was Dior.

"No one knows what it feels like," I admit. Tears are stinging my own eyes now as I pull at my collar. "Everyone's sayin' I should miss him, but I just can't."

"I shouldn't miss him," Sylvia scoffs harshly. "All we ever did was fight, and cheat, an'-" her voice cracks again, this time she barely has time to stop the tear rolling down the side of her cheek. "-He never loved me, y'know? But he... He was there when I didn't wanna be alone." An amber drop rolls off her lips, down her chin, before splattering against his t-shirt. It's just another stain, but I can't stop but think of your shirt now.

There was so much blood.

I pull my knees to my chest, letting my skirt roll up to the tops of my knees. I always thought they were cuter this way -- more practical in the Oklahoma heat, too, but Daddy would throw a fit if I tried leaving the house like this. He hasn't said much to me since you died. Now he has to start all over and find me a new forever, I suppose. The bare mattress behind my back rattles when Sylvia tilts her head against it, eyes scrunched closed and her lips forming a tight seal around the lip of the bottle. She swallows most of it in one go and for a second, all I can hear is her weak breaths.

"That was Dally's favourite trick, pretty sure that's the only reason he kept me 'round." Her chapped lips split into a smile, dark irises dance over scarlet veins. "Why'd he keep you around, Sherri? Got any tricks up that skirt of yours?"

It's funny how easy it is to say it now that you're gone. "Our parents thought we'd be a good match. Sure, he was nice an' all, funny and handsome-" dead. "I'm sorry about Dallas," I finally say. She stares down at the heap of fabric in her lap and sighs. In a truly defeated fashion, Sylvia downs the last of her liquor and lets the bottle roll out of her grasp.

 "Don't be. He was gonna die like that anyway. It just happened a bit too soon."

You were gonna die, too. Stupid and drunk, blinded by the rage in your heart and the liquor it carried. Dallas died stupid and hurt, blinded by the pain of losing someone he loved.

"Sorry 'bout Bob. You two seemed real happy."

I sat there with a girl I barely knew for an absurd amount of time. We were only two girls, our fragile hearts weighed down with grief we didn't earn. And even years after that night, when we'd healed the cracks in our hearts with all but cement, that's all we'd ever be. We'd never be two girls again. Not without having the ghosts of our past leering over our shoulders.

[sitp-recs]

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

[narrators-journal]

Could I request a BSD lovecraft x short(4”11) female reader

Soulmate au

Fluff to smut plz

And could lovecraft use his ability in the smut part?

It's not exactly what you asked for, but I hope it's still enjoyable! It was a fun bit of a challenge for me, I enjoyed it. Also, thanks for sending in an ask for this, I appreciate you humoring my weirdness <3

CW: Tentacles, size difference, technically teratophilia

Tagged: @ravenina14

Checking the clock, you saw that it was nearly morning, sighing heavily at that fact. Part of you wanted to say fuck it and go through until the next night, but your stomach twisted and coiled like a spring about to pop, you were far too high strung from a mixture of energy drinks and stress to sleep at the moment. So, with a sigh, you ran a (s/c) hand through your (h/l), (h/c) hair and sat back in your desk chair.

For a moment, you just sat there in your room, thinking about all of the weirdness in your life instead of all of the college work you still had to do. First, you'd lived since the age of eighteen with the name 'Howard P. Lovecraft' stamped across your lower back, a soul mate mark, meaning that was the name of your forever partner. Second, the man assigned that odd name was equally odd. So, fate had assigned you to a man that you were pretty sure wasn't quite human, or at least he had a very out there ability, to spend your life with. Finally, you'd met said man when you saw him walk out of the ocean one day as you went to the store. Not exactly your usual meet-cute.

That wasn't to say your soul mate wasn't attractive, though. He had that same sort of charm one might find from Illumi Zoldyck, with long, wavy black hair, tired, dark eyes like the darkest parts of the ocean, and pale skin, he also could look a lot like the anime character. Though Lovecraft was likely taller than him, and a little more oblivious. Either way, he was cute, in an awkward way, so you weren't upset to have him as a partner, just amused by the oddity of the situation. In fact, remembering him had brought a good idea to your head.

So with that, you pushed yourself up from your chair to stretch before heading out to the living room, where Lovecraft laid on your couch like a corpse in a casket, watching the television in a stiff mimicry of what you showed him when teaching him how to relax there when the two of you had first begun to settle into your new normal.          "Lovecraft," you said, getting a mixture of a groan and a hum from the low energy man, "I need cuddles," Without a word, he lifted his lanky arms and let you flop onto his chest before laying his limbs back as they were, barely looking up from the ocean documentary on the television. Either way, the simple affection made you sigh as your tense body soaked up the comfort. However, the cuddles and the sounds of the documentary didn't seem to quite reach that knot of tension in your soul, much to your annoyance.

After a few attempts to get comfortable in your lanky boyfriend's arms on the couch, attempting to find the best possible position for comfort, you sighed, brushing your bangs from your face and just blandly watching what was on the television in defeat,           "Are you okay, (y/n)?" Lovecraft asked, turning his dark eyes to you at last, seeming to read your body language in a single, barely-blinking look since he began rubbing small circles into your back like you'd done to him a few times when he was grumpy after working with the Guild. And while you appreciated the gesture, it did little to help you relax as much as you needed.           "I'm a bit stressed out from college, but I can't seem to unwind enough to sleep." You admitted, dropping your head onto his shoulder sadly.          "I'm sorry about that," he muttered, his deadpan voice doing nothing to convince you that he was honest, which he likely wasn't, but you'd gotten used to his aloof manner, "Maybe you could take a bath? Those are said to be relaxing." he offered, but you simply skewed your mouth to the side at the idea. It wasn't like the idea was really off-putting, you just didn't want to get up and go through all that work. Though, it did give you an idea.

