#jack just seems like a chill guy in general i hope he's living his best life

[powpowpunchout]

Thank u so much for drawing my man........ simply had to draw your man as well...... @aparanoidelectrictoothbrush 

[seasonofthewicth]

Rowaelin Month - Day 3

prompt: a secret relationship

extras: multiple povs

cw: one very brief mention of nsfw topics

word count: 3k

--

Fenrys knows his friends think of him as the joker of the group, and yeah he is hilarious, but there’s more to him than that. He can read the room, can pick up on the subtleties of whichever of his friends might need one of his jokes more than others on any given day. It’s a skill that makes him observant, watchful of people, and he notices things.

He’s not sure if Rowan and Aelin think they’re being subtle, and he’s not sure which of his other friends have picked up on the same things he has, but he’s pretty sure Aelin and Rowan are sleeping together.

He’s not completely sure, he doesn’t have any concrete evidence and they still act normally in the group, but he knows what he saw on the night of Elide’s birthday. He and Rowan have lived together for years and Aelin has crashed at theirs any number of times before but, until that night, she’d never emerged from Rowan’s bedroom the morning after wearing one of his t-shirts.

The material had completely drowned her. The short sleeves had hung to her elbows and the hem had been well down her thighs. She’d seemed somewhat… sneaky as she’d crept into their kitchen in search of coffee.

He knows not to read too much into things, friends share clothes all the time. He’s lost many hoodies to the collective wardrobe owned by their group of friends and he’s still pissed at Lorcan who he knows still has his The Cadre t-shirt from the gig they had attended a few years ago.

What Fenrys also knows is that friends don’t stand at the kitchen counter, holding the neckline of their friend’s shirt to their nose and grinning like an idiot.

He needs to speak to Aedion.

Elide has been friends with Aelin for years and that is more than long enough to know she’s almost always guaranteed to be late to their coffee dates. She’s not bothered, it gives her a few extra minutes to sip away at her own coffee reading her book with the general hum of the coffee shop lulling her into a comfortable rest.

It’s not long before her friend breezes into the coffee shop, the bell above the door ringing and signalling her entrance. It’s very Aelin, her entrance. The wind sweeps in fluffing her golden waves and her steps are full of purpose as she strides towards Elide.

“Sorry I’m late.” Aelin all but throws herself into the seat opposite Elide, smiling a bright smile for the relatively early morning they’re sharing.

“Don’t worry about it,” Elide says, finishing off her final swig of her first coffee. “Want me to go and get our drinks?”

“No, Ellie,” Aelin says, waving her hand. “First one’s on me. I was late, I’ll make it up to you.”

Aelin squeezes her hand before breezing back out of her seat.

She’s back only a couple of minutes later, finally relaxing into the large armchair she occupies. “So, what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much,” Elide shrugs. “Work is tough but nothing I didn’t expect.”

“I’m sure you’re smashing it,” Aelin says with a grin, then places her hand against her chest. “My little Elide, registered nurse taking the world by storm.”

Elide smiles, it feels good to hear those words, after all the sleepless nights and sweat and tears she’s finally where she wants to be.

Aelin continues, “You’re not pushing yourself too hard are you?”

“No,” she says and it’s the truth. “And even if I was, Lorcan is being wonderful.”

Aelin fake gags and Elide shoots her a mostly joking glare. “I find that hard to believe.”

“He is,” she says, thinking of the bath he had drawn her the night before and the massage he’d given her when she complained of her feet aching.

Aelin shifts in her seat as she nods along and the neck of her t-shirt slips down to reveal the ghost of a hickey on her friend’s collarbone. Elide raises an eyebrow.

Aelin looks down before grinning wickedly.

“Anything new with you?”

Aelin’s answer is interrupted by the arrival of their coffees in the hands of a handsome waiter.

“A large mocha,” he says and Elide raises a hand, “and a large cappuccino with cinnamon.”

Aelin raises her own hand. The waiter sets their drinks down, his eyes lingering on Aelin for a minute before he slowly backs away.

“Enjoy,” he says, his eyes still locked on Aelin. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He turns with a wink and Elide raises her other brow at her friend.

“Are you going to get his number?”

Aelin shakes her head. “Not today.”

Elide hums a response before leaning forward in her seat. “Why? You’d usually be all over someone like him, he’s exactly your type. Tall, muscular without being jacked, his curly brown hair, cheeky smile…”

She trails off when Aelin cracks a smile. “I guess I’m just not feeling it today.”

Elide wants to ask why again, she honestly might go over and get the guy’s number for her friend, when Aelin changes the subject rapidly.

“Are you going to Rowan and Fenrys’ later?”

Elide doesn’t process the change of topic until a little later on, once a couple more pieces have slotted into place. Eventually she’s pretty sure she’s worked out why Aelin didn’t want the cute coffee guy’s number.

She needs to speak to Lorcan.

Lorcan Salvaterre doesn’t like Aelin Galathynius.

He tolerates her at best for the sake of the rest of their friends but that said, he still probably wouldn’t want to see her hurt.

When Lysandra puts the message in the group chat-At the hospital with Aelin, dw they think it’s just a sprain-he reads it, absently thinks how he probably hopes she’s okay, and moves on with his day. He’s on his way to meet Rowan at the bar and if anything, Galathynius would want them to raise a toast in her honour.

What Lorcan doesn’t expect is the restless jittering of his best friend’s leg beneath the table, sloshing precious droplets of beer onto the table that his friend doesn’t even seem to notice.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks as he slides onto his seat opposite the silver haired man.

“Nothing,” Rowan says quickly but his leg keeps up the restless pace.

Lorcan signals to the bartender for his own beer and turns back to Rowan. “Dude, chill out. There’s clearly something up with you and I’m not having you spill my pint.”

Rowan finally notices the state of their table and stills his leg. “Sorry,” Rowan says, using some of the beer mats scattered across their table to mop up the spill.

Now Lorcan really is confused. Usually Whitethorn would cuss him out over apologising. He doesn’t really know what to say.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he ignores it as Rowan lurches for his own phone. He reads whatever’s on the screen then scowls and locks it again, placing it face up on the table. His knee begins bouncing again.

“You’re being weird,” Lorcan announces.

“Fuck off,” Rowan says and there’s the Whitethorn he knows and loves.

Lorcan opens his mouth to speak again but his phone buzzes and Rowan again lurches for his own. He chews at his lip as he reads whatever’s on the screen and so Lorcan bothers to dig his own phone out of his pocket.

It’s the group chat. He has a couple of unread messages, just Aedion and Elide expressing their concern for Galathynius as expected, nothing exciting. He locks his phone and places it on the table in front of him, watching Rowan for his next move. He’s definitely being weird and Lorcan has no fucking clue why.

His phone buzzes again and the screen lights up with the latest message. It’s Galathynius, he can tell from the stupid crown profile picture she has.

I’m alive, her message reads, just a sprain but I’m gutted bc I wanted a cast so you all could sign it.

Rowan is on his own phone when Lorcan looks back up, he’s tapping away but Lorcan doesn’t see any messages from him in the group chat. His knee has stilled under the table and Lorcan swears there’s something that looks like relief on his face. Relief? As if there was ever any danger of Galathynius not being fine.

Wait.

“Why the fuck are you so worried about Galathynius?”

Rowan’s eyes narrow and he carefully tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m not,” he says but it sounds somewhat like a question and Lorcan isn’t convinced.

Until he decides he doesn’t give a shit enough to ask any more questions, Whitethorn seems back to normal and if Galathynius being fine is the reason for it he can think about it later.

And probably speak to Fenrys.

Aedion is drunk.

Like truly and utterly wasted.

So far a good night.

The rest of the group are somewhere dispersed around the bar but he’s happy here, tucked up in their booth, resting his head against the cushioned velvet while the room spins around him. He’s pretty sure Aelin is still in the booth with him and it might be Rowan with her but he’s too lazy to open his eyes to check.

He can hear the pounding base of a song he doesn’t recognise and he could fall asleep right here, somehow lulled to sleep by the beat and the volume of alcohol he’s consumed.

He doesn’t mean to listen to Aelin and Rowan’s conversation, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not intruding if they know he’s sat right there, but pieces of their conversation spike his attention.

“You don’t want me to stay at yours tonight?” he hears Aelin ask and Aedion is intrigued.

Lysandra is out tonight so Aelin has a safe ride home with her roommate and no need to crash at Rowan and Fenrys’ apartment.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to.” Rowan’s voice is low and hard to hear over the music. “But Fenrys is out with us and if I say I want to leave he’ll join me, then you know he’d ask questions.”

Aedion from tomorrow is screaming at him to pay attention to this conversation and so he keeps his eyes closed to try and listen in. He’s almost holding his breath to try and hear their voices over the noise of the bar.

They’re quiet for a moment and he’s so tempted to crack his eyes open.

“I know,” he finally hears Rowan say. “I’m sorry, Fireheart. We will.”

Hearing the term of endearment drop off Rowan’s lips is too much, it’s weird, he didn’t realise the two of them were close enough for Rowan to know about the nickname his cousin has. He risks opening one of his eyes to just a thin slit.

He’s not ready for what he sees.

Aelin is tucked under Rowan’s arm, resting her cheek on his chest. Rowan’s chin rests on the top of his cousin’s head before he softly presses his lips to her hair.

Aedion has many questions. He immediately closes his eye. He’s drunk, he can’t trust his eyes.

He hears rustling and then definitely his name from his cousin but it doesn’t sound like she’s talking to him.

Then, “Aedion.” Rowan’s voice has him blinking his eyes open and lifting his head from the booth.

They’re separated now, sitting with a couple of inches between them on the seat. Maybe he didn’t see them cuddled up a minute ago, he’s not sure.

“Drink this.” Rowan is holding out a glass of water, his tone leaving no room for protests.

“Hey,” he hears how slurred his voice is and catches Aelin’s laughter. “Thanks bro.”

Aelin puts her face in her hands. Rowan doesn’t crack, just waves the glass of water in front of him. He reaches out to grab it but he can see more than one of his hand reaching for the glass.

“Gods,” Aelin says, looking at Rowan. “Maybe you should take him home.”

“I will,” Rowan agrees quickly, looking at her softly and Aedion has about a million more questions. “I’ll get him to drink this first.”

Aelin nods and he finally manages to take a hold of the water and downs it in about a minute. Rowan slides out of the booth and holds a hand out to Aedion. He lets his friend tug him up and begins his stumble to the exit.

He feels Rowan pause behind him and catches the words, “meet you at yours afterwards.”

He manages to spin and see Aelin smiling as she leaves the booth too. He doesn’t bother to think about it, he probably won’t remember tomorrow.

He’ll ask Lysandra.

Aelin’s hand is clammy where she holds Rowan’s.

It’s the only sign of the nerves she feels, this conversation has been brewing for a while, and regardless of their friends’ reactions she’s happy with Rowan. Honestly, it’s only been about a month in total since that one night for Elide’s birthday that changed everything, but she thinks she might be falling for him.

She can’t believe she thought he was a dick when they first met. Well, she supposes he is a dick. One of the first things he ever said to her was that she was a spoiled brat but, in his defense, she’d just called him a stuck up bastard.

Now though she loves the thrill of his quick mind. Loves the way he can tease and taunt her until she’s trembling beneath him and about a second away from begging. She loves the soft kisses he presses to her hair when he knows she’s had a bad day, she loves when he comes back from work with a slice of chocolate hazelnut cake under his arm because he knows it will make her smile.

What she doesn’t love is keeping this a secret from all of their best friends. It started out as embarrassment, after they slept together on Elide’s birthday she didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if they’d just fucked everything up, didn’t know if their friendships were about to implode.

But then it happened again, and again and again, until it’s four am and she’s pressing her lips to his one last time so she can sneak out without Fenrys noticing and be home before Lysandra wakes up.

The sneaking around was hot at first. His hand over her mouth holding in her whimpers as he fucked her on the couch he shares with Fenrys, when he slid the pillow between her bedframe and the wall when Lysandra had texted asking if she could hear that weird banging noise, all the times they had cut it a little too close. But now, it’s exhausting.

She wants to be able to hold Rowan’s hand and kiss him without the wariness pooling in her stomach and she knows he feels the same.

“Guys,” she says loudly to the room filled with their friends. Rowan squeezes her hand where they’re hidden beneath a couch pillow. “We have something to tell you all.”

Five pairs of eves pivot to her and she swallows.

“Rowan and I are… dating,” she says slowly, as though she’s unsure of how the words will go down.

There’s a beat of silence before their friends erupt.

“I knew it!”

“I fucking told you they were.”

“Pay up you bastard.”

Lorcan scowls, pulling out his wallet and Aelin blinks. She did not expect this.

“Wait.” Lorcan holds up a hand. “Before I hand over any cash we need details. Dating or in a relationship? How long have you been dating? Who asked who? Who started this? Most importantly; when?”

She looks to Rowan who’s green eyes reflect her own bewilderment.

“Um,” he starts unsurely, “we’re in a relationship.” He punctuates this with another squeeze of her hand and she grins. The feeling of his fingers linked through her own spreads warmth up her arm before settling in her chest. “It started a few weeks ago.”

Her friends are all leaning forwards, still waiting.

“When exactly?” Lysandra asks. “Like what was the date?”

“Well, the first time was the night of Elide’s birthday.”

Fenrys launches himself out of his seat. “I fucking told all of you.” He holds his right hand out starkly in front of him. “Pay up all of you, I was right.”

There are complaints and grumbled protests but Fenrys ends up with a handful of twenties and Elide a couple of notes herself.

“Wait,” Aelin says, brushing a hand across her forehead as if this will somehow clear it up. “You guys bet on us?”

That seems to still the commotion coming from the other side of the room.

It’s Aedion who speaks. “Yeah,” he says in a way that sounds like duh. “You didn’t think you were subtle did you?”

“Kind of,” Rowan says eventually, leaning forwards to brace his elbows on his knees. “We weren’t obvious. And none of you ever seemed to let on.”

“Bro, are you serious?” Aedion laughs as Elide and Lysandra snicker.

“You seriously thought we never knew?” Lysandra sounds as baffled as Aelin feels. “All those texts I sent when I knew he was over? All the mysterious unnamed hook-ups on nights you and Rowan both disappeared together? All the times you’d think you were subtle but your lipstick would be on his neck? We have been waiting for this.”

She’s laughing and Aelin feels a bubble of laughter in her own throat. She can’t believe it. It had seemed to reach a point of obviousness but none of them had ever commented.

“I can’t believe you all knew,” she cries burying her face in her hands as Rowan slings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close. “Why did none of you say anything?”

“It was against the rules of the bet,” Fenrys says seriously and Rowan uses his other arm to dig his bicep, his laughter rumbling in his chest beneath her.

She smiles into the fabric of his shirt as the group erupts again, bickering over who knew first and who knew the most. Aelin doesn’t care, it’s gone better than she could have imagined and she has Rowan and her friends and she loves them.

A secret relationship no longer. It feels good.

[onlinehorrorinserts]

A/N: Normally what I’ll write is just snippets of images and scenarios, and that’s what this was GOING to be but I got insanely inspired and just kept going. What better way to get this kicked off than a oneshot, anyway? Eyeless Jack with the prompt “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Trigger warning for descriptions of blood and a wound, as well as it being stitched back up near the end (just in case)

You hadn’t expected this little outing to be any different than the usual. A quick get in, get rid of the target, and get out. Someone had gotten just a little too close to the isolated mansion even despite the failsafes put in place, and it just wouldn’t be safe to let them be with the knowledge of what they may have seen.

Unfortunately, you had neglected to take into account that someone who was probably already scared and insanely paranoid and knew their life could be in danger after the things they had seen would fight tooth and nail to keep themselves alive. You had kept to the cover of darkness for a reason - not only should it have given you the clear upperhand, but it should have kept all of the damage to a minimum on both sides.

You didn’t particularly enjoy killing, after all. At least not when it came to innocents who were just in the wrong place at the very wrong time. It was simply a means to an end, something that had to be done to protect the family you had grown to love, twisted as they all were. Twisted as you were too, you realized, but the thought was often easy enough to shove aside.

Needless to say this was something of a routine for you. Something that should never have had the opportunity to go so wrong - yet that’s the very reason you must have grown complacent. What was usually just a quick get in and get out plan turned into a literal stab in the back and the rather aggressive fight that ensued after. The only thing on your side was the utter shock the victim had upon noticing how human you seemed to be compared to whatever he must have seen out in those woods. That realization had killed his resolve for just long enough for you. Humans could be fickle - if they weren’t like you, if they weren’t used to having the resolve to do what needed to be done, they could falter. You didn’t.

You knew the wound probably wasn’t deep enough to kill you. You’d have to seek treatment though. The idea made your skin crawl more than the feeling of blood oozing into the torn fabric of your clothing. It wasn’t who you had to seek out that frightened you. If anything you would have been a bit more comforted by his presence by this point. No, it was the idea in general. Hospitals, doctors, anything related to the medical field gave you tunnel vision in the form of a very rapid fight or flight response. It wasn’t something you’ve been able to control for a long time.

When you returned to the mansion, you were thankful that not many seemed to be out and about, especially not him. A couple of the guys were lounging on the couch or the chairs in the living room, playing games and cracking jokes a bit too loudly to fully notice you enter, except for Jeff who threw a casual nod your way. You offered a small smile in return, waiting for him to return his attention back to the others before you dared turn your back and crept up the stairs. You didn’t want them to see the wound and were thankful when you heard no words calling up after you to indicate that they had.

Only once you were in the safety of your room did you let out a sigh of relief, reaching to your back with a strained wince to try and gauge the damage. The amount of blood that covered your hand when you pulled it back was enough of an answer. 

You knew you had to go see him. You weren’t stupid. No matter how close the two of you grew though, the idea of descending into his basement, penetrating into his bubble of personal space… it felt wrong. Even knowing that no one else seemed to care, and he was technically something of a designated doctor for them all and it was sort of one of his jobs… you couldn’t feel comfortable with it. Or more likely it was for less selfless reasons like that and more your own fear piercing your heart worse than that knife had pierced flesh.

Not much time was given for you to debate with yourself though as you heard a knock at the door, jolting you back into reality as you stared at the knob. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to take the initiative and just come in. Maybe you could just leave it and they’d get the hint? Another knock was soon to dispel that hope as you sighed, forcing yourself to go answer it. As much as you hated the idea of having to clean it later, you used your bloodied hand to hide it from your visitor.

It soon became clear that it was all for naught though as your eyes met with the familiar deep blue mask, an inky blackness where eyes should have been and a gunky tar like substance slowly trailing down the mask, long ago having stained the fine blue like oil in water.

“So you are back.” The muffled, vaguely distorted voice spoke matter of factly, not afraid to show a vague irritation in the way he crossed his arms. You sheepishly smiled despite yourself.

“What, were you watching for me or something?”

“You know how good my hearing is.”

“I thought your basement was soundproof?”

“And who said I was in the basement?” He had a point, you realized. You had merely assumed he was down there after not seeing him in the front room. As reclusive as he could be, it was likely he had just been in another room. He knew he had you there and so he turned and began to head back down the hall towards the stairs. With a defeated sigh all you could do was follow him.

You kept quiet as you followed him back down and through the front room, the boys pointedly watching as you passed. Had they not noticed the blood before, they certainly did now, and it was Jeff to make that all the more clear.

“The fuck happen to you?” He asked with a cock of his head, perhaps genuinely curious despite his more blunt tone. You were about to stop to respond, wanting to take any opportunity to prolong the inevitable, but predictably it wasn’t going to be that easy. When you slowed, Jack immediately shifted to grab your wrist and with a light pull, ushered you forward and ahead of him. The message he was giving you was clear, and with a soft huff you continued on while he stayed behind, no doubt to talk to the scarred boy.

The descent down the stairs was never very easy to get used to. As soon as you hit the first step you felt the warmth from the house seemingly leave your body as the chill penetrated nearly to the bone. You knew the cold didn’t bother him like it did you - in a technical sense he was scarcely what you could even call alive. Not like humans were alive, at least. The cold was better for his specimens anyway. No use complaining. 

You were at least thankful that he had gotten into the habit of leaving at least a dim light on when he knew that you would be coming down. Just because he didn’t need them to see and not wipe out on the stairs didn’t mean that you didn’t, after all. Once you had found your way down, you went to take a seat on his bed, pulling the sheets up and around you. You didn’t care that you’d get blood on them. He had plenty of spare sheets anyway, considering he had to constantly change them out if he didn’t want to be sleeping in… whatever that substance from his eyes were. He was a bit more hygienic than that, thankfully.

You weren’t sure how long passed before you heard his descent, feeling a shaky breath escape you as you did. A mix of anxiety and relief crossed you in that very moment - an odd mixture for sure. A small shiver passed through you. You decided to convince yourself it was due to the chill in the air. 

When he reached the bottom step he faced you, not wasting time to remove the mask. A couple points of his sharklike teeth poked out from the cover of his grey lips, and though he had no eyes you knew his gaze was focused entirely on your own. It hadn’t been long since he had started removing his mask around you. He seemed to prefer the security it brought him. You weren’t sure what vulnerabilities lie underneath that callous exterior, and though you knew him well enough by now to know there was no harm in asking, you decided not to breach the subject today.

“Come here. Sit by the table, take off the shirt.” Despite the cold you felt a bit of heat rise to your cheeks, and if he noticed he thankfully didn’t comment on it for the time being. All you could do was obey, letting the blankets pool behind you on the bed as you stood and made your way over. Once the material was off the cold only felt more persistent. You wondered for a brief moment if you could catch a cold in here if you spent too much time down here.

The feeling of his hand made you jolt, a soft hiss escaping your lips when it caused the muscle to pull. You heard him sigh but noticed the faintest, gentle skim of his thumb against the unmarred section of skin just below the wound. A form of apology gone unspoken.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” He finally spoke as he reached over to the table beside you, preparing a few of his tools. Before you could answer he continued, his slight growl of a voice softening the best he could manage, “slight sting.”

You winced when the needle punctured you, but you were thankful when a bit of relief slowly started to take over. You weren’t entirely sure where he got any of this, but right now you didn’t care. You could only faintly feel the pressure of him working on stitching up the wound, wincing only occasionally if he went a bit too deep.

“You know why, Jack.”

“You’d think by now you’d realize I’m not going to harm you.”

“I never said my fear was logical. Anyway, I also just hate bothering you when I have no idea if you’re in the middle of your… work.”

It was then that he paused, perhaps taking in your words. It wasn’t for long though before he got back to focusing on the task at hand.

“I would prefer it be you who interrupts me than one of the others. At least I know that if you get hurt, it wasn’t a stupid mistake.”

“Careful. Keep that up and I’ll make excuses just to bother you.”

“If you want to see live dissections, be my guest.”

You cringed at his words, and while you couldn’t see it you could picture a slight shark-toothed smirk. You could occasionally hear the faint drip of something, probably from his eyes. It seemed he was at least careful not to let any of it drip on you. I guess he must have eaten recently. Your mind wandered, zoning out to the occasional rhythmic sound. That is until he finished his work and pulled back, cleaning the area one last time as he looked it over.

“Okay,” His gaze shifted elsewhere, probably a clock in a darker part of the room but you couldn’t be sure, “Get some rest. By midday you can probably wash up as usual. Until then, keep it dry. No straining the muscle until I give you the okay. If I have to restitch this, I’m not going to be happy.” Though his words were tough, you couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips. You knew he didn’t mean it. You gave him a small nod and stood, ready to put your torn shirt back on before his cold hand once again gripped your wrist - it was a bit softer than it had been earlier.

“Wait.” He commanded, and though you were confused you obeyed as he went off into a side room. To his credit he didn’t leave you waiting too long, bringing back an extra of his hoodies. It was a bit more worn than his current one, obviously older but the sentiment was still there.

“No use wearing that anymore, but you’re not going up there again without wearing something.” He mumbled, a slight rumble in his chest akin to a feline’s growl or purr. You weren’t sure what that sound really was even now, but you had grown rather accustomed to his quirks. You grinned at him and gratefully took the hoodie, slipping it over your head with ease thanks to the side of it. You noticed as his eyeless gaze shifted subtly elsewhere.

“Thank you, Jack.”

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers Meeting the MC’s Family

I mean, if they have any family at all, what could they even tell them anyway? “Sorry Mom, still in Hell so I won’t make Thanksgiving but I’m doing great though!” This is another long one folks, but I lowkey kind of love it a whole lot. Sooo fun to write. One of my favorite posts so far.

Lucifer

Thinks it's a little weird that they’re so adamant to introduce their family to a literal demon but also kinda gets it. Family is the most important thing to him too.

Is very focused on making a good first impression, from image to attitude. Their approval isn’t going to do jack to stop him from being with the MC but he’d still take pride in being able to charm them for a night. Besides, if the MC cares then so does he.

Has more experience with the human world than the others so he’d know a lot of the do’s and don'ts already. They won’t need to worry about him making some kind of slip up.

Would love the irony if the MC’s family is religious at all. Christian/Jewish especially. May or may not play along with their little rituals but is going to make a lot of thinly veiled, passive-aggressive comments towards his "old man."

Would be most comfortable in a setting where there’s a lot of intellectual discussion or debate. He loves to steer a conversation down towards politics or other controversial things to get a rise out of people. The MC may need to reign him in if that’s a big no-go zone.

Isn’t really going to get along with any younger siblings the MC might have. Either he’s too stiff or too scary. If they’re looking for a playmate, look somewhere else.

Also not going to be particularly fond of any pets they have one way or another. Though he may take a shine to pitbulls or rottweilers because they remind him of Cerberus.

Mammon

You sure about this, MC? Him? Really? Are you really sure? He’s going to think they're crazy but he’s not going to refuse.

Will be so freaking excited if they’re from a well-to-do or, dare say, rich family. So much stuff to steal admire. Yeah, yeah no stealing from the MC’s family, he gets it... He’ll really try his best but it might be good to keep an eye on him.

Surprisingly though, he’s not going to be disgusted if they’re from a poor family either because the dude gets it. Money is hard to come by and things can be tough. He might even… pay... for some stuff while he’s there... You know, if he can. Don’t make a big deal out of it… He's got an image to keep.

He’ll try his best to not come off like a total scumbag and it may actually work. He’s rough around the edges but there’s plenty of chances for his better side to shine through as long as he stays on good behavior. 

They will have to be sure that he doesn’t get to talking too much because his dumbass will let it slip that he’s a demon. 

Mammon may not love kids but kids love him and any younger siblings are going to do the same. Even if he calls them little gremlins, he’ll let himself get roped into whatever game they’re playing and make it a lot of fun in the process.

Bring on the pets! He’s more of a dog person but he’ll play with a cat too. He may not be as animal-obsessed as Satan but he loves a good furry companion every once in a while.

Leviathan 

NOOOOO and you can’t make him!!! A social event involving strangers where he has to make a good impression?? Fuck no, that sounds like actual hell and he doesn’t want anything to do with it!

… But he also can’t just let the MC go back to the human world alone because what if they meet someone better than him and get reminded that they’re with a good-for-nothing otaku…? Okay he's going. But he’s going to pout about it.

His first impression is going to make him come off like a nervous wreck no matter what. There’s really no polishing this bundle of anxiety. The best he can hope for is to ride this thing out until it's done.

Will be pretty quiet and cling to the MC like a life-raft the entire night. Refuses to be left alone with their family in any capacity, he could not handle the awkward silence. If they’re going to the bathroom, then he’s going too damnit.

If they have a pretty nerdy family then he might be a bit more comfortable. Especially if any of their siblings/parents game or are into anime. Steering conversation more towards his comfort zones will help him out a lot...

If they have little siblings who play a lot of video games then he is going to be the coolest person in the world. Period. He knows all the best strategies to practically any game out there, demonic or human. He may even loosen up a little bit and start smiling if he gets to wow an audience with his gaming prowess!

Like Lucifer he’s not going to be all that impressed with pets either way. He’ll think fish are pretty neat and probably even reptiles too but don’t expect him to get too cuddly with a dog or anything.

Satan

Doesn’t hate the idea but agrees that his name is going to have to change if they’re really serious about it. “Hey everybody this is my boyfriend, Satan!” is only going to be appealing to very niche circles...

