#IN HER SPECTRE FORM

[sofiiif]

[the3rddenialist]

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[majosullivan]

HOW ARE WE FEELING RIGHT NOW NEVERMORE FANDOM? ARE WE ABOUT TO LOSE IT? ARE WE HANGING ON BY THE THINNEST OF THREADS?

[in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene]

I think Slay the Princess is so popular partially because the *gets stabbed* "I'm in love" reaction is both intentional on the part of the developers and then they completely follow through on it.

[stinkypeanutbutter]

here me out . .

Nevermore X SBG au .

you can applaud me now ☝️

[eschercaine]

SPOILER ALERT: Nevermore Academy students in their Spectre forms (3/?)

[verdemoth]

i’ve posted this set of guys together in a lineup but i never got around to sharing more about them individually, so i’m gonna do that!

Tune here is an original member of the EEG, one of the first researchers approached by Sojourner and Pathfinder, the founders, back when the whole operation was just some barely funded passion project, and the properties of the Otherworld were poorly understood. She was a team leader for decades up until he met a tragic demise on what should have been a routine mission. He’s since been declared M.I.A. (in truth she Stayed Alive Wrong)

-> Tune and Odyssey were queerplatonic partners. They met each other in their school years and hit it off quickly. They signed on with the project as a package deal and for years they were a team of two and both set out for field research and exploration, but following an Incident that injured them both, Odyssey left the field for a different role and the various teams were consolidated into one unit for safety reasons. As a precaution, future expeditions would need at least three active participants.

-> Tune was very confident and self-assured, and naturally fell into a leadership role within the new system. He had a knack for assessing and utilizing the strengths of her teammates and encouraging teamwork and communication.

-> In the early days they were quite cocky and perhaps a bit too reckless, but the decades of her employment with the EEG mellowed her out somewhat. What really drew her to the initial job offer was the thrill of adventuring in uncharted lands full of unknown dangers.

-> In general, Opportunity tended to prioritize the pursuit of knowledge above his own safety, though being in charge of a team who depended on her for their own well-being helped to balance out this impulse.

-> In that early incident, Tune received a concussion that had lasting effects in the form of frequent migraines and insomnia. She wasn’t very vocal about her struggles, and he was more inclined to push through the pain than slow down and wait for it to pass.

-> Age didn’t temper her active lifestyle, either. As she neared her 50s they were still up to shit like free climbing vertical cliffs to get a good vantage point (and for the fun of it).

-> She was up to just that, on a mission with her sibling Spirit and friend Curiosity when a terrible, unnatural storm hit without warning. The Otherworld had always been a turbulent place, the landscape and climate always changing, but the team’s experience and technology should have been enough to sense the shift coming, but it caught them unawares.

-> Tune and his two teammates lost contact with mission control and each other for more than an hour. When the storm cleared, Curiosity and Spirit and the two constructs accompanying them were all recovered, but no trace of Opportunity could be found. Reluctantly, the team came to the decision to abandon the search.

-> Opportunity still exists, in some form. They haven’t had a run in with her old team in the few years since her disappearance. Mentally she’s not all there, retaining only their instincts and basic desires. He’s generally passive, but whatever the storm did to him left them with a connection to the shifting terrain of the Otherworld, which responds to their presence and volatile feelings. She’s usually surrounded by a storm like the one that changed her. He wants to be found, but… if she encountered and recognized her team, it’s likely he would seek to drive them out with force in a misguided attempt to protect them from the Otherworld’s many hazards.

[coconut530]

MANIFESTING GIRLBOSS STYLE

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #41

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

[theabigailthorn]

We know you were on accutane. Stop lying

not that it would matter if I had, and not that it's any of your business, but I have in fact never taken accutane.

This is a useful teaching moment though, because what you're doing is a well-studied phenomenon in digital media called 'policing fake femininity.' It's a thing people do to women in the public eye, a specific kind of criticism centred around accusations of being inauthentic, fake, or having cheated in some way. Often it's men doing the policing but women do it to each other a lot too, there are whole websites dedicated to it in fact. Often those criticisms centre around our appearances, as yours did here.

It's sometimes a response to perceived inequality, of which there is plenty! Women in the public eye - myself included - do benefit from a lot of privilege. I've always been quite open about that. People who engage in that kind of public bullying often tell themselves that because of the privilege (or perceived privilege) of their targets the fake femininity policing is socially justified, or the fault of the target. But it doesn't really do anything to correct the structural problems that give rise to that inequality.

In their paper "Policing Fake Femininity," scholars Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, and Amanda Wahlstedt say,

“The solution to the structural concerns associated with capitalist patriarchy is not, we contend, to label individual influencers “stupid famewhores” and disparage their mental health in ways that invoke the spectre of hysteria (e.g., “batsh*t crazy,” “delusional,” and “lunatic”). As Chemaly [Rage Becomes Her, 2018] argues, it is necessary that girls and women express their anger, but such a directive “is not an endorsement of unbridled rage, or permission to deliver a swift roundhouse kick to the face of anyone who upsets you, or to regularly fill the spaces you live and work in with hostility and discomfort.” While venting anger at these influencers and their purportedly questionable choices may provide some form of much-needed catharsis, such gender-coded vitriol amplifies the rampant misogyny and toxicity that women already face in online environments.”

If you'd like to know more, I recommend:

Steve Cross & Jo Littler, “Celebrity and schadenfreude: The cultural economy of fame in freefall,” in Cultural Studies

Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, & Amanda Wahlstedt, “Policing “fake” femininity: Authenticity, accountability, and influencer anti-fandom,” in New Media & Society

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 1

Pt 2

Danny had decided, inter-lair political party meeting briefings were a truly underutilized form of torture that he personally thought should be inflicted upon only the worst kinds of criminals; not your King.

Fright Knight disagreed.

At least he finally let him move around instead of suffering through forced resurrection via boredom (it’s happened before, not a fun meeting). That being said, he would admit to being a little distracted by all the servants rushing around frantically. It had even managed to distract Fright.

No one seemed panicked so clearly it wasn’t an attack, but what….

Danny felt someone staring at him. He covertly nodded to Fright to keep talking as he created an invisible clone to search for his stalker.

He didn’t have to look far, they weren’t hiding very well. Not 20 ft away a young ghost gawked at him from behind a column. She had her glowing blonde hair in 2 braided pigtails and her ragged dress looked like she came from one of the medieval lairs. Danny carefully kneeled down, trying to make himself look small as he tapped her on the shoulder.

The little girl spun around, clearly terrified at being caught. Danny gave her a soft smile.

“Please don’t eat me Mr Ghost King sir!!!” She cried out.

Danny snorted and burst out laughing. His booming laughter echoed though the castle walls causing many of the servants to pause in their search.

“Now why in the realms would you think I’m going to eat you?!” Danny asked though his chuckles. “You wouldn’t be more than a bite full at best.” He poked her sides causing her to giggle.

“Would too! I’m bigger the Sally!” She paused, rethinking her words. “But I’d taste quite foul! I would, I swear!”

Danny grinned turning to Fright Knight. The little ghost squeaked when she saw the Spirit of Halloween and backed into the King causing her to freeze.

Danny gently picked her up, cradling her in one arm. “Did you hear that Fright?! She said she’d taste foul!” He smirked “I suppose there’s only one thing to do then!”

Fright Knight eyed his King a bit warily, still not used to his antics. “Sire?”

Danny grinned, motioning to one of the nervous maids. “We‘ll have to sweeten her up!”

Miette bowed before her King, trying to hide her nervous glances at the girl.

“Miette! Would you be a dear and prepare some sweets and tea in the garden for my honored guest? Fright, will you be joining us?” Danny asked the startled Knight.

“As you wish my Liege, though…might I request some pumpkin pie?” He asked Miette.

The maid blinked at the request.

“Of course Sir Fright.” She answered a bit dazed.

“Wonderful! We’ll meet you in the garden after we swing by Spectre’s quarters.” He grinned down at the frightened ghost. “Every princess must look her best for afternoon tea after all!”

The little girl frowned. “But I’m not a princess?” She said, tilting her head.

“Of course you are! Every little girl is a princess! That’s just a fact of life.” Danny nodded solemnly.

“But we’re not alive?” She pouted “Mummy said so!”

Danny shrugged. “That doesn’t change much, I’m still alive after all so it still counts.” He said finally.

They stopped in front of two massive doors covered in random drawing. Danny knocked on the door. The little ghost shrunk back in Danny’s arms.

The door opened to reveal a young ghost, not much bigger than the one in his arms.

“Hey Ellie!” Danny grinned. “Do you have any princess dresses left or did you set them all on fire?”

Ellie groaned. “Lilac just restocked the closet. You’d think she’d learn by now.”

Danny grinned. “Perfect! Would you mind helping our guest into one of them? She’s joining us for tea!”

Ellie floated up to see the tiny ghost trying to make herself smaller in her dad’s arms.

“Oh? And who are you?” She asked curiously.

“Emma.” She squeaked. Ellie grinned.

“Alright Emma, how do you feel about pink?!”

———

A little while latter you could find the Ghost King: ruler of the infinite realms, Fright Knight: the most feared general of the Kings legion and little Emma: the little princess from 2 Lairs over (only on the 5th of each month); newly decked out in a glowing tiara and the frilliest pink dress Ellie could find (with no singes); all sitting in the Royal gardens in Phantoms keep debating the merits of pink sparkles vs rainbow glitter.

Her mother nearly wept in relief that her daughter was safe, though she was a bit dazed by what she was seeing.

“You must be Emma’s mum!” Danny grinned. “We were just finishing up afternoon tea.

Emma jumped from her seat and raced over to her mummy to tell her all about her day.

“I’m so sorry for my daughter’s intrusion, your majesty!” She cried out, fear outweighing shock as she quickly bowed.

“Nonsense!” Danny laughed, looking down at Emma. “You’re welcome here anytime Emma. After all, you never did tell me what happened to you Aunt Agatha.” He smiled “You’ll have to finish your story next time.”

Emma ran up to give Danny a hug, he happily picked her up and held the young ghost.

“Thank you for the tea and cakes Mr ghost king! Can I bring Beatrice next time? She’ll never believe me otherwise!”

Danny chuckled. “The more the merrier, though I suggest you give your mother some proper warning before you run off to strange lairs without permission.”

Emma pouted. “I promise!” She swore as Danny handed her to her mother.

Danny was a little sad to see the little girl go but he had plenty of work to do.

“Sire, shall we continue the briefing?” Fright Knight piped up.

Danny groan, Fright Knight grinned. (He liked his new king)

———

The next month, when the lairs lined up once more Danny was greeted with the grinning Emma, the frightened faces of at least 6 other little ghosts and the nervous form of Emma’s mother.

Danny grinned. “Miette!” He shouted behind him. “Can you bring some more tables to the gardens. It looks like we’re having a proper tea party this time!”

And so began to annual monthly tea party at Phantom’s keep.

(Lilac was so glad to see all the dresses she made put to good use)

[bifairywife]

hehe i’ll post you tomorrow ;3

Nevermore OC

Octavia Wintergreen

"I just don't like to accept any food or drink from others. I don't know why. I swear: it's nothing personal. I've just been that way the moment I came here. There's this nagging feeling on the back of my head every time someone hands me something. Don't you dare take it, just don't. Don't do it."

character has been customized using gothic heroine on doll divine - game was made by @elequinoa

more details on octavia || meet marie palmer

[megalony]

Cast Under This Spell

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine that @missdreamofendless had an amazing idea for.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

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Main Masterlist

Summary: Geta wants to marry (Y/n), despite the strange spells she suffers. He vows to protect her and keep her secret safe.

(Readers 'spells' are seizures in this fic)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The palace was calmer at night. There weren't as many people roaming the corridors, bustling about in all directions. There were no Senates vying for attention or demanding the Emperors take a look at something or settle some debate or affairs of state. The servants retired to their rooms or to the kitchens when it got dark and it made everything more peaceful.

(Y/n) didn't necessarily like the darkness, but she did like the peace that it brought, opposed to the chaos that occurred during the daylight.