Turning your (e/c) eyes up to the pale, dark-haired man you called your soulmate, moving so you straddled him and tried to project as much seductive charm as your little body could produce,          "Y'know, there's another way to destress that I could try~" as you spoke, making your best bedroom eyes at the oblivious man, you toyed with the collar of his shirt. When he didn't take the hint, you gave him a swift kiss, swiftly moving your kisses from his mouth down to his neck, which seemed to clarify your meaning to the pale man.

He put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, encouraging you to sit up,            "I thought copulation was for breeding, and you didn't want a child." Copulation. You sometimes wanted to smack your soulmate with a book. But, you refrained, simply snorting instead,            "No, Lovecraft, sex can be for fun as well." You assured, "just don't cum inside me and no children shall be created." He hummed at your words, but you took the chance to slip your hands under his shirt, trying to maybe convince him to help you out, but he once again stopped your advances,            "While I wouldn't mind having fun, I'd prefer to not lose my clothing." He hummed, earning another huffy expression from you, but you sighed again, your expression of slight annoyance softening,           "Do you just not want to do anything? You can say so," You watched Lovecraft contemplate your question, then replied in his low energy, low voice,           "No, I don't mind having...sex," he tried, making you smile at the way he seemed to learn from you, "I just do not want to strip,"

After that, you laid back against him, contemplating what to do. Sex was likely the best way to exhaust yourself and relax in a timely manner, but Lovecraft kind of needed to be at least somewhat naked for that to happen. After a moment of thinking, you came upon a compromise, a coy smile returning to your (s/c) face as you turned back to Lovecraft with the biggest, most pleading doe eyes you could manage,         "Lovecraft," he simply hummed in response, "can you do that...thing you did a while back, partially activate your power or whatever you do?" He once again looked down at you, his dark eyes seeming to almost absorb the flickering light of the television, adding a small bit of sparkle to the deep sea color of them.

While he thought, you admired his eyes, coming back to reality when he spoke again,         "That is a creative solution," he admitted, his arms still loosely draped around you while you smiled,         "So will you help me?" He gave a careful nod, turning a bit pink it seemed, though you couldn't confirm in the darkness of the living room. Either way though, you took the compromise and pulled your clothes off, enjoying the way Lovecraft's dark eyes took in every inch of your (s/c) body as you stripped, staying in his lap as much as possible while you did. Then, you laid back on him and pressed your lips to his.

The dark-haired man still needed to perfect his kisses, but you didn't mind, the feeling of his altered arm coiling around your thigh, stroking the soft skin while you wriggled your hips and held the kiss until you needed air.

After that, you just laid on your partner's chest, raising your hips slightly so one of the thick tendrils could run along your entrance, sending a small ripple of electricity through you. The feeling increased when the appendage began to explore a bit, focusing its movements on the spots that got the most mewls and shudders out of you. Lovecraft might've been a bit oblivious to humanoid activities, but he sure did learn quickly.

Thankfully though, he didn't abuse that knew knowledge. He toyed with you, caressing your thigh and stroking you only until you were properly riled up into a panting mess of soft moans. Once you were gripping his shirt like you might burn up if you let go, he took the hint and gently pushed a tentacle into you.

The feeling of being full made you moan loudly, pushing yourself back onto him to drive him deeper to hit that sweet spot within you. He let you fuck yourself on him, watching you moan and mewl whenever he managed to hit those special spots.

Already, you were getting weak, each thrust of the tentacle sending a wave of heat through your body, clouding your mind with lust. The feeling increased when you felt a second appendage slither beneath you to grope at your breasts, another slipping between your slick-covered thighs to once again toy with that sensitive bundle of nerves that made you gasp and claw into his shirt tighter.

With so much attention to your sensitive areas, your body felt like it was on fire. Pleasure burned through your veins, turning your body to jelly. All the while, a bubble built in your stomach, increasing with each fresh wave of euphoria sent through you when Lovecraft hit your g-spot. Each wave continued to make you moan and hum lost in the tide of it until that bubble in your stomach finally burst, making you bury your face in your soulmate's neck as you came.

After that, the lightning bolts of pleasure ebbed, leaving your legs as stable as spaghetti noodles that gave out almost the moment Lovecraft retracted his tendrils. Without them, you let yourself turn into a puddle on his chest, quivering and completely satisfied after so long of working. So, without any other demands, you simply let your (e/c) eyes drift shut as grey light was beginning to seep in through the windows. It was a nice change of pace to fall asleep to the sounds of ocean documentaries as dawn approached.

[therenlover]

In Sickness And In Health (An 18+ James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

This is 18+ content! If you are a minor, this work is not for you !!!

This fic is a sequel to my oneshot Heartsick, but it can be read as a standalone oneshot!

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Tags: Smut with Plot, Weddings, Fluff, Ghost Smut, Cunnilingus, Sick!Reader, Obnoxious Titanic Knowledge

Rating: E, 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Major Character Death, Romanticization of Death, Murder, Unsafe Sex (it’s with a ghost, but just to be safe...), Mentions Of The Reader Having A Long Term Debilitating Illness

Word Count: 5500~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3 under the same title

-------

“How are you feeling, my darling?”

James’s voice was soft as he entered your suite, slipping off his shoes before joining you on the bed. He smelled like antiseptic, hair and hands still damp from a recent wash. Underneath, though, was the sharp, coppery tang of blood.

You stretched as you answered, weak muscles shuddering with effort. “It’s a good day. Not great, I still feel like absolute shit, but I don’t feel like I’m actively dying anymore,”

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement,”

Your fiancé offered you a rare, genuine grin. Seeing him smile made the lie worth it.

In truth, you still felt truly terrible.

It had been almost three weeks since Mr. March had proposed, and true to his word he had been glued to your side helping you recover ever since. He helped you bathe, fed you meals, gave you medication, kept you entertained; days with him were filled with small, simple pleasures. You had never experienced anything like that attention before. Unfortunately, though, the time spent with James only seemed to help your mind, and not your body.