Like Lucifer, he's going to be mindful of how he comes across. He'd rather the MC's family likes him than didn't, even if it's irrelevant, so expect him to be very polite and sociable. Damn near the perfect gentleman.

… Until something/someone sets off his temper. He may not go full Wrath on the situation but it's probably best to get him out of the room real quick so he can cool down.

Would love if the MC comes from an super educated family but it’s not a must. He's the kind of guy who will ask a lot of questions about any person's profession/skills and how things work regardless of background. He's curious that way.

Either way, he is going to show off his smarts and make sure that their family knows where his intellect is at. He wants them to know that the MC picked someone with a good head on their shoulders, after all.

Best keep him away from small children and bratty teens. He isn't exactly opposed to kids, but it takes one little shit to set him off and NO ONE looks good yelling at someone else's kid. Deserved or not.

Will there be cats? Do you have a cat? Please say you have a cat! He's okay with dogs too but if the MC has a cat this man will be ecstatic. The cat will love him and he will love it right back. Honestly, he's already adopted it. It's his now. Who's MC?

Asmodeus

Baby, you can take him anywhere and he’ll be the life of the party! A little family gathering doesn’t matter to him.

Is going to make sure that the moment he walks through the door the MC's family is in awe of what a catch they've got for themselves. He wants them to be proud of their little MC! To him, that translates to looking good and being fun!

Hope this is a house used to physical affection because he will not (and probably cannot) turn it off. Everyone gets hugs. Everyone.

Extra affectionate the whole night. He'll hold the MC's hand or arm or waist or really any part he can get away with. Kisses on the head and cheek aplenty. He may also lowkey butter up their parents with loads of compliments no matter what situation they're in.

If he's told to cool it on the touching though, he may get offended.

Is going to be better with teenage siblings than little, little ones. The man lives to give dating advice, fashion tips, or makeovers, you name it. Though he has to be careful to mention just human products and not some of the stuff he has back home.

Animal fur on his clothes? After he dressed himself so carefully?? No thanks. You can have your cute puppy or your little kitty. He'll take pictures, but he's probably not going pet much.

Beelzebub

Is honestly kind of honored by the suggestion. The MC is already a part of his family so it only seems natural to make him part of theirs. Though he has some reservations, mostly around his appetite...

He doesn't go up to the human world very much because it's really hard for him to stay fed. He's well-known enough in the Devildom that restaurants know what to expect when he walks in. Not so much up there.

Arrange the meeting around a state fair, festival, or carnival where the food is plentiful and he's golden. Hopefully their family won't be too disturbed by how bottomless his stomach is…

Beel is a sweetheart through and through but his lack of knowledge about how the human world, or humans in general, work might come back to bite him. He may need a little 101 about human manners before going.

Truthfully, their family is in for a real treat! This giant may look intimidating, but he's as gentle as they come. The kind of guy who will carry their grandmother’s bags with a smile on his face just for the sake of being helpful. 10/10 Sweetie, mother will approve.

Ooooh little kids are going to love Beel. He'll let their siblings hang off of him like a jungle gym. Will also play games with them if they want him to. Doesn't matter to him, their family is his family too and he wants to see them all happy.

Man wants dogs. Preferably big ones that he can rough-house with but little dogs he can cuddle work too. Do remind him that he can't just rip a whole-ass branch off a tree to play fetch like you could with Cerberus.

Belphegor

Really? You want that? Lol, okay but no promises. This is pretty much the equivalent of sticking two unlabeled chemicals together in a beaker and leaning in to see what happens. Who knows, but now you're stuck in the middle of it.

He's not going to try especially hard to make a good impression or change himself in any way. If their family is into people who are kind of chill and sarcastic then he'll get along swimmingly. If they were expecting more of a Satan type, yeah. No. He's not holding open any doors.

Won't be taking the whole thing all that seriously to be honest, like, what are a bunch of humans going to do if they don’t like him? Tell MC? They're certainly not going to be able to make him leave. He's humoring them at best, even if he's nice, so why bother fussing about it?

Might be a disrespectful little troll at times like pretending to fall asleep or making casual jokes like "Oh no, ma'am. I'm not all that comfortable with that cross over there because I'm a demon. …. Got ya, didn’t I? That'd be silly." *shit-eating grin*

Would appreciate a quiet, slightly introverted family the most. He's going to start getting annoyed if people in the house are too loud and may speed the whole thing along as a result.

Kids are things he'd rather avoid than have to interact with, but if pressed he will humor the little ones too. Don't expect him to do a whole lot of moving, though. If they're happy to just show him things that he can semi-pay attention to, that works for him.

MC has a pet? Is it fluffy? Is it lazy? Bring'em here. Like Beel, he likes big dogs but would rather just bury his face in fluff than try to wrestle it. He may actually fall asleep with them if they lay still enough for it.

[redeadepression]

Clemens Point - Chapter 1

Reflections Series:  Part 9 of a series exploring John’s seemingly tense relationship with Abigail.

Relationships:  John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Prominent Characters: John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston, Susan Grimshaw, Arthur Morgan, Jack Marston, Dutch Van der Linde

Summery: John has a serious decision to make after being faced with a revelation the night before moving camp to Clemens Point. Abigail is trying her best to be a better person but her suspicious and persistent change of heart makes John fear it’s all part of her long con. 

John has been beginning to doubt Dutch since Blackwater and with the Pinkertons relentlessly on their tail and Dutch seemingly going off the deep end; John begins to worry that none of them will live long enough for decisions about his family to matter.

Words: Chapter 1 -  22033

AO3 Link: To be added

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of self harm, Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, Domestic abuse, Past Gaslighting, Toxic relationships, Dubious consent, Fighting scenes, Mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of rape, PTSD, BDSM exploration, Dom!Sub! Dynamic.

Other Tags: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some fluff, Canon compliant, Canon interactions, sex, blow jobs, grinding.

Author Notes:

This entire fic is way too long to post in one part so I will post all the chapters (4 of them) separately and link them all together once they’re all posted.

I hope you guys like this one. It was hard to write but I am really happy with the way it turned out in the end. I’m so sorry I only seem to post this series once a year!

I hope I’ve done a good job of conveying John’s myriad of mental illness’s and the fact that in this time period there was not really much known about mental illness and no help available for people that suffered from them. John’s slow slip into realisation that even when things are good for him he seems to still be suffering is a sad but necessary plot point for this series. I’ve tried to highlight his pain due to depression/anxiety and PTSD in this story and not just the things happening in his relationships. I hope I did his slow decline into depression justice over the course of this series and it doesn’t come off as him being sulky and overreactive for no reason.