She was sure that both Emperors were calmer when it was evening too, or at least that was how she perceived them. No meetings to wear Caracalla down or make his temper flare and cause arguments between him and his brother. No state affairs to drain Geta and cause him to make big decisions when he would rather be doing anything else. No agreements to oversee, no deals to sign so late at night.

The Emperors could relax, they could go about their pleasures and do as they pleased without being observed.

The thought of Geta plagued (Y/n)'s mind as she continued her descent down the corridor. She wasn't quite sure where she was going or what she was aiming to do, but a walk seemed like a better idea than wallowing alone in her room.

She was fortunate enough to reside at the palace, and that meant she got to be around both Emperors each day. Seeing Geta always brightened (Y/n)'s mood and if he happened to be in a tired or exasperated mood, talking to (Y/n) seemed to help and make him relax.

Rounding the corner, (Y/n) headed down the stairs and out onto a new hallway, lit only by two flames at least ten feet apart.

Three feet down the hallway, (Y/n) could feel a headache forming behind her eyes and igniting at the back of her head and down the base of her neck.

After another five or so feet, (Y/n)'s frame went rigid when she caught sight of a figure looming at the other end of the hall like a spectre. But closer inspection made her relax and sigh; it was Geta. She could tell by the way those broad shoulders straightened out and the gleam of gold and silver cloth donning his frame. Not to mention when he passed one of the flames, it set alight his golden hair that was brushed into neat tendrils all around his forehead and the tops of his ears.

She could barely see the golden crown nestled neatly into his hair and when he approached, (Y/n) noticed he wasn't wearing his usual make up. His face wasn't painted ghostly white and there were no dark circles painted beneath his eyes. Only thin black streaks framing his eyelids. He still looked fetching. He still looked every inch the Emperor he was, the person who made (Y/n)'s heart come close to giving out whenever he was around her.

"Out so late, and all alone?" Geta's voice didn't quite match the smile that glistened on his lips. His smile was darker than the soft tone of his voice, but it made (Y/n)'s knees quake all the same.

The very person who had been at the forefront of her mind was now standing before her.

"I could ask you the same thing, my Emperor." It never felt right to say his name, despite how close they were and how he was always asking her to be informal and use his name. (Y/n) was brought up to be formal, to be polite and this was the Emperor, no less. The highest authority in Rome, someone who could end her life on a whim if he so desired. Formality was a necessity.

"I was on my way back to my chambers, you're very welcome to join me."

The sly smile on his face made (Y/n) grin and bow her head. Somehow, she was sure that Geta knew she wasn't going anywhere in particular, she was simply walking because she had been rather lonesome in her room.

Going back to the Emperor's room with him wasn't the best idea. Not when people already suspected Geta had his sights set on making (Y/n) his wife and being alone in his room with him would be improper. (Y/n) wouldn't want to do anything to ruin her reputation. It was different for Geta, no one would bat an eye who he took to his room or why. But if they saw (Y/n) going into his room, rumours would start and if she somehow did marry Geta, people would question why and if it had something to do with losing her virtue before marriage.

"After you." The smile on Geta's face was almost putting (Y/n) under a trance.

She knew she wouldn't go into his room, but she allowed herself to turn on her heels and slowly walk back the way she had come from, now with Geta by her side and his hand on her lower back. She would enjoy his company for a little while, and he clearly wanted to be around her. How could she refuse?

(Y/n) could feel her headache pulsing through her blood but it wasn't as bad when she felt Geta's hand remain on her lower back and his frame close against her side. Standing so close to his tall figure always made (Y/n) feel protected and safe. He was the Emperor, there was no safer place than being stood by his side.

Geta let his eyes cast down to glance over at (Y/n) every now and then as they walked. He liked the way she held her hands together in front of her waist like she was a bridesmaid holding a bouquet of flowers. And he liked the way her hair curled in ringlets around her ears, even with half of it still pinned to the back of her head.

He found himself becoming lost when he looked at (Y/n), sometimes he wondered if he looked at her for too long he might become lost forever.

The spell (Y/n) cast over him started to break when he watched her steps start to falter and become slower than his, causing him to hang back to let her catch up. But it was when her hand curled around his bicep like a viper's grip that Geta stopped to see what the problem.

"Everything okay?"

When the seconds ticked by and (Y/n) didn't answer him, Geta swept his gaze around the deserted hallway before he moved to stand in front of (Y/n), noticing that her hand stayed gripped around his arm as he did so.

Moving his hands, Geta carefully snaked his fingers along (Y/n)'s jaw and up until he could cup her face in his hands and tilt her head up so they were looking at one another. A deep sigh rattled past his pursed lips when he saw her pupils; they were blown wide like rock pools and her neck muscles were so tense they were popping through her skin. The subtle but noticeable shaking that seeped through (Y/n)'s system made Geta's chest stutter and his teeth sank down into his lower lip as he cast a look around the hallway.

They were still alone, no one else was walking by to witness what was happening here. Good.

She was having one of her spells.

"You're okay, I've got you." Geta lowered his arm that (Y/n) was gripping until his hand ghosted down her waist and he could grip her hip through her dress. His other hand stayed firmly against her cheek and he began swiping his thumb across her cheek to give her something to focus on.

There was nothing he could do but wait for the spell to pass, that was what (Y/n) and the healers had always told them.

Geta had never known anybody suffer the kind of spells and fits that (Y/n) had suffered through since she was ten. The healers couldn't understand why she had them and they had no name for what she was suffering. Nothing seemed to trigger her spells, they didn't happen because she fell or hurt herself or when she was scared or worked up. They just appeared out of nowhere like shooting stars racing across the sky.

Geta only knew about these spells because he had witnessed (Y/n) having one before and he had been seconds away from calling the healers until she begged him not to. (Y/n) didn't want anyone else knowing.

It hurt Geta that she had been so afraid to tell him, that she worried he thought she was cursed or some kind of omen when he thought nothing of the kind. He could see she couldn't help what was happening to her and he did anything he could to try and help her where he could. He understood (Y/n)'s desire not to have anyone else know about these spells. People could be superstitious. And cruel.

At least this kind of spell was easier to handle, if she had to suffer them, ones like these were the easier ones to handle. Ones where her body tensed and sometimes trembled, but stayed relatively motionless and came back to her control after only a few moments.

When the subtle shaking began to subside, Geta moved both hands to her arms and began gliding his hands up and down her skin to try and rouse her and keep her calm.

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologise for what you can't control, can you still walk?" He was fairly certain she would be fine on her feet but he knew sometimes (Y/n)'s muscles would tense and lock up or she became too disorientated to move.

"Yes, I'm okay now."

She felt unsteady on her feet but with a little ounce of courage, (Y/n) reached out beside her and curled her hands around Geta's arm to keep herself steady. She was stood so close that her chest was practically glued into his side and the way Geta smiled down at her made her knees tremble.

They proceeded at a slower pace and Geta kept his right arm curled over his chest so (Y/n) could cling to his arm. And he moved his other hand to rest over hers so he could glide his thumb up and down the back of her hand.

"Do they happen often?"

He only knew what (Y/n) had told him, what her mother and family healer knew but no one else did. Geta knew and could see why her family wanted to keep this a secret, they wanted what was best for (Y/n). They wanted her to get married and have a life here in Rome; she was the daughter of a Nobleman and could have a high-class marriage. But it would be a lot harder for her to live her life and find a good marriage if people knew of her illness and feared what she had.

"Not too often,"

Three months was the longest (Y/n) had gone without even just a small spell like the one she had just now. It felt like such a relief, such a great achievement and it surged her and her parents with hope. Maybe she would start to live without them, maybe they would be a distant condition that might taper off. That belief was something that got (Y/n) through the days, but it was also what made her mother want to start looking for betrothals.

(Y/n) was at the age to wed now and if she truly was starting to get better, her mother wanted to get her matched so her life could start properly.

"That's good."

Something ignited in Geta's chest as a smile started to form on his lips while they continued to walk at a slow pace.

He wasn't pleased just for the sake of (Y/n)'s health though. There was a more selfish reason gnawing away at him. If she was getting better, there was a chance he could have her for himself. No one else need find out about her spells. Geta was an Emperor, if he got a healer to assess (Y/n), said healer wouldn't be allowed to gossip or talk about (Y/n) to anyone else so nobody would find out.

He knew her family were aiming to find her a marriage, and Geta wanted to marry her. He was selfish enough to know her family weren't going to turn down an offer like this; an offer from the Emperor.

He would look after (Y/n), he would devote himself to her and love and adore her and he would take care of her. He would protect her from anything. And if her spells continued for the rest of her life, Geta would devote himself to caring for her and keeping her secret and making sure she was okay.

Geta was already caring for his brother, Emperor Caracalla who had syphilis that was starting to attack his brain. Geta made sure no one but the healers knew about his brother. They couldn't have the Senate finding out and try to overthrow them or overrule Caracalla and deem him unfit to rule. As long as they ruled together and had each other, they were okay.

(Y/n) would be just another person for Geta to love and protect with his life, just like his brother.

"I believe my mother wants to find a betrothal for me," (Y/n) slowly unravelled her hands from around Geta's arm and instead clasped them tightly in her lap. "I think I'm better alone, any husband would run a mile when he found out about my spells."

It was a growing fear that if she did marry some nobleman, what would he do when he found out?

Someone would have to be willing to stay with her despite the fact that she suffered these spells and not run around telling people. It would take an entirely devoted person or a very easily persuaded, docile man to marry (Y/n) and her secret.

She would be better staying a spinster and living out her days safely alone in the palace. At least alone no one would say she was possessed by the Devil or paying for her sins or that she was too ill to be a wife or a mother and bear children.

"I wouldn't."

Tears welled in (Y/n)'s eyes when she dared to look up at the Emperor beside her. His dark brown eyes were staring intently at her with a lustful but somehow soft touch to them and the way his earnest lips parted and flushed made silent tears fall from her eyes.

She turned so she was stood in front of him, her head angled to one side and a confusing sadness welling up in her eyes. She didn't deserve to be Empress, she didn't deserve the fondness and the love Geta had for her. He was the Emperor. He needed to marry someone worthy, someone who didn't have any illness like her, someone who could safely give him the heirs he so wanted to secure the throne.

(Y/n) had no idea if she could have children or not. Physically she could, but her illness could complicate things. She might not be such a welcomed Empress or loved by the people if they thought she was reclusive and gave no heir to the throne.

"Geta, I don't think-"

"You would be safe with me. I want to marry you."

A shiver crept down (Y/n)'s spine when Geta pinched her chin between his thumb and finger and turned her head so she was looking up at him despite her tears. When he tipped his forehead against hers, it was like every emotion he felt was radiating through to her.

"I am no good match for an Emperor like you. I'd be a liability and if I didn't give an heir, or a child got my illness… it wouldn't do good for you."

There was nothing (Y/n) wanted more than to be married to Geta, to the Emperor who had stolen her heart from the first moment they met. The person she felt she could be herself around, the person she loved and who clearly love dher despite her illness.

But she didn't want to be the cause of chaos for Geta. He and Caracalla were the Emperors to Rome and they were just finding their way and gaining favour with the people. They each needed to find a suitable match, they needed to find laides of higih honour above reproach who would give them heirs and a good image.

(Y/n) may give Geta a good image only until someone saw her have one of her spells or gossip started to flood the palace. And if she didn't give him an heir, or they had a child who suffered this ailment too, (Y/n) would be blamed. She didn't want to do that to Geta; to give him all of that stress and burden, no matter how much she loved him.

"You'd rather see me go mad with desire for you?"

"N-no…" That's not what (Y/n) meant, although seeing Geta grow jealous might be something worth witnessing. She wasn't saying this to hurt him, she was trying to be practical. Despite how eager her mother was to see (Y/n) get married, she would think the same worries (Y/n) was having right now.

"Then marry me. You are more than a match for me, and I would rather watch Rome burn than see you marry someone else." There was something almost threatening in Geta's words and (Y/n) found herself nodding before she could process what she was agreeing to.

How could she refuse?

The Emperor wanted to marry her. He actually loved her and he was the one who had possession over (Y/n)'s heart since the moment they met and she didn't want it back. If Geta was willing to look out for her and care for her and keep her ailment a secret then (Y/n) truly would be safe with him.