After close to two months of bed rest, your muscles were weak. It still took significant effort to do simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or using cutlery. Some days were better than others, but everything generally tended to end up as part of the indistinguishable haze of pain that clouded your memories lately. If nothing else, at least the fevers were less extreme.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was your wedding. It was still two weeks away, (“That’s plenty of time for you to recover fully, my dearest,” James had insisted) but once you were married that meant you could die. Oh, what a happy day that would be. There would be no more sickness, no more achy muscles, not another day of forced bed rest, just peace and quiet and plenty of sex. God, how you missed the sex…

Every day was another day closer to your peaceful end, and yet they seemed to stretch endlessly. Deep down, you worried that you might not even make it long enough to walk down the aisle alive. You shuddered at the thought. If James ended up having to carry you down the aisle you might just die of embarrassment before he had the chance to kill you.

“I can’t believe you killed someone without me,” You huffed, reaching out your shaking arms and inviting James to lay with you. He happily obliged.

“Would you have preferred me to let him live?” James pulled your torso gently onto his chest, letting you rest against him.

“No, but you could have at least let me watch. I’ve been stuck in here for weeks, James. I get bored,”

He ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps next time darling, but hopefully, you will be well enough to join me before our next victim walks through the door,”

“Who was it this time?”

“A florist. Liz invited him to bring over a few samples before hiring him to do arrangements for the wedding, but they were atrocious. You should have seen them, my love, they were simply grotesque, not to mention that the color schemes didn’t even slightly match the carpets in the entrance hall. Who puts pink and yellow tulips in a wedding arrangement at a hall filled with reds and oranges?”

You gave a soft hum. “Were they all really that bad?”

“Well… perhaps I was a bit harsh, but can you truly blame me? I want our wedding day to be perfect. There shouldn’t be a single flower or ribbon out of place,” He emphasized his question by gently squeezing you to his chest.

“Is it really that important?”

James went still. “What do you mean by that, dearest?”

A sigh pushed through your lips, your chest aching from the effort. “I just don’t understand why we have to wait for this perfect wedding when we could just get married now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy a big ceremony, I’m sure it would be wonderful, but I’m just so tired James. Why does it matter if we say our vows in front of other people? There’s not gonna be anything legally or religiously binding between us anyway. Getting married to you, in my mind, is just promising to be by your side forever, so why does anything else matter besides you and me?”

Looking up, you noticed that Mr. March seemed to be deep in thought, lips pressed into a line as his thin eyebrows furrowed together. Your heart sank. Did a wedding ceremony really mean that much to him? In an instant guilt began to flood your stomach. You were really ruining a special moment in his life to die faster? Hell, did he even really want you to die? He had always relished in your warmth, enthralled by the thudding of your weak, living heart. Of course, he would hate you for rushing into marriage just to throw your life away. Or maybe he was stalling because it would be too much for him to kill you himself…

“James-” you placated, lifting a hand to his face, but he quickly snapped out of his thoughtful haze.

He gazed down at you with love in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re right! We shall be married this afternoon!”

A jolt of shock ran down your spine.

“What?”

“As you said, our wedding is a binding of souls, my darling! Our love is sacred, withstanding time and mortality, so who are we to bend to the rules of the common man? If an intimate ceremony for two is what you desire, I shall not deny you,” In one smooth motion, James rolled on top of you, arms boxing you in as he loomed above. He looked absolutely unhinged, eyes glinting wildly in the yellow lamplight.

You knew then that there would never be anyone else. No one could compare to James, your James. He would devour you whole and you would thank him all the while. With a sudden burst of energy, you reached up and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was sloppy, all battling tongues and clashing teeth, nothing like the soft pressing of lips that you had been sharing lately. How had you gone almost two months without this? Your heart felt like it was about to burst right out of your chest. As James bit down hard on your lower lip, you pulled fistfuls of his pinstripe suit into your hands.

After a few more seconds of desperate, breathless kissing James pulled away. You panted for air below him. “Why’d you stop?”

To your dismay, he climbed off of you. His hard-on was fully visible through his thin dress pants as he stood. “As much as I would love to ravage you now, dearest, I believe we have vows to exchange,”

“Can’t we just do them in bed? I want you now,”

He chuckled at your whining. “I may be willing to compromise on many things, but this is not one of them,”

“Please, Mr. March,” Your words were loaded, innocent doe eyes boring into his very soul, “for me?”

You could tell it was a difficult decision, but James stood strong. “I can’t say you haven’t thoroughly tempted me, but I’m afraid not darling,” he said firmly, “Forgive me?”

With a sigh, you nodded. “Of course,”

The instant you gave in, he beamed. “Splendid! Now, it’s a shame that we don’t have your dress, but I believe I have given you several gowns that would serve nicely,”

“You’re not gonna let me get married in my pajamas?”

“Would you prefer that to wearing a dress?”

The genuine concern in James’ voice was enough to make you fold. The things his voice did to you….

“Darling,” you groaned, fighting your weak muscles as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, “look in the closet. There should be a black zip-up garment bag in there,”

He quirked up an eyebrow.

“Just do it,”

“As my bride commands,” James rushed to the closet, thumbing through gowns. By the time he found it you were on your feet, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “This one, darling?” he asked, pulling it from the rack.

You grinned. “That’s the one. Open it up for me?”

James undid the zip quickly. Once he saw the contents, he gaped. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding,”

Slowly, you made your way to James and hugged him from behind. “Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is happening now... can you help me get the dress on?”

He happily obliged.

In less than 15 minutes you were laced into your wedding dress and sitting at your vanity. James was by the phonograph looking at records while you finished pinning up your hair. It was finally time.

“What would you like me to play, darling? We don’t have the wedding march, but there are some decent options. Let’s see… The Swan? You always have loved Saint-Saëns. Or perhaps Songe d’Automne?” James asked. He had been strangely lenient; bending to your will on the wedding, letting you pick the music, allowing you to tease him with no repercussions. You shrugged it off.