Please remember that if any conversations seem a little jarring or like a long monologue it is generally a canon camp interaction that I've fit into the story. I tried to fit as many of John's in as possible!

~~~~~~~

The road to the Van der Linde Gang’s new campsite was long and hot. The chill that had hung in the air around Horseshoe Overlook had long since abandoned them and was replaced with sticky humid air.

Blow flies the size of raisins plagued them and their horses throughout the entire journey. Disgusting things. Small, black buzzards that would make a beeline for any open orifice on the human body and to John’s dismay, fresh scars.

He batted the bugs away from his face irately. Huffing forcefully through his nose to try and deter the stubborn creatures from bothering with his face any longer.

A chuckle along-side him caught his ear and he turned to meet Karen’s gaze as she shook her own head, blinking wildly as a buzzed tried to land in her eye.

“Ah, bloody things!” She exclaimed, shoeing them away from her face with her palm and staring at John incredulously for a moment before turning back to the trail when he didn’t reply.

He couldn’t bring himself to smile at their shared plight. His features were locked in a permanent scowl for fear that letting himself relax his face would end in disaster.

He hadn’t slept at all the night before. Rising before the others and packing away his tent without being asked. Before Susan could wake him herself and demand he get it done.

John couldn’t help but feel a little slighted by the fact that Arthur’s tent had been packed away for him. The hard work had been done by the time John had gone to bed.

He wondered briefly where the other man had slept before remembering he hadn’t even hung around at all after the shootout in Valentine. He and Charles were long gone by the time Abigail had come to talk to him.

He supposed Arthur had slept at the new campsite. John wondered if he would stick around long enough to help them set up or if he would lead them in and disappear once more.

He seemed to be gone more than ever these last few weeks.

Probably a good thing.

John considered as his eyes rose toward the back on the wagon he was following. Abigail and Sadie were sat on either side. Both leaning against their respective walls and chatting quietly. Jack was sitting in between them, playing with his little horse figurine and mumbling to himself.

John sighed quietly, eyes shifting to an upcoming tree as the wagon passed it closer than it probably should have.

“Here!” He commanded, pulling on the rope he had attached to Old Boy’s saddle and directing the other horse he was leading to walk closer to the gelding. She did as she was told, her tummy brushing up against John’s calf as he moved the two horses to the right slightly and avoided getting their rope caught between the trees.

Once clear of the shrubbery, he let the rope go and leant over to give the spare horse a quick pat for being so obedient.

His eyes wandered to the seat of the wagon in front of him. Spying Uncle’s hands on the reigns through the boxes beside Abigail.

He glared at the back of the old man’s head, knowing the drunkard was probably already several bourbons deep at this early hour. He’s only just missed that tree and yet he carried John’s most precious cargo in the back of his wagon.

He should have offered to drive. But he knew Old Boy wouldn’t listen to anyone else. From what he’d heard, the gang had a terrible time getting him to follow them from Blackwater to Colter and again from Colter to Horseshoe when John had been too injured to ride.

Susan had been happy that John was up and about and could ride his own horse and he wasn’t about to rock the boat so early after spending so damn long off his feet.

John shifted in his saddle, feel stiff and sore from all the physical activity the days before. He’d really pushed himself a lot farther that he should have. His body was still heeling and his emotions still a little too raw for his liking.

Abigail’s confession the night before had broken him a little harder than he’d expected. His heart was firmly in two and he wasn’t quite sure how to go about stitching it back together or if that was even possible.

His eyes flicked upward, meeting little Jack’s as the child watched him from the back of the wagon. John was surprised to see him staring. Feeling uncomfortable about being looked at while he felt so vulnerable, even if was just Jack.

The kid smiled at him, holding up his little hand and waving it eagerly in John’s direction.

John looked on sadly, feeling bad for the kid. His own hand rose slowly, flicking hesitantly at Jack in a small wave before he pulled it back to his reigns.

He watched as the kid’s smile widened and he turning to Abigail excitedly. His toothy grin and little finger pointing back towards John as he gushed.

Abigail nodded enthusiastically at Jack. Turning to face John momentarily and locking eyes with him. A weary smile on her lips as she looked to him sadly.

John felt the need to turn and check on the other horse as an excuse to look away.

He felt a clench in his heart at the interaction. Unsure if it was caused by Jack or Abigail. He couldn’t tell anymore. Everything hurt him in one way or another. He was so tired of trying to put rhyme or reason behind the things he was feeling when he knew deep down none of it mattered.

He had learned the hard way that knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt any less.

Swallowing thicky he bowed his head, staring at Old Boy’s mane. Letting the gelding walk at his own pace behind the wagon without needing to direct him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look up again. To know for sure if she was watching or if she had looked away just as fast as he had.

It didn’t make a difference anyway. Even if she was still observing him it was just to sate her own guilt.

Pretend.

John reminded himself, hands trembling against the reigns as he clenched his teeth against the burn behind his eyes.

He found himself grateful for the fly that landed on his nose. Affording him a distraction and a reason for him to swipe at his face.

He was pathetic and they all knew it. He wasn’t sure he had any pride left at this point. Didn’t know why he kept trying to hold it together when everything around him was falling apart.

He pulled on Old Boy’s reigns. Slowing him before veering to the left and pulling him to a halt completely out of everyone’s way.

Slipping down from the saddle, he fumbled with the rope attaching the other horse and waved the rest of the caravan onwards while he feigned trouble securing her as his reason to fall behind.

He stood there for a long minute, hands rolling the rope through his fingers as he stared through misty eyes at the chestnut fur under his hands.

He waited until they had all long passed before mounting Old Boy once more and continuing at a slow pace behind them. Ears pricked for signs of trouble now that he was bringing up the rear.

He didn’t want them to see him like this.

Although he supposed everyone already had to some extent. He hadn’t been able to control himself at Colter. At least that was what he told himself now that it was over.

Emotions had been running high and he had made a fool of himself openly. What was left of his dignity was torn to shreds and he wasn’t sure anyone really respected him as an outlaw anymore.

Part of him wished he still had the excuse of being injured to fall back on so people would assume his pain was physical. The wetness on his cheeks was due to the unrelenting aching of his wounds and not his heart.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for only a second before opening them and vowing to keep himself together.

He mounted up again, spurring Old Boy into a trot to catch up to the caravan.

 ~~

 Charles waved them off the main road and down a little path through the forest. Coming to a clearing with a large tree in the middle, the caravan finally stopped.

John rode around the wagons and hitched his horses to some spare trees off to the side and out of everyone’s way.

Moving to the wagon Abigail had been situated in, he started to unload his own things as well as hers. Placing all the crates and boxes to the side of the wagon for easier distribution.

He worked fast. Only stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow before he fell into his eyes. He hated setting up camp. It was his least favourite chore of all.

The women were usually pretty good about setting up their own lodgings.  But as a man John felt obliged to help them after he’d finished his own. He often found himself working long into the night to make sure everyone had a place to sleep while other men like Bill, Uncle and Pearson sat around and got drunk.

John picked up the last of the boxes from the first wagon and jumped back down to the ground with a thud. Placing it atop the rest of the pile he paused to knead his knuckles into the small of his back momentarily. He was already starting to feel the burn of exertion and he hadn’t even started on his own tent yet.

“Alright John?” Charles asked as he approached, causing the younger man to stand up straight in response. John nodded stiffly, refusing to look Charles in the eyes as he returned his attention to the boxes in front of him. He lifted one against his chest and began to walk towards the campsite.

Charles watched him go without a word. Looking over the boxes briefly before grabbing one filled with John’s things and following behind the other man.

He didn’t know John too well. But he had seen enough suffering in his life to know when someone was in pain.

He wasn’t the kind of person to bring attention to the fact. Make John feel inadequate and weak. Instead, he helped where he could in a way that he hoped wasn’t being perceived as pity by John himself or anyone watching.

John stopped under the large tree in the middle of camp. Eyes wandering across the land as he tried to decide where would be the best area to set up his tent.

His eyes settled on a shady spot not too far from the tree. Flat ground, not too much grass and no room for water to pool around the tent if it rained. He smiled to himself, taking a step towards it and stopping suddenly as he watched Dutch stride forwards right into the perfect plot.

“Mrs Grimshaw!” He called enthusiastically, gesturing to the ground where he stood. “Here is perfect, thank you!” He shouted, tapping the ground with one boot to check the firmness before striding away as quickly as he came.

John’s fingers flexed against the heavy box he was holding. Watching as Susan dragged a heavy tent pole over the grass and dumped it hard into the place where Dutch had just stood.

John rolled his eyes as the scene. Of course Dutch had taken the perfect spot for himself. As if John should have expected anything less from their leader.

He sighed, repositioning the box in his grip as he took another few steps forwards and veered to the right of Dutch’s tent.

“I’m setting Arthur’s wagon up there John!” Susan called to him as he bent to place the box down.

“Seriously?” He asked in annoyance, turning to face her with a scowl from his position halfway to the ground.

“There’s a spot to the left of Dutch for you.” She replied without looking at him as she struggled with another heavy tent pole.

“For Christ’s sake.” John mumbled, straightening up again and stomping to the other side of Dutch’s spot. “He ain’t even here.” He grumbled, dumping the crate down heavily in the dirt. Watching the dust that rose from the uneven ground before spinning around and bumping into Charles.

“Oh.” He yelped, regaining his balance and grabbing at the box in the other man’s hands to stop it from tumbling. “Sorry.” He said shakily, feeling embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks as he side stepped the older man and headed back towards the wagon.

John turned slyly as he walked to watch Charles place his box down next to the one John had dumped before turning himself and following in John’s footsteps back to the wagon.

John turned back quickly, feeling grateful for the other man’s help but sick at the thought of needing it.

He sighed heavily as he reached the cart and leaned down to pick up another crate. Charles appeared beside him once more and before he could be stopped, helped to levy the weight in John’s arms until it was tight against his chest.

John stared at the other man for a second. Feeling he should say something but instead nodding softly as the bigger man smiled.

Charles knew he was weak. Knew he needed help despite his blatant refusal to ask for it. He still hadn’t fully recovered after weeks of rest. It was humbling to say the least. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be. Bouncing back from a scratch or a bullet within days and back out on the job.

He wondered cynically if this was just what getting older was like or if it was specific to him and his injuries.

“Coming?” Charles asked, startling him from his thoughts as he was overtaken by the other man who had stopped to look back at him. John blinked himself back to reality, nodding again at the other man and following behind him sheepishly as they headed back towards his designated spot.

Charles seemed like a nice guy. John hadn’t really had much to do with him since he’d arrived. The other man wasn’t much of a talker and John struggled with making friends in the best of circumstances. They hadn’t really conversed in the six months Charles had been running with them, but John had heard from others that he was friendly and trustworthy.

“Thanks.” John said hoarsely as they both placed their crates down simultaneously.

“No problem.” Charles replied, placing his hands on his hips as he looked back towards the wagon. “Still got a few there to bring over.” He remarked casually, head gesturing toward the boxes.

“They’re Abigail’s.” John responded, following the other man’s gaze and then turning to look around the area. He spied her across the way, helping Tilly to attach some wire to one of the caravans to make a drying line for their clothes.

“I’ll ask where she wants her things.” Charles said after a moment of silence, making John inhale sharply. Charles had never known the two of them to share a tent. The entire time he’d been with the gang they’d been sleeping separately. John supposed the other man had no idea how such an unassuming sentence like that could hurt his tired heart.

He nodded a third time, unable to speak as he turned away from him and began rummaging through his crates for the tools he would need to erect his tent.

Charles watched from the corner of his eyes. Feeling strangely as though he had said something wrong. He took his leave shortly after. Heading towards the two women struggling to do a three person job alone and stopping to help them both before asking Abigail where she would like her crates.

John watched from under his lashes, fumbling as he pretended to tie two support beams together with straps of leather. Charles retreated from the conversation, gathering the left-over boxes and settling them down not far from where Abigail was helping the other girls. John winced as the crates hit the ground with a heavy thump across the campsite from him. She would never choose to voluntarily set up near him.

He sighed to himself, standing and inspecting his shoddy work before moving on to the next set of beams.

By the time he had finished setting up the frame of the tent it was already mid-afternoon. The sweltering heat and encompassing humidity were not a welcome change from the brisk winds on top of the Overlook.

John stumbled back from the last tie and wiped the sweat from his brow. Briefly pondering how rapidly the climate had seemed to change after only a few hours of riding from their previous camp.

He licked at his chapped lips, wondering if they would finally heal properly in the hotter climate or if they would instead blister and peel from the heat of the sun.

He took a second to breathe in between finishing the frame and moving on to draping the tarp. Retreating to the shade of the large tree in the middle of camp and leaning heavily against it as he took a moment for himself.

He was still exhausted from the shootout in Valentine and even if he wasn’t, not sleeping at all last night had him feeling unsteady on his feet.

John felt his gaze shift unconsciously towards Abigail as his mind wandered back to the night before. Unable to stop himself from getting lost once again in the turmoil of his own feelings.

He watched idly as the woman he loved wrestled with the covering on her lean-to. Grunting in protest as she tried and failed to drag it across the poorly held together frame. John could see from his point of view that it had snagged on a nail, and he wondered absently how long she would keep pulling before thinking to check why it wasn’t moving with her.

Without too much thought he took a few steps towards her. Noticing her demeanour change almost instantly as she spied him approaching from the corner of her eyes.

Standing up straight she wiped at her eyes with her forearm. Shaking her head to reposition her hair and staring intently at the fabric she was working with instead of in John’s direction.

He reached her and stood silently for a second as if waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he supposed the silence seemed right for whatever they were in this moment.

John reached down to untangle the cover from the loose nail and tugged his side of it up into place. Abigail stayed still, watching him with confused eyes. Jumping to help as the tarp began to move with him. She grabbed a hold of her side. Smiling at finally being able to spread the fabric in the way she intended and lifting it up high above her head to hang it roughly against the wooden support.

“That won’t stay.” John said after a moment, flinging his own side up over the wood and moving to rummage through her things for some straps. Abigail watched silently, unsure what to say or if she should even speak. She hadn’t expected him to help her. Hadn’t expected anyone to help her really. Since she had been unceremoniously removed from John’s tent she had been dealing with the tarp repeatedly falling off the support and leaving her exposed to the elements or landing on and scaring her and Jack in their sleep.

Abigail watched silently as John fastened the corner of the tarp to the stand and moved passed her to start working on the corner she had neglected.

She felt uncomfortable in his presence.

Awkward.

She realised, sadly. Things with John were never really comfortable for her, even in the beginning when they would talk for hours. There were still silences that made her feel uneasy and kisses that felt her feeling strange.

But at the very least she could usually refrain from calling their interactions awkward with accuracy.

Her mind flicked back to the last conversation they’d had. She’d dropped some pretty heavy things on his plate and they hadn’t spoken since. She wondered solemnly if their tense relationship would repair itself in time or if she had forever changed their dynamic by giving him all the power.

“Hey, Jack.” John spoke softly, pulling Abigail from her thoughts as he greeted the young boy approaching behind her. “Hand me that hammer, would you?” He asked, gesturing passed Abigail and ignoring her astonished look.

“Okay!” Jack squealed excitedly, leaping into action and racing toward the hammer. Little feet tripping him up in his enthusiasm and almost sending him stumbling.

“Careful!” John shouted tersely before stopping to amend his tone. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He explained gently as the boy nodded in response.

Abigail held back a smile, turning to busy herself in a crate of their belongings to avoid commenting on the situation. Perhaps John was coming around. The thought of Jack finally having the Father figure he’d pined for brought her close to tears.

She shook her head quickly, grabbing their bedding out of the crate and working on their bedrolls. She was getting ahead of herself. She’d only spoken to John last night. He wasn’t the kind of man to forgive and forget so easily. But maybe if she just kept her mouth shut they would be okay in time.

“There.” John said, finishing up with her lean-to and turning to walk away.

“John!” Abigail called, standing quickly and brushing the dust off her skirt. John turned stiffening as he prepared himself for some sort of critique. “Thank you.” Abigail said softly, causing his brows to raise in surprise. “For…” She paused, hand gesturing towards her tent before landing softly on Jack’s small shoulder. John looked between them knowingly. A tight smile, more like a grimace gracing his face as he nodded.

“No problem.” He said quietly, continuing back to his own tent.

It had seemed natural to help her. Something he wanted to do rather than an obligation. But that thought didn’t stop the overwhelming sense of dysphoria he felt at the notion that it wasn’t his responsibility anymore. If he didn’t want it to be.

He could walk away.

“Fuck.” John whispered under his breath as he returned to work on his tent. Struggling to throw his own draping over the top of his frame and yet pretending with all his will that he didn’t need help.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed it on his own. His bad leg aching as he forced himself not to limp between the finished tent and the box that contained his belongings.

He picked it up with a grunt and dropped it just inside the door. Moving on to setting up his cot so that he could rest in private.

“Let me help you.” A voice said from behind him. Startling him as he stretched out the thin mattress across the base.

Abigail smiled at him from the doorway. Shooing him away from the bed and stepping in between him and the mattress. John took a step back and watched in surprise as she flattened the old foam down before slipping a sheet out from under her arm and expertly tucking it in all the right places.

John watched in awe as she made his bed. Finishing up by taking his pillow off the top of his crate and slapping it against her hand a few times before placing it down at the end of the cot.

She turned to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm and nodding meaningfully. He nodded back, unconsciously following her to the doorway and watching as she returned to Jack.

His heart felt light at the gesture. Although he didn’t really understand it. Something was pulling in his chest at the thought that she had taken it upon herself to help him do anything at all.

He wondered if that was what having a family felt like. A happy one, he meant. One where helping each other wasn’t an obligation but a given. Something everyone did because they loved one another and not because they felt like they needed to, to be loved in return.

John ground his teeth, biting at his lip as he moved back inside the tent and slumped down on his freshly made bed.

He hated himself for daring to hope he could have that one day. But he hated himself even more for the hope that he could have that here, with her.

 ~~

 As far as camps went, Clemens Point wasn’t as bad as John had anticipated. The way his clothes had been tacked to his body within the first few minutes of arriving had put doubt in his mind about how comfortable the spot would be. But all in all he didn’t find it too unpleasant.

He wished he had been able to enjoy Horseshoe Overlook a little more. The few times he had sat near the cliff and looked out over the view it had been nice physically even if he had been suffering mentally at the time.

It had been a day or two since they’d arrived and set up. John wasn’t sure if he was honest. He was having trouble keeping track of things like that since the wolves. Although he refused to admit it to another person. Lest they accuse him of being too foggy to work.

John clenched his fists, cracking his thumbs and then his other fingers one by one as he stalled himself from walking closer to the main fire. He’d been hoping to speak to Arthur since before they’d left Horseshoe. But he hadn’t had a chance to catch the other man before Dutch had sent him out to find a new camp. Then once they’d arrived here Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He’d ridden back in early this morning while John was asleep. The younger man had sighed at the sight of his horse tied to the hitching post closest to his tent. He needed to speak with him but that certainly didn’t mean he wanted to.

“Arthur.” John managed curtly as he approached, situating himself in front of the older man and blocking his view of the fire.

“Jesus Marston, that time on the mountains break your body thermometer?” Arthur asked grumpily. “Move.” He ordered, shooing John to the side with his free hand. The other holding a steaming cup of coffee close to his chest.

John furrowed his brows at the order, feeling defiance rise in his chest as he stood still for a second longer before squelching the urge to retort and stepping aside in silence.

Arthur watched him sceptically, eyes narrowing as he realised John was there to speak with him and wasn’t just bidding him good morning.

“What?” He asked flatly, irritation in his tone already. John pursed his lips to keep the choice words behind his teeth. He took a calming breath, letting it out slowly before speaking.

“I’m headin’ back to Valentine.” John answered. Arthur scoffed into his coffee, shaking his head before taking a long sip and looking up to John with a smirk.

“Why in the hell would you do that?” Arthur asked with a tone that implied he thought John was an idiot.

John felt his eye twitch at the question. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable from an outside perspective. He hadn’t really expected Arthur to think it was a good idea. But a small part of him still hoped he would come along for the ride anyway. The older man pissed him off to no end, but nothing had really changed in that regard. They’d been pissing each other off mutually for as long as they’d known one another. That had never stopped them from riding out together in the past.

Arthur chiding him about what a stupid idea he’d had while simultaneously gearing up his horse to join him on his dumb excursion. It was their dynamic.

But those days were gone. John realised with a pang of something he couldn’t discern. He watched bitterly as the older man waited for an answer to his question.

“Got no choice.” John answered finally. “I need the money.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and for a small moment John dared to hope he had reconsidered what an idiotic idea it was.

“A’right. Well, good luck then I guess.” Arthur replied half-heartedly. John nodded once, already knowing there was nothing else he could say to convince the other man to ride along.  

He left the fire and headed for Old Boy. Greeting the horse affectionately before saddling up and riding out of camp.

He hadn’t told anyone except Arthur where he was headed. Figured he didn’t really need to. No one would ask after him anyway. Except maybe Dutch if he suddenly decided he needed someone to take his anger out on. By that time he would be long dead anyway, if things didn’t go as he planned.

Staring out over the vast lake as he rode along the trail beside it, John let his thoughts wander to the heaviness he felt in his chest. It hadn’t really left him since long before Blackwater. But it had retreated momentarily at times. Leaving him feeling a little lighter and like things might be okay.

Today it was different. Not like the other times he’d been alone to think and his mind had automatically brought him to thoughts of Abigail and Jack.

Today it was Arthur, he realised with a wince. The older man hadn’t even pretended for a second like he was considering joining him.

Despite all they’d been through since John’s return, the older man had still not fully forgiven him for his absence. Despite the long talks and the intimate ways Arthur knew John’s pain, the other man hadn’t let it go. He’d fucked up too badly by having the year away. It was unforgiveable and even though it hurt to think about it, John understood.

“Guess it really is done then.” He whispered to himself, staring at Old Boy’s mane and running his hands through it lightly.

He hadn’t just lost his wife the day he’d left. He’d lost his best friend as well. His brother. Even when things had seemed a little more normal here and there John knew deep down it was done. Arthur was finished with their friendship.

John was sure the only thing that kept the older man civil was the deep sense of pity he felt over the things he’d seen before Blackwater.

John remembered vividly the look in the older man’s eyes the night he had grabbed John’s wrist to stop him from pressing the cigarette into his skin once more. There was pity but it was outshone by concern. Despite his embarrassment a part of John had dared to hope that Arthur had really seen him. Heard his torment and in that moment decided to forgive.

But he could never be so lucky.

Over time anger had turned to sadness and the sadness had turned to resentment.

Mostly.

He admitted to himself, as the sadness helped to fuel the ever heavy, ache in his chest.

 ~~

 John was surprised that he hadn’t needed to use his escape plan. He’d simply waltzed into Valentine, collected his money and walked back out as though he’d never been there before. He kept his head low, and no one recognised him. He supposed Cornwall’s men had moved on when his gang had and the ones that were still hanging around didn’t get paid enough to remember his ugly mug.

Arthur was going to feel silly for worrying when John returned home with a fist full of cash and no scratches to show for it. No new ones anyway.

The trail back to Clemen’s Point was long and John could feel his skin sizzling in the sunlight. There was barely any tree coverage travelling over the Heartlands. As hot as it was he regretted not wearing a coat. His forearms were going to be tender from the burn for a few days.

It wasn’t until he was just passed Emerald Ranch as the crow flies that he finally found himself able to trot under the shade of some trees. A short-lived relief that was suddenly no longer needed as the sky began to grow dark and the wind devolved a chill.

He’d been hoping to make it home before dark. But he’d underestimated the ride. Although Valentine and their new camp were both relatively close to the border, it was still quite a journey between them. Judging by the distance he’d covered already he estimated that if he camped the night he would be home by lunchtime the next day. Depending on when he awoke.

It wasn’t safe to be riding around Lemoyne alone at night. They’d only been in the state a few days and some of the guys had already suffered run ins with the local gang. They called themselves the Raiders and John shuddered to think what they could do to one lone man from the stories he’d heard already.

John veered off the path and into a patch of trees. Far enough that he would not be spotted by passer-by and hitching Old Boy to a tree with a smooth enough patch of ground next to it.

He set about unfolding his small tent and placing a blanket on the ground inside. Just enough to keep him out of the weather. He just hoped it didn’t rain.

Cold canned beans had never been John’s favourite meal. In fact, he was certain it was no one in the world’s favourite meal. He’d bet his life on it.

Grimacing as he shoved the last slimy spoonful into his mouth and forcing himself to chew. He placed the spoon back in his pack and tossed the can aside. Lost in the dirt for future generations to marvel at.

Old Boy knickered softly in his direction and John apologised softly that he didn’t have any food for the horse. He had been grazing with the other horses before they’d left that morning, but he was sure the poor thing would be hungry again by now.

“You can eat grass you know.” He commented wryly, earning himself what sounded like a sigh of defeat from the animal.

John laid back on his blanket, shifting himself to try and get comfortable on the hard ground as he stared up at the holes in the roof of his shelter. The darkened sky only visible through them because of the brilliant array of stars scattered across it.

He’d loved looking at the stars as a kid. Even if it was because he was forced to. Living on the streets without a roof over his head. They made him feel hopeful. He wasn’t quite sure why.

He supposed he should be grateful for the flimsy shelter he had in this moment and the slightly nicer one at camp. There was a time in his life where he really had to worry about the rain. Planning ahead by scouting each area he moved through for abandoned buildings or at the very least hollow front steps to hide under.

That was before Dutch had ‘saved’ him. Brought him into the gang and somehow managed to fill his life with a whole new set of anxieties.

Money, women, children. He listed. Wolves, if he was gonna’ get real’ specific.

He sighed loudly to himself, a growl escaping at the end of his breath as he tried in vain to push all of that aside for just one minute.

“That bloody woman.” He muttered, referring to Abigail. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she’d helped him make his bed. Such a small gesture of kindness and asking for nothing in return. It had him frothing at the mouth wanting more.

He was going to cave in. He’d known it since the words had left her mouth that night at the Overlook. There was no scenario where he actually walked away and tried to make it with someone else. No life for him outside of the gang. He’d already tried once and failed miserably. Only able to think of her even when face to face with a naked working girl.

He felt like a fool for pining after her. Always had. But something about her always managed to draw him in and string him along in the most beautifully painful ways.

All she’d done was tuck a sheet to a mattress and she’d been on his mind for better part of three days. He didn’t dare imagine what she’d be able to get him to do if she fucked him.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

He wondered bitterly if this time would be different or if she’d actually changed her tune. The chance he was a pawn in a long con was much higher than the possibility she’d suddenly made a very dramatic change for the better.

He pondered if he was to let her squirm for a while under his indecision would she be able to keep up her facade of kindness and care or would she revert to her toxic self after enough time in limbo.

He knew he’d never find out. Not until his stupid ass had begged her to take him back and pledged his blind, undying loyalty to her and Jack. Then she’d be free to act as she pleased and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do about it.

He shook his head, trying to physically shake the bad thoughts away as he begged himself to think of something else.

Abigail lingered in his mind and while at first that was frustrating, he realised he didn’t seem to mind it all that much in the end. He could be stuck thinking about much worse people. Reliving some of his more terrible memories.

Despite her quick temper and penchant for calling him an idiot,  Abigail was a beautiful woman. He’d spent many nights wishing he was lucky enough to be the centre of her attention. Even after their relationship began, he still spent many nights wishing.

The thought made him sad. But memories of their earlier days were nice. Back before all the crap when he didn’t have to work quite so hard to convince himself that they loved one another equally.

She would hug him back then. Kiss him, if he was lucky enough. Those small intimate moments shared even in public were the ones he missed the most. More than the sex or any form of sordid touching. Just good old fashion affection that made his heart swell.

Although right now if he was honest, the sex was sorely missed. It had been a damn long time since anyone had touched him, including himself. He’d been too sick and injured and even after he’d begun to heal up there was always something happening that had him too on edge to have time to care about his neglected cock.

It had been so fucking long. He realised suddenly. He wasn’t sure on the exact time frame. Blackwater and then the wolves had seemed to blur time for him. It was fuzzy and slurred. If he was being truly honest, he had no idea how long it had been. At least two months, maybe more.

Longer than he’d ever gone before.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a state. So high strung that he jumped at the slightest unexpected movement. Frustration at small tasks making his hands shake and his jaw clench impossibly tight.

John took a long, calming breath as his hand ran down his front. Lingering on his chest and dragging a burning trail lower until it finally settled on the bulge under his fly.

He swallowed thickly, feeling a nervous tingle deep in his belly as his palm pressed against his hard member. Squeezing it once and gasping at the feeling beginning to build inside of him.

He’d been so ready without even realising it. Being alone in the woods triggering him into wanting something he hadn’t even been thinking about.

It had been so long since he’d felt truly alone and strong enough to touch himself.

He moved quickly; decision made as he unbuttoned his fly. He slipped his hand inside his pants. Pre-cum slicked the fabric of his union suit and spread to his fingers as he slid them against his length. Curling his digits around his swollen cock, he huffed lightly, eyes fluttering closed at the contact.

“Fuck.” He whispered breathily, affording himself one long stroke and swiping his thumb tantalisingly against his head. “Uh.” He gasped, erection jolting in his fingers as pleasure shot through him and caused him to squirm against his own movements.

His free hand fisted in the blanket under him as he began to move his hand at a steady pace. Back arching as he grunted and groaned under his own hand.

He breathed heavily, hitched breaths that restricted his air intake and added to the building pleasure. Light-headedness creeping in on him and making him feel as though he were floating in a pool filled with nothing but his own pleasure.

His toes curled and flexed as his hips began to move. Bucking up to meet his hand as he began to grow frustrated with the pace he’d set.

He grunted in annoyance. Free hand coming up to move fabric out of his way as he pulled himself free. Panting as the cool air surrounded his heated member and it pulsed against his hand in response.

He stroked himself with abandon, free of the restrictions of his clothing.

“Fuck.” He mumbled again, lips barely moving as he furrowed his brows involuntarily. His free arm coming up to rest across his eyes as he thrust up into his palm. Moaning languidly as the sensation began to build towards its peak. “oh, fuck.” He repeated, louder. Making sure to swipe his thumb against his purpling head with every stroke.

He was so close. Forgetting himself and all his problems for one tantalising moment as he pushed himself closer to his climax with every stroke.

It started deep in the pit of his stomach. A familiar tingling making him tremble as the sensation began to spread. Slowly at first, his rhythm faltering as stuttered moans began to leave his lips. The warmth spreading down towards his cock and seeming to eb away slightly before bursting forth in an explosion of ecstasy that had him shouting out, unable to keep himself quiet.

He palmed himself furiously as he reached his peak, coming hard against his own hand and feeling his hot seed fall against his chest. Rolling waves of pleasure making his entire body feel fuzzy as he began to slow his movements until eventually his hand fell away. Cum covered fingers laying delicately against the blanket as he worked to even out his breathing.

“Jesus…” he breathed, removing his arm from across his face and slowly opening his eyes. He craned his neck to look at the mess he’d made of his shirt and sighed before letting his head fall back against the thin mattress dramatically.

He’d learned at an early age that all good things must come to an end. Sadly, orgasms were not the exception. But despite that being the case for all humans, John still felt that he, himself had once again been handed a raw deal.

He often heard men talk liberally of their dalliances both with women and themselves. They spoke warmly of the post-coital glow that seemed to follow them around for hours, sometimes days afterwards. But all he’d ever seemed to experience was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. A kind of gnawing guilt that tugged at his insides and made him want to immediately get rid of any evidence that he’d ever touched himself in his life.

He could feel it now. Sadness, nibbling at the edges of his chest and threatening to close in on his heart. Affecting his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

It was suffocating.

John sat up abruptly. Shaking his head as if doing so would clear his mind of the dark thoughts that threatened to take over. Reaching for his satchel with his clean hand and pulling it towards him so he could rummage.

He pulled out a grubby length of bandage. Wiping his hands on the fabric and doing his best to clean up the shirt he was wearing before unbuttoning it and slipping it down off his shoulders.

He wiped at his spent member, cleaning it to the best of his ability as well. Wincing as the course fabric irritated his over-sensitive head.

He threw the bandage aside. Tucking himself back into his pants and lying back down hastily.

He crossed his arm against his chest, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly as he stared at the dainty roof of his tent. Blinking furiously against the burn in his eyes and the bad thoughts at the edge of his vision. Sucking on his teeth and silently begging himself to just be fucking normal.

To just enjoy the fuzzy, heavy feeling throughout his body and let it carry him off to sleep without anxiety about money, parenting and love forcing his eyelids to remain open for hours. Staring aimlessly at the ceiling as he huffed and sighed about his lot in life.

John grumbled softly, forcing his eyes closed. Pushing himself to listen to the small sounds of the forest. The flutter of wings and the small shuffle of little animals scuttering through the grass. The soft snorts of Old Boy hitched just outside and the sound of running water from a creek not too far away.

After several minutes, he felt his body begin to relax, sleep taking him painfully slow as he faded into unconscious.

 ~

 He rose early the next morning. Feeling more rested than he had in a long while. Usually sleeping outside of camp left him feeling over-tired and sore. But this morning he had a small spring in his step. The emotional energy he needed to deal with their current situation had been renewed and he thought maybe he was feeling a little bit clearer than he had in months.

His foggy mind being laid to rest by a firm hand on his cock.

Who would have thought?

He mused sarcastically as he made his way back into camp around midday and hitched Old Boy at one of the posts.

Maybe now he understood why single men frequented brothels. No man in the world was making good decisions with a hard pecker.

But he wasn’t single. He reminded himself as he slung his saddle bag over his shoulder and sauntered back into camp. His eyes wandering on their own in search of his dear wife’s figure.

I might be soon.

He thought dully as he caught sight of Abigail standing around the kitchen fire with Tilly. Coffee in hand, as was standard for her several times a day. She loved her coffee.

She caught his eyes as he passed her. She nodded in his direction, his mouth forming into a pained smile in response. He turned away from her, ashamed to be caught staring. He ducked his head subconsciously, heading straight for his tent and dumping his bag down on his cot.

He flipped it open, raking through it for the money he had gotten from the auction house before slipping back outside and to the lockbox outside Dutch’s tent.

The older man didn’t seem to be present and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand he could place his cash in the box without scrutiny. But on the other, he knew from experience that Dutch never read the damn ledger. He often accosted John for not contributing and refused to back down when John very plainly pointed out his signature in the book.

He hesitated as he reached for the pen. Seriously considering hiding his share until Dutch was around to watch him donate.

He decided against it. Counting out his cash and placing his share in the box. He signed the ledger for himself and Arthur, stuffing both of their shares in his back pocket and trying desperately to ignore the way his hands trembled as he did so.

“Have you seen Arthur?” He asked the first person he came across. Uncle blinked at him lazily from his place under the big tree.

“He’s out, I think.” He answered after long second of contemplation, making John groan in frustration.

“Course he is.” He grumbled, turning away from the old man and heading towards Arthur’s wagon. John entered the lodgings, knowing full well he was not welcome. Frowning when he spied the other man’s wallet sitting openly on top of his blankets. “Huh?” He muttered in surprise. Shrugging at his luck as he picked it up and stuffed Arthur’s share of the cash inside.  

It wasn’t like the older man to leave his things behind when he left camp. But if John was honest, he didn’t really care enough to dwell on that fact.

He exited Arthur’s make-shift tent. Placing his hands on his hips as he looked around the camp and sighed at the next item on his to-do list.

“Abigail.” He muttered, eyes flicking in her direction and catching her shaking out the last of her coffee before saying a goodbye to Tilly and heading back towards her lean-to.

He found himself following her without much thought. His feet carrying him in her direction much more readily than his brain.

“Hey.” He said simply as he walked up behind her. Making her jump as her knees hit her bedroll. She turned to him with wide eyes, looking annoyed as she turned away again and continued to settle herself down at his feet.

“Hey.” She returned a little shorter than she’d meant to. He hadn’t meant to scare her and she supposed she should be grateful he was even talking to her at all.

John stayed silent as she settled herself cross legged on her bed. Swallowing against his dry throat and regretting his decision to speak to her as all his anxieties returned almost instantly at the irritation in her tone. He watched her without speaking. Waiting for her to let him know it was okay to continue and feeling uncomfortable as she stayed silent.

“Uh…” He started, not really sure what to say anymore as doubts plagued him.

Abigail watched him intently, eyes lingering on the pink tinge of his cheeks. The strain in his jaw apparent as he clenched his teeth. She softened slightly at the realisation that he was nervous. Letting out a long breath as she made sure she had his attention and patted her bedroll in an invitation for him to join her.

John looked from her hand to her face, eyes flicking apprehensively back and forth before he finally understood. Wiping his boots on the grass as he slipped down beside her and made sure to keep his feet off her sheets.

“You’re back.” Abigail said obvioy after a tense moment of silence. John nodded uneasily, hands clasped together almost formally in his lap as he stared at the ground in front of him.

“Yeah.” He replied dryly, unsure what he was thinking.

“Arthur said you went back to Valentine. Wasn’t sure I’d see you alive again if I’m honest.” She said with a small a wry chuckle.

“Went back for that money.” He said after some contemplation, reaching into his pocket and counting out what was left of his share. “Here.” He said, holding the cash out toward her and waiting for her to take it.

Abigail looked between him and the money, pursing her lips before slowly pushing it away from her.

“It’s okay.” She said softly. “You keep it. Buy yourself something or… save it.” She said awkwardly, feeling guilt bubble in her chest at how rude she’d been toward him about money in the past.

“What?” John asked bluntly, hand dropping to his lap as he looked her over sceptically. She was always first in line for a handout when he returned from jobs. Always waiting to ask for more damn money and now he was offering it to her freely and she wasn’t taking it.

He didn’t understand her.

“Why don’t you want it?” He asked, a flicker of anger igniting in his chest. The only time he could ever remember her refusing his money in the past was when she had gone back to working without his knowledge. He’d thought it was strange at the time but never questioned it until after the fact “You already borrow what you need from someone else?” He asked heatedly. “Or did you make it yourself?” He added before he could help himself. Watching as her eyes narrowed and her face turned sour.

“John Marston.” She began dangerously, trying and failing to keep her cool as she spoke. “How dare you?” She snapped, arm coming out to shove him roughly as he stared at her with an angry frown. “I was tryin’ to be nice!” She shouted, watching as his fist clenches against the crumpled bills. “Why do you have to ruin it every damn time?” She asked in exasperation. Shoving him roughly again and making him place an arm in the dirt to steady himself.

He didn’t have an answer for her. Part of him always wondered if deep down he just liked being miserable.

“All you ever do is ask me for more money…” He countered clumsily. “I was just tryin’ to get ahead of it.” He explained. “Why don’t you want it?” He asked a little more desperately. He very much doubted she was just trying to be nice. More likely she’d changed her mind about everything after a couple of days to think. “My money ain’t good enough for you now that I know your secrets?” He asked against his better judgement. Emotions welling in his chest as he spoke.

Abigail glowered at him crossly, gritting her teeth.

He had a point.

Perhaps she should have explained herself better before refusing him. It was John she was speaking to. Of course he was going to think she had spilled her secret and then decided he wasn’t worth her time.

She felt like an idiot for not realising it sooner. Working on herself and changing her mindset to be more aware of his feelings was going to be harder than she had anticipated.

“Just…” She began, pausing to calm herself before continuing. “Just, get out of here for a bit John.” She said evenly, making him tilt his head in question. “I don’t wanna’ fight.” She explained gently, making John feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

The air in his lungs was gone. He stared at her open mouthed for a long minute before remembering to take in a breath.

“Okay.” He said finally, unsure where to go from here. He couldn’t remember a time where she had been first to back down and he didn’t know how to handle it. He had been ready for an all-out shouting match and the adrenaline that had dredged up swirled inside of him as he forced himself to stand and walk away to stop himself from speaking further.

His heart hammered in his chest as he retreated to the beach and sat down in the sand. “Jesus Christ.” He whispered to himself as he rested his face in his hands. Scrubbing at himself with his palms before leaning back and using them for support while he stared out at the lake. “The fuck was that?” He asked no one in particular, blinking in the light of the afternoon sun.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just happened. By all accounts he should be jumping for joy. He got to keep his cash for himself and didn’t have to endure a vicious fight for it. The situation should be a win, win. But something inside of him was holding back the happiness. Like he was scared to be excited about what it meant. Terrified of letting his guard down and having his world shattered once more.

His wounds were still too fresh to consider she was serious.

“But we care for our merchant men who, do our states contain.” Voices rang out from beyond the lake shore.

John turned at the faint sound of song. Brows raising as he spied a small boat heading towards camp, looking like it was going to dock at the jetty.

“To them we dance this, round, a round, a round.” The song continued.

As the vehicle drew closer John could make out the figures of Dutch, Hosea and Arthur. He frowned at the sight, feeling a sting of jealously deep inside him as he spied the discarded fishing poles.

They hadn’t been out on a job like John had suspected. They’d been fishing for the afternoon.

He picked himself up off the sand as they approached. Dusting off his ass and legs as Arthur jumped out to tie the boat to the dock.

The song long forgotten as the men began to load up their arms with their impressive catches.

John tried his best to seem nonchalant as they walked towards him. Arthur passing by without a word. John couldn’t say he was surprised.

He looked down at the sand as he began to feel the sting of being left out. He hadn’t been at the camp when they’d left, he reminded himself. They would have asked him to joint them if he’d been there.

Perhaps they had thought he wouldn’t want to touch the fish because he was allergic.

Even though they knew he never minded fishing. Enjoyed it, actually. Touching them never bothered him. It was eating them that was the issue.

A large hand rested on his shoulder, shaking it roughly as John looked up in surprise.

“We’re eating well tonight my boy!” Dutch exclaimed excitedly, holding up his prized catch and making John’s heart sink.

He wasn’t quite sure how Dutch could ever forget his ailment after the way the realisation had come about. Twelve year old John screaming and writhing in discomfort as he swore black and blue he was going to die after a roasted fish supper.

Dramatic, he admitted now. He had been itchy as hell but in retrospect he’d rather eat a thousand fish and morph his body into one giant hive than endure half of the pain he’d been through from that point forward.

John watched as Dutch kept on. Hosea following close behind.

The older man nodded at him as he passed. Holding up another large fish with a grin and ignoring the way John’s face fell at the sentiment.

Perhaps they never did forget. Just, didn’t really care in the first place.

It hurt.

John followed them back to camp dejectedly. Finding something to do as he watched Pearson prepare the catch for a fish stew.

As dinner time rolled around he heard the cook call out that it was ready. John slipped passed the line of people piling up their plates, sneaking some food from the kitchen wagon while Pearson’s back was turned.

He wasn’t sure if he was allowed it or not.

He had brought back some money after the train but it wasn’t enough to pay off what he owed. The money he had given to the camp earlier that day just covering his debt.

He supposed it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Sitting down at the beach with another disgusting, cold can of beans and a spoon, he was surprised to see a shadow by his side. He had retreated from the camp for fear of being caught with food he wasn’t supposed to have.

Didn’t feel like sitting with a bunch of happy campers with bellies full of fish when he wasn’t even sure if he should be filling his own stomach despite its persistent growl.

He probably should have gone further.

“How come you ain’t eatin’ the stew?” Sadie asked as she dropped down beside him. Holding her plate near his face and watching as he recoiled from it.

“Allergic.” He says simply, staring at her in surprise. If he’d had a million guesses he would have never picked her to be the one sneaking up on him.

“Ah.” Sadie nodded, pulling her food back to her lap with a chuckle. “Sorry, ain’t trying to make you sick.” She smiled, taking a large spoonful of the food and shovelling it into her mouth gratefully.

John moved his head in a stiff nod. Unsure what to say or do as he watched her eat. The sloppy sounds of liquid swishing around her bowl the only sound between them.

John looked away eventually, feeling rude for staring and going back to his own food. Taking a mouthful, he pondered how nice it felt to have company, even if he didn’t really know her.

“I’m… sorry.” He began after swallowing his food. “About your husband.” He added, quieter. Sadie smiled weakly, not looking up from her spoon as she considered what he’d said.

“He was a good man.” She said after a moment. “I think you’d have liked him.”

John frowned, confused by the sentiment. They had never really spoken before now. But he supposed, she had been spending a lot of time with Abigail. Perhaps she knew him better than he realised.

“Thanks…” he replied, not really sure how to take it but desperately wanting to. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever called him a ‘good man’ in his life.

“Name’s Sadie by the way.” She added, making John laugh. They probably should have covered that first.

“Nice to meet you Sadie.”

 ~~

 John blinked slowly as he stared up at the roof of his tent. Tired lids felt like they were scraping over glass as he tried to blink away the exhaustion of a bad night’s sleep.

The nightmares had never stopped. Time stretched languidly between the wolf attack and now. But as the weather changed and the distance from the mountains increased, the nightmares became his constant. Snapping teeth and snarling jaws accompanied him from Colter to Clemen’s Point. John wondered bitterly if they would join him on his death bed.

He pushed himself up slowly. Despite all his wounds being healed he still found his body stiff in the mornings. It took a long time to wake up and even longer to be able to move around without sore muscles and aching joints.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to get old. If Hosea and Uncle felt like this all the time. Unable to escape from the aching as he could after a few minutes of moving.

He’d probably not live long enough to find out.

After a quick stretch to try and soothe his broken body he headed for the kitchen fire. Coffee kept him going during hard times and he had missed it dearly while he was recovering. Forcing himself to forgo it most days so he could get some sleep to let himself heal.

He nodded to Tilly and Mary-Beth as he approached. They nodded back from their place by the fire.

“Mornin’ John.” Tilly greeted as he dove for the pot and filled his cup greedily.

“Mornin’.” He replied, straightening himself and burning his tongue on the gritty liquid as he forced it down his throat.

The women exchanged worried glances as they watched him chug his beverage. A sly smile appearing on Mary-Beth’s face as she stifled a laugh at his expense.

“Rough night?” She asked as he pulled the cup from his lips and wiped at them with the back of his hand. John looked to her tiredly, refusing to reply as he bent down for a refill.

“No, he always looks like that.” A voice interrupted, pulling a chuckle from the other women as Abigail bent down in front of John and held out her hand.

“Very funny.” He replied sarcastically, looking from her to her hand before realising she wanted the coffee pot. He handed it to her, standing once more and this time taking a small sip from his drink before sighing softly and watching her pour her own.

A silence fell over the small group as they collectively watched Abigail replace the kettle and stand.

Tilly shuffled awkwardly between the two before making an excuse to leave. Tipping out the remainder of her cup and heading to the wash bin.

John felt bad for breaking up the conversation. Well aware that it was his presence that caused the awkwardness. Abigail often stood with the other women to have her coffee in the morning. Chatting idly and exchanging gossip. It was probably the most adult interaction she managed to have throughout the day and he supposed he should probably leave to let her have that.

“Well… anyway…” He began uncomfortably, making to leave but being stopped by Mary-Beth.

“How do ya’ll like it here?” She asked, looking between them both. “It’s hot as hell but I like it better than the mountains.” She answered her own question, pausing to wait for them to reply.

“I liked the other camp better.” Abigail responded, staring into her coffee as she thought on what she’d said. “But I suppose it ain’t safe there anymore.” She added with a shrug. “Not that us ladies get let in on any of the how or why.”

Mary- Beth hummed in agreement.

“Would be nice to be told about the in’s and out’s every now and then wouldn’t it?” She asked with a bitter chuckle.

“In a perfect world.” Abigail replied with a small smile.

John watched them quietly. Contemplating what they were saying from an angle he’d not considered before. He was frustrated as hell by Dutch’s constant dismissal of him lately. He hadn’t ever considered the fact that some of the other gang members didn’t ever have the luxury of briefings.

“After Cornwall showed up in Valentine it weren’t really safe there no more.” He said after a moment of contemplation. “He owned that train Dutch robbed up in the mountains. He’s been lookin’ for us since then.” He explained, arms held tight against his chest as he stared at the fire.

Abigail scoffed audibly, drawing his attention as she shook her head in exasperation.

“What?” he asked, feeling defensive. He didn’t have to tell them anything. In fact, he probably shouldn’t have.

“Nothin’ ever changes.” She complained. “Dutch pisses someone off and we have to run.”

“Well...” John began. “To be fair it weren’t just Dutch.” He said, feeling a sudden urge to defend the other man against ridicule despite his own doubts about his recent behaviours.

“That ain’t the point.” Abigail sighed. “It don’t matter what we’ve got goin’ on. We just have to up and move and never go back all because Dutch made another bad decision.” She lamented, grip tightening on her cup as she struggled to keep herself from getting riled up.

John frowned, eyes drawn to the pale blush on her cheeks as she brushed a stray hair out of her face irritably.

“What exactly did you have goin’ on in Valentine?” He asked sceptically, feeling his stomach drop at the thought she was once again running jobs behind his back.

Abigail stared at him for a moment. Eyes softening as she caught his drift and shook her head to dispel his concerns.

“Nothin’.” She replied softly. “I never left camp remember.”

“But I had a con I was workin’ on.” Mary-Beth interjected, glancing around to make sure no one was listening before continuing. “It’s frustratin’ working hard on something and then just havin’ to up and leave without seein’ any money.” She lamented.

“And you had yours.” Abigail added, a finger lifting from her cup in John’s direction. “The sheep thing. Then you had to risk your neck goin’ back to get the pay for it. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“We’re lucky.” Mary-Beth said thankfully. “We can wash some clothes and earn out keep so we don’t have to put ourselves in danger like that.”

Abigail hummed knowingly. She hadn’t commented when John left but she had assumed where he was going and was worried for his safety. Frustrated at Dutch for making them leave before he’d been paid and angry at Arthur for not going back with him.

John looked between them for a long moment, taking in everything they’d said. He had been bothered by being forced to pack up and leave but after almost having his throat slit in town he hadn’t dwelled on it for too long. Figured there were worse things than moving camp.

“I guess.” He said after a tense moment. Thinking back to all the times he’d ever had to abandon something due to Dutch’s whims. He’d never really thought of it that way. But they were right.

“Sometimes it’d be nice to stay in one place for a bit.” Mary-Beth said wistfully. Almost sarcastic with amount of air she added to her tone. Knowing full well it wasn’t a possibility.

“This gang ain’t the place for wishin’ things like that.” John replied simply, taking a sip of his coffee and watching Abigail over the rim of his cup.

She chuckled softly.

“Wishful thinkin’ ain’t never got me nothin’ but disappointed.” She said openly, placing her free hand on Mary-Beth’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

John watched them silently. It was nice to see them getting along. Even nicer to have a conversation with Abigail without it being strained or revolving around their relationship.

It was a small reprieve that he hadn’t needed to ask for. It was nice.

Perhaps she really was trying for him or maybe she was just at her best while she was drinking her morning coffee. He honestly hadn’t spent enough time with her lately to know which.

For a second John dared to hope that things were starting to look up for him. Before Mary-Beth sighed lazily and brought him back to their conversation. Reminded him that even if things with Abigail began to get better, their lives were still in danger.

A comfortable silence descended upon the group as they finished their drinks. Each of them soundlessly contemplating their conversation without knowing it. John personally nursing an ever-growing list of concerns about his own and his family’s wellbeing.

“Say whatever you damn well please but I tell you, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll kill somebody!”

John looked up from his drink in time to catch Sadie brandishing a knife at Pearson. Her tone dangerous as growled at the older man.

“If you don’t stop hissing at me I’m gonna’ kill you!” Pearson bit back, holding out his own knife in warning as Sadie dared to retort.

“You come near me sailor and I will slice you up.” She spat, the tip of her sharpened blade glinting in the morning sun.

John watched on in fascination. When he’d spoken to her the night before she had been nice as pie. He hadn’t picked her to be the killing sort.

“You put that knife down now or you’re going to be missing a hand lady.” Pearson squawked.

“John.” Abigail whispered hurriedly, catching his attention. “Do something.” She urged, gesturing towards the argument.

John looked to her for a moment, sighing tiredly before tipping out the rest of his coffee and dumping the cup on the ground. He really didn’t want to get in the middle of it. But he did like Sadie and she had been nicer to him than most others usually were. He supposed he should protect her. Although if he was honest, it didn’t look much like she was the one that needed protecting.

He took a step towards the disagreement, stopping at the sound of Arthur’s booming voice.

“What is wrong with you too?” He asked loudly, appearing out of nowhere. The older man walked up between the fighting pair and watched as Sadie slammed her knife down into a chopping block.

“I ain’t choppin’ vegetables for a living!” She shouted angrily.

“Oh I’m sorry madam was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?” Arthur asked sarcastically, pulling a chuckle from Pearson.

“Look I ain’t lazy Mr Morgan. I’ll work. But, not this.” Sadie explained, calmer.

“Well ain’t cookin’ work?” Arthur asked dubiously as John turned away from them and returned to the kitchen fire.

“I thought they was gonna’ kill each other.” Abigail whispered as he returned to her side.

“They threaten it enough.” John mumbled, bending to pick up his discarded cup.

“Well thank goodness Arthur was here.” She replied softly, making John bristle.

“I woulda’ handled it.” He said defensively, causing her to raise her brows.

“I didn’t mean…” She began, being cut off as the three of them turned at the sound of Pearson shouting.

“Watch your damn mouth you crazy Goddamn fishwife!”

Sadie lunged without warning. Being caught in mid-air by Arthur’s strong arms and physically held back from her attack as he shouted.

“Enough! Both of you!”

John turned back to Abigail.

“Yeah, seems like he’s doing a fine job.” He smiled sarcastically before taking his leave.

Figures.

He thought to himself as he walked away.

She probably loved watching Arthur be the hero.

Abigail watched him go, a knot in her stomach as she thought about how she must have sounded.

She hadn’t meant it that way. She knew John could have handled it or she wouldn’t have asked him in the first place.

She was simply glad to see him safe. Happy Arthur had taken care of it so John didn’t have to risk his own health.

Abigail watched as Arthur led Sadie out to one of the wagons. Amused at how readily he had taken her with him when the women around there usually had to beg him to take them anywhere.

She moved over to the wash bin, rinsing her cup in the water and leaving it on the rack to dry as Pearson appeared beside her with a large pot ready to be cleaned.

“Don’t suppose you feel chopping vegetables is above you?” He asked with a chuckle as he dumped the pot in the water and began to scrub.

Abigail watched him for a second, mulling over the question.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d stated that John risked his neck to sneak back into Valentine and Mary-Beth was right. She was lucky to have the luxury of earning her keep by washing some clothes.

Or perhaps, chopping vegetables.

“No, I don’t suppose I do.” Abigail answered casually, folding her arms as Pearson turned to look at her in astonishment.

“Well…” He stumbled, gesturing towards the abandoned cutting board. “Knock yourself out.”