And for all she knew, she might be able to have many children with him and none of them could inherit what she had.

When Geta cupped her jaw and stole the first kiss from her lips, (Y/n) could do nothing but hook her arms around his neck and pull him closer.

She was never going to find someone to love and accept her like the man stood before her. And why enter a loveless union when someone who clearly wanted her and was willing to protect her was right here, asking to marry her?

He was Emperor, he didn't need to seek permission from anyone to marry. Maybe before he and Caracalla ascended to the throne, when their brute of a father was still alive, they would of needed to seek his permission to marry. But they were now the highest authority in Rome. They needed to ask no one for anything.

Geta could raise the subject of marriage to the Senate and seek their advice, but he didn't need their approval. And he knew without a doubt that they would see (Y/n) as a perfect match. She was someone the people would love, someone the people would take to instantly and who would bring yet more peace and power to Rome.

She was a perfect match for Geta, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to have her. Not even his brother. (Y/n) was going to be the one thing he didn't share with his twin; she wasn't like their concubines.

She was going to be Geta's and his alone.

***

"Brother- oh, am I interrupting?" The bright, rambunctous sound of Caracalla's voice combined with the way the chamber doors swung open created a rather loud echo throughout the room.

Geta found off the urge to roll his eyes when he watched his twin blunder into the room like they were children sharing sleeping quarters again. He was used to his brother wandering and barging in whenever he wanted something or whenever Caracalla was starting to feel lonely. He didn't do well alone.

It was all well and good until moments like these happened. Geta had been married a week and this counted as the third time someone had barged into their room without knocking. It being Caracalla meant that Geta wouldn't make a fuss this time. Needless to say the maid who had walked in without knocking two days ago had ran out crying.

"Don't you always?" Geta drawled while he moved one hand to brush his eyes to try and waken himself up a little more.

He kept his left arm draped over (Y/n)'s waist and dropped his head back down so his chin perched on her shoulder. He could feel her fingertips gliding up and down his arm and the way she wriggled beneath him made him cast his eyes down to her.

He couldn't resist the urge to take another kiss from her lips before he groaned and pushed up onto his knees. They had been interrupted and Caracalla wasn't likely to simply walk away now.

"We have a meeting with the council." Caracalla lolled his head to one side while he reached across to the small table near the wall and took one of the glasses to pour himself a drink. He himself wasn't exactly dressed yet, but he was awake and he wanted to make sure his brother was going to accompany him to this meeting.

"Yes, I'm aware."

(Y/n) was sure she heard Geta mutter 'help yourself' when he noticed his brother already pouring a glass of wine.

Her eyes followed Geta as he climbed off the bed, but made the effort to lean across and kiss her again. For this week that they had been married, it had been harder and harder for Geta to climb out of bed in the mornings when all he wanted to do was stay here beneath the sheets with her all day.

He was tempted, very tempted, to call off official business and stay cooped up in here with (Y/n) for the foreseeable future. But Geta knew if he did that he would be less and less likely to go back to official business.

"Aren't you getting dressed?" Geta cast a look over his bare shoulder towards his brother who was scarcely covered in his night gown that was hanging off one pale shoulder.

His brother had no make up cladding his face as of yet therefore instead of looking pasty and regal, Caracalla looked bright crimson. Bright rosy cheeks, spots of acne scattered around and dark circles beneath his eyes. Although Caracalla did look healthier today than he usually did, he seemed to be having a good day today.

Geta set about finding some clothes and began getting dressed while he listened to his brother drawl and hum something incoherent in the background. He was used to hearing his brother ramble, especially in the morning or late into the evening.

"Are you attending the meeting with us?" Caracalla tapped his short nails against the glass in his hand and angled his head towards the bed where his sister in law was laid.

He knew last week when he walked into the room unannounced, he had unintentionally made (Y/n) flustered. He wasn't sure why she was flustered around him, he wasn't a servant, they were family. The twins were always finding each other around the palace and that wasn't going to change now that Geta was married. It simply meant that Caracalla would be finding his sister in law as well as his brother.

His brows furrowed when he didn't receive a response and he turned towards the bed, wondering if his sister in law was now ignoring him.

What he saw surprised him.

Caracalla clicked his head from side to side as he slowly approached the bed and perched down on the edge with his eyes still narrowed and his lips slightly parted. He dared to reach a hand out towards (Y/n), but he wasn't sure what he was trying to do or what indeed she was doing.

"Brother?" Confusion laced through his words while his hand curled around (Y/n)'s trembling wrist. "I fear something is wrong."

There was a sense of curiosity in Caracalla's eyes as he started to glide his thumb across the back of her hand.

He had never seen anyone suffer a state like this before. He had never seen someone lay in bed with their head angled back, their chin jutting out and their body completely succumbed to trembles like this. Caracalla was sure he could see (Y/n)'s eyes moving behind her eyelids and he noticed that her fingers were curled strangely towards her palms while she lightly shuddered up and down on the bed.

Geta fixed a golden cuff to his left forearm just below his wrist and finished adding the rings to his fingers as he walked back towards the bedroom from the adjoining room.

But once he lifted his head and looked for his brother, his upper lip curled in distaste and a shiver tore down his spine. He bolted from his spot on the rug and clambered back onto the bed, kneeling in the centre of the bed beside his wife.

Not now! Not again!

She had been doing so well. Geta made (Y/n) promise to tell him any time she had a spell and she hadn't had one since that night in the halls when he asked- or rather convinced- her to marry him. He had been ignorant enough to hope and believe that maybe, just maybe, (Y/n) wouldn't suffer these spells as much as she used to anymore.

The only relief in this situation was that it was Caracalla witnessing this and not the servants or God forbid, the members of the council or the Senate. Geta would hate to have to fire members of the council if they witnessed this.

He knew what they would say. They would be the same as they would if they found out about Caracalla's illness. They would believe (Y/n) was a bad omen, that she would be no good as an Empress and they would try and persuade Geta to annul the marriage. He wouldn't have anyone thinking badly of (Y/n) or trying to tear her away from him.

She was his, now and forever. And no one was going to part her from him or say one bad word about her.

Reaching his hand out, Geta scrunched up the corner of the sheets and draped them higher over (Y/n)'s frame. Her modesty was something he would always strive to protect, and he would not share her with his brother like he had to share everything else in his life.

His right hand moved to cup the side of her neck and he began to stroke his thumb across her skin while his knees pressed up against her thigh and hip. His other hand moved to rest over the top of her thigh and he pressed down a little to stop her from writhing too much on the bed and so she didn't jolt too much or roll off the bed.

"Okay, my love." His words were hushed against her temple when he finally felt the shaking begin to lessen.

When his eyes lifted to look across at his brother, he saw the intrigue pooling in Caracalla's eyes. And he noticed the way his brother was softly gliding his hand across (Y/n)'s wrist.

Geta was rather surprised that his brother wasn't backing away in fear or screaming or rushing to call for a healer. He seemed oddly calm about this situation considering he had no former knowledge of (Y/n)'s spells and hadn't seen anything like this before.

"She's okay, just a spell." He murmured quietly when he glanced across to his brother.

"Does she have these often?"

"No. And you're not to tell anyone, brother. I mean it."

Geta reached his hand across from (Y/n)'s thigh to take hold of Caracalla's wrist. He gave his twin a stern look that he usually had to use whenever Caracalla was in one of his moods or his fits of rage. Or when his mind began to wander and he needed guidance back to reality.

He didn't want his brother to mention this in passing to anyone. Caracalla had to understand that this wasn't something to gossip about or to go calling the healers for. And he had to see that if the Senates found out, it would cause unnecessary problems.

They would hide this just the same as they kept Caracalla's own condition under wraps.

The way Caracalla nodded with a placid smile made Geta's heart leap and he watched the fondness pool in his brother's eyes as he continued to look down at his sister in law.

"She's strong, truly a wonder."

He wouldn't tell anyone. He wouldn't mention the strange illness his sister in law seemed to be suffering. Or how strong she was for enduring this.

He knew what it was like to be observed, to be watched and second guessed and murmured about behind closed doors. Caracalla didn't want that for his new sister. He didn't want her to feel excluded or strange like that. He would keep her secret to shield her. He would help to look after her.

***

Crossing one leg over the other, Geta leaned back in his chair and reached out for the glass resting on the table beside him. He could feel his back and the base of his neck clicking into place when he pushed back in the chair and tilted his head over the back of the chair.

It was a tempting thought to go wandering the halls of the palace or go and find his brother to see what he was doing. But he knew what Caracalla would most likely be doing at such an hour, and with whom he would be pent up in his room with.

When he was in moods like this, Geta didn't know what to do with himself. The council had angered him with their persistent nagging and today they had just been tiring and badgering. They had wound Geta up and now he didn't know how to rid the excess energy from his system.

When the last remnants of wine were drained from his glass, he uncrossed his legs and stooped over. His hands reached out for the paper and quill in front of him and he started to scrawl.

A tiredness washed over him while shadows cast across his face, but his lips quirked into a smile when he felt a familiar set of arms loop around his neck.

He paused and set his quill down while (Y/n)'s lips attached to the side of his neck and her chest merged over his back and shoulders. He reached a hand up to cup her wrist and he nudged his head to the left so his nose brushed along her cheek.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n) hummed softly into his neck where she felt a shiver course through his blood in response to her question.

She liked the way he started to tap his fingers against her skin and how he peppered light, delicate kisses along her cheek like he was trying to distract himself from the thoughts plaguing his mind.

"What are you up to?" It was clear that Geta was avoiding that line of conversation. He didn't want to talk about the meetings he had been in today which had riled him up, and that was okay with (Y/n). She knew what was going through his mind without him needing to say a word.

"I have a headache, I'm going to lay down." (Y/n) tightened her arms around Geta's neck to give him a squeezing hug before she moved her hand to softly cup the side of his face.

Her thumb stroked across his cheek as she turned his head a little more in her direction so she could kiss him. She could taste the remnants of wine and berries on his lips, especially when his tongue traced her lower lip and clouded her mind enough for her to momentairly forget her headache.

Once their lips parted, (Y/n) leaned her temple against his and let their noses brush while she closed her eyes and took a few moments to take deep breaths and try to clear the fog from her mind.

She felt Geta murmur "Okay?" against her lips and she managed to nod without tearing her temple away from his.

"Don't be long." She whispered, snatching another kiss from his pale lips before she unravelled her arms from his neck and stood up straight.

She was tired; the bath she had earlier had been relaxing but most likely too hot. Her head was now aching and spinning in circles and (Y/n) knew it was time to retire to bed. Although she wasn't sure she would be able to settle or relax without Geta.

It was funny how she had managed perfectly well all her life to sleep alone, with only the distant noises of her parents or servants milling about the house to serve as background noise. But now, here in the palace that was always filled with strange noises, (Y/n) slept better than ever.

She suspected it was down to the feel of Geta's arm over her waist and his frame that was always either up close or laid on top of her. Having someone beside her at night was comforting and she didn't have to worry about having a spell during the night.

(Y/n) always fretted that when she got married, her life would be full of secrets and it would be one big web waiting to be unravelled. She feared she would have spells in the night and her secret would be found out. But that didn't matter now. Before she had been worried about having spells in front of any husband she had to marry, but now she was praying to have them around Geta if they had to happen at all. Because he would keep her safe.

Geta basked in the feeling of her lips lingering against his temple before she disappeared behind him and retreated into the bedroom. While he stayed in the adjoining study, surrounded by flickering candles that matched the soft golden streaks of his hair.

As soon as she retreated, Geta felt the calmness wash away like the tide leaving the sand and he could feel his earlier annoyances fuelling him back up once again.

His hand clenched into a fist and pressed against his chin while he began to scrawl notes on the paper once again.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there. All Geta knew was that it was late, very late, by the time he began to get a headache and the candles were burning low until the wax was all but gone.

He sank back in his chair and moved his hand to cradle his temple that was raging with a headache. But his eyes opened when he heard a feeble knock on the chamber door and he cast his eyes across the room to see a maid sheepishly skulk inside.