“You would really play the song that played as the Titanic sank at our wedding?”

“I find it strangely fitting,”

With a soft laugh, you put the last pin in place and turned to your groom. “And so it is. I’ll compromise. We have Mon Coeur S’Ouvre A Ta Voix, don’t we? You’ll get your morbidity while I get my romance,”

“That sounds delightful, my dear. Good choice,”

James found the correct record and set it on the phonograph, placing the needle and cranking the arm with a well-practiced hand. Then, as the music began to play, he stood. It was like he was devouring you with his eyes, drinking in every detail of you as he approached. He offered you his hands. “Shall we begin, my darling?”

You joined him in the center of the room without hesitation, taking his offering with a smile, “I think we shall,”

“I admit,” James said, voice sweet and low, “that I am well out of my depth here, but before we begin may I say that you, as you are now, are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you?”

Your face flushed. “What’s gotten into you, James? Are you getting soft on me?”

“We can only hope not, I have a reputation to uphold you know! I just can’t help but think…” his sentence drifted off as his gaze fell on yours, “I am a hard man, one of custom and habit. My life has been filled with monotony for as long as I have lived. Even killing has become commonplace for me. Things do not phase me the same way they phase you, darling, in all of your softness and perfection. I wonder if this is what will truly make you happy,”

“James!” you dropped his hands in order to cup his face, “I love you. I want to be with you. What would make you think I’m unhappy here?”

He covered your small fingers with his own, voice wistful. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t misunderstand me, this wedding brings me more joy than you know. I simply wish to say that you will only get married once and I want it to be exactly to your liking. I have been engaged thrice and married once before, all of the pomp and circumstance is old news to me. For you, though, in all your youth…”

In a rare moment of openness, James bared himself to you. It was only right for you to do the same.

“I have never been more sure of myself than in this moment,” you whispered, leaning to let your forehead rest against his, “You are enough. I don’t need guests, or flower arrangements, or a cake to know I love you and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side. You’re right, I’m young and I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life, but loving you isn’t one of them. Take me, James, make me yours. This is where I belong”

As you spoke, you felt him relax against you.

“Well, you’ve certainly convinced me,” he murmured before pulling back and bringing your hands to his still, unbeating heart, “now, on with the show… my queen, the woman who has tamed my heart, you are the only one of your kind. No one else could move me the way you do. The moment I saw you walk into my hotel I knew that you would be mine, but I had no clue of the things you would do to my heart. You have changed me, mind, body, and soul. I can only hope that I’ve changed you in similar ways,”

While he was speaking, it suddenly hit you that this was it. Usually, brides had months of build-up to their weddings, filled with cake tastings and dress fittings and family and friends. You, though, had had only a few weeks to prepare, most of which were spent on strict bedrest while James took care of the planning. Even then, you had disregarded the plans. Tears of joy began to roll down your cheeks. Nothing had ever felt so right in your whole life.

“Oh darling, don’t cry,” he cooed, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just so happy!”

“And you shall continue to be happy. As long as you remain by my side, you will want for nothing! I shall be with you in sickness and in health, through life and through death,” Suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You, Y/N, have captivated me. I wish to never be without you again,”

“You never will be,”

James smiled, squeezing your hands. In an instant, you realized it was your turn. You hadn’t given much thought as to what you would say, but as you gazed into his dark, hopeful, hungry eyes the words came to you as clear as day.

“James Patrick March,” you said, “I have never met anyone quite like you. When I first saw you, I had nothing. I was destitute. The Hotel Cortez was my last hope in life, but then, I spoke to you in the Blue Parrot Lounge and I suddenly knew exactly what my purpose in life was. Somehow, someway, I realized that I had been made to find you. You’ve given me so much, James. You showed me that life was worth living. I can’t think of a future for me that doesn’t include you. From this moment on, once I’m finally Mrs. March, we can finally be what we were made to be… one heart, one mind, one soul. I’ll never let you go. Marry me, James? Stay here with me until the world ceases to turn?”

“I will, darling. I do,” while he spoke, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that this ring would be sitting on your finger sooner. It belongs to the woman of the house, the holder of my heart… you, my dearest Mrs. March. Please say you love me, and that you’ll stay with me until nothing of this world remains?

You responded with a grin. “I love you, James… I do,”

Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger. It was the first time you’d actually seen it up close, and it was more stunning than you remembered. A large, square-cut diamond sat on a bed of smaller rubies, and it was all held together by a delicate silver band that fit your finger perfectly. The red stones were a new addition. Had James had the ring altered just for you? You were about to ask when you caught his gaze.

“May I kiss the bride now, my darling?”

Instead of responding, you surged up and kissed him yourself. It was like none of the kisses you had ever shared before.

There was a passion to it, but it wasn’t desperate. It was more of a low, roiling thing, a time-bomb ticking down to explode. In seconds James’ cool hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer and messing up the pinned curls you had put in earlier. You found you didn’t quite care.

Your limbs were beginning to feel weak as you ran out of air, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your long-forgotten illness or if it was just the power James held over you. Part of you didn’t care anymore. As you pulled back for air, your husband reached around to the lacing at the back of your dress and began to pull at it, earning a few giggles as he loosened it enough that it fell from your body, leaving you almost bare in front of him.

“How I’ve craved you, my lovely wife,” he growled, palming your breasts through your bra, “it’s been far too long,”

His touch felt electric against your thin, soft skin. “Please, Mr. March, more,” You pressed yourself against your husband, feeling how your words affected him. He was rock hard. Something about that satisfied an ache in your heart. Even with you sick and weak, he needed you as much as you needed him.

In a swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, setting you down gently before settling himself between your legs. You whimpered as he sucked a deep bruise into your neck. He was an expert with his tongue, licking and sucking the skin like a man starved. It felt delightful, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel elsewhere.

As if he could read your mind, James grinned.