 ~~~

 John had spent a few long hours stewing on Abigail’s admiration of Arthur. Glowering to himself and giving the logs he was chopping a few extra swings just to try and get out some of that bottled up resentment.

A part of him hated Arthur for always getting involved. But deep down he knew that most of his feelings were irrational. Arthur hadn’t actually done anything to earn his ire besides teasing him on a daily basis. His own paranoid concerns about Arthur stealing his family while he took his time making decisions were just that.

Paranoid concerns.

John swung the bag of firewood he’d just chopped up onto his shoulder. Grunting as muscles that had been rested too long protested at the way he held his arm to support it.

He pushed forward. Having decided he’d been weak for long enough and forcing himself to do the things his body protested. Knowing they were the things that needed to do to improve and get himself back into his best shape.

As he passed by the galley on the way to the main fire he spied Abigail chatting idly with Pearson as she worked a knife over some carrots. He frowned, looking around himself for a moment to see if anyone else was watching. Unaware that this was only strange to him. No one else cared what Abigail was up to like he did.

He opened his mouth to ask but closed it again quickly and continued on to dump out his firewood.

He was still annoyed at her for the comment she’d made about Arthur and if he was being honest, he was trying to change as well.

If Abigail’s confession had taught him anything, it was that not everything needed to be questioned.

He continued with his chores, wondering silently if her choices had anything to do with him.

By nightfall he was ready for an early bed. Retreating to his tent while the others gathered for dinner and slipping off his worn boots and socks.

He prodded at a foot with his thumb, feeling a stab of pain shoot back at him in reward and doubling down on the knotted muscle. Grimacing to himself as he worked away the lactic acid.

There was a shuffle outside his tent, pulling his attention away from the pain as he looked up to see Abigail entering backwards, turning to him to reveal her hands were full.

He watched as she moved to the chair next to his bed and sat down, placing one bowl of food on the crate containing his belongings and sitting the second in her lap.

“I brought you dinner.” She said softly as John looked at her blankly. “Thought we could eat together.”

“Uh…” He said dumbly, unsure how to reply to the kind gesture. He wasn’t planning on eating again until he could pay a little more into the camp funds. He had been pushing his luck lately and he knew Dutch’s patience was about to run out.

“You wasn’t gonna’ eat?” Abigail said, phrasing it like a question but not expecting an answer. It was a statement more than anything.

John just nodded, not sure where or when she had gotten the notion that he wasn’t eating. Perhaps she really had been paying more attention to him than he’d realised.

Abigail’s eyes trailed down from his face, stopping on his protruding collarbone and remembering the way he had looked the last time she’d seen him topless. Jutting ribs framing his hollowing tummy.

His clothes fit a little better than they did then. He had finally started to put on some weight and she was grateful to see it.

John watched her studying him. Feeling uncomfortable under her gaze and clearing his throat as he picked up his meal.

He wondered what she was thinking about. But he didn’t dare ask, guessing he probably didn’t actually want to know.

“Saw you workin’ with Pearson today.” He said instead. A lingering question going unasked but hoping for an answer all the same. Abigail nodded, smiling at him as she took a bite of her dinner. John watched her chew, hoping when she swallowed that she would offer more information to satisfy his curiosity. “What’s that about?” He asked when she didn’t speak.

Abigail cocked a brow as she looked to him warily.

“Just wanted to help take the load off you I guess.” She said with a shrug, making John balk.

“Oh.” He said softly, barely a word. He stared at her; eyes narrowed in suspicion as he waited for the punchline. Abigail furrowed her brows, tilting her head in question as she waited for him to say something.

“You okay?” She asked with a chuckle. Pretending as though she didn’t understand what had rendered him speechless.

She had been less than helpful to him since Jack was born. Mothering was a fulltime job but she couldn’t deny Jack needed less of her attention these days. She wanted to change her mindset.

To change for the better.

For him.  

John stayed silent for a long moment.

Waiting.

“Uh, yeah.” He answered eventually. Voice soft and tone sceptical. “I just... I don’t know what to say.” He admitted, feeling foolish.

“Thank you might be a good start.” Abigail replied casually, only half joking. She might have chosen mutely to work on herself but that didn’t mean she would refuse the praise it afforded her.

“Thank you.” John said quickly. Looking away from her and staring down at his dinner intently. He hadn’t meant to leave her hanging but if he was honest, he had been stunned into silence.

The thought of Abigail willingly taking on extra chores to try and alleviate the strain on his wallet was…

He wasn’t sure what it was really.

Nice. Maybe.

“You’re welcome.” Abigail replied with a soft smile, placing the last bite of her food into her mouth and sucking the spoon clean before placing it back in the bowl. John watched the spoon closely. Feeling something akin to jealousy swirl in his stomach as he examined at the cutlery. “You need anything tonight before I go to bed?” Abigail asked, lips quirking as John looked to her in disbelief. Wide eyes shimmering in the lantern light as he searched her face for signs of deception.

“No…” He answered, voice small. “No, thank you.” He corrected, shaking his head briefly at his own stupidity. Abigail smiled once more, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing it softly before standing and bidding him goodnight.

John nodded dully, unsure how to respond as he watched her disappear around the canvas door of his tent.

He looked back to his untouched dinner, suddenly not feeling as hungry as he had earlier. He pushed his food around his plate absently as he reflected on the strange interaction. Feeling confusion swirl around his mind like a fog that refused to lift.

What was she playing at? Being so kind. He felt sick at the thought. An excited spark at the prospect of her sincerity being genuine flickered in his belly and he grit his teeth to push it back down. Knowing from experience it was futile to let himself become hopeful.

Hope always ended in more pain.

He sighed heavily, placing his food back on the crate next to his bed and resting his head in his hands. His stomach unable to handle the heavy meal on top of the anxiety. Knowing full well he was being ungrateful and should be stuffing that meal into his mouth without a second thought. He would regret it in the morning, after sleep when his stomach had settled somewhat and the gnawing hunger felt it fit to return to him.

He bit at his lip. Forcing away the small flutter of hope that Abigail’s concern for him was anything but another long con. Reminding himself of all here past transgressions until he’d successfully convinced himself that she only asked after him out of pure obligation.

She wanted to sway his decision. This was what she did. Give him a small taste of the life he longed for. Just enough crumbs to keep his stomach from growling without actually feeding him a meal.

A bad analogy he supposed. Given the fact she had literally brought him dinner not ten minutes earlier and now it sat by his bed, going cold. While he instead chewed on his choice to insist, she was being cunning.

She’d done the same thing when she’d somehow caught a whiff of another woman sniffing around. Making sure to keep him happy and sexually satisfied until he’d gotten rid of the threat. Then callously breaking his heart over again. Breaking him down to nothing. Watching him hit rock bottom and struggle to rebuild himself.

He’d hoped at some point that he would become numb to it eventually. But the stings just seemed to keep coming and even if she was being sincere, he didn’t have it in himself to trust her yet.

He needed more time.