She was familiar. Geta didn't know many of the servants by name, only those who impressed him or who had been here since he and Caracalla were but children roaming the palace.

If servants irritated or angered him they would be fired and therefore he had no need to learn their names. But he was starting to notice that (Y/n) made it her mission to learn their names. She offered them kindness without wanting anything in return, it was something Geta admired about his new wife.

"May I tidy the room, Emperor?"

With a wave of his hand, the maid scuttled inside and set about doing her work. She tried to be as quiet as the mice and rats that scuttled down the corridors.

She delicately moved papers from the floor and the chairs and set them on the end of Geta's desk. She placed some fresh cut fruits on the side table and a fresh pitcher of wine near the desk. It was always hit and miss whether Geta would allow the servants in to tidy and turn down the room. Sometimes he was in such a frightful mood that he screamed at them to leave. He used to spend the evenings with his concubines or calming down his brother, so his chamber wasn't in use.

With (Y/n) here now, it was different. Geta might dismiss the servants but he was less likely to do it with an angry manner or shout at them or threaten them. A lot of the staff were relieved when (Y/n) married the Emperor.

"Shall I turn down the bedroom, Emperor?" The maid lifted the second pitcher of wine and pointed to the bedroom. It was usual for them to set fresh wine in the bedroom and place some fruits in there. And the sheets would usually be turned down and the room tidied before the Emperor- and Empress- retired for the night.

"The Empress is sleeping. Take the wine and see if she needs anything."

"Very good, Highness." She nodded her head and walked past the desk when Geta waved his hand towards the bedroom behind him. That made her job easier.

Just as the maid neared the bedroom door, the pitcher shook in her hands and she stumbled on her back foot when a loud crash echoed off the walls and shook the marbled floor.

The maid looked wildly over her shoulder while she shifted the wine pitcher into one hand and reached out to open the door with the other. The noise came from within the bedroom. The Empress was in there; maybe she had fallen, or maybe she had knocked something over. She could have hurt herself.

She stepped one foot into the room before Geta was up on his feet, surging towards her.

His heavy hand found her shoulder and he weaved around her, pushing past the maid to get into the room. Whatever that noise was, Geta didn't like the sound of it. He had to get to (Y/n) first, in case she was in a compromising position.

His eyes cast wildly around the room in search for his wife but when he found her, his expression changed into a grimace and a growl settled deep within his chest.

"Is the Empress alright, do we need a healer?" The pitcher in the young woman's hand shook and her other hand moved to her chest as she tried to look around the Emperor who was blocking her sights. She hadn't seen the Empress. The bed was empty, the sheets were scrunched up on the bed and the pillows were distorted.

But she could still hear some kind of thrashing sound and something that sounded like a strange whimper or groan.

She looked like she wanted to step further into the room, to find the Empress and make sure she was alright. But she couldn't get far when the Emperor turned around so he was in front of her, blocking any view she had until all she could focus on was him.

The dark make up beneath his eyes that made him look haunted and gaunt. The menacing curl of his lips, the scrunch of his nose. The sharp rise of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched at his sides. It all indicated that he was not in one of his good moods and when he was like this he could be frightening and merciless.

A quiet yet surprised squeak left the maid's lips when the Emperor suddenly gripped her by the chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her cheeks and he wrangled with her head until she was staring up at him, not daring to look around him and try and see what was happening.

She didn't seem to realise that the Emperor was pushing her back until she was over the threshold and back on the outside of the bedroom.

"She's fine, all she needs is me. You speak of this to anyone, and I will have your tongue. Do you understand?"

He seemed to puncture his fingers tighter into her cheeks as if to make sure she understood his warning. He would have no issues ordering a guard to cut out her tongue if she dared try and gossip about what she may or may not have witnessed tonight. Geta didn't like tongues wagging in the palace. Especially not regarding his wife or his brother.

When the maid weakly nodded, Geta let go of her chin and watched her head loll to one side. A dribble of wine spilled over the edge of the pitcher and left droplets of the grey marble floor as she scampered off, trying to cease her whimpers as she left the pitcher on the desk and fled the room.

She knew both Emperors could be cruel and merciless when they wanted to be or simply when they were bored. She didn't want to be on the wrong end of those tempers, those mood swings. She would stay quiet and pretend nothing had happened here if that was what the Emperor wanted.

Once she fled the room, Geta stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him to ensure their privacy was kept sacred.

He did not like the sight he was faced with.

(Y/n), his beautiful wife was laid contorted on the floor with her arms bound trembling to her chest and her whole body fluttering back and forth. But it was the blood pooling and froffing from her lips that made Geta pale significantly.

He fled to the side of the bed and collapsed down on his knees beside her, his wild eyes trying to take in what was happening and if she was hurt.

Geta had never witnessed a spell like this before. She had told him of these kinds, the ones where every limb became possessed of its own will, where she would tremble and jerk and writhe. Where she felt like a statue carved of marble after the spell ended and her limbs felt frozen in place.

But he had never seen one as bad as this before. And he didn't like it. Geta hated the sight of his wife's limbs spasming in all directions, the way she jerked and how her head was thrashing down on the rug.

By the looks of things, she had started to suffer a spell and had fallen from the bed. The sheets were strewn on the bed and one was tangled around her legs which Geta hastily reached across to toss to one side so she wasn't constrained and didn't hurt herself further.

With a deep breath he curled over until his chest was pressing on his bent knees and he reached his hands down to cup (Y/n)'s face. He could see her eyes shaking behind her eyelids and her breaths were raspy and bubbling from the blood welling in her mouth.

The blood momentarily confused Geta until he tried to part her lips and realised her tongue was trapped tight between her teeth. He had never known her- or anyone else- to suffer so badly like this before.

"I'm here, you're okay my love. It's all okay, come back to me." His words hushed against her temple and his thumbs glided over her cheeks as he stayed hunched over her.

It was hard to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes and Geta had a deep desire to call someone to fetch Caracalla. Having another person here might help, Caracalla had been so calm last week when (Y/n) had her other spell and he didn't seem phased. But he had been disgruntled today and there was no telling if he would be calm in this situation or if indeed this would enrage and panic him.

Geta tried to calm his own breathing while he listened to each froffing, gasping breath (Y/n) took. It sounded like she was moaning, or trying to make a sound but she couldn't say anything when her jaw was stuck tight.

"Come back to me." Hushed again and again over her temple while he moved one hand down to glide his fingertips up and down her arm to try and soothe her. Just in case she could still hear and feel him while cast under this spell. And his other hand slid beneath her neck to cup the base of her head, trying to hold her so she didn't thrash her head against the floor.

The last thing he needed was to call a healer and try to spin a tale of his wife falling out of the bed in her sleep. The healers were wise enough not to question an Emperor, but Geta didn't want to call them unless it was strictly necessary. (Y/n) didn't like healers.

Geta felt like crying when he finally felt her begin to calm down before him. Her head wasn't thrashing in his grasp as much, although he could still feel the tension in her neck like rope about to fray and snap.

Her arms stopped bashing against his thighs and her thrashing changed into a slow shaking that rattled through her body. But it was preferrable to the spasms she had been suffering.

"There's my Empress."

His hand stayed cupping the back of her neck and his thumb glided along her neck and jaw while he watched her slowly start to settle down. Her eyes were still moving behind her eyelids and whatever she tried to murmur was incoherent to Geta, but it was a good start.

Once he was sure she wasn't about to thrash or suffer another spell, he carefully eased her up off the floor so she was sitting up. He let her head loll on his shoulder and his arms moved so one was wrapped around her waist and the other slid beneath her knees.

His jaw ground tight as he lifted her up into his arms, trying to be as careful and gentle as possible. He could feel her trembling vibrating through into his system and it made his knees feel like they were about to give way.

Why did this have to happen to (Y/n), his sweet Empress?

He was careful when he pushed his knees into the bed and lowered (Y/n) down on top of the crumpled sheets that were askew in every direction, much like (Y/n)'s toussled hair.

He took the time to try and rearrange the pillows and push the sheets to one side so they wouldn't become a nuisance.

And when he straightened up, Geta hastily tore the rings from his fingers, the two gold chains from around his neck and he removed the golden crown from his hair that felt like removing a piece of him from how long he wore it each day.

He didn't bother with his robes or changing into something less bulky and heavy, he didn't have the time or the energy for that. With a heavy sigh Geta perched down on the side of the bed and reached down for her.

"Come here," He hushed while he took (Y/n)'s chin between his fingers and tilted her head towards him so he could see the damage done to her.

With a damp cloth from the bowl of water on the side table, Geta busied himself trying to clear the blood from her face. And he parted her lips with his thumb to make sure she wasn't still chomping down on her tongue that was going to be painful come sunrise.

"Geta?" (Y/n)'s voice came out as a quiet mewl along with a trickle of blood that dribbled down her chin.

She tried her best to open her eyes but it hurt to try and get her mind into focus and work out her surroundings. And her hand felt weak and tense when she tried to raise her arm until her hand flopped over Geta's wrist while he dabbed the damp cloth against her burning forehead.

"I'm here, my love."

Shivers bolted up his arm when (Y/n)'s head moved towards his voice. She wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to touch him and be soothed by his touch and his skin and she wanted to keep hearing his voice whispering in her ear.

Heeding to her silent command, Geta placed the cloth back in the bowl and moved to lay down beside her. He slid his arm beneath her neck and shoulders, helping her move slowly until she was laid on her side with her cheek resting on his chest.

She flopped her arm over Geta's waist and nuzzled her cheek into his robes, inhaling his scent that was like a calming herbal remedy.

The feeling of his fingertips gliding up and down her back and across her shoulders was comforting and when his other hand moved to clamp around the flesh of her hip, (Y/n) sighed and melted into him.

Usually after one of her worser spells like this, (Y/n) felt frightened. Afraid for the future, of people finding out and if it would happen again when she was alone and something worse were to happen to her. Not this time. All she could think this time was how safe she felt. How soothing it was to be laid with Geta and have him whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

His lips nuzzled into her hair and he peppered a flurry of kisses against the top of her head while he closed his eyes. If she wanted him to hold her until the sun rose in the sky, that was okay, he would do that. If she didn't feel well in the morning and didn't want him to leave her side, that was okay too. Geta would stay glued to her hip for as long as she needed because it would make him feel better.

He wouldn't be going to any meetings in the morning, he was already sure of that. He didn't want to let his wife out of his sights after this. He wanted her to stay right here, in his arms, where she was safe.

And (Y/n) knew as long as he was with her, she would be okay.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. It's in this chapter that the smut warning applies.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 5 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone, sorry for the short notice. I've had a tough few days (insomnia, mostly), and had to take a little break. But I'm back and hope to be able to post chapters 5 and 6 in the next few weeks. Thanks again for your support and patience!

Some people have also asked me to create a James bot on C.AI or Janitor.AI based on this story, I don't know if anyone would be interested?

➜ ┊: chapter 4/?.

It had been a few days since you’d ventured into James's world, and with that, a peculiar silence had settled over everything, thick and suffocating. The morning after your dinner together had dawned heavy with a sense of dread that gnawed at your stomach, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of James slipping past you like a shadow, his gaze averted as if your presence were a ghostly reminder of something he couldn’t bear to confront.

You tried to catch his eye, hoping for a fleeting moment of connection, something to bridge the chasm that had formed between you. Yet, he always seemed to look away at the last possible second, as if he feared the intensity of your gaze would draw forth feelings he wasn’t ready to face. Each time he turned his head, it felt like a small wound, reopening the ache of unspoken words and unresolved tension. 

It hurt more than you expected.

He’d been around, of course, often dropping Laura off at school, looking as handsome as ever but visibly worn down by an invisible burden. On one particular evening, you caught a glimpse of him through the dim light of the setting sun, his features sharp yet shadowed, eyes heavy with fatigue. The sight pained you; it was a reminder of the struggles he was wrestling with, of the grief that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

At school, he continued to avoid you like the plague, slipping in and out during drop-offs and pick-ups. Each encounter made your heart race, a confusing mix of longing and disappointment washing over you. 