“All in good time, you little minx,”

Ever impatient, you fisted a hand into his hair in an attempt to get him to move lower. He stayed put.

“Does my lovely wife want something from me?”

You groaned as he wrapped his teeth around your bra strap and tugged before letting go, the elastic snapping against your already sweat-slick skin. “James, please,”

“Ah, ah, ah! Use your words, dearest. What do you want?”

His tutting made you flush from your cheeks to your chest. There was only one way to get what you wanted, and you knew exactly how to do it. With as much innocence as you could muster in your debauched state, you whispered, “Please sir, will you eat my pussy?”

James couldn’t hold back as he snapped his hips against the sheets. “That’s it darling! How could I say no to such a polite request?”

You released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. In a blink, your husband was undoing your bra and pulling it off, working his sinful mouth down to your breasts. His teeth grazed your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat as your back arched, pushing you up towards his touch. It was like your body was a live wire. Every nerve was alive, buzzing at the slightest touch. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, he was quick to move once again. He left a trail of gentle, sloppy kisses down your ribs and stomach before arriving at his desired destination. His hot breath against your soaked panties fanned the flames of arousal building within you. Once again, you whined.

Your husband had always loved eating you out. He never seemed happier than when he was buried between your thighs with his tongue buried between your folds, and once again he was faced with his favorite activity. The hungry look in his eye told you that he wanted it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to remove your garter in front of the hotel. I would have so enjoyed showing them all just how lucky of a man I am. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though… I do hate to share” he murmured, pressing a few torturous kisses to the hot skin of your inner thighs as he skimmed your panties with his fingers, “I suppose these will have to do,” Then, in a sudden movement, he was dragging them down your legs by the lace with his teeth. Once they were removed, he tossed them aside to be collected later. The way he looked at your wetness was reverent. It only made you wetter.

“What do we have here,” he muttered, letting the tip of his nose just barely brush your core, “what could possibly be making you this wet, my darling?”

His taunting was, surprisingly, less severe than usual. On any normal day, it would have taken a good 10 minutes for him to be anywhere near your heat, but you could tell he was obliging your whims as a treat. It was a special occasion, after all.

“You,” you groaned lowly as his breath ghosted over your pussy.

“That’s right, my dear heart, me,”

In an instant James had buried himself in your lower lips, suckling your clit with vigor as your hips bucked to meet him. For once, he let you chase your pleasure with reckless abandon. It had been months since your last proper orgasm, so you were extra sensitive as he licked long stripes up your slit. Soon enough you were keening as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

“James- James, please!” you shouted as he finally worked a finger into your tight, wet hole, his tongue lazily circling your clit as he gazed into your eyes across the planes of your body.

He pulled off momentarily, making you groan. “Please what, dearest?”

“I wanna cum! Please- OH!”

His lips were back on your clit instantly, his eyes smiling as he pumped in and out of you with his fingers and sucked with reckless abandon. Every muscle in your body felt poised for action, your hands gripping James’ hair at the roots with enough force that you were surprised it was still attached to his head. You tipped over the edge into pleasure the second he curled his fingers upwards, roughly pressing into your sweet spot as he hummed, his voice vibrating against you in the most heavenly way.

Your orgasm was like a wave of pure bliss rolling over you as James pleasured you through it, milking you for everything you had. Only once you stopped convulsing did he remove his mouth. Even then, he continued to fuck you gently with his fingers. “Did that feel good, my love?” he asked, rubbing circles into your still-shaking thigh with his free hand.

“Yes, James! Your mouth is perfect,” you whimpered.

He seemed to enjoy your answer because he slowly pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy before climbing up your body and rewarding you with a passionate kiss. You enjoyed it thoroughly but suddenly became aware that he was still fully dressed. “James,” you whined against his lips, “you’re wearing far too many clothes,”

He tasted like tobacco and absinthe as he kissed you again, guiding your hands to the buttons on his suit jacket before tugging at his cravat. “Perhaps we should remedy that, darling?”

You were quick to undo each button before ripping the jacket from his body and tossing it on the ground. His dress shirt and cravat were quick to follow. He focused on undoing his pants while you relished in his bare chest, running your hands down the firm planes of flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, biting down gently on his collarbone.

“No need to call me God, dearest,” he chuckled, shoving down his pants and boxers to free his leaking cock, “though I don’t oppose to it,”

He was a big man, long and thick enough that fitting all of him in was just slightly painful but more than enough to make you feel deliciously full. You drooled as you reached between your torsos to stroke him, but surprisingly James caught your wrist before you could touch him.

“I appreciate you taking my pleasure into consideration, my love, but I won’t last long as it is,” he crooned, holding your wrist to the bed with one hand as he lined himself up against your dripping heat with the other. He ran the head of his cock against your folds a few times, gathering up your wetness in the hopes that it would ease the stretch when he finally pushed in. To you, though, it was just torture, and how James did love to torture his victims.

“Please, fuck me, Mr. March,” you groaned, “I need you! It’s been so long,”

“Such a good little minx,” his voice rolled low as he smiled down at you, “using your words just like I taught you. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” Then, as he locked his hungry eyes with yours, he pushed fully into your heat.

You cried out in ecstasy the second he filled you up, your head lolling back against the headboard as he rocked in and out, letting you ride out the initial pain as he warmed you up for the main event. It wasn’t long before the sting was gone. It was replaced with a dull ache, but that was mostly overshadowed by a sweet, building fire spreading through your abdomen again as James pounded into you with reckless abandon.

Every muscle in your body felt weak, loose and slack as your husband found that spot inside you. Each thrust was a shock through your overstimulated body. It was like you were toeing the line between pain and pleasure, always an instant from falling fully into one or the other. When James picked up his speed once again, you started to lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Mr. March!” you wailed, body jolting as he released your wrist and instead used his hand to steady your thigh and hold you wide open, “ Mr. March! Oh god, please let me cum!”