Needed to wait until it had been long enough for her to start to sweat. Leave her hanging on his word long enough to see if she unceremoniously returned to her old ways or if this change of heart was permanent.

 ~~~

 “John, you busy?” Hosea asked, a heavy hand slapping down on the younger’s shoulder as he approached from behind.

John tried his best to hide the fact he had been startled, lowering his paper and taking a second before looking up to the older man and answering.

“No.” He said simply, narrowing his eyes at the smirk on Hosea’s face.

“Come with me.” He ordered, gesturing with his head towards the woods on the edge of camp.

“Sure…” John agreed slowly, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table before jumping up to follow the older man. “Where we going?” He asked after a moment of walking. Sweat already beginning to form under his arms at the small exertion in the morning heat.

“Arthur hid that wagon full of moonshine in the woods here somewhere.” Hosea answered, pointing ahead of them at the tree line. “We’re going to sell it.”

“Oh.” John said in surprise. No idea which wagon Hosea was talking about but more than happy to be asked on a job. “Okay.” He agreed readily, exited at the prospect of some simple work and easy money.

He followed behind the older man, boots slipping on the leaf litter as they reached the tree line and were rewarded with flickering moments shade.

“John!” Dutch called as they began into woods, making them both stop and turn abruptly.

Please no.

John thought to himself as he watched the other man gain on them with a hefty stride.

“Son.” Dutch greeted as he reached the pair and stopped to place his hands on his hips. “I need you to look into something for me.” He explained.

“John was just helping me with the moonshine.” Hosea said with a smile. “Can it wait?”

John looked between them silently. He really hoped it could wait.

“You two go ahead and I’ll send Arthur to help you.” Dutch ordered, clapping his hand against John’s arm and gesturing towards Old Boy. “Take your horse son. I need you to ride out to the Braithwaite’s manor and see about them fancy horses they’re hiding in those stables.”

“Fancy?” John scoffed, raising a brow. “How fancy are we talkin?”

“Word around town is there are some purebreds in them stables worth at least five thousand dollars a pop.” Dutch replied, folding his arms over his chest as Hosea shook his head in John’s periphery.

“That’s a lotta’ money Dutch.” John said sceptically.

“It is.” Dutch said simply. “Which is why I need you to go and confirm that for me.” He added bluntly, making John feel uneasy.

Silence descended on the trio as Dutch looked to him expectantly. John turned to Hosea, watching as the man shrugged at him and waited for him to speak.

“Sure.” John replied woefully, turning back to Dutch. Feeling deflated at being ripped away from the prospect of easy money. He wasn’t even sure he would get a cut off the horse money if they decided to do something about them.

Dutch often had him scout out jobs and then put other people on them while John sat back at camp lamenting how hard he’d worked on the reconnaissance.

“Go on, get your horse then.” Hosea sighed, gesturing back towards Old Boy. “You can wait with me before you go.” He said as he began back into the woods.

Dutch nodded approvingly, patting John on the back roughly before returning to camp.

 ~~

 John dragged his feet through the tips of the long grass. Legs dangling from his place on the back of the moonshine wagon. He watched as small petals fell from the weeds he scraped with the toes of his boots.

The birds chirped loudly in the trees above him and filled the comfortable silence between himself and Hosea. The other man leaning coolly against the back of the wagon as he puffed on a cigarette and stared out into the wilderness.

“You’ve been a sorry sight since those wolves nipped your heels.” The older man commented playfully, taking a long drag on his cigarette and letting the smoke billow from his mouth as he spoke. “Haven’t quite recovered yet, have you?” He asked after John didn’t take the bait.

“I’m fine.” He replied after a moment of thought. Hosea was never one to beat around the bush. Always speaking his mind, even to Dutch when most didn’t dare.

“You sure?” Hosea asked, dropping the butt of his smoke onto the ground and squelching the lit end with his boot. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“It’s nothin’.” John lied, not making eye contact.

Hosea watched him thoughtfully. Placing a comforting hand on the younger man’s knee.

“No one ever says it’s nothing if it’s actually nothing.” He offered.

“I mean I don’t want to talk about it.” John clarified; palms clamped against the edge of the wagon.

“Well, I’ve been hearing whispers of speculation around the camp these last few weeks.” Hosea began as gently as he could. There was no easy way to tell someone they had been the subject of gossip.

John balked at the statement, staring at the older man with a scowl before turning his frown on the trees in front of him.

“It ain’t no one’s business but mine.” He grumbled, flexing his hands and running the pads of his fingers against the rough wood.

“My boy, you have a lot of strengths but subtly isn’t one of them.” Hosea chuckled as John rolled his eyes.

“Look…” John began, trying to find his words. “Abigail…” He hesitated, the name falling from his lips in a frustrated growl. “I just…” He paused again, feeling flustered.

Hosea remained silent, watching intensely as John fumbled to gather a thought. He’d known something had happened with Abigail since John had vented around the fire at Horseshoe Overlook. But John had been acting strange and erratic ever since they’d arrived at The Point and Hosea knew deep down there was something more going on.

John was like a son to him, and he cared for the boy deeply. It was hard to see him in such obvious distress without understanding the reason behind it. Whether it was his business or not was another matter entirely.

“Abigail, says she wants to be a family.” John explained finally, pulling Hosea from his thoughts and furrowing the man’s brows.

“Alright.” He replied simply, waiting for more context.

“Yeah.” John said, waiting for some insight.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Hosea admitted after a few seconds of silence.

John huffed in displeasure. Not really wanting to say any more than he already had but knowing he had to give a little more for the older man to comprehend his predicament.

“Well, how do I know if she’s being sincere or not?” He asked, alarmed and frustrated by how whiny he sounded.

“What reason would she have to lie?” Hosea asked with a shrug, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his back into the rear of the wagon.

“Well… What if she just needs me to be able to stay in the gang?” John asked awkwardly. The discomfort of talking about something so private to him so openly was making him squirm.

Hosea looked to him with tired eyes that had seen too much in his years. He was probably the wisest person John had ever met. Not that he’d ever dare speak such things with Dutch around as he was sure the other man believed himself to be the Sage of the gang.

“Abigail and I have spoken many times and John… I’m not sure she wants to stay in the gang if I’m honest.” Hosea said plainly. Abigail had made no secret of the fact she was scared. Things were taking a turn and even Hosea could see that if they didn’t pull up soon it might not end well for them.

Abigail was a smart woman and Hosea gathered from their conversations that she was hoping to get herself and Jack away from this mess before it got any worse.

Whether or not John joined them on their journey was yet to be decided, it seemed.

“Well, what if she just needs me…” John asked, feeling suddenly desperate for an answer that would satisfy him. “To provide for her and the boy.” He added, looking at the older man for some clarity.

“As a Father should.” Hosea chided lightly, watching as John’s face fell at the statement. He raised a brow in the younger’s direction. Watching as he pouted.

“What if… What if the boy ain’t mine?” He asked quietly, not making eye contact as Hosea scoffed in his direction.

“Don’t talk like that John, it makes you sound ungrateful.” He admonished as John exhaled a small sigh.

His heart felt heavy as he contemplated telling Hosea the truth he had learned before they’d left The Overlook. He hadn’t told anyone and wasn’t sure he ever would.

“Sorry.” Was all he managed. Knowing deep down he wasn’t able to confide something so huge in the older man.

He’d spent many days over the years wishing he could prove that he wasn’t the kid’s Father just to be able to shove it in the faces of everyone that doubted him. The irony did not escape him at the fact that now he had that proof he wanted; he wasn’t sure he would ever share it with anyone.

He never wanted to be right. He just wanted people to get off his back.

“Do you have some reason to believe you shouldn’t have to provide for the boy?” Hosea asked quietly, almost scandalous in the way he spoke. Seeming to sense something in John’s demeanour that told him there was more to the story.

“No.” John lied, keeping his head down as Hosea shrugged.

“Then what is it that’s concerning you, my boy?” He asked with a dry laugh. Making John feel as though he had grown tired of the conversation and wanted to move on.

John hesitated, unsure how to ask the question he’d been stuck on since Abigail had revealed her truth to him.

“What if, it’s all a long con?” He asked, a whisper as he tried to keep his voice from wavering. He didn’t want to let his emotions show in front of Hosea. The thought hurt but he had to keep it together right now. He had a job to do. He needed the money and he wasn’t about to be sent back to camp because he wasn’t of sound mind.

“I don’t think so.” Hosea answered earnestly. “Abigail is a good woman. She doesn’t have it in her heart to be malicious.”

John scoffed aloud before composing himself. The many times he’d known Abigail to be purposefully malicious whizzing through his brain like a slideshow before finally settling on the fact that she’d trapped him into being a father.

He knew no one would understand. Trying to open himself up about how she had hurt him would only result in people seeing him as a monster. Everyone seemed to think she was a Saint. She could do better than him and he should be grateful that she even looked in his direction.

“Need I remind you I’m a con artist my boy?” Hosea asked with a laugh. “I can sniff a con from 10 miles away.” John smiled weakly at the statement, staring at his own knees. “That woman loves you.”

John sighed

Hosea was probably the only person he had ever met that had experienced real love in his life time. Not only had he experienced it. He had lost it as well and John suspected losing it permanently was a lot more painful than anything he had ever gone through. Including the wolves. He supposed if he should listen to anyone’s opinion, it should be his.

Dutch had claimed to love Annabelle before she was also taken from them too young. But he had spent his time of mourning being angry instead of sad. Plotting revenge for her death until eventually a few months down the line he found someone else to keep him company. John had always secretly wondered had Annabelle lived, would she had been discarded like poor Susan as soon as this new woman came along.

“Maybe.” John offered, not sure what else to say as the patter of hooves and the sound of crunching sticks caught their attention.

Arthur rode towards them at a slow pace, careful to help Frankie navigate the uneven terrain as he reached Old Boy and hitched her by his side.

John supposed the conversation was over. That was all the reassurance he was going to get from the older man now that Arthur was here.

“Hey Arthur.” John greeted as the other man slid down off the horse’s side.

“What are you doing?” The older man asked as he nodded towards the wagon full of moonshine.

“Selling it back to where it came from.” Hosea answered with a smirk.

“Why?” Arthur asked, as he stopped in front of them both.

“Well I ain’t got a market for it?” Hosea said frankly as John pushed himself off the back of the wagon and landed heavily on the moist ground. “They made it; they must have someone to sell it to.” He groaned as he leaned down to pick up a large jug by his feet.

John rushed forwards, taking the weight of the jug to save the old man’s back. Hosea nodded in thanks.

“Stuff looked kinda’ lonely out here. I think we’ll cut ourselves a deal.” He said with a smile, one hand on the small of his back as he turned towards the front of the wagon.

“Ah, I get you.” Arthur said slyly, moving passed John and heading towards the passenger seat.

John moved towards Old Boy, mounting up as the other men spoke and waiting for his turn to say something.

“You and Dutch was just doing your duty when you requisitioned it. Now I’m doing mine.” Hosea said as he climbed aboard the cart. Arthur nodded in agreement, turning as John rode up beside them and shouted in their direction.

“Alright, I should get going now.” He said with a nod, waving with his free hand as he steered Old Boy towards the main path. “I’ll leave you fellers to it, Good luck!”

It hadn’t taken John long to find the horses Dutch had been talking about. They were beautiful creatures alright and after posing as a farmhand and casually speaking with another worker, he had confirmed their worth.

He’d rushed back to camp, excited at the prospect of taking home at least a grand in earnings. He had lamented the fact that Dutch had pulled him from Hosea’s job. But as it turned out, he stood to earn more from this one mission alone than he would selling the moonshine several times over with Hosea.

He had spoken with Javier immediately. The other man was quick on his feet and good partner in crime. He had agreed straight away and was keen to discuss the plan in detail as soon as Arthur returned from Hosea’s job.

“Arthur?” John asked blankly. “No, it’s just you an’ me.” He clarified, making Javier hesitate.

“For three horses?” The other man asked with a chuckle. “No, we’ll need another man.”

“I don’t want another man.” John said hurriedly. “I…” He trailed off. “I need… the money.” He ground out, making Javier nod in understanding.

“I get it.” He replied after a moment. “But trust me John, we need another man on this or you might end up with nothing.” He offered gently.

John considered his words. Groaning in frustration as he conceded that the other man was right.

“Fine.” He spat, a little too venomously. “But just Arthur.”

 ~~

 “You Goddamn idiot, Marston!”

Arthur’s voice rang in his head the entire way back to camp. He had split off from the others as soon as the job was done. Taking the long way back to Clemen’s Point and using the time to grieve the money he thought he’d be returning with.

$120 each.

That was it.

So much for the $5000 horses. He knew it was too good to be true, but greed had blinded him.

“You are a fucking idiot.” John grumbled to himself amidst Old Boy’s hooves clicking against the rocks along the edge of the lake. “A fool.” He muttered. Feeling hurt and embarrassment bubble up in his chest.

He hadn’t even wanted Arthur on the Goddamn job. The idiot should be grateful for any money John’s job earned him.  

He supposed he should feel the same for himself. He had enough money to earn himself a few nights of food without Dutch losing it on him. Enough money to feed Abigail and Jack.

If he wanted to.

He remembered bitterly. Throat tightening at the thought.

Abigail would be embarrassed by the take he was bringing home today. Unhappy that once again he had failed to provide for her in the way she wanted.

While her doing some work around camp was a nice gesture. It didn’t do much overall for his self-esteem. He should be able to keep her fed and clothed. She shouldn’t have to work just to keep herself afloat.

At least she hadn’t returned to prostitution. He forced himself to be reminded. At least she wasn’t borrowing money from Arthur.

Things could always be worse, and he was sure they soon would be if he didn’t get himself sorted out. With the way Dutch was acting. Moving them further and further south instead of making a plan to get them back to the west.

John approached camp at a steady pace. Speeding up a little as people began to come into view and he realised he could be noticed moping along the bank.

Hitching Old Boy, he thanked him for the ride and promised he would get a cut off the profits as well. Vowing to buy him a juicy carrot the next time he ventured into a town.

John placed the camp share into the lockbox and wrote his name on the ledger. Leaving behind him a scribbled mess of a word in his hurry to get as far away from Dutch’s lodgings as possible.

He headed towards his own tent, intending to grab a quick bite to eat before finding some busy work that would take up the rest of his afternoon.

In the old days, after he returned from a job he would use that as an excuse to sit on his ass and drink. But lately he had too much to think about and the weight of his problems were too heavy to be lightened by a swig of alcohol.

Working kept his mind busy, even if he hated it.

“Hey.” Abigail greeted from somewhere to his left. “How’d you go?” She asked as he turned to face her.

John swallowed as he stared into her cool blue eyes. He’d lived this moment a thousand times before and it was never pretty.

“Fine.” He lied, looking away from her and continuing into his tent. He knew she would follow and was unsurprised when he turned to close the door and she was already halfway through it.

He sighed, closing the canvas flap anyway and shrouding them in darkness.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he knelt to rummage through his things.

“You okay?” Abigail asked after a long silence. The ruffling of John’s clothes and tools the only sounds between them.

John stopped what he was doing, looking up to her sadly as he wondered if her question was heartfelt or a steppingstone to get to her point.

He stared at her in the darkness, the sharpness of her features illuminated by the small flecks of sunlight streaming through the holes where he had not secured the tarp tightly enough over the frame.

“I…” John began, pausing. He felt compelled to tell her the truth but the last thing he wanted was to start a fight. Arthur had reamed him hard enough about his failures. He wasn’t sure he could handle Abigail piling on right now. He was still so fragile after everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks.

Without warning, Abigail knelt by his side. She placed her hand gently on his arm and through the darkness of the tent he could make out a soft smile.

“Come with me.” She said softly, giving his arm a squeeze before rising once more and holding out her hand for him to take.

He stared at it warily, taking it in his and rising to his feet without her help.

She let him go, walking through the door of the tent and up towards the horses hitched on the hill beside camp.

He followed her dumbly. Unsure where the hell they were going or why but hungry to find out.

Abigail led him beyond the horses, stopping just shy of the edge of camp and holding out her hand once more. John looked around them, realising that from where he was, he could just see the tips of their tents. They were out of sight of the rest of the gang and Abigail’s insistent hand grabbed for his in a way that told him that’s exactly where she wanted them to be.

He let himself be pulled forwards a few steps before she stopped abruptly, letting him go and turning towards him with a strange look on her face.

She lunged towards him, shoving him hard in the chest with both hands and watching as he lost his balance. He yelped in surprise, hands flailing as he grabbed for anything to stop him landing on his ass.

He felt his back land hard against something and realise he was leaning against the trunk of a tree.

“What the hell?” John shouted, staring at her in shock as she smirked at him. She had known the tree was there, she had never intended for him to fall.

“Shush.” She directed, bringing her finger to her lips and flicking her head in the direction of camp. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you out here and think you’re in trouble.” She leered, walking towards him with a powerful stride.

John felt like a small animal watching a predator descend upon it.

She reached him quickly, placing a tender hand on his face before leaning in and placing her lips on his. He felt his eyes flutter closed at the contact, breathing heavily through his nose as she pulled away. He opened his eyes again after a second and watched as she seemed to study him.

She moved her hand from his face, placing it on his chest and letting her other join it before running them both down and out along the sides of his body. She could still feel his ribs under his shirt.

It made her sad.

John watched her hands, his skin burning under her touch as he waited to see what she would do next.

“What’s the matter John?” Abigail asked suddenly, his eyes shooting up to meet hers at the question. He considered her for a moment, remembering when she’d asked if he was okay inside his tent minutes earlier.

It felt like hours ago right now.

“Nothing.” He whispered, forgetting himself and all his anxieties as her hands seared the skin under his shirt.

“You seem unhappy.” Abigail said softly, hands petting softly against him as he subconsciously leant into her touch. “What happened?”

John shook his head, not trusting his mouth to answer. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to stew on the horses when whatever this was, was right under his nose.

Abigail stopped moving her hands, tilting her head in question as she waited for an answer. John watched her, eyes begging her to drop it before finally giving in at the realisation that whatever this was would not continue without a satisfying answer.

“I… I didn’t make as much cash as I… As I thought.” He admitted, the words sour in his mouth as he spoke them. “and Arthur called me an idiot.” He added, blushing as the words forced themself from his throat. He felt like a kid, tattling about his older brother being mean to him.

Abigail nodded in understanding and John braced himself for her to pull away. Now that she had the information she wanted, she could stop pretending to care.

“Maybe I can make you feel better.” She said instead, fingers tickling a hot trail down the sides of his torso. John frowned, unsure what she meant as she beamed at him wickedly.

“What are you…” He began to ask, trailing off as her hands dragged down his sides and over his hips. She knelt on the ground in front of him. He stared at her, heart racing as she lifted her head to lock her piercing blue eyes onto his.

She looked to him for permission. Long lashes fluttering as she waited for him to speak.

John licked his lips, inhaling a stuttered breath as she moved her thumb to caress just below his abdomen.

He was hard in an instant, confusion turning to burning lust as he clenched his jaw and nodded once, eager to see where this was going.

Abigail smirked, hands moving fast to unbutton his fly before leaning forward to press her lips against the union suit covering his member.

John gasped, erection pulsing as the shock of her movement made his heart leap into his throat. He swallowed thickly, breathing heavily with parted lips as he watched her nip at the fabric, grabbing it between her teeth and tugging it away from his body. Hands busy with the buttons above her nose.

Pre-cum leaked freely from his swollen cock, making the fabric under Abi’s hands tacky and wet. She grinned to herself, jerking her head violently to the side and ripping his suit firmly away from his member. Relishing in the small gasp John let forth as his tip freed from its cloth prison through the buttonhole she had undone.

“Jesus Christ…” John mumbled, watching in awe as Abi swiped her nose against the wetness on his head. Moving her face upwards to kitten lick his tip, making his legs begin to shake.

She’d only ever done this for him once in the past. The first time they ever slept together. She’d taken him in her mouth and afforded him a few good sucks before pulling away and asking him to fuck her.

He’d found himself pining after the feeling for years to come. Unable to replicate it himself and not brave enough to ask her to repeat it.

His heart was in his throat. Disbelief surged through him as readily as his arousal. He couldn’t believe it was happening again. The surprise alone had him on the edge. Her persistent tongue edging him along the precipice with small laps before she’d even taken him fully.

“Fuck, Abi.” He breathed, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as he gently pried her away from him. Cock twitching in disappointment as his orgasm ebbed away and arousal pulsed almost painfully through his shaft.

Abigail looked up to him, questioning him with her gaze, eyes flicking between him and his leaking cock as she wondered if he hadn’t liked it.

“I…” He whispered, scrambled mind unable to vocalize anything he wanted or needed to say.

“You want me to stop?” Abigail asked softly. Her tone tender, making his heart flutter.

“No.” He answered simply, biting at his lip as he watched her eyes flash playfully. She sat back on her heels, removing her hands from his hips and placing them on her thighs. John felt regret flash through him at the gesture, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall against his chest.

“Just a quick break then.” She whispered kindly, hand coming out to caress his thigh as she realised he had thought she was stopping completely. She knew he was easily riled up. Knew him well enough to know he was seconds away from coming. One more lick away from exploding over her face and then apologising profusely. Being overwhelmed with embarrassment as his body betrayed him.

She hadn’t spent many nights with him overall, considering the length of their relationship. But every time they had fucked it was the same old story. Barely in and over in less than a minute. John unable to shake the shame of his eagerness.

At first, she had tried to reassure him it didn’t matter. But over time she had grown tired of that game. Hoping her honestly would push him to try harder. It wasn’t until recently she had realised how much her callous attitude had hurt him. How she should have been working with him instead of against him. He did always try so hard to please her afterwards. It wasn’t his fault that she was bad at instructing him.

He deserved this for everything he did for her and Jack. Deserved to enjoy something guilt free and for longer than 10 seconds. She had been so harsh with him over the years, despite knowing how hard he pined for her and how hurt he’d been after her betrayal. She’d put herself and her own hurt before his and the support of the gang had spurred her into believing she was right to do that.

John looked down at the hand on his thigh as she spoke, eyes flicking away as he subconsciously tried to hide from her. Shame setting in as his arousal began to fade and he became overly aware of his exposed cock, inches from her face.

Abigail smiled sympathetically, feeling guilt bubble in her chest and push her towards him. Her lips closing over his shaft and tongue swirling against the head as John’s knees buckled under the feeling. He groaned loudly, fighting to keep himself standing as pleasure shot out like lightning throughout his body. He’d been caught off guard, having been staring at anything but her and wondering how the hell he was going to walk away from this with his dignity intact. He hadn’t truly believed she would continue.

She took it slowly, pulling back and letting him fall from her mouth for a second before slowly nibbling a trail along the side of his shaft, making him gasp and mumble incoherently. She licked a long line back to the tip, hand coming up to gently massage his balls as she kissed his head softly, making John whimper.

“Fuck.” He whispered, eyes fluttering closed again as she took him in her mouth and began a slow rhythm, pushing forward until her nose was in his curls and then pulling back even slower to let her tongue swipe over his tip.

John’s head hung low; brows furrowed as sweat began to bead on his forehead. He could feel the pleasure building again, slow and steady before it began to stall. The long drawn-out strokes of Abigail’s lips keeping him in a constant state of arousal without pushing him over the edge.

It was bliss.

His jaw clenched tightly as she continued to move against him at a snail’s pace, a small suck every couple of strokes making him gasp and groan but not quite enough to get him there.

Frustration began to build as he felt his orgasm begin to close in on him again and then eb away once more as she seemed to sense it and pause her movements.

“Fuck.” He growled, unable to come up with another word as he moved his hands to her hair, pulling her roughly against him and thrusting his at the same time. A surge of pleasure making his head fall back and quickly snap forward again when Abigail pulled herself from his grip roughly.

He panted heavily as she pulled her mouth away completely, confused and searching her face for any signs of pain.

“Let me tease you.” She said firmly, an instruction and not a suggestion.

“What?” John asked dumbly, blinking at her as she spoke.

“Let. Me. Tease. You.” Abigail said again firm but kind. “Don’t cum until I tell you to.” She added, making his dick bob helplessly as a small whine left his lips.

He’d tried to tease himself in the past, but his self-control was severely lacking when it came to anything even remotely sexual. Once he was close it was all over. He was unable to stop himself before the point of no return. Always desperately searching for his climax despite resolving that this time would be different.

He had never purposefully drawn out a session in his entire life. The closest he’d come was being interrupted midway through and having to wait until his company had left to continue.

“Okay…” he replied breathily. Excited but a little unsure at the same time. He wasn’t convinced he could hold out if she moved even slightly faster than she had been before.

“I know what you’re thinkin’.” Abigail smirked, raising a brow at the blush forming on his stubbly cheeks. “Yes you can.” She whispered, the hand that had been gently teasing his balls coming up to tug on his member firmly, placing John right back where he had been seconds before. Head falling back against the trunk of the tree and legs feeling like jelly as Abigail took him in her mouth again.

“Abi…” He whispered, feeling suddenly daring and letting himself acknowledge it was her that was making him feel this way. It was really her with her mouth around his cock and not just some fantasy he’d cooked up alone in his tent. “Jesus, Abi.” He groaned, lips trembling as he let himself enjoy the moment. Really live in it and relish in the fact that she wanted him to feel good. She wanted him to enjoy it. She wasn’t just trying to get it over with as fast as possible. Quickly fucking him into submission and moving on with her day. “Abigail.” He grunted, repeating her name like a mantra as she moved leisurely, letting the tip of his cock hit against the back of her throat every second thrust just to tease him a little further.

Abigail hummed in reply to her name, his hands shooting to fist in her hair as she struggled not to smile at his response. Keeping her composure and steadying her rhythm as she watched his abdomen convulse under the strain of keeping him on the edge for so long.

She wondered absently if this was the longest he’d ever managed to hold out. Knowing deep in her core that he wasn’t far off being pulled over that threshold he was precariously balancing on. She wondered if it was her pace or his desperate need to please her that kept him at bay.

“Okay.” Abigail sighed softly as she pulled back and let him fall from her mouth. “You can cum now.” She instructed, making him whimper and press his leaking cock against her lips. She turned her head, letting him swipe a trail of pre-cum against her cheek as her eyes flicked towards him and her tone became serious. “Do you want me to take that back?” She asked dangerously, making him shake his head almost violently in protest. She watched him, eyes trailing over the deep blush running down his neck across his chest. He was so close and yet she continued to tease. Daring him to disobey her. “Answer me.” She ordered, watching as his adam’s apple bob and he swallowed dryly.

“No.” He huffed, straining as he forced himself to stay still while every fibre of his being was screaming at him to keen against her cheek.

“No Ma’am.” Abigail corrected, making John whimper, his fingers pulling in her hair so hard she failed to conceal a wince.

“No Ma’am.” John echoed, desperate for her to continue. Anything to feel her hot mouth around him once more.

It was Abigail’s turn to swallow, tongue darting out to lick at her own lips as she inhaled sharply at his reply. Something deep inside her stirring and sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Wetness gathering between her legs at the way he’d called her Ma’am.

“Good boy.” She croaked, feeling iffy of the reply but something inside her telling her it was the right move. John’s erection pulsed at her words, leaking against her cheek and making him grumble as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth threatened to crack.

Abigail moved quickly, taking him in her mouth and sucking hard as she pushed forward, taking his whole length and moaning loudly as she pulled back. Making John cry out she plunged back in again, tongue working the underside of his cock as she continued her brutal rhythm, fucking him with her mouth as he lost his battle with his restraint and thrust forward to meet her mouth.

Abigail continued to moan despite the discomfort, letting herself melt into his pace and relaxing her throat to the best of her ability in preparation for his seed.

“Fuck, Abi.” John growled, short, uneven thrusts pulling him over the edge as he began to tremble violently. Pleasure hitting its peak and shooting out to roll in waves over his weakened body as he continued to move inside her lips. Feeling himself pulse and twitch as he spent himself against the back of her throat. Hips slowing as the feeling began to wane and he started to feel lightheaded from his ragged breathing.

He stopped completely after his last few very shallow thrusts. Still moaning softly, almost whining as he came down from his high. The warmth of her mouth comforting him and making him feel whole in a way he hadn’t for months now. His head fell low, chin touching his chest again as he began to loosen his grip in her hair and realised he was placing a lot of his weight against her in an effort to get as far into her mouth as he could.

“Shit.” He whispered, pulling back quickly and leaning himself against the trunk of the tree. His member fell from her mouth unceremoniously and he waited to watch her spit his seed at his feet.

Abigail took in a large breath as he removed himself from her mouth, sitting back on her heels once more and letting her own head fall back as she began to smile widely.

John frowned, releasing her hair and letting his hands fall to his side as he watched in confusion before stifling a gasp at the realisation that she had swallowed his cum.

“Jesus.” He whispered, silently cursing his limited vocabulary as he realised that must be the fourth or fifth time, he’d taken the Lord’s name in vain in the last ten minutes.

Abigail chuckled at his singlemindedness. He was cute when he was randy.

John felt himself flush at the sound of her giggle. Shaking himself out of his stupor and hurriedly tucking his spent cock back into his pants as he caught Abigail look between it and his eyes.

He positioned himself as best he could in his pants, buttoning up his fly and wiping his wet hands on the sides of his jeans before realising himself and quickly pulling them away; hoping they wouldn’t stain.

He already had a cum covered shirt hidden in his saddle bag that he needed to discreetly wash at some point.

“Uh…” He stammered, unsure what to do now as Abigail held out a hand and waited for him to help her up. He grabbed it swiftly, pulling her to her feet and following her lead, helping as she began to brush the debris from the ground off her skirt. “Thank you.” John said huskily as she stood straight. Feeling suddenly very exposed in her gaze and hanging his head so he couldn’t see her as she responded.

He jumped as a hand moved up to cup his face, thumb gently caressing his unmarred cheek.

“Thank you.” Abigail said firmly. “For… all… you do.” She stammered awkwardly. “For us.” She finished, quickly pulling her hand away and crossing her arms over her chest. Feeling uneasy at the thought if being vulnerable with anyone.

John swallowed thickly, a lump appearing in his throat and a burning pinch at his eyes as he replayed her words in his mind. Struggling to process what he had heard her say. He nodded, unable to speak as he felt the hand move away and saw her feet take a step back.

“I’ve ought to… get back… to Jack.” Abigail said clumsily, feeling suddenly self-conscious and needing an excuse to leave. John nodded again without looking up, his heart thundering in his chest as he waited for her to go. Desperately trying to hold back his vulnerable tears as to not sully the moment with more weakness.

She’d seen enough of his indignity in the last few weeks.

He watched as her boots turned and retreated. Keeping his head down until long after he’d lost track of the sound of her footsteps crunching on the forest ground.

“Fuck.” He repeated, his voice hoarse as he finally looked up and made sure he was actually alone.

He let himself slide down the trunk of the tree. Planting his ass on the ground and resting his arms on his knees. He clasped his hands together, wringing them unconsciously as he reflected on what had just unfolded.

Abigail had taken it upon herself to touch him without being propositioned first. She hadn’t done that since before Blackwater.

Since… Maggie.

But this time he hadn’t fucked up. He hadn’t given her a reason to feel envious or like she had to work to keep him or he would leave her for someone else.

But that was the point he supposed.

To seem genuine.

Affection that came out of the blue and was presented as a gift that didn’t require reciprocation.

But that wasn’t the case.

He reminded himself, biting at his cheek and wishing he had a cigarette.

The reciprocation was his loyalty to her and Jack.

To the child that wasn’t his.

John sighed, bringing up a hand to wipe at his eyes irately, refusing to let any more tears fall over this situation. He had cried over this woman enough for two lifetimes.

He was a man Goddammit.

He had become accustomed to the twinge in the back of his throat and the stinging in his eyes. They followed him everywhere just as the dull ache in his chest had followed him for years. But these new symptoms were harder to ignore. More obvious to others and very telling of his state of mind.

He was sick of sitting in his tent, watching the mirror and waiting for the redness around his eyes to dissipate enough to resurface without people giving him knowing glances.

Sympathetic looks.

“Fucking… fuck.” He whispered to himself once more. Leaning down to place his head in his hands and wishing he had the intellect in this moment to vocalise any word other than ‘fuck’.

His mind was a mess.

He wished he could be like Dutch and think positively about a good thing for once in his miserable life instead of just waiting for the inevitable ugly truth to reveal itself. Always looking to the future and dreading the end, spoiling his fun before he could begin instead of enjoying it while it lasted as others did.

He sighed once more. A huff that left him feeling breathless as he raised his head and let it fall roughly onto his fist. Just barely managing to convince himself it was an accident, and he didn’t mean for it to hurt as much as it did.

“Why are you like this?” He asked himself bitterly. A sentiment he’d had repeated to him by others just as often as he’d asked it of himself. “Idiot.” He admonished, glaring at his boots as if they’d just insulted him. “You are a fucking idiot.”

 ~

 Abigail felt the anxiety in her chest lessen at the sight of John trapsing back into camp. She’d been back more than an hour and if she was honest, she had started to worry he wasn’t going to follow her. He had taken his sweet time and she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he had been doing out there all that time after she’d walked away.

She watched as he slunk back to his tent. Weaving expertly away from the sound of Dutch’s voice and slipping inside before being noticed. She supposed he didn’t feel much like facing the older man after the morning he’d had.

She had already made it back to camp in time to hear Arthur lament the mission to Dutch. He’d complained enough about the lack of money for the both of them.

Part of her had been glad John hadn’t followed after her immediately. He didn’t need Dutch on his case about the horses as well. She silently hoped the other men just let it go and gave John a pass on this one. He couldn’t have known the mission would be a bust. He had tried his best and she was quietly annoyed that Arthur had made such a huge stink about it.

But she was even more annoyed at herself. Knowing full well if Sadie had never given her a peak into John’s heart that she would have been the same towards him about the money.

Perhaps worse.

She realised with a pang of guilt. Shaming him for not keeping them afloat when he had done all he could to make sure they were paid at least a little money.

She’d been terrible to him.

She wouldn’t blame him if he walked away. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

Although she loved John, she knew it would probably hurt less in the long run than the pain she had caused him over the years. The things she had taken from him with her lie.

He was still young when they’d met. He may have had a future other than this one if she hadn’t named him as Jack’s Father. But she had been selfish. Playing on his crush and taking advantage of his kindness.

She’d never really seen herself as one of the gang but she supposed if she really thought about it she fit in here perfectly. She’d came into John’s home and taken from him something that she wanted for herself in the name of survival.

That’s what they all did wasn’t it? The way that they lived. At the expense of someone else.

She was just like them all. It had just taken someone pointing it out for her to realise.

Abigail rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she tried to shake away the negative thoughts.

Regardless of what she’d done in the past, she was determined to make up for it now. At the very least if she couldn’t make up for it she wanted to try and make the future bearable for both of them. Instead of fine for one and insufferable for the other.

She had to try, not just for herself or Jack but for John.

He deserved to be happy.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Please please let me know if you liked this fic!! I am so inspired by comments, they keep me motivated and make my day more than you could ever know. ❤

[chandelier-s-notebook]

One afternoon five year old Tommy asks if his friends could have a watch party at Phil’s the next day. “Please please please! The Blade is going to be in a big tournament run by Lake!”

“The Blade,” Wilbur teases. “Some days it seems like you love him more than us some days.”

“Never!” Tommy shot a distraught look a Wilbur. “Please please please!”

Phil laughed. “How many friends?”

“The whole gang.”

“How many Tommy’s do I need to feed?”

“Just one!” He smiled. “And eight friends.”

“Well I’m not staying then. One Tommy is enough.”

“You love me!”

“Do not!”

“Do to!”

Wilbur stuck out his tongue at Tommy. “Minecraft Monday right?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m gonna go watch it at the Soots’ if you don’t mind. We’re going to cheer on Schlatt.”

“Schlatt’s in it?” Tommy wore the most adorable conflicted facial features.

“Awww. Tommy.” Wilbur brought Tommy in for a hug. “You watch your beloved Blade. Schlatt can tell you about it next time you come to MineVille.”

“Okay!” He batted Wilbur off of him. “I’m ready to go to Hypixel now!”

Phil laughed. He once again wondered if it was save to just let his five year old son run around Hypixel where there was nothing stopping from playing the same dangerous games as the Blade. He wondered if he should really be letting his ten year old son play with the type of kid to get invited to Minecraft Monday with the Blade. Oh well, too late to change. Besides, both of his sons have never come back home hurt.

Both MineVille and Hypixel were infinite life servers. None of that three important cannon death stuff. So they could always return to the server no matter what and they were never hurt.

After dropping his kids off, he reopened the book he had gotten in the mail. “Minecraft Monday.” He had declined the invitation but if both of his sons were excited about it, then maybe he’d have to reconsider.

Of course, it seemed that neither of his boys would be watching his perspective nor cheering him on, but they might get a kick out of seeing him in the background.

Other problem, should be really be leaving nine Tommy aged kids alone in his house? Absolutely; live life on the edge.

- - -

Wilbur ran off to meet up with Connor before stepping through the MineVille portal to prepare to watch the event with the Soots.

Phil went in with Tommy to pick up his friends. He’d met Tommy’s friends before, none of them lived in Hypixel and sometimes they’d run into each other in the Hall.

Phil followed Tommy around the Hub Server to the designated meeting spot: Hub 1 in the TNT Games Lobby. They played around in TNT run while waiting for Tommy’s friends to arrive. One by one they all arrived; Jack, Cyber and Badlinu, Tubbo, Rudy, Bitzel and Deo, and Luke.

“You’re parents are all chill with this right? I don’t think I’ve met all of them yet.”

“Yes Mr. Tommy’s Dad,” Tubbo said for the crowd. “My Homeworld is 2B2T so my parents don’t really care.”

Deo lightly jabbed the other boy in the side. “Bad example. We want to be reinvited.”

“What! I’m just being honest!”

“It’s fine,” Phil soothed the jokey tension. “Just making sure I’m not kidnapping anyone.”

“We are kidnapping someone. You!” Tommy grabbed Phil’s arm and started to run towards the portal.

“Tommy!” Phil tripped over himself a few steps but he was eventually running along with the kids. He must look crazy. It was fine. He loved his boy. Boys, but Wilbur wasn’t here right this very second.

- - -

Phil was impressed with the technology used. Lake had gotten some really good engineers working on his show. All of the competitors seemed to be outfitted with a camera on their person that’s connected to a live video feed, so anyone from any world could watch their favourte competitor.

Going in, the Blade seemed to be the favourite to win. That was a given given the audience on Phil’s couch, but some of the other competitors seemed to think that as well.

The ten of them watched the Blade’s perspective on the big screen TV. Phil kept Schlatt’s feed open on his handheld just to keep an eye on him, and gauge how Wilbur would be feeling when he got home the next day.

Over the course of four hours Phil got more and more invested in the Blade. He watched this guy tear down the competition all the while making jokes with his teammate. Like it was nothing. Like he was having fun. Like he was simply running around with his friend on the play ground.

Phil watched the Blade’s team intersect with Schlatt’s team near the end of one of the rounds. He looked to his handheld, and saw pink. This man, this killer, this winner, was a piglin. No wonder killing seemed second nature. He slashed through Schlatt in two hits.

Comm from Wilbur “This Blade guy is good.” and “No wonder Tommy likes him so much.”

- - -

Phil is in the roaster the second week of Minecraft Monday. He’s a little on the older side of the competitors at 27, but he’s put with Jerome, someone as old as he. The two mingle and bond. They get to know each other, they play off each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Well. Not yet. But they’ll get teamed together for weeks to come and they’ll learn.

He knows that his sons are watching; Wilbur over at the Soot’s in MineVille and Tommy with his buds in his kitchen.  He left his girlfriend Kristen to watch over the kids. He hopes that both she doesn’t strangle them and that they don’t send her running for the hills.

Phil spends a few minutes catching up with Schlatt, wishing him well.

He doesn’t get close to the Blade. Jerome doesn’t seem to care for him and Phil doesn’t want to make a bad first impression.

In his first encounter with the Blade he expects to know what’s going on. He’s heard plenty from Tommy and watched the first week, and he’s not a bad fighter himself. He doesn’t stand a chance against the piglin. He gives it his all, going down swinging.

He laughs as he gets teleported out of the game. He sends a comm to Tommy “Dishes for a week if I ever take him down.”

“Deal.”

Techno wins the whole show again.

Phil goes over to congratulate the piglin on his victory. The Blade tells him that he fought well.

 Tommy doesn’t shut up about that encounter all week.

- - -

Phil continues to compete week after week; getting a feel or Jerome’s play style. They become a solid team.

He also watches the Blade. He says it’s to stake out the competition. Really it’s to make sure that Tommy is picking a good role model to look up to. And maybe to learn a few things along the way.

The week that the Blade and Schlatt are teamed together and win is a very loud one for Phil.

- - -

Two weeks after that, Wilbur gets letter in the mail asking him to play in Minecraft Monday. His new friend Jack Sucks wanted to team.

He looks up at his father expectantly. Tommy is bouncing on his toes, excited for Wilbur. His older brother, in Minecraft Monday with the Blade!

“How old are you again?”

“Ten.”

“They really don’t have a minimum age on this event do they?” He puts his face in his hands. He can’t say no to his kids.

- - -

Two weeks later, Phil gets a letter in the mail regarding the next event. “You’ll be teamed with Technoblade.” He doesn’t tell Tommy.

 Phil arrives at the Lobby for the event. He gets is camera and his team placement. He, like many others, is here early and there’s still time before he needs to hook up the camera to the live feed.

“Hello Philza.”

He turns. “Technoblade.” He extends his hand for a shake.

“Techno please.”

“Phil then.”

“That works. I hope you don’t mind the teammate swap. They’ve been carting me around every week and they let me pick this time.”

“And you chose me?”

“You’re good. And cool. And I’ve heard of you before.”

“You’ve heard of me?” Phil found that hard to believe.

“Of course; you’re the hardcore guy. Working away on his world on one life for years.”

Phil blanched. “It’s nothing special.”

“As someone who neva dies and kills so very often, yes it is.”

“Oh. Well. I’ve heard about you as well.”

“Good things I hope.”

“The best things.”

 They decimate. They win by a landslide.

Phil decides that he likes this guy. They exchange comms information, and promise to stay in touch.

After the feeds turn off of course. Tommy would freak and die on the spot if he heard that interaction. Wilbur almost did, bounding up to Phil with his eleventh place ribbon in hand. He managed to keep his cool and give off a good first impression.

He teased Tommy about the conversation all week.

 Phil and Wilbur teamed the next week. They played a little game of hide and seek in the Lobby with Technoblade and Connor while they waited for the event to start.

 The week after that Wilbur got to team with Techno. Phil felt it was safe to leave his son with the piglin. He was capable, and he’d keep Wilbur out of too much trouble.

- - -

Tommy and his friends barraged Phil and Wilbur, begging to know what the Blade was like; some more than others. But once the boys were all gone, and Kristen had left back to her homeworld, and it was quiet.

Wilbur told Tommy was Technoblade was really like. How he looked out for his teammates, even when they were weaker and generally bringing down his efficiency. How he was actually just a chill dude.

Phil told Tommy about how cool it was to watch him fight up close. How you could see hoe effortlessly he used any weapon the games bestowed upon him.

They told that to little Tommy and little Tommy only. They told him how he was more than the legends said. How he was a person. How he told Phil he could call him Techno.

 As sat on the couch, his boys asleep beside him he wondered. How old was Techno? He had to be old enough to do all those things Tommy had told him about. But he still must have been pretty young if he was still as dexterous as he was. Twenty-three maybe, that sounded right. He had the build and voice for twenty-three. Maybe he’d ask one day.

The question never seemed to come to mind whenever Techno was around.

[skylarmoon71]

TMNT 2014/2016 Donatello x Reader- Extra

“Donnie you girlfriend’s here!” Raph’s yell echoed throughout the lair, and you were sure you could feel Donatello blushing from all the way across the room. You punched Raph’s arm playfully as you moved past him, and he just smiled at you. Donatello who was typing on the computers halted, turning and looking you over nervously. 

“H-Hey (Y/N). “ Even though the both of you had been dating for weeks now, and he was still shy when talking with you. Or interacting in general. You didn’t mind though, you’d get him out of his shell soon enough. (Pun unintended).

You sat down next to him, watching as he went back to work. He was unplugging a few of the wires and adjusting them. For what, you weren’t sure. 

“Are you rearranging the system?” He nodded. 

“Just a small modification. Mickey wrecked the main servers again with hot cheese.” you snickered. 

“Hey brah, no one told me they weren’t cheese proof!” Laughing, you shifted to help him. You had a pretty good idea on how he set up the systems. It would go by much faster with the both of you working on it. Donnie glanced at you for a second, and you hadn’t even noticed. He was still lost on how he’d gotten someone like you to fall for him. 

He’d always been a person of logic. There was an explanation and a reason behind every issue. Most problems could be solved. Yet, the mystery that was you, it was the first time he didn’t have an explanation. His eyes drifted when he realized you clicked on a music player. It was a random radio station. You turned grinning at him. 

“Some music to help us.” you said. And just like that you were back at it. The music filtered through softly. And you found yourself humming to the lyrics you had no idea you even knew. It was a soft melody. And strangely, it made you think of Donatello. 

Something about you

It's like a addiction

Hit me with your best shot honey

I've got no reason to doubt you

'Cause some things hurt

And you're my only virtue

And I'm virtually yours

He listened to the words, eyes now completely focused on you. Your eyes looked so bright as you rocked your head to the slow beat. You weren’t even doing much, but when he looked at you all he could think was..

“Beautiful..” 

And you keep coming back, coming back again

Keep running round, running round, running round my head

And there's certain things that I adore

And there's certain things that I ignore

But I'm certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours

The song was speaking to you on a deeper level. The more you listened, the harder it was for you to stay on task. You licked your lips, swallowing, because maybe it was just you, but the room felt a bit hotter now. 

There's something about you

It's when you get angry

Hold me, I saw mercy

And you're like a shoulder to turn to

If some things burn that's when we're hanging on for this life

We held on so tight

And you keep coming back, coming back again

Keep running round, running round, running round my head

You fiddle with the cord in your hand for a few seconds. Usually it never took you so long to find the correct jack. So why was it suddenly difficult for you to think. You wanted to steal a look in Donnie's direction to see his progress. 

“Who am I kidding, I just want an excuse to look at him.” It was true and you knew it. When you finally convinced yourself to look, his eyes were already on you. Your heart gave a quick beat, and in a matter of seconds, the items in your hands were completely forgotten. 

And there's certain things that I adore

And there's certain things that I ignore

But I'm certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours (I adore you)

Certain that I'm yours (I adore you)

I adore you, I adore you

I adore you, I adore you

Certain that I'm yours

Your hands slid over the table, finding their way into Donnie’s. He closed his fingers over your palm, and you felt yourself moving on its own, getting closer to him. Your mouth opened slightly, ready to feel the softness of his lips. The taste of his tongue. The firmness of his biceps. The-

“No kissing in front of us bro!!” Mikey’s voice broke your little moment, and Donnie pulled away so quickly he fell out of his chair. He landed on his back, scrambling to gather himself from the very ungraceful fall. Your cheeks flushed. “I completely forgot they were there.” 

Damn Mikey, it was going to be difficult trying to get a kiss from Donnie now. Poor guy ran off mumbling something about getting more data cables. You sighed, placing your chin in your palm, watching him basically sprint away. Leonardo passed by, giving you a look. 

“I’m disappointed in you (Y/N), taking advantage of Donnie like that.” He was smiling as he said it and you laughed, chugging an empty soda can from the table at him. 

“Oh hush!” 