One afternoon, as he picked Laura up, the air felt charged. He glanced in your direction for a fleeting moment, and your heart soared, only for it to plummet when he quickly turned away, his expression unreadable. In that instant, you caught a glimpse of his profile—handsome, defined, yet somehow haunted by the spectres of his past. 

You longed for him to break the silence, to bridge the gap between you with words or even a gentle touch, but he remained ensconced in his own silence, treating you like a spectre haunting the corners of his life. And deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw you that way, too—just a ghost lingering in the echoes of his memories.

As you recalled those fleeting moments you had shared, a heaviness settled in your chest. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his large hand had cradled your face and hips, and the soft whisper of your name escaping his lips—it all felt vivid, alive in your memory. Yet, each recollection came with the stark reminder of Mary, the wife he had lost, her absence casting long shadows over everything that might have been between you.

Guilt began to intertwine with your yearning, an insidious companion that lingered in the recesses of your mind. Had you tempted him into something he wasn’t ready for? Was it selfish of you to wish for him to lean into those feelings, to seek solace in you while his heart still mourned the love he had lost? The conflict twisted within you, a complex blend of desire and sorrow that left you feeling hollow, as if you were reaching for something just beyond your grasp.

But as the days turned into an endless cycle of longing and uncertainty, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the ache in your heart—the longing for connection, for understanding, for the warmth of his touch. With every glance, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too or if he was simply drowning in his own sorrow, oblivious to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

It was an afternoon like any other, with the classroom quiet and still, the hum of the school day long gone. The children had all gone home, and you were left tidying up, humming softly to yourself as you wiped down the desks, erasing the chalk from the board. The fading light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you were almost ready to head home yourself.

Until you heard his voice.

“Y/n?”

The sound stopped you in your tracks. Slowly, you turned toward the door, and there stood James, leaning slightly against the frame. The sight of him made your heart sink. His eyes, deep and brooding, seemed weighed down by something heavier than just exhaustion. His whole demeanour—shoulders slumped, head bowed slightly—was one of someone carrying far too much on his own. He looked utterly pathetic, and it wasn’t just fatigue; it was something deeper, like a man on the edge of breaking but holding himself together out of sheer necessity.

You had never seen anyone look quite so lost. He looked so lost, like a sad puppy that had wandered too far from home. His sadness was so palpable, it made the air in the room feel thick, pressing against your chest. There was no hiding it, no masking it behind small talk or a forced smile. It was right there in his gaze, that flicker of torment that hadn’t left since you’d first met him.

It hurt to see him like this—more than it should have, more than you wanted to admit. 

He was always handsome, even in his weariness, but today he looked like a ghost of himself. Before, when you didn’t know the full story, his sadness had seemed almost abstract, a mystery you couldn’t quite solve. But now, with everything you knew about his past—about Mary, Laura, and the guilt that haunted him—it was impossible to not feel his pain as if it were your own.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. The weight of his presence had stolen your voice. You tried to think of something casual, something that wouldn’t betray how much seeing him like this affected you, but everything felt inadequate. How could you offer comfort when you felt so tangled up in your own feelings for him?

Finally, your voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence. "James... why are you here?"

He looked up at you, almost startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to acknowledge him. His eyes met yours for only a brief moment before dropping again, his fingers fidgeting slightly at his side. He looked embarrassed, maybe even ashamed to be there, as if he didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Laura…” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, like it took everything in him just to speak. “She forgot her maths book.” He paused, swallowing thickly before continuing. “We started her homework, and it was only then she noticed it was missing.”

His explanation was so simple, so mundane, and yet the way he said it made it feel like so much more. Like this wasn’t just about a forgotten book. It was about him reaching out, searching for something—perhaps even without knowing what. You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral, though your heart ached for him. 

He was a mess, a man so clearly lost in his own grief and guilt, and it pained you to see him standing there, barely holding himself together. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment, and yet, here he was, making the effort for Laura, for something as trivial as a schoolbook. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned toward the shelves where you kept the children’s books. “I see... Let me find it for you,” you said, your voice gentle, careful, not wanting to add to the weight he was already carrying.

As you moved to locate the book, your mind raced. James had always been distant, but today was different. He looked shattered, a man barely hanging on, and the worst part was knowing that nothing you said or did could fix that. His sadness was his own, something too deep and personal for anyone to reach, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to try. Even if you couldn’t save him, you wanted to at least ease the burden, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

When you turned to see James, he had already stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound sent a shiver through you, sharp and sudden. You hadn’t expected him to come any closer, but there he was, just a few feet away now, the air between you suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your heart began to race, and you could feel it in your chest as you inhaled the faint scent of his cologne—a subtle, masculine fragrance that was almost too quiet to notice. Yet it wasn’t too quiet for you. You had spent so many days since that afternoon thinking about him, about every detail of him, that missing his scent would be impossible.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you retrieved the book from the shelf, but when you turned back to hand it to him, your fingers trembled. You reached out, the textbook in your hand, but instead of just taking it, James’s hand brushed against yours. His touch was gentle, but there was something intentional about it, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

He didn’t pull away.

His hand remained on yours, fingers curling slightly around the book, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days. His eyes, so full of sadness and longing, seemed to search for something in you, something he couldn’t say out loud. And for a moment, everything else disappeared—the classroom, the empty halls, the world beyond those four walls. It was just you and him, standing there in the stillness, the weight of all that had been left unsaid pressing down on both of you.

You couldn’t move. His eyes held you in place, and you saw something in them you hadn’t seen before—a hesitation, a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but nothing came out at first. He just stood there, his body tense, his hand still on yours, his expression torn between so many emotions that it was almost painful to witness.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, two simple words finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit you like a tidal wave. The apology was raw, carrying with it all the weight of the things he couldn’t say—the regret, the guilt, the pain that had been eating away at him since that day. And in that moment, you realised just how much he had been struggling, how much he had been carrying alone. Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten again, this time with the surge of emotions you’d been holding back. His hand was still on yours, his touch warm, but there was a distance between you now that went beyond physical space. It was the distance of two people caught between what had happened and what could never be undone.

You wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you didn’t blame him for what happened between you. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, trembling under his gaze, as his apology hung in the air between you like a fragile, broken thing.

James’s lips trembled again, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you with those sad, haunted eyes, and for the first time, you saw how close he was to breaking.

But then, slowly, his other hand rose, trembling slightly as it reached toward you. You didn’t move, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently brushed a strand of your hair. The contact was so delicate, almost reverent, as though he feared you might break if he held on too tightly.

He pulled the strand toward his face, his movements hesitant and slow, and before you could fully comprehend what he was doing, James pressed the strand of your hair against his nose. His eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply, breathing you in as though he had been starved of the scent, like it was something he’d been longing for since the last time he held you close. His chest rose with the depth of his breath, the movement laboured, as if the act itself was painful.

The sight of him, standing there with your hair pressed against his face, was intimate—achingly so. There was a vulnerability to him that broke something inside you, as if you were seeing a part of James he had kept hidden, even from himself. His expression twisted, and though his eyes were shut, you could see the torment etched across his features—the crease of his brow, the tight line of his jaw, the way his lips parted with an unspoken agony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. He sounded broken, the words choked out like they were tearing him apart from the inside. “I’m so sorry.”

It was like he couldn’t stop apologising, each repetition heavier than the last, as though he were trying to atone for everything. His hand in your hair trembled, but he didn’t let go, as if holding onto that small piece of you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His apology was raw, relentless, his voice cracking with every word, and you could feel the storm of emotions he was fighting to contain—grief, guilt, desire, all wrapped up in that one act of holding your hair to his face like it was his lifeline. You wanted to say something, to comfort him, to reach out and tell him it was okay, that you didn’t regret what had happened between you. But all you could do was watch him, your heart pounding in your chest as his pain washed over you. His other hand still rested on yours, and for a moment, it felt like the only thing connecting him to reality was the physical touch between you.

James’ breaths grew heavier, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his emotions. His eyes remained closed, his face buried in that single strand of your hair, as if he could hide from the world in that small, fleeting connection. 

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible. His lips trembled as he spoke, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with the kind of torment that twisted your stomach. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried.”

Your hand moved almost instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed against James' cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, rough from the stubble that had grown in the past few days. He flinched ever so slightly at the contact, but then, as if he had been waiting for it—desperate for it—he leaned into your hand, pressing his face against your palm like a man starved of human touch.

The vulnerability in the gesture broke your heart. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the guilt he carried like a burden too heavy for one person to bear. His eyes fluttered shut again, and a shuddering breath escaped him, his body trembling as he leaned further into you.

"It’s okay," you whispered, your voice soft, trying to offer him some comfort, some relief. "You didn’t do anything wrong, James."

His brow furrowed at your words, as though they caused him physical pain. He shook his head, not moving from your touch but rejecting your reassurance with a stubbornness that spoke of the battles raging inside him. He couldn't accept it—couldn't allow himself to believe that he wasn't at fault. That this connection between the two of you wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It’s not okay... I... I shouldn’t... I—" His voice cracked, and he drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders trembling as though the emotions were too much to contain.

You could feel him holding back, the restraint in the way he stayed so close but didn’t dare cross the line again. His lips were parted, and he kept stealing glances at you as though he wanted to say something more, to let it all out—but couldn’t.

"James..." you started, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. His hand was still on yours, holding it against his face like he couldn’t bear to let go. "You don’t have to keep punishing yourself. You’re allowed to feel, to want something... someone."

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes closed, focusing on your touch. The silence was heavy, and it pained you to see him like this—so conflicted, so torn between what he felt and what he believed was right.

“I shouldn’t want this," he muttered again, voice choked. "I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done… not after Mary."

His words hung in the air, and the mention of her name felt like a knife to the chest. You knew this wasn’t just about you—this was about the weight of his past, the ghosts he couldn’t escape. His guilt over what had happened to her, the pain he still carried even though she was gone. But as he leaned into your touch, it felt like he was clinging to you, searching for something, someone to pull him out of the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

"James," you whispered again, your voice soft but firm. "You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be."

His breath hitched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his eyes—something raw and desperate, a need that went beyond anything physical. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, breaking the contact, his face a mask of anguish.

"I can't," he whispered. "I don't deserve this... I don’t deserve you."

The words hit you hard, and you could see the pain behind them, the deep-seated belief that he was beyond redemption. He tried to pull away from you, as if punishing himself further, but you didn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, closing the distance between you. "You’re not the monster you think you are," you said softly. "You’re a good man, James. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere." 

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought back the torrent of emotions. 

You sighed softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you searched his face. His pain, his guilt—it was unbearable to witness. You wanted to do something, anything, to take it away, to make it easier for him. You didn’t know how far you were willing to go for him, but the sight of him breaking down before you was too much.

"It’s awful to see you like this, James," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked into his tormented eyes. "If it would help... if it would relieve you, then you can claim what you want. Whatever it is, I’m here, I… I won’t say anything, it’ll be a secret. Like nothing ever happened."

The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their weight, but you meant them. The offer hung in the air like a lifeline, and as soon as they left your lips, something inside James seemed to shift. His eyes darkened, a spark of something raw and desperate flickering to life. Hunger. The same hunger you had seen before but held back by layers of guilt and self-loathing. Now, at your words, it began to surface, threatening to consume him.

The maths book you had handed him slipped from his grasp, falling forgotten to the floor with a soft thud. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were afraid to break the fragile tension between you, but he leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your cheeks. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers grazing your skin as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

His nose brushed against yours, his breath warm on your lips, and the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the raw emotion radiating from him. It was palpable, and in that moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the guilt. Not the pain.

Just him.

"I... I don’t know if I can stop," he whispered, his voice strained, almost pleading as though he were asking for permission to give in to what he wanted. "I’m so tired of fighting it..."

His lips hovered just above yours, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his hesitation, the battle waging inside him. But the hunger in his eyes was undeniable now. You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, and whispered, "Then don’t." 

It was all the permission he needed. James closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and full of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. His hands tightened on your cheeks, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

His need for you was overwhelming, and in that moment, it was as if nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and emotion that neither of you could control anymore. 