Surprisingly, despite the fact that he was dead, James seemed almost as breathless as you while he purred into your ear. “Close your eyes, Y/N. Let the pleasure take you. Cum for me, Mrs. March,”

With one last sharp stroke from James, you wailed and let your orgasm overtake you. This time, though, it wasn’t a wave. Instead, it hit you directly like a ton of bricks. The feeling was heady, a high derived from the shockwaves of pleasure mixing with the sweet pain James always provided when he lost control. Distantly, you could feel your thighs covered in your wet essence as your husband gripped them and drove himself into you ceaselessly, quickly reaching his own climax.

Maybe it was that you hadn’t been satisfied so thoroughly since before you were sick, but you felt absolutely exhausted as the last remains of your release drained from your body. Perhaps you had gone too far with the enthusiasm after being on bed rest for so long… Something deep inside you felt whole, like a piece of you that had been missing all your life had finally slotted into place. You fell into a dreamless sleep as that satisfaction resonated through your thoroughly fucked-out body.

When you woke, you almost felt disconnected from time. It was like waking up from an unexpected nap that went on longer than you had intended it to. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the familiar ache in your lungs and muscles that had been your constant companion was gone, replaced with a cool, tingling numbness. You chuckled a bit to yourself. Had sex been the answer to your problems all along?

Slowly, you rolled onto your side, stretching out your arms and legs before curling up in the sheets. Five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Unfortunately, your plans for rest were foiled as you felt the bed dip beside you.

“How do you feel, my darling?” James asked. His voice was soft. If you didn’t know him better you would have thought he sounded frightened.

You smiled, letting your eyes flutter open as you took in his face. “Surprisingly, I feel great. I don’t think I’ve felt this good for a long time,”

James smiled back at you, his brown eyes glimmering with some distant emotion. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re starting the road to recovery,”

There was something strange about your husband, you noticed as you sat up, looking around. You definitely weren’t in your own bedroom anymore. Instead, you were tucked nicely into a four-poster bed with soft, red sheets, surrounded by dark wood and art deco accents. Distantly, you touched your chest and registered that you were wearing one of James’ shirts.

“You brought me to your room?” You propped yourself up on his headboard as you took in your new surroundings, watching the golden evening sun filter in through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

“Our room, my sweetling,” James corrected.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I like it. I know I’ve technically been here, with Devil’s Night and our little trysts and all, but I’ve never slept in your bed before. It’s soft… nice,”

He offered you a tinny false smile, his hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of the bedspread. “I’m glad you think so, dearest. What’s mine is now yours,”

Distantly, you smelled the faintest traces of the antiseptic soap James used to rid himself of blood. You raised an eyebrow. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Evers to turn down your sheets while you rested,”

“You had time for a kill in just a few hours?”

“Y/N, I-”

As he spoke, you reached out to touch his fidgeting hand only to yank your fingers back to your chest. No… this was wrong.

“Y/N, please, stay calm-”

“Why are you warm?” You asked, breathing heavily, “James? Why are you warm?”

James steadied himself with a deep breath before reaching over to rub gentle circles into your thigh above the blanket.

“I… I may have taken the liberties of… Y/N, please understand that I only did what I must. You were wasting away! And a promise is a promise…. What I’m trying to say is-”

“You killed me?”

“Precisely,”

Your husband bit down on his lip, averting his gaze in the hopes of avoiding your wrath. To his surprise, though, you threw yourself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as you laughed joyously. You were free! Free from pain and sorrow and th e endless trappings of mortality. And James was the one to free you.

“You brilliant man!” you shouted, excited giggles escaping from your lips as you squeezed his frozen body to your own, “I didn’t even notice! Oh my god, and on our wedding night too? That’s so romantic! How did you do it? Did I have a heart attack and die from the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole damn life? Well… existence. I’m not quite alive anymore, am I? What did you use? Did you send me down the body chute?”

As you babbled, James slowly began to function again. You truly were his perfect match. “I slit your femoral artery just as all your muscles began to contract,” he explained, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek, “and I came to my own climax as you showered me in your blood. You didn’t feel a thing,”

You happily settled yourself against James’ chest. “You’re right. If anything, it felt kinda good…” you paused, “What about my body?”

He grinned. “You’re dead now, darling, we can revisit killing you during your little deaths at any time you like. As for your body, I didn’t put you down the chute. I cleaned you up, retrieved your ring, and took you to your casket. It’ll be bricked up in a wall within the week,”

“Aw, James, you had a casket ready for me and everything!”

“I commissioned it the day we first met. After we slept together and I led you to your suite, I went right to Liz and had her make an order. I spared no expense. Dark wood, red velvet lining…”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “It’s a shame we’ll never get to christen it… unless…”

“Darling, you cannot truly be thinking what I presume you are thinking,”

You giggled, pushing James flat onto the bed. Slowly, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go fuck over my dead body?”

James Patrick March had never gotten hard quicker in all his 126 years of existence.

-------

a/n: Welp! That’s the first smut I have ever written in my entire life. I hope it wasn’t terrible! This oneshot was great practice for a future instillation of Till Forever Falls Apart, so look forward to that lol. Let me know if you liked this and what types of oneshots you’d like to see next! Also, I love comments, so feel free to comment if you feel so inclined.

Please do not upload my works to other sites, thank you!

[jamespotterthefirst]

Caress (Adam x f!detective)

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x f!detective (Emilia Miranda) Word count: 1.1K Warnings: None Summary: The detective got a new haircut and Unit Bravo is quick to notice, some more than others.

Author’s Note: Hi, I’m Bree. I just finished TWC and was left with a lot of feelings. It’s been days and I haven’t stopped thinking about that option to change the detective’s hair in the book 3 demo. So here we are. 

Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading! 

The Detective's heartbeat flutters wildly, like the wings of a desperate, terrified hummingbird. Adam can hear the erratic rhythm even before Unit Bravo strides into the station that morning. 