~~~~

Resetting the networks didn’t take that long, and when you were done you just chilled at the lair. They all just went about their day as normal. There was practice, then pizza then some more fighting, a lot more pizza. Sometimes you wondered if they were addicted to pizza. The day was coming to an end, and you knew what that meant. Pretty soon the turtles would be out on patrol. You headed to Donnie’s room to gather your stuff. Picking up your jacket, you were about to meet up so you could head with them to the surface. As you were turning to leave Donnie walked in. You smiled. “Be careful out there. I know you guys are ninja turtles and all but that doesn’t make you invincible. “ 

“I know, we will.” They kind of were invincible. Not because of the mutagen, but because they had each other. Whenever they fought you saw it. The unity. There was nothing stronger than their bond as brothers, even if they fought on the daily. 

Donnie was just standing there staring off into space. For a second you thought maybe you forgot something. When you looked over at the bed, you saw the goggles he usually had on. 

“Oh, you came for this.” you were about to pick it up and hand it to him. 

“I’m sorry.” You stopped looking at him confused. “W-What? Why are you apologizing?” 

He scratched his neck. “I always make things really awkward when I’m around you. Earlier I..I really wanted to kiss you. Sorry if Mikey made you uncomfortable.” you shook your head. Did he really think you would be mad for something like that. 

“Donnie come on we both know that Mikey lives to embarrass you. And you never have to apologize. If anything I should apologize. I know it’s a bit hard for you. You’re shy, but it’s cute. You don’t have to force yourself. I’m willing to go whatever pace you're comfortable with.” 

He was looking at you, processing your words. He was happy you understood that it wasn’t always easy for him to display how he felt. But he really hoped he could be bold. Just for you. 

“Maybe I should just go for it..” he couldn’t see the harm in trying. 

Your brows knitted when you saw his posture change. He looked a bit more sure of himself. Sort of  the way he was when stating facts, or battling enemies. 

“Would you..prefer it if I were more forward. “ 

“What…” it took you awhile to realize he was walking you backwards. You finally made contact with the wall. And the way that he was looking at you, it was really causing tingles to run through your body. 

“Donnie…” He leaned down, silencing your words, and you leaned in, pulling in a sharp breath through your nose at the sudden kiss. You were trapped between his body and the wall. And you were perfectly fine with that. His finger ran over the side of your neck, and you could feel goosebumps follow as he trailed down your shoulder, over your collar bone. His hand didn’t move any further. After a few more seconds of slow sensual kisses, Donnie pulled back. His breathing was slightly labored. Your brain was still trying to catch up with what happened, because those kisses left you partially speechless. 

“Wow…” you muttered. You were usually the one to initiate kisses. Due to his shy nature, you sort of got used to being the one making the move. Watching him take the lead, it was incredibly sexy. 

“Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter.” 

Boy were you wrong. He picked you up this time, arm hooking under your knees and you squeaked, right before your words were stolen once again by another kiss. 

You felt this one all the way to your core. You were thankful he was supporting you, because if you’d been standing, you would have caved in seconds. 

“His tongue is…” you moaned, tightening your hold. 

When did he learn to kiss so well? Was he holding back this entire time. The warmth of his skin and yours seemed one in the same now. You couldn’t tell if it was his heart hammering or yours. Your fingers drifted down to his chest, enjoying the ridges of his plastron. Everything about him was so firm and strong, far different from his tender personality. 

You hoped you could just stay there kissing forever. When he parted this time, you could tell there was a great deal of reluctance. Your breath came out shakily, trying to recover from both his surprise attacks. 

“I’ll work on it.” He spoke softly. You looked at him. “Y-You’re fine..” you stammered. If he was going to be any more forward, surely your poor heart wouldn’t make it. Donnie was satisfied with the look of bliss on your face. “She looks happy.” That was all he could really hope for. His head moved closer, and you were already leaning in for round three. You sighed this time. 

“Gosh...I could never get tired of kissing him.” 

If not for your need of oxygen, you’d probably never part. Donatello sat down on the bed, still holding you. With the change in location, you twisted in his arms. You were now straddling him. You pressed into him, and Donnie fell back softly on the bed, bouncing slightly from the springs. You giggled, and so did he. 

“I suppose I should really let you go. You know, keeping the city safe and all. “ You really didn’t want to. And Mikey would probably bust in the door and ruin the moment anyway. He raised his hand, brushing your cheek, and you leaned into the touch. 

“Kiss me.” Donnie whispered. 

His low tone struck something in you. You shudder, nodding as you reconnected your lips. His hand ran over your back, up your spine. You arched into him, a sultry sound escaping. You blushed, because that one was unexpected. Donnie just kept kissing you, slowly, lovingly. You were unsure how a kiss could be so hungry and tender at the same time. It was crazy. His hands were now on your thighs, the heat from his fingers travelling to every part of your body. 

When you parted this time your head rested on his chest. You closed your eyes to try and regain some semblance of control. Because right now, Donnie was ruining you in the most wonderful way. 

“I think..I can get used to this..” you mutter. Donnie smiled, still running his hand up and down your back. 

“Me too.” He replied.

[jalapeno-princess]

Right By My Side

Bodyguard Jackson X Actress Reader

Word Count: 2.4k 

Summary: After tip toeing around each others feelings for months, you and your body guard Jackson end up confessing your love for each other after an incident that causes Jackson to lose his patience.

A/n: Here you go anon! I hope you enjoy it! 

“Y/n! Look over here!”

“Give us a smile y/n!”

“Come on y/n, don’t be such a bitch. You celebrities think you’re better than all of us. You’re nothing but a pretty face—hey man what the fuck?”

From the time you were a little girl, you’ve dreamt of being a movie star. The idea of starring in movies and moving to Hollywood excited you. You begged your parents to put you in acting classes and after months of doing everything and anything they asked of you, the day came where you began working one on one with acting coaches. 

From sun up to sun down, you memorized lines, acted in front of mirrors, recited scripts to yourself and anyone you were surrounded by. When your parents felt like you were old enough, they allowed you to start auditioning for roles in your hometown. There was a point where you were auditioning for five roles a week but you were never getting any calls back. 

You soon grew discouraged and you felt like there was no hope for you. In all honesty, you wanted to give up. There were hundreds and thousands of girls who held the same dream as you, so you didn’t think there was any hope of making your dreams come true. That was until one day, you got an email from a casting director telling you that you got the job. 

To say you were excited was an understatement and although it was just a small part in a movie, it helped you learn the tricks and trade of the acting business and helped you get your foot in the door for other acting opportunities. From that day on, you’ve been booking roles left and right to the point where your schedule was packed. 

You were one of the most talented and highly praised actresses of your generation. The more acting roles you accepted, the more popular you became. Unfortunately, with the fame and fortune came paparazzi and unwanted publicity. At first, you didn’t think you were all that famous to have people following you around asking you questions while shoving cameras and microphones in your face. It was all too much for you to handle and that’s when your manager told you to hire a bodyguard. 

Both you and your manager interviewed dozens of men who were interested in sacrificing their life in order to protect you. For hours, you’ve listened to the potential applicants talk about their lives and why they felt they were right for the position. However, nobody was sticking out to you and you were ready to hire anybody at that point. Just as you were about to call it a day, the most handsomest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on came through the door and just about took your breath away. 

He had dark brown hair, a defined face with soft features, the prettiest brown eyes and a breathtaking smile. He was also extremely well built; his broad shoulders and his thick thighs made it known that he probably worked out at least twice a day. Your manager motioned for him to introduce himself and every word that felt from his lips went through one ear and out the other. 

You found yourself staring at him during the entire interview process and didn’t care that he probably caught you practically drooling over him. If he wasn’t there for a job interview and you were to see him on the street, you would’ve thought he was a celebrity. Your manager thanked him for his time and let him know that your staff would get back to him as soon as possible. Right as he was about to walk out the door, you spoke up for the first time since he entered the room and sat down. 

“You’re hired.” 

You knew it was stupid of you to hire someone based on his looks, but there was something about him that intrigued you and you found yourself wanting to learn more about him. The cheeky smile that he sent your way sent chills down your spine but the kiss that was placed on the back of your hand caused your mind to go in to a frenzy. 

“I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” 

That was almost a year ago and Jackson never failed to keep his promise. Wherever you went, he followed no matter where or what time it was. His main priority was you and your safety. 

One time, you told him you wanted to go on a target run at three in the morning and he was at your house just a few minutes later. As much as you wanted to do things on your own without needing security, you knew Jackson was very anal about protecting you. The two of you went grocery shopping that morning and it was actually in those moments of him pushing you in the cart, playfully arguing about the best ice cream flavors and talking about getting a dog together that made you realize you were falling in love with the older boy. 

He wasn’t a typical bodyguard. Most security detail you’ve seen that were assigned to other celebrities seemed stern and extremely strict. You could’ve sworn you’ve never seen any other body guard crack a smile or even just a little giggle before; but not Jackson. Jackson was your own personal ray of sunshine. 

Whenever you had a press conference to go to or a movie premiere to attend, he tried his best to calm down your nerves by telling you embarrassing stories from his childhood or using cheesy pickup lines on you. It was hard not to develop feelings for him because you were around him all the time and he both did and said the right things to set your bones on fire. You were happiest whenever he was around. Hell, there were times where you forgot he was just your bodyguard and you would invite him over to your house to play video games or to bake cookies with you. 

You loved being domestic with him and loved having him around. Sure, it was his job to protect you and keep you safe from the dangers of the world, but he was your safe haven. You felt like you were invincible with him by your side.

Over the course of him being your bodyguard, there were constant flirtatious banter thrown back and forth between the two of you with stolen glances and soft touches here and there. To him, it probably didn’t mean anything; but to you it was everything. 

Whenever the two of you would watch movies, he would pull you in to his embrace and wrap his arms around your waist. If you were in the kitchen cooking lunch or dinner, he’d playfully hide specific ingredients where you couldn’t reach it so he’d have to get it for you. 

When the two of you would play video games together, he would prop you on to his lap and hide his face in the crook of your neck. There was one instance where you suffered a panic attack when you got in to a car crash after speeding away from a bunch of reporters trying to stir up a romance story with you and one of your co-stars. 

Jackson hated that he wasn’t there for you when it happened, but he did not leave your side once the entire weekend. He held you as you cried and left soft kisses against your hair in order to get you to calm down. 

As much as you wanted your relationship with Jackson to go beyond your working partnership, you didn’t want him getting involved with all the unnecessary hate and drama that came with dating an actress nor did you want people to bother him or attack him if they were to find out the two of you were dating. You also didn’t know where he stood when it came to your relationship. For all you knew, you were just his boss. Someone he was being paid to protect. He was just being friendly and doing his job. You pushed back the negative thoughts and your made up scenarios to the back of your mind not wanting to make things complicated. 

You were so focused on walking in to the building that you failed to notice that Jackson was no longer following behind you until you heard screams and a cry for help. The man who had degraded you earlier was now on the floor and so was Jackson, swinging countless punches at him. Your heart rate increased at the sight and you felt your anxiety growing. 

Absentmindedly, you made your way back to Jackson and tugged softly at his wrist, trying your best to get him to pull away. You knew that Jackson could get in legal trouble for assaulting someone and you didn’t want him going to jail for something like this. You refused to live without him. 

“Jackson—Jack. Let go of him! Please! Jackson that is enough! Do it for me—please.” It was obvious that Jackson had the biggest soft spot for you and the soft caress of your thumb broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Don’t you talk bad about y/n or come around her ever again. I’ll make sure you regret the day you were born.” He got up and reached for your hand, quickly intertwining your fingers together and roughly yanked you towards the studio. 

The amount of anger and hatred that he held in his eyes scared you, but you knew it was because the paparazzi was overstepping his boundaries. Sure, Jackson was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but he could be aggressive when the situation called for it. After making your way through the halls, you found your dressing room and pulled away from Jackson’s grasp. 

The atmosphere was tense and you had so many thoughts running through your mind. As you were about to open your mouth to speak up, Jackson beat you to it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know I was going to attack him like that. It was irrational and unprofessional of me—“ you gave him a sad smile before making your way towards him and ran one of your hands through his hair. 

“You were trying to protect me. That’s what you’re supposed to do. He took it too far, there’s nothing for you to apologize for. If I’m being honest, I found it really cute how you defended my honor. It was kind of hot actually.” He giggled softly as he placed his chin on top of your head. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that. I’m sorry he said all those things about you and that I acted on it instead of letting it go. I just hated the way he was talking about my girl—ah shit—“ The blush that rose on his cheeks made your heart flutter and you found yourself pulling away from his embrace in order to cup his cheeks and connect your lips together. 

Kissing him was an indescribable feeling; especially because you’ve been wanting to know what his lips felt like against yours since the day you laid your eyes on him. His lips were soft and tasted like the sea salt caramel ice cream the two of you had before coming here. His hands made their way down to your hips and all but gently gripped against your back while nipping and sucking on your bottom lip. 

The kiss was extremely passionate and definitely worth the wait. Feeling him smile against your lips did wonders to your heart and to Jackson’s dismay, you pulled away. You placed your forehead against his chest and snickered when you looked up and saw the flustered expression on his face.

“Your girl huh? I like the sound of that. Took you long enough.” He rolled his eyes at your comment while pulling you closer to his body if it was even possible. 

“I’ve always had feelings for you. You’re extremely beautiful y/n, but my feelings for you go beyond your beauty. You’re the most hard working person I know. You’re extremely generous, charismatic, funny, talented, passionate and you have such a genuine and kind heart. I never felt like I was ever good enough for you. Look at you. You’ve accomplished so much for someone at your age. You’ve done so much for so many people and travelled all around the world. You’re a marvelous human being y/n and I’m just your body guard. Just a normal guy, whose madly in love with you. I’m nothing special—“ the chaste kiss on his lips prevented him from continuing to degrade himself. You hated that he thought so little of himself when you thought the world of him. 

“When I became an actress, I did so because I loved acting. I didn’t care about becoming a celebrity. I was always somewhat of an introvert. Sure, I love having fans and so many supporters, but I miss being able to do things I used to do without having to worry about my safety or being followed. I want to go shopping or to the ice skating rink without cameras being shoved in my face or feeling as if I’m under a telescope being scrutinized for every little thing that I do. Everything changed the day you walked in to my life. I always feel like I can be myself around you. When I’m with you, I’m not afraid to joke around, laugh and be free knowing you won’t judge me. I’m happiest when I’m with you Jackson. You never fail to make me smile and my stomach always seems to swarm with butterflies at the mere thought of you. I love being around you. No matter how nervous I can get sometimes or if I feel like I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown, just one look at you can ease my mind and make me feel better. You’re the best body guard a girl could ask for. Don’t ever feel like you’re not good enough for me. You’re such a wonderful human being and it doesn’t hurt that you’re extremely good looking, kind hearted and quite the joker. I’m in love with you too by the way.” 

He grinned at your confession and began to leave wet kisses all around your face. “How about this, after your interview, you and I can head back to your place, order some take out, watch a couple of movies, kiss a little and I can go to bed with you in my arms?” 

You hummed in contentment against his jaw. “Just a little?” 

He smirked. “Or a lot. Yeah, maybe a lot. I lose my sanity when I’m around you. Come on, the faster you’re finished, the sooner we get to cuddle and make out. Now go baby. Make me proud.”

[ivyglow]

Hostage - Jack Eichel | Buffalo Sabres

a/n: Sooooo I took too long to finish this piece, I'm kinda happy with what it turned out and I hope you guys like it. Again, a huge shout out to Naty who proofreaded everything, thank you @tsarinablogs !!! ❤️

word count: 3.5k

warnings: cursing; mention of toxic relationships.

note2: there is a note at the end of the piece. Please read it!! :) thanks. Oh- and you guys can read it listening to Hostage by Billie Eilish or Figures by Jessie Reyez.

Prompt: #11 ”we’re not just friends, and you known it!”

Do you know the line of really good friends but not enough to become best friends? Well, this line was something between Y/n and Jack. They were introduced to each other by a mutual friend and since day one they got along pretty well. He was funny and so was she. As time went by, the hangouts started to involve only the two of them, Jack always stopping by her house to talk, y/n always waiting to have dinner with him and so on. Maybe being able to draw the line was the main reason why Jack suggested what he did and why y/n accepted it. She liked him, more than a friend, but they were not close enough to become best friends and so things wouldn’t be messy if the deal did not work. 

“How was he?” Jack asks while sipping his juice and looking at the TV screen. “I don’t know, he was ok, I mean we liked each other, but there wasn’t this kind of chemistry.” She murmurs, trying to bring back the memories of her first boyfriend. The topic was caused by a scene of the movie about two best friends becoming each other’s first relationship. 

“Do I look like him?” he asks out of the blue, and she adjusts herself, trying to take a better look at his face as he fails to hide the thoughtfulness in his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know..just thinking if maybe you have a type” Jack jokes and y/n puffs the air out of her lungs, while drawing one of her fingers to his face to trail the sharp of his jawline. This close, looking from this angle, laying just like this, he looked like one of the many busts she was studying last week. So methodicly sculptured, sharp jaw, perfect mouth, like it was a work of art with so much mathematics involved, chasing perfection. 

But the thing is: Jack wasn’t a sculpture at all. He was a human being and taking into consideration her beliefs his face was not created by science.

“He had short hair…,” it passes through her lips while still tracing his features, “the kind you can’t even thread through your fingers. And he wasn’t as funny, but he was loud and I thought it was sweet. He wasn’t into arts or movies in general, but, still, I liked him.” 

“So, we’re pretty much different…” he concludes and she shakes her head.

“Even if he had your height, or identical hair, or eyes, you guys would never ever look alike.” Her voice was abruptly deep.

“He had zero empathy with my feelings…” she confesses, it took her so long to realize it, took many breakups until she realized the blame wasn’t on her. “I don’t know how to describe the way he made me feel guilty about my own decisions and…” Jack could not do the same, right?

In fact, she felt deeper when it came to Jack, and so it could indicate that once he hurt her, it would be way worse, but he would not, right?

The hockey player did not press her to keep talking, actually, he didn’t want to talk about the subject, didn’t want to imagine someone as good as y/n being hurt, so he just started curling a random strand of her hair on his finger and shifting his attention back to the TV. 

…

It comes as no surprise that y/n was friends with almost the whole Buffalo Sabres’ team, she would go to every possible game and be able to talk about anything with them. So when they won and went to celebrate, of course she was there, excited to hug all of her friends and make some sassy comments about their game. 

“Wayne!!!!!” y/n squeals to the tall black man in front of her. “That pass was amazing, damn!” 

“You liked it?! Sam almost killed me, saying it was a dangerous move, ugh” he engulfs her small body in his large frame.

“It was not that bad, but mine was better..” Dominik stumbled in the talk putting his arm around y/n’s shoulders. 

“Dom!!! Your game was not that bad today” she jokes standing in her tiptoes to give him a kiss in the cheek.

“What an insane game, I don’t know if I can celebrate properly, there’s so much adrenaline still…” he says while leaning in the bar bringing his friend’s body with. 

“Ooooh, baby’s want to go home?!” Wayne pokes his side and the three of them laugh. 

“By the way, where’s Jack?” y/n asks, already missing his curls and sense of humor. 

She’s not the type of person who gets attached in a way that creates codependency, usually, she’s chill, but somehow with Jack, there’s this constant desire of being close, hold hands, hear his voice or at least know he’s thinking about her too. 

But it’s not something she verbalizes, it’s one of the many things she keeps to herself, scared of scaring him, she prefers to let her feelings eat her inside than share it with him and create the slight possibility of an end of their affair. 

“Hmmm...he’s...I think…” Waynes seems a little stressed to answer and when Dominik squeezes her shoulders she knows something is wrong. “What’s up, guys?” 

Y/n turns to the left-winger player holding her and before she could press him to say something, there’s a loud commotion on one table close to them. The table of the players. The table where Jack just arrived with a girl hanging by his side. 

He’s holding her by the waist, hands a little bit lower and bodies too close together. There’s this flush on his cheeks matching the visible bruise in his neck, none of them are from the game and y/n knows it the second her eyes caught it. 

“Oh-” it’s the only sound she is able to make even though she wanted to say to both boys around her that it was okay, that her and Jack were just friends who sometimes happens to kiss and have sex, and share movie nights, and hold hands at private parties, and sleep together when the night feels lonely. Nothing more, just friends after all.

“Just ignore him, sweetheart” Wayne is not trying to defend his friend and it shows.

Her eyelids feel heavy and her breath caught in her throat like she just swallowed the slice of lemon in her cup. When it feels like her knees are giving it, the drink is not to blame this time. 

“I’m okay” she whispers.

She can almost hear the voice of her girlfriends, telling her to let Jack go.

Oh, but boy, was she a stubborn girl. 

The trio keeps talking and eventually, some other players and their girlfriends join the conversation. Jack and the girl make out for a few minutes and when he leaves the table to get a drink on the bar, he just smiles at y/n like nothing ever happened. 

That night, unlike Jack, she went home alone and cried herself to sleep.

…

It was a Thursday afternoon, one week after the club incident, she had just arrived from class and was filling in her bullet journal, before taking a bath and starting to do her work. Today was a productive day, easily so, her mind was not focused on thinking about Jack or trying to figure out how to talk to him, what to tell him and how hurt she was. Y/n and Clarice, her best friend, went to study at the library. And being the social butterfly that she was, Clarice invited some other friends, one of them was this brunette boy from one of her classes and for the first time they talked about things other than university and due dates. He was a pretty nice guy and they exchanged numbers at the end of the study session.

Even though she had to constantly brush Jack off her mind, it was actually nice to enjoy someone else’s company and feel wanted.

The knocks on her door startled her and y/n left the bedroom, walking straight to the living room, asking herself who it could be.

“Eichel?” she furrowed her brows. It’s like someone punched her right into the chest and for some seconds the air seems far away from her body. 

“Hey, I was just a little worried, you didn’t text me or anything…” he rocks back and forth in his heels a little stunned since she didn’t give space to him to get inside. 

“I was...busy” the words ‘I’m sorry’ almost slipped through her lips. 

“You’re free now?” he furrows his brows and y/n sighs lowly. “I actually got some stuff from university to do...if you don’t mind” the last part is said once his face drops a little. No one would have noticed, but she did because she knew his features like no one else. 

“I don’t...I could use some Netflix and chill and keep you company?!” his lips are stretched into a small smile, the one he usually does when he’s suggesting something and he’s not sure the person is open to it. The one he does every time he fucks up, like he did the other week. The one that usually comes with the big blue eyes staring deep into her soul. The one that always is able to make her give up.

And this time is no different.

She steps aside giving him room to get inside.

“I’ll be in my room, I need some silence to work on this assignment” it’s her best strategy to avoid him or at least be able to have some minutes of productivity. 

“Oh, I’ll be on my phone then,” he smiles, big this time. “You won’t even notice I’m in the same room.” he tries for a light joke but somehow it punches her right in the gut.

It was impossible for him to go unnoticed. At least in her world. He was so close to the center of it that sometimes she asked herself if he wasn’t the sun. 

Well, in this solar system he was the sun and she was mercury, too close, almost melting, unable to receive others. He was the closest she could ever have and cold? She never felt it.

Jack made himself comfortable on her bed while she typed away on her laptop. Or tried to type away, because once or twice he would giggle to his cell phone or get up to get water or whatever. 

“Can you please stop?!” she asked abruptly when it felt impossible to focus on her work.

“Sorryyyy” he smiles -big-, and turns his attention back to the phone. 

After half an hour and three pages, she gets up to pee and stretches her body. Jack was engulfed by his phone, typing eagerly and too distracted to notice she was walking past. Well, who could blame him?! Probably, any other person in his situation would be distracted too, it’s not every time that his hookups are open to send nudes in the normal chat - usually, they would go for Snapchat or something like that. 

“What the fuck?!” y/n stops in her tracks when her brain finally processes the image on the screen of his mobile. “Are you really sexting some random girl? In my house?!” 

“I’m not sexting, we were talking and she happened to send a picture asking my opinion…” 

“Of course, your opinion about how good her new bra looks!” her tone was angry covering how betrayed she felt.

‘Sis, he can’t even be named a cheater since you guys are not dating!’ this tiny voice inside her laughed at her feelings and remembered the bitter truth. 

“Hey, it’s not a big deal, ok?!” he rolls his eyes, suppressing the little smile in the corner of his lips. 

“It is a damn huge deal!” she almost screams. “You can’t be that blind, Jack!” 

“About what? I try my best to listen to you and do as you like and-”

“Oh my fucking god!” she grunts. “How do you pay attention to my feelings and try your best to listen to me after what you did last week?! And oh! That shit happened two months ago too and oh! I almost forgot every time you came up with a new shit that leaves me heartbroken and guess what?! You don’t come to talk to me about it, because you don’t even try to pretend that you fucking care with my feelings!” 

“Oh- what the hell, y/n?! What’s that outburst about?! Are you really fighting me like this because of a random nude?!” he left the bed, standing right in front of her. The phone forgotten on the mattress. 

“You don’t even get it, Jack…” she mutters, lips quivering.

“Well, then tell me and I will. We’re friends, y/n, we’re not supposed to have this kind of miscommunication-” 

“We’re not just friends and you know it!” her voice a few tenths louder. 

“And we’re not a couple either and you know it!” his voice is lower. Almost like he knew how deep that sentence could cut her heart.

‘See?! I told you!’ her gut screams inside her head, her own heart being the target of pity and laughs inside her. 

“Get out, Jack” y/n sights. 