James's tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you with a desperation that bordered on feral. He licked along your tongue, sucking on it, as though attempting to devour you from the inside out. His hands gripped your hair, holding you in place as he plundered your mouth. Between frantic, sloppy kisses, James tore his mouth away just enough to gasp out, "We shouldn't... This is so wrong..." Even as the words left his lips, his body betrayed his true desires. His hips rocked against you, grinding his hardening length against your core.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on with breathless whispers. "Take what you need," you coaxed, your voice thick with want. "I'm yours, James. Let go and just feel..."

A low groan rumbled in his chest as James surrendered to the all-consuming need coursing through him. His tongue tangled with yours, licking into your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at it with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Fuck, you taste so good," James panted against your lips, his voice raw with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long… But I shouldn’t…" 

But even as the words left his lips, his actions told a different story. His hands were roaming your body now, as if seeking to memorise every curve and dip through your clothes. He groaned when his palm brushed over your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. "Tell me to stop," James pleaded, his voice ragged with need. "Y/n, please... I don't know if I can hold back if you keep encouraging me like this."

He punctuated his words with another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. James' hands slid around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. With a low groan, he turned and pushed you up against the bookshelf, pinning you there with his body.

"I want to hear you moan for me, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands caressed up your thighs, slipping under your skirt. He nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath making you shiver. "I need to feel how wet you are for me." His fingers brushed over the damp fabric of your panties and you couldn't suppress the breathy whimper that escaped your lips. James rumbled his approval.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, rubbing his palm against your clothed slit. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me." He slipped a finger beneath your panties, teasing your slick folds. You gasped at the first touch, your walls fluttering around the digit. James curled his finger, stroking over your sensitive nerves and drawing out needy moans.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, working you with his fingers. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. I want everyone in this school to know who you belong to." He captured your lips in another searing kiss as he fingered you harder, his thumb circling your clit. The obscene wet sounds of your arousal filled the air, mixing with your wanton moans and the creaking of the bookshelf as James rutted against you.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, you could only cling to him, surrendering yourself to the intensity of his touch. In that moment, nothing existed but your rejected love and the overwhelming need consuming you both.

Your moans grew louder as James' fingers delved deeper, stroking over your most sensitive spots. Electric pleasure sparked through your body with each thrust, your walls clenching greedily around his digits. "Oh god, James!" you cried out, your hips rolling to meet his touch. "Don't stop, it feels incredible..."

He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You like being fingered in the middle of the class, don't you? Waiting for me to come claim you, to touch you like this where anyone could see." James curled his fingers just right, rubbing insistently over your G-spot. Your knees nearly buckled at the intense sensation, a flood of wetness coating his hand.

"Answer me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me how much you love being touched by me, even if someone walks by and hears what a needy little thing you are." To emphasise his point, James slipped his fingers out and pushed two back in, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

You keened at the lewd intrusion, your pussy fluttering wildly. "Please..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More, harder, anything to relieve the building pressure inside you.

"Please what?" James teased, pumping his fingers slowly. "Use your words, Y/n. Let everyone know how badly you need to be fucked."

He twisted his wrist, rubbing over that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes. Your moans reached a fever pitch, echoing off the bookshelves. Distantly, you registered the risk of discovery, but it only seemed to heighten your arousal. In that moment, pinned between James' hard body and the shelf, you didn't care who saw or heard. You just needed him to touch you more, to claim you completely. Consequences be damned.

Your body tensed, muscles pulling tight as your orgasm crashed over you. "Oh fuck, James!" you cried out, voice breaking on his name. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fingers as you came hard. James groaned, working you through it, his fingers gentling. He rubbed soothing circles over your clit as you rode out the waves, drawing out your bliss.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me," he encouraged. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

As your climax ebbed, James withdrew his hand, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, savouring your taste with a low hum of appreciation. "Mmm, you taste as sweet as I imagined," James purred. "Seeing you fall apart for me, knowing I did that... Fuck, it's almost enough to make me cum in my jeans."

He rocked his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your thigh. You glanced down and saw a damp patch spreading on the fabric where his cock twitched urgently. James was right on the edge, aching for release. "Do you want to feel me cum?" he asked, voice strained with the effort to hold back. "Want to see me lose control for you?"

“Y-Yes, please.” You said, your voice still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm.

James fumbled with his fly, freeing his throbbing cock. It sprang out, flushed and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked, hissing at the sensation. "Fuck, just like that," he grunted, working his shaft faster. "Watching you cum got me so hard, Y/n. I'm gonna... Ungh!"

With a final few tight pumps, James threw his head back with a guttural moan as his orgasm hit. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, splattering obscenely across your skirt. He milked himself through it, riding out the intense waves of pleasure. Panting, James slumped against you, his softening cock still in his hand. He captured your lips in a languid kiss, sharing your taste between you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction.

"That was... Wow," he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

Your legs trembled, the aftershocks still singing through your nerves. You'd never experienced anything so intense, so all-consuming. James had ruined you for anyone else, with a single touch. You knew you were addicted to the way only he could make you feel.

James helped you smooth your skirt back down and straighten your clothes, his touch gentle but almost impersonal now. There was a new tension in his shoulders as he tucked himself away and refastened his jeans, movements sharp. When he turned back to you, his expression was unreadable. Gone was the vulnerable, broken man who had confessed his feelings. In his place stood a stranger, cold and distant.

"We're keeping this a secret, right?" James asked, his tone almost accusatory. "Like nothing happened."

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Was this really the same man who had been kissing you so passionately and worshipped your body just minutes ago? Shame and confusion warred within you as you nodded mutely.

James searched your face for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Good."

You swallowed back the hurt, forcing a stiff nod of agreement. "Of course. I won't say a word," you murmured, your voice small.

James' expression softened slightly at your acquiescence, some of the anger draining from his posture. "I didn't mean... Fuck. This doesn't change anything, okay? You're still the teacher of my daughter. I can't cross that line again." The mixed message confused you further. If he regretted what happened, why the anger?

But before you could respond, James was already turning away, taking Laura’s maths book on the floor. The dismissal was clear. Whatever connection you thought you'd felt, it was gone now. Just a fleeting illusion born of heat and proximity. Numb, you collected your own books, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. James wasn't angry because he regretted what you shared. He was angry because he didn't. 

Because he liked it too much, wanted it too much. And that scared him.

Because it terrified you as well, the intensity of your reaction to his touch. The way your heart raced and your body ached, even now. This thing between you... It was dangerous. Forbidden. But God help you, a traitorous part of you wanted to do it all again. To hell with the consequences.

Shaking your head to clear it, you slipped past James without another word. You had to get out of here, had to put some distance between your bodies before you gave in to temptation again.

As James left without another word, you fled the classroom just minutes later and you couldn't help but wonder what this meant for your future. Could you really go back to a normal parent-teacher relationship after this? Or would the memory of his hands on your skin, his lips devouring yours, be enough to drive you to distraction? Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - your feelings for James would never be the same. 

And that terrified you more than any other outcome.

───────────────

Following that afternoon, you had braced yourself for James to disappear from your life, retreating back into the shadows of his grief and responsibilities. Yet, to your surprise, he returned.

James would go to great lengths to ensure these meetings remained shrouded in secrecy. He would meticulously arrange for someone to look after Laura, his little girl blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in her father's heart. The logistics felt cold and clinical, but you understood his reasoning: if Laura saw you at his home too often, she'd start asking questions. And questions were the last thing he wanted to deal with. When he suggested booking a hotel, you sensed it was more than just practicality. It was as if he wanted to keep the entire affair compartmentalised—a small, dark corner of his life that could remain untouched by the chaos of his emotions. 

James often reminded you that it “meant nothing,” and part of you wanted to believe him. You had to. It was easier that way. You understood that his heart was still tethered to the past, to the memory of Mary, and what you shared could only ever be physical. Yet, despite the rationalisations, the moments you spent together ignited a fire within you, leaving you both breathless and craving more.

You wrestled with that notion, knowing deep down that it was true. It was just a carnal pleasure for him—an escape from the suffocating weight of his past and the present responsibilities of being a father. And yet, you found it hard to convince yourself that it didn’t mean anything to you, too. Every time he wrapped his arms around you, his touch igniting a fire within you, it felt more profound than mere physicality. You longed for it to be something real, but reality kept slapping you in the face, reminding you that this was just a distraction for him.

You were drawn to him, and every shared breath and fleeting glance ignited a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to let you in. But with every whispered promise exchanged in the dim light of the hotel room, the reality of the situation settled over you like a heavy cloak, reminding you of the limits you—and then James had set, the walls he had built to protect himself. 

It was one of those evenings. The hotel room was nicer than usual, you noticed, dimly lit by a warm, ambient glow that softened the edges of the night. You were lying on the bed in your underwear, your body sprawled across the sheets in anticipation. The room felt empty, save for the heavy silence that hung between the moments. You could hear your own heartbeat in the quiet, and the soft rustle of the door as it clicked shut announced James' arrival.

He still wore his jacket, but it looked like a burden, one he was quick to shed as he stepped into the room. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and for a moment, he stood there, unmoving. His expression was clouded, a mixture of exhaustion and something far deeper that you’d come to recognize over these past weeks. James was multi-faceted, a puzzle of emotions that never fully aligned. Most of the time, he wore sadness like a second skin, carrying it with him like a cloak he could never quite shake off. But sometimes, beneath that sadness, there was anger—deep, raw, and bitter—or even hate. It was rare to see him happy, truly happy. The version of James that laughed or smiled felt like a ghost of who he used to be. 

Tonight, though, he looked utterly tired, the kind of weariness that dug into his bones and weighed him down. He sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant. His hand found your leg almost instinctively, caressing your skin absentmindedly, as if searching for something—comfort, maybe. But you weren’t sure he could ever really find it.

You shifted slightly under his touch, the feeling of his fingers against your leg sending a small shiver up your spine. You glanced at him, watching his profile as he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. His hand traced slow, idle patterns against your skin, but his gaze was far away, his mind somewhere else.

"Long day?" you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the silence. 

James didn’t answer right away. His fingers paused for a moment, then resumed their gentle motion. You could tell he was carrying the weight of something, but it wasn’t your place to ask—at least not anymore. Not in this arrangement, where your time together had become a strange kind of ritual, bound by unsaid rules.

He finally exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of him. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough. "Long day."

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of solace, but you knew better by now. James was a man trapped inside his own pain, his own regret, and as much as you wanted to break through that barrier, you also knew he would push you away if you tried. So instead, you let him sit there, his hand on your leg, and you stayed quiet, letting the silence speak for itself.

His hand lingered, caressing your skin with a kind of absent tenderness that always seemed at odds with the darkness in his eyes. This was the James you had come to know—someone who needed, who sought out comfort in the most fleeting ways, but who could never fully let himself feel it. Someone who wanted but would never allow himself to have.

James shifted beside you, his movements tense and restless, until he finally laid down against you, pressing his body close, almost too close, as if afraid you’d slip away. His head found its way to your chest, clutching at you, not with tenderness but with something more desperate—like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. The moment felt heavy, loaded with all the things he wasn’t saying but you could feel the tightness of his grip, in the ragged way he sighed.

You threaded your fingers through his ash-blonde hair, trying to soothe the tension in his body, but even your touch didn’t seem to be enough tonight. He was different—more on edge, more fragile, and the air between you was thick with unspoken need. James pressed his face deeper against your breasts, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel how hard he was holding back, how much he was crumbling inside.

“I have nightmares,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken. It wasn’t just tiredness. There was something deeper in his tone—desperation, like he was running out of time, out of hope. “I don’t sleep well. Not anymore.”

You frowned, your heart aching for him. You knew he didn’t sleep well, but hearing him admit it, the way his voice trembled, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. “What kind of nightmares?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

James stayed silent, but his grip on you tightened, his fingers curling against your skin like he was holding on for dear life. He didn’t want to tell you, couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he buried his face against you, his body trembling. “It’s bad,” he finally muttered, voice shaking. “Some days it’s worse than others. Today’s one of those days.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. He was coming apart, breaking down, and you weren’t sure how to fix it. “James…” you whispered, but he didn’t let you finish, and he groaned in protest, his head over your breasts. His pain was palpable, suffocating, and you could feel the anguish in every breath he took. 