They pass the officers and staff whose names he hadn't bothered to learn, the drumming of her pulse reaching a fever pitch. It becomes evident that Emilia is nervous, even terrified, of something. By the time they reach her door, his mind has conjured a multitude of scenarios where her safety is compromised, each more horrifying than the last. 

Adam quickens his stride, every nerve on high alert, his muscles coiled with concern. 

Until his eyes land on her. 

Her back is to them but even then, he can immediately appreciate the difference in her appearance. The curtain of long, glossy hair that once rippled down her back in the most maddening way is gone, for the most part. It is replaced instead with a blunt sheet of waves that barely reach her chin.

 Adam feels a sharp, inexplicable pang of loss at the absence of tantalizing brown waves. And then she turns to face them, the full effect of sharper cheekbones and a graceful, long neck halting his steps. 

Felix wolf whistles. “Em, you look—” 

For the first time in a long time, even Felix is speechless. 

“Hot.”

Shell shocked, everyone turns to Mason, already seated in his dark corner, a plume of smoke swirling from his cigarette. He shrugs, unabashed about the brief compliment. 

Felix nods in solemn agreement. 

“More than hot.” His fingers make a faux photo frame, inspecting Emilia through it as though she was a piece of fine art. “Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before.”

Emilia lets out an unrestrained bout of laughter. Adam revels in the sound, incredulous that he once found it irritating. 

“I never should have sent you that meme,” she says to Felix, though the rosy bloom of her cheeks indicates she's flattered. 

“You look lovely, Em,” Nate informs her earnestly before taking his usual seat. 

Emilia gives Nate a grateful smile that makes Adam's insides twist with longing. 

A short silence ensues and everyone's attention falls on Adam, no doubt awaiting his reaction. 

Except he has no words. 

“It's…” he begins, his voice sounding gruffer than usual even to his own ears. 

Immediately, he amends that last thought. He could think of many words, in many languages, that could begin to pay homage to her. They would fall short, never encapsulating her incandescent charm or her arresting beauty, but for a second, Adam wants to spend hundreds of years trying. 

The detective visibly takes in a breath through parted, pink lips as she waits for the end of that sentence. Her heartbeat picks up again and it dawns on him that this is what she was so nervous about. 

Adam's teeth clench together, masterfully stifling the wave of emotion she effortlessly draws. 

“... Practical.”

Emilia's expression falls, her gaze moving away from his with a resignation that makes his stomach clench painfully. 

“It is,” she says in a small voice. 

The words feel like a blunt knife. 

She doesn't look at him once for the duration of their meeting, even when he offers brusque input from his spot by the window. By the time their time together draws to a close, Adam's crossed arms dig into his chest, every nerve ending aware of her every move. 

“You really do look great, Em,” Felix is saying with a simper as he prepares to leave. “Don't mind Adam, though. He's only upset he can't fantasize about pulling your hair from—” 

The murderous look Adam throws the younger vampire cuts the words short. Instead, Felix dissolves into a wicked laugh before following Nate and Mason out of the office.

Adam begins to follow, too, but he stops at the door. Shoulders pinched with tension, he turns to face her, despite his better judgment. Her gaze clicks with his, paralyzing him on the spot and charging the air around him with crackling energy. 

The silence is heavy, deafening. 

Then, Emilia glances away, busying herself with some documents on her desk. An errant lock of hair falls across her face with the movement and Adam's fingers curl at his sides. 

“Is there anything else, Commanding Agent du Mortain?” 

The use of his professional moniker is expected. Yet, that doesn't ease the sting of hearing it. 

“Not at all, Detective Miranda.”

She barely nods in acknowledgement, already making her way to the exit with a purposeful gait. “Good. If you'll excuse me, I have to meet with Verda about—” 

Her words stop abruptly when Adam remains fixed on the spot, blocking her path out the door. 

Their considerable height difference has her staring straight at his chest. Beautiful, soulful brown eyes move to his neck like the delicate, featherlight caress of a lover. By the time her gaze reaches his eyes, Adam's mouth is dry, his skin feeling too tight for his body. 

He swallows with much effort, unable to look away. 

They remain like that, mere inches apart. Emilia searches his expression, desperately hoping to find something. 

“It suits you.”

The words leave Adam before he can stop them. 

“What?” 

“You hair.”

Emilia blinks, unsure of what to say. 

Having her so close that her breath brushes his skin is pure torture for Adam, his body aching to pull her closer still. Before reason kicks in, he reaches out to her, his fingers brushing away that stray piece of hair. 

The detective sucks in a shuddering breath but she doesn't move away from his touch. Instead, her eyes flutter closed, long lashes casting shadows across jutting cheekbones. 

Adam's fingers move to the plane of her cheeks, tracing a path so delicate, it's as if he's afraid to scare her away. 

In a way, he is.

He is terrified she will realize just how undeserving he is of her. 

His eyes follow the movements with as much intensity, enraptured by how right their skin looks, pressed together. The pad of his thumb reaches the corner of her mouth, aching to travel the swell of her bottom lip. 

“Emilia, Verda is wondering—Oh.”

The officer called Tina comes to an abrupt stop a few paces behind Adam. 

“I'll be right there,” Emilia calls to her friend. 

Adam opens his mouth though he is unsure what to say. It doesn't matter because the detective has already averted her gaze, her spine straightening with quiet dignity. 

Perhaps she knows that had it not been for her friend's interruption, Adam would have retreated, as he always did.

author’s note: Thank you if you read this! 

Tags: @aestheticartsx,  @kat-tia801, @lady-calypso, @fictional-affections, @alyssalauren , @rav3n23 , @aworldoffandoms , @gryffindordaughterofathena , @missmiimiie , @danijimenezv​ , @canigetanawwjunk​

[babbushka]

All the recent Edwardian Kylo talk has me in my feels. I like to picture intimate family moments that just knock Kylo over with so much love and deeply felt emotions. Such as his family going out on a hunting trip together and he's just like "how did I get so lucky in life to have these boys with this amazing wife?" I know its super mushy, but he does that to me :)

A/N: Oh my gosh I adore this!! It isn’t a hunting trip, but a little sappy something for mother’s day. I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless!!