“I’m just being hones-”

“GET OUT!” she screams, tired of his voice, tired of his cold heart, tired of him and most of all tired of how he made her feel. One minute in the top of the world and the other so low that rock bottom wouldn’t even live up to how she really felt.

Jack did not try to talk, or hug her, or say that he was wrong, maybe sorry?! He did nothing besides grabbing his phone and leave her house. 

The indifference kicking hard one more time in the same spot that was bruised: her heart. 

…

It’s been two weeks, Jack was on a road trip with the team and since the incident, he gave no signal of wanting to talk. So there was Clarice trying to make y/n realize that she deserved a lot more than someone like him.

“...And it feels like he’s the sun sometimes. I just feel cold and heartbroken now, you know?” Y/n grumbles laying on her bed and facing the ceiling.

“WhAT?!”

Clarice’s tone startles y/n.

“What?” she asks back.

“You can never ever make someone or something the sun of your system. It’s too dangerous, don’t you see it?!” 

She stays silent for some seconds trying to absorb her friend’s words.

“It’s not like I have a choice though…” the voice that left her mouth was a strangled one, hoarse from all the cry and scream-on-the-pillow-session.

“You do! We always do. We have a choice when we decide that we won’t take that bullshit anymore, we will focus on ourselves and nothing less. Nothing can be the center of your life, not an object, not a goal, not a person and even less so a relationship, cause once some of these things are gone?! You’re broken, too.”

Clarice gives her a sympathetic look before going for a hug, she knew that it was exactly what y/n was needing, to feel warm with anything other than Jack and eventually learn to feel it by herself.  

“I thought he was different…” she whispers.

“We all do, sweetie, we all do…” Clarice runs her fingers under y/n’s eyes trying to stop for some seconds the tears from falling. “But there’s this singer I really like and she says that it’s not our job to be someone else Karma. It’s not your job to fix him, you can help him with that, but first?! First, you need to heal yourself, we can’t lift others if we are on the ground as well.” 

Y/n took the rest of the day to rest and cry a fucking river, as Justin would say. Clarice was staying with her during the week since the two had a college assignment together and y/n could use some company. Especially if her company would make her laugh every possible time and help her with sad thoughts. Y/n spent more time with the boy from her class, Daniel and she was happy to receive all his memes and trash-talk always. 

It was almost midnight and she was deep in reading an article from college when her phone buzzed.

A message from Dominik. 

It was a picture of him holding a really colorful and big cup of drink. The team was probably celebrating one more win.

Dominik: guess the name of this drink?”

Dominik: I’m kidding, don’t.

Dominik: It’s actually ‘Y/N‘, you have the name of a drink here lol can you believe it?!” 

She giggled with her friend’s drunkenness and opened the photo again. He had this big smile, the one that makes your eyes almost close and his cheeks were red probably from the alcohol. In the background of the photo, however, there was a well-known figure laced with a girl.

Jack was kissing her and y/n wasn’t even surprised. She was hurt. 

He wasn’t different at all and she felt silly for believing it for so long. 

…

At the end of the week, when the team just landed in the city, y/n received a message from Jack.

Jack: Hey, just landed. Missing you like crazyyyy.

Jack: Can I go to your place?

Jack: we’re cool right?! 

She sighed. 

Some days without him and she was able to realize how fucked up things have been. 

She was considering a date with Daniel, her classmate, and hopefully this time Jack was not going to stop it, not like he did the other times when she tried to make the “not-exclusive” deal work for both of them. He would always show up at her house and keep her in her bed until it was too late to go out or say so much bullshit she would end up cancelling it. 

y/n: Come over, I need to talk indeed. 

She just started to realize she had been a hostage of a lot of things, college, some feelings from her childhood, her toxic family, etc. So it felt enough of playing the soft one if she was having the opportunity to stop being held against her will. 

It was twenty minutes before the knock on her door. 

He was there, smile in the corner of his lips, just like he would do after messing up. She was going to forgive him because she was trying to love herself enough and to carry hurt was a burden she was not going to put in her backpack. In fact, keep the bad feelings would only make it worse.

She smiled back, slightly, almost invisible. But he saw it, not because he knew her face as nobody did, but because he was paying attention like never before. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles entering the apartment. 

“I don’t wanna take too long, Jack. I just want to be honest with you.”

“If it is about th-”

“No. Please, let me...let me just finish ok?!” 

“Yeah, go ahead” he nodded.

“I don’t want to see you anymore. Not while I’m trying to heal. You can’t keep using me like that, can’t keep acting like I don’t have feelings, acting like seeing you in doubt did not kill me inside. I love you! You’re my friend, Jack, and that’s even worse cause it feels like I’m losing you twice. Just let me go, stop making my feelings hostage.”

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” She sights. “But you did. And I’m sorry Jack, but looking at you right now – the only thing I can think of is that you look exactly like him…”

“Who?” he furrows his brows.

“My first boyfriend, the one I once told you would never look alike.”

“And you never told me why you thought we were so different…” 

“Because he didn’t care about me. He didn’t love me as much as I did and still, he kept me, I guess maybe because of the feeling of possessing someone, maybe afraid of loneliness…Still, he kept me hostage for long enough and I’m not letting you do the same.”

She handed him a box with some of his stuff that was at her place. 

It was the first step and it was a small one, but she was trying to leave the place and the people that made her feel worse. 

She was a hostage of a lot of things, some feelings from her childhood, her toxic family, Jack, but one by one, she was going to break the chains. It was enough of hurt and sorrow and madness, if she could stop being held against her will, she would.

.

note3: during this time and because of some events I realized I don't feel 100% ok writing about Jack, I decided to finish and publish this one in respect to the anon who asked (and I replied saying it was ok). So yeah, there's nothing about him in my inbox anymore and I just want to let you guys know that :) thanks.

[saoirsecloud]

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

What lies ahead of me is a really beautiful future. In the midst of stumbling upon that journey, there are stop overs, or should we call them, oppurtunities-- And I wasted most of it because of a young man.

A bachelor whom I poured most of the love I can give taught me a lot, he is the reason why I changed in so many ways. From the way I dress and speak, to my sudden change of behavior. Some say, It became better and for some, it's a wrong motive.

For a young damsel like me, it is beyond natural for my emotions to take over and control my entire being. Sometimes I liked it better once the fervency invades, t'was sort of funny. It's funny how things become so different when all my actions aren't decided or thinked of. I just let myself flow in my own river of interpretation-of-how-things-work.

We can't deny the fact that we've always aim for someone. Isn't it envious how Juliet had Romeo? How Rose had Jack? How Maria Clara had Crisostomo Ibarra?— even if tragic, but has the most beautiful story? And we are suckers for that, we wanted to feel it so bad, so bad that we'd force it.

And love isn't something we should force, we wait for it.

I read a verse in a certain post somewhere in Facebook, "Love never fails, it if fails it isn't love."

That hit me.

Our misconception about love is a huge cataract in our eyes in reality. I couldn't recall how many times it was mentioned in church or how elders would say it, but infatuation is never an act of love. It is a strong, deceitful, and an actual silent-killer. My enthusiasm is greater than the logical parts. I gave so much effort and affection, even the ones for myself is gone just to give it to him, hoping for a payback that never happened. I thought, if I give so much love I'd recieve the same. And the moment I expect, the more it never happens. The deception ruled and so is grieve.

We always foresee our lives positively and how it blooms like a dahlia with a certain person. And 24/7 we create almost impossible scenarios in our head, for example : our future is going to be way better if it's shared with them; We couldn't bear the thought of that person being with someone else, it kills us.

Apparantly, time is always against us and the universe seems to be playing with our hearts. It has also came to a point where we ask God "I prayed for this person and I knew that you gave him to me. But why did you took him away?"

I can almost feel the discomfort slaping my face for encountering some-people-enter-our-lives-to-simply-teach-us-a-lesson for the nth time, but that is true.

Thinking of how we met still gives me the magical vibe. What happened to us was always compared to magic, but it was a dream come true and an answered prayer.

➷

Us... The genesis of us began with a glance.

Boredom? I don't think so. My young heart who recently went over a little heartbreak over a little crush longs for healing that I even prayed at a random moment, "Lord, I learned so much from what happened. I am so sorry for attempting death, for I was confused and doesn't know what to do. It's been months, and I haven't moved on over him. I pray, for a person to get him out of my mind. Amen."

Gazing upon the ocean of people before me, if I was given the objective of finding an exact person, I'd fail. But who would have thought my eyes would land at the sight of yours?

I'm not into events that involves lots of people, but due to my bestfriend's intensive "Will you please come with me?!" I did. Attending a religious youth conference won't hurt and I need to recharge my spiritual senses as well.

But then there's you. There you are, all chill and cozy with your dark blue hoodie and a face towel pressed against your cheeks, I was mesmerized.

Lord, did my prayer worked just now?! I thought and I have no idea that time how immature it is.

I couldn't take my eyes off you. And the fact that I am supposed to listen to the speaker, all of us are, sent me guilt. Thankfully, I am able to control myself.

You have the most beautiful smile, despite my vexation over braces, I am overly attracted to you.

I'm not supposed to be distracted by any means, but you sir, you kept on giving me hysteria.

Silly me, literally took a photo of you without noticing that the flash was on and gushed after I saw you and your friends smiling and boasted it immediately to my bestfriend that maybe you like me. Really silly. A few minutes after I realized you knew I was taking a photo of you, my eyes enlarged and I gasped.

That moment when I realized, I effed up.

I was still standing on my own feet and Mr. Frevency hasn't entered me yet, I listened and focused to the speaker.

One particular statement the speaker said made a stamp in my mind.

"Your hidden sin is huge scandal in Heaven."

All of a sudden, my foul of an attitude was converted to realization and hit me like puberty. I was literally transformed after that line was said. I feel like that was really meant for me even if it's generally for everyone.

T'was lunch break and it feels as if freedom was made for me, I thought of nothing but you and my imagation of us ran wild.

This is definitely love at first sight. I thought to myself. I think it really is though.

I was never derived over a person I just met until today. I don't even know his name!

When the sessions resumed, I noticed that you brought your Bible out and my eyes went zoom zoom the moment I saw your surname written on the edge of the Holy Book. Saavedra. Your surname is Saavedra!

I hurriedly picked my phone and was about to search for you, but my conscience stopped me.

One, there are not just one Saavedra in the whole Facebook community, and there are thousands of people here. How sure are you that's him?

Two, He will not accept your friend request even if it's him because WHAT IF HE'S TAKEN?

Three, Just focus on listening!

"Are you sleeping?" I snapped out of my thoughts when my bestfriend poked me. I didn't notice I was facing my palm the whole time. I shrugged my head and tried my very best to focus.

I succeeded.

Although the frequency of my head turning at your direction is not 100% avoided.

The following day, t'was a two day summit, the sleepy versions of my bestfriend and I went straight our designated bus to take us to the event venue.

Still blinking a couple times than usual with a semi blurry vision, I walked in the center of the aisle and searched for two available seats.

Once reached middle, my eyes couldn't believe what it just captured. All traces of drowsiness drifted away.

"Ralph? You guys got the wrong bus. Move quickly, we'll leave soon!" A voice was heard from outside.

"Shoot!" It was the first time my ears could ever nurture your voice, it's like an angel's.

Wait, no they shouldn't leave!

Hold on, was that really him?

Oh, and Ralph Saavedra? His name was Ralph Saavedra?!

And he lives here, like he actually lives here, in our area.

What a magical turn of events.

[aileruaa]

Something of Zetaflash. As the moment Bart realized that he liked Ed and vice versa, maybe not a confession rather knowing that there is "something more than friendship" It would crash! I love what you write !!

Here I am hella late as always LOL anyway who agrees that Bart would totally get flustered watching Ed work out? cus i agree 🙋🏻‍♀️ (i hope this suffices, anon!!!) and yes i totally agree that im projecting my desperate need to work out on my favorite characters via writing but let’s just ignore that...LMAO

*

Bart was a lean kid, and sheer strength was never his forté. He didn’t need it; his super speed and quick wits easily compensated for his lack of Superboy-Level strength. That was why he was usually never caught dead in the gym, except to watch his fellow team members struggle with their workouts and make snarky comments. The gym was the last place Bart would have been lurking in on a Monday night, if it weren’t for the fact that his teammates were literally nowhere to be seen for their usual weekly Monday video game tournament meetup.

“There you all are! What are you guys doing here?” Bart asked, popping a Chicken Whizee in his mouth. He walked in the glass doors of the Hollywood tower’s personal gym, only to be greeted by the clanking of weights and the gritted yelling of Victor Stone. “No one was in the game room.”

“We…gotta…get…jacked.” Vic grunted, arms straining under the weight of the 280-pound plates he was trying to bench. Gar chugged his protein shake at an alarming pace and nodded at Bart in acknowledgement, while Cassie counted her 698th one-armed push-up.

“Easy there, big boy. You’re pumping more iron than usual already.” Ed’s hands hovered above the bar, just in case Vic’s arms gave out from the weight.

“Jacked for what? How come I wasn’t invited?” Bart crossed his arms. Vic let out a yell and slotted the bar back in its place. Ed held the bar to help him balance.

“Dude, you never work out.” Gar raised an eyebrow. “Besides, this is for publicity. Ever heard of the ALS ice bucket challenge?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t live under a rock.” Bart retorted as Gar pulled out his phone.

“Well, we were nominated by Perdita to do the challenge, but we have to look good for the camera. We’re trying to get our muscles toned before we pour a bunch of water on ourselves.” Gar showed the footage of the queen declaring her hefty donation to the ALS research community, followed by the ever-so-iconic spilling of ice water all over her body. Shivering and smiling, Perdita nominated Garfield and his team to do the challenge as well and to spread the good word.

“How come I didn’t hear about this?” Bart asked, feeling a little left out.

“It was in the group chat. You probably didn’t see it, as always.” Cassie pointed out, rising from her 700th push-up. Bart took his own phone out and checked the Outsiders’ Groupme chatroom, to find that he was indeed tagged in the message inviting the team to the gym and that he, as Cassie said, had not seen the messages. Bart sighed.

“Isn’t this supposed to be about helping people with ALS, not about looking good for the camera?”

“Yeah, but people tend to be more interested when there’s something nice to look at. Can’t have us heroes looking scrawny. And isn’t that the point? To generate interest?” Gar grinned. “Hey Cas, let me see you flex.”

As Cassie flexed her arms for Gar to observe, Bart turned his attention towards Ed and Vic. Vic finished up the last of his rep and got up from the bench.

“I’m surprised you’re going along with this, amigo.” Bart walked over to the two, watching Ed’s Adam’s apple bob as he took a hefty sip from his water bottle.

“To be honest, I didn’t know about this whole ALS thing until I got to the tower. This was just supposed to be my regular Monday evening workout.” Ed shrugged, capping his bottle. “But I thought, ‘might as well’. I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

“Alright, Ed, your turn.” Vic slapped Ed on the back in a friendly manner, albeit a little too roughly. Ed rubbed the area and took his position under the bars as Vic took off the heavier plates to match the weight Ed could handle.

Bart stared as Vic loomed by the bar and Ed positioned his arms parallel to his shoulders on the bar. It occurred to Bart that out of all his teammates, he hadn’t ever really seen Ed work out. Jaime, sure; Cassie and Vic, all the time. But they were the strongholds of the team and needed to maintain their physical strength at all times. Ed was similar to Bart in that he normally relied more on his wits and teleportation than sheer strength. It made sense, however, that Ed would want to keep himself in the best shape possible in case they came up against a particularly brutal enemy.

But watching Ed bring the bar down to his chest and lift it made Bart feel some type of way. He looked so concentrated, teeth gritted and eyes squinted as his lean yet toned arms strained against the weight of the plates. Ed’s normally chill face was scrunched up in total concentration as he exhaled sharply with the movement of the bar. He almost looked angry, like the bar was his enemy and he only had one thing on his mind- to overcome it. His muscles seemed tense; had he not stretched enough before? And was the AC broken, or was Bart just blushing profusely despite the ambient temperature?

‘Shit.’ Bart brought a hand to his cheek. He was flustered as Hell.

“Dios mio, how much weight did you put on, dude? I told you my PR’s 180,” Ed grunted as he brought the bar back up. Vic chuckled.

“Only twenty more than usual. Come on, man, your arms are gonna look nice as Hell when you finish this set.” Vic encouraged, nodding at Bart to say something.

“Yeah, they’ll look…nice.” Bart’s voice cracked. He turned away to hide his profuse blushing, only to be faced with a grinning Cassie.

“You would think so, huh?” she whispered as she tied her hair back into a ponytail. Cassie was the only person on the team other than Jaime and Traci who was aware of Bart’s little crush on Ed, and she never missed a chance to make fun of Bart. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Shut up, Cas,” Bart hissed back.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re totally ogling.” Cassie muttered. And she was right. Bart couldn’t take his eyes off Ed for too long, it seemed, because his eyes trailed back to Vic and Ed as he heard Ed’s strained groaning from his finished rep.

“My arms are definitely feeling this tomorrow.” Ed sighed, reclining up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Come on, from 200?” Vic teased. “That’s like lifting a textbook.”

“More like 20. Some of us don’t have Fatherbox strength to get us through.” Ed rolled his eyes. “Cas, Gar, you’re done already?”

“Yup!” Cassie flexed her arms dramatically for the boys to see. “Bart here wants to give it a try, though.”

“No, no I don’t.” Bart corrected, glaring at Cassie for her obvious attempt to push him towards Ed. Ed brought the hem of his muscle tank up to his face, revealing a set of nicely-toned abs underneath. Bart almost choked.

“Bar’s all yours if you want, hermano.” Ed waved towards the bench. “Soon as I finish my sets.”

“Nope. Don’t need it. I don’t gym.” Bart shook his head adamantly.

“You, uh, look a little red there, Lil’ Red.” Vic pointed out. “Like, the color of your face and your hair are pretty much the same.”

“Just, uh, the AC’s probably broken.” Bart retorted.

“The AC’s on full blast.” Gar corrected.

“Are you feeling sick?” Ed asked, a tinge of concern evident in his voice. God, why was he so caring at the worst of times?

“Maybe the ice bucket challenge will help cool you off.” Vic suggested.

“Nah, it’s fine. I didn’t bring a change of clothes, so-“

“Who says your clothes will be on?” Cassie interrupted, chewing on her granola bar. “Everyone’s gonna be shirtless.”

As soon as Cassie mentioned shirtless, something in Bart snapped.

“I-I’m outta here.” Bart knew that seeing Ed shirtless right after a sweaty workout would break the straw on the camel’s back, and took it upon himself to escape before anyone could stop him. As he stormed out of the gym, everyone else glanced at each other in confusion at Bart’s sudden departure- everyone except Cassie, who grinned to herself at Bart’s flustered exit.

“Why’d he leave?” Gar asked, confused. Cassie giggled knowingly, shrugging in order to preserve her friend’s integrity. After all, she was the only one who knew Bart’s redness was simply him not knowing how to deal with his flustered emotions for Ed, and it was more fun teasing Bart than to reveal it herself.

[devinsfm]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales  . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons ! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i never do this, but i really felt like it was time for a change, so i drew lots of inspiration from some of my favorite ocs and i love what i’ve come up with ! character info is under the cut and please feel free to message me if you would like to plot !

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman 

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute. 

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he’s an only child.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed. 

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since. 

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchmen and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck. 

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just...doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled...he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway. 

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm. 

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show 

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[slxyangel]

Pain and Noise (Duff x Reader)

Summary: I was fed up with just about everything that constituted my life, so I started playing.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, mentions of violence, swearing, panic attack.

Wordcount: Almost 5k

A/N: First fic I ever write, I am nervous and this was originally in Spanish, so be nice with my best try of a translation. Enjoy :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

The pain in the back of my hands was intense, searing, and growing worse with every minute I spent holding the drumsticks and unloading my rage over the drums in the studio. The accumulated tension stiffened my fingers, the muscles in my arms were numb and it had been a while since I started feeling my nails spiking my own skin because of the pressure I was putting on it. I didn’t care; I preferred to feel that rather than the anguish that had been threatening to rip off my chest these last few weeks. I don’t know how much time I spent like that. What I do remember is the pain. And the noise.

I also remember sitting on the stool during a little while the guys were out, I’m not sure what for, maybe to grab some food or take a break. They had been working on the album for months, and these days of polishing, re-recording, fixing and tuning everything up for the final version were being especially hard; they deserved a breather. “And so do I”, I told myself while I held Steven’s drumsticks and gave it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He, as any other percussionist, didn’t like it when someone else fiddled with his instrument, not to mention if it happened without him being around to control it. I could only hope that he didn’t show up in that very moment and caught me, because I don’t think I would have the strength to explain him every thought that was circling my head the moment I decided to play his drums, and even less not to drown the whole story with my tears. I mean, come on, it was only going to be a little while.

I had been working with the band practically since the recording process for Appetite for Destruction began. I was in my last year of university, and needed an internship to complete my learning agreement, and, I still can’t comprehend how, my best friend’s father got me plugged-in in Geffen Records. They were the ones who decided that the best option for an audiovisuals student was in the recordings for a young rock band’s debut album. This is how I ended up being Mike Clink’s personal assistant and hanging out with Axl, Slash, Izzy, Duff and Steven. The chemistry had been practically automatic, I got along with them pretty quick and, even though I started being basically the coffee girl, I was always very comfortable in such a creative and carefree environment.

I remember those first days in which Mark, my boyfriend, used to drive me to the studio in his car. I could drive, of course, but my new job seemed almost more exciting for him than it did for me, so he insisted in getting me there, picking me up and making me tell him every little detail of my brand-new work life. He was thrilled when I told him how I had spent twenty minutes of my first day talking with Slash and he had shown interest about my studies, my reasons to be there and my general life. “If we’re gonna work together, we might as well be friends”, he said. The guy told me that he had a snake, that his parents were artists and that’s why he had always been so involved with music. He also said he got his first guitar when he was 15 and that he and the guys ended up together out of sheer coincidence, but they had realized they were the perfect combination, so they were really excited about their new project. It was there that I realized I was in the right place and, even if, worst case scenario, the rest of the band hated me, at least I had a new friend.

However, my worries couldn’t be any more unfounded. Once I had talked to Saul, the rest of it went smoothly. Axl was quite a character, for instance, a guy you felt like looking at. Wherever he was (because he couldn’t stand still for a second), your eyes would be glued to him. He had an enviable magnetism no matter what he did: singing one of their songs, bringing order to the mixing desk, finishing off half a liter of Jack Daniel’s… He was the kind of person who seems out of reach from every one of us mortals but, deep down, is a cinnamon roll. Our first interactions (mostly his, let’s be honest) were filled with double intentions. In any case, now that I see it in retrospective and compare it with the way he treated other girls, I came to think that this was his way to know women in general, his default mode. Actually, those anecdotes of conversations I had with the vocalist were worth a fair dose of laughing for Mark and me during our more than usual supermarket-pizza, Ben-&-Jerry’s-ice-cream dinners in the flat we shared. Over time, Axl’s phase of blatant flirting with me faded away, making room for a really close friendship between the two of us.

Izzy, on the other hand, treated me almost as if I was an experiment. Do you know the feeling when you arrive to a new school but the year has already started and everybody is curious about you? Well, that was more or less how the guitarist reacted to my incorporation. He had never been too talkative, or, at least, not as much as the rest of them, so my first days with the brunet can be summed up to him joining conversations between me and someone else, to learn a bit more about me without having to ask directly; to my hand-waving gestures and his responses raising his chin or his eyebrows; or to him offering me drags of his cigarette from time to time, while we waited for the rest of the guys to record their tracks so we could all go partying together. It was interesting. It was entertaining. It was even funny to see us unfolding, adapting to each other until we gained full trust. We could argue that his more reserved, almost wary personality and my own, more explosive and versatile, complemented each other as two puzzle pieces; one had what the other lacked.

And, while Izzy complemented me, Steven understood me. We were two peas in a pod: energetic, chaotic and jam-packed with energy. Basically the kids in the team. Like two naughty twins, we loved to terrorize the studio. We threw stuff at each other, we laughed like crazy, we yelled from one corner of the room to the other the dumbest, most absurd shit you could imagine… One of the activities I enjoyed the most was to scare away the chicks from him. Some afternoons when he was chilling on the couch, unaware and concentrated on hitting on whatever girl he had just met, I arrived, seated next to him on the couch and went full on clingy-ass-girlfriend with him: handsy and unbearable. I interrupted the groupie and put up with Steven’s deadly glares until, after a while, the girl took off, sometimes walking towards one of the other guys, sometimes straight to her house. The drummer always got mad at me when I did this to him, but his anger never lasted for more than ten minutes.

And then there was Duff. He was something else, something different. I had never had such a connection with anyone, and even less with anyone I had met for so little time. Duff had his own light, like an extremely bright star, and I was flashed by it but, at the same time, he irradiated a delightful kind of warmth, too nice for me to voluntarily step away. He was fun, he was compassionate, he was sensible, he was a little bit mad and he made everything unspeakably easy. The rest of the band spent their days saying that we should have sex or betting on whether we were or weren’t conscious of the sexual tension they assured was too obvious between us. At first, we either told them to fuck off or went along with it, but without giving it much of a second thought. At the end of the day, I was dating Mark, who I adored, and Duff knew it. We were nothing but friends, like the rest of the guys.

Weeks went by and I kept getting closer and closer with the bassist: we talked about everything and anything, we told each other countless anecdotes from our lives before arriving to L.A., and he even sometimes helped me with the paperwork. More than once, even though smoking was allowed in the studio, the two of us stepped outside to do it, and a break that was meant to last for 10 minutes ended up being one hour long. When this happened, Slash had to come out for him, wielding his guitar and threatening to smash it on his head if he wasn’t back inside in the following fifteen seconds. In fact, some of those days when it took me longer to finish my job he would stick around and offer me a ride home before he headed to the club, so that Mark didn’t have to come pick me up that far that late.

Of course, it was all being too good to be true. The first day this happened, when I arrived home in “some other dude’s car, instead of a fucking taxi”, Mark’s own words, I found a version of my boyfriend that I didn’t like one tiny bit: wary, silent and mean. When I asked what his problem was I already saw the answer coming, but I just refused to believe he was going to get all possessive over such a nonsense, he had never behave like that. That night we went from yelling at each other to the silent treatment in a matter of a few hours, and the next day, when I got to the studio in my own car for the first time since the guys knew me, that place looked like goddamn press conference. They took less than two minutes to notice I was a little bit off, and less than five to tell me “Dump him, fuck Duff”. I couldn’t help but laugh. I hadn’t broken up with Mark, we had just argued; I would speak to him and we would fix things; that’s what couples did. Bitch, you thought.

For the next few days everything seemed to have turned back to normal: my boyfriend and I were okay, he said he was sorry and begged me to let him apologize by being my chauffeur again. I didn’t quite feel like rocking the boat after that night, so the idea of not driving myself to work didn’t seem that bad, until the days Mark started arriving a little earlier each day. Five minutes, fifteen, half an hour before my cutoff time, as if he had to make sure I went back home with him, as if he had to keep an eye on me. In fact, one of the days in which he arrived with a bigger margin of time, he decided it was a good idea to wait inside the studio while the band was recording, and argued that “it would be a lot more boring to wait in the car”. Over the last days, the guys had noticed how pissed it made me the fact that he was chasing after me, behaving like an asshole and little more than tying a leash around my neck, so Axl stepped up and asked him to leave, since the guy wouldn’t listen to me. I have to admit I was surprised with how calmly the vocalist took the intrusion, taking into account his normally short temper. He told Mark that “it wasn’t his problem if he wanted to be his girlfriend’s chauffeur, but he couldn’t simply burst into a private property as if it was his house, and even less when they were working.” To be honest, that was one hell of a comeback, because if the singer had exposed the real reasons why he wanted him out, the other one would have clutched at straws to the philosophy “She is my girlfriend, you don’t get a saying on this.” But on his argument and on his turf, Axl had the upper hand.

Despite all the efforts, Mark told him to mind his own business and that, if the redhead kicked him out of the studio, he would be behaving like a total dick. Then, as if the destiny was trying its best to fix things, sarcasm be sensed, Duff showed up in the anteroom where we were. As soon as my boyfriend saw him, his eyes started blazing, and it only took the bassist telling him he had to leave and that I was still in my working hours so I wouldn’t go with him, for his fist to connect with Duff’s jaw in a nasty jab. And hell was fucking raised.