After another moment of heavy silence, James shifted slightly, his body tense as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. It was so rare for him to talk, especially about anything that truly mattered, and when his voice finally broke through the quiet, it startled you.

After another stretch of silence, James shifted again against you, but this time, instead of falling deeper into that quiet, his voice emerged, fragile yet determined. "Mary," he whispered, the name hanging heavy in the air between you. It surprised you—he hadn’t spoken about her since the time you saw her picture at his home, and you had assumed he never would. "I… I felt so guilty. When she got sick, all I could think about was how much I missed her—her warmth, just holding her like this." His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to ground himself through the contact. "But I couldn’t."

His words came out slowly, as if it pained him to say them aloud, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started. You stayed quiet, your hand still in his hair, listening as he unravelled.

"It wasn’t just the sickness, though," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing a sin he had long kept buried. "Even when she wasn’t sick, it wasn’t... right. Our intimacy." His lips twisted in discomfort, and you could feel him tense against you. "There were things I wanted to do, things I thought we’d share, but she didn’t want any of it. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, I don’t know." He sighed heavily, the sound filled with frustration and sadness. "We’d end up arguing—these cold, distant fights that never solved anything. And then we’d—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

"And then we’d have sex, just to stop the fighting," he finally finished, his voice flat, emotionless, like the memory was draining him. "But it was always… it felt so conventional. Like it was just something we were supposed to do, not something we wanted. Not something she wanted, as if I was pressuring her to do it."

James shifted again, burying his face in your chest, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. His hand still clutched you tightly, as if afraid to let go. The pain in his voice was clear, the regret, the guilt, the yearning for something that had always been just out of reach. "I loved her, but… I needed more." His confession was quiet, almost lost in the space between you. "I needed this. I needed what we never had."

It felt like a deep wound had been reopened, and you could feel the rawness of it in every word he spoke. He had been carrying this pain for so long, locked away inside, and now, lying here in your arms, he was letting it spill out. His guilt, his longing, his shame. And even though he didn’t say it, you understood—he wasn’t just missing Mary, he was missing the connection he never had with her. Something deeper, something he was still searching for.

Maybe even in you.

James stayed close to you, his face still pressed against your cleavage, his breathing uneven as the weight of his words hung in the air. You could feel his vulnerability, a kind of desperation that rarely surfaced, like a dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop the flood of his emotions. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, unsure of how to respond to something so deeply personal. But you knew he needed you, your presence, your understanding.

You gently stroked his hair, giving him time to collect himself. After a long pause, you whispered, “It sounds like you were always left wanting something more.”

James’ grip tightened on you, his fingers digging slightly into your side, as if the truth in your words pained him. He nodded against your chest, a faint, tortured sound escaping him.

“I don’t know why,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, heavy with frustration. “Maybe I was too selfish. Maybe I wanted too much. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk to her about it. I didn’t want to hurt her more than she already was.” His voice cracked, as if the weight of that guilt threatened to crush him. “But I was lonely. So damn lonely. And when we… when we were together, it felt like she was just… enduring it. Like I wasn’t allowed to want more from her, to even ask.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart ache. “I needed things I couldn’t ask her for. Things I couldn’t even bring myself to admit.” His lips trembled, his expression torn between shame and an unspoken longing. “And she’d just… shut down. It made me feel like I was a monster for wanting anything.” You listened quietly, sensing the pain in his voice but also the deep frustration that had been buried for so long. It was as though he had locked away all these feelings, all these desires, believing he was wrong for even having them. But now, with you, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“It wasn’t just about sex,” he continued, his voice rough. “It was about needing to feel connected, to feel wanted. I loved her, but… She never made me feel like I mattered that way.”

Your hand rested gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin. “You’re not a monster, James,” you said softly, your voice full of reassurance. “You just… wanted to be seen. To be close to someone.”

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for affection. His breathing hitched, and you could feel the tension in his body, like he was fighting to hold himself together. 

“But I never got that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “With Mary, it was always… proper. Reserved. And after a while, I stopped trying. It just… wasn’t worth the fights anymore. We would go days without touching, without even saying much to each other. I’d come home, and she’d just be there, like a ghost, and I’d miss her… even though she was right in front of me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “God, I was such an idiot. I thought things would change, that one day she’d wake up and… see me.”

“I’m sorry, James,” you whispered, your voice thick with empathy. 

He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners as he looked at you. “But what if… what if I am just selfish?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What if I always needed too much? Too much from her… too much from you.”

You shook your head softly, your hand cupping his face as you met his gaze. “No,” you said firmly, your tone gentle but resolute. “You didn’t ask for too much. You just asked to be seen, to be loved. That’s not selfish, James. That’s human.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm. “But I’ve already messed things up,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “With you… I’ve taken so much from you, and I… I don’t even know if I can give you anything back.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the rawness in his confession. He was scared—scared of hurting you, scared of repeating the mistakes of the past. But he was also scared of letting you in, of giving himself to you in a way he had never been able to with Mary.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you said softly, your voice steady. “I’m here because I want to be, James. Not because I expect anything in return.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of longing and fear, and you could see the war raging inside him. He wanted to believe you, but he had been hurt so deeply before, left feeling empty and undeserving.

“I just… I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt her.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting gently against his. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you whispered back, your breath warm against his skin. “I’m not Mary, James. I’m different.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes closing as he absorbed your words. And then, slowly, his grip on you tightened, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and unsure, but the need in his touch was undeniable. He was searching for something—comfort, release, maybe even redemption. And for the first time, you felt like he was truly letting you in.

You held his gaze, your hand still resting on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. James’ eyes, so full of pain and guilt, flickered with uncertainty as you spoke softly, trying to ease the weight he carried.

“James,” you began gently, “sometimes two people can love each other so much that it ends up hurting them. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it doesn’t mean Mary was at fault either. It’s just… sometimes things fall apart, and it’s not about who’s to blame.”

James’ brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. 

“It was a bad time,” you continued, your voice low but filled with compassion. “You both went through so much, and there wasn’t a way to fix it. Sometimes… love just isn’t enough to heal everything.”

James’ eyes closed, his breath trembling as he let your words wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your hand as if he were battling with the acceptance of what you were saying. “It doesn’t make you a bad person,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. “It doesn’t mean you failed her. You did the best you could with what you had.”

James’ grip tightened on you for a brief moment, and then he let out a deep, shaky breath, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of your words was too much to bear. His forehead pressed against yours again, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “I just… I keep thinking, maybe if I’d done something differently,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe if I’d been better, or tried harder—”

You silenced him with a gentle shake of your head, your fingers moving through his hair. “No, James. Don’t do that to yourself. You loved her, and she loved you, but sometimes that love isn’t enough to stop the hurt. It doesn’t make either of you bad people. It just… happened.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the quiet stretching between you as he absorbed the truth of what you said. His hand slipped to rest on your waist, and you could feel him relax slightly, as if the burden on his shoulders had lightened, even just a little. “I don’t know how to let go of it,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. 

Your heart ached for him, for the weight of guilt and grief he carried every day. But you knew he couldn’t keep punishing himself forever. He deserved to find peace, to let himself heal, even if it took time. “You don’t have to let go of it all at once,” you whispered, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, holding him close. “Just take it one day at a time. You’re allowed to feel everything you feel, but you’re also allowed to move forward. You deserve that, James.”

He stayed still for a long moment, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breath coming out in soft, ragged sighs. And then, slowly, he nodded, the faintest hint of acceptance in his touch as he held you close. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” you reassured him, your fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. “Just know that I’m here. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.”

His grip tightened on you, and for the first time, you felt him truly lean into your touch—not out of desperation, but out of a need for comfort. It wasn’t about running away from the pain anymore; it was about finding a way to live with it, and maybe, just maybe, to start healing.

You held James close, his head resting against your chest as you softly stroked his hair. His body felt heavy against yours, weighed down by all the unspoken emotions, the guilt, and the unresolved pain. In the silence, a thought crossed your mind—one that had been lingering in the background of your conversations. “What is it, James?” you asked gently, your voice a soft whisper in the dim light of the hotel room. “What did you always want to do… but never could?”

He was still for a moment, as if processing your question, caught off guard by the depth of it. His fingers lightly gripped your waist, and you could feel the tension building in him again, as if the memories were flooding back too quickly. His breath hitched slightly, and you knew you had touched on something buried deep.

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His head shifted slightly against your chest, and he didn’t meet your gaze, almost shyly. “I don’t know if I can talk about it.” 

You continued to gently run your fingers through his hair, reassuring him with your presence. “It’s okay, James. You can tell me.

You could see the conflicting emotions playing across James' face - the fear of revealing too much warring with the desperate need for release, for absolution. His breath came faster, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrestled with himself. "I've always..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I've always wanted to dominate. To take control. But I never knew how. I was always too afraid."

He lifted his head to look at you then, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to be the one in charge, Y/n. I want to own your pleasure, make you beg for me. Like… more intense?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of excitement mingling with the tenderness in your chest. 

"Show me," you whispered, your hands framing his face. "Show me how to be yours."

Something shifted in James' expression, a flicker of relief and determination. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that stole your breath. His hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you.

"You're mine," he growled against your lips. "All mine. And I'm going to make you feel so good, baby girl. Gonna take such good care of you." He nipped at your jaw, your throat, marking you as his. His touch was firm, commanding, stoking the heat between your legs. You arched into him, surrendering completely.

James' hands roamed your body with a newfound confidence, squeezing and caressing every curve. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties, teasing along the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he groaned, feeling the dampness. He hooked his fingers in the fabric and yanked, ripping your panties off with one swift motion. The cool air hit your heated flesh and you shivered. James threw the tattered lace aside, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy.

"You like that, baby? Like me taking control?" He reached out and ran a single finger along your slit, collecting the slick on his fingertip. He brought it to your mouth, painting your lips with your own arousal. "Taste how fucking wet you are," he commanded. James pushed you back on the bed, looming over you. 

His clothes were still on but you could see the huge bulge straining against his zipper. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was. "Gonna worship this pretty little pussy," he promised, voice low and rough with desire. "Gonna lick up every drop, make you scream for me."

He pushed your thighs apart, settling between them. His hot breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh as he inhaled deeply. "Christ, you smell amazing," James groaned. "Can't wait to taste it."

He dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick. Your back arched off the bed, a gasp escaping your lips. James growled at the response, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you.

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers pushed inside you, pumping in and out as he ate you out like a starving man. Obscene slurping sounds filled the room, mingling with your unabashed moans.

As James buried his face between your thighs, your moans echoed off the hotel room walls. His stubble-covered cheeks brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, the delicious friction sending electric shivers up your spine. You could feel his nose nestled against your pussy, his hot breath teasing your already drenched folds. "Oh god," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. "James, please..."

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Please what, baby?" he purred, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Use your words."

Your gaze locked with his, hazy with need. "I need you," you breathed, writhing beneath his intense stare. "Please, James... I want to feel you."

A wicked grin spread across his face. "That's not what I asked, sweetheart. Try again."

His words sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. In that moment, you realised exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed to know. Craning your neck, you cried out, "Please, Daddy! I need you!"

The words seemed to ignite something primal in James. With a possessive growl, he surged forward, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, dominating every inch. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so tightly you knew you'd be marked tomorrow.

James broke the kiss with a gasp, panting harshly against your cheek. "That's right, baby girl. Call me Daddy," he rasped, voice dripping with dark promise. "This needy little cunt belongs to me."

To emphasise his point, he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked hard, making you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. He lashed the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, wringing desperate cries from your throat.

"Daddy, please!" you sobbed, fisting your hands in the sheets. "It's too much, I can't..."

James only redoubled his efforts, two fingers plunging into your soaked heat. He pumped them in and out, curling against your inner walls. The mix of pain and pleasure was exquisite, overwhelming. Your thighs trembled around his head, your toes curling into the mattress.

"So good," you panted, head thrashing on the pillow. "Fuck, James, your mouth feels amazing."

When his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles, it finally tipped you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. James worked you through it, drawing out every last aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the bed.