1.1k, just fluff (cw: the Lord & Lady’s children) 

It’s a beautiful Spring day, too beautiful for one to possibly remain inside. With the sun shining, and the breezes blowing to keep the heat at bay, the children had practically begged to spend the afternoon after their studies out in the vast gardens that surround the estate. Kylo had finished his work early, and you had no calling cards to respond to, so the day was decided; tea was brought out, a couple good books were fetched, as were toys for the boys to entertain themselves by. 

Although, seemingly at odds for the fashion typical of children yearning to run around, your sons have decided that staying as still as possible to catch butterflies was a more thrilling use of their time than any of the sports equipment brought out for them. 

You and Kylo are lying on a grand picnic blanket that’s been spread out on the grasses to protect your clothing, a large parasol umbrella propped up to keep the sun off your beautiful face. With your head in Kylo’s lap, he trails his fingers around your jaw softly, absentmindedly, as he watches the children giggle with their hands outstretched. 

Kylo thinks you’re on the verge of a midday nap, completely at peace, until the excited voice of your second-eldest son squeaks loudly with surprise, making you crack an eye open. 

“Mama! One landed one me!” Benjamin squeals out his excitement, your six year old seemingly successfully having caught a butterfly, his hands clasped in an almost open cage. 

“Excellent job dearest, come show me?” You call with a smile, quick to add, “Remember to be careful, they’re fragile.” 

“I’ve got one too, Mama!” Anthony, your eldest at nine years old, pipes up. 

“Me too!” It’s only a few moments later that your youngest, little Lucas’s small voice excitedly proclaims, even though he doesn’t have one at all, and just likes to feel included. In his little fist he does have a flower though, and he believes this to be a suitable substitute. 

All three of them run to you, their faces bright and happy, hands held out to you. Sitting up, you accidentally disturb Matthias, your five year old, from the nap that he was taking, his face snuggled into your chest. He only stretches, and Kylo’s heart clenches when he clings to you a little tighter, not caring very much about being moved. 

One by one, the boys reveal their lucky catches; Anthony has a bright clouded yellow, Benjamin has a small marbled white, and Lucas proudly shows off the slightly crushed purple flower. All three boys are eagerly awaiting your reaction, and as you shift Matthias in your arms to better see them, you don’t disappoint. 

“Oh how beautiful! Look at these colors. Why these have to be the most lovely things I’ve seen. You’ve all done beautifully, I’m very proud of how gentle you are with them.” You say, as the butterflies fly away, their few moments of patience gone. 

Kylo has a hard time believing those are his children sometimes, in the way that they’re so good. All three of them practically beam as you give them each a gentle kiss to their cheek, right on their dimples. They’re good kids, maybe a little mischievous at times, but they’re good to you, and in Kylo’s mind that’s all that matters. 

Benjamin approaches Kylo then, happily sitting on his father’s knee, reaching up to hug him around his neck sweetly, asking, “Might we play with the ball, Papa?” 

“Oh please, Papa, please may we?” Anthony’s face lights up at the idea, and Kylo chuckles warmly. 

Like the good husband he is, Kylo looks to you, and is struck for a moment by how beautiful you are. You’ve got Luke sitting on your lap, Mattie half-asleep in your arms, and you’re radiant there, under the spotted shade of the parasol. It could have been an hour, or a moment, Kylo doesn’t know how long he looks at you, drinks in the beautiful sight of you, before you’re nodding your head. 

“Yes of course.” Kylo replies, Benjamin unable to contain his excitement as he gives his father a tight squeezing hug, before he’s running off to the side of the large field where the sporting equipment was settled by the butler. Anthony and Lucas follow him, which prompts Kylo to continue, “Don’t be too rough with your brother now, he’s still learning.” 

Kylo had been worried, that they might pick on Lucas or shy away from him for being so young. Anthony was six years older than him after all, and Kylo hadn’t been sure if he would know how to interact with the toddler. So when Anthony picks his youngest brother up and holds him on his hip to save the boy from wasting all his energy on the steps, Kylo’s chest warms. 

“C’mon Mattie! I need you on my team!” Benjamin calls to his brother, who makes you and Kylo both chuckle when he scowls, his little face not yet learned how to hide his emotions. 

“Do I have to play?” Matthias asks you, clinging a little closer,  “I want to stay here with you.” 

“How about a compromise,” You encourage, gently prying his arms from around your neck, and Kylo feels for the boy. If he could spend every waking moment in your arms, he would too. “You go play a couple games with your brothers so the teams are nice and even, and then we’ll arrange dinner so we can sit next to one another tonight.” 

“Okay!” The promise is enough for Matthias, who suddenly gets a burst of energy, and is running to join Benjamin, who has a hand outstretched, waiting. 

The brothers run hand in hand, already shouting and jeering at Anthony with claims that they will defeat him, so silly coming from five and six year olds that you can’t help but shake your head with a fond grin. 

With the children’s attention occupied, Kylo moves to sit closer to you once again, his arm slipping around your waist as you pick up one of the cups of tea and sip on it thoughtfully. He knows he’s staring again, but he just can’t help it, already blushing like a fool from the thought that this is his family, the one he’s built with you, his miracle of a wife. 

“What are you looking at?” You hum with a knowing smile, when his staring becomes too heated to ignore. 

“Have I told you today that I adore you?” Lifting your hand that isn’t holding the teacup, Kylo kisses your wedding band, murmuring against the warm gold. 

“Yes.” You grin, “But why don’t you tell me again.” 

Kylo’s eyes crinkle, and the warm brown irises of his sparkle in the sunlight as he leans in to press a deep kiss to your lips, taking the opportunity of the boys playing away from your shady spot, to pour all of his affection into your soul. 

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Tagging some Kylo loving friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here