Axl pushed Mark, who was holding my arm with the same hand he had punched the blond with two seconds ago. Not letting go of me, he tackled the vocalist, mumbling something I can’t remember. Then he walked towards the front door, grabbing me with him. “Let’s go. Now”, he ordered. His fingers dug into my skin with such anger and despair that I could already feel the bruise forming underneath, and I was half shocked, half scared shitless. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get in the car with him and I didn’t want any more punches either, but in any case my limbs were not responding to the commands my brain tried to make, whichever they were. It was then that, halfway across the room, before reaching the door, Mark stumbled and fell, finally releasing my arm. The first thing I saw when I lifted my eyes was Duff standing there, with his mouth covered in blood, shaking his right hand once and breathing heavily.

- If you ever touch her again like that, I’ll kill you.

While Mark was trying to get up, Slash stormed in from the recording room. He had seen the events of the last two minutes from his position behind the glass, and he wasn’t going to take any more of that shit. Right before the other one went ballistic attacking the bassist and blood started to hit the fan, Saul grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kicked him, literally, out of the place. Once the metal door had closed between Mark and us, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I vaguely remember I started hyperventilating, on my knees, on the floor, and the sound of punches hitting metal on the outside was all but helping me calm down. As tears streamed down my face and I frantically run my fingers through my hair, a hand started trailing my back. It was a soft touch, slow, really slow. Making its way upwards and then going back down, over again. The noise level had considerably decreased, and now all I could listen to were whispers, the sweetest whispers coming from the mouth of one single person. “Shhhh, easy. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here. Breathe.” Little by little my quick and superficial breathing became steadier, and after a few minutes I was able to stand up to sit on the couch. The beating on the door had stopped, and I realized all the guys were surrounding me, worried look on their faces, as Duff, seating beside me, still had his hand in my back.

_________________

It had been two weeks since that day. After the incident, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be under the same roof as Mark, and even less with the fight still recent. Who knows what he would do to me as soon as I crossed the threshold… The guys profusely insisted that I could stay with any of them, but they let me use their phone to call my best friend when I told them I would be in very good hands with her. Laura received me with a warm hug the moment she saw me, and that night, at her home, we cried, we ranted and we ate ice-cream until we couldn’t take any more. I have to admit that, given the circumstances, she managed pretty well to get me into bed feeling kinda happy. But of course, nothing lasts forever. I was about to graduate, with no home (the foster-bed in Laura’s house didn’t count), no boyfriend and no plans of work, projects or future in general; ahead of me there was a massive precipice with seemingly no ending. Besides, the production process for Appetite was coming to an end, and so did my internship and the months of togetherness with the band. Now was the time for press conferences, concerts and, if it all went well, the tour. To be honest I was super happy for them. I had seen the birth of that album, and I was blindly certain that with such a masterpiece they were bound to success. It was inevitable. But in any case, that meant the end of what had given me the most joys in the last four months and, if apart from all the financial and emotional stability I had gained during my college years, someone took that away from me… what did I have left?

__________________

After that much time hitting the drums, I had ultimately interiorized the beat so much now I was just reproducing it on loop, with my eyes closed and breathing heavily. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize the door had opened and someone had stepped into the studio. Suddenly I felt how, behind my back, two hands softly landed on my shoulders. I didn’t stop playing. My arms moved now with less vigor to the beat I had marked from the beginning, while those fingers gently traced small circles in the back of my neck, comforting me.

Duff.

It had to be him, I was certain.

Little by little I reduced the speed of my movements, gradually, until I completely stopped playing. When I left the drumsticks on the snares and turned around in the stool I saw him. He was standing there, right in front of me, asking with his eyes, a calm and expressive look on his face. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped my lips. He was worried about me.

- Good thing it was you who entered, and not Steven – I said, half jokingly, as I stood up, hoping to relax the tension built up between us.

- Yeah – he laughed softly. – Had it been him he would have ripped the drumsticks off your hands and hit you with them.

I laughed too, quietly, bitterly. This was too much for me. The words we never said were floating around, like a thousand needles falling into a tailspin above us; eventually, they would have to land. The worst part was that I didn’t know if I craved that moment or, on the contrary, dreaded it.

It looked like he had read my mind when he slowly, almost asking for permission, held my hands. I startled a bit with the contact, but I let him go on. Duff looked at them for a second before he noticed the tiny wounds I had unconsciously inflicted on myself digging my fingernails too hard a while before, at the drums. Without saying a word, he started caressing them very softly, as if he wanted to calm, more than my physical pain, the sentimental one. He was breathing deeply and slightly frowning. He was concentrated in trying to make that feeling disappear, the confusion, the guilt, the fear… the stream of emotions that had been threatening to break me for some time now. He looked me in the eyes. In that very moment, the temperature inside the room raised a few degrees. We were really close. So close I could feel his breath on me, listen to his heartbeat accelerating with every second that went by, see how his lips lightly parted, practically not at all, only a hint of the thought that filled our minds in that place, in that moment. Then, almost involuntarily, as an instinctive reflex, I stretched my neck upwards. That was the only sign he needed to make the already scarce distance between our lips disappear, and kiss me.

The contact was slow, sweet and full of longing. Our lips moved rhythmically, perfectly fitting on each other’s. Duff was still holding my hands, and I could feel my breath accelerating progressively. I released one of my hands and placed it on his neck, stroking the hair on his nape and helping myself keep balance in my tippiest toes. He saw my struggles and moved his free hand to my waist, firmly holding me so that I wouldn’t fall. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to be closer to him, even more. Everything that I hadn’t been able to do and that had bottled up inside of me was now too overwhelming, and I didn’t want to fight it anymore. Our kiss intensified, we hungrily enjoyed each other, panting. The next thing I knew was that Duff had placed his hands on the back of my thighs and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned my arms on his shoulders, so I could keep kissing him while he crossed the room and sat on the leather couch, with me straddling his lap. He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, slightly lifting the hem of my dress, as if he was testing some boundaries that I hadn’t set and, at this point, I didn’t plan to.

I was euphoric, nervous and loaded with desire. In a burst of braveness or lust, I’m not entirely sure, I started to buck my hips, back and forth, following a slow path at first, which progressively accelerated. The friction of my underwear in direct contact with his leather pants was about to drive me mad, and I couldn’t stop. His hands, which a moment ago were on my hips, guiding them, started moving over my lower stomach, tracing the edge of my panties in painfully slow motions. His breath was also heavier, somehow ragged, and I felt him hardening beneath me. His lips were stuck to the base of my neck, lightly sucking as I, with my eyes closed and lips parted into a silent “O”, gently pulled his blond hair. My core grew more sensitive by the minute, and when I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold the moan trapped in my throat anymore, his fingers touched my most sensitive spot, turning my steadily rocking hips not that steady for a moment.

In a matter of seconds, and with his hand working wonders between my legs, I got rid of the dress, which only bothered, and the perspective of my almost absolute nudity on top of his entirely dressed body made me shake with arousal. His free hand took care of my breasts, now exposed, as I dug my nails into his shoulders, underneath the sleeveless shirt he was wearing.

-  Take it off – I managed to blurb between gasps.

-  What? – Duff seemed confused, too concentrated on something else for having been able to follow the road of my own thoughts.

-  Your shirt, take it off. I want to touch you.

A shit-eating grin lit up his face right before he separated in a quick motion from that piece of clothing and threw it somewhere else. Immediately after, in a total change of the atmosphere, he laid back on the couch and, placing his hands behind his head, said:

-  Then touch me.

I didn’t hesitate for a single second. My hands flew to his shoulders, his arms, his shoulders again and went down his chest as I peppered kisses all over his lips, jaw, neck, collarbones… I took my sweet time while swinging my hips against the fabric that separated my pussy from his erection, and my nails traced a descending path down his torso, really slowly. I could notice how he was growing desperate; I felt his breath, now turned into a subtle growl, against my hair; I realized how shortly he had managed to keep his hands off me, since now he was caressing my flanks, my back and my chest. When I reached the cord of his pants with my fingers, I slowly undid the knot that tied them together and slipped my hand underneath, without stopping my hip motions. The very moment I found the base of his length, a soft grunt escaped his lips. He was driving me insane.

After a while arousing each other, we couldn’t stand the teasing any longer and Duff took the first step to getting rid of the clothes that were still around. I stood up and took off my sandals so that he could slide my panties down my legs, grazing my skin along the way. He also let go of both his pants and sneakers, tossing them on the carpet. Our moves were clumsy thanks to eagerness and anticipation. I once again sat on top of him, in our initial position, only now there were no clothes in the middle of the road. I could feel him against me. Touch. Friction. Desire. His expert fingers moved now freely over my core, as he left little love bites under my left ear. I kept on rubbing his cock, fully hard and a bit wet, while, with my other hand, I held on to his hair for dear life. We were close, really close. It felt as if every centimeter of my skin was on direct contact with Duff. He was everywhere, every corner, every goosebump, every scar… With all this overstimulation, my moans filled the room, and I didn’t have enough sanity to realize anyone could come in. I was a mess.All of a sudden, right when I was seconds away from cumming, his hands disappeared from my core. Even though I couldn’t see myself, I was sure in my eyes one would be able to read the anticipation and confusion.

-  Wait – he said in a desperate whisper -. I want to feel you, I want to be inside of you.

If he hadn’t stopped touching me a moment before, I am sure that sentence would have sent me to the wildest of orgasms, but it wasn’t the time for my sweet release. Not yet. He put his hand right next to mine, on his cock, and, with an almost unbearable slowness, he brought the tip of it to my entrance. A trembling sigh fell from my lips and we looked into each other’s eyes. Then, I gently let my hips descend on his lap, and he completely slid inside of me, letting escape an unearthly growl that gave me chills. He had dropped his head back, leaving his neck and collarbones exposed to me, but I had my eyes closed as I tried to control the delightful contractions that were about to take over me. I felt him inside of me, extremely deep. As if we were two pieces of the same puzzle, as if we had been manufactured specifically to be together. Now THAT was overstimulation. Once my body had adjusted to him, I started motioning my hips up and down, holding on to his shoulders so that I didn’t lose the limited balance I had left. He once again was looking at me, with his hands on my waist as I kept the path. Close, very close. His arms slid around me and I kissed his lips eagerly. Our moans died in one another’s mouth while the movements became faster, erratic, frenetic. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep my sanity, I was almost raving with pleasure, and the moment our lips broke away to take air and we looked at each other, nose to nose, without stopping for a moment, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I came with a flashing intensity, pronouncing his name countless times, asking God knows who for this moment to last forever. I couldn’t stop screaming, and when Duff begged my name and I felt his liquid warmth filling every bit of me, I saw white.

_______________

His hand stroked tenderly my naked back while my breath came back to normal against his neck. The same as that day, but at the same time entirely different. I was still on top of him, he was still inside of me. I hadn’t yet gathered the strength to pull him apart from me, but he didn’t seem willing to get separated either, so we stood like that for a while, I don’t even know how much, but I don’t care. This felt utterly intimate, intense, extremely ours and totally apart from the rest of people, from the rest of things. It was a parallel universe inside of a crystal ball. It was the embodiment of all that was right. What we had been, without knowing or admitting it, even to ourselves, waiting for all this time.

[nomorelonelydays]

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

 -

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

 The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

 The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

 The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

 He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

 “I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

 Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

 Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

 He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

 He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

-

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

 “How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

 “I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

 Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

 Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

 “No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

 Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

 “No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

 “I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

 “I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

 “Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

 “Maybe I call tomorrow.’

 “I won’t go anywhere.”

 “Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

 Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

 “Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

 -

 Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

 “I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

 “She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

 “Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

 “I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

 “Dee, you didn’t.”

 “I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

 He thinks about it.

 At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

 Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

 “No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

 Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

 “What?”

 “Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

 Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

 “What?”

 “I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

 It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

 “They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

 “Sid, wait—”

 He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

 -

 I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

 Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

 I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

 Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

 Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing. 

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

 He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

 -

 It snows a little mid-December.

 He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

 The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

 There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

 “They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

 He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation. 

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

 But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

 “I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

 She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

 @DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

-

 Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

 He misses skating.

 He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

 He’s not jealous. He is not.

 But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

 He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

 “It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

 “Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

 The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

 “Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

 “I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

 “Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

 His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

 She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

 The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

 (Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

 After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

-

 “I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

 “Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

 “I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

 “You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

 Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

 “What’s the handle?”

 He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

 “Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

 Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

 “No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

 “Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

 “No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

 “I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.  

 “Maybe.”

 Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

 -

 Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

 “Hello? I’m look for—”

 Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

 “Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

 Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

 “How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

 “Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

 “What about—”

 “No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

 “What post?”

 Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

 @DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

 “Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

[devinfm]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales  . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i also write parker ( @prkrfm​​ ) which is the best place to contact me for plotting!

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute.

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he has one sibling, a younger sister.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed.

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since.

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchman and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck.

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just…doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled…he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway.

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm.

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 401

Oh hey, y’all. We’re back for another season of that show we keep watching in hopes it’ll get back to its season one glory Outlander! Since I’m incapable of keeping my Opinions to myself and have no filter after a few drinks, I’m gonna do drunk recaps that no one asked for or wants again this year. Because why not. So buckle up, randos, because under the cut you will find nothing of substance, zero insights and absolutely no analysis!

Before I dive into the stream of consciousness, quasi-incoherent beat-by-beat nonsense, I just want to say that I overall liked this episode. I definitely enjoyed it more from the comfort of my own couch than in the theater with thousands of screaming sycophants at NYCC. It definitely had me singing along to the Federalist Papers part of Non Stop all day though. A series of scenes, tangentially related, introducing the Colonies to the public. Some are obviously just there to just set up the plot of the season or like check a residual box from last season. But some are solid world-building and character moments. And, because it’s Outlander, some are like *side eye*.

But I’m for real excited for the first half of this season! The second half of Drums is a dumpster fire (fucking Rogergate...) and it seems like the show is going to stick pretty close to the book, so I’m going to try my hardest to not let preemptive feelings about that nonsense cloud potential enjoyment of the first bit. Because dammit, I love me some domestic!Frasers. So yeah, happy end of hiatus, y’all!

Ok I don’t want to start off on a downer note, but jfc. I get what they were going for with the 2000 B.C. stone circle stuff, but omg no. I don’t care if certain indigenous peoples really did make stone circles and dance around them as the sun rose. I know they’re trying to show the universality of circles and these time portal thingies or whatever, but by making the parallel with the druids at Craigh na Dun, it’s basically being like “Oh hey! These Native American folks from *checks notes* North America are just like the white folks we’ve been hanging with for the last three seasons!” It came off to me like erasing the unique cultures of the diverse peoples of North America in favor of framing them as a generic group of “natives” who do the white people stone dance. And in a season that’s going to deal heavily with multiple tribes, this really isn’t giving me much confidence in how they’re going to handle the rest of the Native American characters.

I’m really hoping someone else will articulate that better than I did. Because I feel like I’m not communicating well what my actual issue with the sequence was.

Petition to make Jamie wear a hat at all times to hide his horrible bangs.

Gavin Hayes has to be being hanged for literally the dumbest crime ever. But he seems pretty chill about it so...

Ok I never liked book!Bonnet as a character (like obvi he’s a terrible person so I was never going to like him as a person, but I was always annoyed that he was still around rather than appreciating him as a villain), but even from that presumptuous “yeah can I snag some rum too, bruh” in the jail, I’m like solidly on board with show!Bonnet.

Jamie tried to save Hayes, but you see Hayes straight up killed a guy. Sure it was in self-defense, but, y’know, ye olde times and he did kill the dude. Sooo...

I want to feel for Lesley, I really do, but I’ve never actually given a shit or been given a good reason to give a shit about Rupert and Angus 3.0 so, sorry for your loss?

Unpopular opinion alert (should be the standard disclaimer on all of my #hottakes) but I really don’t care for the new theme music. Every time they change it, I find myself wanting the OG season one music back with just the images updated.

The bald eagle for the title card just gives me such mixed feelings that have nothing to do with the show. Like here’s a symbol of my country and it *should* invoke good feelings, but *gestures at the current political climate* every national symbol at the moment feels tainted by the growing white nationalist movement that’s being spurred on by the current administration.

Time for some post hanging brewskis. We are here to mourn Gavin Hayes. Who died only so the new villain could be introduced. Let us bow our heads.

Marsali and Fergus win the prize for least subtle “can we be excused to go bang” ever. Rock on, Fersali.

I fucking LOVE that they changed the tavern scene so everyone sings with them like they know what’s going on rather than how in the book it was like them making fun of the red coats as part of Gavin’s song and then Fergus passed around a hat for coins. But by having everyone in the tavern in on what’s going down and earnestly participating, it establishes that 20+ years after the failed Rising, after the Clearances, after everything the Scots went through at the hands of the English, they were not truly defeated. They may have moved across an ocean, but they are still Scottish and they still practice their traditions and dammit I’m having feelings about those resilient motherfuckers.

The scene with Jamie and Ian is very well done and I’m SO glad they included it because they did in fact include his rape last year, but fuck the show for including that rape in the first place. A very similar version of this scene could have been done without the rape, there’s enough trauma involved in being kidnapped, taken across the ocean, held hostage by a batshit lady and knowing that everyone else she kidnapped ended up dead for one 16 year old kid. With Jamie’s rape we got two episodes of trauma and four of recovery. With Mary, Fergus and Ian, we get three child rapes that could have all been avoided (especially Ian’s, but the plot points that come from Mary’s and Fergus’ could have definitely come about without them actually being raped), and they all just got one brief scene to express their trauma and then everything’s hunky dory again. (We know they’re going to include Bree’s rape, also fuck them very much for that, it’s completely unnecessary, and I’m guessing we’ll spend some time with her on her recovery. But that’s a rant for when we get there...)

For real though, Jamie parroting Claire as he comforts Ian is super sweet, but it makes me skeptically nervous for how he’ll react to Bree’s. Since in the book, it’s...not great.

Stephen Bonnet is so delightfully smarmy. Also, how fucking naive is our main squad now all of a sudden that they don’t realize from the jump what a sociopath he is? C’mon, y’all. Like I know Jamie came close to being hanged or whatever, but literally everything about this dude screams that he’s bad news. He is not subtle in his I’m a straight up unapologetic and charismatic good guy criminal. And like, he’s a friend of Gavin? Come the fuck on, squad. HOW DO YOU NOT SEE THAT HE IS FULL OF SHIT. *gets Det. JJ Bittenbinder on the horn*

For real though, dodgy accent aside, I fucking love Ed Speleers in this role. Why the fuck do they have to include the rape. Can’t he just be a bastard without being a rapist? Why must you make me rage, show. I just want to enjoy a decent villain.

Jamie and Claire are doing their best Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein trying to talk their way through this checkpoint.

“You’ve never parted with the ring from the first?” Yeah, I don’t get it either, Bonnet my dude. I don’t get it either. #FuckFrank

Bonnet talking about circles fascinating him makes me think he’d do well in a group of stoners having what they think are philosophical conversations at 3:00 a.m. “But like guys, have you ever like thought about...the rhombus?”

For real though, him being real with Claire about this drowning stuff makes him an infinitely more interesting villain than Black Jack ever was. Black Jack was kind of a crap villain tbh. He was horrible and did horrible things, yes, but like that was it. He was just horrible. Bonnet’s like oh I’ll charm you, be real with you and then fuck you up in the course of one episode and not give any of it a second thought because I have not a single fuck to give about anyone but me. I’m just out here living my best life, sorry not sorry. *puts on shades, drops mic, walks away*

For real though, his “be wary of thieves and outlaws” line might as well have been “it’s me, I’m talking about me.” And these dorks don’t even pick up on it. GUYS YOU ARE KILLING ME, YOU DIDN’T USED TO BE THIS SHITTY AT JUDGING SOMEONE’S CHARACTER.

I’m guessing this is the official christening-their-new-continent-bang because it’s too cold to do River Sex™ in Scotland. But I’m looking forward to getting the rest of Ch. 16 once they get to the Ridge. (We all saw those strawberries in the promo...)

The book lines still feel shoehorned in rather than organic to the show, but not as much as 95% of A. Malcolm felt. So I guess I need to just accept that the writers are going to keep doing this and I just need to stop expecting them to actually do their jobs and adapt for the adaptation...

For real though, I know Spotify doesn’t exist yet but jfc Jamie and Claire’s secksi time playlist literally just has this one song and guys, there’s a whole world of songs for smushing out there. My man Doug Judy would be glad to broaden your horizons.

Claire’s I just had sex smile as she looks out over the valley made me literalol.

Cool that we get woke!Jamie saying that the American Dream is a nightmare for the Native Americans after Claire’s Americana 101 speech, but this is a woman who lived in wicked racist 1960s Boston. She knows that things aren’t nice and rosy in America in the 18th *or* 20th centuries. Her speech makes me hate S3 a little more for focusing on Frank’s manpain instead of Claire and her and Joe’s time in the hospital, where the show could have explored gender and race in the 20th century to set up a contrast for how things will be this season in the 18th. Claire went through enough shit last time she was in the past, and so far this time, to know that the past isn’t idyllic. She knows enough about US history and 20th century America to know this mythical origin story she’s spouting is nothing but a fairy tale. I get why she might cling to that ideal, this is the first time in her life she might get to settle down and build a home with the person she actually wants to build a home with, but her whitewashing history like this strikes me as a way too naive for her.

The green screen as they stare out at that very much not actually there valley is killinggg me.

Ok for real though, this cut from them in the Uncanny Valley to the room getting ready for dinner is the most jarring of the episode. Like, I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is just a series of independent scenes rather than an actual, cohesive whole, but jfc. Who actually is Lillington, how do you know him? Nope? No info? Not important? Just need to get it out there that you have jewels so the last scene in the episode can happen so the ring can be taken so the rape can occur? Cool. Cool cool cool.

Ok so show!Claire makes me sad with being insecure/self-depreciating about her appearance. Like with saying brown is a dull color when Jamie calls her mo nighean donn the first time and when she asks Joe if she’s sexually attractive and when she dyes her hair before going back through the stones and now with the mutton dressed as lamb thing. (Claire, girl, how are you that up on Colonial fashion that you know what’s “age appropriate” already? Wouldn’t think there was much fashion gossip along the road from Georgia to North Carolina, but whatevs.) I know three of these four things are straight from the book, but in the show it hits me differently. Book!Claire is kind of a bitch when it comes to looks. Her parting words in her letter to Bree were “try not to get fat.” She like judged the crap out of that rando lady in Edinburgh before she went to the print shop just to make sure she didn’t look too old. So when she has these aforementioned moments, they land differently. Now I’m not saying I want show!Claire to be like book!Claire, quite the opposite. I’m glad they cut that other stuff. But now whenever show!Claire has a moment of self-consciousness, all I want to do is be like woman, you are a fucking smokeshow. Fuck the patriarchy for making you feel like you aren’t stunning exactly as you are. #LadyBonerForBeauchamp

Oh Governor Exposition. How nice of you to join our merry band of randos for dinner!

Man, I’d love to be so rich that I can pull a Baron and casually just happen to have 100 pounds on hand to buy a giant ruby at a random dinner party.

John Grey, who was shunted from shit post to shit post, totes is special enough to get Scotland’s Valjean to England’s Javert cleared. I mean, obvi.

Oh hey, Jamie remembers he has a daughter! Showed more emotion in that scene about how America would become her country than in the scene with the photos. Fuck Sam et al. for the disaster of a performance choice in ep. 306, don’t @ me.

OH HAI ROLLO I LOVE YOU YOU ARE SUCH A GOOD DOGGO I WANT TO SNUGGLE YOU WHO’S A GOOD BOY YOU ARE

“I dinna ken. But she’ll be saying it in Scotland, won’t she?” I do love Young Ian a lot. I know that’s in the book. But dammit I love John Bell in this part a crapton.

Casually lol’ing that they crossed the ocean because Ian was taken and now that they have him, they’re just going to send him alone off to sea again.

The first time I saw the episode, when Lesley gave his “my place is at your side” speech I was like crap, we’re going to be stuck with this guy aren’t we. BUT WE’RE NOT! (I am a terrible person.)

Fergus and Marsali are totes going to be the new Jenny and Ian, aren’t they? The characters who just show up once or twice a season when the core squad needs something and that’s it? Because they get tossed aside in the books like that. That makes me super sad (and I hope I’m wrong) because of how they changed show!Fergus and show!Claire’s relationship from the book that we won’t get to see more of them together. Le sigh. I hope they at least let Bree have a scene where she meets Fergus and learns she has a brother. Especially if she’s not going to go to Lallybroch to meet the Murray squad because Jenny isn’t in this season. Part of what I loved about the Lallybroch part in the book was Bree realizing that she wasn’t just gaining a father but a whole extended family. I hope they kind of transfer that over to her meeting Fergus and Young Ian in the place of [insert Murray kids who let’s be honest we really don’t care about here].

Hey remember that time Jamie was wicked opposed to Fergus and Marsali getting married for literally no reason? That was fun. But yay for Germain!

Holy motherfucking green screen, Batman. Please can we get to the woods soon? Or some other location where it’s not this fucking jarring?

Claire America-is-the-land-of-milk-and-honey Fraser suddenly is overly-on-the-nose indignant about slavery. Cool. Cool cool cool. Again, you know what would have been cool? Seeing her with her best and only friend in the 1960s more last season because he was a Black man. If they had let Joe be a fully formed character, navigating racist af Boston as a doctor, rather than just being Claire’s sounding board and martini maker, we could have seen how Claire being exposed to his reality shaped her views on race in America. But nope, that would have taken air time away from Frank’s manpain. (Seriously, my recent re-watch only highlighted just how much they screwed over Claire’s character last season.)

I’ve always loved that Jamie gives Claire the medical box. It’s just such a simple way to demonstrate that he *gets* Claire. (*side-eyes a certain other husband who patently did not*)

Jamie’s bangs are an affront to anyone with hair. Someone please give that man his hat back!

“This ring is all I need.” Aaand that’s when we all knew that Jamie’s ring would be the one stolen.

“Not for a single day.” Uh, *casually points at the episode in season three when she retcons her entire life in Boston to be not as bad as it was because Jamie’s been such an asshat to her*.

Ok. Holy shit this final scene. I love everything about this final scene. Except the song. This show is not subtle. It’s never been subtle. But holy shit, playing the iconic Ray Charles version of America the Beautiful at the end of an episode called America the Beautiful to be like welcome to ‘Murrica, fuckos, is like even less subtle than they usually go. I 1000% LOVE the choice to cut the audio from the end of the fight scene and just have the visuals, it just would have worked much better if they’d scored with with a regular instrumental piece.

Gah, Bonnet is such a smarmy motherfucker! The nose wipe before he coldcocks Jamie is just perf.

Claire’s face in this entire scene, holy fucking shit. *throws all the awards at Balfe*

And then Lesley dies and I’m a terrible person because I’m happy we don’t need to be stuck with him all season. But holy shit Bonnet when he pauses right before he cuts his throat and then kills him, I love show!Bonnet so much more than I ever gave a shit about book!Bonnet.

And honestly, Claire’s face when he’s killed right in front of her. *throws more awards at Balfe*

GUYS I FEEL MORE EMOTION ABOUT CLAIRE TAKING OFF JAMIE’S RING THAN I DID ABOUT CLAIRE LEAVING BREE BEHIND TO GO BACK THROUGH THE STONES HOW IS BALFE SO GOOD AT MAKING ME FEEL FEELINGS

I’m so fucking glad they changed which ring gets taken. There was an interview where they were like “oh we did it because it has to be visually distinct so Bree can get raped!” and I’m like a) fuck you for including that and b) right decision, wrong reason. This is the right reason for the change.

But even as I say that they made the right call in which ring to have stolen, it’s still a fact that they fucking chose to have one stolen at all. The writers and production team decided that Brianna needed to be raped so a ring must be stolen. Because Diana never wrote a character she didn’t want raped and the Outlander producers never read a rape scene they didn’t want to include. Fuck them all very much for that.

Fuck Them Very Much for That, the title of my memoir.

Oh god her face right at the end when she sees that it’s fucking Fred’s ring she’s left with and not Jamie’s fucking murders me.

*THROWS AN ENTIRE TROPHY STORE AT BALFE*