Pulling back, James wiped his slick mouth with the back of his hand, looking immensely pleased with himself. His hair was tousled from your desperate grip, his lips swollen from your kisses. "Goddamn," he breathed, drinking in the sight of you. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you let go like that. My perfect girl."

He crawled up your body, hovering over you. You could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your hip, hot even through his jeans. James captured your lips in another searing kiss, devouring you, consuming you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, musky and heady. "Suck me," he commanded, voice low and authoritative. "Get that pretty mouth on Daddy's dick and show me what a good girl you are." He asked, taking off his tie and shirt.

Your heart raced at the new dynamic between you, this confident, dominant side of James awakening a primal hunger in your core. You sat up and reached for his belt, eager to obey his orders.

You gripped the base of James' cock, angling it towards your eager mouth. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing the prominent vein from root to tip. Reaching the weeping slit, you swirled your tongue around it, lapping up the salty-sweet precum that beaded there. "Mmm, you taste so good," you purred, your words making James' cock twitch against your lips.

You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling gently as you savoured his flavour. Inch by inch, you worked your way down his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him deeper. James groaned above you, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Fuck,  just like that," he praised, guiding your head to bob along his length. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to give James as much pleasure as he'd given you. You let him guide your movements, surrendering control as you focused on pleasuring your Daddy with your mouth. Above you, James' abs flexed and his breath came in short, sharp pants. His grip on your hair tightened and his thighs tensed, signalling his impending release. You doubled your efforts, desperate to taste him.

With a low, guttural groan, James came undone. His cock pulsed against your tongue as he spilled his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop, relishing the intimate connection. As James softened, you released him from your mouth with a final, loving kiss to the tip. 

James pulled you close, peppering your face with tender kisses. "That was incredible, baby girl," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "I've never felt anything like that before." You snuggled into his embrace, giggling, happy to see him enjoying himself.

“But we aren’t done, yet,” And James rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning your ass in the air. The new angle made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused. You could feel his eyes raking over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," James growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "All ready for me."

He delivered a sharp smack to your right cheek, making you yelp in surprise. The stinging sensation quickly melted into a throbbing heat that spread through your core. James soothed the abused flesh with his palm, kneading the plump globes of your ass. "Count them, baby girl," he commanded, punctuating his words with another smack to your left cheek. "Let Daddy hear how good his little girl is taking her punishment."

"One," you gasped out, your voice hitching as James continued his sensual assault on your backside. Each stinging slap was followed by a moment of intense pressure, the heat building within you until it exploded into pure, molten need. By the time James reached ten, your ass was flushed a deep pink and you were panting with need. 

You shifted your position, moving to straddle James' hips. His semi-hard cock nestled against your slick folds, already stirring back to life. You ground slowly against him, coating his length in your arousal. Above you, James groaned, hands coming up to grip your waist.

"Already so wet for me again," he praised, voice low and rough with renewed lust. 

“Of course James,” You rolled your hips, sliding your slick heat along his hardening shaft. The head caught on your entrance with each pass, teasing you both with the promise of what was to come. James' fingers dug into your skin, his control fraying at the edges.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached down to guide him inside. With a single, smooth thrust, James sheathed himself fully within your welcoming heat. You both cried out at the exquisite sensation, bodies trembling with the force of your connection.

"So fucking perfect," James panted, fighting the urge to rut into you wildly. "Gonna make this last, baby girl. Gonna worship this sweet little pussy." He set a deep, steady rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before sliding home again. Each drag of his cock along your sensitive walls stoked the flames of your desire higher. Your nails raked down the sweat-slicked skin of his back as you matched his pace, meeting him thrust for delicious thrust.

You cried out at the sudden stretch, walls fluttering around his thick girth as he filled you completely. James stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm. Each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," James groaned, picking up the pace. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with increasing force. "So tight, baby. Like you were made just for me."

The wet sounds of your joining filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps. James' hands roamed your body, mapping every dip and curve as if committing you to memory. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he consumed you thoroughly. "My beautiful Y/n," he rasped against your mouth, the intimacy of your name on his lips making your heart race. 

His words, coupled with the relentless pleasure building in your core, pushed you closer to the edge. Your inner muscles fluttered around James' pistoning cock, signalling your impending climax. He reached between you to circle your swollen clit, the added stimulation sending you flying.

You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to James. He gripped your hips, pulling you back against his hardness. With one swift thrust, he buried himself inside your slick heat, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," James groaned, setting a relentless pace as he began to move again.

He pounded into you from behind, the lewd slap of skin against skin filling the room. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body. James' hands roamed your curves possessively, squeezing and kneading your flesh as he claimed you again and again.

"Harder, James,," you begged, arching your back to take him even deeper. "I want to feel you in the morning."

James growled, slamming into you with renewed vigour. He hooked one arm under you, forcing you up onto your knees as he railed you with abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit spots you didn't even know existed, driving you wild with lust. For hours, James took his pleasure from your willing body. You let him explore every position imaginable, determined to bring you to the brink of madness with ecstasy. You lost count of the number of times he came inside you, his hot seed painting your walls and filling your womb.

Through it all, James remained insatiable, his stamina and appetite for you seemingly endless. He worshipped every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, marking you as his own. By the time he was finally spent, you were a quivering, sweat-slicked mess, utterly satisfied in a way you'd never known before.

As James pulled you into his arms, both of you basked in the afterglow. The shy, reserved man you once knew was gone, replaced by a confident, dominant lover who reveled in bringing you pleasure. And though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would gladly surrender yourself to James desires again and again.

You snuggled closer to James, marveling at the newfound intimacy between you. His strong arms encircled you, holding you tight against his firm chest. The warmth of his skin seeped into your own, "Tonight was incredible," you murmured, tracing idle patterns on James' chest with your fingertips. "I've never seen you let go like that before, so free and uninhibited."

James' eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. There was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache. "I've always wanted this," he confessed softly. "To lose myself in you completely, to worship every inch of your beautiful body until you screamed my name. But I was afraid, afraid of my own desires and what they might do to us."

You pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, understanding the depth of his confession. "Don't be afraid anymore, James. This is us, this is what we're meant to be. Just like this, skin on skin, hearts entwined."

James pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You poured all of your love and acceptance into it, hoping to chase away the last remnants of his fear. When he finally pulled back, there was a peace in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Smiling, you rested your head against James’ chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm, one that made you feel safe, despite the complicated nature of what you shared. His arm was draped over you, holding you close, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing mingling together.

You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, knowing that these quiet, intimate nights were rare—fleeting even. Yet, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that this, whatever it was between you and James, meant something more than just a temporary escape. The thought lingered in your mind, bittersweet, as you traced your fingers absentmindedly along the contours of his chest.

James shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers brushing against your back in slow, absentminded circles. There was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, different from the desperate, carnal need that had driven him earlier. It was softer, more vulnerable—like he was allowing himself to truly feel, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t know what this means for us,” he murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough from exhaustion. “But… I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your heart squeezing at the raw honesty in his eyes. For a man who had spent so long hiding behind his grief, his guilt, and his fear, these words felt like a fragile offering. You could see the uncertainty in him, the way he was torn between wanting to keep you close and fearing that he didn’t deserve to.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, brushing a lock of his hair away from his forehead. “I’m here, James. I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes at your words, a sigh of relief escaping him as he pulled you even closer. His hold on you tightened, like he was grounding himself in your presence, in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

For a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the weight of the night’s emotions slowly settled. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many unresolved feelings, but for now, in this moment, it felt like enough. You could feel James’ breathing slow, his body relaxing as exhaustion took hold, and you knew he was finally allowing himself to rest. 

As you lay there, nestled in the warmth of James’ embrace, the words slipped out almost without thought, carried by the tenderness of the moment. "Could you stay here tonight?" you asked quietly, shyly. It felt natural—right even. The way his body fit against yours, the way his breathing synced with your own. For the first time, it didn’t feel rushed, like the encounters that had come before. Tonight, it felt… different. Deeper.

But the moment the question left your lips, you felt him stiffen beneath you. His once relaxed body tensed, his hand that had been resting so peacefully on your back froze, and you could feel the subtle shift in his breathing—faster, more shallow. The warmth you had just been enveloped in seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving a chill in its place.

"James?" you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes were wide, almost panicked, darting around the room as if he were suddenly trapped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His gaze met yours for a fleeting second before he tore it away, staring up at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched.

"I… I can’t," he finally breathed out, his voice tight and strained. 

"Why not?" you asked softly, a sinking feeling forming in your chest. Tonight had been so right, so good. Why was he pulling away now? You reached for him, but he gently pushed your hand away, his movements almost frantic.

"I can't stay," he repeated, sitting up abruptly and pulling himself from your embrace. His back was to you now, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled as they reached for his discarded clothes. "I shouldn’t even be here."

"But James," you began, your voice catching with the sudden wave of confusion and hurt. "It’s different tonight, right? It felt right."

He shook his head, pulling his shirt over his head, still refusing to look at you. "It can’t be more than what it is," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "This was a mistake."

Your heart plummeted at his words, the air in the room growing thick with the weight of them. "A mistake?" you echoed, struggling to keep your voice steady. "You don’t mean that."

But James didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, buttoning his pants with shaky hands, his back still turned to you. It was like watching him retreat into himself, putting walls back up that you thought had come down, if only for a night. "Please, don’t make this harder," he finally said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you."

Your chest tightened, and the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but something in his posture told you that any more pressure would push him further away.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you whispered, the ache in your voice undeniable.

But James didn’t answer. He pulled on his jacket, his back turned to you as he tried to collect himself. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the struggle in his silence. It wasn’t just fear—it was torment. The closer he got to you, the more it hurt him.

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong—that this wasn’t just about deserving, that it was about the connection you shared, the way he opened up to you tonight. But as you sat there, staring at his back, you realised that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change the deep-rooted guilt and fear that had consumed him. It was too much for him to handle, and the reality of that hit you like a punch to the gut.

"James, wait… what happened tonight—it's okay," you tried, your voice soft, reassuring. You wanted to tell him how much you had enjoyed it, that it was more than just meaningless, that it meant something to you. But before you could get the words out, he cut you off sharply, his voice hard and cold in a way you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” he snapped, turning to face you with a desperate, almost frantic look in his eyes. “What happened tonight… it’s not me. I’m not a man like that. I shouldn’t have—" His voice wavered, but the panic in his tone was unmistakable. “You need to forget about this. Forget it ever happened.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a hollow ache in your chest as you sat there, clutching the sheet to your body. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him how much it mattered, how much he mattered. But before you could speak, James’ next words sent a shockwave through you.

“You better take your pills tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you’re not pregnant. I don’t want to be responsible for anything that comes out of this.” His words were biting, harsh. “I can’t—I won’t support anything related to tonight.”

The bluntness of it stunned you into silence. His words felt like a door slamming shut between you, a reminder of just how temporary this had always been for him. You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, the reality of his detachment settling in like a heavy weight in your chest. You wanted to say something, anything, to make him see that what you’d shared tonight wasn’t something to just brush off.

But it was like he was already gone, emotionally cut off from you.

“And don’t… don’t think this changes anything,” James continued, his voice rough with guilt and something else—self-loathing, maybe. “I still love Mary. I’ll always love her. This,” he gestured between the two of you, his face hardening, “you’re nothing like her. You’ll never be close to what she was to me.”

His words pierced through you, each one like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. He was distancing himself from you, pushing you away, making sure you understood that what happened tonight wasn’t about you—it wasn’t about love, or even connection. You were just a temporary distraction, a way for him to feel something, anything, other than the constant grief and guilt that plagued him.

As he grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door, he finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet, empty room.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you lay back on the bed, staring at the empty space beside you where he had been just moments ago. The warmth of his touch, his embrace—it all felt like a cruel illusion now, a fleeting moment of connection that had evaporated into nothing.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. The warmth of his body, his touch, his voice—it was all gone, leaving you with nothing but the cold reminder that, no matter how close you got to James, he would always pull away in the end.

And despite everything, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… this was all you’d ever get.

“Of course you’re sorry,” you whispered, crying yourself to sleep.